Gingerbread Bride

Chapter One: Part 2

Richard Redepenning. What on earth was he doing in a field in Surrey? As if her running away conjured him! She almost smiled. He had appeared out of nowhere to rescue her so many times when she was young.

Then she remembered—he had been in London for two months, and hadn't called on her once. Today, she was rescuing herself, thank you very much.

Good manners, however, prompted her to say, "I was sorry to hear about your wound. I trust you are recovering?"

He was dismounting, and she could see for herself that the wound left him lame. His boot hit the ground, and he lurched, catching his balance against the saddle. She almost dropped her bags and put out a hand to help him, but she could hear her father's voice saying, "Let the man keep his pride, child."

Instead, she surreptitiously eased her shoulders. The bags had not felt nearly as heavy when she strode away from the others at the coach, after a short argument with the coachman about the merits of following the road versus trusting her navigation skills.

The coachman insisted that sticking to the road was a much better idea, since who knew what barriers might appear on the path that cut down the hill. "I know what I'm doing, Miss," he insisted. If he thought she was going to trust a coachman who had finally landed them in the ditch after multiple near misses, he was soon disabused of the notion.

As soon as she struck out on her own, she questioned whether it had been wise. Even the silly coachman would have been protection from the three coach passengers who had been leering at her for most of the afternoon. She was, of course, duly grateful to Lieutenant Redepenning for happening along before they caught up with her. But she had a pistol. She would have managed perfectly well without him.

"I have some rope here," Lieutenant Redepenning was saying, as he looked through his saddle bags. "Ah. Here it is. Pass me the carpet bag, Miss Pritchard, and we'll let the horse carry it the rest of the way to the village."

She rather thought he needed the horse more than the carpet bag did, but arguing with Richard Redepenning had always been an exercise in futility. He was the only person she knew who could out-stubborn her, though that was at least in part because of the pointless tendre she had held for him since the first time he had rescued her.

She had been nine years of age, and cross with that year's nurse. She wanted apples for tea, and the nurse told her the country grew no apples. Silly woman. Mary had passed an apple seller in the market earlier that day. No point in taking an appeal to Papa. Papa would no more countenance insubordination within his family than within his crew.

So Mary waited until Nurse was asleep, then crept out of her cabin and set off to find the market.

Which was not at all where she expected it to be. She soon became lost in a maze of little streets, and her red hair and fair skin attracted a forest of locals, looming over her and making incomprehensible sounds, while she stood at bay against a wall and prepared to fight for her life.

Then the crowd melted, and Midshipman Redepenning was there, smiling at her and holding out a hand, all the time talking to the village people in their own language. At fourteen, he had been a beautiful boy, tall and slender, with a crop of golden blond hair and intensely blue eyes.

He didn't growl, or complain about the nuisance of girl children. He didn't suggest that her father beat her (not that Papa ever did). He escorted her home to the ship, and helped her sneak back into her cabin. He even took a detour through the market and bought her an apple.

Mary had fallen in love that day, and she stayed in love as the boy grew to the handsomest, kindest man she knew. No other man ever measured up. Not that Lieutenant Redepenning cared. As far as she could see, he still thought of her as the child that continually needed rescue.

"Miss Pritchard?" There she was lost in memories of some far-off sunny shore, while Lieutenant Redepenning stood in front of her with his piece of rope at the ready.

"Thank you." She hoisted the bag up and balanced it on the saddle while he tied it, with quick efficient sailors' knots. The band box went up next, tied in front of the bag.

"If you would see to the gate, Miss Pritchard?" he suggested. "I can walk well enough, but I'm not as spry as I was."

They slowly sauntered down the hill path, Mary holding the proffered arm but attempting to put no weight on it.

Anxiety made her cross. He shouldn't be walking. Idiot man. He should have stuck to riding, and the road. If he were sore tonight, it would be his own fault. She didn't ask him to follow her.

They came to another gate, and, on the other side, to a bench seat that looked over the village, now almost close enough to touch. The church roof and the top floor of the inn were at eye level.

The last stretch of path, though short, was going to be a problem. It was steep and narrow. How would Mary get the lieutenant down it without injury? She frowned at it with disfavor.

"Let us sit for a minute," she suggested.

He was willing enough, tying the horse to a handy bush and lowering himself to the seat with a sigh.

Best to be frank. "Lieutenant Redepenning, the path is very steep and narrow. How are we to manage it?"

"You used to call me 'Rick'," he observed.

Dear God, how blue his eyes were. That twinkle was just as devastating as ever. What had he said? Oh, yes. "You used to call me 'Mary'," she retorted. "And how are we to get you down the path, Lieutenant?"

"Rick," he insisted.

"Rick, then." She gave way on that point, but continued to glare. She would not be distracted from her purpose.

"Mary." His voice was a caress, giving her plain name a music it never had. Good heavens, was Rick the Rogue flirting? With her? With Mary Pritchard, the bluestocking, forthright as a sailor and homely to boot? He was just trying to divert her.

Her frown deepened, and she raised one eyebrow.

Rick complied.

"I confess it is a problem. The doctor says the break is knitting well, and I just need to wait for the tissues to recover. It will repair entirely in time, but after a day's riding or much walking, the leg does not obey as it ought. I think if you will lead the horse, Mary, I can lean on the bank and make my way safely down. Shall we rest here a moment, then give it a try?"