Hidden Affections Page 2

  “Y-yes sir. Right away. I’m not quite certain if I can remove them, but I can separate the links in the chain easily enough,” he said as he carefully arranged and rearranged the three links lying on the anvil. When he was apparently satisfied, he looked up at both of them. “Just . . . just hold very still. And keep the chain lax,” he urged, forcing Annabelle and Harrison to step closer together before he started working on breaking one of the links in the chain.

  Annabelle turned her head to avoid seeing what would happen if he missed his mark and flinched when he struck each blow to the links. Although it was merely uncomfortable for her to feel the vibrations absorbed by the metal cuff around her wrist, she could only imagine how painful it must have been for Harrison.

  “There. You’re separated, once and for all,” he announced, placing his tools back onto a small table he had moved next to the anvil.

  “Hardly,” Annabelle quipped as she flexed her wrist. She had no idea exactly how long it would take before an annulment legally freed her from the man whose name she reluctantly carried, but she held on to his promise that it would only be a matter of a month or two. Satisfied that the narrow band of metal around her wrist had done nothing more than chafe at her flesh a bit, she felt a pang of true regret when she saw Harrison step away from her and cradle his wrist in the palm of his other hand.

  The young blacksmith looked directly at Harrison. “The cuffs themselves are next. Ladies first?”

  When Harrison nodded, Owens wiped the anvil with the tip of his apron. “If you could rest your wrist here, ma’am, I’d like to take a look at the lock before I try to bust it.”

  She complied and watched closely as he turned the U-shaped band until the pin was perpendicular to the anvil and the lock itself was facing up toward the beams in the ceiling.

  Her optimism faded when he shook his head. “Are you absolutely certain that neither one of you has the key?”

  She glared at him.

  So did Harrison.

  “Hold the lock exactly where it is,” he suggested before walking off.

  “Wait! Where are you going? You can’t leave now!” she cried, tempted to stomp her foot in frustration.

  He waved back at her over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Harrison sighed. “While he’s gone, perhaps you can help me do something,” he murmured, his voice as husky and deep as when they had first met aboard the stage.

  Was the man actually flirting with her? Again? She dropped her gaze. “What do you want me to do?” she grumbled.

  Still cradling his wrist, he moved beside her and nodded toward his chest. “There’s a handkerchief in my vest pocket. I’d be obliged if you’d remove it for me. Once Owens removes the cuff from my wrist, I’ll need it to wrap the wound to stem the bleeding.”

  Harrison was not an uncommonly tall man, but compared to her own small stature, he seemed very tall indeed. Avoiding his gaze, Annabelle reached into the very same pocket where he had kept the pocket watch the thieves had stolen. When her fingertips brushed against his chest, her heartbeat quickened, but she dismissed her reaction to him as merely a consequence of her utter fatigue.

  After tugging the monogrammed linen handkerchief free, she took a step back and handed it out to him. “It looks clean enough, I suppose.”

  He looked down at his injured wrist and shook his head. “Since I don’t have a free hand at the moment, perhaps you should keep that handkerchief for me until I need it.”

  Moistening her lips, she tucked the handkerchief beneath the wooden knitting stick still safely secured to the narrow band of fabric at her waist. Although all of the knitting needles she usually kept stored in the sheath were now gone, including the one she had bent trying to pick at the lock on the handcuffs, she could one day replace them.

  The knitting stick itself, however, was priceless, if only to her. With the tip of her fingers, she traced each of the letters of her mother’s name that her father had carved into the sheath of wood when he made this courtship gift for her. Annabelle was deeply grateful she had been able to convince the thieves to let her keep it.

  When Owens abruptly returned to the shop a solid five minutes after he had left, reality quickly consumed the memory of her late parents. She dropped her hand away, placed her wrist back onto the anvil, and made certain the lock was back in place exactly where it had been when the blacksmith left.

  “Ready?” Owens asked as he placed several tools onto the table next to the broken chain.

  She rolled her eyes.

  While holding the pin steady with one hand, he lifted her wrist until there was a small gap between the U-shaped metal band and her flesh. “Hold it right there,” he murmured and slid a narrow wad of muslin between the metal and her wrist. “That should help absorb some of the blows I have to make to break the lock, but I’m afraid—”

  “Just get the cuff off,” she insisted and used her other hand to hold her arm steady. She closed her eyes and braced herself. If he was going to end up smashing her wrist, she had no desire to watch him. To her surprise, Harrison stepped closer to her, as if offering his presence as support.

  “Seems a shame to ruin a fine pair of Darby cuffs. I’ve only seen one other pair. They’re rather rare,” he explained as he started tapping at the lock.

  Harrison huffed. “Apparently not rare enough if common thieves can acquire them and use them for nefarious purposes.”

  “The thieves were hardly common. Not if they deliberately chose to target you,” she quipped, still annoyed that he had chosen to ride the very stage on which she had also been a passenger after his private coach had broken an axle.

  “How kind of you to remind me. Then again, you seem to have a penchant for reminding me rather often that this whole affair is my fault,” he retorted. “If the thieves were that smart, they would have brought along a pair of handcuffs that would have actually fit me properly.”

  “Actually, Darby cuffs are made in four or five sizes,” Owens interjected. “But if they’d used one to fit you, sir, your wife could have slipped her wrist right through. Then again, the cuffs are rare enough that they probably only used what they could get their hands on.”

  Harrison scowled at him.

  “You would have fared better if you hadn’t fought the thieves when they tried to put them on or made such a vigorous attempt to remove them later, which only made your wrist swell even more,” she offered.

  He frowned at her.

  “Actually, it’s nearly impossible to remove these cuffs without a key. Or some good tools like mine,” Owens added proudly.

  “Just do your best to remove the cuff. Quickly,” she urged before Harrison could remind her that she had been foolish to think she could have used one of her knitting needles to force the lock to open.

  Many long, nerve-racking taps later, she heard the lock at the end of the pin pop free and she opened her eyes. Amazed by how efficiently he had completed his task, she watched as the blacksmith slid the pin free before he eased the metal band away from her wrist. “Thank you,” she murmured as she rubbed at the skin that had been chafed by the metal.

  He grinned at her before giving Harrison a nod.

  Annabelle forced herself to watch as her companion placed his cuffed wrist onto the anvil and cringed. The flesh around the metal band was scarlet now and even more badly swollen. Apparently, the simple process of removing the chain holding both cuffs together had reopened the wound and fresh blood trickled down onto the metal anvil.

  Owens studied the cuff for a moment and shook his head. Swallowing hard, he paled. “I . . . I don’t think I can cushion the blows at all for you, sir, but if you could just turn your wrist—”

  “Just do what you have to do,” Harrison gritted.

  “Wait. Just a moment,” Annabelle insisted and stepped around him to snatch the muslin that Owens had used earlier to cushion her wrist from the table where he had tossed it. “Have you any more muslin I could use to make a bandage?”


  “I might be able to find more in the house. Might take a few minutes to find it.”

  “Make do with what you have,” Harrison demanded.

  “Perhaps for now we could,” she replied, knowing how badly he wanted to be free from the restraint. As she returned to her place, she slipped his handkerchief free, ready to use both the muslin and the handkerchief as a makeshift bandage, if necessary.

  Instead of watching Owens or closing her eyes this time, she kept her gaze squarely on Harrison’s face. With each tap on the lock, he paled and tightened his jaw, but he stared directly down at the anvil and made no effort to halt what must have been an exceedingly painful process. His eyes flashed with relief when the lock finally popped free, but he quickly shuttered his gaze and reached forward.

  She tensed and watched in horrified fascination as he pulled the metal band free from his swollen flesh. Without hesitation, she pressed the muslin against his wrist and quickly bound it against the wound with his handkerchief. “Is there a doctor nearby?” she asked the blacksmith.

  “Doc Marley is—”

  “The inn. How far is the inn?” Harrison asked, using the authoritative voice that told Annabelle not to interfere.

  Owens looked from Annabelle to Harrison. “About five miles. Straight down the road, sir, but Doc Marley is—”

  “How much for your services?” Harrison asked as he scooped up the pieces of the handcuffs and shoved them into his trousers pocket.

  “Since you were robbed, and I really don’t expect—”

  “How much for your services?”

  “If I could keep the handcuffs, I’d be willing to call it even,” he replied sheepishly.

  Harrison cocked a brow. “Need I repeat myself yet again?”

  Owens blushed. “Fifty cents.”

  Harrison bent down, undid the strap lying across his boot, and secured a coin from a hidden pouch before fastening the strap again.

  When he put the coin on the table, Owens’s eyes widened. “That’s ten times what you owe me. I haven’t got enough coin to give you change.”

  “You’ve earned every cent. Thank you,” he murmured, then placed his hand at Annabelle’s back and urged her to the door.

  Flabbergasted that he had any coin at all, she leaned toward him. “I thought the robbers took everything,” she whispered, painfully aware the thieves had taken every coin she had hidden in the bottom of her knitting bag, which they had also stolen.

  He managed half a grin. “Not everything. I travel frequently, and I’m always prepared for the unexpected.”

  “This whole sorry affair qualifies as a bit more than ‘the unexpected,’ ” she offered. “Why didn’t you just let the man have those horrid handcuffs and save your coin to pay for lodging at the inn?”

  He paused and glanced down at the knitting stick she wore at her waist. “I have more coin. Besides, you have your little treasure. Would you deny me mine?”

  She covered the wooden heirloom with her fingertips and sniffed. “I hardly think those handcuffs should be considered a treasure, especially now that they’ve been reduced to nothing more than pieces of metal. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why you want them, would you?”

  His eyes sparkled. “Not unless you’ll tell me why that rather ordinary hunk of wood you fought so hard to keep from the thieves is so important to you.”

  She shook her head, convinced a man of his wealth and reputation would never understand the sentiments her father’s courtship gift to her mother represented.

  He cocked a brow. “In that case, I’ll just let my reasons remain secret.”

  “Fine. You keep your secret and I’ll keep mine,” she retorted, determined to keep a far more important secret to herself, as well.

  Chapter Three

  Even though the handcuffs had been removed, traveling five miles by horseback with only a thin cambric shirt to protect Harrison from the rapidly falling temperature would have been challenge enough. Riding on a single horse with a brand-new wife he had no intention of keeping, however, made the journey the most difficult test of endurance he had ever encountered in all of his twenty-nine years.

  Or so he thought. Convincing this obstinate innkeeper he needed separate accommodations instead of a single room was proving to be an even greater challenge. He had little patience left to waste arguing.

  He ignored Annabelle, who stood next to him, shivering from the cold that had taken up permanent residence in his own bones, and spoke directly to the innkeeper with a softer tone of voice. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, Mr. Lawrence,” he said and dropped the last of his coins into the man’s fleshy palm—money enough to pay for a month’s stay. “I need a room with a hot fire, a hot bath, and a hot meal for myself. I need another room with a hot fire, a hot bath, and a hot meal for this young lady. Two rooms. That’s all I need.”

  The balding man dropped the coins into his apron pocket and shrugged. “I’d like to accommodate you, but the common room upstairs that most travelers find quite comfortable has no hearth to provide any heat at all. Even if it did, during last week’s storm, the roof leaked pretty bad, and I haven’t been up to fixing it yet.”

  “But surely you can—”

  “Like I said before, I’ve only got one room available for you, and it’s on the first floor, right next to the kitchen. I promised Sheriff Taylor I’d have that room ready for you and your new bride, Mr. Graymoor, and I do.” Leaning closer, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “My wife ain’t as young as she used to be, and she can’t climb steps so good anymore either, so it’s probably best if you stay close to the kitchen so she can help see to your needs.”

  Annabelle glanced at Harrison and frowned. “It appears you’ll have to add another name or two to that list of people who know about our marriage. Please do something about securing a separate room for me. Anything. Please,” she urged, apparently as anxious as he was to avoid sharing the same room.

  He bristled. Although it was a toss-up as to whether he was more aggravated by the fact that the innkeeper knew his name or that Sheriff Taylor had also told the man about Harrison and Annabelle’s marriage, he decided he was most annoyed with this woman for reminding him, yet again, that keeping their marriage secret might not be as easy as he had originally thought.

  Sleeping in the common room without any heat was starting to sound rather appealing, but he determined he’d try one last time to convince Lawrence there had to be a way to provide him with a room he did not have to share with his new wife.

  Wife. Harrison shook his head. He had trouble accepting the idea he had a wife at all, so contrary was the very word to his confirmed stance against marriage. But he calmed his agitation with the realization that she would not be his wife for very long.

  Just then a rotund woman hobbled her way over to them, drying her hands on her soiled apron as she approached. “You must be the Graymoors. Just look at you, poor dear thing,” she crooned, putting her arm around Annabelle’s shoulders. She turned her toward the large dining area, which was nearly deserted at midmorning, except for three elderly women sitting at a table near the fire blazing in the hearth.

  “You’re such a tiny thing it’s a wonder you didn’t freeze to death, riding around in this cold without a proper cape to keep you warm. Come along,” she insisted. “I’ve got a good fire going in your room, and I’ll have hot water for your bath right quick.”

  As the woman ushered her away, Annabelle looked back at him over her shoulder, a look of pure panic etched in her features. She mouthed, Do something.

  Obviously, she was just as unhappy about sharing a room, so Harrison made one final effort to secure separate rooms for them. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but after the ordeal that my wife has experienced, she needs—”

  “What that poor woman needs is a man who will stand by and protect her reputation,” Lawrence said as his gaze hardened. “The sheriff told me how you took advantage of that sweet, lovely woman, so don’t bo
ther denying it. I’d have no objection if you took a seat over there by the fire, as I expect your wife would like a bit of time alone before you join her. I’ll bring you something hot to eat and drink while you’re waiting.” He turned and walked away.

  Harrison tightened his jaw. He was sorely tempted to turn around himself, get out of this inn, and ride straight back to Philadelphia, leaving that “sweet, lovely woman” right here. Unfortunately, the horse they had borrowed from Reverend Wood was so old, he doubted the animal would even make it back to its owner without a full day of rest first.

  He shifted his weight to take the pressure off the wound in his thigh he had gotten as a result of Annabelle’s attempt to force the lock on the handcuffs—but winced when he flexed his left wrist. In his current state, he doubted he could manage to ride that far even if he had a strong horse. The way the temperature was continuing to drop, he would likely freeze to death along the way.

  Resigned yet again to circumstances well beyond his control, he glanced beyond the three women still chatting together to the table sitting directly in front of the fire. Exhaustion, cold, and hunger overruled caution, and he limped his way past the trio, offering only a smile and a quick nod to acknowledge them. Judging by their country style of dress and their conversation, he had no fear they were women traveling to or from Philadelphia, at least not in the same social circle he enjoyed.

  He eased down on a bench positioned near the fire and rested his bandaged wrist on his lap, grateful for the opportunity to rest. While he avoided putting any pressure on the wound that encircled his wrist, he slid his knees beneath the planked table to hide the bloodstains on his trousers.

  The fire quickly did its job of thawing him out. Unfortunately, the warmer he became, the more exhausted he felt and the more his wounds throbbed. But the warmth also helped him to think beyond mere survival, which was a greater blessing.