Chapter Nine

Dinner had been a less ambitious affair of stew followed by custard in the end. It was hardly French cuisine but at least Patience's stomach was not rumbling and, if she was honest, after seeing the disaster in the kitchen, she had little appetite for something cooked.

She paused once she had slipped past the house and around the corner to tuck her hair into a floppy, slightly worn cap. It had belonged to her brother years ago, but given her size, it still fit her. The bindings around her breasts made breathing difficult but it was necessary. As Nate had so rudely and inappropriately pointed out, she was rather well endowed. If she was to remain inconspicuous, it was far easier to be an urchin boy than a woman in breeches. Thankfully the jacket she wore covered what the bindings could not quite disguise. She chuckled to herself. There was only so far one could crush one's breasts.

She made her way down the street toward the first inn she could find. Though she had visited Falmouth before, she could not claim to know her way around, so she forced herself to remember every turn she took so she could find her way back to the house with ease.

A chill wrapped about her, eating under the thin, battered jacket. A lamplighter worked ahead, climbing his ladder and lighting the way for her. There were still people on the streets but most of the well-to-do were at home, safely tucked in warm homes. A few bundles of fabric huddled into corners turned out to be homeless people with nowhere else to go. Patience shuddered, grateful she had a house to return to.

The amber glow seeping from clouded windows invited her in. The pub was crowded, mostly with men. A few women of loose morals clung to the necks of relatively well-dressed gentleman. A hoppy aroma imbued the air.

No one paid her any attention. She sucked in a breath and inched her way past some men playing an intense game of cards. Scattered goods were being gambled away including pocket watches, a ring, and even a set of teeth. Patience wrinkled her nose and made her way to the busiest part of the room.

Pressed up against the wall, she observed the scene before her. She had been to many travelling inns but never a pub like this. Now that she had the chance to stop and think about it, she was not quite that sure how she was to find out about this woman. None of the men looked at all approachable and most were deep into their cups. Perhaps if she simply waited and listened, she might find something out, though the din of laughter and masculine gossip that echoed through the building made it quite hard to distinguish anything of importance.

She waited until her feet and back began to ache, and a few people glanced her way before moving on. Patience continued this routine—visiting an inn, waiting around, hoping to spy someone who might look French or hoping for some tidbit of information. At the fourth pub, her efforts finally paid off. A lady of the night complained about someone with a French accent but the words were muffled by a loud bellow of laughter.

Swinging a glance at the women, Patience debated how to approach them and find out more. She need not have worried. A dark-haired woman approached, her dress low on her breasts and large amounts of makeup on. Patience stiffened.

"You look lonely," the woman said, her voice a low, husky tone.

"I-I'm fine, thank you."

"You have no drink or company. I've seen you looking my way."

Patience shook her head at the woman. Her dress was a deep purple and frayed around the arms. A simple comb held her hair back while curls spiraled haphazardly around her face. There was no doubting what she was, even if she had not spoken to Patience.

"I'm Rose," she said. "If you're looking for your first experience, I can give it to you. Many of the men here will tell you I am the best." She grinned. "And I'm cheap."

She shook her head again. "No, I don't need…that is…I am not here for my first experience." She paused and took a breath. "I was actually looking for a French woman."

Rose scowled and pursed her lips. "Why the devil would you want a French woman? Are English women not good enough for you? Aren't you a patriot?"

Patience had to bite back a laugh. If bedding English whores was the only thing that made one a patriot, she knew many people who were not.

"I have coin," she offered, "if you can tell me of any French women."

The woman's scowl softened. "You really fancy yourself a French bit of quim, eh?"

Certain she was pale as a ghost at the unsavory language, Patience dug out three shillings from her jacket pocket and handed it to her. "What do you know?"

Rose stuffed the coins into her cleavage. Patience tried not to think about how many other coins she might have there and how on earth she kept them safe. Surely when she undressed, coins would scatter everywhere? These were life problems that she had never had to consider before, for certain.

"Well, there are no French women here to be sure."

"That's all you know?"

The woman smiled and leaned in. "You shall cost me business tonight, boy. If it looks like I can't even sway a virgin lad into bed, what does that say about me?"

"How about we step outside and you can wait sometime before returning? Then everyone shall think I took up your offer."

She tapped a gloved finger to her lips, then nodded. Taking Patience's hand, she led her out through the front door and onto the street. The sides of the building were shadowed so they stopped there.

"How old are you?" Rose asked.

"It doesn't matter."

"Your hands are small," she said. "You're a bit young for a Frenchie I think. You really would be better off with an English woman."

"Rose, can you tell me about any French women locally?"

"I heard there was one by the docks. I don't know if she was actually a whore but it was said she bagged herself a rich fella." She huffed. "How come a French woman can get herself a rich man just like that?" She clicked her fingers. "I'm beautiful, and not daft in the head unlike some women. How come you all want bloody French women? There should be some kind of law that says they can't come here."

Patience hardly knew what to say. If this was indeed their French woman, they had a lead. She almost wanted to kiss the woman but certainly did not want to give her the wrong idea.

Rose eyed her. "Sure you don't want a quick fumble? You've paid me over what I charge anyway."

Patience shook her head vigorously.

"I'd be gentle, you know? If you think I'd be rough, you're wrong. Be sure to tell your friends that." The woman pressed herself up against Patience and leaned in. "I can be very, very gentle," she murmured.

Panic flared inside her. She glanced around for an exit as this woman—who was at least half a foot taller than her, loomed over her, lips pursed.

Abruptly the woman whirled away. Patience let out a breath but her relief did not last long. In the place of Rose was a bear of a man, his meaty fists curled. Hair sprouted from underneath his shirt and covered the backs of his palms. Patience could practically hear his heavy breaths as he pushed Rose behind him.

"Trying to get a cheap tup, eh?"

Patience shook her head.

"All deals with Rose go through me," the man said through gritted teeth.

As he stepped closer, the scent of his breath made Patience wince. Stale alcohol and chewing tobacco practically singed her eyes. A wiry dark bead covered his jaw and he sported a full head of hair, wild and untamed. Everything about this man screamed villain and somehow Patience had annoyed him.

"Sir," she held up her hands, "I had little intention of—"

"Liar," the man roared.

A crowd of people had begun to gather outside, eager to see what this mountainous man could do to this young lad. Crush her in half, no doubt. That would probably please Nate. At least then he could claim to be right, that they should have simply stayed and waited for the French woman to come to them.

Damn the man, she would not let him be right.

Patience lifted her fists, aware how small and ridiculous they looked next to the bearded man's.

"I wasn't going to tup her," Patience said. The word tup came out so meek and mild that the crowd laughed.

"You want a fight, lad?" the man sneered. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Um. No." She tried not to tremble as she peered around and looked for a way out. If she could just barge past him, she could run. Perhaps. If the crowd let her.

Or she could stay and fight and be ground to a bloody pulp. Either choice did not look particularly survivable. The man made the choice for her. He jolted forward and swung a fist. Patience darted back and felt the whoosh of air as his fist skimmed past her face. The crowd around them laughed. The man's face reddened even under the lamplight. A growl escaped him, just audible to her over the heavy thud of her heart.

"Sir—" she tried again.

He lunged once more, this time aiming his fist for her gut. She dodged to one side. Another punch and she ducked it. Further enraged sounds escaped the man.

"Keep bloody still!" he ranted.

Patience licked her lips. There was only so long she could dodge him. He was slow but all it would take was one direct hit to render her senseless. There had to be a better way to end it.

"Leave the boy be," someone declared.

Patience scowled. She recognized that voice. As she searched for it in the crowd, the bearded man brought a fist sideways to her face. At the last minute, she moved but it caught her hard enough so that her teeth rattled and her ears rang. She staggered back, clutching her jaw, and feeling as though it had to be ten times bigger than it should be. The bitter tang of blood swirled about her mouth.

The voice from the crowd stepped forward. Although dressed in clothes that were as shabby as her own boy's ones, it was not hard for her to recognize Nate. She stared, wide-eyed, as he stepped up to the man.

"What do you want?" her attacker sneered.

"Do you not wish to fight a real man?"

There was no disguising Nate's refined accent. No doubt the man thought Nate an easy mark. After all, in spite of Nate's muscular build—which she now knew far too well thanks to catching him shirtless in the kitchen—Nate was half the size of him.

The man smirked and nodded. "You're a lucky lad. Looks like he'll take the beating for you."

Fists raised, both men circled a little. Cradling her face, Patience watched in horror. What did Nate know of fighting except perhaps what he had learned in a boxing ring? But that was a clean fight. He would have never fought a man on the streets.

She needn't have worried. When the man leaped forward, Nate moved to one side and took hold of his arm. He twisted it backward, holding the wrist so that it was angled to the point that one slight move and it would snap. The man stiffened and let out a yowl of pain.

"Do you think perhaps you should leave the boy alone?" Nate gave his wrist another tweak.

The man yelped again. "Damn it."

"Well?"

"Yes, damn it, yes. Just let me go."

Nate released him slowly and swung a glance at Patience.

"Nate!" She saw his mistake instantly. He should never have looked at her. The bear of a man leaped on Nate and held him by both arms, pinning his hands behind his back.

The man nodded to several men in the crowd. "Who feels like warming up their fists tonight?"

No! Oh no, this could not happen. She had to do something. One man came forward and rolled up his sleeves. Nate wriggled against the man's hold but to no avail.

"Wait!" Patience screamed, the sound hoarse and piercing. "You cannot hurt him because…" She scanned the area for some way out but there was nothing. "Because I am a woman!" With a flourish, she whipped up her shirt, pulled down the bindings and watched as every man and woman's mouth dropped open.

The man's shock gave Nate enough time to escape. Patience dropped her shirt and dashed to him. He snatched her hand and pushed his way through the crowd. They dashed away until the crowd was far behind.

Heart still throbbing hard against her rib cage and a sharp ache in her jaw, she followed Nate. They kept a brisk pace, Patience near jogging along on his heels like a faithful pup, until they were far from the inn and nearly back to the house. He never uttered a word.

Nate stopped abruptly.

She stilled. "I know—"

He held up a hand and eased the other one under her jaw, lifting her face to the light. "You're going to have a mighty bruise. It's coming up already."

She nodded.

"Did you lose any teeth?"

She shook her head. Somehow, under his touch, the pain was already vanishing. She stared into a gaze that was growing intense. Her heart pounded harder than it had done during the fight, however that was possible.

"You have a little blood." He dabbed his thumb at the corner of her lip.

"A cut inside my lip I think. Nothing serious." Her voice came out horribly breathy. She hoped he didn't think it was because she was still scared.

And she had been, but she could never admit to that. Her brothers never felt fear, did they? Not when they rode into battle or spied on the enemy. She should not feel it either.

Nate gave a small sigh. "You are shaking."

"A little cold." Damn, she did not want him seeing her fear.

"You are likely a little shocked." He shucked off his scruffy jacket and slung it over her shoulders.

He began walking again and Patience hurried to catch up. "Thank you," she said breathily. "Thank you for your help."

"You were lucky I turned up on time."

"Yes," she admitted.

"You move quickly."

A tiny bubble of pride swelled and almost absorbed the frustration and humiliation that she needed a man to come to her rescue.

"I have always been fast."

"Do not do that again, though," he ordered.

She shook her head. "I won't." Once they reached the top of the steps to the house, she paused. "Nate, where did you get those clothes?"

"You're not the only one who can play dress-up, little one."

She wanted to ask more. Where did you learn to fight like that? How did you find me? But Joyce opened the door, looking a little sheepish, and Patience understood how he had tracked her down.

"I am sorry," Joyce whispered to her as she entered the hallway. "He's horribly persuasive."

Patience sighed. "Don't I know it."