Читать книгу Christmas Wishes Part 1 - Линн Грэхем, Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 32

Chapter Three

It was mid-morning when Ash’s mare clattered over the stone bridge into Haydon village, the river tumbling beneath. He’d spent the night in Newcastle after seeing Blakiston, who had seemed quite unsurprised by the visit, or the tentative instructions he’d been given.

‘Certainly, my lord. A very sensible solution for both of you, if I may say so.’

Ash wasn’t sure what sort of answer he’d returned. His head ached and his eyes and temper were scratchy from a poor night’s sleep. Not the usual battle dreams, though, but dreams of Maddy again, this time soft and willing in his arms....

He shoved the images out of his head, trotting Phaedre through the little village clustered by the bridge. It hadn’t changed since last he’d seen it. Grey stone houses huddled together along the narrow street, smoke drifting from their chimneys. The church, with its squat tower, nestled beside the rectory, and at the far end of the street, just before the road rose steeply towards Haydon itself, stood the Bowman’s Arms.

It had stood there in one form or another for centuries. Ash knew it well, having often stayed there when he came down to this part of the county looking for Roman remains. He wondered if old Runcorn the landlord was still there, but rode past. Maybe he’d stop on the way back to Newcastle if he had time.

It had snowed lightly the night before and a thin drift of white lay over everything. Phaedre’s breath steamed in the chilly air as she breasted the rise out of the village.

Higher and higher they climbed as the road curved round. As he recalled, Haydon was only a mile or so out of the village, perched on a steep drop above a bend in the river. He couldn’t possibly get lost, because this road between the bare hedges led only to Haydon. He’d never been up to the castle in winter before, and even in summer it could be bleak. Now, even with his pounding head, his heart leaped at the bite of the wind and the threat of snow in the air.

At last the buildings came into view. Haydon Castle... Ash reined the mare in, looking. Compared to Gerald’s pile, calling Haydon a castle was slightly overstating the case. It was more of a fortified manor, not really a castle at all. Still, it had an outer bailey, a courtyard that one might designate an inner bailey and a curtain wall. Once it had even had a portcullis, although he very much doubted it had ever kept any seriously pillage-minded Scots out. In these more peaceful times buildings had been erected outside the old fortifications. A barn, a cow byre larger than the one within the walls, several cottages. It was its own little world up here.

He nudged Phaedre and rode on, approaching the main gate. It stood wide open, but as he rode into the old outer bailey a fusillade of barking broke out and a very large black-and-white crossbred hound he remembered only too well charged through the gate that led to the inner bailey.

He drew rein and Phaedre halted, shifting restlessly as the dog stopped several yards away, still barking, hackles raised. Peaceful times, but Haydon retained some defences. Ash spoke soothingly to the mare and she settled, although wary of the barking dog.

‘Ketch!’ He spoke firmly, and at the sound of his name the dog wagged its tail but continued barking. ‘Enough, Ketch. Sit.’ That was how Maddy had always told the dog to stop barking.

Ketch sat, ears pricked.

A middle-aged man came through the gate, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he saw Ash. He cast a surprised glance at the dog.

‘Aye? You lookin’ for someone?’

* * *

Ketch’s furious barking alerted Maddy, and she set down her pen. The dog only barked at strangers and people he disliked. Strangers rarely came here, even in summer, and the person Ketch disliked most was Edward. She gritted her teeth. If Edward thought to stalk through Haydon and make claims on belongings he had no right to, then he had another think coming.

She rose, set her papers aside neatly and went to stand by the fire. It was warmer there, and she’d be that much closer to a poker if Ketch and Brady, her steward, were unable to persuade him to go away. The barking had stopped, but she could hear the clop of hooves in the courtyard below. A visitor, then.... She waited.

The outer door to the great hall opened, admitting a blast of cold air and the man she had persuaded herself she was not going to see or even hear from, unless it was a curt ‘no, thank you’—Ash Ravensfell.

Her jaw dropped as disbelief hit her like a pile of collapsing masonry. He walked in, saw her and at once removed his hat. Brady came in behind him, flanked by Ketch, who rushed forward and ranged himself beside her, tail whirling.

Aren’t I clever, Mistress? See what I brought you!

Brady doffed his hat. ‘Lord Ashton to see you, Miss Maddy.’

She said nothing. Could say nothing for the shock reverberating through her. Automatically she scratched Ketch’s ears. He had come. Against all expectation, all likelihood, Ash Ravensfell had answered her letter. In person. What on earth was she going to do with him?

Brady frowned, casting a suspicious glance at Ash. ‘Says you wrote to him?’

Maddy located her tongue and wits. ‘Yes. Yes, I did write.’ Damn it! She could scarcely breathe, let alone think or speak, with Ash watching her so closely. Her mind kept skittering back to the touch of his lips on her wrist. She managed a deep breath. At all costs she had to hide the effect he had on her. A business arrangement; that was all she had offered.

Perhaps he had come to refuse?

Ash spoke. ‘I thought it less awkward to answer your letter in person rather than in a letter.’

Dear Miss Kirkby—Thank you for your kind offer, but I have other plans for my life.

Nothing awkward about that. Did he mean—? Was he actually considering her offer?

She pulled herself together. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

His brows rose and she remembered the sound of her name on his lips. ‘Er...thank you, Brady. If you go out by the kitchen you might ask Bets to bring up a pot of tea?’ She looked at Ash. ‘Or coffee?’ He looked tired, she realised, as though he’d slept badly. Dark shadows wreathed his eyes, and his mouth looked grim. As though he had as many worries nipping at his heels as she did.

‘Tea will be fine,’ he said.

* * *

As they struggled through the niceties of him removing gloves, great coat and muffler and drawing near the fire, along with Maddy’s stilted remarks about the weather and it being a long ride from his home, Ash wondered if she might be regretting her letter. The dog remained with them, close by Maddy’s side. Ketch had not so much as growled at him again, but Ash knew that at the least threat to Maddy the dog would be in front of her, ready to defend. He’d once seen the dog take down a tramp who had threatened her.

He waited until an elderly woman appeared with a tea tray, along with a suspicious glare for him. She set the tray at one end of the huge refectory table, where it looked as though Maddy had been attending to some business, and left them.

‘Will you be seated, sir?’

At the polite invitation, he said simply, ‘You called me Ash the other day. Are we back to “sir” and “Miss Kirkby”?’

She flushed. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘After that letter?’ He snorted as he sat down. ‘Curiosity, if nothing else, would have got me here.’

He watched her as she poured the tea, handed him a cup and a piece of shortbread. Her tawny hair was pinned up simply, as though she’d had no time for more, and the shadows he’d seen beneath her eyes the other day had deepened. Now he knew what had put them there, knew he could lift the weight of care from her slender shoulders.

He sipped his tea. ‘Why me, Maddy?’ His conversation with Blakiston had been illuminating, but he wanted to know why she would take this risk. Because it was a risk for her. She knew so little about him, and marriage could potentially hand him complete control of her lands and person. Why had she chosen to trust him?

Her cup rattled in its saucer as she set it down. ‘Why? Because it’s that or lose Haydon.’

‘There were other fellows, Maddy. Men you knew better, who were prepared to brave Montfort’s bluster and marry you. You refused them all.’

She bit her lip. ‘They didn’t actually want Haydon. Just the price of its sale, or the acres and the money they could get for letting the house, or even demolishing it for the stone. The Wall, too.’

His gut twisted, and as if she knew she looked up and met his gaze. ‘Nor would it have saved my household. They would all have lost their positions, their homes.’

He nodded slowly. Blakiston had already told him this. She could have saved herself by marriage, but for her it was all or nothing. He knew from Blakiston that she ran Haydon efficiently. It wasn’t a massive holding, but it was productive. She was managing perfectly well by herself. She didn’t really need a husband; she just needed to save her home from Montfort.

And for himself? It would be the chance he wanted to excavate a stretch of the Wall uninterrupted. See if he was right about there being a fort on the northeast corner of Haydon land near the river.

And there was Madeleine Kirkby herself. The sort of woman who had chosen to stand with her people rather than save herself. The sort of woman who could haunt a man’s dreams....

He glanced around as they drank their tea. The great hall looked much as he remembered it. Once, he thought, the walls would have been covered in tapestries, bright and glowing in the firelight. Instead, someone in the past century or so had added panelling in a rich, gleaming oak. Worn Turkish carpets were scattered here and there on the wide-planked floor. There were no paintings, but a pair of crossed swords beside the fireplace.

He gestured to them. ‘Why not above the fireplace?’

She raised her brows. ‘Harder to get at in a hurry.’

Wry amusement made him smile. ‘Do you think the Scots are going to come marauding again?’

She laughed. ‘No. But they’ve always been there.’

Tradition, then. He could respect that. ‘Will you show me around?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been past this hall.’

She frowned. ‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘If you expect me to invest, I need to see what you’re offering.’ Apart from yourself. He left that unsaid, and wished he’d left it unthought.

She seemed to relax. ‘Very well. What would you like to see?’

He smiled. ‘Well, everything, I suppose.’

‘Everything? Even the root cellar?’

‘Definitely the root cellar.’

She scowled and he had to fight to repress a grin. ‘For goodness’ sake! You can’t possibly think the root cellar’s important!’

He lost the battle with his grin. ‘It is if you like buttered parsnips.’

* * *

Despair grew in Maddy as she showed him around, Ketch at their heels. He’d said from top to bottom, and she did just that. Everything. Kitchens, storage rooms, root cellar, the cool, tiled dairy, the old north solar that was now a library-cum-drawing room, the one-time garde tower converted to extra bedchambers; she showed him all over the house, and with every step her heart sank lower.

They went back through the hall, collected his coat and her cloak and went out through the main doors into the wind that snapped and whistled about them, down the steps to the courtyard and out to the stables. There the great shire horses that worked the fields snorted softly in greeting, and her cob, little Bunty, whiffled for the carrot she’d brought.

Ash checked on his elegant mare, who seemed comfortable enough with a pile of hay. He asked where she kept her carriage and she showed him. Not that there was a carriage, only the gig, along with the farm carts. There was, she assured him nervously, room if he wanted a proper closed carriage, and more horses. He nodded, frowning slightly.

She showed him into the walled garden with its wintry, bare vegetable beds and skeletal fruit trees, rimed with snow. He said very little, but she could tell he was taking everything in and her heart wept for this last lost chance.

Only a fool could have thought for a minute that he would be interested in Haydon at all. She had visited his home, Ravensfell Castle, with her mother once as a child. All of Haydon would fit into its outer bailey. And Ravensfell was grand, luxurious, with state apartments where Good Queen Bess had stayed on one of her progressions around the country. This—Haydon—was not what he was used to. If Good Queen Bess had even known it was here it was as much as she’d done. Perhaps he’d just come so that he could let her down gently. Or perhaps he had not really remembered Haydon at all after so many years.

The sun flickered out as she was leading him along the narrow path around the outside of the walls, high above the river. The pale light splashed briefly on the soft greyish-brown stone and was gone again. Ketch spotted a rabbit and took off after it in a silent rush. Maddy’s eyes pricked and she dashed at them, shoving back a loose curl whipping her face. Beyond the wind’s cry the river sang and a sheep bleated. They had stopped and were looking down over the valley, bare and bleak in its white veil. Across the valley and beyond the fells clouds loomed in heavy-laden masses. More snow. She looked at Ash. He would need to leave soon or be caught in it.

She dragged in a deep breath. Better a swift blow than a lingering agony. ‘This isn’t at all the sort of thing you are used to, is it?’ she said, trying to keep the bitterness of despair out of her voice. She loved Haydon so much, it was hard to accept that to others, like Edward, or her brother Stephen, it was just an inconvenient, isolated pile of dressed stone.

He shook his head. ‘No. Not at all.’

She nodded. ‘I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea. I should have known better.’

He frowned. ‘Maddy. I lived in an officer’s tent on campaign in Spain and Portugal for five years. There is nothing wrong with Haydon.’

She didn’t quite believe it. ‘But—Ravensfell—’

‘Is Gerald’s home. Not mine.’ He turned and took her gloved hand. ‘I don’t want Ravensfell, or anything like it, even if I could afford it.’

His voice was absolute, and her heart skipped several beats as he drew her a little closer.

‘Maddy, are you quite sure you don’t regret that letter?’

Mute, she shook her head, staring up at him. Surely—?

‘Well, in that case—’ Strong hands enclosed hers, held them safe. ‘It was a very nice proposal, but I find myself quite unable to accept it, so...’

She tried to pull away as pain slashed at her, but his hands tightened on hers.

‘Madeleine Kirkby, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage and be my wife?’

Her heart stopped as she stared up into the sea-grey eyes. ‘You’ll marry me? You want Haydon?’

‘I want to marry you,’ he said.

They stood in a sheltered corner between two of the buttresses, out of the worst of the wind. Soon, thought Maddy, she would wake up and realise that she had been dreaming, that she was still trapped in the nightmare reality of losing Haydon and failing her people. But here and now, in this dream with its biting cold, she had—

‘Maddy?’

She realised that she hadn’t accepted. ‘Yes. Yes, please,’ she said very politely.

A sound that might have been a laugh escaped him. ‘Shall we seal that in the usual way?’ he suggested.

She frowned up at him. He was still holding her hands. But she supposed it was a sort of bargain between them. ‘You want to shake hands on it?’ She didn’t imagine he’d want to spit in his palm first.

This time he definitely laughed. ‘No. I’ve a better idea.’

Before she could even draw breath to ask what it was, he released her hands—but only to take her in his arms and bring her closer. Her breath shortened at the startling strength that surrounded her, held her. She had never been this close to a man. She had not realised that a man could be so...hard. Certainly she had not known it was possible to feel utterly safe and shatteringly vulnerable at the same moment.

‘Maddy.’ Somehow he’d shed a glove, and his bare hand was under her chin, lifting it. And not just lifting it but feathering along the line of her jaw, tracing the curve, while his thumb stroked across her lips. The shock of his touch burned through her, melting thought and scattering her wits.

Then his mouth was on hers.

She had always thought, assumed, that kissing was a mere bumping of mouths, slightly ridiculous and possibly revolting if someone had bad teeth.

This, Ash’s kiss, was not a mere anything. Nor was it ridiculous or revolting. It was a revelation. His mouth moved on hers, warm and supple, in a caress that not only stole her wits but removed all desire for their return. Feeling was enough. Tentatively, unsure of the correct thing to do, Maddy returned his kiss and gasped, fire spinning through her as his arms tightened.

* * *

Ash thought he might explode at that first shy response. Her lips were so damn soft, so sweet, as they moved hesitantly against his. Torn between the aching need for more and the restraining knowledge that she was an innocent, he touched his tongue to her lips, licked into the seam. She gasped, her lips parting, and he pressed into the honeyed sweetness, taking her mouth, tasting and teasing. Honey. Spice. Something that must be Maddy.

God help him, he’d been wanting to kiss her since seeing her in Blakiston’s office the other day. He’d known he wanted to kiss her. He just hadn’t known how much. He certainly hadn’t had the least conception of how her kissing him would affect him. Nor had he realised just how good her slight curves would feel pressed against him. In short, he’d expected to kiss her, enjoy it and be able to let her go.

He couldn’t. Not easily. With a savage effort of will he broke the kiss. His breathing harsh, he held her. Just held her. Fiercely aware of her shaken breath, the soft curves pressed against him, the burn of his blood and the ache in his groin.

Two weeks and we’ll be married.

‘This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life,’ he said, not quite recognising the rough voice that came from him.

* * *

Maddy took a deep breath, fighting back against the wave of panic. This wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Scions of ducal houses were meant to know all about marriages of convenience and what they entailed.

Marriages of convenience did not entail forbidden kisses under the walls of the castle. They did not entail finding oneself locked in Ash Ravensfell’s arms and wanting to remain there for ever, pressed against his heart. They certainly should not entail this singing leap in her own blood and heart at the thought that he might want her, Maddy Kirkby. Not just Haydon.

He’s always been kind. And...and honourable.

She let that first breath out and took another. ‘You don’t have to pretend pretty stories for me, Ash.’ His arms hardened, but she forced herself on. ‘We both know it’s Haydon you want. I’m offering a marriage of convenience.’

She found herself set back from him in one swift move, his narrowed eyes boring into her as he gripped her shoulders.

‘A marriage of convenience.’

She got her breath under control. Sort of. ‘Yes. You don’t have to pretend.’

‘Pretend what? That I desire you?’

Why the devil did she have to blush? ‘Yes. That. You can’t—’

‘Desiring the woman you plan to marry seems perfectly convenient to me.’

His voice was cool. And there was no answer to that flawless logic. Not that she could make.

He went on. ‘Men do that, Maddy. Desire women. All the time. Were you envisaging a marriage in name only?’

‘What?’ For a moment she didn’t follow his meaning. Then, ‘No!’ She wasn’t such a ninny that she had expected that. Besides, she thought children might be rather nice one day.

‘Good,’ he said flatly. ‘Because you wouldn’t get it.’ One long finger traced the line of her throat, set little flames dancing under the skin, stole her breath. ‘And,’ he added softly, that wicked finger finding her frantic pulse beat, stroking, ‘I really can’t see a problem with us desiring each other.’

Desiring each other? Was that what she felt? ‘Er...’

‘In fact,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t tried to speak, ‘it makes it a great deal easier.’

She stared up at him. At the mouth, now faintly smiling, that had just kissed her senseless. All very well for him. As he’d said, men desired women all the time. And until he’d kissed her, she, too, had thought a marriage of convenience would be easy. Until she’d realised that her stupid, girlish tendre for him had required only one devastating kiss, one gentle caress, to flare back to inconvenient, embarrassing life.

An odd look flashed across his face. ‘Ah, you do know what happens, don’t you, Maddy?’

Her cheeks flamed. ‘Of course I do! I’ve brought plenty of rams and bulls to tup, and...’ Her breath shortened and her heart pounded as his gaze seared her. ‘I...I mean, I know it’s not exactly the same, but—’ Something in his eyes silenced her.

‘I think,’ he said, in a tight, strained voice, ‘that we’ve been out here as long as is safe.’

‘Safe?’ she asked.

‘That’s correct,’ he said, still in that strange tone. ‘You aren’t safe.’

She stared. ‘I’m not?’

‘No. You aren’t.’