by Janet Woods
The noises of the house seemed louder and more menacing tonight. There was a scratching sound from the wall and the floor cracked, as if someone was creeping across it. Somewhere, a door creaked open. Ears strained, and breath bated, she waited for it to close. Prickles raced up her spine when it banged shut.
Perhaps Gerard had awakened and was seeking her out? Her heart began to race against her reason. He would beat her for disobeying him. When he saw the pink bow tied to his toe he was bound to misinterpret the meaning, would think she mocked him. She was wide awake now. Shivering with cold, her nerves ragged, she wished she had someone to talk to. ‘Grandmother!’ Relief flooded her as she whispered the name. Lady Edwina always stayed awake until midnight. Gerard would not seek her there. Scrambling from the bed, she wrapped herself warmly in her cloak and headed silently towards the comfort of the old lady’s bedchamber.
‘Willow?’ Edwina smiled as the dejected figure slid silently into her bedchamber and seated herself on the edge of the bed. She was trembling with cold. She laid her wrinkled hand over the younger, softer one. ‘You’re troubled about something?’
‘I’m cold and in need of counsel.’
‘And some hot chocolate, no doubt. My maid is just making me a cup before retiring.’ She drew back the bedclothes. ‘Come, my dear, join me. We might as well be comfortable.’
Throwing of her cloak, Willow snuggled up to Lady Edwina and said forlornly. ‘I’m a failure as a wife. My husband will be most surely be displeased with me.’
Chapter Six
It was not like Jeffrey to still be in bed, Willow thought, glancing back at the house.
Their mounts were saddled and waiting, Jeffrey’s hound quivered at her heels in anticipation of his morning run. Circe stamped at the cobbles with impatience. Now and again, she arched her neck trying to jerk the reins out of the stable boy’s hands. She was unsettling the rest of the stable.
Today, Willow needed to ride. Edgy and impatient, a deep restlessness rode her body, infusing her with energy. Already, her wrath had fallen on the hapless Kitty, whose dereliction of her duties would have been rewarded with instant dismissal had she been servant to another. Knowing such an act would force her to admit that the anticipated union with her husband had been a failure, she’d been loathed to charge her maid with disobedience. She’d been equally short with Brian. To her chagrin, the groom had chosen something else to do rather than pass the time of day. Now tight-lipped with anger, she decided if Jeffrey proved too lazy to rise on time, she’d ride alone.
Slapping her whip against her boot she turned towards her horse. Seconds later she gazed down at the stable boy from Circe’s back. ‘When my brother-in-law arrives, tell him I’ve taken the cliff path.’ They rarely went that way. The cliff edge had been undercut by storms. But Willow was aware of the areas of danger, and decided to simply avoid them.
She’d not counted on the path being nearly obliterated. Reining in, she gazed across the sloping expanse of cliff top. The path was barely discernible, an indentation amongst the snow covered tufts of tough coastal grass that bound the chalky cliff face to the land. The sky threatened more snow.
To her right was the sea, its sound oddly muffled, the surface heaving sluggishly. A thick mist vaporized from the water, suspending above the surface like a cold grey, writhing shroud. The horizon was hidden from view. She shivered, wondering if she should turn back.
The hound had no such qualms. Bounding along the pathway, he sniffed this way and that, pausing only to gaze at her with bright inquisitive eyes, as if to reassure himself of her companionship. She smiled, her temper forgotten. ‘All right, I’m coming.’ She gave a fleeting thought to the fact her actions might be considered reckless, then dismissed it. If she followed the dog’s footprints no harm would befall her.
Halfway across the bluff, she gasped with surprise when the mist momentarily lifted. Anchored beyond the entrance to the sandy cove bordering Sheronwood estate, was a ship. A boat lay at an angle on the shore, beached by a tide that had ebbed, leaving a curved line of seaweed in the sand. Above the line, the sand was disturbed. Smugglers? A delicious thrill of terror raced through her. There was a cave in the cliff, and tunnels running directly to the cellars of Sheronwood. The tunnels had been walled up for many years. During storms, or when the tides ran high, the cave and tunnels flooded. Jeffrey had told her the sounds of the sea echoed through the walls of Sheronwood House, if an ear was pressed to them.
A movement caught her eye. Two men emerged from the cave and dragged the boat towards the sea. When one of them beckoned, a woman and man emerged from the cave, leading some half-a- dozen children of various ages. They were ill-dressed for the bitter, winter weather. Her heart went out to them. She wondered if they were children left orphaned after the smallpox epidemic. She’d found homes for some of the orphans with local families. The parish couldn’t afford to pay much for their keep. Often, they were taken in on sufferance then abandoned on the steps of the almshouse. Her dream was to fund a small orphanage in the village, so they could be cared for. The children were shepherded into the boat and rowed towards the ship. The woman and man turned back towards the cave.
The hound suddenly spotted them. He gave a great baying bark, attracting the attention of the man. Raising his head, he gazed into her eyes for a few seconds. Then a gust of wind and a spatter of snowflakes obliterated the landscape. Everything disappeared into a maelstrom of white.
Aware she’d placed herself in danger by her impetuous behaviour, Willow gazed about her in despair. The blinding snow had a disorientating effect. Her glance sought out the dog’s footprints. They were almost gone. Sliding from Circe’s back she called the hound to heel. He seemed to have found a more interesting pursuit, for the faint echo of frenzied barking was born upon the wind.
Carefully she trudged across, growing colder by the minute. She’d wished she’d waited for Jeffrey instead of being so hasty.
She sighed with relief when the snow thinned. The frenzied bark of the hound reached her ears. He sounded quite close. Once again, he ignored her command.
‘Damn the dog,’ she muttered, ‘he must have cornered a rabbit.’ The noise gave her direction, and she trudged numbly towards it.
‘What the devil!’ The animal’s front legs were bound together. It struggled on its side, unable to get itself upright. Drawing her knife, she slashed through the leather thong.
A hand descended on her shoulder and spun her round. Eyes widening, Willow stared into a pair mean eyes. Her immediate reaction was to defend herself. The man uttered an obscenity as her knife sliced across his fingers. Blood spurted as he dashed the knife from her hand and raised a clenched fist on high. Circe whinnied with fear and jerked out of her grasp. The dog saw a game within his grasp and chased after the horse, snapping at her heels. Willow followed suit before the fist could descend. Her breath panted in terrified gasps as she scrambled up the slope on all fours. Gaining the summit, her legs refused to carry her any further and she sank to the ground with a frustrated cry.
Seconds later the man loomed menacingly into her vision. She just had enough energy left to sink her teeth into her assailant’s hand when he reached out for her. If she was to be raped or murdered, she’d not leave the perpetrator of the crime unscathed.
‘Lucifer’s oath!’ A hand clutched her collar. Hauled to her feet she was shaken like a rat in the jaws of a dog. Her teeth sank deeper in protest. When the shaking stopped, her nose was pinched in a painful tweak. Forced to release her grip in order to breathe, she lashed out with her foot, managing to connect with a shinbone.
Ouch! Calm down you little savage. You’ve drawn blood.’
‘Gerard?’ His voice was furious, but so welcome she threw herself against him and clung on tight, near to hysterics. ‘Thank God! I thought you were him.’
‘Him?’ His hands gripped her shoulders, thrusting her away from him. Suspicious eyes gazed down at her. ‘You were with a man?’
‘Hah!�
�� she cried indignantly, thinking it was in character for Gerard to misinterpret the situation. ‘Do you imagine I’d brave such weather for an assignation with some man? I was accosted a short time ago.’ Aware that the end of her nose was throbbing, she scowled as she gently caressed it. ‘Are you always so rough with women?’
The short bark of laughter he gave held no humor. ‘Only when her jaws have the grip of a terrier.’ He displayed her handiwork to her. Bright beads of blood oozed from the indentation her teeth had made. ‘I hope you do not suffer from mad-dog disease.’
‘I trust not, also.’ She pulled the scarf from her hat. ‘I’m truly sorry. Allow me to bind the wound.’
‘There’s really no need,’ he grumbled, allowing her to do it anyway. When she’d finished, he drew his glove over her handiwork.
Despite his tense smile, his expression was grim as he gazed at her. ‘Why do you ride unescorted on the cliff face in such foul weather, and why you feel the need to wear unfeminine dress abroad? Also, I’m interested in the man you mention. Who is he? Why were you running from him?’
‘So many questions,’ she countered lightly, needing time to consider her answers. ‘Can this interrogation wait until we reach Lytton House? I’m numb with cold.’
‘Do not attempt to play on my sympathy.’ His gaze bordered on unfriendly. ‘I’ll keep you here all day if necessary. I demand to know who the man is.’
She sighed. ‘I have no idea.’ Biting her bottom lip to keep her teeth from chattering she slapped her arms against her body. The only thing warm about her was the tip of her abused nose, and even that was beginning to cool. ‘He was on the beach by the cave with a woman. They brought some children from the cave, then rowed them out to the ship.’
‘What nonsense is this?’ His voice was sharp with disbelief.
‘It’s not nonsense.’ Stamping her feet to get some warmth into them, she frowned. ‘The man saw me, then the snow began to fall.’ Reaction to her narrow escape made her tremble. ‘The man lay in wait for me at the bottom of the slope. I… cut him on the hand to get away.’
‘You cut him?’ Seizing her by the wrist he dragged her towards the slope. ‘If this is the truth, there will be evidence.’
‘Pray do not make me go down there again,’ she cried, digging her heels into the snow. ‘My legs will not carry me back up again.’
‘Then I’ll do it for them.’
‘What if he’s still there?’ Carried forward by his impetus she stumbled after him.
Gerard was grim-faced as he he drew his sword from its scabbard. ‘I’ll ask him what fate he intended for my wife and bring him to account for it.’ He slid to a halt at the bottom and Willow’s breath grunted from her body as she collided into his back. ‘It seems you were telling the truth.’ Retrieving her knife, he handed it to her before examining the marks of a scuffle in the snow. A blood-spotted trail of footprints led towards Sheronwood. He gazed out to sea, but the snow was swirling thickly now. ‘Come,’ he grunted, holding out a hand to her. ‘You can save your explanation until we return home.’
‘I must find Circe.’ Slipping her hand into his she was drawn close to his side. His arm slid around her body, supporting her as they made their way to the top.
‘Jeffrey’s in pursuit of her.’
‘He’ll be in pursuit all day,’ she said giving a laugh. ‘Circe will respond to no one but Brian O’Shea and myself.’
Gerard had already discovered that for himself. The mare had more quirks than a Jesuit priest. But then, so had he. ‘What about the stable boy?’
‘What stable boy?’
Willow’s eyes flew open when he gave a grim smile. His voice assumed a silky edge that made her want to groan. One unguarded moment and she was undone.
‘I thought as much. Jeffrey lied to me. It was you riding Circe on the day I arrived home.’
She hung her head for a moment. ‘If he lied it was only to protect me from your wrath.’ She glanced at his eyes to see if they contained anger. They were as grey as sky above, and devoid of expression. She felt unaccountably nervous. ‘I trust he will not get into trouble on my account.’
‘Very laudable.’
His dry tone to brought flags of color to her cheeks. ‘He was teaching me to use a saddle,’ she said a little desperately. ‘I’d always ridden barebacked before. You startled us, and we thought you’d disapprove.’
‘Barebacked?’ Disbelief replaced the blandness. ‘Do you asking me to believe Circe can be ridden barebacked by a woman? You haven’t the strength to control her.’
Taking her by the waist he lifted her side-on to the saddle and mounted behind her. ‘Take care,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Your tales begin to assume an aura of incredibility. You’ll try my patience too far one of these days.’
‘As you try mine,’ she seethed, resenting his assumption that because she was female she could not ride as well as him. ‘Why should I boast about such a trifling matter? Circe is my horse. I should know whether or not she can be ridden that way. Brian O’Shea gave the filly to me after her mother died. I raised her myself.’
‘Which accounts for her capricious nature no doubt,’ he said grimly.
She bit her tongue. There was no sense in arguing with someone so mulish in disposition. The snow was not so thick away from the cliff edge. The air was considerably warmer. Picking up the tracks of horses they headed towards the forest path. Willow noticed the ribbons on Gerard’s hat, one blue, the other pink. He wore them like a cockade, as if to remind both himself and her of the relationship binding them. He owned her body and soul.
Color raced to her face. She turned her head against his chest, grateful for his warmth. It was hard to maintain anger when the very gait of the horse forced her to keep her arms around his waist for support. His body was hard and muscular, his thighs firmly molded to the horse, his hands strong and sensitive in their guidance. His masculine smell and closeness brought a disturbing weakness to her limbs, yet there was nothing threatening about it. Her ear lay against his chest, absorbing every beat of his heart. It quickened when they spotted Jeffrey in the distance. Circe was circling him with long stiff-legged strides, her tail plumed up high. She laughed with delight. ‘She’ s playing games with him. I beg you watch for a few moments, Gerard. Her antics will put you in good humor again.’
Gerard was chuckling a few minutes later when he urged his mount into a canter. As she clung tighter, she was drawn hard against his body and matched her movements to his. Anger dissipated, they began to enjoy the chase and were both laughing when they caught Jeffrey up.
Jeffrey grinned when Circe high-stepped towards Willow. Giving a high-pitched snicker that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, she tossed her head up and down. ‘I’ll be damned,’ Gerard breathed. ‘I’ve never seen the like of such a creature. Her disposition has improved since… He wasn’t about to admit he’d failed in trying to ride her, so finished lamely, ‘… she came to Lytton House.’
‘Circe was raised in the Irish countryside.’ Willow’s eyes grew distant. ‘She was not used to the harsh treatment she received in London, nor the confinement of the city. She loves it here as much as I do.’ Her voice lapsed into a soft lilt as she held out her hands to the horse. ‘She’s a wild and lovely creature to be sure, and the country suits her well. Come to me, Circe. We’ll fly together you and I, like we did at Coringal.’
Nervously, because she didn’t trust Gerard, Circe edged forward to Willow’s urging. ‘Come, girl,’ she whispered, he’ll not harm you.’
She slid from the horse when Circe held back, using Gerard’s arm to swing herself down. She landed lightly on the balls of her feet, the movement unconsciously graceful.
Gerard glanced at his brother, and was transfixed by the expression in his eyes. A lump came into his throat. Jeffrey would always love her, and nothing would change that. He decided to gift Jeffrey the plantation in Virginia when the time was right. Distance would make the situation easier for all of them. Eventu
ally, another woman would fulfill his dreams and needs. So intent was he in watching the play of emotion on his brother’s face, he missed what Willow was doing. Jeffrey dismounted, and making a stirrup with his hands tossed her lightly onto Circe’s back. Fear sprang like a tiger into his breast when he saw the discarded saddle.
‘I forbid you to do this,’ he shouted, as horse and rider moved away from him. ‘Stop! I command you.’
‘She cannot hear you.’ Jeffrey’s eyes were calm as he watched Gerard take off after Willow. He smiled sadly to himself. ‘No one will tame her wild spirit, not even you.’
Gerard intended to tame her. Angry at her recklessness, his pride took a beating when his attempts to catch her failed. She seemed to be one with the horse as she cleared obstacles he found daunting himself. She appeared to have no regard for either herself or the mare.
It seemed nothing short of a miracle that they both escaped injury. Willow must have realized it too. She’d prudently made herself scarce by the time he rode in, leaving her horse to the ministrations of the groom.
‘Lady Sommersley is no longer allowed to ride that mare,’ he ground out.
‘But, sir,’ Brian protested, ‘Circe has been ridden by the mistress since she could take her weight.’
‘Enough!’ Gerard snapped, his anger born from his fear for Willow’s safety, and fuelled by her refusal to heed him. That the fear seemed groundless now was of no consequence, yet the accusation in the groom’s eyes pricked his conscience. The woman was making a fool of him, he told himself, his pride inflated by his need to exert his authority. He intended to make her suffer by withdrawing from her that which she loved most. ‘You will exercise the mare yourself. Is that understood?’
‘It is.’ Brian’s voice was just within the range of civil. ‘Will there be anything else, My Lord?’
‘No, there will not.’ Ignoring the man’s surly tone and not bothering to wait for Jeffrey, he strode off towards the house at a blistering pace, determined to take Willow to task when time allowed.
