She knew she was being silly. She knew, or rather, she’d been told repeatedly by the scientifically observant Orion, that snakes were more frightened of her than she was of them.
“Horse apples,” she muttered. “Rion, you are full of horse apples!”
These were not ordinary snakes. These were demon snakes, sent from some snake hell to enact revenge upon her for all the creatures captured, kept, and/or dissected by her curious brothers. Yes, and Attie as well, although Callie blamed Cas and Poll for her baby sister’s diabolical bent.
Although, to be fair, it had been Orion who had put the snake eggs in Callie’s bed when the family had gone on holiday in the country. True, he’d only been twelve years old on that trip, and true, the hatched snakes had been tiny green things, no bigger than a pencil. But it hadn’t been until she was fully asleep that her investigative brother had slipped the eggs into her bed to keep them warm, because, as he quite logically explained afterward, if he put them in his bed, Lysander would have rolled over onto them.
The hatchlings, quite logically, decided to find the warmest place about—this was according to Orion, for Callie had no actual conversation with the snakes themselves—which happened to be none other than Callie’s … um … nethers.
She’d woken at the wriggling between her thighs and had shrieked the roof of the inn down, rousing every single guest and servant to rush to her aid where they found her climbing her bedpost like a bell rope in her panic. Naked.
She’d been so sure there were more snakes in her nightdress that she’d stripped it from her without a thought.
A handful of tiny green snakes had left her so afraid that she’d shamelessly exposed herself in front of strangers.
Two dozen yard-long black shapes now writhed on the floor below her. They were as black as night and as thick as sausages. Fascinated by their slithering explorations, Callie could not look away.
She rather thought she’d happily parade herself before an entire garrison if only said garrison would pool their combined might and break down the bloody cellar door!
Yet for all the maddened panic boiling up within her, she didn’t shriek. She didn’t make a sound. She didn’t dare. If the snakes had been attracted by her nearly silent footsteps, what might they do if she disturbed them with her shouting?
There was nothing to do but wait. She was high and safe, with her one salvaged apple and her trusty lantern. Determined to be courageous in her captivity, Callie took the apple from her pocket and polished it on her skirt.
Unfortunately, the apple had a worm.
Even more regrettably, the lantern was almost out of oil.
* * *
It seemed to Callie that a hundred years had passed in the dark. Then, a scrape assaulted her ears and light jangled her wide-open eyes.
“Eh, missus? You in ’ere?”
“Yes!” Oh, the snakes! “Shh!”
But the man had already turned away to call out to someone behind him. Callie blinked desperately to accustom her eyes. She’d been staring into the black for days, or possibly only hours—the longest hours of her life. Still perched high on the teetering crates, she sat with her lantern clutched in her hands, though it was cold and dead.
Her bones were frozen in place, she just knew it. She’d spend the rest of her life just like this, bent and immobile, her hands clutching air. Her family would have to push her about in a barrow. Cas and Poll would probably push her down the stairs.
As her life in the barrow welled up in her mind’s eye, tears welled up in her real eyes. She stopped them at once, for a dark form blocked the rectangle of dim blue light beaming through the small door.
Evening? Must be …
Ren ducked through the cellar door and trotted quickly down the stairs, his gaze locked on the ridiculous tableau before him. Raising his lantern high, he took in the sight of his bride perched atop a dangerous stack of boxes like a rumpled dirty doll on a shelf. The floor was littered with apples. He refused to acknowledge the depth of his relief.
“Be careful,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes wide and frightened. “They’re everywhere!”
I married the only woman in the world terrified of apples. It’s a bloody good thing she’s pretty.
Ren handed his lantern off to the village man who’d found her. “Hold this, will you … ah?”
“Teager, sir.”
“Yes, thank you, Teager.”
It was only a bit of a reach to her. Ren wrapped his hands about her waist and lifted her down. Just before he let her feet touch the floor, she wrapped her arms tightly about his neck and would drop no farther. The lantern banged into his spine.
“No! They’ll get me!”
The novel sensation of being clung to aside—she was a soft, pliant burden that made his thoughts go a bit sideways—Ren feared that physically wresting her grip from his neck would paint quite a picture for Teager and the other men now clattering down the cellar stairs. So he held her off the floor until he had taken her several steps up the stairs. Then he lowered her to sit upon the stone.
“Here, let me take this.” Crouching before her, he carefully pried her icy fingers from the empty lantern.
She released it, then wrapped her arms about her midriff. She was cold, but Ren wanted to understand why he’d been forced to rally a motley crew of strangers from the village and surrounding farms to search his estate for the past seven hours. Straightening, he removed his own surcoat and wrapped her in it, pulling her clenched hands through the sleeves as though he dressed a small child.
“Now, what happened down here?”
She swallowed and licked her dry lips. He tried not to be distracted by the flick of pink tongue.
I want that tongue.
“Th-the door shut on m-me.”
“Aye, that was like to be the wind, missus.” That was Teager, who hovered over Ren’s left shoulder.
“N-no, I blocked it open, w-with a bit of wood.”
Ren looked over his shoulder at Teager, who had been the first at the door. Teager spread his hands in a silent shrug, unwilling to put the lie to a lady.
“Then I c-couldn’t open it.” She looked at Ren with suspicion. “Someone blocked it!”
Teager shifted behind Ren. “Well, it do stick a bit, right enough. Naught but a good shove wouldn’t open it for ye.”
She raised her gaze to the village man. “I sh-shoved!”
Ren pulled her attention back by the simple expedient of turning her by her chin until her gaze met his. “But why did you not call out? We’ve been searching all day, dozens of us. Someone would have heard you.”
She shrank again, curling about herself. “I didn’t want the snakes to hear me.”
Someone behind Ren muffled a snort of laughter. “Snakes don’t ’ave ears.”
Ren pulled her chin up again. “There are no snakes here.”
She must have been warming up, for a bit of spirit rose in her haunted eyes and she twitched her chin from his grip. “There were. A great many. I counted them, or I tried to … they move, you know. All over the floor, a river of snakes…” Her shivering intensified. “They could hear me. Every step I took—I couldn’t g-get to the stairs—”
Ren straightened and gazed down at his wife with disappointment and growing fury. It was a ridiculous story, obviously meant to cover her embarrassment over shutting herself in the cellar like a helpless child. He’d been forced to face strangers, pounding on their doors in his damned hood, his gut roiling, feeling like a beggar, enduring their wary stares all day—
“Well, you’ve certainly received more than your share of attention lately.”
Her head came up in surprise at the anger in his tone. “Or did you not know that half the village was made ill after you gave them that damned ginger?”
“Ill? No, it couldn’t have been the ginger—that was a gift from—oh no, the card—”
He narrowed his eyes. “So now you think someone was trying to poison you instead?”
>
She bit her lip, blinking at him with eyes wide and tearful. Ren refused to play along.
“Take yourself off to the house and clean up, for pity’s sake. You look like an urchin.”
He turned his back on her and faced Teager. “Is there someone in the village who can fix the bloody door?”
“Yes, sir.” Teager’s gaze went behind Ren, following Mrs. Porter up the stairs. It was refreshing, really, not being the one watched.
“Good. And if you lot wouldn’t mind, get those damned crates out of here.”
“Certainly, sir. The grocer can sure make use of ’em.” Teager frowned slightly. “Will she be all right, sir?”
“She’ll be fine,” Ren said shortly, then turned to stride up the narrow stairs. “I’m the one she’ll be the bloody death of.”
Ren turned away from the controlled chaos in the cellar and stalked back to the house. The path through the kitchens was deserted, as was the front hall. The girl had evidently not lingered, which was all to the good. He didn’t really want to face her again in his current anger.
* * *
Callie prepared for bed as Mr. Porter preferred, yet the usual shiver of anticipation was missing tonight. She’d thought that after last night’s exultant connection, there would be some hint of something in his manner toward her. Nothing seemed to be working. No matter how she tried, she could not seem to reach through Mr. Porter’s harsh exterior shell.
There was something good and true inside him, she just knew it. Like this house, though he’d been left alone too long, it was not too late to recover the strength and goodness within. Tears of weariness, body and soul, stung behind her eyes. Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps she was just a silly girl locked in a devil’s bargain with a man who was just what he seemed … irretrievably lost.
She sat upon the coverlet, tucking her icy feet beneath her on the mattress. As she brushed her hair down the way Mr. Porter liked it her shoulders slumped.
She was so very tired. Her back ached from the tension of her bizarre perch all day. Her nerves were quite shot—once she nearly leaped a mile when she heard a sudden hissing. It was only a bit of steam escaping the coals, yet she’d felt her belly shudder with fright at the simplest and most ordinary of sounds.
Fear of snakes … it looks as though I’m still going to have to work on that one.
The brush dropped from her fingers as she stared glassily into the coals. She wished he would come soon. The faster she gained her pearls the sooner she could go home, and far away from him … and his bloody cellar.
* * *
Striding into his study, Ren tossed back his hood and passed a hand across his damp brow. He’d tramped more miles of his estate today than in the past years altogether! Forced outside into the day, yet. What could she have been thinking to cause such mayhem? As a ploy for attention, it had most certainly succeeded—except her eyes when he’d found her had not been triumphant or even pleased. She had only seemed profoundly exhausted, as if held in a state of true terror for some eternal time.
Apples. A snort of amusement escaped him unaware. Good God.
Was she mad, or simply maddening? He truly couldn’t tell. Part willing vixen, part runaway bride—
Truth or lie? What part of her was the true woman and what part a game she played? He didn’t know. Moreover, he wondered if she even knew.
The oddest part, the part that he only reluctantly allowed himself to consider even now, was that he’d been sincerely worried about her today. Which was only responsible, of course. She was his legal wife.
Yet that didn’t explain the subtle but deep strand of black terror that had run through this bizarre day. He’d been afraid, not just for her, but for himself in some strange way. He’d feared …
The loss of her.
He sat abruptly. Oh, hell. He wasn’t getting attached, was he? When she was such a wild, exasperating mess of a creature? When she’d plainly stated her desire to leave as soon as he allowed it?
Another thought occurred to him. Had today’s display been a calculated attempt to force his hand? To make of herself such an unbearable burden that he would gladly throw her back to her family? Games … rules … boundaries … he feared he was the only one who did not know how to play.
His hands, draped over his knees, closed about nothing. He looked down to see his knuckles whitening at the very thought of letting her go.
You are in for it now. Because she is leaving. Every day, every night she grows closer to completing her side of the bargain.
When she had, would he be able to complete his?
“Sir?” The gruff voice of the village man, Teager, came from the doorway. Ren remained turned away.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Sir, the missus said there were snakes—”
“The missus says a great many things,” Ren snapped, his bitterness rising without reason.
“Er, yes, sir, only—when we moved them crates out, sir, we found this.”
Reluctant but resigned, Ren flipped his hood back over his face and turned to see that Teager held out one work-roughened hand, as if making an offering. Across his callused palm lay something wrapped in cloth. Ren took it from the man and turned toward the window to undo the folds in what appeared to be a large rough-hemmed square of linen—a workingman’s handkerchief.
The parcel unwrapped to reveal a coiled pile of something papery and parchment-thin. It rustled dryly at his curious touch. The unmistakable pattern, raised and outlined in whitish lines—scales. “A snakeskin.”
“A right champion one, too, sir. Biggest I ever seen.”
Ren picked up one end of the pile and let the length drop. A yard of snake at the very least. Perhaps a bit longer.
And you told her to shut up and take a bath.
Bloody hell.
“If the missus were down there all day with just one o’ them, she’s lucky to come out alive.”
Ren turned to Teager. “What?”
Teager nodded. “That’s asp, sir. Dead poisonous. Not mean so much as nervous like. Keep to themselves, but ye wouldn’t be wantin’ to rile up a whole nest of ’em.”
A river of snakes, running across the floor.
Ren stared at the unmistakable length of reptilian evidence. “I … think I’ve been a bit of an ass.”
Teager shuffled his feet. “Sir, I hope ye don’t mind a bit o’ advice—ye bein’ newlywed and all—”
“Advice?” Ren sighed. “Teager, I need a bloody book of instructions.”
Teager snorted. “’Tisn’t just the fine ladies what need that book, sir. I been married near twenty years and, well, I must say, sir … there ain’t no way back outa callin’ a woman a liar.”
“Did I do that?”
Didn’t you?
I suppose I did. “No way back, hmm? So what do you suggest? I’m afraid I haven’t a clue.”
Teager considered the ceiling for a moment. “It’s a tough one, it is. Beggin’ forgiveness works…”
Ren inhaled.
“… sometimes.”
His breath left him in a whoosh. “I fear I’m not the begging sort, anyway.”
Teager squinted at him. “Then why’d ye get wed?”
Ren rotated his head on his neck, easing the tightness that grew by the moment. “As soon as I know the answer to that, I’ll let you know.”
Teager screwed up his fleshy face in thought. “She’s a pretty thing and she seems kindly enough. I don’t think the bad ginger was her fault. She sure seemed surprised. If a woman’ll ever forgive ye, it’ll be now, at the beginning. Afore the shine wears off, so t’speak.”
Ren could have laughed, but it might have come out as a howl. “Shine … has not been part of this particular picture, I fear.” She was the one who shone. He was all in shadow.
Teager seemed manfully determined to aid him, however. “Women like posies and confections and such. Pretty words…” He gazed at Ren in consideration. “If a bloke can manage that. Even the shye
st mare’ll come round for a sugar lump.”
It wasn’t a bad suggestion, yet Ren hadn’t the faintest idea how to implement it. What would tempt Calliope? What did she want more than anything?
To leave you and your mausoleum in the dust of her carriage wheels, the sooner the better, you loathsome ass.
Chapter 15
Ren entered his bride’s bedchamber with his candle stub lighted as usual but his soul filled with misgivings. He ought to apologize for his disbelief.
Disbelief? Are you sure it wasn’t a little more full-blown than that? Say … scorn?
Teager was right. She deserved to have her honor respected as surely as any man. The fact that she’d not exaggerated the size of the snakes now made him wonder if all her mad stories—including the ones concerning the Worthington clan—were, in fact, completely truthful. If so, her family was verging on criminally insane!
Says the man in the hood.
She was not standing before the fire as she usually was. Ren took a turn about the room, and finally discovered her when he pushed back the bed curtains and found her sprawled limply upon the coverlet. His foot touched something on the floor. He bent to pick up her hairbrush and blinked at it. She was aggressively tidy. Not for Calliope was the careless tossing aside of her things!
He tilted his head as he considered her. From the strange angle at which she lay, it looked as though she had simply fallen over sideways from a seated position. Her hair hung over her face so he brushed a finger across her brow to clear the straying locks away.
She did not stir. A little alarmed, he held the candle close to her face, but she was reassuringly apple-cheeked as usual. So this was Calliope at rest. His fingertip traveled to her cheek, touching the shadow of weariness lurking beneath her eye. Then down, to the corner of her pert mouth. Her lips were slightly parted, plumping softly with each breathy exhalation. Those lips that did not lie. It was shocking to think it. A woman who kept faith in even the tiniest of facts.
When She Said I Do Page 14
