“Since you are getting wood you might as well empty that.”
Her stare followed his outstretched hand to the chamber pot in the corner of the kitchen nearest the pole he was shackled to. “No lady worth her salt would touch such a disgusting item.”
“You left me no choice but to use it, my lady. I would be more than happy to oblige using the outhouse, if you would unshackle me.”
Nose in the air, she marched across to the vile container, picked it up, gagging at the foul odor, and exited the lodge. After dumping the contents in the nearest bush she hurried to see to the horses in the barn. Squinting through the snow she located the structure and waded to it through the drifts. The horses inside whinnied at her entrance. Their mangers and water buckets were empty, so she set about rectifying the situation.
By the time she was done hauling water from the well, feeding and cleaning the horses’ stalls, she was wet and cold. The wind picked up, and bigger and bigger flakes of snow were falling when she stepped out of the barn. Head bowed against the wind, she set out for the lodge. She almost missed the path because her tracks were already nearly obliterated. After brushing snow off the woodpile by the backdoor she loaded her arms, and, with difficulty, managed to open the door. However, in her haste she tripped. With a howl she tumbled inside, pieces of wood scattering before her across the floor.
“Fie and fire!” Felicity sat up rubbing her knee which caught the brunt of her tumble against the door jam.
“Well, that is one way to bring in the wood.”
Felicity glared at the duke, shut the door, and then scrambled to collect the wood. Knee throbbing, she carted it to the hearth and dumped it in the cradle. So she was clumsy. He certainly didn’t have to rub it in.
The duke added a piece of wood to the fire. “If you intend to keep that cat in the house you best find some kind of litter pan and some sand for it.” His gaze dropped to where her hand massaged her bruised appendage. “And you might want to bring in a handful of snow to ice that knee.”
She searched the kitchen and came up with a shallow tin pan large enough for the cat to sit in and deep enough to hold a few inches of sand. Then she headed back out into the storm. The thought occurred to her she had no idea where to find any sand, and what might be around was most likely buried under the snow. At a loss she made her way back to the barn to search for something else suitable.
As luck would have it she found a large sack full of sand at the back of the barn, probably used to layer under the straw in the horse’s stalls for absorption. Pleased at the find she filled the pan and went back to the house. This time she took care to hoist the hem of her skirts high as she crossed the threshold so as not to repeat her embarrassing tumble from earlier.
After placing the pan of sand in the corner of the kitchen she shed her snow covered cape and crossed to warm herself by the fire.
“How are Spartan and Joe?”
“Who?” she mumbled.
“The horses. Spartan is the big chestnut and Joe is the pack animal.”
“Oh. They are doing fine.”
“I fear this storm is going to last a while. I hope you gave them enough hay to last, in case you cannot make it out tomorrow.”
Annoyed at his fussing over his four legged beasts, she snipped, “They are fine.” Turning away she went to the kitchen, retrieved the chamber pot and a handful of snow from outside the door. She slid the chamber pot across the floor to the same spot as the litter pan and then washed her hands. Then she packed the snow into a hard ball and wrapped it around her knee with a towel and set about making some breakfast.
“Did you wake on the wrong side of the bed, my lady?” the duke teased.
“I prefer to be called Felicity. And, no, I did not. I am cold and my knee hurts.”
“Aw, poor babe.”
She shot him a dirty look. “You should feel bad. I hurt it doing your chores.”
“Let me see…the chores I could have done if I was not chained to the wall?”
He had a point, but she ignored him and placed four eggs in a small pot of water. “How do you like your eggs, soft or hard?”
“Soft, and cut my toast into neat little fingers for dipping while you are at it.”
Miffed, she was about to rebuke him when she noted the grin playing about his lips. The cad was amused by the idea of her waiting on him. “You can make the toast since you are tending the fire. Make sure you do not burn mine.” With a sickly sweet smile she strolled to the fire, hung the pot of eggs and water on the hook over it, and then flounced back to the kitchen area to slice the ham.
“Well, is this not a nice little domestic scene?” the duke drawled.
It took everything she had to ignore him and finish slicing the ham.
“I hope you are planning to warm the ham. Cold it’s pretty awful first thing in the morn.”
“Ooh.” Exasperated by the fact he refused to stay quiet, she tossed a loaf of bread at him. “Bestill your tongue and toast the bread.”
He chuckled, which set her teeth on edge. How dare he be so… so…congenial over being kidnapped. Of course if he were too difficult, she supposed it would be worse. Maybe. What was worse than actually liking your prisoner? This was not going at all the way she planned it.
“I think you forgot something.”
Dumping the sliced meat into a skillet she tossed him an annoyed look. “What is it now?”
He held up the loaf with an amused smile. “The bread would toast a mite bit faster if it were sliced. Hand me a knife.”
Arms akimbo she stared him down. “Absolutely not. I am not that daft. If I give you a knife you will surely stab me in the back and then escape.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled, and then he let loose a hearty round of laughter. “Now that makes a lot of sense, does it not? If I slay you with a knife, then I shall be still stuck here, shackled to a pole, and then what happens when I run out of wood and finish the meager loaf of bread I can reach?”
Biting her lip, she considered his words. “Ah, but you could force me to go to my room and retrieve the key to the shackles.”
His chuckle surprised her. “Now that would be foolhardy. How am I to force you to bring me the key when my shackles only allow me a ten foot radius from the hearth to the wall and table?”
She scanned the room and decided he was right. Snatching up a knife, she dropped it into the skillet, crossed the room to where she was sure he could just reach and held it out to him. There was no sense taking the chance he was trying to fool her.
With a snicker he removed the knife and then set the skillet at the edge of the fire. Within moments the ham began to sizzle, and he went to work slicing the bread.
Satisfied, she returned to the kitchen area and began dicing up some of the fresh fruit from the duke’s pack. Even though it seemed she had him right where she wanted, it didn’t sit well with her. Why was he being so congenial? Shouldn’t he be angry, defiant and rude? He had to be angry a mere woman was holding him hostage. It didn’t make sense. Unless…. What if the duke was expecting someone else to join him at the hunting lodge? She glanced out the window at the storm raging outside. Could someone be making their way through the blinding snow to the lodge right now? How could she make such a blunder? Why had she not considered the duke might not be coming to the lodge alone?
In her preoccupied state she forgot about the knife in her hand until it bit into her finger. “Fie and fire!” she squealed dropping the knife. Though the cut was not deep it stung like a bee. Drops of bright red dripped across the chopping board.
“What is it?” The duke asked.
“I cut myself,” she mumbled, wrapping her hand in the towel she used the night before to dry the dishes.
“Let me see.” Frowning, he held out his hand.
She eyed the knife in his hand. “No.”
Heaving a sigh, he slid the knife across the floor to her feet. “Now will you let me look at it?”
With reluctance she
crossed to the hearth and held out her towel-wrapped hand.
He unwound it with the gentleness of a mother and examined it. “It is not deep, but you should wash it out well so it does not become infected.” He released her hand. “There is a little pouch of healing supplies in my pack. Look for the silver tin and a roll of wrapping.”
She searched the pack, found the items, and brought them back to him. After pouring some water over her hand from the well bucket, she allowed him to administer to her wound. “Why are you being so kind to me?”
Glancing at her, he shrugged and then began to spread some of the sticky green ointment from the tin on her cut. “I am just a kind person, I suppose.” At her snort he lifted a brow. “What?”
“You cannot be kind.”
He wiped his fingers on the bloody towel. “Why not?” Without waiting for her reply, he set to work wrapping the clean bandaging material around her finger.
“Because, you are the son of the man who killed my father in cold blood.” Once he secured the end of the bandage, she jerked her hand from his and returned to the kitchen. She refused to believe he was unlike his sire. After all, an apple never fell far from the tree, did it?
The silence lay thick between them. Finally he sighed. “Look, this whole kidnapping charade has been somewhat amusing, but it is getting tiresome fast. Unshackle me and, if you are so desperate, I am sure I can arrange for some kind of position for you in my household, a scullery maid perhaps.”
“A scullery maid!” Snorting she turned to glower at him. “I am not some common White Chapel lass. Why I will have you know my parentage is a regal as yours. Besides, I don’t think you can be trusted. The moment I free you, you will turn me over to the constables.” She stomped to the hearth. “You are burning the ham!” Without thinking, she grasped the handle on the skillet and made to remove it from the fire. The second her hand closed around it she realized her folly. With a howl she dropped the scorching hot pan to the floor with a clatter. “Fie, fie, fie!”
The duke grabbed her hand and turned it palm up to show an angry red welt from the hot handle. “Quick, put it in the bucket of well water.”
Felicity hurried to the pail and thrust her burning hand in the pail, hissing at the fresh sting of the cold. “Oh! This is all your fault.”
“My fault?” The duke raised his brows. “What did I do?”
“You—you just…you get under my skin!”
“I merely tried to help by suggesting a less criminal way to earn your living.”
“Bah! A scullery maid.” She bit her lip to keep her tears of pain at bay. There was no point in letting him see her cry over a burn, even if it did hurt like the dickens.
“Well, since you seem to be a danger to yourself in the kitchen I suppose I might be persuaded to keep you as my courtesan.”
With a howl louder than the last, Felicity snatched up a pot on the table and hurdled it in his direction. “Rake!”
He nimbly dodged the pot, and it skidded harmlessly across the floor to rest up against the hearth. “Keep your hand in the water.” With a grin he wrapped the edge of his shirt around his hand, salvaged what he could of the ham and set it on the end of the hearth. The rest he tossed to the cat, which immediately gobbled it down. “Does your hand still burn?”
“What do you think?” she groused.
“Let me see.” When she glared at him, he held out his hand.
Sniffing, she eased her throbbing appendage out of the bucket. The angry red welt was now raised and puffy with bits of skin peeling from it. Cradling it in the hand with the bandaged finger, she approached him.
“Bloody hell, you burnt it good. There should be a tin of lard in my packs. Bring it here and sit down.” He pointed to the hearth.
After she fetched the item, she sat on the hearth. He took her hand and spread the lard across her burned palm. “Ow!”
“Sorry. I am trying to be gentle.”
Grimacing, she bit her lip as he spread more lard on her hand, and then wrapped in it another clean strip of bandaging. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” He tied the bandage off and wiped his hands on the bloody rag. “Try not to do any more personal damage to yourself please. I only have so much healing supplies with me.”
Sniffling, she bowed her head, ashamed at her clumsiness in his presence. “It was your fault.”
“I fail to see it, yet if it will make you feel better, I am sorry for making you angry.”
Cad! He is not sorry for insulting me by offering a courtesan position, only for making me angry. Getting to her feet she hurried to set the table. The feat was tricky with one hand and holding her injured index finger aloft. “Are the eggs ready?”
The duke nodded and brought the pan of ham, toasted bread and pot of boiled eggs to the table. They broke their fast in silence.
When finished Felicity made to gather the plates, but he stayed her with his hand. “You cannot wash the dishes.”
Puzzled she frowned at him. “Why, did you not offer me a job as your scullery maid a while ago?”
A semblance of a smile curved his lips. “You must not get your hand in dirty water. Bring the dish bucket to the table. I will wash and you may dry.”
“A duke doing his own dishes? My, that is a first I must say.”
His jaw tightened, yet the smile remained in his eyes. “I will have you know I have done many a dish in my day.”
“You do not say. Tell me more.”
“Just go get the washing water.”
“Yes, my lord.” With a snicker she went to do as she was bid.
“You might as well call me William, since, by the looks of this storm, we will be stuck here together for a while.”
“Do you think so?” She brought the wash bucket to the table and returned to the kitchen for a wash cloth and clean drying towel.
“Yes, the storm looks to hang around for another day or so at the least, and then it will be another week before anyone can make it through to the lodge.”
Felicity drew a mental sigh of relief. No one would come looking for the duke for at least another week then. Then it dawned on her. If no one could get in to the lodge, then how was she to get out to deliver the ransom note she forgot to post? “Oh no.”
“What is it?”
She eyed him. It would do no good to confide her blunder in him, for he would surely laugh at her incompetence. “Nothing.”
“Something is obviously amiss. Perhaps I can help?”
Then again, she might as well tell him; he would figure out her mistake eventually. She took a deep breath and blurted, “I forgot to post the ransom note, and now we will be too snowed for me to send it before someone comes looking for you.” In mortification she covered her face with her hands as his guffaws echoed in the lodge.
“You forgot the ransom letter? Hah, hah, hah. Oh dear God, that is rich.”
“Oh stop it!” She moaned. “I am such a blunderbuss. Oh, why can I not do anything right?”
His mirth faded. “Well, I suppose you can unshackle me now.”
She raised her head. “I will do nothing of the sort. If I do, you will leave and turn me in to the authorities.”
“What if I promise to let you go on your way and forget this ever happened? Nothing can be gained now, no ransom has been demanded, and by the time you are able to send a note around to my brother there will already be someone en route to see what has become of me. Do you not see your plan is in vain?”
He was probably right, but she refused to give up that easily. There had to be a way to fix her mistake and still get her revenge on his family. The question was how? She tossed him the washcloth. “I believe you offered to wash, William.”
Chapter Seven
The day passed with tediousness, and the storm buffeting the little cottage left little to do but read. After trying to cajole her into releasing him all morning, the duke finally fell sullen and silent, staring into the fire and reading the stack of newspapers he brough
t with him from London. By the time evening fell, Felicity was lethargic and her hand throbbed. As best she could she made a simple supper of cold ham and cheese on buns, with apple cider to wash it down. The duke thankfully did not comment on the simplicity of the meal.
She gathered the dishes and tossed them in the wash bucket to do in the morning, wincing as the simple movement of helping balance the plates caused her immense pain.
He must have noticed her facial expression. “See those sacks hanging from the rafters? I believe you will find some chamomile and willow bark in them. If your hand pains you, it might help to brew both in an infusion.”
“Are you some kind of healer?” Felicity stood and pulled down a couple of the pouches to see what was in them.
“No. I raise horses, and many of the things used to treat them are the same as used for people.”
“Oh.” After locating the willow bark chips and the chamomile bags, she returned the rest to their places. “Is that normal?”
“Is what normal?”
She filled the kettle and set in on the hook to dangle over the fire to heat. “Raising horses. I mean most peers invest money in things, play in politics, and float around from club to club, do they not?”
“Some do, I suppose. Take my brother Christian for example. I swear his only interest in life is chasing skirts and fashion.”
“And you do not have those interests?” After putting a spoonful of both herbs in a square of cheesecloth she added chamomile to a second one for the duke.
“Foolishness is what it is. Why my father permitted Christian to run wild is beyond me. It seems I have been his keeper ever since I can remember.”
“So you do not approve of your brother?”
“Not in the least. Why, father would turn over in his grave to see how Christian has squandered what was left to him. He has always been reckless and foolhardy, but the last year he has changed.”
Curiosity piqued Felicity couldn’t help asking, “Changed? How?”
Kidnapping the Duke Page 5
