by Danice Allen
“I’ve thought about it at length, Gabby, and I don’t think I developed this phobia exclusively because of the guilt connected to the accident, but also because I nearly lost the two people I love most in the world—you and Alex.”
“But if you understand—”
“I’ve learned that insight into a problem and the resolution of it don’t always go hand in hand. I can’t seem to stop the panic I feel in close quarters.” He paused to take a breath. “And that other problem I have …”
“You mean your inability to embark on a relationship with a woman?”
He squeezed her, gave a chuckle. “You sound so clinical, Gabby! But, yes.”
“That’s why you haven’t been able to admit that you love me.”
“If I admitted to loving you, then I’d be committing myself to belong to you, and you to belong to me. I don’t seem to be able to hold onto the women I love. First my mother, then Beth, then Tess… I think I’ve been afraid that if I openly loved you and made you the central part of my life, I’d lose you. I’d hurt you somehow. Do you understand?”
“I understand, but it isn’t logical, you know.”
“No, I know it isn’t. But there it is.”
“Tell me about Tess.”
There was a long pause. “I don’t know if this is such a good time to talk about Tessy.”
Gabrielle snuggled against him. “I don’t think we’re going anywhere for a while. McKeen will get drunk and go to sleep, or in a bit he’ll get impatient to see Kate and let you out to fetch her. But I feel fairly sure we’ve got time to talk. Tell me, Zach. Tell me about Tessy.”
And he did.
Over the years Gabrielle had heard bits and pieces of gossip about this young woman called Tessy, her full name inscribed in the church records as Mary Teresa Kenpenny, and buried with her child beneath the large limbs of the horse chestnut tree by the old chapel at Pencarrow. But hearing the whole story from Zach, all the details of the short life of this tragic girl, made her seem as real as if Gabrielle had known her personally.
Zach had been engaged to Beth, Gabrielle’s sister, and everyone knew that she had broken off the engagement to marry Zach’s older brother, Alex. But while Zach was betrothed to Beth, he was keeping a little cottage outside of St. Teath, where he had ensconced his seventeen-year-old mistress, Tess.
She was beautiful. She had cornflower blue eyes and golden hair. She was delicate and soft-spoken. She was too sweet for her own good. Zach’s mistake, apparently, had been to at first underestimate the strength of his passion for her, and secondly, to be so shaken and frightened when he finally understood how much he loved her that he determined to put an end to their arrangement before he did something foolish—like marry her. He had given her a pouch full of sovereigns and the house, wishing her well in her next relationship.
Tess had confessed that she couldn’t bear the thought of another man touching her. She loved Zach and was perfectly content to remain his mistress, marry whom he will. Zach, miserable at the idea of separation from Tess, was about to give in when he discovered that Tess, whom he had seen very little of in the last few weeks, had been hiding a pregnancy.
This fact, seen by Zach as a ploy on her part to dupe him into marriage, was the final straw. He coldly informed her he would provide for her and the child, but the money would be arranged through a solicitor. She would never see Zach again.
Probably precipitated by the emotional distress, later that day Tess delivered a seven-month babe, then died from complications of the difficult birth. Too late Zach realized how much he loved Tess and how little it mattered that she was socially inferior to him.
Zach had been dealing with unresolved guilt since his father blamed him for his mother’s death while giving birth to Zach. Tessy’s death only added to his guilt, making him afraid to love another woman and perhaps bring tragedy into her life, as well. He felt worthless and unlovable. Didn’t his own father send him away to be raised in distant Cornwall by his grandfather?
“Oh, Zach, you must understand that your father was a bitter man!” said Gabrielle at the end of this recital. “His behavior toward you—an innocent child!—was appalling. His rejection of you was wrong. You were not to blame for your mother’s death!”
“Not directly, I suppose. And Alex has tried to make me see how useless it’s been for me to feel responsible. If only Tessy hadn’t died in the same manner… It makes me feel as though I’m a curse or something!”
“Never say so! You’ve brought nothing but happiness to my life, and saved my skin on several occasions, too, I might add! And look how you’ve helped all those women by opening the shelters.”
“The shelters were like a gift to Tess. I felt I’d failed her, and I suppose I’ve been trying to make up for that by helping other women in similar situations. Restitution, as it were. I wanted my philanthropy to be ’the cure for what ails me.’ It’s helped, but I still feel like something’s missing.”
“The best gift you could give Tess is to go on with your life. The shelters are wonderful, but you do need something more, Zach.” She kissed his cheek. “You need me! Let my love be the balm for your wicked soul, Zachary Wickham!” she teased. “And if you feel the need for punishment, let that punishment be me, as well! Let me curse you with a lifetime of pulling me out of the briars, out of all the scrapes I seem to attract like bees to honey! I’m perfect for you, Zach. Admit it! I’m the rose and the thorn!”
Zach laughed, the deep comforting sound filling the dark room, scattering its gloom, making it warm and secure. “You expound a convincing argument, Gabby. You do make me feel better. Just your holding me helped get me through that stupid episode just now. If you truly want to be part of my life, though, you have to realize that there may be other times you’ll have to hold me while I shake and sweat like a deranged lunatic. I may need a hefty dose of your particular medicine to cure me completely, sweeting.”
“I think I can force myself to endure holding you now and then.” There was a smile in her voice. “Will you promise to hold me, too, whenever I should happen to need you?”
His arms tightened around her. “With all my heart, Gabby. With all my heart.”
A comfortable silence fell over them as they huddled together. Feeling blissfully satisfied to have finally talked things out with Zach, and so safe and protected in his arms, Gabrielle forgot for a time that they were being held prisoner by a dangerous man with a gun. She was reminded of this reality when she heard his heavy footsteps coming up the ladder. She felt Zach tense. “So soon?” he whispered. “You were right, Gabby, McKeen’s more impatient to see Kate than I thought.”
The bolt was yanked up and the door opened. McKeen stood in the doorway with a lantern hanging from one hand and his gun in the other. The bright yellow glow of the flame blinded Gabrielle for a moment, but as her eyes adjusted, she could see that McKeen was swaying a little. She suspected that he was deep in his cups and near to passing out.
“A cozy pair, ain’t ye?” he sneered, his words a slur. “But I s’pect ye dinna want t’ stay in this rat-hole no longer. B’sides, there’s a bloody blizzard started outside. We have t’ get back t’ town soon, or we’ll be stranded ’ere. Not a lovely thought, eh? I s’pect ye’re ready and willin’ t’ take me t’ Kate now, Wickham.”
Zach did not say a word. He gently assisted Gabrielle to her feet, then unobtrusively pushed her to the side. She realized that he was putting her out of the line of fire. He was planning to do something—surprise McKeen and take away the gun, perhaps. She darted Zach a pleading look. It’s too dangerous! her eyes seemed to say. But he did not so much as glance at her. All his concentration was centered on McKeen.
Zach flashed a charming smile of chagrin, lifting his hands in a surrendering fashion. “Well, McKeen, it looks like you’re going to get your way this time, so I may as well go in good grace.”
McKeen smiled back. “Al’ays a gentleman, al’ays doin’ the pretty, ain’t ye, Wickham? M
ove along wi’ ye.” He stood back and waved his gun, indicating that they precede him through the door.
“Just let me get my hat—” Zach moved toward the bed where his hat lay, coming within inches of McKeen. Then, in a quick movement that took McKeen completely by surprise, Zach grabbed the wrist of McKeen’s right hand—the hand that held the gun. He yanked his arm skyward, McKeen’s finger tightened in panic, and the gun went off with a deafening report.
“Bloody ’ell!” shouted McKeen, letting go of the lantern handle to free his left hand for defending himself. But Zach was too quick for him. He gave McKeen a neat clip to his jaw, and down he went with a thud. While Zach removed the gun from McKeen’s limp hand, Gabrielle scrambled to retrieve the overturned lantern from off the straw-strewn floor before something caught fire.
“Goodness, that was quick,” said Gabrielle, standing over McKeen’s supine form.
“Not particularly meritorious on my part,” grumbled Zach, “hitting a drunkard who might have as easily been knocked over by a feather.”
“I’m sure you didn’t hit him any harder than you needed to,” Gabrielle said to soothe him. “Besides, what else could you do?”
“Nothing comes racing to mind. Wait here, Gabby. Keep the light on McKeen, in case he moves.” He handed her the gun. “If he stirs—which he won’t—point this at him till I get back. I’m going to check on this blizzard he was prattling on about, then we’ll decide what to do.”
Gabrielle waited in the little room while Zach descended the ladder, holding the lantern obediently near McKeen, but avoiding looking at him. She heard the barn door creak open, then shut very shortly afterward. Zach soon returned to the room, his redingote dusted with snow.
“Don’t tell me you got all that snow on you simply by opening the stable door.”
“Exactly.” Zach brushed at his jacket and eyed McKeen. “He was right. It’s a blizzard out there. We don’t dare try to ride back to town because the snow, combined with this wind, might blind us. I don’t fancy bouncing down some rocky hillside on my head.”
Gabrielle looked around the tiny room. “You mean we’re stuck here till the storm is over, and with him? What happens when he wakes up? He’ll be cross as a bear with a sore ear.”
“I don’t think he’s going to wake up till morning. I suspect he passes out in a like manner every night, sleeping off the booze for several hours.”
“Well, I still don’t like the notion of being holed up here all night.”
Zach rubbed his jaw in a ruminative fashion. “We don’t have to stay in this loft, you know.”
Gabrielle grinned. “You mean we can go downstairs and while away the hours making houses out of hay?”
Zach looked at her. In the glow of the lantern, his face was strangely planed with shadows, his eyes a rich brandyamber. She felt an anticipatory shiver run down her spine, but she wasn’t sure what she was anticipating. “No, we can go to the house and build a fire. In this storm, nobody’s going to come and try to oust us. Besides, whoever owns the cottage couldn’t possibly begrudge us taking shelter in it during the storm.”
Gabrielle imagined being with Zach, alone in that cozy little cottage with the sunshine-yellow curtains. Her conscience dispelled this pleasant picture, though, when McKeen shifted slightly and commenced snoring. Deflated, she said, “But what about him?”
“He’s too heavy to carry down the stairs. If we didn’t kill ourselves attempting it, we might kill him. We’ll put him on the bed and cover him with the blanket, as well as both our redingotes. He’ll be warm as toast, I promise you. He won’t care where he’s sleeping, and he won’t peep open an eye till sometime tomorrow. Now, let’s get busy while we can still see our way to the house.”
Still hesitating, more because it seemed too good to be true than for any other reason, Gabrielle said, “But won’t we be cold without our wraps?”
“Just till we get to the house, sweeting. Inside we can build a fire.” Their eyes met. “And I’m sure we can think of other ways to keep warm.”
Chapter Eighteen
Blinded by the blowing, stinging curtain of snow, Gabrielle simply shut her eyes and allowed Zach to pull her along till they were safely standing under the small wooden portico that jutted out over the cottage door. Shriveled wisteria vines trailed down and swung in the wind.
“At least we found it,” she said through chattering teeth, pressing as close to Zach as possible.
“Did you doubt me?” Zach retorted mildly. “But now the question is, how to get inside without doing irreversible damage to the door.”
“If you hurt the door, you can always leave them money to repair it,” Gabrielle suggested reasonably. “Kick it in if you must, Zach. I’m freezing!”
Zach did kick it in, breaking the lock in the process, but luckily doing no harm to the door. They stumbled in and shut the door behind them. Zach put the lantern down, incredibly still burning brightly away, and surveyed the cottage. Because of the thick snow falling past the unshuttered windows, the room seemed to have a dim preternatural glow all its own. At any rate, it was much brighter than the loft. Gabrielle shook the snow from her hair and her gown and stamped her boots against the wooden floor.
“You remind me of old Rusty when he used to come in from the moors, shaking all the bramble twigs and goose grass out of his mangy coat,” Zach commented teasingly. “He used to do such a dance.”
Gabrielle’s hair was in a tumble, and she had to push back a lock in order to glare at Zach reproachfully. “I’m terribly flattered.”
Zach grinned unrepentantly and began to unbutton his jacket. “He was a good old dog—”
“What are you doing, Zach?” Gabrielle stared as Zach slipped out of his mulberry-colored coat and stood before her in his shirtsleeves. The crisp white brilliance of his shirt showed off his golden-brown skin and played up his beautiful white teeth.
He shrugged and flashed that charming straight-toothed smile. “My jacket’s damp. I’m going to dry it by the fire.”
“B-but there is no fire,” she pointed out.
“There will be in a moment.” He draped his jacket on the back of a chair, then walked briskly to the fireplace. “How obliging! There’s some kindling and logs in the basket, even some coal. The people who keep this place must have been here recently, perhaps up for some winter geeseshooting. Everything is still so clean and orderly.” He bent and made up the fire, talking to her over his shoulder. The flames were soon leaping up the chimney, and the room became bright and cheerily alive.
Gabrielle looked about her. The cottage was made up of just three main rooms. Through an open door she could see the kitchen and dining area, overlooking through a spacious mullioned window what was probably a small garden. She stood in a cozy parlor with a large fireplace central to the room, all of the furniture arranged around it. Another door, to the left of the fireplace and closed, could only lead to a bedchamber.
Now that the parlor was illuminated, she took the lantern into the dining area and set it down on the table. There were pots and pans hanging in the kitchen, and pottery and china in a hutch by the back door. There were stairs in the corner of the kitchen which probably led to a loft with sleeping accommodations. Gabrielle was sure there would be plenty of sheets and blankets stored about the place, and possibly the bed in the main bedchamber was already made up. She walked back to the parlor. She had a tremendous urge to throw open the bedchamber door and check for herself, but she wasn’t sure how Zach would construe her curiosity about the bed, which was, of course, perfectly innocent.
“Do you suppose that’s the bedchamber?”
Gabrielle started, embarrassed to have been caught staring at the door in question. Zach had got the fire blazing, had moved the chair he’d draped his jacket on nearer to the flames, and was whisking his hands together, presumably ready to tackle the next task. “I can’t imagine what else it could be,” she answered as if she couldn’t care less, then blushed furiously when Zach arched
a disbelieving brow.
“Well, why don’t we see? I hope the bed’s made up.” Zach went to the door and opened it, then disappeared inside. Gabrielle couldn’t see anything from where she stood, so she hesitantly stepped closer, craning her neck. Suddenly Zach’s head popped round the dooijamb, very nearly causing Gabrielle to jump out of her skin. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in.”
So she did. What she saw delighted her. The room was small, but there was a window in it, which would make Zach happy. And monopolizing the room was a huge brass four-poster bed with a blue-sprigged counterpane covering it, which, judging by the speculative way he was eyeing it, also made Zach happy.
Then he turned his speculative gaze on Gabrielle. She waited for him to say something either quite banal and disappointing like, “You can sleep here, and I’ll make a bed on the floor in the parlor,” or something quite outrageous and deliciously frightening like, “Well, what do you say, Gabby? Shall we hop in?” But he said neither. He said instead, “I’m ravenous. Let’s see if there’s any food in the kitchen.”
He slid past her, and she followed him, watching from the doorway as he rifled through cupboards. “Nothing! Drat.”
“Well, you didn’t really expect to find something, did you? Food would spoil between holidays, or the mice would have a tremendous party dining on it.”
“Eureka! There’s a tin of tea here, and coffee. And some sugar, and what’s this…?” Zach had found a shelf with several canisters, apparently with a few leftover staples in them. He turned to Gabrielle, his eyes bright with excitement. He reminded her of a small boy playing house. “It isn’t particularly sumptuous, but there’s oatmeal. We could make porridge.”
Gabrielle’s stomach had been growling for the past hour. Her last meal had been at the Tuttles’ for breakfast. “Porridge sounds wonderful. Do you like it thick or thin?”
Zach turned. “I’ll make it. As I recall, though you always used to enjoy making gingerbread when you were little, you were never too adept at cooking. Why don’t you go and tidy up? I know you want to.”
