“Where are you?” he cried, his voice cracking on the last syllable. Cecilia could not be lost to him. He would not allow it.
“Are you out of your head?” Marcus asked, drawing up beside him.
“Hush.” Liam slashed his hand downward.
A muffled thumping issued from the far corner of the house. Liam hastened toward the sound, pausing at the head of a rough stone staircase running down the outside wall.
“The cellar!” Marcus said.
The two of them sprinted down the stairs to the door at the bottom. Liam grasped the handle, but the door was locked. At the sound of the rattling latch, the thumping ceased.
“Help!” It was Cecilia’s voice, issuing from behind the cellar door.
“Cecy?” her brother called. “Can you hear me?”
“Marcus—I’m here.” Her reply was faint, but present.
“Thank God.”
Liam agreed—but Cecilia was still locked in the cellar. “Who has the keys?” he demanded.
Marcus frowned. “Mrs. Bess. I’ll go find her.” He ran up the steps, pausing at the top. “You stay here.”
As if Liam would budge from the spot.
“Miss Fairfax,” he called through the door, “Cecilia. Are you unharmed?”
“Mostly, though I’m a bit chilled.” Her voice was weaker than he liked.
“Your brother has gone to find the keys. We’ll have you out of there in a thrice.”
“Liam?” There was a desperate ring to her words. “Please keep talking to me.”
“What should I say?”
“Anything. I just—I need to hear the sound of someone’s voice. Your voice.”
He drew in a deep breath and then, before he could persuade himself otherwise, said the words.
“Miss Fairfax, will you marry me?”
Silence, underscored by the heavy beating of his heart.
“Excuse me? Are you jesting?”
“Never. I know the situation is hardly…” Damnation. What was he thinking, asking Cecilia to marry him through the thick expanse of a wooden door? He was a coward of the first order. “That is to say—here comes your brother.”
Liam stepped back as Marcus bounded down the stairs, a ring of keys in his hand. Behind him came Lord Fairfax, the Widow Pomfrey, and a cluster of servants, white-haired Mrs. Bess among them.
“Which key is it, Cecy?” Marcus rattled the ring in frustration.
“The smaller iron one,” she called back.
Marcus fitted it into the lock and, after another excruciating second, it turned. He threw open the door to reveal the wan and trembling form of his sister, coarse burlap sacks wrapped around her shoulders and upper body.
Without a word, Liam stepped into the dank interior and swept Cecilia up into his arms. She made no protest, only blinked and turned her face to his chest when they emerged into the light.
“Brandy,” he said, ascending the stairs with her. “And blankets—in the parlor. Is there a closer entrance into the house?”
“Here,” her father said, holding open a door that led into the kitchen.
Liam bore his precious burden to the parlor and sank down before the fire, still holding Cecilia. Shivers ran through her, and be damned if he was going to let her go.
Unless, of course, she wanted him to. Terrible though the prospect might be.
“Here,” Marcus said, holding out a glass of brandy.
Cecilia lifted her head, her eyes the color of a bruise, and took a tiny sip.
“More,” Liam said. “You must get warm.”
She took a larger drink, then coughed and shuddered as the brandy went down.
“Blankets, milord.” The dark-haired maid hastened to the hearth, her arms full of woven wool.
As if the sight of the maid was a catalyst, Cecilia sat up and gently slid from Liam’s arms. She pulled off the burlap sacking, leaving streaks of grime on her red dress and a smudge on her cheek. Before she could start shivering again, the maid draped a blanket about her shoulders, and another across her lap.
“Thank you,” Cecilia said, glancing about the room. “Thank you all. I’m so glad you found me.”
“How the devil did you get locked in the cellar?” Marcus said.
“Poor Mrs. Bess is wandering in her wits. She didn’t mean to lock me in, but I fear she forgot my presence.” Cecilia shook her head. “I didn’t want to relieve her of her duties.”
“And look at the cost to you, poor dear,” the Widow Pomfrey said.
“She must be retired,” Cecilia’s father said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Immediately.”
Cecilia bit her lip. “Yes, but I have no one to take her place.”
“As to that…” The widow glanced at Lord Fairfax, a faint blush suffusing her round cheeks. “Please let me assist you. I know a woman from the village who might suit admirably.”
“Excellent,” Cecilia said, catching the widow’s gaze.
Liam had the impression some small, secret communication known only to women passed between them, for the widow smiled and Cecilia nodded again.
“Lord Tarrick,” Cecilia said, turning to him. “I believe you asked me a question.”
He stiffened, the blood catching in his veins.
“I did.”
“Would you do me the favor of asking it again?”
“Here?” He glanced about the parlor, from Marcus sitting on the carpet beside his sister, to Lord Fairfax and Widow Pomfrey, to the dark-haired maid.
“Yes.” Cecilia’s voice was clear and firm.
Very well. His chest tightened, but he was hers to command. Liam shifted onto his knees and faced her. Taking her hands in his—her fingers still too cold for his liking—he swallowed once, for courage.
“Miss Cecilia Fairfax. Would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
The room stilled. Even the flames in the hearth seemed to pause. Liam could scarcely breathe.
Cecilia tipped her head.
Liam wanted to close his eyes, wanted to leap to his feet and rush back to the isolated safety of Tarrick Hall, never to come out again. Instead he forced himself to wait, the signet ring heavy on his finger.
At last, Cecilia smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds in a blaze of promise. A hot prickle started up behind Liam’s eyes, accompanied by a sense of hope beyond anything he had ever felt.
“Yes, Liam. I will marry you.” She leaned forward and kissed him, gently, on the lips.
The world spun from that point of contact, the moon revolved, the planets danced, all because Cecilia Fairfax had consented to be his bride. Something inside Liam mended—something he had not even known was broken, until recent months.
Marcus let out a whoop and clapped him on the back, the maid cheered, and Lord Fairfax smiled broadly.
“I beg your forgiveness, sir,” Liam said, glancing up to her father. “I ought to have asked you first, but—”
“I understand,” Cecilia’s father said. “Sometimes the heart precedes the head in such matters. You have my blessing.”
Liam slipped the gold signet of the Earls of Tarrick from his finger and handed it to Cecilia. The sapphire shone in her cupped hand.
“This is all I have to give you,” he said. “My name, my title. My heart. Everything I am and everything I have is yours, Cecilia Fairfax.”
“It is more than enough, Liam.” His name from her lips was like a hymn of salvation. “More than I had ever hoped for.”
Tears shone in her eyes, brighter than the sapphire in his ring.
“Happy Christmas, my countess,” he said.
Something half-seen at the edge of his vision made him glance to the doorway. The transparent figure of Lizzy stood there, smiling. As he watched, she faded away, leaving only mortal joy to fill the parlor.
Which was, indeed, enough.
Acknowledgements
This project wouldn’t have gotten off the ground without the Kickstarter support
from these wonderful people:
Gerard M. Ackerman
JC Andrijeski
Donald J. Bingle
Kirsten Brodbeck-Kenney
AnneMarie Buhl
T. Thorn Coyle
Gary Dockter
Eric Edstrom
Lynda Foley
Karen Fonville
Robbyn Foster
Mark-Wayne Harris
Malachi Kenney
Pierre L’Allier
Rich Laux
Stephen Lebans
Christel Adina Loar
John Lorentz
Michael Lucas
Big Ed Magusson
Lisa M. May
Robert J. McCarter
Sean Monaghan
Carole Nelson Douglas
Alexei Pawlowski
Jeanette Sanders
Risa Scranton
Janna Silverstein
Bob Sojka
Margaret St. John
Robert E. Stutts
Raphael Sutton
Scott Tefoe
Edd Vick
Terry Weyna
Stephanie Writt
Thank you!
About the Editor
Called “The Reigning Queen of Paranormal Romance” by Best Reviews, bestselling author Kristine Grayson has made a name for herself publishing light, slightly off-skew romance novels about Greek Gods, fairy tale characters, and the modern world. Her novel Utterly Charming, which Sourcebooks reissued in October of 2011, won the 2001 Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award. Her most recent novel, Charming Blue, appeared in September 2012 from Sourcebooks.
In her other incarnations, she’s romance writers Kristine Dexter and Kris DeLake. She is also the Hugo- and World Fantasy award-winning former editor of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction—when you call her Kristine Kathryn Rusch, that is.
For more information on her work, go to www.kristinegrayson.com.
FICTION RIVER
Year One
Unnatural Worlds
Edited by Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch
How to Save the World
Edited by John Helfers
Time Streams
Edited by Dean Wesley Smith
Christmas Ghosts
Edited by Kristine Grayson
Hex in the City
Edited by Kerrie L. Hughes
Moonscapes
Edited by Dean Wesley Smith
Crime (Special Edition)
Edited by Kristine Kathryn Rusch
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