by Robert Thier
‘Let’s get going, men. To Battlewood Hall!’
And he gave his mount the spurs. The horse sprang forward and I was jolted back against Mr Ambrose - to which I by no means objected. Stretching up towards him, I placed my lips right next to his ear and whispered: ‘Love.’
His arms tightened around me. ‘You are incorrigible.’
‘Well, then start to encourage me.’ I nipped his earlobe. ‘It’s about time you did.’
He was silent for a moment. Then…
‘Maybe.’
Eh? Agreement from Mr Rikkard Ambrose? Was I dreaming?
‘Mr Ambrose?’
Silence.
‘Mr Ambrose? Is something wrong?’
Again, no answer. My neck began to prickle. Something was wrong. Not because of the silence - no, that was to be expected. It was the sort of silence that worried me. Thoughtful. Planning. Scheming. It was the silence of a man deciding the future.
Oh, Lilly, don’t be so overdramatic! Silence is just lack of noise. You can’t honestly pretend to know this one sounds different from another, can you?
Shaking my head, I shoved my anxious thoughts aside. This was no time to be suspicious! What dire plans could Mr Ambrose be hatching, after all? He had just come rescue me. He loved me. He might even - with a little persuasion - give me a day off now and again. What could he possibly be plotting?
*~*~**~*~*
‘Miss Linton?’
‘Mmmh…’
‘Miss Linton, wake up.’
‘Nnnn. Nnmmph.’
‘Wake up, Miss Linton.’
‘Nmmm…’
‘Mr Linton, wake up right now! That is an order!’
My head snapped up. ‘Yes, Sir! Which file do you need, Sir? I- oh.’
Blinking, I took out the winter landscape rushing past around us. Over the thunder of hooves, I heard a choked sound from the left. I threw a suspicious glance at Karim, who had his lower face hidden behind one big paw. The corners of his eyes were suspiciously crinkled.
‘What is the matter?’ I yawned, stretching my arms and half turning to glance up at Mr Ambrose. ‘Getting tired of holding me, were you?’
‘No. We have arrived.’
‘Arrived? I don’t see-’
Just then, we crested the last hill and before us stretched the magnificent sight of the Battlewood Hall. I sucked in a breath. Of course, I had known that Battlewood was magnificent before, but only from up here, seeing its glory in entirety, could I truly appreciate the beauty of the place.
‘It’s magnificent,’ I whispered.
‘It is acceptable.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was cool and detached. ‘Though not as large as my private country house.’
I nearly fell off the horse.
‘You have a country house?’
‘Why so surprised, Miss Linton?’
‘Because maintaining those things is more expensive than paying King Midas’ annual tax bill!’
‘Oh, I have found a way to make things a little more profitable.’
I would have pounced on that and demanded more information if not, at that very moment, a shout had sounded from the manor steps.
‘Rick! Miss Linton!’
That voice! Was that…
My eyes flicked to the direction the shout had come from.
Yes!
A grin spreading over my face, I jumped down from the horse and, not paying any heed to Mr Ambrose’s protests, raced down the hill towards the small figure running up towards me caring not in the least if her dress got wet or muddy. A moment later, I slammed into Adaira Louise Jannet Melanie Georgette Ambrose, daughter of the The Most Honourable The Marquess Ambrose, and hugged her so tightly I probably risked squeezing the breath out of her. Oh, how I had missed this girl!
‘Miss Linton! Oh God, Miss Linton I’m so glad you’re safe!’
And she, apparently, had missed me.
‘There, there,’ I muttered, wiping her tears away. ‘Don’t do that at this temperature! You’ll turn into an ice sculpture.’
She hiccupped, giggled, and pulled out a handkerchief to blow her nose.
To heck with my plans to become friends with this girl! We already were. End of story.
Or maybe the beginning of one.
The thought made me smile.
Behind us, someone cleared his throat.
‘When the two of you have finished this superfluous display of exuberance,’ the arctic tones of Rikkard Ambrose cut through our girl moment, ‘I shall be taking Miss Linton to the house. She needs rest and a change of clothes.’
‘A change of - oh.’ Adaira seemed only just then to notice the ill-fitting trousers and coat I had somehow managed to wrestle onto my body. ‘Oh. Yes, I see what you mean. Get her inside without mother seeing, will you? I’d like her to survive into the next year, and the sight might be too much for her heart.’
‘I shall do my best. Come, Miss Linton.’
Taking me by the arm with surprising gentleness, Mr Ambrose was just about to start leading me off towards the house - but then Adaira seemed to remember something.
‘Wait!’
‘What?’ Mr Ambrose turned back to her - and she slapped him, hard, on the arm.
‘Ow! What the-’
‘That’s for taking so long! You had me so worried!’
His left little finger twitched. ‘Your concern is duly noted. Now, may I depart, or do you wish to visit further punishment upon me?’
‘Not just now. But I’ll come with you in case I change my mind.’
‘Indeed.’
Without further comment, Mr Ambrose turned and marched me off towards the back of the house. Karim and his men followed as inconspicuously as a giant bearded bodyguard with turban, sabre and an escort of forty mounted man can. Not very.
‘What in God’s name is going on here?’ came a stunned voice from beyond the circle of armed men around me. ‘Who are you people? Leave! Get off this property immediately! This is the House of the Marquess-’
‘-of Ambrose,’ finished Mr Ambrose’s cool, composed voice. ‘I know.’
‘M-master Rikkard?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Master Rikkard, who are these people?’ The crowd parted, revealing the started face of Elsby, the steward. ‘What do they want? Why-’
Then he caught sight of me.
His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Only with the admirable restraint of a domestic servant who had trained his whole life to bear the shenanigans of the upper classes with perfect dignity did he manage to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor.
‘Miss…Miss Linton?’
‘I’m so glad to see you, Elsby,’ I told him with a smile, and tugged at the dirty trousers peeking out under my dress. ‘I feel that I am in need of a change of clothes. Would you be so kind as to have a maid bring something appropriate to my room?’
‘Of course, Miss. Immediately, Miss.’ The steward bowed and was already turning around when Mr Ambrose’s sharp command held him back.
‘Elsby!’
‘Yes, Master Rikkard?’
‘Not. One. Word. To. Anyone.’
‘Certainly, Master Rikkard.’
Taking my arm in an iron grip, Mr Ambrose pulled open a back door and rushed me into the house.
‘Concerned for my reputation, are you?’ I whispered up at him.
‘No. For Karim’s.’
‘Oh, that’s so sweet!’
My armed guard surrounding me in a protective shield, I was escorted swiftly to my room. Mr Ambrose, Adaira and Karim stayed with me the whole time, and if any servants caught sight of my circle of guards, I noticed nothing of it apart from the squeals they made as they were shoved out of the way. To be honest, I was glad for it. The exhaustion of the last day was finally catching up with me. I guess kidnapping takes its toll on you. I just about managed to stagger along with Mr Ambrose supporting me on one side and Adaira on the other.
Finally, we came to a halt in front of a familiar
door.
‘Open,’ Mr Ambrose commanded, and Karim hurried to obey. I was dragged inside like a very tired, badly dressed sack of potatoes. Ignoring Adaira’s protestations that she should be the one to help me, and what in God’s name did her brother think, entering a lady’s room like that, Mr Ambrose picked me up and carried me the last few steps to the bed. More gently than I would have believed him capable of, he lowered me to the mattress.
A moment later, Adaira appeared beside me.
‘Oh, my poor dear! Are you all right?’
‘Of course,’ I wanted to say. ‘Why wouldn’t I be all right?’
But what came out sounded more like ‘O-of ck-ckoco…cor…’
That was when I realised that my teeth were chattering.
‘Oh Lord! She’s going into shock!’[15]
‘F-feet,’ I managed. ‘Off…f-feet…!’
‘She’s hallucinating!’ Bending forward, Adaira began to gently stroke my forehead. ‘Don’t worry. Your feet haven’t fallen off. If you don’t see them, that’s just in your imagination.’
‘I believe what she is trying to say,’ Mr Ambrose commented, ‘is that her feet are cold and she wants us to take her wet shoes off.’
‘Oh. Right.’
Karim stepped forward with a determined expression, but Adaira instantly held up a hand. ‘Oh no you don’t, big boy! Out!’ She waved at the men I could just about see, gathered at the doorway, through the haze covering my eyes. ‘All of you, out! This is lady’s work!’
The men retreated faster than you could say ‘Jack Robinson’.
Well…all except one.
‘Have I missed something?’ Adaira cocked her head at her brother. ‘Are you a lady?’
He met her gaze implacably. ‘No.’
‘Well then get ou-’
He lifted a finger. One finger. That was all it took to silence her. Holy moly! I had known a whole lot of families in my life, and a whole lot of people with amazing talents. But never in my life had I seen a man who could shut his little sister up with just one look. I had to get him to teach me that trick. Maybe I could use it on the twins.
‘Rick, I really don’t think-’
‘Not another word,’ Mr Ambrose cut her short. Striding past her, he knelt at my feet. Yes, Rikkard Ambrose, the Mr Ambrose, the most powerful business mogul in the British Empire, knelt at my feet. Granted, it was for the purpose of removing my wet boots, but still…
‘Let him stay,’ I croaked.
Adaira looked at me, then at her brother, then back at me. Rolling her eyes, she knelt beside my other foot. Soon, the wet things were off, and my feet, along with the rest of me, were wrapped in thick woollen blankets. Dimly, through the thick veil exhaustion had cast over me, I could hear Adaira ordering servants to bring hot broth and wood for the fireplace. Mr Ambrose was a comforting presence, sitting just about as far away as propriety required, his hand clasping mine in a firm grip. Slowly, safe in the knowledge that all was well now, I began to sink off into darkness.
‘Karim?’
The cold voice seemed to come from very, very far away…
‘Yes, Sahib?’
‘Tell the men to get some rest. Be ready to ride in three hours, with provisions for a one week journey.’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
Journey? I found myself frowning in half-sleep. Why would we go anywhere? Why would we do anything now that we were safe and well?
But before I could even start to ponder the matter, I was swept away into the realm of sleep.
*~*~**~*~*
When I awoke, the morning sun was shining through the frost-coated windows. A tall, dark, figure was standing in front of the largest arched window, the dawn painting a red-golden halo around him. It was probably the only time ever that he would remotely remind me of an angel.
‘Good morning, Sir,’ I croaked.
He stiffened at the sound of my voice. Slowly, he turned around to face me. His cool gaze swept over me in a way that made me shiver - and it had nothing whatsoever to do with icy feet. There was something new in his eyes when he looked at me. The same kind of look he wore when gazing at gold, banknotes and London real estate. A look that said: You’re mine. You just don’t know it yet.
‘Miss Linton.’ Striding across the room, he reached out and snatched up my hand.
‘What-’
‘Silence!’
Shoving up my sleeve, he pressed a thumb to my wrist. I waited for a moment or two - but he didn’t do anything. Was he checking my pulse?
He was!
A moment later, he let go of my wrist and started wagging a finger in front of my eyes. I followed the motion instinctively, and he gave a nod to himself and started feeling my skull for bruises.
In a flash, I realised what he was doing. He was checking me for injuries. How did he know how to do this? There was still so much about him I didn’t know.
‘You know…you could just ask if I am all right.’
‘Yes. I could.’
He left off my skull and continued with my arms and hands. I had no idea if he knew what he was doing, but what the heck? I just sat there and let him do it. It wasn’t exactly as if I was opposed to letting him touch me.
Finally finished with his examination, he let go of me and took a step back.
‘You are well.’
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. ‘I could have told you that myself.’
He didn’t smile. ‘I had to make sure.’
Something tugged at my heart, and I had to swallow. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’ve been through a lot - but you’re strong. Strong enough.’
I blinked. ‘Strong for what?’
Pulling back a chair, he settled himself down behind a table in the middle of the room. Sitting like that, gazing at me with that cold, sea-coloured gaze, it almost felt as if I was Mr Victor Linton again, back in his London office, and he was the man who ruled my life.
‘Strong enough for the journey, Miss Linton.’
‘Journey? What journey?’
‘Karim!’ At Mr Ambrose’s call, the door opened and the Mohammedan entered, grim-faced.
‘You called, Sahib?’
‘Is everything ready for the journey?’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
‘What journey?’ I insisted. A cold tingle went down my back.
‘Ready the men.’ Dismissing Karim with an imperious wave, Mr Ambrose turned his full attention back to me.
‘For the last time, Sir,’ I whispered. ‘What journey?’
‘Why, the journey to Scotland, of course, Miss Linton.’
‘We’re back at Battlewood, where we’re supposed to be. What in God’s name do you want in Scotland?’
Mr Ambrose nailed me to the chaise longue with his arctic eyes. His reply was one short, precise word. But it was enough to freeze my blood and rob my lungs of breath.
‘Marriage.’
Takeover Negotiations
I sat there for a full five minutes, staring at him in silent shock, wondering if I’d heard right. Finally, Mr Ambrose pulled out his pocket watch, let it snap open and gazed at the clock face.
‘Will this hibernation take long, Miss Linton? We have to get going if we want to reach the inn halfway between here and Gretna Green before sundown.’
Slowly, very slowly, I opened the mouth that didn’t feel like mine right now. ‘Marriage?’
The word echoed as if someone else had spoken it on another world, millions of miles away. It couldn’t actually apply to this place. To us. To me.
‘Matrimony, Miss Linton. Also known as wedlock. A common social custom in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, if I’m not mistaken.’
His words helped me shake off some of the shock.
‘I’m not going to marry you!’
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally.
‘No?’
‘No, Sir! Most definitely absolutely a hundred and twenty per cent no!’
If I had expected
a reply along the lines of ‘Argh, argh! How could you? You have shattered my heart! I shall live the rest of my life in hermitage in the woods and pine for you among the pines!’ I would have been severely disappointed. Mr Rikkard Ambrose was no Romeo or Tristan. He simply steepled his fingers and regarded me over their tips with icy concentration. When he spoke, his voice was as cool and composed as ever, and ten times as implacable.
‘Wrong.’
I blinked. ‘Did you just tell me that I was wrong?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Fascinating. So you know more about what I’m going to do than I do, Sir?’
‘Likely, since the same is the case with most subjects, Miss Linton.’
My hands clenched into fists. All right…if he had been planning to get on the top ten of most ruthlessly chauvinist proposals, he was off to a good start.
‘Why on earth would I want to marry you?’ I growled.
Maybe because you love him, Lilly? a little voice inside suggested.
True. But he didn’t know that yet. And if he stayed on this course, hell would freeze over before I’d tell him!
‘Why wouldn’t you?’ He cocked his head quizzically, as if any woman on the street would instantly be willing to marry him.
Which was probably true. Damn!
‘Well, for starters,’ I ground out between clenched teeth, ‘you haven’t even asked me!’
‘And I’m not going to.’
‘What?’
Dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into me with a force that could make a king’s knees buckle. ‘Why ask when I already know it’s going to happen?’
The bloody arrogant son of a…! How dare he! How dare he…
…be right?
No! I told my inner voice. Shut up! He’s not right! He’s not!
I wasn’t going to marry anyone. Never! Husbands had complete power over their wives. Power the like of which tyrants only dreamed of. Images flashed through my mind of countless reports I’d read, stories I’d heard from my friends, of women being dominated, tyrannised or even beaten by the men they had bound themselves to. I clenched my teeth. Not that I believed Mr Ambrose would ever raise a hand to me. But dominate and tyrannise? Hell, yes! That was his favourite pastime!
Well, but if he’s doing it already, why not make it official?
Shut up! I snapped at that annoying inner voice of mine as, for just a moment, the gruesome pictures of newspaper headlines were replaced with an image of Mr Ambrose’s hand in mine. Shut up, shut up, shut up!
