by Janet Woods
‘Then you’re here all alone.’
She smiled as she thought of her precious daughter, sleeping peacefully in the next room. She’d surprise Marcus with her in the morning. ‘Not quite. You’re here.’
His frown became a slight smile, his coal-dark eyes glittered. ‘So I am, and I’d forgotten how exquisitely beautiful a woman you are.’
And Siana had forgotten how dangerously attractive Marcus was. Her hand went nervously to her untidy braid and she grimaced. Her hair needed washing. She didn’t bother much with her appearance these days, usually wearing a skirt and bodice with an apron over it, and leaving her feet bare when it was warm. Marcus’s remark had made her conscious of herself as a woman. She gave a wry smile when he chuckled, saying crossly, ‘There are blankets in the storage box. Goodnight, Marcus.’
After she went to bed she heard him moving about for a while, then all went quiet. The moonlight shone peacefully through the window, a white backdrop for the spider, spread dark against the glow. Strange, how having another person in the house made her feel so safe, especially a man – and Marcus was all man.
A very attractive man, she thought, just as she was drifting off to sleep. Suddenly, she was brought wide awake again, aware of her body, which had been without a man for too long and was now aroused from its dormant state. Throwing back the sheet she lay there in the moonlight, spreadeagled like the spider, the perspiration glistening on her skin like honey, and the musk of her all too apparent. She was ashamed of this sudden need in her, aware of the thin wall between herself and Marcus.
Safe, was she, when she couldn’t even trust herself? Tomorrow, she would clean out one of the cottages and banish Marcus from the house.
Unaware of her mother’s turmoil, Francine slept peacefully next to her, occupying the cot Jed had woven from branches for his sons. It reminded Siana of the hurdles they fashioned the Dorset sheep pens from.
It was a long time before she was able to curl on to her side to sleep.
Francine brought her awake just as dawn spilled over the window sill. Siana made her infant comfortable, then put her to the breast before dressing.
Marcus’s door was still closed. It was early, so she imagined he was still asleep. She fed Francine some milk sops, then placed her on the floor, where she got to her hands and knees and rocked back and forth, gurgling happily to herself. She was a good-natured child, even though she was cutting her teeth.
Stoking up the fire, Siana cut some rashers from a flitch of bacon she’d smoked over the fire and placed some eggs next to them, covering it with a muslin cloth to keep the flies off.
The water bucket was empty. Marcus had placed the soap in a saucer on the dresser. The day promised to be warm and, after the sleepless night she’d had, Siana needed a good wash anyway. Placing Francine astride her hip in a sling fashioned from her mother’s old shawl, she picked up the bucket and headed for the stream, about a quarter of a mile away.
Tied to a tree by a string around her waist, Francine played happily on the bank while Siana waded into the cool, waist-deep water. She enjoyed the feeling of goosebumps racing over her body as she soaped her hair and body, then rinsed it. Without bothering to dry herself she slipped back into her clothes, rubbed her hair as dry as possible with her skirt, then filled the bucket from the stream of sparkling water cascading down over the rocks upstream.
The pair headed back to the house.
When Marcus saw Siana coming, an exquisite woman with a damp tangle of wild, dark hair, bare feet and a baby balanced on her hip, his breath caught in his throat. The earth mother in her was so striking, the impact hit him at full force.
He moved forward, taking her face between her hands. Her eyes reflected the green glow of Dorset pines. ‘You look wonderful.’
‘Marcus, don’t say such things. Let me go else I’ll spill the water.’
He kissed her soft mouth while her hands were full, taking his fill of her warm lips. She didn’t resist, but neither did she encourage. The infant chuckled as its hand explored the buttons on his shirt. He was smiling when he let her go. ‘A daughter?’
She nodded, then gazed at him, her face troubled. ‘We mustn’t let that happen again. You make me feel too much the woman.’
‘I know, but you are too much the woman.’ Laughing, he slanted her a sideways look. ‘Did you sleep well last night?’
‘No . . . yes. I slept very well. I felt . . . safe with you around.’
‘I doubt it.’ He took the bucket from her, gazed at Francine and chucked her under the chin. The child smiled widely at him, her sharp front teeth gleaming whitely in her gums. ‘She looks like you. Does Francis know about her?’
‘I told him. He didn’t believe me.’
‘Ah . . . he takes things hard, your husband.’
‘Did he know you were coming to see me?’
Marcus raised an eyebrow. ‘I told him.’
‘How did he react?’
‘That’s an odd thing to ask?’
Though not so odd when she gave an apologetic shrug and said without guile, ‘He thinks you admire me.’
‘He knows I admire you. I made that very plain to him. He should be worried.’
Her laughter filled him with exquisite pleasure. ‘No, he shouldn’t be. I still love him, Marcus.’
‘I know, and he doesn’t deserve you. You’re a free spirit, not someone to be confined to his rules and regulations.’
‘Not like you, who makes your own rules to suit the occasion. How are your children?’
‘Siana, my dear, your defence strategy is all too obvious, but you are wise to have one. You’ll be asking me if I miss Maryse next.’
‘Do you?’
He considered for a moment, deep sadness in his eyes. Siana was the only woman he could discuss his late wife with. She listened to him with more than her ears and more than her heart. She listened with her soul. ‘Maryse is dead. Since she left me I’ve discovered I’m still very much alive.’
‘Were we to blame for her death, Marcus?’
‘The decision to die was hers. I have puzzled over it often. Was that decision born of courage or cowardice? To me it was selfish decision, for she sacrificed the happiness of two families to ease her own pain.’
‘I loved Maryse, yet I let her down. When she took her own life she wasn’t in a fit state to think rationally.’
‘I’ll tell you something you’re unaware of, Siana. Although Maryse professed to love me, she couldn’t bring herself to be a wife to me, no matter how gently I treated her. I know this was not her fault. I could never understand, though, why she could not love our children.’
Siana gasped. ‘That cannot be true.’
‘It is true. Although she tried to hide it, Maryse avoided them when she could. She would not put them to the breast as you do. Everything she did was for her own comfort. I’m not blaming her, for the assault on her was not her fault. But I believe Maryse was not strong enough to be a woman of real substance. You, myself and Francis have been carrying her guilt around with us. We are blaming ourselves and each other, and we’re tearing ourselves and our families apart in the process. It’s like throwing a stone in a pond. The ripples keep spreading wider and wider.’
Siana remembered her time in Wales, where Bryn had been born to Maryse. Siana’s great-grandmother Lewis had visited the house of Bryn Dwr at the time.
‘Last night I dreamed of ripples widening on a pool,’ she’d said in her high, fluting voice. But then she would say no more. Siana knew now that her great-grandmother had foreseen the tragedy, and the trouble surrounding it. Her fingers strayed to the silver Celtic cross at her throat. It had belonged to her great-grandmother, with whom she shared a name.
The anger she felt made her tremble. But instinct told her the old ways couldn’t be fathomed, and sometimes, the sight was a gift she’d rather not have. Savagely, she kicked open the door. ‘I don’t want to shoulder the burden of Maryse’s pain any more. Would you please fill th
e kettle, then amuse Francine whilst I cook us some breakfast?’
He pulled her into his arms to cradle her head against his shoulder, running his hands through her hair to relieve the tension in her. ‘You’re angry with her too. But as nothing will bring her back, you must go home and fight to reclaim that which she stole from you.’
‘I don’t know if I can face Francis. However justified he feels it was, he has not only deprived me of everyone I loved most, but he has punished them too. Although I still love him, if I’m forced to stay here much longer, I’m frightened I’ll learn to hate him.’ She pushed him away. ‘What did he do with Bryn? I cannot believe a man who displays so much compassion towards the poor could love a child as his son one moment, then discard him the next.’
‘I don’t know what has happened to Bryn. You must take Francis to account for that, yourself. There’s a packet leaving next week. I’ve booked a passage on it for you.’
‘What if he won’t have me back?’
‘There’s a home for you at Cheverton Manor. Go there first, where you’ll be within easy distance of Rivervale House. Take my advice, make Francis work to have you back.’
She stared at him for a moment, then gave a tiny, unbelieving laugh. ‘Damn you, Marcus, would you have me shame Francis?’
‘I won’t be in residence at the manor for several months. It depends how quickly I dispose of my business.’
Her eyes met his, absorbed some of the turmoil in his soul. She nearly recoiled from the darkness of it, but touched his cheek, a light caress with her fingertip. ‘Dearest Marcus, you’re hurting so much, still. Will it be over soon?’
A time to kill, and a time to heal, he thought, and he closed his eyes for a moment, his smile mirthless. He hoped it would be over soon, for he could find no satisfaction in revenge, nor embrace the balm of mercy in his soul.
He nodded. Taking Francine from her arms, he smiled down at the child, avoiding Siana’s sympathy. She brought all his sadness to the surface and he wanted to cry like a baby. The child he held in his arms had eyes as wise as the earth itself. She made a soft, cooing sound, like a little dove. ‘Francine is going to be a heart-breaker, just like her mamma. If I’d set eyes on you first, Francis wouldn’t have stood a chance. We would have suited each other in many ways, you and I.’
‘I know,’ she said, unconsciously flirting her long eyelashes at him. Turning, she strolled off towards the kitchen, leaving him with a glint in his eye and an inconvenient hardness in his groin. Suddenly, she flung over her shoulder at him, ‘You should take another wife, Marcus. One who will share your bed and mother your children. It might stop you lusting after me.’
‘I doubt it.’ He followed after her, grinning at her bluntness. ‘I will never stop lusting after you and I can never love anyone as much as I loved Maryse.’
‘That won’t matter as long as she needs you. If you are good to a woman, she will respond. If you find someone you like and trust, love might grow between you and it might turn out to be a better way of loving in the end. Last night you spoke with some warmth of a woman aboard ship.’
‘Miss Julia Hardy?’ He gave a faint smile. ‘You don’t miss much, do you? I found the lady to be most admirable, in a sensible sort of way.’
‘There is nothing wrong with sensible. The most sensible thing I ever did was marry Edward Forbes, my first husband, since I was destitute and needed a home. I grew to love him because he was good to me, though he was much older and not an easy man to live with. I love Francis differently, and in a much deeper way.’
Marcus had never admired Siana more than at that moment. She was desperately erecting her defences, and not only could he could see right through them, he would delight in tearing them down. They would be alone here for several more nights yet. He was well aware of how to woo a woman as hot-blooded as this one. He would enjoyed the chase and the kill, though. So would she, he’d make sure of that.
The morning was bright in the country Julia Hardy found herself in. It was very beautiful here, she had to admit. Her brother’s small house was set on a slope, allowing a fine view over the sea.
Her bedroom was a disgrace, part of a storeroom on the back verandah which had been curtained off. The room had no window, and there was nowhere to hang her clothes except for a couple of hooks attached to the wall. Rusting corrugated tin was nailed to rough wooden beams to form the roof. By day, the space heated up like an oven. By night, it was stuffy and airless. Julia dreaded the arrival of winter, when it would probably be exactly the opposite. There was a gap under the door of at least two inches, which would invite the draughts in. Rainwater stains ran down the walls and there was evidence of rodents.
From the drawing-room window she morosely watched the packet she’d arrived on, as it disappeared over the horizon. It was heading back to England and she wished she was on board. She’d gone to the wharf, taking the children with her so she could watch it set sail.
Marcus Ibsen had been there – with him, a woman who’d been carrying a small child. He’d drawn the woman into the shelter of a cart and, taking her face between her hands, he’d kissed her before they’d turned to go on board. There had been a closeness between them that Julia had envied, for the woman had laughed and caressed his face afterwards. The smile Marcus gave her took Julia’s breath away and an ember of envy lodged in her, for the woman was beautiful and her own indifferent looks had never attracted the attention of a man.
Then Mr Ibsen has come ashore by himself, striding off without a backward glance.
Watching the ship sail was like parting with an old friend. As the sails unfurled she had a dreadful sense of being cut off from all she’d known in the past, and the friends she had made. Julia had never been happier than aboard that ship, and she wondered bleakly what her future held now.
She didn’t have time to wonder for long.
‘Gazing out of the window doesn’t get the work done, Miss Hardy,’ Millicent, her sister-in-law told her. ‘After you’ve finished polishing the floors you can help the convict labour with the laundry.’
Julia turned to gaze at Millicent, whose sour face topped such a tightly corseted gown she could not help but remain uncomfortably upright. She said, ‘I understood I was brought here to tutor your children, Mrs Hardy.’ The woman had made it clear that familiarity was not to be encouraged by the use of first names.
‘Idle hands get into mischief. I am the mistress of this house. You will do as I require of you. I’ll draw up a list of your duties, which you will follow to the letter. Catherine told me you chastised Master Timothy yesterday.’
‘He kicked me and raised a bruise on my leg.’
‘You are forbidden to chastise my children in any way. If they misbehave you must refer them to myself or to Reverend Hardy, who will discipline them.’
‘I must insist I be allowed to discipline them myself, and in my own way. Also, I have tested their ability. Their education as regards to letters and numbers is very poor. They will need to work hard to reach a good standard.’
‘Have you, have you, indeed, Miss Hardy? And on whose authority did you undertake such a task?’
‘My own, as their tutor. I needed to discover the standard they’d already reached before I set work for them. That is my position, after all. The children must be taught to respect me if they’re to learn.’
‘Respect you? Miss Hardy, you are acting way above your station. You are here to be of service to us, not the other way round.’ The woman’s eyes glinted. ‘I advised my husband that bringing a poor relation into the household would cause trouble. Try not to prove me right.’
Julia knew she’d have to learn not to argue with this woman if her life was to be tolerable, so she swallowed her anger when her sister-in-law said coldly, ‘Let me remind you, once again. You’re here because your stepbrother considers it his Christian duty to be charitable towards you. You should be made aware, perhaps, that I do not share his sentiment. As you’re little more than a servant, you�
��re in no position to insist on anything. If you do not like the arrangement you may leave, but not until you’ve worked off the money laid out for your passage.’
Julia bit her tongue. Even when she’d done that, she’d still have nowhere else to go. In the week she’d been part of this household, she’d come to dislike her stepbrother and his family intensely. Reverend Hardy was sanctimonious, as their father had been. He liked the sound of his own voice and expounded at length about the virtues, or lack of them, in his friends, neighbours and acquaintances.
Charity? Hah, she thought, her anger transferred to a vigorous slathering of beeswax over the floorboards, an action which was the cause of much chagrin to her arm muscles. This family didn’t have a charitable bone in their collective bodies.
Two days later Julia emerged from the evening service to see a familiar figure waiting by the gate. When Marcus smiled at her, she remembered the kiss they’d exchanged and the blood rushed to her face. ‘Mr Ibsen,’ she stammered. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for you.’
‘Miss Hardy. We are waiting,’ Millicent said ominously.
Marcus placed a hand on her arm to detain her. ‘Miss Hardy, may I have a moment of your time? There is a matter of some urgency I wish to discuss with you.’
She nervously gazed at her stepbrother and his family, who had turned to watch the encounter with avid curiosity and much disapproval.
‘Who is this man?’ her stepbrother said to her.
‘He is Mr Ibsen, who was a passenger aboard the ship I arrived on.’
‘What is your business with Miss Hardy, sir.’
She saw a nerve in Marcus’s jaw twitch. ‘My business is private, and is with Miss Hardy, alone.’
‘Is it, indeed? Miss Hardy is a relative who is under my care. Any business with her is my business too, so anything you wish to say to her will be uttered in my presence.’
Amused dark eyes gazed down at her. ‘Is that your wish too, Miss Hardy?’
It wasn’t, but she really had no choice. Her eyes appealed to him for understanding when she nodded.
