"This is Mistress Horsey's first dance," Ashley murmured.
The heavy-limbed ache spread as Kelt allowed his eyes to rove boldly over Ashley's lush bosom and neat waist above the skirt with its green silk hooped petticoat. I asked her if she had anything suitable to wear, he thought. Ashley's green gown would do for the court of King George himself... the gown and the woman wearing it. Where in the name of all that was holy had she gotten it? It was no borrowed gown, that he'd wager. It had been made for her, made to fit every line and curve. His mouth felt suddenly dry and his head felt as if he'd been drinking barley beer instead of punch.
"Would ye do me the honor of this dance, Mistress Morgan?" he asked gruffly. "If you will excuse us, Mistress Horsey." Without waiting for her answer, he caught Ashley's hand and pulled her onto the floor where couples were lining up for a Sire Roger de Coverley reel.
"That infant is the one you would have me court?" he demanded huskily. "She canna be above twelve years."
"Shhh." Ashley smiled at Martin Hopkins and his wife. "Mistress Horsey is all I told you," she whispered. "She is fourteen, an heiress, and free to contract an alliance."
"With mother's milk still on her lips?" Kelt whispered.
The dance parted them, then brought them together again as Kelt swung her around. "I thought you couldna dance," he accused. "We didna practice this one."
Ashley laughed and the color rose in her cheeks. "This is different. It's a country dance." Kelt's hands were strong and warm on her back, so warm they seemed to burn through her gown when he touched her. Suddenly she realized she was having a wonderful time. Was it her imagination, or were the other couples smiling at her with genuine affection?
"You dinna lie, but you gi' the truth your own slant," Kelt whispered as he guided her through the steps. God, but she's a rare beauty, he thought. The loud music, the laughter of the gathered crowd, faded as Kelt struggled with growing desire. Was the lass mocking him with her provocative glances... with her ripe, laughing mouth? You are her overseer, nothing more, his voice of reason cried. Has she not made that plain? She'd not be the first mistress to dally with a hired man, if dally it was. Common sense told him to forget her and seek out a more suitable target for his burgeoning need, but it was Ashley he wanted—Ashley he must have.
The reel ended with laughter and thunderous applause. Mistress Hopkins stepped to the center of the room and clapped her hands. "Come now, all of you, and eat," she called out. "Share our Christmas bounty and welcome."
Servants opened the double doors to a dining room festively decked in fragrant cedar boughs, holly, pine, and mistletoe. Kelt was astounded at the bounty that lay before them: roast beef and ham, wild duck and roast goose, venison, suckling pig, and all manner of seafood. Gleaming silver punch bowls held eggnog and steaming wassail. Servants carried trays of hot biscuits to add to the profuse variety of vegetables and pies, cakes, jellies, and custards. The overflowing tables had been pushed back against the walls, and the room glowed with the light of dozens of sweet-smelling bayberry candles.
"There should be enough food here to fill you."
Ashley whispered. "And I promise that Joan hasn't cooked a single dish."
"Come! Help yourself, help yourself," Mistress Hopkins insisted. "Please, take a dish." Eagerly the guests began to form lines to sample the delicious-smelling food.
A pretty blond woman tapped Kelt's arm with her folded fan. "Good evening, thur," she lisped, "you musth be Ma'ther Thaxon. I'm Thible Hopkins." She turned to Ashley. "For thame, Ashley, not to introduth us." She rapped Kelt again with the fan. "This ist tho nice to have you here with us. You muthn't be a thranger. Mama loves guests and it must be tho dull for you at Morgan's Fancy."
Ashley rolled her eyes as Sibyl continued to babble. Usually Sibyl Hopkins avoided her as though she had the plague. Doubtless the silly pea hen intended to add Kelt to her list of devoted admirers. Ashley was about to pull Kelt forcibly away when Sibyl's father came to their rescue.
"Saxon, there you are! You've met my little Sibyl, have you?" Hopkins's cheeks had taken on a puce color and his eyes twinkled with good humor. "I've something in the music room to take the chill off, if you've a mind, Saxon."
"I'd not refuse a drop, sir," Kelt replied gratefully. He wasn't certain what he'd do to the Hopkins wench if she hit him one more time with that damned fan.
"Christmas Eve and all," Hopkins said. "You'd not begrudge your overseer a cup of good Scotch for Christmas, would ye, Ashley?"
"I would," she answered tartly. "Unless you were planning on offering me a glass, too?" She winked at Martin. "For the day's sake."
Sibyl gasped.
"Atchh, Ashley, you're a case, you are!" Hopkins began to chuckle and took her arm with a grand gesture. "Your grandfather ruined you, he did. You'll never find a husband and that's certain." He shook his head. "What would the missus say if I offered Scotch to a lady under her roof?"
"Nothing, if you don't tell her," Ashley replied. She winked at Sibyl. "You wouldn't want to get your father in trouble, would you, Sibyl?"
The girl sniffed. "Well, I—"
"If you do, I'll tell her about you and the minister's son in Chestertown."
"What's this?" Hopkins demanded.
"Ashley Morgan, thas a lie! I never—"
Ashley laughed. "Of course you didn't, but would your mother believe it?"
"Oh, oh!" Sibyl's mouth puckered and her eyes began to water. "You're horrid, just horrid." Throwing up her hands, she turned and fled as fast as her wide skirts would permit.
"What's this about the minister's son?" Hopkins repeated.
"You know Sibyl better than that, Martin," Ashley assured him. "I was only teasing her."
"Hmmmp," Hopkins grunted. Slowly he began to grin. "But she won't tell about the drink, now, will she?"
"No, she won't," Ashley agreed.
Laughing, the three left the crowded room and went down a hall to a small room. Two gentlemen were seated there, and they rose to greet Ashley, their host, and Ashley's new overseer. Jovially, Hopkins poured generous helpings of Scotch from a cut-glass decanter on a sideboard.
To Kelt's surprise, the men showed no distaste when Ashley joined their imbibing and conversation.
They included him matter-of-factly and asked questions about planting methods in the Virginia Colony. After several drinks around, Ashley suggested that they return to partake of supper.
"Master Saxon is very fond of eating," she teased. "I've given him a poor impression of Tidewater cooking, and I'd like him to see what Mistress Hopkins can offer."
The gentlemen laughed, and one said, "The last time I ate at Morgan's Fancy, I went straight home and kissed my wife and my cook—and he's fifty years old if he's a day!"
Ashley and Kelt stepped out into the hall, and Ashley caught his arm. "Before we go back," she said softly, "there's something I've been wanting to do." Trembling, she tugged at his hand until they reached a spot beneath a ball of mistletoe. She glanced up and down the shadowy hall to be certain they were alone. Then she slipped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to brush his lips with hers. "Merry Christmas, Kelt," she whispered breathlessly.
For an instant he hesitated, then returned the kiss, enfolding her in his arms and lifting her up until only her toes touched the floor. His lips were hard against hers, and she felt her pulse quicken as sweet desire spilled through her veins. When he released her, she stepped back, unable to speak, her mind clouded by the strong Scotch and the even stronger stimulus of this man.
"Ye bold baggage," he declared and then laughed. "A Christmas kiss?" he asked. "In Scotland, that wouldna be considered a decent buss." He put out his hand. "Come and I will—"
They jumped apart as the door to the music room opened and Martin Hopkins stepped out into the hall.
"Why are you two lingering there?" he demanded. "You've not had a bite to eat yet. Come along, quick, before the dancing starts again."
"Aye," Kelt replied.
"I've a hollow within me that needs filling." He took Ashley's arm. "Later, lass," he murmured, "I'll ha' that Christmas buss."
As Hopkins had promised, the musicians began to play. As soon as they had eaten, Kelt led Ashley into a country dance, then a minuet. Martin Hopkins asked her to dance, and then she danced with Kelt again. There were games, and singing, and still more games. And every time Kelt touched her hand, Ashley was seized with the same breathless joy.
It was long past midnight when the guests began to call for horses and sleighs. The snow was still coming down, and the air was cold and crisp. Men and women exchanged well wishes and hugs and handshakes as servants hurried to find cloaks and mittens and to bring blankets from the kitchen where they'd been warming before the fireplace.
Kelt sent a boy to the stables for Ashley's sleigh, and when it didn't come, he put on his heavy cloak and walked through the falling snow to the barn himself. The matched grays, tied to a post, were eating hay; the sleigh was properly covered to keep it from filling up with snow, but the driver was nowhere to be found. After a few minutes of fruitless search, Kelt and the groom harnessed the horses and hitched them to the sled.
"He's drunk somewhere, I'll wager." Kelt swore. "When you see him, tell him I have business with him at home." Kelt climbed up onto the padded seat and took the leather reins in his hands, clicking to the animals. Will it jeopardize Ashley's reputation to be driven home late at night by her overseer? he wondered. If it would, he knew of no alternative, save to borrow a driver or a maid from Master Hopkins. And it would be a foul piece of luck for the drafted servant to be pulled from home for a cold ride on Christmas Eve.
Ashley laughed away the suggestion as she pulled her fur-trimmed hood about her head. "As Mistress Hopkins can attest," she said, "I have no reputation among the Chestertown ladies, so obviously I have none to lose."
"Such talk," Mistress Hopkins scolded. "What a thing to say. I can send Grace with you for company. The girl can spend the night and come back in the morning."
The black woman cast her eyes floorward, a gesture that was not missed by Ashley. "We'll be safe enough. I thank you for your concern and a Merry Christmas to you all," she said sincerely. "At least we'll have no fear of pirates tonight."
"I'd say you have no fear of them tonight or any other night," an elegantly dressed woman said. "My John says the Morgan luck smacks of witchery."
Ashley smiled sweetly at the rail-thin woman. "I am heartily glad, Mistress Anne, for it means that John is permitted an opinion at home. I feared otherwise, since you so closely guard his speech in public."
"Now, Anne, Ashley." Mistress Hopkins stepped between them and pushed Ashley toward the door. "We are all weary with the celebration. Let us not say things we do not mean."
"Why is it that her grandfather's ships were never bothered by pirates? Or his prize house and livestock? He was in league with them, I say. And she might be, too, trading her favors for—" Mistress Anne's tirade was cut short by a shove from Mistress Hopkins.
"Good night and merry Christmas. Safe journey," their hostess called.
Kelt's hand tightened on Ashley's arm and his left arm went around her waist. "Watch the entrance-way, Mistress Morgan," he said. "'Tis slippery."
"Thank you," Ashley said as he guided her down the steps and swung her easily up into the sleigh.
A maid tucked a bearskin around her lap and handed her another blanket of thick wool. "They's heated bricks under yer feet, mistress, an' a bottle of hot apple cider." She bent close to whisper. "Thank ye fer not needin' me tonight. Now I kin be wi' my children."
"Merry Christmas," Ashley bid her. She waved to Martin Hopkins and his daughter on the step. "Merry Christmas to you all."
Kelt slapped the reins over the grays' backs and drove away from the lights of the manor house into the cold night. "Can ye never mind your manners, lass?" he demanded, when they were out of earshot of their host. "Another minute and you two would ha' been screaming at each other like harpies. 'Tis no way for a lady to act, no matter the provocation."
"Another minute and Mistress Anne would have been sporting a black eye."
"Cease your shrewish caterwauling, woman. 'Tis Christmas and I've a mind to drive home in peace and quiet. Curl up in your robes and go to sleep. 'Tis no day to be harboring ill will."
A choice response rose to Ashley's lips, but she bit it back. She took a deep breath of the cold, clean air and pulled the thick bearskin around her. Kelt was right. She'd had a wonderful time, and it was too beautiful a night to let Anne Moore ruin it for her. She put out a gloved hand to let the whirling crystal snowflakes settle on it. A bubble of happiness glowed deep within her. She had danced and danced, she'd been kissed, and she'd felt a part of the celebration as she never had before. She lifted her right hand to lick a snowflake and wiggled her slippers until they rested on the warm bricks.
"That's better," Kelt said. "You're a bonny lass when your lips are sealed. Bonny as a field of heather in springtime."
To Ashley's amazement, he began to sing the words of a French Christmas carol in a rich, deep voice. Lulled by the warmth, the singing, and the jingling of the harness bells, Ashley drifted into a dream-filled sleep.
Chapter 10
A sudden jolt wrenched Ashley from her slumber. She was vaguely aware of Kelt's shout of warning and the frantic whinny of a horse, then she was tumbling out of her warm nest of furs and was thrown rudely into the snow. For long seconds she lay there stunned, the breath knocked out of her. Cautiously she moved her arms and legs. Nothing seemed to be broken, but she was pinned to the ground by a heavy weight pressing against her back.
"Ashley!" Kelt called from the darkness. "Are you hurt?"
"I... I think I'm all right," she managed. "What happened?"
"We struck something in the snow and the sleigh turned over." Kelt's anxious voice came from only a few feet away. "I think I can turn it back, but not until I get the horses unhitched. Dinna move. I'll just be a minute or two."
"Wait!" she called. The cold snow against her face and neck had cleared her brain of its shock. "I think maybe I can..." A firm hand groped in the darkness and touched her head. She wiggled an arm free to grasp the strong fingers. "If you can raise it a little, I think—"
"No." The warmth of his hand was reassuring. "The horses might spook and drag the sleigh over ye. Trust me, lass. I'll not fail ye."
Stifling the coil of icy fear in the pit of her stomach, Ashley released Kelt's hand. "Just don't take all night," she said with feigned bravado. "I've slept in warmer beds."
"Aye, I'll venture ye have." His deep voice was farther away now. Ashley could hear Kelt's soothing words to the snorting animals, lapsing now and then into his native Gaelic as he unhitched them. "Whoa, boy. Good eich, good glasa. Easy... that's it. Nice and easy."
There was a jingle of harness and bells as Kelt led the horses away one at a time. Ashley turned her head to one side and dug away the snow with her free hand. Her teeth were beginning to chatter; not even the thick cloak could still the shivering of her chilled body. Hurry, she urged silently. The worse thing was being trapped. The cold she could endure. If she had been alone with the sleigh turned over... If the sleigh had broken her back... She pushed the frightening thoughts from her head. If... if... Such imagining was for children. If she'd been alone, she'd have done her damnedest to get herself out. Now she must rely on Kelt.
Soft footfalls in the snow told her he was back. "I'll have ye free in a heartbeat, lass," he promised. He stood only a few feet from her head. "Now I'll raise the thing and ye scurry out. Can ye do that?"
"Stop talking and get this thing off me," Ashley demanded.
The weight above her shuddered and then eased. Kelt's grunt of exertion signaled the patch of light now visible under the edge of the sleigh. Ashley scrambled out from under and rolled free as Kelt lowered the overturned sleigh to the ground.
Strong arms helped her to her feet and began to brush the snow from her face and neck
. "Are ye certain you're nae hurt, lass?"
Tears of cold spilled down her cheeks. "I'm fine," she insisted, half laughing and half crying with relief. "Just freezing to death."
"Are ye well enough to help me right the sleigh? If we can get ye back in it and under the bearskin, ye'll warm up quick enough. I'm afraid the left runner snapped when we overturned."
"We should have brought the maid." Ashley's teeth were chattering with cold.
Kelt frowned. "'Tis a strange time to be worrying about your reputation. Ye could have been killed."
She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself and stamping her feet. "I wasn't thinking about that. I was wishing for an extra pair of arms to help us turn the sled."
"We'll give it a try." He lay a mittened hand on her shoulder. "Dinna fash yerself. If it's too heavy, I can use the team to right it. 'Twould just be faster if we could manage it ourselves."
The sleigh turned back on its runners on the second try. Kelt scooped the loose snow out and shook the bearskin. "In ye go," he said, helping Ashley onto the wide cushioned seat and wrapping her in the fur side of the robe. Tenderly he pulled the hood up over her hair and covered her with the wool blanket. "Those slippers were never meant for snow." He sat on the facing seat and pulled off his gloves, then reached under the robe to take one of her icy feet in his hands and began to rub it briskly.
"I suppose I should have worn my riding boots," she teased. "They wouldn't even have showed under the gown." The numbness in her foot was turning to shooting pains. "You do that as if you've had experience."
"Aye, the Highlands have their snap in winter."
"And you have doubtless rescued dozens of maidens in distress." The shock of the accident had left Ashley with a heightened sensitivity as the fear she'd felt earlier was transformed into excitement. Sounds and smells seemed magnified, and Kelt's nearness, his touch, thrilled her. The steady stroking was at once soothing and disquieting. Unconsciously her eyes widened as she gazed at him in the twilight; the softly falling snow dusted his dark hair and beard with a frosting of white and outlined his rugged form in a faintly luminescent light.
Bold Surrender Page 12
