Snowbound in the Earl's Castle

by Fiona Harper

  They kept running until they came upon a gap in the hedge, closed off by an iron gate. Marcus stopped and lifted the latch, making sure he still had her by the hand.

  ‘There are plenty of paths here,’ he said softly, ‘but only one is the right one. Only one winds upwards towards a shining light.’

  As he led her through the gate suddenly it all made sense.

  ‘You have a maze,’ she mumbled, slightly awestruck.

  ‘They were the craze in Victorian times. The fourth Duke had it planted, but my great-grandfather added some improvements.’

  She looked up to where the hedges ended, about two feet above her head. A couple of inches of snow glistened on top, pale blue in the moonlight, making the whole maze look like a rather elaborately carved Christmas cake.

  ‘We’re going to try to navigate a maze in the dark, in the snow?’ she asked, realising she sounded disbelieving.

  Marcus just laughed. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Do you want to race me to the centre or do you want to do it together?’

  She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘And you’re giving me the only light source?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I have a feeling you know your way through this maze even in the pitch-dark, which would be cheating, so I’m sticking with you.’

  She was rewarded with a broad grin at that comment. ‘Smart lady,’ he murmured, and then tugged her off to the right and started running again—just as her heart decided to lurch along in an uneven rhythm, making it even harder for her to keep up.

  After a while Faith gave up trying to memorise their path. She just concentrated on keeping her skirt off the ground and matching Marcus’s pace. When she stumbled slightly he turned, looking concerned.

  ‘Am I going too fast for you?’

  She nodded, panting slightly. ‘These boots are a bit flappy, and I really don’t want to ruin this lovely dress. This skirt wasn’t made for running.’

  He looked her up and down, a thoughtful look on his face, taking in the fishtail skirt, how it kept her thighs so close together. Feeling his gaze on her body made said thighs tingle. She told herself if was just the cold.

  ‘Only one solution to that,’ he said, and stepped towards her.

  She gasped as he lifted her into his arms. Instinctively she looped her arms round his neck and held on tight. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, her voice breathy. ‘You can’t possibly carry me the rest of the way like this!’

  ‘Would you prefer a fireman’s lift?’ he replied, a ripple of humour in his voice.

  She shook her head violently, thinking how the blood would rush to her head if he hoisted her over his shoulder. She was finding it difficult enough to think as it was.

  ‘Are you flirting with me, Lord Westerham?’ she asked shakily. ‘Because I thought we had an agreement about that sort of thing.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, with a slightly devilish glint in his eye. And as he started to walk he added. ‘Pity, though. That would have been a great view.’

  She slapped him on the chest with a gloved hand. ‘Earls are not supposed to talk like that.’

  He just smiled a secret smile to himself, staring straight ahead, navigating the maze. ‘I beg to differ. I’ve known quite a few, and I know from experience that a title is not a ticket to a clean mouth. Far from it. You should hear Ashford when he gets going...’

  She slapped him again. ‘You’re teasing me.’

  He slowed and looked down at her. ‘Maybe I am. But don’t let the title fool you. I might be an earl, but underneath I’m still a man.’

  The glitter in his eyes as he looked down at her bore witness to that. Faith found herself strangely breathless. Wrenching her gaze onto the path ahead was difficult, but she managed it.

  He picked up speed, staying silent, but his last words thrummed between them still. Yes, he was a man. A beautiful, noble man. And right at this moment, captured in his arms as she was, Faith McKinnon was feeling very much a woman. Even worse, that woman was doing just as he asked, and was forgetting all about his title and why she shouldn’t just drop her gift-wrapped heart at his feet like a tiny Christmas present.

  She hung on, closing her eyes.

  Sooner than expected he came to a halt and slowly lowered her to the ground. Cold air rushed in between them, where their bodies had been pressed against each other. Faith shivered.

  ‘See what I mean?’ he whispered, his breath warm in her frozen ear.

  She blinked and looked around. This wasn’t what she’d expected. In front of them was a squat tower of stone, sloping inwards slightly as it rose maybe fifteen feet into the air.

  ‘Come on,’ Marcus said, and reached for her hand.

  This time she took it without thinking. It seemed to belong there.

  ‘We’re near the end of a path that leads to a shining light.’

  He led her round the stone mound until they came upon a narrow winding stairway that circled the tower. It didn’t take long to climb up the twenty or so stairs, and soon they were standing on a viewing platform, surrounded by waist-high stone walls. She could not only see the whole of the snow-capped maze, but also the hills beyond, and glittering in the distance the larger of the two lakes.

  The moon was in evidence, but no other light was anywhere to be seen. ‘Where—?’

  He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and gently turned her to face the other direction. There, in the middle of the tower, was a sundial mounted on a stone pedestal.

  She walked towards it and his hands slid off her shoulders. However, they didn’t drop away quickly, but trailed down her back until she was out of reach. Even through the puffy layers of Shirley’s winter coat she could feel warmth, the sure pressure of his hands.

  ‘How do you know this is what the verse is referring to? The connection seems a bit tenuous.’ As wonderfully romantic as this idea was, she couldn’t help think it might just be a coincidence.

  ‘It would be but for two reasons,’ he said, coming to the other side of the sundial and standing opposite her. ‘First, the same man who commissioned the window also built this tower in the maze. Second...’ He tapped the brass face of the sundial with a finger, before lifting up the flashlight and shining it down on it.

  There, at the base of the clockface, was an inscription.

  ‘Song Twenty-Two?’ she said. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘I think it’s another Bible reference. That’s why when I thought of paths and shining lights and the need for another piece of the puzzle this place popped into my mind.’ He walked round the sundial to stand next to her. ‘Song, I think, is short for Song of Solomon, or Song of Songs, and if you look carefully there, between the twos, it’s a colon.’

  ‘Song of Songs, Chapter Two, Verse Two?’ she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  He nodded.

  She turned to face him, did her best to read his face in the semi-darkness. ‘You think there’s something in this?’

  He stared back at her and breathed out hard. ‘Maybe. If it was any of these things on their own I’d probably dismiss it, but put them all together...’

  ‘What about Bertie? You were really worried this would upset him. It still might.’

  His eyelids lowered briefly and he looked away. ‘I know. But if what my family has told him all these years is wrong, he has a right to know.’ Marcus looked back at her. ‘I’ve been trying to protect him from a lie, but I don’t think it’s right to protect him from the truth.’

  She saw it—the twist of guilt in his face as the dual needs both to keep his grandfather safe and to do the right thing warred inside him.

  ‘The truth comes out sooner or later,’ she said. ‘I wish...’

  She closed her eyes. She had been about to say that she wished her parents had told her who her real father was earlier, but she suddenly realised how cruel that would have been. There had been no easy way to handle it, had there? Telling an eight-year-old something like tha
t would have been devastating. Although not telling her had wreaked its own kind of havoc. Suddenly she understood why her mother had swept it all under the carpet and pretended it had nothing to do with her, why she still seemed so blasé about the whole thing.

  Seeing the tortured look in Marcus’s eyes a moment ago made her ache deep inside. She wished just one of the adults involved in the fiasco of her birth had felt that burning urge to protect her that way, instead of abandoning her—either physically or emotionally.

  She opened her eyes and looked up at Marcus, knowing he would do the right thing no matter the cost to himself. He was that kind of man. Something deep down in Faith’s soul broke free and reached for him, and where her mind went her hands followed.

  It didn’t have to be for ever, did it? She knew she didn’t belong with him long-term. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have him just for now. Why was she stopping herself?

  Take it, Faith. Take something for yourself for once, instead of running away from everything.

  It was only just over a week until the Carol Service, and after that she’d be gone. At least she’d have a cool story to tell—or hide from—her grandkids one day. I once had a fling with an earl...

  She reached up and touched his cheek. Her eyes were suddenly moist and threatening to produce a black, streaky waterfall down her face. She stepped forward, put a trembling hand on his chest. He stiffened, and she knew he was doing as he’d promised, holding himself back because he’d given his word.

  The only problem was she didn’t want him to hold back any more.

  ‘Faith McKinnon, are you flirting with me?’ His voice was raw, despite the levity of his words. ‘I thought we had an agreement.’

  Faith’s heart pounded so hard she thought it might knock her over. She knew she was about to cross a boundary that she herself had put in place, that the resulting fall-out could be blamed on no one else. But just for once she wanted to feel as if she wasn’t alone, an outsider.

  ‘No, I’m not flirting with you, Marcus,’ she said, her voice husky as she reached up and hooked her hand round his neck to pull him closer. ‘I’m kissing you.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  THIS was no soft, exploratory, getting-to-know-you kiss, Marcus realised. They were way past that. It was as if he already knew her this way. He could anticipate just when and where she was going to move her hands, knew just when the next breathy sigh was coming. They couldn’t have been more in synch with each other if they’d been lovers for years. And if he hadn’t been wearing Wellington boots she’d have blown his big old woolly socks off!

  He dipped his hands inside her half-open coat, finding her tightly corseted waist inside the bodice of her dress, feeling the velvet rasp against the pads of his fingers as he pulled close. In response she buried her hands inside his hair and pressed herself against him. Faith McKinnon hadn’t uttered a word, but that hadn’t stopped her being as direct as usual about what she wanted from him.

  That thought both set his toes on fire and stopped him cold at the same time. It took all he had to gently pull away, to disentangle himself from her. She moaned in protest as he dragged his lips from hers, and that was almost his undoing. Almost. He pulled back and held her face between his hands.

  ‘Faith...’

  Her lids were still closed and she let out a frustrated sigh. ‘Don’t be noble, Marcus. Just kiss me again.’

  He obliged—a short, hot kiss that he was only just able to control. ‘We can’t stay out here,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll die of hypothermia.’

  She opened her eyes and looked straight at him. Straight through him, it felt like. Her pupils were huge and he felt their tug like a giant magnet.

  Her voice was low and oh-so-sexy as she said, ‘Then take me back inside.’

  He didn’t have to ask what she meant. He almost growled in frustration. This wasn’t a different-bed-every-night woman; something deep inside told him that. It also told him that she wasn’t one to give all she had easily, that she didn’t let that many people close. The caveman part of him rose up and cheered at the thought he wouldn’t be the last in a long, long line of lovers. The Earl, however—damn him—had other ideas.

  He stepped back, but kept one arm around her and led her down the short curling staircase that circled the mound.

  She shivered against him. Whether from the promise of further heat or the cold night air he didn’t know.

  ‘Please tell me it’s not going to take as long to get out as it did to get in. Forget hypothermia! I think I might just expire from frustration.’

  ‘It’s not going to take as long,’ he said, and guided her further round the mound. After a short break the steps continued curling, but this time underground, leading them under the stone tower and under the maze.

  ‘Oh, wow!’ she said as they descended into a small grotto under the centre of the maze. The stone walls were lined with shells of different shapes and sizes, and a small fountain dribbled into a pool at one edge of the chamber.

  She grabbed his arm and pulled herself tightly into his side as they passed through the grotto, down another short flight of curving stairs, and then along a winding shell-lined path, created to mimic a limestone cave with stalactites and stalagmites. At the end was an iron gate and another flight of stairs that took them out onto a different side of the maze from where they’d entered.

  Faith punched him on the arm. ‘You mean we could have just got in that way all along!’

  Despite his sudden serious mood he felt his lips curl up at the edges. ‘It wouldn’t have been half as much fun.’

  She looked as if she was going to argue, but then her expression softened. She pressed her lips softly against his. ‘No,’ she mumbled against his mouth between kisses. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t have.’

  He looked at the path in front of them, and then down at Faith’s beautiful red dress, already wet round the hem. He knew she’d be horrified if she thought she’d ruined it, even though Bertie wouldn’t give a fig.

  Also, there was only one way he could come up with to stop himself doing something they might both regret in the morning. So while she was distracted, looking out over the gently sloping lawn that ran between the maze and the lower lake, he bent down, grabbed her round the thighs and threw her over his shoulder.

  ‘Marcus!’ she squealed. ‘Put...me...down!’

  ‘This is for your own good,’ he muttered through clenched teeth, and started walking.

  She pounded on his back for a few steps. ‘You’re an insufferable tyrant, do you know that?’ she said from somewhere behind him, but her arms circled his chest to steady herself.

  ‘I’ve been told it runs in the family,’ he said, a grin forming on his lips. Maybe he was a little twisted, but he was starting to enjoy himself. And he needed to keep this light, needed to keep it breezy. ‘And, Faith...?’

  ‘What?’

  She sounded more than a little disgruntled. Too bad.

  ‘I was right about the view.’

  * * *

  Faith had never been so glad to see a kitchen door in her life. Despite her repeated pleadings Marcus had carried her all the way back to the castle hoisted over his shoulder. When she’d complained that the guests must be leaving the ball by now, and someone might see them, he’d just taken a back route, using a path than ran past the cellar windows.

  However, maybe the blood rushing to her head had done her some good. Bizarrely, she was thinking straighter now it was back where it should be, rather than making other body parts thrum with longing.

  That didn’t mean she regretted what she’d asked him, just that she understood why he’d held back. This would be a big deal, not some quick tumble in the haystack. Was she really ready for all that would mean, both good and bad?

  On the one hand it would be a wonderful, wonderful affair. On the other... She could end up falling all the way in love with him, and then she’d really be in trouble. She didn’t know which would be worse—having him and losing him
, or never knowing what it would be like, always wishing she’d taken the chance when she had it.

  As they entered the kitchen he skilfully managed to deposit her the right way up without making her feel like a sack of potatoes.

  ‘Marcus...’ she whispered.

  He looked impossibly sexy, with his hair all messed up and his eyes all dark and serious.

  He threaded his fingers through hers. ‘Come.’

  Her blood started heading in all the wrong directions again at the hint of promise in the word. They went up the staircase to the ground floor proper, and then through a network of corridors and rooms until they ended up in the most beautiful library. Marcus turned a single lamp on, and its glow bathed that corner of the room in warm yellow light.

  On every available stretch of wall that wasn’t occupied by either a door or a fireplace there were huge ornately carved bookshelves, most groaning with the weight of leather-bound books. But instead of the wood having a dark varnish, the whole room was painted a soft buttery cream. There were three peacock-coloured damask-covered sofas—one L-shaped to fit in front of the only corner bookcase. Marcus motioned for her to sit down.

  He pulled a book from the shelf and came to join her on the corner sofa. He opened the book, leafed through to find a place and handed it to her.

  Song of Songs.

  She shot him a look and then focused on the page.

  ‘What does it say?’ he asked.

  Faith skimmed down the whole of the first chapter, getting a feel for the context, before turning the page over and finding the second and reading from verse one. ‘“I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.”’ She looked up. ‘Rose of Sharon! Just like in the window. This has to be connected.’ She looked down again and carried on to the second verse: ‘“As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.”’ She met his gaze again. ‘Well, that’s an obvious declaration of love, I guess.’