limbs would not move. Helpless, she watched as the shadow leaned down and jerked her to her feet. Both her wrists were imprisoned in a one-handed grip. Another hand flung back her hood just as the fickle moon slid out again. She stared up, but the moon was behind him and his face remained shadowed.
‘God in heaven!’ The grip on her wrists slackened at once and she staggered, only to find herself held in a far more alarming captivity with the stranger’s arm around her waist. ‘You’re a girl, a child! What the devil are you doing out here? Who are you?’
She forced her voice past the choking terror. ‘I…I’m Verity. Verity Scott. He…he…’ Sobs closed her throat again.
‘Verity? Then…you’re his daughter.’ The harshness vanished, replaced by horror and compassion. ‘What were you thinking of? You should never have come here! How old are you, for God’s sake?’ A shaking hand pushed wet, bedraggled strands of hair back from her face in clumsy tenderness.
‘F…fifteen.’
‘Fifteen?! Oh, hell!’
She had no will to struggle when he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. Despair and exhaustion sapped her strength and she leaned into him gratefully. He had laid her father to rest with all gentleness possible and given him part of the Christian burial. He had tried to stop the brutal laying of any possible ghost. And he had come back to defend the grave. Unlooked-for comfort seeped into her very bones.
Dimly his voice penetrated. The words didn’t matter. The voice was sorrow itself, breaking in its own despair. At last the words reached her. ‘I must get you back to the village, before you’re missed. Come. I’ll take you up on my horse.’
He lifted her effortlessly, shocking her out of her daze. Wildly she fought him and landed in an ignominious heap at his feet.
‘No! Not yet!’ She struggled to her feet and nearly fell again as she slipped in the mire. He caught her and steadied her.
‘Miss Scott, Verity—you can do nothing here. Come away. Don’t torture yourself. God won’t abandon him…’ His voice shook and she felt his hands tremble as they grasped her shoulders.
‘I…I brought bluebell bulbs,’ she whispered, gazing blindly up into the shadowed face. ‘They’ll remove a cross or…or anything else. The bulbs won’t flower till spring. Maybe they won’t realise. Then if…if I can come back one day, I’ll be able to find him…’ Tears choked her and she turned away, searching for the fallen bag of bulbs.
The moon sailed out and she saw the bag by her satchel at the edge of the grave. Shivering, she knelt again and realised that her companion had knelt too.
He held out his hands. ‘I’ll help you.’
Fresh tears slid down her cheeks as she tipped bulbs into his cupped palms and tried to thank him. No words came and in silence they planted them.
At last they were done and Verity’s companion lifted her tenderly to her feet. ‘Come now. With those to deck his grave he will be at peace.’
Her hand clung to his. ‘Wait,’ she begged.
Dragging in a deep breath, she began in a childish treble, ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills: from whence cometh my help…’ Her voice cracking and breaking, she stumbled through the psalm she had memorised until she came to the final verses and the strangling lump in her heart silenced her. Shuddering, she dragged in a useless breath, and another, only to feel a powerful arm go around her shoulders.
The deep voice continued for her in steadfast accents, ‘The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: yea, it is even he that shall keep thy soul.’
Drawing upon his strength, Verity found her voice again and they finished together, ‘The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in: from this time forward for evermore.’
It was finished. She had done what she set out to do—all she could do—to make amends for her betrayal. There was nothing else she could cling to.
Strong arms held her as she stumbled and then lifted her to lie cradled against a broad chest. Seeming not to feel his burden, her champion strode along the lane, uttering a piercing whistle. A whinny and trotting hooves answered and the horse loomed up before them.
She found herself lifted to the horse’s back and held there as her rescuer sprang up behind her and drew her back into his arms. His cloak was flung around her in heavy protective folds and she realised that she had been wrong. She did have something to cling to. She had this stranger, whoever, whatever he was, and she would cherish the thought of him all her days.
‘Will you tell me your name?’ she whispered.
The arms tightened as the horse broke into a slow trot. ‘Max.’
‘You knew him, didn’t you? How?’ She had to find out. She couldn’t bear to know nothing of the one person who had comforted her grief in a shattered world.
‘He was my commanding officer. My superior in every way. A gallant officer and a gentleman. Remember him that way, Verity. And I will remember him as blessed above all men.’
A sob tore at her. Blessed? How could he say that? She could not even frame the question. The horse came to a halt as the moon flickered out again, gleaming hopefully in puddles and on wet hedges.
A gentle hand lifted her chin and she gazed up, seeing him clearly for the first time. Weary eyes looked back out of a harsh, angular face, all colour leached in the silver wet moonlight. Even as she gazed, the face twisted in a sad smile. ‘You don’t believe me, do you, little one?’
Mute, she shook her head.
The smile deepened and he bent to press a light kiss on her brow. ‘He died blessed with a child as gallant and loyal as himself. No man could ask for more. He would be proud of you, Verity. As proud as you should be of him.’
The horse moved on slowly and Verity turned and wept unashamedly on Max’s chest. He doesn’t understand; doesn’t know what I did. If he knew…
But he didn’t know and he held her, rubbing his cheek against her wet hair as the horse picked its way slowly back to the village.
Gradually some of the chill left her. The warmth beneath Max’s cloak lulled her, vanquishing the nightmare, and she dozed, only waking fully when they reached the village and Max spoke.
‘Who is looking after you? Have you any family?’
She looked about, puzzled. They had pulled up outside the inn. ‘Pardon?’
‘Who are you staying with? I’ll see you to the door.’
‘Oh.’ She tried to sound indifferent. ‘I’m still at the cottage. I…I believe my uncle is coming for me tomorrow.’
A low voice spoke from an upper window. ‘That you, sir?’
Max looked up. ‘Harding! Good man. Come down, will you, and take the horse.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Verity clenched her teeth against a shiver. She could make it back to the cottage
