see.’ And he did. The world was full of Callys. And unfortunately full of Montforts. Sadly, not so full of women like Maddy who would stand by the poor girl. ‘You’ve taken her in?’
A short nod.
‘What did your brother say to that?’
Her shocked expression as she turned to him gave the clue.
‘You didn’t know? But that’s why Edward—’ she broke off. ‘I’m sorry. Stephen died six months ago.’
That’s why Edward... What? He didn’t like to ask since she hadn’t volunteered the information. ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said instead. ‘My condolences.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Er...am I still escorting you to Haydon?’
A queer expression flashed across her face, gone in an instant. ‘Yes. I still live there. Mr Blakiston said that you are still interested in Roman antiquities.’
A change of subject if ever he’d heard one, but he accepted it. He felt relaxed in a way he hadn’t for a long time. Somehow, talking to Maddy about the Wall, his summer plans for excavating one of the forts he knew of, took him back to summer days before he’d gone to war. When Maddy had still worn her hair down, albeit tied back against the eternal wind that swept the fells. And those bright green eyes had been nearly as quick to spot a half-buried potsherd as his own. He still had the little horse he’d found one day when she was there. A collector in Rome had wanted to buy it, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with it.
They were still talking when they reached the turn-off up to the village of Haydon.
Maddy halted the gig there, sheltered from the wind’s bite in the lee of the hedge. ‘I would invite you up, but it’s getting late. If you don’t turn back now—’ She glanced up at the sky.
She was right, but the regret that shot through him was a complete surprise. He wanted to spend more time with her. Find out why she’d used that odd phrase—I still live there. His jaw tensed—and find out why she feared Montfort. Did he own Haydon now? Somehow Ash didn’t much like the thought of that.
‘Thank you for accompanying me home,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Not just because of Edward, but—’ She stopped, her face flooding scarlet.
Because she had enjoyed his company? As much as he had enjoyed hers?
‘I’ll see you in the summer, if not before,’ he said. And realised that he definitely didn’t want to wait that long. ‘You won’t mind my digging on Haydon land again?’
A queer expression crossed her face. It almost, he thought, looked like guilt. ‘N-No. But we’ll need to discuss it.’ She held out her hand.
‘Of course,’ he said.
He leaned over to take her gloved hand, meaning only to say goodbye. For an instant her fingers clung and their eyes met. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull back, he turned her hand over, palm up. There, between glove and sleeve, was the merest strip of pale, tempting skin. Heat a swift rhythm in his blood, he raised her wrist to his mouth and brushed his lips over the place. Lord, she was soft. Tissue soft, silk soft. His lips lingered, and he breathed in a new world. Breathed in leather, wool, lavender and, beneath all that, the underlying fragrance of warm, sweet woman.
For a fleeting instant there was madness, his fingers tightening involuntarily. And then his brain re-engaged, banishing insanity. Reluctantly, rebellion pounding in every pulse of his blood, he obeyed its dictates and straightened, releasing her.
In the real world the earth and sky were, to his surprise, still in their proper relation, the one to the other. Somewhere a rook cawed lazily, a dog barked and the wind whipped at them. Nothing had changed. Except Maddy Kirkby was staring at him, green eyes wide, and her lips, which had at some time in the past several years become shockingly lush, slightly parted.
‘You had better go,’ he said, rather more roughly than he liked. But God help him if she continued to look at him like that. Her parted lips were giving him ideas. Ideas a gentleman who had taken self-righteous exception to another man’s behaviour was a complete hypocrite to be entertaining.
Her mouth closed and colour flared in her cheeks, her chin lifting as she gathered up the ribbons and set her mare in motion. Her eyes flashed a challenge. ‘I am not a toy for your amusement, Ash Ravensfell,’ she said quietly.
The mare’s breath huffed out on the cold air and they were trotting away up the lane.
He watched even after the gig had rounded the first bend, still able to see Maddy, spear straight, until she crested the rise and was gone.
The horse—he was fairly sure it was his, although it was not in the least familiar—picked its steady way along a ridge. Despite the drifting mists, he knew precisely where he was—on Haydon land near Hadrian’s Wall. Somewhere in the whiteness ahead he could hear the sound of stone scraping, tools being used on the Wall. He tried to push the horse faster, knowing that some vandal was dismantling part of the Wall for building stone, but the horse ignored his efforts. Wind swirled down out of the north, and on the Wall just ahead of him a figure became visible...a woman in a dark cloak, tawny hair tumbling about her shoulders in wild disarray and witch-green eyes. Waiting for him. She held out her hand, either beseeching his aid or offering her own. He tried to speak, but the Wall trembled and fell, and she was gone with it into the mist....
Ash woke to the sound of his curtains being drawn back and lay quietly. A better dream than most he’d had in the past eighteen months. At least he thought it was. Already it was fading.... Had he really dreamed that Maddy Kirkby had been standing on Hadrian’s Wall, begging him for help? Or had she been going to help him?
* * *
Ash looked uninterestedly at the solitary unopened letter beside his breakfast plate and addressed himself half-heartedly to the very excellent ham and eggs on his plate. Opposite him his much elder half-brother, Gerald, Duke of Thirlmere, was going through his personal correspondence while munching toast and marmalade. Occasionally the ducal brows rose. Twice he snorted out a laugh and read something aloud to his duchess, Helen.
The duchess, glancing up from her own letters, smiled affectionately at her husband over the rim of her teacup. Both duke and duchess cast furtive glances at Ash.
He tried very hard not to notice and even harder not to grit his teeth. He knew they loved him, but he did wish they would stop worrying about him. But how did you explain to your brother, who was more like a father to you and had never been anywhere near a battlefield in his life, and his even more sheltered wife, that there was nothing wrong? Nothing that a complete loss of memory wouldn’t fix.
At least he was sleeping better, and the dreams—dreams that had woken him screaming, and in a cold sweat of fear—weren’t as frequent. In fact, he hadn’t had one for a couple of months. Although he couldn’t say that he entirely liked the turn his dreams had taken last night. If he had dreamed about Maddy Kirkby. He wasn’t too sure now. Perhaps he had. He’d certainly spent enough time on the journey home yesterday thinking about her. Wondering if the rest of that milky pale skin was as sweet and silken as her wrist. Or the wide, lush mouth was as passionate as his imagination wanted it to be.
Hell’s
