After The Storm (20 page)

She had to get out of the brutal weather, and so she limped across the small clearing to the front door and pushed. It opened with a loud, mournful screech that split the peaceful silence, and she swiped at her tears as she dragged herself inside.

It might have once been a very cozy cottage. But without anyone living there, every surface was at least an inch thick with dust. Cobwebs and spiders’ webs floated in the corners and along the exposed ceiling beams. Leaves and other debris clogged the hearth and there was but one lone, rickety-looking chair. The cottage appeared to have been abandoned for some time, and hopefully, no interlopers claimed it as their own.

The door protested as she shoved it closed, the piercing screech even louder and more irritating the second time. Though it was only a bit warmer inside, at least the windows were intact and kept most of the frigid wind out.

She sank beside the smooth stone hearth, and reached in to scoop out a handful of debris, hoping she wouldn’t get bitten by a spider or any other creature that might have taken up residence. By the time she finished, it was almost dark and the hearth was empty. Not even a scrap of wood remained.

Her fresh tears angered her. “Enough o’ this bloody cryin’,” she grumbled and swiped at her sore cheeks. “Ye canna just lay here and weep like a babe. Get yerself up and oout there. Ye’re surrounded by wood, ye just need go bring it in.”

The graying dusk made her task difficult, but not impossible, and she sped things up by breaking limbs from the trees themselves with the hope they’d be dry enough to burn.

When she finished, her body ached from her head to the soles of her feet. Wincing, she reached up to run a hand along the mantel but she wasn’t tall enough and managed only to brush the edge coating her fingers in dust and dirt. If flint or steel lay above, they were beyond her reach.

She glanced at the chair.
Nothing ventured
…

Bracing a hand on the back, she held her breath as she planted her foot firmly in the middle of the seat, and rose.

Crack
!

Wood splintered with a piercing shriek and the chair collapsed beneath her to send her sprawling against the cold stone. The wind rushed from her lungs, and pain burst through the base of her left hand as it took the brunt of her fall.

“Bloody hell…” she groaned, coughing as she sucked in a lungful of dust. The chair’s pitiful remains mocked her from its sad heap, and she bit back a sharper oath as she rolled onto her back, then sat up.

The pain in her hand faded as she sat there on the cold floor and tried to ignore the chill seeping into her bones. The winds picked up, howling just beyond the loose glass panes in the two tiny windows on either side of the door. The ball was starting soon, which meant her hopes of anyone coming to search for her were all but dashed. Even if her absence
had
been discovered, which by now it must have been, no one was going to come looking for her, especially considering the abominable weather.

A blast of freezing air tore down the chimney and burst into the cottage. She gasped as the cold bit into her, and tugged her still-damp greatcoat tighter. It did little good, and the shivering returned with even more strength. But there were no tears this time, for which her wind-and-snow burned cheeks were grateful. Instead, she felt only misery as she curled her aching knees to her chest, then scooted back to sit along the wall, huddled into herself for warmth.

She closed her eyes, only for a moment, but woke with a start at the whine of the door creeping inward. Her heart pumped wildly against her ribs and she jumped up, her pain forgotten as she grabbed a tree limb and wielded it like a club as the door banged shut once more.

“It was but the wind.” She chided herself for her foolishness. Her arm relaxed to send the branch clunking to the floor, and she crossed over to fasten the flimsy latch.

As the worn leather thong dropped over the peg, she paused. Coming through the darkness she heard the distinctive clip-clopping of a horse carefully picking its way through the trees.

She froze. Dare she venture forth and hope the interloper was of the friendly sort? She crept back to the window, pressed her nose to the icy pane, and squinted into the thickening grayness as horse and rider came into view. This time, the pounding of her heart had nothing to do with fear, as she recognized the black mare immediately.

Her fingers, stiff with cold, refused to obey as she scrabbled to throw the latch. Finally she succeeded, and yanked open the door with a deafening screech. As it echoed through the trees, it must’ve spooked the mare, for she reared up sharply on her hind legs, sending her mount tumbling from the saddle.

Miranda watched in horror as Hugh Montgomery, sixth Duke of Thorpeton, slammed to the frozen ground. Suddenly riderless, the mare took off at a breakneck pace, thundering through the woods, leaving her rider lying in the snow as still as death.

Chapter Sixteen

It took only a moment for the shock to fade. Miranda forgot about her aches and pains as she darted out of the cottage and hurried to the still figure lying face up in the snow. Flakes swirled about them, settled into Hugh’s hair, clung to his lashes, his coat, his breeches, and she knelt beside him to gingerly brush them off.

When he groaned softly she almost cried with relief. The fall had not killed him, merely knocked him senseless for a moment. She paused in her brushing to lean close, and her lips grazed his ear as she whispered, “Your Grace? Hugh?”

“What the…” His words were thick, sluggish, and faded into the night air.

She rocked back. “Please open your eyes.”

Hugh coughed and groaned again. “What the devil…?”

“You’ve taken a rather nasty spill, I’m afraid.” She slid her hand beneath him and tried to help him up. He was uncooperative, though, and far too heavy, leaving her no choice but to grunt, “If you’d but help me?”

Hugh groaned even louder this time, but cooperated. He sat up slowly, and reached up to rub his head. His hand stilled and he looked up at her through narrowed eyes. “Miss MacDonough?”

She nodded. “Thank the Lord you found me.”

“That I have. Unfortunately, I have lost myself in the process.” His hand fell down onto his upraised right knee and he looked around. “What the deuce are you doing here in the first?”

“I stumbled across this little run-down cottage in search of Thorpeton Hall. I thought to take in a bit of air and go riding, and I’m afraid I got myself a bit lost in the process as well. Then it started snowing and…well…I wound up very lost.” Her face burned at her confession of complete idiocy. “How did
you
end up out here?”

“Looking for you. When you didn’t appear for tea, my mother grew concerned and sent Gerard and Derek to search for you. I thought it might be best if I offered my assistance as well, though there were nearly shouts of protest over it.” He rolled his shoulders gingerly, and then his head. “At least I haven’t broken anything, though I’ll be as sore as anything come morning.”

Her stomach bubbled uncomfortably. “So everyone knows I disappeared?”

He shook his head. “Not everyone, no. Help me up, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Miranda scrambled to her feet and caught his hand in hers. Hugh grimaced as he rose, sucked in a sharp breath, and lifted his left foot as he attempted to bear weight on his leg. She felt his pain as she whispered, “Oh, dear…did you re-injure your bad knee?”

“It is nothing a hot bath and a long rest won’t cure,” he replied gruffly, his face pale in the duskiness. “Now that bath won’t be until sometime tomorrow, but there you have it.”

“Tomorrow? Don’t you know where we are?”

“I most certainly do,” he growled impatiently as he limped toward the cottage. “This was once the gamekeeper’s cottage, when we had a gamekeeper. It’s been vacant since last summer, when I decided Thorpeton Hall needed someone new. I’ve yet to find anyone I consider satisfactory.”

Hope flickered. “Then we are close to the main house?”

He shook his head, leaned against the door, and winced as it screeched. “Thorpeton Hall is about three-quarters of a mile that way.” He pointed east, toward the darkest part of the forest. “And at night, you’d as likely lose yourself worse than find the house. Especially in such foul weather.” He gestured to the pile of broken chair. “What happened?”

“I tried to stand on it.”

One brow rose, but he said nothing. Instead, he shook his head as he carefully sank to the floor and stretched his leg before him. A long, pained sigh, and he said, “Unfortunately, I am in no better condition, since my bloody fool of a horse tossed me.”

“I am sorry.” The words emerged as a grunt, as she threw herself into the door to close it. “It was the screeching that startled her so. This fool of a door is in need of a bloody oiling.”

His expression was one of absolute disgust. “It was my own fault, for letting the reins go slack. I know far better than to do something so foolish.” He stared up at her. “Are you wet?”

“You are not the only one who took a topple. I also made the mistake of slack reins and paid the price when my mare threw me.” She tried to keep her words light, but her shoulders slumped when he scowled.

“Are you all right?”

“I think so. A bit sore. Probably more so come morning as well, but I believe I’m in one piece, yes.” He stared at her a minute longer, then settled back against the wall with a hint of a grunt. As he stretched his leg again, he said, “
Borrowing
another of my horses, were you?”

Though he had to be angry over it, a hint of amusement laced his words. Even so, guilt flooded her. “I don’t suppose you’d accept my apology. I didn’t think there would be a problem, seeing as I’d probably have had the same horse, had I joined in the hunt.”

“True. Then again, you wouldn’t have been wandering around alone, had you joined in the hunt.”

“Touché.”

That
made him smile. “Touché, Miss MacDonough.”

His smile lightened her mood a bit. At least he wasn’t furious with her. “I shall make restitution, if Willow turns up lame. I inherited a bit from my father, you see. Aunt Arabella will agree to it. At least, I hope she will, as I need her permission to access it.”

She looked up at Hugh. “I don’t really understand
why
he willed it that way, as he never saw me as foolish when it came to finances. I handled his for years. He thought it was great fun to get one over on those he did business with. He signed the papers, but I actually made the decisions and he trusted me to the end. But for some reason…” She shrugged as the words died on her lips, and then offered up a sad smile. “He was unique, my father. And I miss him terribly.”

“It seems we understand each other quite well,” he murmured, his fingers splayed against his thigh. His forefinger tapped restlessly against the fine black cloth of his breeches. Then he looked up. “Come here.”

A gentle flutter rippled through her. “Why?”

“I want to make certain you didn’t split your skull.”

“I’m not bleeding.” Her head still ached, but much less than earlier. However, she didn’t want to argue, so she moved to where he sat and sank to her knees.

His hands were gentle, his fingers careful as they moved through her hair, but she sucked in a sharp breath just the same as they swept over a tender spot. “So sorry,” he murmured, his fingers going still. “But you’ve given yourself a nice little bump.”

The pain needled through her skull, then ebbed away. “I’ll be fine. It isn’t the first bump on the head for me and I doubt it will be the last.”

Her back stiffened as the air stirred behind her and she felt gentle pressure against the lump. It didn’t hurt, but still she asked, “What are you doing?”

“A kiss to make it feel better.”

She shivered at the low growl in his whisper. “I...I thank you.”

Her hair shifted, and his hands came down, one on each shoulder. After a gentle squeeze he released her. “We might want to think about trying to build a fire. It’s colder than a—” he cut himself off with a rueful chuckle. “It’s cold in here.”

Another shiver and she rose to her feet. “Do you happen to have flint and steel with you? I’ve looked everywhere and haven’t found either.”

“Oh, I’m certain it’s there on the mantel.” He grimaced as he rose. “I am fairly certain Thomas left a bit of both up here…”

He stumped over and without having to stretch at all, ran his hand over the top. He grinned as he turned to her, flint and steel in his hand.

“Now you know why I tried the chair. For once I’m not tall enough. I’m only thankful I didn’t pitch headfirst into this stone floor.” She glared at the tools in his hand, even as her spirits rose. “One bump on the head was more than enough. As it was, I bruised only my hand, and my pride.”

“I suppose you should consider yourself lucky, then.” He limped toward her and grunted as he tried to kneel before the hearth. It took him two attempts to do so, and he winced as he braced one hand against the smooth gray stone.

She wrapped her arms about herself. “So you came out in this weather to find me?”

“I did.” Another grunt as he shifted on the stone. “I received quite a fight in return for my concern. Raised a few eyebrows, to say the least.”

“Oh, dear.” Miranda bit her bottom lip. Somehow, she knew Sally’s eyebrows were among the raised. “I do hope I didn’t cause too much trouble for you?”

“Don’t worry yourself. I daresay I can handle a roomful of angry, worried women. I was more concerned about finding you than I was about angering them.”

Her belly lurched at his confession but she ignored it. “I imagine some were more angry than they were worried.”

He snorted as he struck flint against steel. “Your aunt kept alternating between wanting to throttle you and hugging you to death.”

She flinched. “And how did you convince them to let you out?”

Hugh shot her a look over his shoulder. “I did not have to convince anyone of anything. I don’t answer to any one of them.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

After a low, heavy exhale he went back to work. “I know these woods better than my brother or the hotheaded American my sister calls her husband. Of all of us, it made the most sense that
I
be the one to search for you. And seeing as how I’m the one who found you, I’d say I was right.”

His words were smug around the edges, and she smiled. “Yes. It seems you were.”

Flint
chinked
against steel as he resumed trying to start the fire. “So, tell me more about your father? And what of your mother? You never make mention of her.”

“She died when I was but a babe,” she replied softly, watching as sparks danced from the flint. She held her breath, waiting for one to catch and jump to life. “I have no memory of her.”

“I am sorry.”

She settled on the floor, still shivering. “As am I. I had hoped Aunt Arabella would share her memories with me. She is my mother’s sister.”

Chink. Chink.
Flint echoed as it struck steel, and sparks brightened the cottage for a brief moment. “And she won’t?”

The sparks finally caught and Hugh bent forward to stoke the embers as curling wisps of white smoke rose from the bundle of wood Miranda tossed on the hearth earlier. The wisps thickened, a tiny ember coming to life in a red glow.

The glow burned brighter as the wood caught. She inched closer, impatient for the much-needed heat. “I don’t know, really, as I haven’t yet asked. She has done so much to make me feel at home...to welcome me, I haven’t wanted to get too maudlin. Perhaps when this entire husband quest is over, we’ll be able to discuss it. At least, I hope we can.”

It was difficult to say for certain, but she thought Hugh shuddered. Then, he rocked back on his heels and held out a hand. “Come and get warm. You’ve done nothing but shiver since I arrived.”

“I am afraid I’m soaked to the bone.” She hurried to sit beside him and settled before the low flames. She held her hands out to the heat, savoring the warmth as it sank into her. It was so delicious that if she could, she’d crawl
inside
the embers and tuck in for the night.

Silently, Hugh eased out of his greatcoat, and dropped it over her shoulders. She bit back a sigh of pleasure at the delicious, woodsy scent rising from it. The heavy wool was warm from his body, and swallowed her in a way that made her feel as tiny and delicate as the perfect Lady Sally.