Bride of the Solway (23 page)

'Poor Cassie,' he murmured, stroking her back. 'Such a hard life you have had.'

Cassie swallowed hard. He was going to start talking about her family. She sensed it. And he was bound to ask about her mother. She ought to tell him. A wave of revulsion engulfed her at the thought. She could not tell him. It was impossible. Had she not already been brazen enough, telling him she loved him? And forcing him to make love to her? He must already have decided she was no better than a harlot. If she told him about her mother's fate—condemned for a lunatic and a wanton—it would serve only to confirm Cassie's own depravity. He would despise her. That was a thought she could not bear.

'I... You...' She racked her brain, trying to think of some way to turn the subject away from her family. 'Were you many years in the army?' she said at last.

'Yes. Max and I joined together, when we were very young.' 'Max?'

'He is my closest friend. We grew up together. After my mother died.'

'Oh.' So he did have family. Of a sort. 'Did you see much of the world in your years of service?'

He made a strange sound, deep in his throat. 'It's a strange life in some ways. There are hardships, but the greatest of friendships, too. What matters most to any soldier is his comrades. We shared everything. Laughter and childish jokes. Horses and hunting for our next meal.' He paused, clearly remembering. There had been a smile in his voice. But when he spoke again, it had vanished. 'We saw the snow, and the mud, and the driving rain, and the burning sun of the Peninsula. We met all that together. But...there was so much death. Too many of my friends, brave men all, lying in their own blood.' He shuddered. 'Forgive me. I should not have spoken so. Especially to a lady. I was not...er...not thinking clearly. Forgive me.'

Cassie said nothing. His pain was too obvious, too raw. He needed comfort, not words. She put her arms round him and drew his head down on to her breast, stroking his hair, just as he had done for her.

'Oh, Cassie,' he breathed, lying still for a second or two. 'Oh, Cassie.'

And then he was kissing her again, and the passion was filling them both, until it spilled over and carried them up into the shining sky above the magic castle where their world exploded into stars.

The first grey light of morning woke Ross. For a moment, he imagined he was back in Spain, rising with the dawn to assemble his men and march out towards the next battle. But, in Spain, he had not slept with a warm and yielding female body tucked beguilingly into his. Cassie. Beautiful Cassie, passionate Cassie.

She loved him. He did not understand how that could be, how such a woman could offer him the gift of herself. He had not deserved her. But he had been unable to resist. Could any man? The thought that she might have given herself to any other man gnawed at his gut. He—Ross Graham—had taken her. And he was honour-bound to keep her now.

Stealthily, he raised his head so that he could look at her in the gathering light. They had spent so many hours together in the dark, feeling their way, feeling for each other. Now he wanted to feast his eyes on the woman who had made love to him so passionately.

She lay, curled into his body, with her cheek cradled on one hand. Her slow breathing fluttered against his bare chest, with a trust, an intimacy, that touched him deeply. What was he to do now? He had promised himself that he would deliver her to her godfather's house and then leave. He had promised himself that he would keep his distance from her, lest she, too, be using him. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Surely a woman did not use the man she loved?

For she did love him. Somehow, Ross knew that he could be absolutely certain of that. When he had loved Julie, it had led to nothing but heartache. He had lost her to another man, the one she had always loved. Cassie must not be allowed to suffer as Ross had done. He would not desert her now. It was a matter of honour.

He grimaced at the latest turn of his thoughts. What on earth was he doing? Trying to convince himself, by cool argument? Utter madness! He could not leave her now.

He barely suppressed a shudder at the thought of such weakness. Was it love?

No! He would have recognised it. It was certainly not what he had felt for Julie. He had admired Julie's beauty and her courage. She had been like a white goddess, somehow untouchable, almost forbidden, a woman who must not be sullied by contact with earthly things. With Cassie, his greatest desire was to hold her close, to shelter and protect her, and—he admitted ruefully—to continue to share the passion they had discovered together. But with Cassie, he would laugh, too, and they would face the dangers of the world together.

At that moment, Ross
realised
that he had never once mentioned, to Julie, the horrors he had seen on those bloody campaigns, nor the depth of the loss he felt about his missing family. But he had confided in Cassie, as easily as he confided in himself. Almost as if she were part of him.

He shook his head in bewilderment. For a man of thirty-four, it was passing strange that such grown-up feelings should arrive so late. Yet this sudden emotional bond to Cassie was very strong. And he knew, deep in his bones, that it would grow with every day they spent together.

But it could not be love. He was
armoured
against that.

He gazed down at Cassie's beautiful face. This wonderful woman had given herself to him, in love. Strong emotions welled up within him. He was unable to resist the temptation to place a tiny kiss on her smooth white forehead.

Not tiny enough. Her long dark eyelashes flickered against her cheeks. She gave a tiny purr and opened sleepy eyes. 'Ross?' she murmured.

'I am here, my sweet. It's dawn. We must be on our way soon.'

Her eyes widened as the reality of their situation hit home. And then she blushed, a glorious rosy red. She could not hold his gaze.

'Stay there a moment,' he said, trying to adopt the matter-of-fact tone that would spare her further embarrassment. Under cover of the greatcoat, he finished fastening his breeches. 'I will fetch your clothes. And then I will go outside while you dress.'

He sat up, leaving the greatcoat tucked around her to preserve her modesty. She murmured something that might have been thanks. But as he moved towards the ramshackle entrance to their shelter, she burst out laughing, a golden peal of merriment that lifted his spirits to the skies. He turned back to see her head poking out over the collar of his coat and a single bare arm pointing at his lower body.

'Boots!' she managed at last, between whoops of laughter. 'You never took off your boots!'

Ross, too, began to laugh. 'I did not dare, Cassie, for then there would have been two of us, limping along barefoot.' He looked down at himself.

His breeches were filthy and barely dry, but at least he was decent. Cassie

could look at him without needing to blush even more.

He gazed across at her laughing face and made a silent vow. The next time he made love to Cassie Elliott, it would be in a proper bed, with fine white sheets and silken covers. And she would be his wife.

Ross had quickly
reconnoitred
the route while Cassie was dressing. There appeared to be quite a substantial river some way ahead of them. As far as he could tell from such a distance, the only means of crossing it was a single-track bridge. If James Elliott was still on the English side of the Solway, that would be where he would lie in wait. They would have to be immensely careful when they came to approach the crossing point.

Beyond the bridge, there seemed to be houses, possibly a village. If he and Cassie managed to reach it safely—Ross offered up a fervent prayer for that—there would be a fair chance that the immediate danger might be over. He would be able to risk looking for someone to take them to Sir Angus's house.

Taking one last, very careful look around for hidden dangers, Ross retraced his steps. He found Cassie fully dressed, trying to force her injured feet into her boots. 'No, Cassie!' He knelt down, catching her hands and forcing her to stop. 'You really will injure yourself if you do that. I have a better plan.' He picked up his greatcoat from the hay and began to hack large pieces from it with his pocket knife.

Cassie watched, bemused, as he then proceeded to cut away the soles of her ruined boots.

'Now, sit on the hay and give me your foot.'

It was not a request. He was back to being a soldier again. Giving orders. Cassie bit back the retort that leapt to her tongue and did as she was bid. She sat, fascinated, while he wrapped the cloth round her foot, added the leather sole beneath, and then bound the whole snugly together with string and the laces from her discarded boots.

'Now the other one.' He did the same again, with deft but gentle lingers. 'Stand up, and see how it feels.'

The result was strange, to be sure. But it might enable her to walk, a little way at least. 'Much better than before. Thank you. Do you think these makeshift boots will take us all the way?'

Ross patted her ankle and rose to his feet. 'The laces will soon wear through if we meet rough ground. Let us hope we do not. Come now. We should go. But before we do...' He handed her his flask. His stern look dared her to refuse.

'Thank you, sir,' she said demurely. This time she only sipped the fiery liquid. Once. Twice. That was enough.

'You learn quickly, Cassie,' he said with a smile, putting the flask to his own lips and swallowing. Then he returned it to the pocket of his mutilated greatcoat. 'There is enough left to warm us just once more, if the rain should return.'

He led her out into the field. 'Draw your cloak around you, Cassie. Its dull
colour
will serve to make you less conspicuous. And stay behind me. Like my shadow. We must go forward quietly, and with great care. It is safest to assume that our pursuers lie in wait for us at every turn.'

A shiver started to run through Cassie's body, but she mastered it enough to look up at him and to nod firmly. 'I am ready,' she whispered.

They trudged forward in silence for perhaps half a mile. There was no sign of life, neither human nor animal. The sky was leaden. The sun had no chance of penetrating the gloom. It felt more like winter than high summer.

'How are your shoes, Cassie?' He grinned at her over his shoulder.

The leather sole was flapping a bit with each step, and she had to lift each foot much higher than normal in order to walk. He must be able to see that perfectly well, but Cassie simply grinned back at him and said, 'They are the most comfortable dancing slippers I have ever worn, sir. You should set yourself up as a
souter
.'

He frowned at the unfamiliar word. 'A shoemaker, I should say.'

The frown disappeared. 'Maybe I shall. And you will make a fine
souter's
wife, I dare say. I shall have you cutting out the leather and writing up my accounts with the best of them.' He turned away from her and continued walking.

He was teasing. But not about the marriage. Not about that. Cassie felt suddenly chilled to the bone, as if she were back in the salt mist of the Solway. Ross Graham had clearly decided that Cassie was to marry him. Of all the arrogant, high-handed, odious—! He did not love her. He had not even asked for her hand. He had simply assumed that, by taking her virginity, he had acquired the right to decide her future. How like a man! Cassie was not sure whether she was about to weep, or to scream.

Anger won. How dare he treat her like a...like one of his underlings, required to obey without question? She took one swift pace towards him, grabbed his hand and pulled him back round to face her. Then she slapped him with all the strength in her right arm. it is enough that my brother treats me like a chattel,' she spat. 'Now you are no better.' Feeling the tears pricking behind her eyelids, Cassie gathered her skirts and started to run across the field, away from their line of march.

'Cassie!' Ross put a hand to his cheek. His little Cassie was much stronger than she looked. He started after her, but not so fast that he would catch her before her anger had begun to subside. For she was right. Or partly right. He admitted to himself, rubbing his cheek a little sheepishly, that he had been unfeeling. But she, on the other hand, had been downright foolhardy, shouting at him at the top of her voice when any number of enemies might be within earshot. No one had appeared, however, so it seemed they were still safe. Really, the situation was totally ridiculous. A young woman in homemade boots trying to run across a muddy field. Followed by a grimy man in a tattered coat. It was his fault she was fleeing. Of course it was. But if she could see how they both looked...