The Captain's Christmas Bride (23 page)

‘That you have a hot temper and a nasty, suspicious mind?’

He winced, briefly shutting his eyes. ‘Anyone who knows me well would tell you that I’m famous for staying calm no matter the provocation. The fact that I lost it so spectacularly when I saw you in the arms of another man, should tell you that...that...I really do love you.’ His face turned a shade of crimson. Which made her blink. He’d said it during the play. But that had only been lines. Now that he wasn’t playing a part, he had no need to say what he had. They both knew he’d had no choice, as a gentleman, but to marry her. And she’d realised, over the last couple of days, that she’d given him plenty of reasons to regret it.

So...for him to say he loved her...in spite of everything...must mean...he really did.

Could it be possible?

He sighed at the baffled expression she was sure must be showing on her face. ‘I know I’m not the man you wanted to marry. I know I let you down, badly, the moment we came to our first test. But if you give me another chance then I swear I will make you glad you married me, and not that trainee doctor.’

‘But...’ She shook her head. He thought she’d been up to no good with an actor, and still he was saying he wanted to make a go of their marriage. He was prepared to overlook something as bad as that?

‘You could have just said that, you know. You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.’

‘You are worth the trouble,’ he insisted. ‘Besides, I didn’t think you would listen to me, after the unjust way I laid into you.’

‘It wasn’t unjust...not really,’ she said, in a spirit of trying to meet him halfway.

‘Yes, it was. You know it was. I behaved like a savage. And you just stood there, and took it all, rather than defend yourself. Because all the time you were protecting Lizzie.’

She gasped. ‘You knew about that?’

‘Not until a day or so after. Looking back, I could see all the signs that you hadn’t done anything wrong. Your anger, the way you threw me out of your room, the way you smashed my telescope. And while we’re on the telescope, I need to explain that—’

‘You did. During the play.’

‘No, no—that is, I needed you to understand why I seemed so upset about it, when you broke it. Why I concentrated on it, rather than on you. You see...’ He thrust his fingers through his hair, forgetting that he was wearing a stocking cap, so that it slid to the floor. ‘It became a sort of...symbol, I suppose. It felt as if you were destroying everything of value in my life. Smashing what I’d begun to think could be so much more than I’d ever dared hope to find.

‘And then, when I realised that you hadn’t wantonly smashed anything at all, I felt so guilty, I knew that a simple apology wouldn’t suffice. I should have trusted you. I should have known you wouldn’t go about kissing other men. And then, to hear of the noble way you took all the blame, let our marriage dissolve about your ears, rather than let a single whisper of scandal touch an innocent girl...’ He shook his head. ‘And then I started to fear that our marriage couldn’t have meant so very much to you, if you could let it go so easily. Without even a token protest. Instead, you threw me out of your room, out of your bed, without a flicker of remorse. Then went about your duties the next day as though nothing had happened.’

She considered his way of looking at it. She’d been so determined to hide her hurt. And she’d clearly been more successful than she knew. So successful he had no idea what it had cost her.

‘While you,’ she reflected, ‘went prowling about the place with a scowl on your face like a wounded bear.’ She’d thought he was just bad-tempered. But now it struck her that if the marriage hadn’t mattered very much, he wouldn’t have been in such a bad mood, for so many days. He wouldn’t have thrown Eduardo through the window, either. He would have just given her a withering look, and strolled away.

‘All that stalking up and down the terrace, scowling at your shoes...you weren’t just regretting marrying me? You were...’

‘Planning a foolproof strategy for winning you back. Words weren’t going to be enough. I did look for some, Julia, but I didn’t know where to find them. I’ve no experience, you see, with wooing a woman. The only thing I am good at is organising boarding parties, and cutting-out crews, or drilling gun teams and the like. And then I saw that in the youngsters rehearsing for the play I had a willing crew. None of them liked the way we’d quarrelled and they all leaped at the chance to help me show how sorry I was. Am.’

‘You...you really do care for me, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ He searched her face. ‘Are you starting to believe it?’

She nodded.

‘And could you...’ he bent to pick up the cap, dusting it down with one hand—anything, it seemed, to avoid looking directly at her ‘...could you come to care for me, too, do you think? One day? Oh, I don’t expect too much, too soon, but if you would at least give as much to our marriage as you did before I made that stupid blunder, then...hang it, what am I saying?’ He tossed the cap aside. ‘Why should you have to make any effort? It is for me to woo you. To make you fall in love with me. I only wish I knew how to do it. Do you like flowers, Julia? Or jewels?’

Tempted as she was to keep him grovelling a bit longer, she didn’t think it would be right. He’d gone to extraordinary lengths already, to prove how much she meant to him. And the nervous way he was fiddling with the cap—this man who always seemed so sure of himself—proved beyond any clever words that she really, really was important to him. More important than his pride.

‘I do like flowers, and jewels,’ she said. ‘But you really don’t need to buy me any—’

‘Oh, but I do—’

‘No.’ She placed one hand on his chest. ‘You really don’t. Because you don’t have any need to win me over. I think I’m already as much in love with you, as you say you are with me.’

‘You cannot be!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m not the man you wanted,’ he said, clasping her hand to his heart. ‘Because I let you down so badly. I drove you away with my nasty suspicions and my hasty temper. After you tried so hard to adapt to marriage, too—letting me in your room, and your bed, and in the end I...’

She placed the fingers of her free hand over his lips to silence him. ‘You may not be the man I thought I wanted. But now we’re married, I find I really don’t want any other man. And as for letting me down—I can see exactly why you did what you did. But what impresses me is the way you went about making amends. Nobody has ever gone to such lengths to win my approval before. Because nobody has cared about winning it. I cannot believe,’ she said, with a little shake of her head, ‘that you even persuaded Nick and Herbert into joining in the effort to make me feel better. How on earth did you persuade them to take part?’

‘It wasn’t all that difficult, Julia. Your family all value you. And you heard what Herbert said. They may be jealous of the affection your father showers upon you, when he practically ignores their existence, but you are still their sister. And in their own way they are fond of you. As must be anyone who knows you.’

‘Stuff!’ He knew very well that Marianne had no trouble at all remaining completely immune to her. And as for David...

As though he’d known what was going through her mind, Alec slid his free arm round her waist. She stepped closer, resting her head against his chest. Relishing the way he cradled her to his heart.

‘Besides,’ he continued, stroking his hand over the crown of her head, ‘getting to know Lizzie has been something of a revelation. She has made me look beneath the surface, to the heart. I haven’t had much to do with women before. And I’ve tended to misjudge them. Well, you and Lizzie, anyway. I thought she was being manipulative and demanding when she wrote that letter to get me here. I accused her of telling lies, and of interfering in my life. When what she had really been doing was inspired by the love she has for me. The only way she knew how to show it was to get me here. And she knew I wouldn’t come if all she did was ask me. She...used a stratagem. The same way I would have used a stratagem in battle.’

‘Oh. So when your sister does it, it is permissible, is it?’ She raised her head, and shot him a challenging look. He met her challenge squarely.

‘It is when she does it out of love. And when it makes me see that I need to look beneath the mask a woman wears, to what is in her heart. Lizzie wanted to give me something back. Something to show how grateful she was for all the years when I went without to ensure she could have a genteel upbringing. She said she wanted to give me a Christmas present. At first, I found it hard to accept that the present she wanted to give me was a rich wife. A rich and loving wife,’ he hastily amended.

‘It all came as a bit of a shock to me. You see, I’m not used to receiving presents. That telescope was the only thing anyone had given to me, as a token of goodwill, for years. Other than that, I’ve had to work for everything I own. To struggling, if you must know. I’ve been the provider for my crew, for my sister, for so long that to have something as good as you just land in my lap—it seemed too good to be true. So when it seemed to go wrong, it was easier for me to think it had
all
been false.’

‘And now?’

‘And now I understand that you are not hard, or fickle, or flighty. Nor any of those things I accused you of. You are noble, and loving, and good. You took the blame for Lizzie’s mistake, no matter the cost.’

She sighed. ‘It wasn’t such a big thing. In this family, there are always scandals. Affairs. Infidelities. Now that I’m married, it’s almost expected that I should stray. The only shocking factor was that I appeared to do so, so soon after the wedding. And,’ she added wryly, ‘with a man of lower class. But if there should be talk about Lizzie, it could have ruined her chances of ever making a good marriage.’

‘See? Noble. Good-hearted.’

‘What,’ she said with a rueful shake of her head, ‘am I to do with you?’

He gave her a rather wicked smile. ‘You could kiss me.’ He looked up. ‘There’s bound to be some mistletoe around here somewhere. After all, you festooned the place with it.’

‘So I did,’ she mused. And then darted him a tentative smile. ‘Aren’t you afraid I hung it everywhere because I’m a designing hussy? Determined to trap some poor unsuspecting man in my toils?’

‘So long as that man is me,’ he growled, hugging her tighter, ‘I don’t give a rap.’

‘Then let’s go and find a kissing bough,’ she said, gazing up into his eyes. Eyes which she could finally believe were burning with adoration for her.

‘Who needs it?’ He bent his head, and kissed her anyway. Without benefit of mistletoe. With her whole family, and the staff, separated from them only by a flimsy screen of canvas.

And for the first time in her life, she didn’t care. Didn’t care what it looked like, or what anyone thought of her behaviour, or what they might say. She just soared away on a tide of love.

Love for the man who’d finally seen beneath her mask to the girl she truly was inside.

And loved her—just as she was.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
WARRIOR OF FIRE
by Michelle Willingham.

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Warrior of Fire

by Michelle Willingham

Chapter One

Ireland, 117
2

C
arice Faoilin was not afraid to die.

She had been sick for so long, she didn't know how it felt to be an ordinary woman any more. She didn't remember what it was to awaken without pain, to walk in the sunlight and enjoy each day as it was given. Most days, she stared at the walls, confined to her bed because she was too weak to move.

Until now.

In a matter of days, soldiers had invaded her home, demanding that she fulfil her delayed betrothal contract. She was ordered to accompany them to wed the High King of Éireann, Rory Ó Connor. The Ard-Righ had a brutal reputation, and few women wanted to wed him, herself included.

Perhaps she should have gone meekly, obeying the High King's orders as a woman should. But then, Carice had never been the obedient sort. She wouldn't have agreed to the betrothal, had her ambitious father given her a choice.

She was
not
going to lie back and offer herself up as the sacrificial lamb—even if this escape attempt killed her. And it very well might.

Each footstep felt leaden as she struggled to disappear into the dark forest. She'd chosen a long branch to use as a walking stick while she made her escape. A small voice inside her warned her,
You don't have the strength to reach shelter. You're going to die tonight.

She silenced the voice. She had lived with the prospect of dying for so long, what did it matter any more? Worrying about it wouldn't change anything. Instead, she preferred to fight for every breath, living each day as if it were her last.

Although today might
be
her last day if she didn't find shelter soon.

With every step she took, the air seemed to grow colder. There was snow upon the breath of the wind, and Carice huddled within her cloak, leaning heavily upon the staff. Her feet were half-frozen, and her fingers were numb. She didn't know how long she'd been walking, but she prayed to find a warm place to sleep.
Please let there be shelter somewhere close by.

Her prayer was answered when she reached the far side of the forest and ventured into an open field. Just near the horizon, the moon illuminated a fortress with a tall limestone wall surrounding it.

When she drew closer, she realised it was an abbey, not a fortress. Never had she visited this place, though it was only a few days' journey from Carrickmeath, her home. But tonight, it was her best hope for shelter.

I don't know if I can make it that far,
her body reasoned. Every muscle in her body ached, she was starving, and the distance appeared vast.

If you don't keep going, you'll freeze,
her brain reminded her. And death by freezing didn't sound very pleasant. She had to keep moving, especially since she'd made it this far.

Carice continued walking across the snowy meadow, counting the steps as she did. Though her legs were shaking from exertion, she forced herself to keep going. While she walked, she hoped that the monks who dwelled within the abbey would grant her a place to sleep and a warm fire. Or, at the very least, a place to collapse from exhaustion.

It was the promise of getting warm that kept her walking. Snowflakes began descending from the sky, the barest drifting flurries.

Just a little farther,
she told herself.
Don't stop.

When she reached the abbey, strangely, the gate was open. A crow cawed at her arrival swooping down to inspect her presence. Inside the grounds, the scent of smoke lingered like a harsh memory. A fire had ravaged the outbuildings, and the battered stone structures were charred and lay in ruins. Another building nearby was in better condition, but it, too, had visible damage, along with the nearby roundtower that was missing its roof.

‘Is anyone here?' she called out.

There came no answer, no sound at all. She walked through the open space, her feet crunching within the wet snow. Near the cemetery, she spied four freshly dug graves. Snow covered the earthen mounds, and she crossed herself at the sight. A chill crossed over her spine as she wondered what had happened here. Were all the monks dead from the fire? Clearly, the abbey had been abandoned.

Carice walked up the stairs leading to the main sanctuary. There was no wooden door remaining, and inside, the chapel was dark and cold. At least it was better than remaining outside, she reasoned. The fire had not reached the inner sanctuary, for the scent of smoke diminished as soon as she walked inside the space. At one end, there was an altar with a larger chair beside it. Spider webs lined the corners of the walls, and a savoury aroma caught Carice's attention.

It was the faintest scent of food, like a roasted fowl. Someone
had
been here recently. She spied bones upon the floor and her stomach growled at the thought of a hot meal. It seemed that she could never satiate the endless hunger tormenting her. She pushed back the cravings and called out again, ‘Is anyone here?'

But there was still no answer.

This time, she began exploring a narrow hallway at the back of the sanctuary that opened into a spiral staircase. She guessed that it likely led towards the abbot's private chambers. Since there had been food scraps left behind, then there might be someone sleeping above stairs.

Her skin prickled with a rise of nerves. It wasn't wise for a woman to approach a stranger, alone with no guard. But she had no alternative. Right now, her body was reaching the end of its strength. She needed to rest before she could continue her journey, for it was the only way she would survive what lay ahead.

Carice steadied herself before climbing the narrow stairs. After the sixth step, she had to sit for a moment to calm the dizziness. She listened hard for the sound of anyone, but only silence met her ears.

It will be all right,
she told herself. If the abbot was here, surely he would find a place for her to sleep. And if he was not, then she would remain in his chambers until dawn. She reached deep inside her for the last of her strength. She crawled up the remaining stairs, struggling to reach the top. The stone floor was cold beneath her hands and feet, and she fought to stand once more.

Carice leaned heavily upon the wall, stumbling towards the first room. Inside the chamber, she spied a narrow bed with rumpled coverings upon it. The curtains were drawn back and hot coals lay upon the hearth, as if there had been a fire recently.

A trace of fear crept over her, but Carice was too tired to care any more. If there was someone here who intended to harm her, there was nothing she could do about it. She lacked the strength to move.

Exhausted, she stumbled towards the bed, seeking its comfort. She huddled beneath the woollen coverlet, so grateful for a place to sleep. It didn't matter if someone had been here before her, or if they were still here. Nothing mattered except being warm and sheltered.

But as she drifted off, Carice sensed a presence in the room...almost as if someone was watching over her.

* * *

The woman sleeping on his bed was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. From the moment he'd heard her enter the abbey, Raine de Garenne had watched over her from the spiral stairs, remaining in the shadows while she had explored the sanctuary. He didn't know why she was here, but it was clear she was alone.

Fragile, too, like a snowflake upon his palm. She had collapsed after reaching his room, and now she was sharing the very bed he'd slept within.

Why had she intruded within this place? He remained standing in the shadows against the far wall until he was certain she was asleep. The room was growing colder since the peat fire he'd lit earlier was dying down.

He added more fuel to the hearth until the fire grew hot. The dim light illuminated her features better. Her long dark hair was not black as he'd imagined, but a warmer brown with hints of gold and red. It hung to her waist, and her skin was pale against the coverlet. How had she come to the abbey, and why was she alone? He couldn't imagine anyone leaving a woman like her unguarded, unless they had died trying to protect her.

His mood grew sombre as he thought of his own failings.
You should have died for Nicole and Elise
, his conscience taunted.
You should have sacrificed your life for theirs.
He was haunted by his sisters' fate even two years later. He'd believed he could get close to them and free them from captivity by joining King Henry's soldiers. Instead, he had been sent to fight with the Irish Sea separating them. He should have known that the king's men would never let him remain near his family.

But there was no means of unravelling the past, no reason to dwell upon the bitter memories now. Nothing would change his sisters' captivity until he carried out the king's orders. He would return to his commander just after dawn, and if he succeeded in his task, he might win their freedom.

Raine held fast to the thought, for it was the only shred of hope remaining.

Now, he questioned what to do about the woman. Raine pulled a chair beside the fire, considering his choices. She didn't belong in the abbey any more than he did. He rested his forearms upon his knees, and the amber firelight revealed a long scar—a visible reminder of the battles he'd faced. Most of his scars and burned flesh were hidden beneath his chain mail armour, the cost of survival.

He stared into the fire, knowing he had no right to live. As a soldier, he'd stolen countless souls from the earth. He ought to feel guilty about their deaths, but he didn't. There was a stony sense of emptiness where his heart had once been. His sisters' lives depended upon his obedience. He was chained to this life of a Norman soldier that he didn't want, and he would continue to fight until he had earned back their freedom or he died. He had put aside any dreams he might have held for his own future, for he deserved this prison after failing to save his parents.

Mercenary, some had called him. A heartless murderer, the Irish would say. His soul was already damned, according to the priests, and he regretted nothing. As long as his sisters were alive and whole, none of it mattered.

Raine moved to stand beside the young woman, and her scent caught his attention. The air of innocence surrounded her, and her face was soft like a spring morning. It was doubtful that this woman had ever touched a weapon in her life.

He leaned down, reaching to touch a lock of her hair. It was not a heavy silk like other women he had known. No, it was fragile, like her—tangled and damp from the journey. As he studied her more closely, he realised how very thin she was, half-starved and frail. This was not a woman who had missed a meal or two. She was fighting for her life.

He'd seen folk who had starved to death before, men and women alike. And although he shouldn't care what happened to a stranger, he felt an invisible force drawing him closer. She needed someone to watch over her, someone to take care of her—the way he wanted someone to protect his sisters.

His mood darkened as he went to fetch her another blanket from the chest. He laid it over her, and she moved slightly, snuggling close within the blanket.

Dieu,
how long had she been walking outside? He thought about awakening her but decided to let her sleep. She looked exhausted from her journey. He adjusted the blanket and touched her hair once again. His questions could wait until morning.

Raine lit a torch in the hearth and then left the room, closing the door to keep in the heat. He walked down the stairs and through the sanctuary. Although the worship space was untouched by fire, he could feel the presence of the holy men...and their screams haunted him still.

He blamed himself for their deaths, for being unable to save them. The devastating fire had claimed the lives of every man, and he'd been granted only a few days' leave to bury the bodies.

Raine walked outside to the kitchen, needing a distraction. He had eaten his own meal hours ago, and the truth was, he knew very little about cooking. Among the Norman soldiers, his food consisted of hunting meat and roasting it. However, the monks who had once lived here had root vegetables stored underground before they'd been attacked. He supposed he could find something for the woman to eat.

He paused, feeling like a thief. But dead men had no need of food, he reminded himself. There was no bread, but he found dried meat he didn't recognise, parsnips, and some walnuts. Would she like any of it? He wasn't certain, but it would have to suffice. Raine started to gather it up in a bundle, but then he stopped short.

What in the name of the Rood was he doing? Bringing her food and blankets as if she were a treasured guest? She was a stranger and an intruder. He ought to awaken her and demand to know why she was here. There was no reason to let her stay.

Raine seized the food and strode through the kitchens, slamming the door behind him. He didn't know this woman. He didn't know anything about her except that she was dangerously weak, and the sight of her stole his breath.

It was an undeniable fact that she would die if he turned her away. And the last thing he wanted was one more death on his conscience.

But he could save her.

Raine slowed his pace back to the
donjon
, letting out a low curse
.
He knew what would happen to a beautiful woman travelling alone, if he forced her to go. He bit back a curse at the thought.

She's not your responsibility. You must return to your commander and your duties.

He knew that. But when he entered the sanctuary
and climbed the stairs bearing the bundle of food, he couldn't stop thinking about his sisters. They were alone in England, hostages of the king. Was anyone protecting them? Or were they at a stranger's mercy, like this woman was?

No, she was not his to protect. But neither would he abandon her. He had finished burying the holy men, and before he returned to his commander and the other soldiers, he could bring her to safety. At least then he would know that she had come to no harm.