A Rose in Winter (54 page)

She whirled to face the bookcase, a tingling creeping along her spine. The case was built against an inside wall, and she knew another room lay beyond. It seemed impossible for a draft to be flowing around the cases, yet strangely the light had fluttered the most when she stood next to them.

Watching the glowing light carefully, she moved slowly forward. As she neared, the tiny flame began to dip and dance on the wick. Her heart took up a frantic beating as she stepped in front of a case and felt an airy rush swirl the bottom of her nightgown, touching on her bare limbs. She held the candle close to the section from where the air flowed, and the light was almost snuffed out in the waft. A wire mesh was inserted in the doors, and shielding the light, she peered through, noticing that the shelves in this particular section were canted back ever so slightly to one side. Opening the door, she pushed at the side of a shelf that was leaning inward, and as if it were on a well-oiled hinge, the whole inside case slipped backward, allowing a greater current of air to channel through. Erienne's heart began to pound, for the draft was as cold as a frigid breath of winter from outside.

Quelling her first instinct to flee to her chamber, she pushed at the edge of the shelves again. The case swung farther, exposing a small, barren cubicle where total darkness reigned beyond the meager glow of her candle. Her nerves stretched taut as she stepped past the case of shelves, through the door, and into the narrow corridor on the other side. She held the candle high and glanced about. A stairway led downward, and with some reservations, she set her feet to the steps, shivering as the current of air swept beneath the hem of her gown. Her heart fluttered within her bosom, and her breath came in trembling gasps with the tension that filled her.

She crept down the stairs until she reached level footing and there held the candle high to inspect her surroundings. It seemed she was in some kind of long, narrow cave that extended toward a vague, dim light some distance away. The chill of the breeze invaded her clothing, but she was scarcely aware of it as she moved toward the faint glow, shielding the candle flame from the strengthening draft. As she neared the end, she realized the passage continued on around a bend, and it was from this area that the source of illumination was coming.

Shaking with the cold and her own apprehensions, she snuffed her candle and stepped around the corner, then halted, not daring to breathe. The tall, black-clad figure of a man was moving beyond the lantern that hung from a peg on the wall halfway between them. She could see only his back, but she took careful note that he was dressed entirely in black, from his full-sleeved shirt to the high, trim boots he wore. He moved with an ease that was familiar to her, but only when he faced the light did she realize how well she knew him.

"Christopher!" The gasp came unbidden from her throat.

His head snapped up, and he squinted against the light of the lantern as he tried to see beyond it. He moved toward her with a question. "Erienne?"

"Aye, 'tis Erienne," she stated, experiencing a rush of emotions, first relief, pleasure, fear, and then anger. She settled on anger to hide the softer feelings. "What are you doing down here?"

His eyes roamed slowly down the length of her as she came into the circle of light, glowing warmly in appreciation of what they beheld. When he raised his gaze, he grinned and gave a simple answer. "Exploring."

"Exploring? In my husband's house? How dare you, Christopher! Have you no propriety?" She could not quite escape the fact that she had to struggle hard to maintain her show of outrage. The knowledge that she had been afraid she would never see him again was too blatant in her memory to be dismissed readily.

"He knows I'm here," he answered casually. "Ask him when he comes back."

"I intend to."

He returned a question to her. "How did you find your way down here?"

She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug, turning away. "I couldn't sleep, and I went to the old library in search of a book. When I felt a draft coming from the bookcase, I found this passage."

"I should have closed the case better the last time I used it," he mused aloud.

Her eyes came back to him, wide with surprise. "You mean you entered some other way tonight?"

He grinned leisurely. "Did you think I would chance the temptation of passing near your chamber? I entered from outside."

Though a light blush suffused her, she could not resist the query. "And did you also resist the temptation of passing Molly's chamber?"

Christopher's brows crinkled dubiously as he met her hesitant gaze. "Molly? Please, madam. I am more discriminating than that."

A sudden happiness welled up within her, but she hid it behind another inquiry, waving a hand to indicate their surroundings. "What is this passage used for?"

"Whatever use it serves. Your husband's mother fled this way with her sons when the old lord was slain."

"But what are you using it for now? Why are you here?"

"You are better off not knowing the answer to that." His brow arched as he peered at her. "And I trust you will not speak of this to anyone but Stuart?" He waited expectantly.

"Are you a thief?" she inquired bluntly.

His answer came with a curt laugh. "Hardly!"

Erienne was disappointed by his refusal to answer her, and her frustration was obvious in her tone. "I wish someone would explain what's going on around here!"

" Tis part of an old struggle," he sighed, "and the details are not always clear."

"I would like to hear them, Christopher," she pressed. "Even Stuart will not confide in me, and I have a right to know. I am not a child."

His grin broadened as his eyes swept her. "You're right in that, madam." Then his smile faded, and he grew serious. "But there is also a dire need for caution. My life depends on it."

"Do you think I would tell anyone when it might mean your death?" she questioned in amazement.

"You have stated your hatred of me, my lady," he pointed out, "and you have given me no reason to trust you with my life."

She met his stare with an unwavering gaze. "I wish no harm to come to you, Christopher."

He mused on her answer for a long moment, then queried abruptly, "Your father? What loyalty do you owe him?"

"I owe him nothing more than what has passed behind me."

"You're cold," he observed.

Erienne was confused by his abrupt change of topic and struggled to return to the same path she had started on. "My father deserves nothing...!" Then she saw where his gaze was directed and, glancing down, realized the twin peaks of her breasts were standing taut and high beneath her robe. Her cheeks grew suddenly hot with embarrassment, and she whirled, folding her arms across her chest and groaning her frustration with the man.

Christopher laughed and, picking up his coat, came to wrap it around her. "I prefer you unbound and soft," he murmured warmly against her ear, "with your hair flowing free."

Erienne felt suffocated by his nearness. Her whole being throbbed with an awareness of him, but she knew that if she gave any hint of her weakness, it would lead only to disaster. Over her shoulder, she reminded him pertly, "You were going to explain about this cave."

He chuckled and stepped away, rubbing his palms together as he paced about. "I suppose I should give you a brief history of the old lord first. Broderick Saxton was a peacemaker, a learned man, caught in the crossfire between the English and the Scots." Thoughtfully he moved to the far end of the cave to close the heavy door, shutting off the draft, and then returned to stand before her. "There was a Jacobite uprising some fifty years ago. Some Scots, mostly Lowlanders, sided with the English Crown, while the Highlanders, smitten with Bonnie Charlie, lifted their swords and vowed to set free their lands. The border shifted many times, and Saxton Hall was caught in that tug-of-war. The lord of the manor sought a peaceful settlement between his kinsmen and the English. His own father was English, his mother of the Highland clans. For his loyalty, he was allowed to keep these lands when the strife came to an end and Cumberland was firmly a part of England. There were some who resented him and said all manner of evil things against him. He married Mary Seton, also of a Highland clan, and she bore him two sons. More than a score of years back, when the youngest had yet to reach his tenth year, a band of men called the old lord from the manor after the family had retired for the night, and when he came forth in good faith, the leader slew him before he could lay hand to his claymore. Some claim it was the Highlanders who came to carry out their vengeance."

Christopher paused for a long moment in deep thought, then as he continued his story, he strode back and forth in front of her. "There are others who say 'twas not the marauding bands from the North, but men of English blood who hated Scots by any name and who were jealous of the lord's power and fortune. At any end, they murdered him and attacked the manor, seeking to slay all who might have witnessed the murder. The unarmed servants fled, and Mary Saxton hid here in this passage before she managed to escape with her sons."

"What happened to them?" Erienne asked quietly.

He seemed reluctant to answer. He lifted a cup from a pail of water and drank from it before finally relenting. "The marquess had a small cottage in the South of Wales, and there it was deemed that Mary and her sons could reside safely for a while. After a few months passed, an abortive attempt was made to kidnap or murder the sons. She gathered her family and remaining wealth and went elsewhere, breathing not a word about their heritage to anyone. When the boys came of an age, circumstances forbade the immediate return of the elder. But when he could, he petitioned the high court to bestow title to the family lands upon him, and armed with his memories and a respectable fortune of his own, he came to Saxton Hall to claim his heritage."

"And someone tried to murder him." Erienne raised her gaze in question. "How could the same men have killed the old lord and torched the manor too, Christopher? The first event happened so many years ago. If any of them are still living, surely their hatred has mellowed by now."

"Hatred. Greed. Jealousy. Who knows whether time mellows or whets the passions? But this Lord Saxton is intent on finding those responsible, whether they've passed on to hell or not." The look that came on his face gave Erienne a chill, but it was briefly seen, for he turned away abruptly.

"Justice must be paid sooner or later," she murmured.

He nodded in agreement. "I believe Mary Saxton has come to that conclusion also. She has lost too much to stand and take it any longer."

"I would like to meet her someday."

"God willing, you shall." He reached to take her hand and bestowed a kiss on the chilled fingers, then lifted his head to gaze into her eyes.

For a moment Erienne was held in a space of frozen time, unable to drag her eyes from the ones that commanded her attention. It was as if he searched out her very soul, and he had a way of making her feel consumed by that heated regard. With an effort, she freed herself from those mesmerizing orbs and whispered nervously, "I'd better go back upstairs now. I've been gone too long as it is."

"Your husband should be returning shortly," he murmured.

She looked at him, perplexed. "How do you know that?"

"I passed his coach some miles down the road. Unless he has found some other lady love, I imagine he intends to be with you shortly." His grin came back. "At least, that would be my intent if I were your husband."

The warm of his voice touched a quickness in her that left her fingers trembling as she raised the candle. "Will you light this please? I need it to find my way back."

He ignored her request and reached to take the lantern from the wall. "I'll take you upstairs."

"It isn't necessary," she was quick to insist, afraid for more reasons than one.

"I'd never forgive myself if some harm came to you down here," he responded lightly.

He lifted the lantern, casting its glow before them, and waited on her pleasure with amused patience. Erienne saw the challenge in his eyes and groaned inwardly. How could she refuse to pick up the gauntlet when she knew he would taunt her with his chiding humor if she did not? Adjusting the oversize" coat about her shoulders, she rose to the bait against her better judgment and moved with him along the stony corridor. They were well past the bend when a sudden scurrying accompanied by strident squeaking came from the darkness. At the sound, Erienne stumbled back with a gasp, having an intense aversion for the rodents. In the next instant, the heel of her slipper caught on a rock lip, twisting her ankle and nearly sending her sprawling. Almost before the cry of pain was wrenched from her lips, Christopher's arms were about her, and he used the excuse to bring her snugly against his own hard body.

Embarrassed by the contact that brought bosom to chest and thigh to thigh and made her excruciatingly aware of his masculinity, Erienne pushed hurriedly away. She tried to walk again, anxious to be away, but when her weight came down on her ankle, a quick grimace touched her features. Christopher caught her reaction and, without so much as a murmured pardon, took the coat from her shoulders, pressed the lantern in her hand, and lifted her up in his arms.

"You can't take me upstairs!" she protested. "What if you're seen?"