Lord of Fire (25 page)

She stared at him, quite shocked. “He does not still suffer, does he?”

“No, no. He had outgrown it by the time he reached his teens, thanks to God.” He shook his head sadly. “By then, however, certain patterns had been set. Damien had long since appointed himself Lucien’s protector—the twins have always been quite devoted to each other—but, as you may imagine, this was rather damaging to Lucien’s pride. Ever since he got well, in all his activities, especially in sports, he has pushed himself relentlessly. It’s not enough for him to be equal to other men, no, indeed; for his pride’s sake, he must exceed them.”

“To prove himself?” she murmured.

“Precisely. So, you see, my dear, you must be very gentle with him and very patient, but I promise you, he will be worth it. He doesn’t take to many people, doesn’t give his affection easily, but when he does, he is unswerving. Each of my young masters is dear to me, but I admit, Lucien was always my favorite. Heaven knows—” He sighed. “—he needed to be somebody’s favorite.”

She was still pondering this a moment later when the door opened and Lucien returned, bringing in a gust of wind with him.

“Note that I am shutting the door,” he announced, closing it firmly behind him. “Your shutter is fixed, sir. Unfortunately, the weather is turning steadily more foul.” He took off his greatcoat and tossed it on the couch.

Alice
picked up the tea caddy and hurried back into the kitchen, where the cauldron had come to a low boil. She warmed the china teapot with hot water, then measured out four teaspoonfuls of
Ceylon tea, one for each guest and one for the pot. While the tea steeped, she poked around in the unfamiliar kitchen until she found teacups, small plates and spoons, sugar, and milk. In short order, she returned to the parlor, bringing out the tea tray.

Suddenly struck shy, she could not meet Lucien’s gaze as she handed him his tea on a saucer. The old man smiled knowingly as he watched them together.
Alice sat down and inhaled the steam from her tea, looking on politely as the men discussed the books, but inwardly, she continued mulling over Mr. Whitby’s description of Lucien’s lonely childhood. Her hands shook slightly with the overwhelming emotion that Mr. Whitby’s revelations had roused in her. Realizing now how deeply Lucien had meant those words,
I am alone,
she lifted her gaze slowly from the unknown fortune in the tea leaves to his chiseled face.

He was smiling warmly as he argued with the old man about some theory of Hippocrates’s. It did not seem possible, but how much more plainly did she need him to say it? This beautiful, charming man was desperate for someone to love him.

She suddenly felt a lump rise in her throat of sheer remorse for having hurt him yesterday. Now she knew how hard it was for him to reach out to anyone; he had chosen her and what had she done? Deliberately cut him, in her cowardice. It was all she could do to sit still by the fire, fighting the impulse to rush over and hug him for all she was worth. He looked at her suddenly, taking her off guard, for her soul was in her eyes.

“We had better go if we’re to stay ahead of the weather.” He glanced meaningfully out the window. Blushing,
Alice followed his gaze and saw that the day had indeed darkened.

She nodded mutely, doing her best to hide the turmoil of her emotions as they bid Mr. Whitby farewell. Lucien threw another log onto the fire for him;
Alice felt moved to give the grandfatherly old fellow a kiss on his papery-thin cheek.

When they stepped outside, Lucien shrugged deeper into his greatcoat and looked uneasily at the sky. “The temperature’s dropped. We could be in for a storm. Maybe we should wait it out here.”

“Mr. Whitby is tired from our visit, Lucien. I’m sure it’s only a bit of rain.”

He gave her a brooding look, nodded, and hurried her down the garden path to Mr. Whitby’s front gate, where they met Mrs. Malone, the housekeeper, coming back from church. They greeted the woman and left the property, striding down the dirt road side by side.

In the distance, the bells from the country parish church were chiming in restless agitation. The gale was high, carrying in mysterious changes, as though it had come to blow away the old life
Alice had known. She turned her face into the fierce, cleansing wind and watched as a crow blew by, screeching and pumping its wings against the current. Then the first raindrops began to pelt them sporadically. They glanced at each other in surprise.

“Come on.” Unburdened by books or basket, Lucien took her hand, the wind rippling through his black hair. As the rain began falling faster, they raced hand in hand down the road to the path, then plunged into the darkened woods.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

“Come on, come on,” he said, pulling her along by her hand. They dashed through the woods, leaping over a fallen log, rushing past the limestone formations that jutted out from the hillside. “Climb!” he urged her, helping her up the steep grade of the path from behind.

The canopy of the trees shaded them at first from the light drizzle. Leaves rushed around her on chilly spirals of air that blasted her in spurts from all directions. The woods turned dark, and as the wind mounted, everything began moving. Trees were blowing, leaves scattering, branches snapping.
Alice kept looking at Lucien for reassurance. He strode through the woods with an unflinching stare and an air of power, his black greatcoat billowing behind him. There was something almost supernatural about his self-possession, as though he had summoned the storm himself.

An image flashed through her mind of him as a dauntless soldier, marching into battle amid clouds of black smoke. It comforted her to remind herself that light infantrymen were experts in using the terrain. One of their chief functions was to scout out the land ahead of the regiment’s marching columns, discerning safe routes and possible dangers ahead. Clearly, no mere foul weather was going to scare Captain Lucien, but as thunder rumbled in the distance,
Alice could not say the same for herself. Growing ever more nervous, she stayed close to him, close enough to feel his body heat. The sky, she noticed, glimpsing it through a parting of the swaying trees above her, had turned the leaden color of his eyes.

They had gone almost half the way to

He put his arm around her, steadying her. “It’s all right.”

She clung to him, but could barely hear his soft reassurance over the din of wind and thunder. She looked up at him, her face ashen. “Let’s hurry!”

He nodded and grasped her hand firmly. The ground leveled out; the path twisted this way and that. On and on, they ran. The wind assailed them like a horde of devils chasing them through the darkened woods, throwing leaves and bits of bark and twigs at them, sending branches crashing onto the path around them. They slowed as they approached the next upward grade, which was as steep as any staircase, stepped with large rocks here and there like islands amid the stream of mud.

Lucien led the way. He climbed the hill ahead of her, turning every few steps to pull her up by the hand.
Alice pressed on, clumsy with fear, her teeth chattering in the cold, her face flecked with mud, her knees shaky beneath her. The storm roared through the valley like the bellow of a warlock trapped within the mountain. When a bolt of lightning stabbed down out of the sky at them with a thunderclap that seemed to smash the world in one blow,
Alice let out a small scream and jerked sharply in terror, slipping in the slick mud. She felt herself lose her footing and screamed Lucien’s name.

Just out of arm’s reach ahead of her, he whirled around as she lost her balance. She caught only a glimpse of his horrified expression as she fell backwards and crashed down the hill, rolling through the mud. She felt her knee bump a rock, but what stopped her fall was a slender tree trunk on the side of the path. Her left shoulder rammed it with a jolt that knocked the breath out of her.

Lucien was there in an instant, scrambling down to her with astonishing agility as she lay crumpled on her side, the rain pounding her stunned face.

“
Alice!” He dropped to his knees beside her. The instant he touched her, she was able to breathe again.

She sucked in a sharp gulp of air and looked at him in a mix of fear and abject humiliation. His face was white, his expression fierce.

“Don’t move. Just breathe,” he said in forced calm.

Her next inhalation trembled with the threat of tears. She pushed herself up to a seated position, looking around in revulsion at the mud and slimy leaves that stuck to her.

“Don’t sit up—”

“I’m
filthy
!”

“Thank God you didn’t break your neck,” he whispered. “Did you hit your head?”

“No, my shoulder,” she said, her lips trembling. She reached over and grasped her left shoulder, massaging it.

“Let me check to see if it’s broken,” he ordered curtly.

She whimpered a little as he palpated her shoulder joint and collarbone up to the base of her neck with intense concentration on the task. His hard face streamed with rain, and his breath misted in a cloud.
Alice watched him in a state of misery. She felt like such a fool. She was covered in mud from head to toe.

Relief slowly eased the taut set of his mouth. “Where else does it hurt?”

“My knee.”

She was too shaken to object when he pulled her skirt up over her knees. His lips pursed, and
Alice looked at him in fear upon seeing the bloody stain that had seeped through her white stocking at her right knee.

“Can you move it?”

She gingerly bent her knee a few times, then nodded at him.

“You must have just given it a good bang.” Looking up from her limb, Lucien met her gaze and saw the tears in her eyes. His expression instantly softened. “Sweeting,” he whispered, gathering her into his arms. “Shh, don’t cry.” As he held her, sheltering her from the rain and storm, she could feel his heart pounding. “Lord, you gave me such a fright.” Pulling back, he produced a soggy handkerchief from inside of his waistcoat. He wiped away the mud that streaked her face while she gazed somberly at him. She felt his hand trembling slightly as he dabbed the rain out of her eyes. “Put your arms around me,” he ordered gruffly.

By his tone and the way he avoided her gaze,
Alice wondered if he was disgusted or angry at her for her ineptitude, but was too chagrined to ask. She obeyed without argument. He lifted her into his arms and stood. Narrowing his eyes with a look of resolution, he studied the ascent for a moment, then began carrying her up the hill, climbing with sure strides and tireless strength. At first, she was nervous, though she doubted she could have managed the hill with her knee so badly bruised and cut; in moments, she realized that she was in good hands. She stared in wonder as the ground passed swiftly beneath her. Lucien bowed his head against the rain, but she felt the supple power of his muscled body working all around her, bearing her safely through the wind and storm.

She stared at him in grateful awe. His cheeks were flushed with the cold, and his black hair was soaked. At the top of the hill, he paused for a moment, catching his breath; then, squinting his eyes against the rain, he continued the march with renewed vigor. With her arms wrapped around his neck, she rested her head against his broad shoulder and nestled against him a little closer with each thunderclap. At last, they reached the lookout rock.
Alice furrowed her brow as he walked toward it.