Running Scarred (11 page)

“Why?” He breathed into the sudden silence, shocked at her generosity. “It’s so much.” He stared at her tired expression.

She shrugged almost dismissively.

“Not if you want your privacy and you’ve made it perfectly plain that you do. It’s probably not quite enough, but I need the rest of the estate for my project, so I’m afraid you’ll have to make do. Of course if you want to come and join in with anything going on here, you’re very welcome, you do have access rights still. Just call me up first and I’ll make sure I stay out of your way while you’re over here.” He heard the strain in her tone.

“Ellen, please listen to me. I didn’t mean…I don’t know what to say.” He stood there uselessly.

“Just sign the papers Patrick, and then you can go. You’ll never have to see me again and I’ll never come to bother you, I promise.” Her voice cracked this time and she slumped as she reached the never-ending metal heap. Her shoulders were shaking violently as she bent to gather more piping.

Patrick put the folder on the stone wall and walked over to her. He sounded almost awed.

“It’s so much to give me.” He touched her shoulder lightly, but she shook him off and spun
away from him. “Ellen! I’ve got to say something.” He raised his voice in desperation at her reaction.

More of her hair had come loose from her clip and it wafted about her face. She dragged it back and tugged it roughly into place, her fingers becoming
entangled in the long vibrant stands. She gasped in pain and frustration and then suddenly she was tugging her hair hard, not caring as the soft strands pulled away from her scalp and drifted to the floor.

Tears began streaming down her face.

“Don’t say anything to me Patrick! Don’t speak to me ever again! Every time I hear your voice it just makes everything worse!” She shouted into the quiet evening, her anguish obvious.

She was sobbing uncontrollably as Patrick, unable to bear her distress, caught hold of her fingers. He wrapped his hand around hers and stopped her tearing anymore hair from her head. Then he pulled her hand down to her side. He didn’t understand what she was saying. How could he make anything worse for her? She must be talking about the scaffolding.

“Stop it Ellen. Stop this now. You’re exhausted and obviously not thinking straight. Leave all this to Sylvan and go to bed.” His tone was gentle and he massaged her hand with his own. It was so small and soft, his hand felt huge and calloused around it.

“I can’t!”
She shouted again, nearly hysterical now, as she wrenched her hand out of his. “I have to get it done. He’ll lose his next contract if I don’t do it. I can’t let that happen. I’ve only just got the town on my side. I can’t ruin it all by letting down one of their biggest employers.” She was swaying and, as she stepped sideways to move round him, she stumbled. Her foot caught on the uneven soil and she went sprawling towards the ground.

Patrick lurched to catch her, but he was off balance and his leg moved unevenly. He missed, his arms flailing hopelessly as she crashed into the pile of scaffolding.

She let out a pained cry as she rolled off the pile and slithered down onto the rough grass.

He regained his balance at last and shouted angrily.

“Ellen! Right, that’s it! You just listen to me. You’re going to bed right now before you kill yourself.” He marched up to her and began to pull her up from the floor, but it was obvious her legs were not going to carry her. Her whole body drooped with exhaustion and before she could protest, he had scooped her up behind the knees, pulled her body into his chest and walked up the stone steps, carrying her into the Chateau.

“Where are you sleeping?” He asked as her head fell against his chest.

She breathed in his scent, unable to believe that she was at last in his arms. Even though it didn’t mean anything to him, it was more than enough for her.

“Over there.” She mumbled as she gave in and nodded to her right. He pushed through a makeshift curtain slung over a doorway, and into her bedroom. He looked aghast at the sleeping bag rolled out on the hard floor.

He stopped dead inside the doorway, staring at the bare floorboards, the loose material hung at the window.

“Is this where you’ve been sleeping for the last two months?” He didn’t put her down as she nodded gently against his body. She could feel the hardness of his muscles clamped around her, and then knowing that he would soon be gone again, it became more than she could bear. She wriggled and tried to release herself from his grasp. His muscles contracted harder as he held her even tighter. “You can’t stay here.” He stated flatly.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just so tired. Put me down.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“Not a chance, you need a proper bed.” He spoke with finality, turned swiftly out of the room and back out of the Chateau.

“What are you doing? Patrick, put me down.” She protested, her voice weak. He ignored her pleas and marched back along the forest path as she struggled feebly in his arms.

It was hopeless. She was too exhausted to break his iron grasp. She stopped fighting him and relaxed at last.

She was so light in his arms that she barely registered as there. Her head fell back after less than a minute of his steady pace and he looked down at her now sleeping form, noticing for the first time how her cheekbones were so prominent in her perfect face and how he could feel her ribs through her t-shirt.

He shouldered his way through the front door, glad th
at he never bothered locking it and then straight on into his bedroom. He pulled back the covers with one hand and laid her down gently. She didn’t stir at all. He pulled her boots from her feet and she curled in sideways. She looked tiny in his bed. He stared at her sleeping figure for a few seconds, wishing that she were there under very different circumstances, then he pulled his quilt over her, closed the door quietly and trudged out of his house and back up to the Chateau.

Chapter Six

Ellen snuggled into the plump pillow. It was so soft, so comfortable and it smelt so delicious. She breathed in deeply, taking in the wonderful smell and was about to snuggle into it again when she realized what she was doing. She opened her eyes in shock.

She launched herself forwards and then brought her hands to her head as a multitude of stars exploded in her brain. She had sat up too fast.

She closed her eyes again and listened to her pounding heart. She knew immediately where she was. She could smell him all around her. She felt down her body, not sure if she was relieved that she was alone and still fully clothed. She pushed her hair away from her face, opened her eyes again and cast them across the bed. The stars were still all around her and she realized that they weren’t in her head, but coming from her clip that was lying on the dressing table. She reached out, picked it up, twisted her hair into a knot, and clipped it. Then she looked around the small but beautiful bedroom.

The bed was huge, taking up most of the ava
ilable space. What looked like a handmade quilt was turned over at the bottom of the bed. The surface of the dressing table was clean and shining. There was a small bottle of scent at one side. The shape of the bottle was unusual. It was engraved with wild swirling patterns. She looked a little closer. Penhaligons perhaps? She wasn’t sure, the sun was shining too brightly onto it. She sat back for a moment trying to think.

What in God’s name was she doing here?
The last thing she could remember was Patrick moaning about the parcel of land that she was giving him. She stared out of the window, trying to remember anything else and then she realized that the sun was shining in from the wrong side of the house. It wasn’t evening. It was morning. She had been there all night!

She groaned as it all came flooding back to her. And then she remembered the scaffolding.

She gasped in dismay and swung her legs out of the huge bed. She was about to stand up when there was a gentle knock on the door. Patrick came in holding two mugs of tea in his hands.

“I thought I heard you stir. I didn’t put any sugar in it. Sorry, I don’t take it myself and there’s none in the house.” He sat on the bed beside her.

She looked over at him and took the proffered mug.

“Thanks. It’s fine. I don’t take sugar either.” She sipped the steaming liquid gratefully. They were silent for a few seconds then she stood up. “Thanks for letting me get a decent night’s sleep. I obviously needed it…I have to go. I must apologise to Sylvan about the scaffolding. I’ll just have to pay his extra fees.” She put the mug on the dressing table.

“Sylvan left hours ago. It’s nearly twelve.” Patrick sipped more of his tea.

“Oh no!
I bet he was as mad as hell. Why did you let me sleep so long?” She slumped back onto the bed.

The unscarred corner of Patrick’s mouth twitched in a small smile.

“Actually he was quite happy. I loaded most of the rest of the scaffolding last night after I’d got you tucked up in here. You’d never have managed it. I’m way tougher than you and it took me until nearly four this morning.” He looked down at her obviously pleased with himself.

Her mouth fell open.

“You loaded the truck for me? Why?” She was completely taken aback. She didn’t think he’d wanted to have anything to do with her or her project.

He shrugged.

“Because you were going to kill yourself doing it. You were completely out of it when I brought you back here last night Ellen.” He paused for a moment, looking at her carefully. “Why don’t you have a real bed up there? You obviously haven’t slept properly for months, it’s no wonder you’re so exhausted.” He was staring at her, his blue eyes deeply concerned.

She wrapped her hands back around the mug, just to give herself something to do. He was so close, it was difficult not to reach out and touch him. She wanted to grab hold of him and pull him close,
she wanted to run her fingers through his long, dark hair, she wanted to feel his body on hers. Instead, she held onto the mug, gripping it as though her life depended on it.

“I just didn’t get round to it yet. I have to keep moving my room about, depending on where I’m working in the Chateau. It just seemed easier to throw down a sleeping bag. It’s fine. I used to go camping all the time when I was younger.” She tried not to look at the horribly comfortable bed on which she was sitting.

He snorted dismissively.

“Not for months at a time though. Even the army doesn’t expect you to do that. It’s too knackering.”

She lifted her shoulders.

“It’s not as though I had much choice. The hotel didn’t want me as their guest after they saw what I was doing and I couldn’t be far away. I’m managing this project by myself and I have to be on site all the time. If I’m not there
, absolutely nothing gets done. The men hate taking orders from a woman and what with their working times! I had no idea that the French work such short hours. Half the time I feel as though they only work three days a week. Honestly Patrick, it’s been a nightmare and I haven’t even started on the inside.” Talking about the Chateau made her feel safe enough to put her mug down again. She reached for her boots.

Patrick lowered his gaze guiltily.

“I am so sorry Ellen. I’ve been an absolute idiot. You must hate me for making things even more difficult for you.” He picked up the empty mugs and walked back out of the room, unable to meet her eyes.

She left her boots beside the bed and followed him closely, pleased that they now seemed to be able to hold some sort of conversation.

“Forget it. You weren’t the only one to object to the proposal. It was probably as much my fault as anyone’s. I should have been more open about it, but I wanted to keep it to myself until I was sure I could do it.”

He turned to look at her for a moment.

“You should have told me, Ellen.”

She laughed half-heartedly, thinking of the times he had ignored her calls.

“And just how would I have done that? You have been avoiding me like the plague since I first viewed the place. I’ve only seen you once in nearly three months and then you completely blanked me.”

He stammered, more embarrassed than he cared to admit.

“I…I was busy. I had a lot to do.”

“Like what Patrick?” She scoffed.

He fiddled with some wood by the stove and didn’t meet her gaze. And then suddenly he gave a great sigh.

“Like avoiding you, for one.
Actually avoiding you, full stop.” He confessed at last, busying himself with the stove again, wishing she wasn’t so close to him.

“Why? Why do you want to avoid me? What have I done to you?” She spoke so quietly he looked over to her.        

And then he gave up trying to hide it. He couldn’t conceal his feelings any longer. He didn’t know whether she would understand his true meaning, but he had to tell her something. He would just have to take the pain of rejection.