Taken by Storm (13 page)

“Looks like rain,” Meg grunted, wrestling with the latch. Then she spotted the tortoiseshell cat in Colin’s arms, and her eyes widened with surprise. “Well, would ye look at that! Gemma ‘ere never goes to anyone, ‘specially strangers!”

“Dr. Lord has a way with animals,” Ariadne said, flatly.

“I should say he does,” Meg murmured, letting her gaze wander up and down his body in a heated caress that he, still petting the cat, never even noticed. “Bet he’s got one with the ladies, too.”

That
comment caught the veterinarian’s attention. He looked up and, despite his fatigue, managed a broad, engaging smile that had Ariadne bristling in annoyance and feeling like a third wheel. He stood cradling the cat in his arms as the servant dragged open the door, then, giving the feline a last fond rub behind the ears, carefully put it down and went to get the stallion. The cat ran after him, following worshipfully at his heels, meowing, and nearly tripping him.

“What happened to yer brother?” Meg purred, leaning against the stable door while they waited for Colin to return with Shareb-er-rehh. “Such a pity, that limp.”

“He was in the War.”

“Fine lookin’ man. Too bad he’s a cripple.”

Ariadne stiffened and bestowed a withering glare on the other woman. “He is
not
a cripple. He’s capable and confident and I’ll thank you not to demean him so.”

“Don’t get so huffy, little boy, I was merely making an observation,” the wench said, her voice a husky, sultry thing that grated on Ariadne’s nerves. “In fact, ye can tell yer handsome sibling that I rather fancy him . . . limp or not.”

“Yes, well, you can fancy him all you wish, but he’s taken. He already has a lady friend.”

Now why on earth had she said
that
? The other woman laughed, obviously unfazed.

“Is that so? Well, I’m sure he won’t mind . . . another.”

There was nothing that Ariadne, in her role as “little brother,” could say without drawing suspicion to herself, and so she raised her chin and bit her tongue and dug her nails into her palms to keep her angry retort at bay. She hated herself for feeling so possessive about something—or rather, someone—who didn’t belong to her. She had no claim on Colin Lord. For heaven’s sake, he was just a servant! Yet why did she feel this red shaft of jealousy?

Shareb’s smart hoofbeats heralded his approach out of the darkness, and Colin had barely gotten him into the stable and unhooked from the chaise before the skies opened up in earnest, the rain hammering against the roof at such a volume that talk was impossible. As the other horses turned their heads to watch his arrival, Shareb-er-rehh’s sulky attitude immediately vanished, as though he’d been humiliated by pulling the vehicle and had just been released from a terrible burden. He whinnied softly, and each horse in the stable stared at him as he passed, tail high, neck arched, nostrils flaring with self-importance.

Ahead, Meg walked with the lantern, leading them down the gloomy aisle, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to smile invitingly at Dr. Lord. She had regarded Shareb-er-rehh’s oversized saddle cloth and bandaged legs rather dubiously, and Ariadne hoped that the disguise did not call suspicion down on all of them.

She saw the veterinarian watching her from above Shareb’s withers, the lantern light gilding his fair hair.

“Go inside, little brother. I’ll see to the horse.”

And leave him to Meg? “No. I’ll stay and help.”

He merely grinned, causing her to suspect that he knew exactly why she chose to stay.

It was infuriating.

Meg paused outside an empty stall, and jerked her head to indicate it for the stallion’s use. As Dr. Lord led Shareb inside, the woman let her eyes rake appreciatively over his back, his face, his form. Again, Ariadne felt the hot lance of jealousy.

She raised her chin. “We have no further need of your services, save for supper and a good breakfast in the morning. Good night.”

Meg looked startled, then indignant, at Ariadne’s unexpectedly haughty tone. “My, such airs,” she commented, and giving the veterinarian a last, inviting look that he never noticed, turned on her heel and strode angrily out of the stable.

Ariadne went into the narrow stall. Her companion was removing the harness, looking down at Shareb’s sweat-dampened hide, and smiling a private grin.

“Care to tell me what you find so funny?” she snapped.

“Not really.”

She reached up and straightened the saddle cloth into which was sewn more money than he’d ever see in his lifetime. “Here we go, more secrets.”

“Forgive me, my lady, but you seemed almost . . . jealous.”

“What, of that overblown rose? Hardly!”

“She didn’t look so overblown to me. In fact, I thought she was rather pretty.”

“I’m sure you could do much better.”

“You really think she fancied me?”

“Well she did issue you an open invitation to her bed. Maybe you ought to take her up on it, might do you some good.”

He raised one brow; then, his eyes twinkled, and his mouth turned up in that helpless, crooked grin that she didn’t know whether to love or hate. Ariadne swung away, her face flaming, and busied herself with unbuckling the harness. “Very well, then,” she admitted, sullenly. “Maybe I
was
a little bit jealous. I mean, angry. But I disliked that woman, and I disliked the way she was looking at you. She had no right.”

“And you do?”

“I’m . . .
paying
you!”

“Oh, that’s right. You own me. How dreadful of me to have forgotten.”

“Dr. Lord.”

“Yes?” he said, innocently.

“Mind your impertinent manners.”

He grinned, tied the lead rope to a ring bolted to the wall, and put the harness in the chaise. “Yes, my lady,” he said in an exaggeratedly grave, deep voice. “Anything you say, my lady.” He scowled down at her until her frown faded to a helpless smile, then offered his elbow with a gallant flourish. “Come, let Shareb and Bow have their suppers and let us go have ours, and perhaps after a good night’s sleep we’ll both feel better in the morning.”

“Oh, how
do
you put up with me?”

“With patience and delight,” he said honestly, and then, before she could question him on such a remark, he led her out of the stable and through the rainy darkness.

# # #

Supper was a fine steak and kidney pie served with roast potatoes, parsnip, and swede, accompanied by a loaf of hot, freshly baked bread, creamy butter, a wedge of aged cheddar, and plenty of ale to wash it all down. Respectful of her companion’s aversion to eating flesh, Ariadne traded her vegetables for his slab of pie. She held off on the spirits this time, and when Meg brought deep dishes of apple cobbler topped with cream for dessert, she set her mind to thinking up a way to sneak her portion out to the stable so she could give it to Shareb-er-rehh.

God forbid if the stallion didn’t get his nightly dose of pastry and ale. He’d be an absolute demon come morning.

She pretended to toy with the cobbler, and shot a quick glance up through her lashes at the veterinarian. His face was golden in the glow from the lantern, his hair rumpled, but tired as he looked, those clear, keen eyes of his were alert and awake.

And on her.

He smiled, and looked at her from over the rim of his tea cup. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Think about what?”

“Bringing that cobbler out to the horse.”

She widened her eyes and with a guilty little laugh, plunged her fork into the crumbly topping. “Be serious, Dr. Lord, do you think I could just put it in my pocket? What a mess it would make, with all this cream and sticky juice.” She smiled innocently up at him. “Why, I’d soil my clothing!”

He looked at her for a dubious moment before sighing heavily and shoving his half-finished cobbler away. Then he took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and sat staring down at the table, too tired to trade banter with her.

“Dr. Lord?”

He looked up. “Yes?”

Ariadne took a bite of her dessert and dabbed delicately at her mouth. “Is it past your bedtime?”

“It’s been a long day.”

Both of them looked down at their dessert bowls, thinking about the bedroom that awaited them upstairs, and neither quite willing to bring up the subject of sleeping arrangements. A minute dragged past. Two. Ariadne glanced up and saw that the doctor’s head was drooping, his beautiful, long lashes starting to slip down over his eyes, and that he was fast on his way to falling asleep in his chair.

“Dr. Lord!” she said, sharply.

He jerked his head up, blinking.

Ariadne got to her feet. “Despite the fact that both of us feel rather awkward about this situation—”

“Well, one of us does, anyhow—”

“I see no reason to delay it any longer. Come, let us go upstairs. If we both sleep with our clothes on and don’t share the bed, there is nothing unseemly about it.”

But Colin wasn’t thinking about the unseemliness of the situation. He was thinking how lovely and desirable his companion looked, and wondering how the devil he would be able to pass a night with her in the same room, not just
any
room, but a damned bedroom, for God’s sake. He rested his elbows on the table, then reached up to knead his aching nape, trying to massage away the stiffness caused by Shareb’s ceaseless pulling.

She
was already on her feet, beckoning him with a practiced motion of her hand to rise and follow her. Too tired to protest, Colin got up, threw down his napkin, and limped painfully after her. They passed the landlord’s old dog, sprawled before the hearth, and headed for the stairs, she marching like a general and he all but dragging his leg behind him. The other patrons had long since gone to bed, and each step creaked loudly beneath them.

At the end of a short corridor was their room, and with no small degree of trepidation, Ariadne pushed open the door. The chamber was small, cozy, alarmingly intimate—and dominated by the bed.

She swallowed hard, trying to maintain her bravado and poise, and glanced at her companion. But he’d already turned and was headed toward the door.

“I think it best if I sleep in the stable.”

She sidestepped so he couldn’t pass. “No, no, Dr. Lord,
I
should.”

“Nonsense. You’re an earl’s daughter, for God’s sake, you can’t be sleeping in a stable.”

“The good Lord not only slept in a stable, He was born in one. If He can sleep in a stable, then so can I. You stay here, and take the bed. You’re far more tired than I am.”

“No, I must protest. As a gentleman, I insist that you take the bed.”

“As your employer, I insist that
you
do.”

“You hired me to look after your horse. Therefore,
I
will sleep in the stable with Shareb and Bow, and I’ll hear no more argument on the subject. Good night, my lady. I shall see you in the morning.”

He strode past her in a gait that belied the pain his leg must be causing him, leaving her staring after him with her jaw agape. In his wake, the room suddenly felt lonely, empty, and cold, and Ariadne waited just long enough to hear his tread on the stairs before she went marching after him.

“Dr. Lord,” she announced, watching his broad back as he went down the stairs, “you’ll not have the final word about this!”

“I just did.”

“You just
think
you did! I shall not let the matter rest here, do you hear me? I won’t!”

She ran down the stairs after him. He pushed open the door and went out into the rainy night, letting it slam back in her face.

She jerked it open. “Dr. Lord!”

He turned and wagged a finger at her. “Go to bed!”

“Don’t you tell me what to do!”

“I’m telling you, and you’ll do it.” He turned and kept walking, his boots sighing over the wet grass.

She hurried after him. “Fine, be that way! We’ll
both
sleep in the stable, then!”

He pulled open the door of the stable and stormed past their chaise, the stalls, the cat that was curled sleepily atop a bale of hay, until he was just outside Shareb’s stall. Taking off his coat, he tossed it to the straw, sat down on it, and thrusting out his legs before him, leaned his back and head against the wooden door.

“You can’t sleep like that,” she said, standing above him with her hands on her hips.

“Watch me.”

He shut his eyes and turned his face away from her.

She squatted down in front of him and pulled off his glasses.

He would not open his eyes.

“Lady Ariadne,
please
. You are beginning to anger me.”

His tone was tense and hard, unlike anything she had heard him use yet, and it cut her to the quick. The playful smile faded from her lips and Ariadne, brought up short, could only remain unmoving, torn between going quietly away or standing her ground. But oh, God help her, she had no wish to go back to that lonely, upstairs room. She wanted to stay here, in this warm, cozy stable, where the scent of hay, grain, and horses lent it a homely, comforting ambience that would be sadly lacking in that small upstairs chamber. She waited for an apology from the veterinarian. None came. Hurt, and feeling suddenly unwanted, rejected, she sat down in the darkness beside him, her shoulder and hip a mere two inches from his. He made no sound, and she could feel the tension emanating from him. It was too late now to retreat back to the bedroom. Childlike, Ariadne wrapped her arms around her knees and squeezed tightly, trying to keep her emotions under control.

“Dr. Lord . . . I don’t want to be alone, up there in that tiny room, when the only two souls left in this world who are dear to me are sleeping out in a stable. Besides . . . I feel responsible for you and your well-being—”

He chuckled without humor. “
You
, responsible for
me
?”

“Well, yes—”

“Imagine that.”

She hugged her knees in the darkness, feeling suddenly cast out, lonely, and foolish. Tears stung the back of her eyes, slipping down her cheeks and falling softly atop her kneecaps. She bent her head and squeezed her arms tighter, willing herself not to cry.

And then, unexpectedly, he reached out in the darkness, pried her clenched fingers out of her upper arm, and clasped her tiny hand within his own.