The Corn Maiden, page 8
At last, he raised his mouth from hers, noting her slight movement towards him. She looked at him in fascination, hazily aware of the effort it was costing him to put her down. He steadied his breathing with a perceptible effort and said, “So there is a warm nature under the cold exterior! There is more to Elinor Somersham than calculation, I’m happy to find, and I’ll say again—and perhaps this time ye’ll hear me—there’s no way a girl like you can be marrying for other than love, and don’t you try to deny it, or I’ll kiss you again! Now, will you come back and sit with me for a while by the fire? I’m thinking there are things you maybe want to tell me…”
Hardly aware of what she was doing, unsure whether she was experiencing relief or disappointment and deciding that, incredibly, it was both, Nell allowed herself to be led back to the table and sank unsteadily down on the chair that he had pulled close to his own. Under his gentle questioning, she found herself talking about Henry Collingwood and admitting that she had no affection for the man she had originally chosen as her husband and confessing that she realised now that she had acted rashly in coming to Scotland, provoked as she was by her stepmother’s tyranny into striking out to find her own freedom by the only method open to her.
“Your stepmother’s tyranny?” he asked. “Have some more claret, Elinor, and tell me about this behaviour that drove you north.” She sat back in her chair and absently accepted another half glass of wine. His concerned, attentive face and the warmth of the claret loosened Nell’s tongue, and she found herself telling the story of the state of siege she had been living in before she broke out and escaped to Scotland. She told him of her fear of her stepmother’s manipulative plotting, of her disgust at the marriage market that was the London season, and of the increasing isolation and friendlessness she had encountered. She could almost imagine a flicker of understanding in the impassive brown eyes as she recognised that all her actions had been directed to achieving a state of independence for herself, a state of freedom where she might take control of her own life, manage her own estates, and begin really to live instead of moving mechanically to a preset rhythm through her trivial London life.
When she finished, he took her hand in his and said gently, “I fear I have misjudged you, Elinor. You are a brave and resourceful girl, and I can find it in me to admire your resolve.”
“No, I have been reckless and silly,” she replied in a low voice, “but I will not give up at once. I will at least await my cousin’s coming and discuss my affairs with him. He is my guardian after all, and my father’s choice, though I have never been able to understand it. It may be that we can come to some conclusion that will be to our mutual benefit.”
He was watching her guardedly and then, appearing to come to a decision, sighed and said thoughtfully, “Take care, Lady Elinor, the benefit may not be mutual…If you would take my advice, you will be circumspect in your dealings with Lindsay. He is a good master and, believe me, has the loyalty of all under this roof, but I cannot stand by and see an innocent like you deceived. He has the reputation of being a cool-headed businessman, and he has been known to drive a hard bargain. When he takes a look at you—young and fresh as you are—he could well…it might well enter his head…that he should perhaps be thinking of doing his duty at last to preserve the line of Lindsay and set about providing himself with heirs.”
With a furious blush, Nell caught his meaning. “Sir, how dare you insult my cousin’s integrity? Besides, he is an old man, is he not? Long past the time when such thoughts would occur to him?”
“Ah well, he may be a good few years older than your ladyship, but the man would tell you himself that he is in the prime of life. And do not be forgetting that he is a Highlander! It is thus with Highlanders, Elinor. Why, old Tam McVeigh of Vennacher fathered a son last spring, and he seventy-five years old!”
Nell turned pale. “Then the notion is quite out of the question. I have no intention of linking myself to an aged, purse-proud, and now I must add lecherous Scotsman, who would keep me here, chained like a milk cow to provide money and heirs for his estates! No, never!” Tears were springing to her eyes. She took a deep breath and announced, “I must thank you for your warning, Moidart. I think, perhaps, in the circumstances, it would be wise if I were to return to London before my cousin arrives to find what a foolish ward he has. I would be obliged if you would make arrangements in the morning for my immediate return to England.”
Instead of the relief that she expected to see flood his features, he frowned and said slowly, “No. Perhaps that is not such a good idea…But it is late, madam. Let us consider your position in the morning—there is no need for a precipitate decision. And do not forget that your maid will not be able to travel for a few days yet. Come now, before the candles start to gutter, we will use them to light our way to bed.”
He put a candlestick into her hand, taking up the other for himself, and snuffed out the lamps. Offering her his arm courteously, he led her from the room and across the great hall where a fire still glowed in the grate and climbed the wide back stairs to the landing, at the end of which she remembered was her bedchamber. Arriving at the door, he opened it and checked the room briefly, noting that the fire was alight, the candles were lit by the bedside, and the bed had been turned down. Draped over the counterpane was a white cambric nightdress trimmed with lace and fastened at the front with blue ribbons.
He nodded his approval. “The room is warm and aired, and I think you will have all that you require, so I will bid you goodnight, Lady Elinor.” She half expected that he would kiss her again, but with a smile of mock deference he turned and walked away down the corridor.
Nell closed her door dreamily, warmed by his concern for her comfort. Who could he be, she wondered as she slipped out of her dress and kicked off her slippers. She had told him her life story this evening—had confided thoughts and hopes and opinions she had never shared with anyone else—but he had told her nothing in return. She knew that the upper servants and certainly the stewards in a noble household were often themselves well born and frequently kin to the master…perhaps she could question him more closely in the morning.
She paused as she brushed her hair, remembering his kiss and the way he had untied her hair. With a guilty start, she remembered that the velvet ribbon had fallen to the floor in front of the fire, doubtless to be discovered by a puzzled parlour maid in the morning. Her toilet completed, she looked with satisfaction at the welcoming bed and wriggled her way into the cotton gown. One last thing to do before she threw herself into the downy depths of the feather bed, and that was to open the shutters of the small window. The room was excessively warm now, and Nell liked to sleep with her window open, feeling suffocated if she ever left it closed.
The internal wooden shutters were swiftly flung back against the wall, and she leaned forward to push up the sash window, which had been inserted into the wall’s deep embrasure. She caught a brief glimpse of the bright moon riding high and silver now over a range of shadowed hills, and finally surrendering her weary limbs to the soft bed, she allowed herself at last to think unrestrainedly of Moidart. “Though for five minutes only,” she told herself. After half an hour, she fell into a deep slumber.
She awoke with a lurch of the heart, and in panic sat up in bed, her eyes straining to see in the dark. There was a dull red glow from the fire, which had burned almost away, and a cold grey dawn light was streaking the ceiling. She had no idea how long she had been asleep, but she was fully awake now and every fibre of her body was stretched and dreading to hear again the shocking sound that had wakened her. Eyes fixed on the window she held her breath. There! Again! It was the voice from the forest! She heard the heartbreaking, keening wail of a lost soul and saw a white face with staring eyes appear at her open window. The creature was tapping and scrabbling to get into her room!
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Desperately, Nell searched about in the darkness and found the heavy brass candlestick by her bed. She threw it with all her strength at the white shape. With a hiss of surprise, it disappeared from sight, and she used the moment to bound from her bed and slam shut the wooden shutters, sliding the fastening into place with trembling fingers.
Her horror grew as she heard a slow rhythmic beating sound and a sinister rustling. The creature was climbing the ivy in another attempt to get up to her room! Gasping with terror she flung herself out into the dark corridor. “Lucy!” she screamed uselessly, and then, remembering where she was and in whose household, she shouted, “Mrs. Fraser! Tibbie! Oh, where is everyone? Help me, someone!” She crashed along the landing, yelping in pain as she cut her shin on a brass coal scuttle and overturning a jardinière bearing a pot, which fell to the ground with a thunderous crash.
A door at the other end of the corridor opened, emitting a shaft of candlelight to illuminate the dark landing, and Moidart’s gruff voice called out, “Elinor? Is that you Elinor? Good God, girl, what’s with ye?” He strode forward, shrugging into a velvet robe de chambre and was almost knocked over by the force with which she flung herself at him.
“Moidart! Thank goodness! I feared I was alone. Oh, the horror!” she stammered. “It’s the Shape Shifter! It’s at my window, trying to get in!”
He held her tightly and made calming noises. “There now. It’s all right. This is all a nonsense you know, my lassie. There is no such thing as a Shape Shifter, and I’m really sorry I should have told you a story to give you such nightmares…”
“It wasn’t a nightmare,” she said stoutly. “I really saw it! I had opened my shutters and the window, and the creature was hissing and howling and trying to get in. I threw the candlestick at it, but it came back up the ivy, beating and banging.”
“What did it look like, this creature?” he asked seriously.
“White, ghostlike, with great staring eyes!” She shivered again, remembering the awful shape and snuggled her head into his chest. She suddenly became aware that his chest was heaving with suppressed laughter.
“You are mocking me!” she said accusingly. “What do you find to laugh at in my dreadful encounter?”
“I think I know what frightened you, Elinor,” he said gently, “and believe me, it was nothing supernatural—not a Shape Shifter nor a werewolf! Now, come back to your room and I will show you what it was.” He loosened her grasp and, taking her hand, passed it under his arm reassuringly, making to lead her down the corridor.
“No!” she exclaimed, pulling away from him in terror, I shall sit in the corridor till dawn if there is no other accommodation, but I shall not return to that room!”
He stopped at once, smiled, and said, “Allow me to fetch another candle.” Emerging from his room a moment later with a tallow candle well ablaze, he handed it to her, saying firmly, “You may use my room if you wish, but I am going to yours now to check that all is well and to account for this mystery.”
He seemed so sure and unconcerned, amused even, that Nell’s panic subsided and curiosity began to creep in. She padded hesitantly after him down the corridor. Back inside her room, the pretty things reflected back at her in the candlelight, looking friendly, unthreatening, and completely ordinary. She was beginning to feel a little foolish and wonder whether it had indeed been a nightmare when the noises began. Again came the steady, rhythmic pounding of the ivy outside her window.
“I thought so!” Moidart smiled with satisfaction and started towards the window.
“Pray do not open the shutters!” Nell squealed. “Oh, what is that dreadful noise?”
“Well, now, it is my duty to check that it isn’t a bunch of marauding McGregors fighting their way up the tower, but I’m sure it’s not! I am sure it’s my old friend the white owl though!”
“White owl?”
“Yes, the Scottish white owl! He has a nasty way of keening and hissing that fair makes your skin crawl, and you wouldn’t be the first soul to run screeching away from him! You heard him in the woods tonight, and that scrabbling in the ivy you hear—he’s getting his supper. He beats the branches with his wings to dislodge the sparrows that nest there, and then he snaps them up! I’ve watched him do it many an evening.”
Nell’s fear had almost completely subsided at his rational explanation, and yet she still felt unaccountably nervous as he opened the shutters. No face peered in at her; she saw just the line of distant hills now turning milky grey. He picked something up from the sill and brought it to her. A white bird’s feather. She was able in her relief to summon up a shaky smile. “Moidart, I am so sorry to have caused you such trouble! I am mortified to think how I have disturbed your sleep tonight…and needlessly.”
“I was already disturbed by you Elinor,” he said smiling. “Indeed, I had barely slept all night. You were so much in my thoughts it was no surprise to me to hear you calling.”
“I was calling the servants, but I do not know where they are.”
“They have rooms above and would not hear you through these thick walls and floors. This is the oldest part of the castle—the old keep—and you and I are the only ones on this floor.” He paused for a moment, looking at her carefully in the half light, and then reached out and held up the candle. “But, Lady Elinor, did you injure yourself in the corridor?” he asked with concern. “That crash?”
She followed his gaze to her knees and was aware of a trail of blood from her aching shin staining the front of her nightgown. “I fell over a coal scuttle,” she said guiltily.
“I will summon Tibbie to attend to you,” he said, making for the door.
“No, pray do not!” she said quickly. “I would not have Tibbie disturbed on account of my foolishness. I am perfectly competent to attend to my own cut leg. It is nothing.”
He nodded, approving her decision. “Sit down,” he said, pointing to a chair. “I will dampen a cloth for you.” With a deft hand he poured fresh water from the ewer into the bowl and dipped a facecloth into it. A moment later, he was on his knees by her feet, solemnly moving aside the hem of her nightgown and dabbing gently at the blood oozing down her bruised shin.
Elinor was too shocked to move or protest at such treatment. She gasped with astonishment, though he took it for a gasp of pain and apologised for hurting her. She was abruptly aware of her situation. Alone in her room at night with a stranger, a stranger who, with all the calm and detachment of a doctor, was holding her ankle in one great square hand and attending to her leg with the other. But what could she say in the circumstances, she reflected—“Unhand me, sir!”? The man was showing the kindness and concern he would have shown to a fellow officer wounded in battle, and she would have felt it an act of gross ingratitude to ask him to desist or to suggest that there was anything unsuitable in his conduct. He was only here thanks to her foolishness after all.
“There,” he said, inspecting his handiwork. “It’s a bad bruise but luckily not a deep cut and has stopped bleeding already.”
She looked down at him gratefully but with considerable agitation. Only moments ago she had flung herself into his arms in her terror, knowing that she would be safe there, feeling for him a trust she had no way of knowing that he deserved. She had no good reason to trust him; she had only just met him. Yet the primitive impulse to run and shelter in his arms had been overwhelming.
Even in the hour before dawn and after a sleepless night, Moidart was a handsome man, she was thinking. Trying not to be caught staring, she looked at the dark, ruffled hair of his head bending over her ankle, and her eyes slid down to his strong neck and shoulders, clearly visible where his dressing gown fell open. She looked away quickly, her senses alert and stirred by his closeness. In trepidation, she wondered what words she would find to explain the scene if Mrs. Fraser were, belatedly, to come to her aid. The sight of a man in his dressing robe giving intimate attentions to a girl with her nightgown up to her knees in the middle of the night would be enough to ruin her for life, however unblemished her reputation had been.
She cast an anxious glance at the door, ensuring that it was indeed fully closed, and her gaze was drawn inexorably back to the man before her. She had never seen a nearly naked man so close to her before, though the male anatomy held no secrets for her. She had often watched her brother Rupert and his friends swimming naked in the mill pool on the Home Farm in Suffolk, until her governess, laughing with mock reproof, had dragged her away.
Those shouting, splashing, fair and slender youths had not struck her as looking physically much different from herself, and she had been only mildly intrigued to note the differences in structure. But this dark male body in front of her was a magnet to her eyes. This body, she concluded, was far more like the idealised and gracefully masculine sculpture she had glanced at slantingly in the park. The sleek, strong muscles of the hero Achilles, lounging naked but for a classical vine leaf hastily added to preserve decorum, had turned many a female head and raised many a gasp. She felt a strong urge to reach out and touch Moidart’s firm flesh, to slide her hands under his velvet robe and caress his strong shoulders. Had he noticed her slight shudder?
“You are cold, Elinor,” he commented. “I have finished now. You have been a good patient!” He tweaked her big toe in a friendly way and pulled down her nightgown. “Now, back to bed for a few more hours. Tibbie will attend you at eight o’clock. Your new friend the owl will have gone away to his roost, I’m thinking. I’ve heard nothing from him for a while now, but just in case he makes another appearance at your window, I’ll close it, all but an inch or so.”
He arranged the window to his satisfaction and returned to Nell who was standing forlornly at the foot of her bed, the intimate spell of the last few minutes broken. Sensing her uncertainty, he paused on his way to the door and came to stand by her, looking down at her but not touching her. “Will you be all right now, your ladyship? You’re looking a little pale…”
