The Sherbrooke Bride (13 page)

In the dead of night Douglas awoke with sweat thick and clammy on his forehead. He held himself perfectly still. He'd heard a sound. He waited, completely awake and alert. He heard the strange noise again. It sounded like a woman. She was crying, low and soft, yet he heard her distinctly. No, it wasn't crying, rather deep moaning, hurt and raw. He knew that she was moaning because of a great
pain. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did. He frowned into the darkness toward the adjoining room. This was absurd.

It was Alexandra, crying because he'd put her properly in her place. She was sulking; she had failed to get her way, and she was trying to draw pity from him. Crocodile tears, nothing more. That was it. He was a man, but he wouldn't be swayed by a girl's tears, sham tears because she hadn't managed to make him lose his head. But it wasn't crying . . . it was moaning, it was a deep, deep pain. He cursed and flung back the bed covers.

He walked naked to the adjoining door and quietly opened it. He knew it had to be Alexandra. It had to be, but still he was quiet, and the door made no noise as it opened.

He walked into the bedchamber. There was a narrow beam of moonlight coming through the window, slicing over the center of the bed. The bed was empty. No, wait, there she was, standing on the other side of the bed, staring down at it, and she was moaning softly, very softly, only he would swear that her mouth didn't move, that she was making no sound at all. But he heard the crying, the moaning, he heard it clearly in his head. It was so quiet he couldn't imagine how he had heard her in his bedchamber. She was hugging her arms around her, and then she looked up and saw him.

She was still now. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. In the next instant, she was gone, fading slowly like a soft white shadow into that thin beam of moonlight.

“No,” Douglas said, loudly and firmly. “No, dammit! I will not accept this!”

He ran to the other side of the bed. Alexandra
wasn't there. Damnation, he'd dreamed it, all of it. He felt guilty and he was having strange visions because of his guilt.

Where was Alexandra? She was fast in hiding herself, he'd give her that, the damned twit. There weren't many places to search. He looked in her armoire. He even got on his knees and looked under the bed.

She wasn't here. She wasn't anywhere. It was the middle of the night.

Where the hell was she?

He saw her face then, clear in his mind. He saw her pallor, the humiliation in her eyes as his words had struck her, hard and remorseless, words that wounded deeply. And he'd even thrown her sister at her while she'd stood there standing still and solitary between his parted legs, naked and vulnerable and terribly, terribly alone. And she'd run from him, stripped of every shred of dignity, deeply wounded, but still he'd let her go.

Well, hell.

 

It wasn't, thank God, as late as he'd first thought. It was just past midnight. Not many minutes after he'd fallen asleep then awakened so abruptly. He dressed quickly and made his way quietly downstairs. He didn't light a lamp, he didn't need one. He knew every foot of Northcliffe. She didn't. There were a million places to hide but she didn't know of them. No, she wouldn't want to remain here.

He didn't question how he knew this. He unlocked the massive front doors and slipped into the cold dark night. The sliver of moonlight was gone, covered now with dense gray clouds. It would rain soon, a thick cold rain. The air was damp and heavy.

He hadn't thought of the cold and now he shivered from his thoughtlessness. He was wearing only a shirt, tight buckskin breeches, and boots. The wind was rising, the storm was coming closer.

“Alexandra!”

The wind rustled through the leaves. A shutter banged against an upper-story window. He felt sudden urgency. He ran toward the stables. They appeared deserted, naturally, all the stable lads in bed. He walked more quietly as he neared Fanny's stall. Then he stopped completely. Quietly, efficiently, he lit a lamp near the stable door. He lifted it and just looked.

Alex dropped the saddle, whirling around when the light struck her. She couldn't see anything because the light was in her eyes, blinding her.

“Who's there?”

She sounded scared. Good, she deserved it. He was furious now with her; she'd roused him from a deep sleep—well, it had obviously been some sort of nightmare—but still, it was her fault. She'd forced him to come looking for her. She'd made him worry; she'd made him suffer needlessly; she'd made him feel guilty.

“Please, who is there?”

He set the lamp down.

“You move an inch and I will beat you,” he said and walked to where she was standing. Garth, recognizing his master, whinnied. Fanny twitched her head around and whinnied in response.

“Take off the bridle.”

It was time to take a stand. “No,” Alex said. She wanted to drop the saddle for it was very heavy, but she clung to it, holding it against her chest.

“You were planning to steal my sister's mare?”

“No. Well, just for a while. I'm not a thief. I would have returned her.”

“Drop the damned saddle before your arms fall off.”

Instead, Alex hefted the saddle onto Fanny's back. The mare twitched her tail and leaned around to take a nip of Alex's shoulder. It was close, but Alex managed to draw back in time.

“May I ask where you intended going?”

“Home. Now will you leave me alone? I'm leaving; annul the marriage, I don't care! Do you hear me, I don't care! Just leave!”

Douglas leaned against Garth's stable door and crossed his arms over his chest. “I had believed you many things, but not stupid. However, with the proof of your stupidity before me, I must bow to the obvious facts. You are incredibly stupid. You are a blockhead. Were you planning to ride Fanny all the way back to Harrogate?”

“Yes, but very slowly, and only at night. I also took some money from your strongbox in your desk.”

“Dishonest and stupid.”

“I have to eat. I would have returned it.”

“Ah yes, your father who has all the guineas in the world would have paid me back. I think I shall beat you.”

Alex knew a man's anger when she saw it. He hadn't been content to humiliate her. Now he wanted to beat her. Until she was bleeding and senseless? She wondered if he would use a riding crop. “Why did you wake up? I was very quiet.”

He frowned. “I just did, that's all. I was in the army. I am a light sleeper.” It was a lie but it would serve. He always slept like the dead and had very nearly died because of his habits two times in Italy.
Thank the Lord for his valet cum batman, Finkle. “I'm a very light sleeper and I heard your every movement.”

She didn't know how that was possible for she'd been so quiet she'd barely heard herself. But he obviously had heard her and followed, why, she couldn't begin to guess. “Why do you care if I leave? You don't want me here. I'm a stranger and I betrayed you as much as Tony did. So I am leaving and I will never return to bother you. Isn't it what you want?”

“I will tell you what I want when I want to tell you. You will take no action until I tell you to.”

“That is absurd! You wish me to wait around like some sort of slave until you decide to boot me out? Damn you, my lord, it is you who deserve to be beaten!”

It all happened very quickly. Douglas was more amused than concerned when she grabbed a rake that was leaning against Fanny's stall and ran toward him carrying the rake in both hands over her head. Then, at the last minute, she lowered it, like a knight brandishing a lance in a tourney, and sent it into his belly with such force that he reeled to the side, then landed on his back. Then she struck the lamp and it promptly went out, plunging the stable into darkness.

He jumped to his feet, his belly feeling like it had a hole poked through it, only to have Fanny snort in his face and nearly run him down. He leapt out of the mare's way. He twisted about to see that damned girl riding bareback, her hair flying out behind her head, hugging herself low to Fanny's neck. The saddle lay on its side in the straw. She was riding like the devil was after her.

The devil would very soon be after her. Douglas
was so furious, so disbelieving of what she'd done to him, that for an instant, he was overwhelmed with the force of his rage. He drew a deep breath, removed Garth from his stall, put a bridle on him and swung up onto his bare back.

He would, quite simply, kill her once he caught up to her.

Alex continued to ride like the devil. She was an excellent horsewoman and the feel of the horse against her thighs and bottom gave her a feeling of great control, much more so than the decorous sidesaddles society had forced upon females.

She pressed her face against Fanny's neck, holding her legs close against the mare's sides and whispering encouragement. The mare quickened her pace. Her neck felt warm against Alexandra's cheek, warm and alive and the mare was giving all she had. She was smooth-paced and fast as the wind and Alex simply gave her her head.

It was a good five minutes before it occurred to her to question what she was going to do. Fury, humiliation, and a profound acceptance of having lost, with no more recourse available, had doused her like a flood of cold water, and she'd acted without thought. It took only another minute to hear the thudding hooves of Garth coming after her.

The stallion was fast, no doubt about that, strong and fast, but not brutal, not like his master would be if he caught her. But why was he coming after her? Was it his male pride? His arrogance that no one should act without his precious Lordship's permission?

Alex shook her head against Fanny's neck. She wouldn't think about him, about his motives. It was true, she didn't want to do this; she didn't want
to run away by herself, a female alone and thus vulnerable to every villain on the English roads. But she wasn't stupid. She fully intended to ride only at night and hide during the three and a half days it would take her to get back home. She had ten pounds of Douglas's money, surely enough to feed herself. No, she wasn't stupid. She would be very careful. Perhaps that was why Douglas was riding after her. Men gave women no measure of credit for accomplishing anything on their own. He probably saw her riding into the midst of thieves, heedless, reckless, unthinking. He probably thought his reputation would be damaged if something happened to his wife—she still was his wife. Ah yes, if something happened to his runaway wife. Such an eventuality would harm his pride, make his gentlemen friends raise their brows.

The rain came down quite suddenly, in thick cold sheets, washing away her body warmth and her thoughts in an instant. She gasped aloud. She hadn't counted on rain in her plans. She hadn't even thought about the possibility of rain. Perhaps Douglas was right; perhaps she was stupid.

Alexandra shook her head. What was a little rain? She wasn't a bolt of silk to fade and unravel. No, she would be fine. In all her eighteen years she'd never known a day's illness. Yes, she would be just fine if she managed to elude Douglas.

He was closer. She sensed him, she heard Garth's hooves. She turned to see him coming around a curve in the road, just as she went around a blind curve herself. It was her chance, perhaps her only chance. She quickly turned Fanny off the road into a copse of maple trees. She slid off Fanny's back and quickly pressed her nostrils together with her
fingers to prevent her from whinnying to Garth. She held her breath.

Douglas passed by. He was riding hard. He looked magnificent on Garth's broad back, strong and determined even under the bowing rain, a man to trust and admire. And she would have admired him if she hadn't wanted to massacre him so badly.

Good, she'd fooled him. The rain was not quite so dense because the thickly splayed maple leaves slowed it. Alex patted Fanny's neck.

“We'll be all right, my girl. I'm not stupid and I won't abuse you. I am self-reliant and even though I haven't seen all that much of the world, I still know how to go on. We will be safe. You will like the stables at Claybourn, for they're very nearly empty and you'll have no stupid stallions to bother you.”

Alex remounted, swinging herself up easily with the help of Fanny's thick mane. She headed the mare back onto the road. She had to be watchful. Douglas could turn back and she could run right into him. She kept the mare close to the edge of the road, ready to turn her off into the trees in an instant.

The rain continued, relentless and colder by the minute.

Fanny tired and Alex slowed her to a walk.

She would have missed him if she weren't being so vigilant.

H
E CAME OUT
of the trees like a black shadow, yelling like a madman, Garth rearing up on his hind legs, Douglas big and frightening on the stallion's back. He got the stallion under control in a few moments, hauling him sideways, effectively blocking the road.

He smiled at her, an evil smile. “Got you,” he said, satisfaction and rage mixed in his voice.

Alexandra pulled Fanny to a halt and simply sat on the mare's back, looking at him. “I tried,” she said quietly. “I truly did, but you know, I couldn't bear to remain in the trees, hiding and growing colder by the moment. I was listening for you, that's why we were going so slowly, I was listening for I feared you would turn back and I would run into you. But you are very smart, aren't you, my lord? Very cagey. You simply lay in wait for me.”

He remained silent, just looking at her. She thrust her chin into the air.

“I am not going back, Douglas.”

“You will do precisely what I tell you to do, madam.”

“You make no sense. You don't want me. Is it your plan to humiliate me further? Do you wish
to accompany me back to Claybourn Hall, a rope around my neck, perhaps, and hand me back to my father? To announce that I am worthless, that I am not deserving of your consideration? I had not guessed you to be so cruel.”

Douglas frowned. His rage was justified, certainly it was. And she was putting him on the defensive, making him sound a veritable monster. He was a man, educated, fluent, well stocked in his brain, and yet, she was doing him in. No female had ever before managed it, but she was doing it quite nicely. He wouldn't stand for it. He would stop it now.

“Come along,” he said. “We're going back to Northcliffe Hall.”

“No.”

“How do you intend to prevent me from dragging you back? Perhaps you're making ready to come after my guts with a rake again? Well, no matter what you're considering as a weapon, you will not try anything. Not this time. I will tolerate no more of your violence. You will obey me and you will be quiet, no more of your disobedience. Come along now.”

“No.”

Alexandra whipped Fanny around and dug her heels into the mare's fat sides. In the next instant, a bolt of thunder rang out, making the earth tremble, making the trees beside the road shudder. Then there was a thick flash of lightning, ripping through the rain and darkness, white and jagged. It struck a maple tree.

Alex jumped, nearly losing her seat. She twisted about on Fanny's back and watched, so astonished and terrified, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. The lightning struck a thick branch at its base.
The branch snapped, sending plumes of smoke into the air, and it slammed downward onto the road, not a foot from Garth's front hooves. The stallion, maddened with fear, screamed, twisted about, and entangled himself in the thick limbs and leaves on the maple branch.

Douglas didn't have a chance. He was thrown, landing at the side of the road. He didn't move.

Alex screamed, loud, shrill, terrified. She was at his side in an instant, kneeling over him, trying to protect him from the slashing dense rain.

He was still. She found finally the pulse in his neck. It was steady, slow. She sat back on her ankles a moment, staring down at him. “Wake up, damn you, Douglas!”

She shook him, then slapped him soundly.

“Wake up! I won't have this! You do not play fairly, not at all. You hold me here because you are helpless. It is not well done of you. No, I can't leave you like this. Wake up!”

He didn't move. His eyes remained closed. Then she saw the blood seeping from behind his left ear. He'd struck a rock when he'd fallen.

Alexandra didn't realize at first that she was rocking back and forth over him, keening deep in her throat, so frightened she thought she'd choke on it.

“Get hold of yourself, Douglas! Don't just lie there.” There, it was her voice, and it was strong and she had to do something. Douglas needed her. She looked up. Both horses had bolted, probably back to the Sherbrooke stables. They were alone. It was raining like the very devil. Douglas was unconscious, perhaps dying.

What to do?
She leaned over him again, blocking the rain from his face. If only he'd regain consciousness. What if he didn't? What if he simply remained silent as death until he did indeed die?

She couldn't, wouldn't, accept it. She had to do something.

But there was nothing to do. She couldn't lift him or carry him. She could possibly drag him along the ground, but where to?

She cradled his head in her lap, bent over him, protecting him as best she could. She was cramped and so cold her flesh rippled then grew blessedly numb.

“My God, will you suffocate me, woman?”

She froze, disbelieving the voice she heard, the voice that was filled with irritation and annoyance, the muffled voice coming from her bosom. Slowly she raised her face and looked down at him. His eyes were open.

Her hair straggled about his face, a thick curtain of dripping strands. “Douglas, you're all right?”

“Of course I'm all right. Do you believe me a weakling? My head hurts like the very devil, but I'm just fine.” He paused a moment, his nose not two inches from hers. “I preferred having my face buried between your breasts, though.”

She could only stare down at him. He wouldn't die. He was too mean, too unreasonable, too outrageous, to die. She smiled as she said, “Both horses have left us. We're stranded. I don't know how far we are from home. It's raining very hard. There is blood behind your left ear. You struck your head on a rock, just a small one, but still a rock and thus hard, thus the blood. You were unconscious for a minute or two. If I help you up, you will simply become soaked.” She
stopped, not knowing what else to say, staring down at him.

Douglas silently queried his body. Only his head gave reply but it wasn't all that bad, just a steady deep throbbing. “Move,” he said to himself.

He sat up, his head lowered for a moment, then he straightened and looked about. “See that narrow path there? We're near my gamekeeper's cottage. His name is Tom O'Malley, and of all my people, he's the one who won't faint with consternation when we arrive on his doorstep past midnight wet and in this piteous state. Come, Alexandra, help me rise, and we'll go there. 'Tis too far to walk back to the hall.” It came into his head at that moment that she'd called the hall home. Stupid thought. She shouldn't have said it. It wasn't her home and it probably never would be.

Douglas remained silent until he was upright and realized he was a mite dizzy. Even more than a mite. Irritation was clearly in evidence as he said, “I must lean on you. Are you strong enough to bear some of my weight?”

“Yes, certainly,” she said, and hunkered over, bracing herself as she wrapped her arm around his waist. She peered up at him through the thick rain. “I'm ready, Douglas. I won't drop you.”

His head hurt. He was cold, he was dizzy. He looked down at the dripping female, scrunched against his side. She was half his size, yet she was trying to keep him upright. He couldn't help himself. He laughed. “A veritable Hercules. I don't damned believe it. This way, Alexandra.”

He fell once, bringing her to her knees with him. “I hope it isn't stinging nettles,” she said, her breath coming in short gasps as she pushed off the
suspicious foliage. “Are you all right, Douglas? I'm sorry I dropped you but that root did me in.”

He wanted to vomit, but he didn't, even though the nausea was great. He remained on his knees for a moment, knew he had to rise, knew he wasn't going to disgrace himself, and so he rose, his face white, his mouth closed, his bile swallowed. “No, it wasn't your fault. I was on my way down when you hit that root. I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No, no,” she said, scrambling to her feet. She was shivering with cold and slapped her hands on her arms.

“That isn't stinging nettles, thank the magnanimous Lord, or we'd he itching right now. Let's hurry. It's not far now.”

Tom O'Malley's cottage sat at the end of the narrow path in the middle of a small clearing. It was clearly the home of someone who valued his privacy, a slope-roofed cottage of sturdy oak, but one story, and freshly painted, the grounds surrounding it clear of weeds. There were roses and honeysuckle, all well tended, climbing up the sides of the cottage. It looked like a mansion to Alexandra and as dark as a tomb.

“I don't want him to shoot us,” Douglas said quietly, and began to lightly pound on the stout door, saying, “Tom. Tom O'Malley.” He pounded harder then. “It's Lord Northcliffe! Come, man, let us in.”

Alexandra didn't know what to expect, but the very tall, very gaunt-looking man of middle years, fully dressed, quite calm to see his master on his doorstep in the middle of the night, wasn't quite it. He had a very long, very thin nose and it quivered as he said in a low gruff voice, “My lord, aye, but surely 'tis ye. And this be yer new countess? Aye,
and certainly she is for Willie at the stables told me about her and how she was comely and a bit slight, and light-handed with a horse. Welcome, milady. I'll build up the fire so that ye may warm yerselves. Nay, it matters not that ye are wet. The floor will dry, and 'tis but wood after all. Come in, come in. Don't tarry in this miserable rain.”

“This is Tom O'Malley,” Douglas said to Alexandra. “He and his mother arrived at Northcliffe from County Cork some twenty-five years ago, thank the heavens.”

“Aye, 'tis me all right, milord, and 'twere twenty-six years before. Ah, 'tis blood on yer face, milord, and ye came to a grief, eh, and struck yer head.” He efficiently took Alexandra's place, assisting Douglas to a plain high-backed chair in front of the fireplace. “Just rest yer bones, milord. Milady,” he added, turning to Alexandra, who was dripping very close to a beautiful multicolored handwoven cotton rug. She quickly stood aside, exclaiming, “Oh, it's lovely, Mr. O'Malley.”

“Aye, milady, me blessed mother made it with her own caring hands, she did, aye, 'twere a wonderful woman she were. Come here now, and warm yerself. 'Tis dry clothing ye be needing now. Nothing fancy, ye understand, but dry.”

“That will be wonderful, Mr. O'Malley. His Lordship and I thank you.”

She moved swiftly to Douglas, who was sitting in the chair, staring blankly into the fireplace. “Your head still pains you, doesn't it?”

He looked up at her. “Build up the fire, please.”

She did as he bid, then wiped her hands on her sodden skirt. He eyed her then said, “Actually I was just trying to credit that I was with you in the
middle of the night in my gamekeeper's cottage. It isn't what one would expect. It isn't even on my list of worst nightmares.”

Her chin went up and the broom handle down her back stiffened. “You wouldn't be here if you weren't so stubborn. You wouldn't even be here if you were better able to handle your horse.”

As a verbal blow it wasn't bad. Douglas wanted to give as good as she'd just given, but he felt too rotten. He said only, “Make no more sport with me. Hush and move closer to the fire. No, don't look at me as if I'm drawing my last breath. My head hurts just a bit. Ah, Tom, with dry clothes.”

Alexandra wouldn't move until Douglas went first into the small bedchamber to change out of his wet clothes. When he emerged, she smiled. He looked wonderful to her in his homespun trousers and handmade white linen shirt. The trousers were very tight on him and she found that she couldn't quite turn away as quickly as undoubtedly a lady should. The shirt laced up the front, but Douglas hadn't bothered lacing the rolled cotton strings all the way to his throat. For several moments, she forgot that she was wet and frowzy and bedraggled.

“Your turn, Alexandra. You look quite pitiful. Tom has no gowns, needless to say. You will be my twin, of sorts.”

And thus it was that in ten minutes the lord and lady of Northcliffe Hall were seated on a roughhewn bench in a gamekeeper's cottage sipping the most delicious tea either had ever drunk and wearing Tom O'Malley's clothes.

Their own clothing was draped over every available surface to dry. The earl said after a moment, “We thank you, Tom, for your hospitality. If you
have extra blankets, Her Ladyship and I will sleep here, on the hearth.”

Tom O'Malley stared and paled and gasped. “Nay and niver, milord! Niver! Ask not such a repugnant thing from O'Malley. Me sweet mother would come back from her celestial mansion in heaven and thrash me till me nose bled off me face.”

The earl remonstrated. Alexandra watched and listened to both of them. It was amusing and she knew Douglas would lose. Tom was pleading now, saying over and over, “Nay, milord, please don't make me, please. Me dear dead mother, aye, 'tis she looking upon us this minute and she's yelling in me ear, milord.”

Douglas gave it up. His head was aching vilely and Alexandra looked ready to fall to the floor she was so exhausted. They adjourned to Tom O'Malley's bedchamber.

“That shirt comes to your knees,” Douglas said to Alexandra across the narrow bed. “You might as well keep it on as a nightgown.”