Time passed until, at ten, she found herself in her bedroom. She had a small room next to the sitting room that her mother had used before her, and Rhona had shared until her mother’s death three years ago. One morning, she’d woken up, but her mother hadn’t. The doctor said she’d had a seizure in the night. Rhona still missed her. She always would.
That melancholy thought made her restless. One reason she had taken her mother’s death so hard was the lack of conclusions. Her mother had never talked to her, not really. They had worked together, and her mother taught Rhona all a good housekeeper should know, but she did not talk about herself, her hopes and fears, and her husband, Rhona’s father. He’d been the minister at the manse in the village. But after his death, they’d lost the house and their position. They were lucky to get the jobs here.
Would she go to him as he’d asked?
She had to. If she didn’t, their affair, such as it had been, would have no end. She wanted to know what he’d done, how he’d been. And how he managed with one leg. Thinking about his injury sickened her. She guessed he’d wanted some quiet time to think about his future, now he that couldn’t go back to active service. She was only a part of that.
After they talked, she could find some peace. She’d come back here in an hour.
Grabbing a robe from the chair, she wrapped it around herself, tying the sash tightly, a symbol for what she would not allow, or allow herself to think about. Talking was all they would do.
The house was silent now. They kept early hours here, compared to the hours kept in fashionable society. The sea washed against the rocks below the castle, but she only became aware of it when the house was as quiet as this. The sound was a constant in her life, accompanying her every move, her every hour, waking and sleeping. She only noticed it when the sea lashed the rocks rather than washing them.
She climbed the stairs, and entered the main part of the castle, the light from her single candle lighting her way.
Reaching the door of the main bedroom, she scratched gently on the wood.
Whipping open the door, he pulled her inside and closed the door softly behind her. Before she came to her senses, she was in his arms and being kissed. She had no time to protest and, after a moment, she had no desire to.
His kiss was sweet and gentle rather than fierce and passionate. She experienced mild surprise that he didn’t ravish her. Placing her hands against his chest—his very broad chest—she tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “You said we would talk.”
“And so we shall. Come.” He took her to the fire. Two chairs were set there, either side of it, a small table by each. The fire made the large chamber cozy. Two tumblers of brandy scented the air around her as she took her seat. As did he. Frederick had an aroma, a mixture of soap, cleanliness and pure masculinity. One she could not adequately describe, but she would know that intoxicating scent anywhere. If she could somehow distill it, bottle it, she would take it with her wherever she went. A reminder of him.
Her gaze traveled down his body to his feet. She hadn’t meant to linger, but she clearly saw the wooden foot in the slipper that matched the one on his fleshy foot. She gasped.
He followed her gaze. “Look your fill.” He flipped back the long skirt of his silk robe. Now she knew why he’d lit every candle in the room, sending light as bright as day over him. He wanted her to look.
She did. About two inches below his knee, he wore a carved wooden replica of a leg. A finely shaped leg, much like the one that rested on the floor. The foot was attached to the calf with a joint, the kind used sometimes on dolls, or puppets. It meant he could move it enough to climb stairs, and walk properly. Straps fastened it to the flesh above, a kind of harness. “Oh, God!” She clapped her hand to her mouth. “Who did that to you?”
“The enemy,” he said.
“You lost your leg?” She forced herself to say it. Such pain, such agony he must have suffered.
“Someone shot it off. The horse died,” he added, more regretfully than the brisk tone he used about his leg. “He threw me clear when he went down, otherwise it could have been worse.”
He could have died. She’d have lost him forever, then.
How could she bear that?
“I hold no grudge,” he continued. “I would have done the same or worse, if I’d had a chance. The bone was shattered, so they amputated it.” He leaned forward, rested one elbow on the knee of his good leg. “I don’t remember much about it, which I hold as a blessing. They did what they had to, and took good care of me. All I could think was ‘I could be dead, I should be thankful’. But I wasn’t. Not until your face swam into my thoughts. Your face as it was, not as it is now. You wear your hair in a tight knot these days, trying to make yourself look older than you are.”
“I’m thirty,” she said defiantly. “An old maid.”
“Then I’m a wizened old man of thirty-two. I wish you wouldn’t talk such nonsense!” His voice softened. “You are more beautiful than I remember. Take off that thing on your head.”
“It’s a nightcap,” she protested, but she couldn’t resist his request. He’d exposed his leg to her, and at some cost. She knew him too well to ignore that extra glistening in his eyes, the husky tone of his voice. Small signs, but as obvious as a bolt of lightning to her. If he’d expected her to reject him because of that injury, he was sadly mistaken.
Untying the neat bow under her chin, she watched him as she lifted the cap clear and tossed it on the floor. Her nighttime braids swung down.
“How long is your hair?”
“Longer than is fashionable.”
“Show me.”
She didn’t object, but set to unraveling the dark braids. Candlelight brought out the red tones in the dark brown, the touch of fire she worked to hide. A housekeeper should be discreet.
“I always loved your hair. I’m glad you haven’t cut it. What do you think of the leg?”
His casual question didn’t fool her. “I think it’s a tragedy that it happened, but you manage it very well. I didn’t notice when you arrived, only a touch of stiffness that I assumed was from the ride.”
“Does it repel you?”
“No.”
“What if I unstrapped the wooden part?”
“No.” She kept her gaze steady. She’d seen worse. “Ewan down in the village has a wooden leg. His is almost up to the top. He shows it off, and when he gets drunk, he can’t cope with it anymore. Takes it off and leans it against the wall. He’s been known to throw it at people.”
Throwing his head back, Frederick roared with laughter. Rhona’s instinct was to hush him, even though the sound would not be heard. The castle walls were thick, and the domestic staff did not sleep anywhere nearby. “I wish I’d thought of that,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “It annoys the hell out of me sometimes.”
“You rode up here.”
“Only from the village,” he confessed. “My carriage is down there. They’ll bring it up tomorrow, but I didn’t want to force the horses to take the steep road when they were tired.”
His expression turned serious. “I’ve had an offer,” he said abruptly.
Tension tightened her throat. “What kind of offer?”
He rubbed his chin. “Drink your brandy. I know you like it.”
Yes, she did. She occasionally treated herself to a glass. But the brandy she bought bore little resemblance to the rich, unctuous liquid that bathed her tongue in sensation when she took a sip. “It’s the best brandy.” The one kept for the master. But Frederick had a right to it.
“Yes, it is.” He left his untouched. “Instead of leaving the army, I’ve been offered a position in London, at Whitehall. Running the men who spy for our country.” His mouth turned down, his eyes sour. “I turned them down. Flat. Said I’d rather be demoted than persuade my fellow men to lie, cheat and steal in the name of their country. They said the job had to be done, but I dispute that. They accepted my rejection, but I received the promotion anyway.�
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Clearly whatever he’d done had disturbed him. “Will you tell me what happened in Rome?” His brother had dropped the fact that he’d met Frederick in Rome, on a mission for the army, though he had not said what. Knowing that he and his new wife had been put in great danger, Rhona hadn’t found it hard to assume Frederick had been in danger, too. Now, he told her he’d been spying. That would not appeal to his straightforward, honest nature.
“Adam and I thwarted a plot by dissident Jacobites to assassinate the king.”
She gasped. “You stopped them?”
He shrugged. “They were an incompetent lot. But in order to do it, I had to pretend friendship and a belief in their cause. They chose me because of my father, the traitor.” If the old duke hadn’t died at Culloden, he would probably have been executed. “I could pretend sympathy for the cause. I hated every moment, and discovered, much to my relief, that I was no good at it.” He shrugged. “They couldn’t give me a reward, not directly, but I have received word that the Crown owes me its thanks, and that I am in favor at court.” He turned his lip. “All I wanted was to go back to active duty. Then this happened.” He rapped his clenched fist on his leg. “So that ended my dream of achieving general on the field. I got the promotion, though.”
“Colonel.”
“They offered me another position, much more to my taste.”
“Which is?”
“Compiling maps and helping to create battle strategy. The best way to cope with battle in different situations. The war won’t go away just because I’m not a part of it any longer.” At last, he picked up his glass. “I won’t deny that it appeals to me. I can’t campaign any further, spend long hours in the saddle, and camp in the field. But I can still be useful. And I always loved maps.”
“I remember,” she murmured. She did. She’d shared his interest, and still did, sometimes. Having spent her life in one place did not mean she wasn’t curious about the world outside the castle.
He hesitated, then finished his drink before he spoke again. “The department is run by General Alfreton. A good man. He has a daughter. He has suggested that I might think of marrying her.” He spoke in a rush, as if afraid she would interrupt. “She’s a pleasant girl, sensible, but not without a touch of humor. She’d make a man a good wife.”
“You like her.” She spoke numbly. So he was about to tell her he was marrying this girl? She would bear it. She would have to. Inside, her heart broke.
“Yes, I do. But I don’t love her. I love you, Rhona. I always have. Since the first time I saw you, though I didn’t realize it until later.”
Her mind raced along with her heart, trying to take in what he’d said so matter-of-factly a moment before.
“We played in the grounds,” she said, smiling at the memory.
“Yes. You were a wild thing then, full of mischief and laughter. I know that girl still lurks beneath the exterior you have so carefully built for yourself. I want to release her from her prison.”
She shook her head. “She grew up and faced reality.” What he’d said was impossible.
He stood, held out his hand. What could she do but take it?
He pulled her to her feet. “Rhona, would you deny us this?”
Tilting her head back with one hand, he brought his mouth down to hers.
For the second time that day, Rhona’s senses went flying. Everything she had worked so hard to tamp down expanded and surrounded her. She was loved. She loved. Why should she not take advantage of this? She would not accept his outrageous offer, and she would force him to see that. He could go to London and marry his general’s daughter. She would stay here. Nothing could change that. But tonight—tonight they were Rhona and Frederick, that was all, and they could indulge. They could say goodbye properly.
Her sensible self, the one she’d cultivated for the last ten years came through. She shouldn’t do this. Parting would be so painful, and he’d leave her here with her memories. But she firmly pushed those thoughts down. This was her last chance to relive the experience he’d given her once. Now she was a woman grown, and she wanted this. So much that she couldn’t resist.
If she resisted, he would leave her alone. So she didn’t resist. Instead, she participated.
Spreading her hands over his chest, she gloried in the knowledge that, soon, there would be nothing between her palms and his skin. His heart beat against her, the pounding echoing her own. His kisses drew out her longing, made it more powerful, so she didn’t know how long she could bear not being with him.
He tore at the sash binding her robe around her, slid his hands inside, and stilled.
“You’re naked,” he whispered, his lips touching her neck with every word.
“Well observed.” Her voice shook, but laughter shivered behind the passion. “I couldn’t leave all the surprises to you.”
“Did you come to me wanting this? Knowing we would do this?” he remained utterly still, his hands curved around her waist.
“I considered it a possibility. If I never removed my robe, you would never have known. I could have left.”
His hold tightened. “No, oh, no. Let me see you, Rhona. Let me see the woman you are now.”
Although her boldness had cost her some soul-searching, she was glad of it now. His reaction was everything she wanted, and more. He moved his hands over her bare skin, his hands trembling. “I had thought revealing my injury to you was the worst of it. But I swear, when I touched you I nearly fainted clean away.”
When he drew back, she gave way to her laugher. He eased the robe off her shoulders, and she watched him as she let the garment fall away.
His gaze followed the robe as it fell to the floor. “You should have something in silk, something pretty.”
It had been a long time since she’d owned anything frivolous and pretty. Or of the quality of the robe he wore, a long banyan that shimmered in the candlelight. But he cast it off as if it were as inconsequential as her own, and then unfastened the button that held his nightshirt closed and drew that off, too.
Only then did he look at her. He scanned her, up and down and up again, then closed his eyes and drew a deep breath through his nose. “That perfume,” he said. “Ivory soap and you. Only you.”
The ivory soap was one of her few indulgences. She certainly didn’t spend her money on perfume.
He took the step that brought their bodies close together, and pulled her in. Pressing her against his body, delivering sensations so strong they overwhelmed her, he kissed her. His tongue entered her mouth, tasting, gently coaxing, until, with a groan, she gave way and they fell into passion.
Fortunately, the bed wasn’t far away or they might have ended up making love on the floor. She lay down, eager to feel him where he had only ever been once before. She wanted him now, with a desperation she’d never experienced before.
He caressed her, his hard hands raising goosebumps on her skin. These were not the hands of a gentleman. They bore nicks and scars, which abraded her skin, raising her arousal to heights she hadn’t known existed. He cupped her breasts, kissed them, licked her into writhing need. “You are lovelier than any dream I ever had of you. And I dreamed a lot.”
Those words brought Rhona down a little, recalling what he must have been doing while he was dreaming. Fighting for his life in a field hospital. When she reached her hand down, she felt the straps. She pushed at him. “Take it off,” she said. “I want you and only you.” Surely he would be more comfortable if he removed the artificial leg?
“Are you certain?”
She nodded.
With a grimace, he slid to the side of the bed and sat, efficiently undoing buckles and straps. The limb fell to the floor with a thump. Now, he was naked. And he moved more fluidly, or so it seemed to Rhona, straddling her, so she lay on her back. “Better?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said gruffly. “But my crutch and cane are in the closet. I didn’t want you to see them before you saw me.”
“Just as
well I’m here, then.”
He cupped her face. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is. Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea how much I missed you.”
“Yes, I do.” Because she had felt the same.
He pressed against her, hard and needy, and when he slid his hand gently between her legs, he would find she was ready for him. “Please, Frederick. Please.”
“I never stopped loving you, Rhona. I never will.”
The breath caught in her throat. While she was still speechless, he brought their bodies together and gave her what they both longed for.
Wave after wave of absolute joy suffused her, wracked her body with uncontrollable delight. He said something, whispered soft words against her throat, in a place that brought her up even further, and then kissed her. No gentleness remained as they rediscovered what they had shared all those years ago.
This time was even better. She murmured words, broken with soft cries, and he murmured his love, until her body arched of its own accord and the miracle happened. They reached their pinnacle at the same time, shared it, as they had not done before.
She felt him leave her, and cried out in protest. She wanted everything. But he had remembered his promise and he protected her as best he could. With a single shout, he jerked once, twice, against her belly. Then they were done, and they lay, panting hard, unable to move.
After a minute, maybe two, he rolled off her. He used a corner of the sheet to clean them both roughly. “I need my crutch to do anything more.”
“I’ll do it.”
As she rolled out of bed, a stray hairpin tinkled to the floor. She soaked a cloth in the clean but cold water in the basement and then went into the closet and found his crutch. When she turned, he was watching her. He lay on his back, his hands tucked behind his head with an insufferably smug smile on his lips.
She tossed the cloth onto his stomach, laughing when he yelped at the cold, propped his crutch near the bed where he could reach it, and returned to the basin. She went back to the bed. “We must take care of the sheets in the morning,” she said, sliding back into bed. “Or everyone will know what we have done.”
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 72