Duncan waved him on his way. “Go chop some wood for the old woman, Jacob. She’ll have need of it. For God sakes man, make yourself useful to her.” Jacob was already on his way. “And mind she’s not to carry anything heavier than a carrot,” Duncan called after him.
“Aye, Duncan,” Jacob threw over his shoulder, as he hurried into the kitchen.
Beth placed a hand on his arm. “You are a good man, Duncan.”
He smiled and winked. “Perhaps later, I will show you how good.”
“In my grandmother’s house?” she pretended to be shocked.
“In any house at all.” He leaned and whispered in her ear. “And soon, Beth, soon, for I have great need of you.”
Beth felt a warm shiver travel down her spine.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Duncan had not wanted to eat nearly as much as he did, but Cosette had urged food on him with the solemnity of a mother trying to fatten up her starving child.
Finally, he could eat no more. He pushed himself from the table with both hands and looked at her with a contented, sleepy-eyed manner of one who had eaten far more than his fill.
“The meal, mademoiselle, was heavenly.”
Cosette inclined her head and took the praise as her due. But Beth could see there was a special glow in her eyes, one lit in response to Duncan’s courtliness. It had been a long time since kindly words had been tendered to this dear old woman, Beth thought in sorrow.
“Yes, and the provider was heaven sent.” She leaned over her grandniece to squeeze Duncan’s hand.
Cosette looked over the dishes spread out on the table in the dining hall. She had taken a serving to her sister earlier, and they had all eaten well, but there was still much that remained.
“This is the most I have had on my table since before poor Philippe was taken from us.” She wiped her lips delicately and then sighed as she folded the treasured napkin in her lap. She appeared annoyed at her own lapse. “But I am making noises like a bitter old woman.” She looked at the circle of young faces around her, the sum of whom probably did not begin to equal her age. “I am, you know, but there is no point in making the noises to attest to that before the young.”
She laid the napkin on the table and moved her chair back. Her eyes held Beth’s.
“You have, God willing, a future before you. I have nought but the past.” She raised her chin proudly, lifting the head that would never be bowed. “Which they cannot take from me. So, if you will excuse me, I will look in once more upon my sister and then this tired old woman is going to bed.”
She struggled to her feet, leaning heavily upon her cane, eschewing the hand that Beth offered her.
Duncan rose quickly to his feet and indicated with his eyes that Jacob should follow suit, which Jacob did after an awkward moment.
Duncan bowed slightly upon Cosette’s passing. “Good night, mademoiselle. Jacob and I will take turns standing watch.”
His words brought a smile to her lips. “Then I sleep well tonight.” With spidery fingers, she touched his cheek. “Thank you for all you have done.” She glanced toward her grandniece. “And for all that you will do.”
Cosette moved slowly out, like a shadow receding upon the wall.
Beth rose as well. “I will see if she needs anything,” she told Duncan, as she hurried after the old woman.
Duncan nodded, then turned toward his companion. There was the business of details to see to. “Jacob, the table needs clearing, and it appears that there are but two of us left.”
Jacob pouted slightly as he gathered Duncan’s meaning. His small, bright eyes looked about the table sadly. He was more than happy to forage for the food and eat it, but to clear away the remains was another story entirely, and one not to his liking.
He raised his eyes to Duncan’s face. “We should have brought a woman with us,” he muttered.
Duncan looked over his shoulder toward the doorway through which Beth had gone only a moment before.
“We did.” He laughed at the very thought. “But she would be no more inclined to do this sort of thing than you or I, Jacob.”
Jacob heartily agreed. That was why he had bemoaned their not having brought someone with them to begin with. He could not envision Beth about a menial task such as cleaning.
Resigned, he gathered up the empty plates, stacking them carefully. He need not be told that they were delicate. “She is different, is she not? The mistress, I mean, not the old one.”
Like a man with molasses in his veins instead of blood, Duncan slowly placed one dish upon another, his mind elsewhere. “So different, Jacob, that I do not even know where to begin to address the matter.”
“But you like her,” Jacob prodded, like a child who wanted to hear aloud the answer he already knew to be true. He scooped up the dishes and, bracing them against his breast, carried the lot of them into the kitchen.
If there were cats about, Duncan thought, shaking his head, they would be following Jacob about for the better part of the evening, just for the chance to run their coarse tongues along his shirt.
Duncan looked into the patient eyes and nodded. “Yes, Jacob, I like her.”
Jacob stopped, three feet shy of the kitchen table. “A lot?”
Duncan pointed a finger at the work. “Scrub the pot for Mademoiselle Delacroix the way you would if Amy was here, and ask me no more questions I do not fully know the answers to myself.”
The meandering reply puzzled Jacob. Duncan was always so straightforward with him and the others. Could it really be that he did not know?
“I like her a great deal,” Jacob volunteered, his grin splitting his face in two.
‘That is easy.” Duncan clapped his hand on Jacob’s back. “She has not railed at you.”
“Yes,” Jacob’s voice was sad as he agreed. Amy had told him that if you aroused a woman’s temper, you aroused her heart as well. “I know.”
Her grandmother was already asleep when Beth and Cosette tiptoed in. Beth removed the tray, then left it in the hall as she accompanied her grandaunt to the latter’s room. The old woman was tired, and Beth felt guilty at having kept her up so long.
“No, no, my child, it has been wonderful to speak with someone, with something other than shadows and memories. There was a time when I could have stayed up and talked to you until dawn, but those days are gone.” She shuffled about the bed and with practiced moves, turned it down. “Now, I fear I must to bed, lest I do you the insult of falling asleep in the middle of one of your words. Good night, my dear. Sleep the sleep of the just.”
With that, Cosette eased her door closed.
Beth stood for a moment, staring at the dark wooden door as if transfixed. She felt far too restless to go to the room her great-aunt had provided for her.
It was not worry for their immediate safety that pricked at her, but a despair for all that had happened here. Like a ghost, she roamed the hallway, examining portraits of ancestors whose names she did not know. Ancestors who would be as shamed as her great-aunt by the events that were transpiring.
Her father had spent many a night sitting upon her bed as the hour grew late, telling her tales of his childhood home in lieu of a fairy tale. He told her how beautiful it was. Eventually, her grandmother’s house became almost like an enchanted land for Beth. And since she had seen it for herself when she was young, the magic was not dispelled.
It was now.
Now, it reminded her of the castle in the story of the sleeping princess, overgrown with brambles and weeds. And though it was not a witch who was responsible for the curse, the people who had caused all this to happen were far more frightening to Beth than any witch could be.
Beth sighed as she crossed the long, somber hallway once more, treading lightly so as not to wake the two old women. Restlessness stirred within her to even a higher pitch. She silently made her way past her room and to the backstairs.
She took care to make no noise as she descended.
Jacob had his bac
k to Beth as she carefully eased by him in the kitchen. He heard nothing, grumbling softly to himself as he placed dishes into the water he had fetched from the well.
For a moment, she hesitated when she saw what he was about. This was her grandmother’s house, and she should be the one doing what Jacob was occupied with. But needs greater than duty tugged at her.
She was not in the mood for conversation, even with a soul as simple and good as Jacob. For the moment, Beth wished to be alone with her thoughts and the ghosts of times gone by.
Quietly, she opened the back door and slipped into the garden.
Here and there, in the moonlight, she saw that a rose still bloomed upon bushes that were sagging. But by and large, the bushes had all either been trampled or cut away by cruel, hateful hands belonging to envious souls.
She thought of the rabble who had come here to seize her father and had killed the old servant as if he were nothing more than another flower in their path.
“Was it frightening for you, Father?” she whispered to the dark. “I wish I could have been here with you, to help defend you.”
It was a foolish wish, she knew, but she was full of foolish wishes tonight. She wished for the power to save her father. She wished for a magical event that could make everyone lay down their arms and take up the plow in harmony.
Most of all, she wished for the tranquility she had known as a child, with her father by her side to guide her every step.
Beth felt tears weighing heavily on her lids, and since she was alone, she let them come, hoping to purge herself of this oppressive feeling of despair that was threatening to seize her.
He couldn’t find her.
Duncan fully expected Beth to be in her room when he went upstairs. He had spent many precious minutes securing the house and checking the security of the windows. His mind was as much at rest as it could be, given the circumstances. He made his way to Beth’s room, anticipating the faint scent of her perfume filling his senses.
The room was empty, untouched.
Since Beth was as unpredictable as any woman he had ever known, Duncan thought perhaps that she had taken the initiative and gone to his room. Smiling to himself, he hurried down the hall in the opposite direction.
But that room was empty, too.
His heart quickened. Perhaps she was still with her aunt or grandmother. Hoping that was the case, he listened intently as he passed before the rooms of the two old women, nestled together like two morning doves on a branch. He heard not a word. Though he loathed to disturb them, it was necessary.
Candle in hand, he opened the door to Beth’s grandmother’s room. The woman was asleep in her bed. There was no one else in the room. Quietly, he eased the doors shut once more, then went to the other.
Holding his breath, he eased the doors open a crack. Cosette surprised him by being on the other side, her hand on the doorknob. Her hearing still excellent, alerted by the sounds in the hall and room next to hers, she had gotten out of bed and was at the door when he opened it.
“Yes?”
He could not have been more surprised than if she had sprung up at him. Duncan took a breath to steady himself. “Pardon, mademoiselle, I did not wish to disturb you.”
She looked at him shrewdly. “That is obvious, since you did not knock.”
He did not want to alarm her, and said simply, “I am looking for Beth,” as if he had merely lost his way within the intricate pattern of the house.
She had known his blood was hot the moment she had looked at him.
“Why, she is in her room, of course. Asleep, I trust,” she said pointedly.
“Of course.” Duncan nodded, already easing his way out. “Good night, mademoiselle. A thousand pardons. Sleep well.”
The old head bobbed in acknowledgment as Duncan closed the door. “And you do the same,” she advised softly. Then she chuckled to herself, something she had not done in more years than she could remember.
Where the devil had that woman gotten to? he wondered, crossing to the end of the hall. In frustration, he laid his hands upon the sill of the window that looked down at the deserted garden.
That was when he saw the slight form moving about the bushes.
Duncan’s instincts were well honed from his years upon the London streets. His hand went to the hilt of the weapon that was never far from his side. He squinted, looking about the garden for signs that there were more than one about. He dared not lift the casement for fear of alerting the intruder.
There seemed to be only the one.
But there were many shadows in the garden, and he could well be mistaken.
Swiftly, Duncan took the backstairs two at a time. “Be on your guard, Jacob,” he warned softly, as he went to the back door.
Jacob needed no more to silently lay aside the pot in his hands and to take up his sword.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Beth started at the sound and turned to see the drawn sword. She gasped as she saw the moonlight gleaming on the long blade. The next moment, recognition set in as the man brandishing the sword stepped out of the shadows.
“Duncan!”
Duncan did not know whether to hug her to his breast or give her the benefit of the back of his hand soundly across her posterior.
“ Tis the mistress,” Jacob crowed, a hooting laugh punctuating his words.
He put up his own sword and shook his head as if it was a grand joke on them all. But Duncan still had his extended.
“I do not think you need arm yourself against her, Duncan,” Jacob prodded helpfully.
“Then you are most heartily mistaken.” After a moment, Duncan sheathed his sword. “Return to the house, Jacob. You have the first watch at the front door. I will come in two hours to relieve you.”
Jacob nodded, glad to be of the kind of use he was accustomed to. This cleaning up was something he found far too demeaning.
There were many who thought him simple-minded, but Jacob knew when to withdraw his sword and when to withdraw his presence. This was such a time, even if he was not standing watch. He smiled at the two people before him.
“Aye, Duncan. Good night, mistress.” He bowed grandly before her. “Pleasant dreams.”
“The same to you, Jacob,” she murmured at his retreating back.
Alone, Duncan gave vent to his anxiety. He grasped Beth by the shoulders with his steely hands, suppressing the urge to shake her. She had given him a turn or two, disappearing like that.
“What the devil are you doing here?”
She looked at him defiantly. Though he was here because of her, that gave him no authority over her, no right to order her about or question her actions.
“Walking.”
Duncan knew that look. The woman was spoiling for another fight, and he was not. He released her. “I hunted the house for you.”
She waved a hand and turned her back on him. “You had but to look out the window. I have been here all the—“ Beth stopped and turned to look at Duncan, caught by the meaning in his words. “You hunted for me?”
“Yes.” She had given him a start when he could not find her, and he meant to take her to task for that, for causing him anxiety, for being someone who caused him anxiety. He wished for his feelings to be free again, not entangled as they were.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, he remembered.
“And frightened your great-aunt in the process, I might add, as I prowled about.”
Had he truly been worried about her, the way she had about him? she wondered. Her temper was suddenly at rest as her heart took over.
“I doubt that.” She smiled sadly. “She is not easily frightened, that one; she has seen too much.” Beth looked around the desecrated grounds. “As have the gardens.” Unshed tears of regret rimmed her words. “This was a beautiful place once, Duncan.”
“And it can be again.”
She knew he was right, but it would be so difficult to restore what once was ... and it could never be completely accom
plished. Nothing was ever the same after it was ruined.
“Yes, but—“
Duncan took her hands in his. “Beth, you have the look of a haunted apparition about you. We cannot resolve any problems out here tonight and it would serve no purpose to be so consumed with despair and worry. Neither has ever benefited any situation, to my knowledge.” He took a step backward, urging her to follow him into the house. “Come to bed.”
A knowing smile played upon her lips. “Yours or mine?”
She was a vixen, but he knew what lay just beneath the surface, and he would walk through fire just for a taste of her lips.
“It matters not, for I will join you wherever you are.”
She withdrew her hands from his to fist them at her waist. “And I have no say in it?”
He sighed. He suspected that Beth probably liked to
argue more than she liked to eat. She clearly seemed to enjoy it more than having him make love to her.
“You always have a say in it, Beth. But I pray in my heart that the say will be ‘yes.’ “
There was so much in his eyes that she could not read, but this much she knew to be true. She cupped her hand to his cheek.
“Then set your heart at ease. For all you have done today, I could not turn you away.”
But his eyes darkened. He did not want her body in trade for actions he would have rendered anyway. “I do not want your gratitude.”
She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Nonetheless, you have it.”
His eyes held her fast to where she stood. “I want something more. Something with a far dearer price attached to it.”
As always, he had her heart beating quickly, hammering at her wrists and throat like a drummer boy in the militia, announcing a battle. But there were to be no battles fought tonight.
Tonight was for surrender.
“Perhaps you have that, too.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she lay a finger across his lips to silence him. “But for the time being, content yourself with what there is, as you have bidden me to do.”
Beth stood on her toes and twined her arms around his neck. Her body leaned into his in supplication. “Make me forget, Duncan. Make me forget what I have seen today and what I have yet to see.”
Moonlight Surrender (Moonlight Book 3) Page 21