The Fairy Tale Bride

by Kelly McClymer

CHAPTER THREE

  A scrabbling noise from the loft above cut into Simon's consciousness.

  Reluctantly, he pulled away from Miranda, holding a finger to his lips that turned her bemusement into a narrow-eyed silence. He was fleetingly glad to see that her cheeks were flushed. He hoped it was a sign that he had taught her to be wary.

  With the stealth and silence that had kept him alive more than once, he grasped the frayed rope that hung from a ceiling beam and handed himself slowly and silently up into the tiny loft area. Except for a little moldering hay put by in one corner, the rest of the loft was swept bare of anything but a layer of mouse and owl droppings.

  Simon grabbed up the pitchfork, brandishing it as if it were a bayonet. "Come out of there now," he said in the voice that had made his bravest men jump.

  There was a twitch in the hay, but nothing more.

  Simon directed his attention to the area of the twitch and swore softly at the sight of a bare foot protruding from the hay. It was covered with grime — and small. "Come out, boy."

  There was no movement from the hay. Behind him, Miranda gasped. "It is but a child you're frightening?"

  He turned his head, surprised to see that she had climbed up after him. There were not many women of his acquaintance he'd credit with the ability or inclination to climb a rope. "I can see you've forgotten London life, Miss Fenster. Can't turn your back on the little beggars."

  To his surprise, though nothing he had previously done had eradicated one glimmer of the hero-worship in her eyes, his comment seemed to have brought him down a notch.

  "Little beggars!" With a scornful look at him, she marched up to the pile of hay, which was trembling now, and knelt beside it. ''I'm sorry if we frightened you." When there was no further movement from within the pile of hay, she coaxed, "You must be hungry. Would you like food? I have apples and cheese and fresh bread. Why don't you come out?"

  Her voice was soft and persuasive, but the child remained hidden in the hay.

  Simon's gaze, trained as it was on Miranda's slender back, still bared by her gaping dress, was caught by the series of shivers that shook her. With an impatient oath, he dropped the pitchfork and reached out for the child's exposed foot. One swift pull, accompanied by a soft squeal, revealed a young girl, no more than three or four, with long blonde braids and big brown eyes.

  Even Simon could not be wary of the girl once he saw how tiny and frightened she was. As he held the child in his arms and jumped from the loft to the floor below, he felt a flash of gratitude that she had made her presence known when she did. He could think of no more effective means to prevent him from seducing Miss Fenster tonight. Certainly his own willpower had failed.

  He left Miranda to tend to the frightened child while he gathered wood. When he returned, chilled, but with what he hoped was enough wood to last through the night, he was not surprised to find Miranda draped in a makeshift toga, with the child beside her, cleaned up and bundled into a blanket of her own. The child held a half-eaten slice of bread in one hand and was well into the story of how she had come to be at the cottage.

  "He said I was pretty as my Mam, and he gave me a sweet before he went in to her." Her eyes rested on Miranda with complete trust, as a child might look at her mother. Simon's gut clenched with shock at the unwelcome realization that he and Miranda might have had a child this age by now. He dropped the wood into the basket with a thunk.

  "Why'd that handsome gennulmun tell me he dropped a gold piece at the crossroads?"

  "I don't know Betsy, but I can't believe he knew you'd go looking for it and get lost." Miranda met Simon's gaze.

  He wondered, seeing her doubtful expression, how much of what was an obvious attempt to distract a child while the "gennulmun" tumbled the mother, was apparent to Miranda. The girl's clothes, though carefully patched; were little more than rags. She probably came from one of the poorer of the village folk, grateful for money any way they could earn it.

  "Do you come from Watson or Nevilshire, girl?" he asked.

  She smiled proudly, "Nevilshire, Your Grace." With a gleeful glance she checked with Miranda, as if to ensure that her salutation had been correct. She was rewarded with a smiling nod from Miranda.

  Simon sighed inwardly. Doubtless Miranda had not thought of a child's wagging tongue before she'd informed the girl of his title. "I'll take you back to your Mam tomorrow. Tonight you'll bed down with us."

  Her eyes sparkled as if he'd promised her a pony.

  "Yes, sir. Thankee sir." And then her eyes darkened. "My mam will be sore mad at me. She told me not to never go too far away."

  Miranda said gravely, although Simon suspected that a smile lurked under her sober demeanor, "I'm sure if you convince her that you've learned your lesson, she'll forgive you."

  Betsy looked doubtful.

  Miranda smiled at her. "Why, I remember when I was your age, my nanny told me about another young lady who also wasn't the best at heeding her mother's warnings. She did learn her lesson one day, or so my nanny said."

  Betsy's eyes were sparkling once more. "What was she called?"

  Miranda's brow knitted. "I don't think Nanny Hilda ever told me the girl's name, now that you ask. But she did tell me about the wonderful warm cape that her mother made her, of a most beautiful red, the color of a cardinal. So why don't we call her Little Redcape, as my nanny did?"

  Betsy nodded her approval, and despite a mouthful of bread, asked, "Did she get lost too, like me?"

  Miranda shook her head, more patient with the child's curiosity than he would have been. He settled in to tend the fire, and to listen to the tale, sure that there would be some happy twist that could only come from the inimitable fairytale-loving Miss Fenster. "No, not exactly. You see, her grandmother was ill, and Little Redcape's mother asked her to take a basket of herbs and some soup and fresh bread to her."

  "And she didn't?"

  Miranda laughed and leaned forward to whisper as unselfconsciously as if she'd been in the nursery of her own home telling a tale to her sisters. "She did indeed – and met a wolf on the way."

  "A wolf!" Betsy's round face was a study in delight.

  "Truly." Miranda nodded as she took the remains of the bread from the child's fingers and smoothed back the blonde hair. Simon was tormented by a vision of how it would feel if those fingers were smoothing back his own hair. As she spoke, she quietly tucked Betsy in, smoothly unbraiding and rebraiding her hair. Without a peep of protest from the unwary child, Miranda had readied her for sleep. He watched her expression change by turns from happy to ferocious to frightened to cunning as she told her fairytale. He wondered if Miranda understood the allusions to straying from the path – and the danger of the wolf.

  He found no answer; her attention was all for her story, and for the child listening raptly, right up until Redcape used the ax she had hidden in her cape to free herself and her grandmother from the wolf's stomach. And then, to Simon's utter amazement, the child let out a contented sigh, turned over, and began to snore very quietly.

  Miranda eased herself away from the sleeping child, rose, and came over to him by the fire. "I expect she will sleep now. She was so frightened. I thought a story would calm her."

  "Indeed. But I imagine the lesson would have gone more deeply if Little Redcape had realized she was not capable of saving herself from the wolf after she'd been eaten."

  "Nonsense." She shook her head, strands of cinnamon-colored hair falling from the loosening knot at her nape. "Redcape had a happy ending. She learned her lesson. You'll never find her talking to strange wolves again."

  "Happy endings are rare in life, Miss Fenster. Look at what happened to you when you ran into a London wolf."

  "I?" Her gaze reflected her puzzlement. "What wolf have I...? Oh." There was a fierce light in her eye. "So such men are called wolves? It suits their predatory nature even more than the term rake, I think."

  He noticed that she stood close to him without fear. Obviously, she did not conside
r him a rake. "Indeed. But my point remains, Miss Fenster. And the wolf did no more than taste you." He couldn't help adding, "And I'm none too convinced that you've learned your lesson."

  Impulsively, he reached out and pulled the few anchoring pins from her hair, allowing it to fall about her shoulders. "What if he had managed to eat you, my dear?"

  Her color heightened, she snatched the pins from his hand and said sharply, "I refuse to believe there are no happy endings, Your Grace — for Little Redcape or for Valentine and Emily." She looked at him, a challenge in her eyes as she said softly, "I even believe you, a man of two-and-thirty might still have a happy ending for yourself."

  No. That was not possible. Simon closed his eyes to block the sight of her, hair tumbling down over one bare shoulder, as enticing as a nymph. Was she trying to drive him mad? Or was she playing a game? He knew that a woman could seem innocent and honest and be rotted inside with guilt and lies. His own mother had taught him that truth. Somehow, he didn't believe it of Miranda.

  Without opening his eyes, he said, "The rules are different for men and women. You are a woman. I am a man." He wondered if there was any possibility that she was as aware as he was of that simple fact.

  There was a bare hesitation before she answered. "The rules make no sense. They put restrictions on women, who are not ruled by physical attraction, and allow men free rein to indulge themselves with the naïve and unwary, as Grimthorpe did with me."

  He gave in to his urge to touch her and grasped her lightly by the shoulders, caressing the soft, exposed skin. "What might have happened if you had been aroused by Grimthorpe's attentions?"

  "He was a toad."

  "Agreed." Simon asked a question for which he was not sure he wanted the answer. "What of your country suitors? Did none of them make you wish for a stolen kiss?"

  "I am well able to control my actions, wishes or no."

  "Then the answer is yes?"

  She hesitated, but his trust in her innate honesty was rewarded by a sharp, "No."

  "And my kiss left you unmoved?" She tried unsuccessfully to pull away from him, but he continued relentlessly. "If we had not discovered Betsy, would you have allowed me to make love to you, Miss Fenster?"

  He opened his eyes. Instead of the expected dawning of wariness in her eyes, her gaze seemed fixed on his face, as if she sought to puzzle out a mystery. It was clear that she had no idea of her current danger. Or perhaps she did not recognize this feeling between them as dangerous. He felt pushed to the wall. With an angry growl low in his throat he loosed her shoulders, swept her off her feet, and carried her the few steps to where the blankets had been laid out in a cozy nest.

  "As you pointed out not that long ago, Miss Fenster," he said as he brought the both of them to the floor and pinned her beneath him, "I am a man of two-and-thirty. Has it ever once crossed your mind that I might not connect seducing an innocent but foolish young woman with any sullying of my honor?"

  She lay stiffly beneath him, and he was satisfied to feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest as she stared up at him, finally wary.

  After a moment's silence, she said quietly, "You would regret it in the morning, Your Grace. We both know that."

  He brought his head down, as if to kiss her, pleased to note the sudden catch in her breath. His face was so close to hers that he could not see her expression as he whispered softly, "I would not regret it half so much as you, Miss Fenster." Abruptly he pulled away and flicked the last of the blankets over her, satisfied to see relief in Miranda's expression, worried lest she see the same feeling reflected in his own. He had doubted his own sanity for a moment.

  He turned his back on her. "I pray that you have learned your lesson, but if you have not, I am content to let some other man give you the proper ending to your fairytale."

  Ignoring the little quiver in his gut that indicated he was lying, Simon lay his head on his arm and forced himself to remain still atop the cold hard floor.

  An hour later, still unable to sleep, he heard the slow rhythmic creaking of cart wheels. He rose, crept to the door, and cautiously cracked it open. The rain had ceased. Lantern lights dotted the field and glimmered at the edges of the wood.

  After a moment, the night's breeze carried the sound of a woman crying, and then a deeper voice, calling, "Betsy? Betsy, my pet? It's time to come home."

  He could almost hear laughter in the creaking of the wheels of fate as they drew closer. Someone had come looking for Little Redcape.