A Warriner to Rescue Her

by Virginia Heath

  ‘My father was summoned to Nottingham. The Bishop is not very happy with him. I don’t expect him back this evening.’ Why was she telling him that when she was justifiably still furious at his scandalous behaviour? ‘Not that it matters. I am not speaking to you. You kissed me to prove a point!’

  ‘Not my finest hour, I will grant you. I also behaved like a total cad afterwards.’ He bent down and picked up the jug, then handed it to her. ‘You can throw it at me again if you want. I promise I won’t duck.’

  He looked charmingly boyish and contrite. Too charmingly boyish and convincingly contrite that part of her resolve to continue to be furious at him began to waver. The thin trickle of blood next to his eyebrow chiselled away a bit more.

  ‘Perhaps you should step in so I can take a look at your cut before you go.’ Her tone was brittle because she was nowhere near ready to accept his apology. The only excuse for kissing a woman senseless was desperately wanting to kiss the woman in the first place. Especially when the kisses were as lethal as his were. Throwing them around willy-nilly to prove a point was irresponsible and calling them a ‘sorry episode’ was just plain insulting. If he hadn’t been wounded by her hand, she would have given him his marching orders smartly. But he was injured and, although she could not muster up any guilt to have been the cause of it, it was her Christian duty to help him.

  He followed her meekly into the kitchen and stood awkwardly by the door while she fetched some witch hazel and gauze. Cassie laid the things on the table and motioned snippily for him to sit. She watched his eyes dart about the sparse kitchen, taking in the plain walls whose only decoration were the large, rough-hewn crosses which had been nailed on all four sides. It was such a miserable, depressing kitchen, but matched the rest of the miserable depressing house. ‘My father disapproves of unnecessary fripperies. When you move as often as we do, you learn to keep material possessions to a minimum.’ And now she was making excuses when she shouldn’t care what he thought. Except she knew he loved colours and...well, there weren’t any. ‘We can’t all live in a grand house, Captain Warriner.’

  ‘I notice I am back to being Captain Warriner again.’

  ‘I think it’s for the best.’ He didn’t flinch when she began to clean the wound, but those deep blue eyes stared into hers mournfully, somehow making the simple matter-of-fact act something intimate.

  ‘Would you like me to beg?’

  The idea had its merits. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘But you are not ready to forgive me either.’

  Cassie stepped away and began to clear away the witch hazel. ‘I accept your apology, Captain Warriner, and wish for you to leave immedia—’

  There was a great deal of scraping as he pushed the chair back and began to lower himself to his knees on the floor. She saw him wince with pain although he tried to cover it.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘I am about to beg. I believe to do it justice, one should be on their knees. If your father has a hair shirt lying about somewhere, I shall happily put that on, too. Or I could flail myself with birch twigs.’ He shuffled towards her on his knees, which had to have hurt him a great deal although he bore it stoically, a sad puppy-dog expression in his handsome face that did not quite hide the discomfort he was feeling. ‘Or you could flail me with birch twigs. Or that jug.’

  ‘Please stand up. I have caused you enough injury for one night.’ Cassie held out her hand and helped to hoist him up, regretting it instantly when he stood too close and towered over her, forcing her to tilt her face to look into his. And he was still holding her hand. It was so disconcerting, she snatched it away and she took a step backwards to put some well-needed distance between them. Distance he closed instantly.

  ‘Please forgive me for being such an insufferable buffoon earlier. There is no excuse for my crass, boorish behaviour and I will do anything to hear you say you forgive me.’

  ‘Anything?’ A smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth as she found herself being charmed by him regardless. Her father had never apologised to her once in his life. Cassie rearranged her features into a frown and promised herself she would remain impervious. ‘I believe I shall need tangible examples before I commit to forgiveness, Captain.’

  ‘I could brush your pony down every day for a month. That would take for ever. She does have a ridiculously long mane.’

  ‘Only a month? No, thank you. I like to brush her myself and Orange Blossom likes to look pretty.’

  But she would be guaranteed to see him for another month. Weak, pathetic, needy fool.

  Cassie folded her arms in a show of strength. She would not be charmed by him. Not now. Not ever.

  ‘I have asked you to leave, Captain Warriner, yet you are still here. Please go.’

  ‘I could take you shopping and buy you whatever you wanted, then carry all the packages afterwards. I hate shopping. Every minute will seem like an eternity.’ She wanted to giggle, but took another step back instead, but it escaped loudly from her silly mouth when he stepped towards her again, an arrogant and mischievous gleam in his eyes. Her pulse began to flutter and tiny butterflies appeared in her tummy. The interaction between them now felt like a game and one she was apparently happy to lose.

  Fortunately, she could hear Orange Blossom’s voice from the stables. Don’t stand for it, Cassie! He kissed you to prove a point, remember?

  ‘Tempting, but, no. My father disapproves of unnecessary fripperies. Besides, forgiveness should never be bought.’ She backed up and found her bottom pressed against the wall. There was nowhere else to go and despite her disappointment in his behaviour she really didn’t want to. This felt like flirting, not that she had ever really flirted before to have anything to hold in comparison, but there was something quite wonderful about having this surly man pleading in such a wholly delightful manner.

  ‘What if I promised to illustrate every one of your stories for ever?’ He was watching her intently. Ready words failed her. Would he really do that? And if he did, wouldn’t it be marvellous!

  ‘I suppose...’

  ‘Wait!’ His playful expression was replaced by a frown. ‘Listen.’

  It was the unmistakable sound of a carriage. And it appeared it was heading towards the vicarage. The pleasant butterflies turned into tentacles of panic which wrapped themselves around her gut and windpipe.

  ‘It’s my father! He cannot find you here, Jamie!’

  Chapter Eleven

  Necessity meant he had to react quickly. The sudden movement, combined with his ill-advised drop to his knees, made his leg muscles tighten and almost give way. Jamie pushed through the pain with gritted teeth to move stealthily towards the window. The Reverend Reeves was indeed currently alighting a shoddy-looking carriage, and one which had very effectively blocked Jamie’s escape route. Poor Cassie looked rightly terrified.

  ‘Is it him?’

  Jamie nodded and scanned the lower floor for an exit or a suitable hiding place. The lack of furniture rendered the latter redundant.

  ‘Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness!’ Her panicked face was white, her dark eyes round with fear. ‘You cannot be here! You cannot be here!’ She had started to yank at his sleeve.

  ‘If I leave now he will see me! Which way is your bedchamber?’

  ‘You cannot go there!’

  ‘Would you rather he found me here. With you? Alone?’

  That seemed to bring her up short. ‘Turn left on the landing! Hurry!’ An instruction which was completely unnecessary when Jamie had just heard her father bid the driver goodnight. He was no more than two stairs up when she called him back. ‘Here—take these and hide them.’ She thrust the paper, pen and ink bottle into his arms. ‘He cannot know I write.’

  There was no time to ask her why. Questions would have to wait—unless her father discove
red him and shot him, in which case the point was moot. Ignoring the screaming pain in his leg caused by climbing at a speed it was no longer capable of, Jamie miraculously managed to dart into the moonlit bedchamber at the same moment the vicar came through the door.

  Carefully, he tiptoed towards the wardrobe and silently placed her writing materials inside, hiding them under some clothing in line with her odd instruction. Her father did not know she wrote stories when those stories were her essence, just like his painting was his? How did one keep a secret like that? At some point he would have to ask her.

  Jamie lowered his backside slowly on to her bed and gently removed both of his boots, as he had so many times before when he was somewhere where he shouldn’t be. Although on all of those occasions he had been spying on the enemy, not creeping around in the bedchamber of a vicar’s daughter. He placed his boots quietly on the floor by the bed and fleetingly considered how lovely it would be to do this every night before he climbed under the covers. With her.

  Cuddle up contentedly with her in his arms. Kiss her freckles goodnight.

  Probably strangle her as she slept innocently beside him because the blind terror of the darkness had rendered him insensible and unleashed the coiled violence which lurked inside him. A very effective way of shattering a romantic fantasy!

  It dawned on him then that if her father discovered him bootless in her bedchamber he would assume something untoward would have occurred, until he realised there would be no pretty way of dressing this up and explaining his presence if he was discovered. The absence of his boots would hardly make a difference. Her father had the lowest opinions of the Warriner family so it stood to reason he would think the worst. Debauchery. Fornication!

  If only.

  But poor Cassie would be ruined by his foolish actions and then probably forced into marrying him. Bizarrely, the idea of being caught so thoroughly in the parson’s trap with Cassie did not make him the least bit nervous. Thinking about the abject disappointment such an arrangement would have on her did. Already he cared too much about her to see her life ruined like that, or worse, putting her in the path of danger caused by his hands.

  He really should not have risked coming here again. At night. Something so clandestine was bound to cause trouble—but he had been pulled here by his own guilty conscience, eager to make amends and put their blossoming friendship back on to an even keel and bluff his way out of stealing that kiss. He certainly should never have taken her up on her offer to come in so she could tend to his wound. That had been madness. Although he had been lured in by the hope she might accept his apology and because he had desperately wanted to spend some more time with her. Alone. Potentially, he had made the mess worse than he had this morning, something he doubted he would ever forgive himself for. Especially if he had ruined her.

  On stockinged feet, he crept back to the door and opened it a crack to listen. If Cassie was in trouble, they would face the music together. There was no way he would remain hidden like a coward to leave her to bear the brunt of her father’s anger. If he took one look at his daughter’s guilty, panicked face and put two and two together then they were done for. But there was no noise coming from the austere little kitchen at all. Which was an even greater worry.

  Jamie crouched low and eased his head and shoulders out of the door to spy over the landing. The Reverend Reeves was stood all alone in the centre of the kitchen, his eyes scanning a letter of some sort. Cassie was nowhere to be seen. A painful minute ticked by and she burst through the back door clutching the exact same jug she had tossed at his head with such precision only a few minutes earlier.

  ‘Here we are, Papa! More water. Now I can make you tea. Did you have a good trip? Was the bishop well? Would you like some supper? I could cut you some ham or cheese. Which would you prefer?’

  She was babbling, a sure sign of her nerves, and he willed her to breathe for both their sakes.

  ‘Shut up, girl! What is the matter with you? The last thing I want to hear after a long journey is your nonsense. You are such a silly girl, Cassandra—I keep hoping that you will outgrow those irritating traits you inherited from your mother, but, alas, with each year you grow more and more like her. She never knew when to shut up either. Make the tea and do it quietly.’

  Jamie had not warmed to her father when he had first met him, even before the man had opened his mouth and insulted his family. However, hearing the way he spoke to Cassie at home made his blood boil. He watched her face fall and her shoulders slump, as they had the last time he had witnessed her with her father, before she meekly did exactly as the foul man had asked.

  While the kettle boiled, she sawed off slices of meat, bread and cheese despondently and piled them on a plate, her eyes darting furtively back towards her father to see if he had any suspicions that something was amiss, but the man was too engrossed in his correspondence to care. When she placed the food in front of him, the dour vicar never even acknowledged it, not with a slight gesture or with any words of thanks, but he clasped his hands together and loudly thanked the Lord for what he was about to receive.

  Clearly his only daughter, the one who cooked and cleaned and slaved for him, was invisible. Something which Jamie should have been grateful for, seeing as there now appeared less of a chance the Reverend Reeves would notice Cassie’s guilty behaviour, but which made him sad for her sake regardless. It was no wonder she had made so many flippant remarks about how irritating she was, or how he could ignore her while she ‘prattled on’, or that she was odd and ridiculous. Her father had drilled those beliefs into her with his callous disregard and cruel words. He understood first-hand how demoralising that could be.

  Jamie was forced to watch her sit dutifully opposite him while he ate, then clear away the plate while her father immersed himself in his Bible. Then she sat with him again and was completely ignored for another twenty minutes before the old man rose and announced his decision to go to bed. After watching them for so long, Jamie was not surprised when Cassie was left with the task of blowing out all of the lamps and closing the windows. His daughter was little more than a servant to him, except he doubted she received the same benefits a real maid would enjoy. Like wages.

  As the vicar climbed the stairs, Jamie slunk back into the bedchamber and softly pushed the door to. It was then he noticed the darkness. The moonlight had disappeared, lost behind a dense wall of clouds, and he felt the stirrings of the blind panic which only solid darkness could create.

  His heart was racing already. Cold beads of sweat erupted on his forehead and trickled down his neck. His palms were hot and moist.

  Not here!

  He could not lose control here. Not while Cassie’s security depended on his silence. Better to focus all of his energy into his current predicament, the one which could have dire consequences, rather than give in to the irrational fear which was already clawing at his belly mercilessly. Instinctively, he touched the trusty pistol tucked into his belt and fought for calm. All he could do was wait it out until the pious reverend was snoring, then leave the same way he came in. Until Cassie came into the room, there would be no candlelight and until the clouds floated past he wouldn’t see the moon, so Jamie needed to take his mind off the dark.

  Something which was nearly impossible when his heart was racing so fast he could barely breathe. He had to slow it or suffer one of the paralysing attacks of nerves which rendered him hysterical.

  He had to breathe.

  He clawed at his cravat and carelessly tossed it to the floor, loosening his collar. Already his behaviour was nonsensical. Just once he needed to bring it under control. For Cassie.

  Months of rotting in that foreign gaol had taught him to focus on something pleasant when the panic engulfed him. Something not linked to his fear, something his mind could hold on to when he lost control of his own emotions and his own mind. It had been a technique born out of neces
sity then and one he had not used in months because he had a ready supply of candles at home and had therefore not needed it. But under the circumstances, it was worth a try. The reverend was none the wiser as to his presence here. Jamie would be damned if he would allow his own irrational hysteria to alert the man to it.

  He lay down on the mattress and began to slowly inhale a lungful of cleansing air. It smelled of Cassie. Violets. Cut grass. Sunshine. Slowly he blew it out again and closed his eyes to the darkness, trying to picture her as he had painted her this afternoon. Tumbled on the ground, her glorious hair fanned out about her head. Lips swollen from his kiss. The sun was shining. It warmed his back as he lowered himself on top of her. He inhaled again and the tight bands of panic began to loosen around his ribs. He was kissing her, his beautiful Freckles, and she was kissing him back and there was a rainbow. A glorious, vibrant rainbow...

  * * *

  Cassie felt quite peculiar for all manner of reasons, the biggest being the fact there was a man in her bedchamber. As scandalous, outrageous and terrifying as that was, underneath all of those frightened emotions was a quiver of excitement. Because the man in her bedchamber was Jamie. They would be alone there together for a little while before he could slip out quietly into the night. They would have no option but to sit together on the only surface available to sit on—her bed. Something she should not find so thrilling, but she did. More proof she was a thoroughly bad daughter, not that she needed any.