by Alexia Praks
As the servants gathered into groups and one by one departed in search for Claire, Merrick stalked straight to Christine. He caught her arm and said, “What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay in your room.”
She just smiled up at him. Suddenly, all his anger dissipated.
“I’m a member of this house too, so I deserve to know what is going wrong and to search for Claire.”
Damnation, but she is too beautiful for my peace of mind, he thought as he stared at her. “It’s not your problem. I order you to go upstairs.”
“No, my lord, I won’t do that. ’Tis not fair to the others,” she told him.
“I don’t give a damn about what’s fair and what’s not. I’m worried about you. Now, I want you to go to your room… no. In fact go to my room and sleep. Sleep in my bed right now for I found your bed much too uncomfortable. Go now.” He dragged her out the door and into the hallway.
“Nay, Merrick!” She pulled her arm from his grasp. “I will go and help with the search,” she said, angry now at his high-handedness.
“Are you not doing my bidding? Are you disobeying my order?” he inquired, eyeing her.
She lifted her head proudly. “Nay, Merrick. I’m going to help search, and that, I think, is the right thing to do.”
“Very well then.” He shrugged his shoulders and came to her. He caught her by the shoulder with one hand, and with the other he caught her head. He thrust his face down and took her lips. He kissed her, not to give her pleasure but to teach her a lesson not to argue with him again.
Her lips hurt. She cried out at the soreness. The damn man! She hit him on his chest with her fist, pushing him away from her, but that only made him pull her tighter and closer toward him. He released his hand which was holding her arm, and he cupped her breast instead. Christine gasped out in response.
He released her abruptly. God, he couldn’t stand this—he couldn’t seem to think when he was near her.
“You drive me mad, my sweet. It would be best if I dumped you in my room and locked you in,” he said.
Christine looked up at him in confusion. He quickly lifted her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs.
A shadowy figure came out of its hiding place behind a door. The woman stared after Merrick and Christine with her eyes narrowed. She put her hands to her chest and gripped tightly at the muslin material of her gown. Her heart was beating furiously, and all she felt was hatred and jealousy. With trembling legs, she staggered out of her hiding place. Her head started to feel dizzy, and she leant on the table beside her for support. With God as her witness, she vowed to get even.
* * *
Christine poked her head out the door. She scanned the hallway. It was quiet. No one was in sight. She slid out, ran down the hallway, down the grand stairs into the kitchen, out the back door, and into the darkness. A gust of chilly wind whooshed past her. Branches and leaves swayed in tune with the stirring air. They made music together with the echoing of the muttering crickets like drums beating on a midsummer night.
She tiptoed across the cool grass. Her shadow loomed and blended with the darkness, gliding into the garden. She halted and scanned the area around her. She then pushed her way into the thick bushes and started calling Claire’s name. Well, she wasn’t going to miss out on the search now, was she?
As she wandered deeper, the bushes were getting thicker. She suddenly stopped as a thought struck her. Somehow, she thought she had been here before. She looked around in the darkness and listened more intently. She thought she heard a sound—nay—a cry. She stood still, listening, searching. There it was again. It was a cry, a painful cry, a cry of agony.
She followed the sound. Then something caught her legs. She fell on the grass. She scrambled up, touching the object near her legs. It was just grass. She stretched out her hands, seeking what was there. Then her hands touched something, something soft and warm. Fear set in, her pulse raced. Oh God! She moved her hands farther. It was an arm, and she could feel heat coming from the person. She heard a moan. She jumped back, releasing the arm.
“Help.” The word was barely a whisper. She had to strain her ears to catch it. Oh God, she thought. It must be Claire. She rushed forward.
“Claire, is that you?”
No reply. She moved her hands up, touching the face. “Claire, can you hear me? Are you all right?” she asked.
“Help… please.”
Christine’s heart lifted when she heard the reply. The woman wasn’t dead yet.
“Wait here, Claire. I’ll go get help.” She patted the woman’s arm and then ran toward the Hall. She sprinted out of the bush, across the garden, and into the kitchen. She searched the vast place in panic. Nobody was there. She quickly ran into the great hallway. She heard voices from somewhere in one of the rooms. She ran toward the sound and halted at the entrance to the drawing room, puffing. Every pair of eyes turned to her.
Merrick rushed to her when he saw her face. She was very pale, and she looked afraid. God, what had happened to her? His felt his heart constrict painfully. He came to her and took her in his arms.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Merrick, I found her. I found Claire,” she said, holding on to him.
Everybody started talking at once. All the servants were there. It was midnight, and they were to report back there at midnight.
“Where?” Merrick asked.
“She’s in the bushes behind the garden. Come, I will show you.” She tugged his arm and led him out. The servants followed with lit torches in their hands. She led them deep into the bushes.
“She’s in here,” she said and stopped.
Jacob came forward, lowering his torch toward the form on the ground. There was blood everywhere, and Claire was lying in the middle of it. Her gown was torn. There were scratches all over her body. Her face was very pale. She looked to be dead. Christine almost fainted. Merrick caught her.
“Mrs. Ross, take Chris back to the Hall,” he ordered. Mrs. Ross moved forward quickly, taking hold of Christine.
“No, I—Merrick, is she dead?” she asked, holding on to him tightly.
“I don’t know. Mrs. Ross, take Chris to his room.” He pushed her toward the housekeeper, who took Christine and led her to the Hall. She was shaking all over. She was so afraid for the maid.
Once inside the bedroom, Mrs. Ross made her sit on the bed. She lit more candles when Christine said, “Who could have done that to her? It’s very awful.”
“Now, Master Chris, you go to sleep just like the earl said, all right?” the housekeeper said. She came to Christine and helped her pull back up the blankets. Christine took her shoes off and got between the sheets.
“Mrs. Ross, what do you think happened to the girl? I mean, did somebody beat her up or something?” Christine asked.
“It looks that way,” Mrs. Ross replied, eyeing the short-cropped hair in disarray about Christine’s nape.
“Well, I do hope she’ll get better soon. I think Lady Anne won’t be too happy about it,” she commented.
“What? Of course she won’t be happy about it. Claire is her maid, after all. Although I seem to remember that she didn’t really care for her much,” Mrs. Ross said.
“Do you think so? Actually I do, too. That day, when we helped put the valises away, she wasn’t very nice to Claire. Poor girl, I really do hope she’ll get better soon. What do you think Merrick will do?” she asked, curious.
“Oh, I’m not so sure. Mayhap—” Mrs. Ross was lost in thought again. She frowned, staring at Christine. Then she shook her head and said, “Now, you go to bed. We have had enough commotion for one day.” She tucked Christine in.
“Good night, Mrs. Ross,” Christine said, poking her head up.
“Good night, Master Chris,” the housekeeper said and left.
SIXTEEN
The guests were having their luncheon in the dining room, and Christine had managed to lie to Merrick that she had a headache. She was, in actual
fact, in the kitchen helping in the overseeing of the food preparation—and also doing some research as to whether the servants knew of anything about Claire’s accident. Sitting there eating strawberry jam and bread, Christine looked worriedly at Emma, who seemed to be dropping too many cutleries she was arranging. Her hands also seemed to be very shaky, and she looked very nervous. She noticed that Emma kept looking behind her back, and her face was sheet white. Her hands were shaking again while holding that tray of broiled salmon. Christine took the dish from her before it had the chance to crash to the floor.
“Emma, mayhap you should go and lie down. I mean, you look awfully pale. Are you sick?” Christine asked in concern.
“No, I’m not sick, Master Chris. It’s just that—” Emma looked behind her back.
“Aye, Emma, I think Master Chris is right. You should go and lie down. You’ll only make things worse here than they already are with you shaking all the time, dropping things,” Betty suggested.
“I do believe they are right, Emma,” Mrs. Ross put in as she came into the kitchen. “You should go.”
“You think so, too?” Emma asked, eyeing Mrs. Ross to see if she really meant it. Her whole body was still shaking.
Mrs. Ross nodded.
“All right then,” she said weakly and left the kitchen.
“Poor girl. I think she became like that two nights ago. I mean, she was shaking like hell after we found Claire, seeing her lying in a pool of blood,” Betty said, shaking her head.
“Claire?” Christine asked.
“Aye, poor girl. The doctor saw her again last evening, said she’s getting better. He also said that we found her in time; a bit later she would probably have died, losing so much blood, you know. So, Master Chris, thanks to you, she lives,” Betty explained cheerfully.
“I should go and see how she is,” Christine said.
“I don’t think you should see her yet. It was very bad. Poor girl, she must be very distraught, losing her baby and all,” Betty commended.
“What?” Christine exclaimed.
“What do you mean, what?” Betty asked in confusion.
“You were saying baby. Does she have a baby? I didn’t see it,” Christine said.
“Master Chris,” Mrs. Ross said. “What Betty means is that Claire was pregnant, and she had a miscarriage.”
“Poor girl. Her husband must be upset, too, then.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Betty said.
“What do you mean?” Christine asked.
“Ah, I think,” Mrs. Thompson put in with her hard and disapproving voice, “that she has a lover, and he came here to beat her up, making her lose the baby that he didn’t want. Men these days are always like that, trust me,” she told them and turned back to her stirring.
“Do you think so, Mrs. Ross?” Christine asked.
Luncheon was finished then, and loads of dishes arrived in the kitchen brought in by the five parlor maids who arrived one by one in a line. They placed them on the bench, and, as before, in a line they went out again to get more.
“All right, get back to work. We have a lot to do before dinner.” With that, Mrs. Ross left the kitchen without answering Christine’s question.
Christine turned back to eating her food with a heavy heart.
About half an hour later, Mrs. Ross came back in again. “Master Chris, the earl wants to see you in the stables. Now, what did he mean also to ask you if your headache is better?”
Christine hid a smile and said, “I lied to him, Mrs. Ross. I don’t like those high-society people. Especially that Lady Anne of his. She doesn’t like me. The stables, was it?” she asked, stood up, and went out the door.
At the stables, she saw Merrick standing beside a gray stallion, and he was wearing his riding outfit. God, she thought, smiling at him, he looked very handsome. She saw him smiling back at her. She stopped in front of him and bent her head back to stare up at him.
“Well, Chris, your headache must be better, I assume, with that smirk of yours and you agreeing to come out here to see me.”
“Yes, it’s better now,” she replied.
“Would you like to go for a ride with me then?” he asked. God, he wanted to touch her, but he couldn’t, not here. Somebody might see them.
“I would love to, but I can’t ride,” she told him, feeling very disappointed.
“Don’t worry. I’ve figured that out already.”
“You did?” She smiled up at him. “Are you sure?”
“Aye, I’m very sure. Now get up.” He helped her up onto the stallion. She turned to look at him.
“But, Merrick, I don’t know how to ride,” she reminded him.
“No, I’ve told you I’ve got an idea. Haven’t you been listening?” He finished helping her into the saddle. Once she was comfortably seated, he climbed on behind her. He placed one hand around her waist and the other held the rein.
“Oh, I see,” she commented. He kicked the stallion, and the horse galloped out of the stables. “Where are we going?” she asked as the stallion strode faster.
“You’ll see.”
About fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination. The stallion stopped, and Merrick jumped down. He put his hands around her waist and helped her down to the ground. She walked toward the clearing with a smile.
“Oh, Merrick, ’tis beautiful. Look, just look at the colors.” She ran forward, spreading her hands out, gently stroking the lavender petals. The stretch of violet, indigo, yellow, and pink colors loomed before her with fresh green leaves dancing with the gentle wind. The bright blue sky rose above them, kissing the wild meadow of rose, lavender, marigold, and daisy. The bees hummed and sang, sucking and savoring the perfumed nectar of an assortment of flowers. She strolled to the middle of the field and stood. With her eyes closed, she inhaled the fresh air. It smelled strongly of lavender, and her head spun with pure delight. She opened her eyes again, and then she turned around to face him, smiling up at him.
Merrick’s heart did a somersault. His head swirled with happiness and desire. God, but she looked so beautiful standing there in a field of violet and indigo all around her. It reminded him of a beautiful nymph caressing and nurturing the life that grew beneath her. When at last he could not control himself just to stand there and watch her blend in with nature, he walked toward her.
She smiled when she saw the handsome man making his way through the field of lavender that barely reached his knees. Then, just to amuse herself, and annoy him, she made a run for it. She sprinted away from him as she laughed.
Merrick, when seeing his little nymph running in the opposite direction, realized that she was playing a game with him. He smiled, though he was in fact quite annoyed. He sprinted after her.
Christine turned back and saw him racing toward her so fast she felt like she was his prey and he a predator. Suddenly she was so scared for he was coming closer as if he were a real lion chasing her, and she ran away faster. He was closing in on her, and he was laughing too, knowing victory was his. The damn man! When he got very close to her, with his hands reaching out, ready to catch her, she ducked down and twisted the other way.
“Why, you little cat!” He laughed and turned to chase her in the other direction. Christine giggled at her trick. Suddenly, the chase made her feel very excited, and her blood ran hot with the adventure.
She zigzagged twice around the marigold bushes, escaping his grasping hands. He was now very frustrated. This time he sprinted in fast and caught her around the waist. He lifted her high above him. She squealed delightedly. She was still laughing when he dropped her on the ground, crushing the daisies below them. They rolled about in the grass, their bodies molding together, squeezing against each other, and the bright yellow buttercups around them.
His large body was on top of her small one. He pushed himself up on his elbows and gazed down at the beautiful little nymph below him.
Christine could feel the hardness of his muscles against her soft skin. He low
ered his head and kissed her on the lips. Their kiss was sweet, gentle, soft, and beautiful. He urged her to open her mouth for him. She did his bidding, and he pushed his tongue in. His tongue stroked hers, exploring the untouched sweetness inside, and she quivered. He released her mouth, and his lips trailed down to her nape, dropping hot, sweet kisses. He then lowered to her shoulder, his mouth hot and wonderful, and then moved lower, tasting the soft honey flesh in his mouth and tongue.
He stopped and looked up into her eyes. God, but she looked so beautiful. Her cheeks blushed to a rosy color, her eyes were bright with anticipation, and her lips were full and swollen from their kisses. Her golden hair lay in seductive disarray with petals of lavender and marigold caught in her curls that glittered in the golden sun. Her breathing was hard; her breasts rose and fell as she breathed.
He sat up and pulled her to sit on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her whole body, imprisoning her within his heart. He then started to kiss her cheek repeatedly.
“Merrick, I want to tell you something,” she started, looking up into his eyes.
“Hmm, what is it?” he asked, seeing her concerned face.
“It’s about Claire.”
“What about her?” he encouraged, though he felt annoyed that his kissing her would have to wait.
“You didn’t tell me she was pregnant.” She sounded very disappointed.
“Why would you want to know that? After all, I did tell you the important part: that she is all right.”
“Aye, you did, but you neglected to mention her being pregnant and all. You know that is very important. I mean, good Lord, she lost the baby.” She snuggled her head on his shoulder, her face nestled against his neck.
Merrick smiled. “Aye, and I’m sorry, my sweet.”
“Do you think she has a lover? I mean, she doesn’t have a husband, you know,” she said.
“And what do you know about lovers?” he asked curiously.
“Mrs. Thompson said so this morning, you see. Do you think that if that lover of hers knew she was pregnant, and he didn’t want to have the baby, he was probably the one who beat her like that, too make her lose the baby?” She sat up, eyeing him. “Do you think so?” she asked, hoping for an answer.