Light to Valhalla

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  “Have faith, Charley. I’ll protect you.” Without warning he closed the distance between them. His lips whispered over hers in a caress so gentle it was barely palpable, but left her entirely breathless all the same. A fuzzy haze overtook her senses, fusing her with warmth. Charley swayed into him, wanting just one… more… tender kiss...

  “Wait here.” Abruptly Alex moved back. “I’ll go see to Sidney’s arm and then we’ll ride home. We’re not more than an hour or so from London.”

  The moment shattered, bringing reality back into clear focus. Charley crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. “I’m not going back to Coverstone House.” She could well imagine Regina’s tirade once they returned, somehow all of this would be Charley’s fault. “My parent’s estate is no further than London. I want to go home… to my home.”

  Alex’s eyes hardened, blocking the glow of soft compassion evident just moments before. “Is that why the carriage was so far outside of London? Because you were traveling to your parents’ house?”

  She met that hard gaze and curled her fingers into her palm to stay the trembling. “Yes.”

  “I see.” Her husband turned crisply away from her, unlashing the strap of his leather saddlebag.

  I see. Nothing more. Not even a glance back in her direction. The acrid bile of rejection burned her throat, and she stared at the daunting width of his back as though to hurl musket balls. Gone was Alex, her childhood friend and companion. The depressing truth descended over her like a swift, dark shadow. Lord Major Coverstone had taken his place. Brooding, surly, and cold as only an English lord could be.

  * * *

  She was leaving me.

  Alex yanked open the leather flap on his satchel and thrust an angry fist into the depths. Well, that was bloody marvelous. As if he hadn’t spent the last eighteen months losing everything he’d ever worked toward. Now he’d returned home to find his wife walking out on their marriage. The fact hit his gut hard. Too hard. This was not at all how he’d anticipated his reconciliation with Charley.

  Alex rummaged through the leather bag, searching for a bandage roll—or perhaps a bloody noose so he could hang himself now and be done with it. This was supposed to be his second chance on life. His opportunity to set right all he’d put awry. Instead he’d successfully botched everything to this point. “Ready to wrap that arm, Sidney,” he grumbled.

  And if leaving him wasn’t enough, Charley now wanted him to accompany her to Grayson Hall. Her parents’ damn castle. Not a chance in Hell. Alex would rather be hog tied, tarred, and feathered than face his in-laws. Hell, he’d sooner be captured by the French than face the Grayson family. The bards were wrong, time did not heal all wounds, a lesson Alex had learned well, and bitterness was sure to run thick through the Grayson waters.

  “Did you hear my request, my lord?” Charlotte’s query held ingratiating formality. “I would like to travel to my parents’ estate.”

  “I heard,” Alex snapped. A vision of staring down the smooth bore of Lord Grayson’s dueling pistol flashed through his mind. “Would you like to measure me for a pine box now or after we’ve arrived.”

  Charlotte startled, hastily distancing herself from him, and he instantly regretted the harsh words. Damn. Could he say or do nothing right? She stared at him as though the devil again. Alex scrubbed a hand through his hair, feeling the worst of failures as a husband and her friend—which was fitting because he’d proved a failure in every aspect of his life to date.

  “What’s happened?” Sidney approached from behind him, the lilt of protective concern running deep through his voice.

  Charlotte cast Sid a pleading glance, and instantly moved to the rake’s side. “I don’t wish to return to London.”

  “Can’t say as I blame you,” Sid replied, slipping his good arm about her shoulders, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Regina’s bound to explode, and if word of this gets out…”

  Alex clenched the bandage roll tight enough to draw water. That was his wife Sidney was fondling, not some barmaid. For heaven’s sake the girl had run straight into Sid’s arms. Damn it all to hell, but holding her, being the knight in shining armor women so often blathered on about was his job. Not Sidney’s. With concerted effort Alex stifled the chord of jealousy strumming through him.

  “We’ll be traveling to Grayson Hall instead of London,” he supplied evenly.

  Relief washed over Charlotte’s face. “Thank you, Alex.” Her wide, sensual mouth curved into a beam of true sunshine. Her eyes, huge and luminous as emerald isles, sparkled with thanksgiving, drawing him in until—

  She turned all that glowing adoration to Sidney.

  Alex ground his teeth. The seed of jealousy taking firm root in his mind. The slow burn of unrest lit within him the same as whenever he ran across something—or someone—he could not have. Resolve solidified in his mind… Charlotte would be his. He’d conquer her as he’d conquered numerous battlefields and hilltops, when he was through, she’d never look back at his rakehell of a cousin.

  “That’s a damn good idea, Alex. No one will think to look for Charley there, and it will keep you out of London when General Wither—”

  “My thought’s exactly.” Alex shot his cousin a warning glare. This was not the time or place for Charlotte to learn of the murderous scandal clouding the Coverstone name. We should be going if there is any hope of reaching your parents’ home before sunrise.” Solicitously he extended a hand toward Charlotte.

  Throwing Sidney an apprehensive look she slipped tentative fingers within Alex’s much larger palm. With relish he drew her away from his cousin. However dysfunctional—or nonexistent—their relationship may be, Charlotte was his wife.

  “You’re cold,” Alex murmured, sliding a thumb across her icy fingers. He released her hand, unbuttoned his heavy red coat and shrugged it from his shoulders. “Here, this will keep you more than warm.” He draped the wool jacket about her slight frame, securing the uppermost button beneath her chin. “Better?”

  Charlotte closed her eyes, a blissful expression flitting elusively across her pale face, and curled her finger around the stiff collar at her throat. “Much,” she sighed. “But won’t you get cold? I could always use one of those blankets.” Her gaze shifted from the plain white linen of his shirt to the blanket roll lashed to Letty’s saddle.

  “I will be fine,” Alex assured her. “And those blankets are probably half frozen by now.”

  “Chivalry? Who’d have thought to see it from you, Alex?” While joking, the comment held a definite bite.

  “Shut up, Sid.” He tossed the bandage roll to his cousin. “Or you can bandage your own arm.”

  Alex stalked down the road to his cousin. Sid shrugged out of his jacket, revealing the light trickle of blood, dripping down his arm. “You’re right. This does look like a paper cut.” The bullet had scarcely grazed the skin, and it took less than two minutes for Alex to wrap the wound.

  “Told you it was nothing.” Sid shrugged back into his coat and winked at Charlotte.

  Alex ground his teeth. “Let’s go.” He turned back to his wife and—

  Dear God.

  He stopped dead in his tracks, all but falling into the enormous green pools of her eyes. Washed in the moonlight, strawberry tresses tumbled in wild disarray around her pale, heart shaped face. She was a vision to behold. Ethereal and lovely, she was equal parts adorable and breathtaking drowning in his oversize coat. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He’d been about to say something—something relevant or substantial—but, heaven help him, he couldn’t remember what. He averted his gaze, suddenly quite short of breath and strode to Letty. He gathered her reins and a thick chunk of chocolate mane, dragging a ragged breath deep into his lungs. Once again collected he glanced back to Charlotte and came unraveled all over again. “Ready?” he barked.

  Her eyes darted to the splintered carriage, even in the white moonlight her face visibly paled. “More than ready.”

  “Good.�
� He swung into the saddle, wincing only slightly as his sore thigh stretched uncomfortably. Alex reached down for Charley, pulling her up and across his lap. She was a tiny thing, fragile and petite, her weight rested against his thighs barely palpable. The fact brought out every masculine instinct in his being. She wiggled—Christ, he felt that—getting comfortable, both legs draped over his right thigh, and her perfectly rounded backside settled against his groin inspiring yet another thoroughly masculine response. She squirmed again. His entire body tightened, and blood flooded his nether region. Alex clamped an arm about her waist, stilling her incessant movement before he thoroughly embarrassed himself. It had been entirely too long since he’d had a woman. “Comfortable?”

  Charley froze for a full ten seconds. She must be aware of his ever thickening erection lodged squarely beneath her backside. “Uh, s-sorry,” she muttered cheeks aflame.

  Sidney trotted past, barely concealing convulsions of laughter. “How about you, Alex? Comfortable? I’d be more than happy to switch places with you.”

  Alex growled under his breath, shifted Charlotte slightly and kicked Letty into a rolling canter. What a disaster this little adventure had turned out to be.

  Nary a word was spoken on the trek through the wintry night and after forty-five minutes Alex sorely regretted having given Charlotte his jacket. The bitter October air sliced through his plain linen shirt. He glanced down at the now sleeping figure of his wife and for the life of him could not quite remember why he’d so detested their marriage three years before.

  Moonlight captured the gentle curve of her face and a fringe of lush lashes cast long shadows across high cheekbones. The fingers of her left hand curled into his shirt, binding her to him, and a deep sense of regret pooled in his middle. Regret for all that could have been, regret for all he’d lost in the muddle he’d made of their lives, and… hope. Hope for what he prayed could be yet salvaged.

  An icy gust sliced through the night air, chilling Alex clear to the bone. In sleep Charley whimpered, turning her face further into his chest. Instinctively Alex tightened his hold on her, struck by the all consuming need to keep her safe, and his heart lurched. Disconcerting that. To feel his insides rearranged.

  He shook his head. Apparently the cold had addled his brain. He’d turned downright poetic and he was anything but a poet.

  Alex dug his heels into Letty’s sides. The sooner her hooves trod upon Grayson soil, the better.

  After an hour and a half the ancient stone manor of Grayson Hall came into view. The monstrous estate appeared grossly out of place here in the English countryside and was strongly reminiscent of a Scottish castle. Sidney rode up the circular drive first, halting his hulking bay gelding before the sweeping stone steps. “Do you think the door is unlocked? I can’t imagine anyone’s awake at this hour.”

  Alex reined in beside his cousin. “We can’t just waltz in uninvited and unannounced.”

  “Why the hell not, mate?” Sid swung off the horse, rounding the animal’s haunches to stand beside Letty. “You’re family after all.”

  “Have you met Lord Grayson?” Alex slid the soundly sleeping Charley off his lap and into Sidney’s waiting arms. “We’re liable to get shot.” Edmond Trent, Fifth Earl of Grayson, was known for his love of firearms, hunting and unprecedented paranoia.

  Alex dismounted, injured thigh groaning in protest, and limped a small circle to loosen the muscles.

  “Bum leg bothering you?”

  “Just a little stiff.” Alex nodded toward the front door. “After you, Sid. If anyone’s getting shot it’s you.”

  “Always the gentleman, eh, Alex?”

  “I’ve never claimed to be anything of the sort.”

  Alex motioned Sid to hand Charley back over and hefted her against his chest. Her head lolled against his shoulder, messy wisps of hair tickling his nose. The oddest scent of cinnamon, honey, and campfire smoke wafted through the air, coating his senses, and Christ save him his heart jumped… again.

  Sidney strode up the steps, never bothered with the heavy, goblin faced knocker, and shoved through the door.

  “Really, Sid, wait. Lord Grayson is—”

  Click.

  Sid threw his arms up, and stumbled backward down the steps. Two hulking wolfhounds flanked him, teeth bared. Lord Grayson, gray-haired and wild-eyed as ever, appeared in the doorway a wicked double barrel shotgun cradled lethally against one shoulder.

  “It’s the French!” the grizzly earl boomed. “We’re being invaded. Sound the alarm!”

  Four

  “Dear God, the old man has completely lost it.”

  Old man… Lost it… The words penetrated the haze clouding Charley’s mind. Lost what? Snuggled in a perfectly warm nest, she struggled to grasp her bearings and make sense of the harsh words tumbling around her.

  “Alex,” she murmured, blinking the sleep from her eyes. “Are we home?”

  “Seize the Frenchman! They’ve kidnapped my daughter.”

  Instantly alert, Charley sat straight up in her husband’s arms. “Oh, Papa, no!” A combination of horror and embarrassment flared within her. The pewter barrel of her father’s favorite blunderbuss—a specially manufactured monstrosity with two barrels—was trained squarely on Sidney’s chest while his prized dogs stood ready to pounce. “Put that down.” She squirmed out of Alex’s strong hold and marched forward. “Jackson! Reginald, sit,” she commanded.

  “Charley, wait.” Alex snared her wrist, tucking her safely behind the broad wall of his back.

  “I can handle my father, Alex.” She brushed defiantly past him, positioning herself directly between Sidney and her father’s weapon. “I said, sit.”

  Confused the dogs looked between her and the earl, whined, and finally sat back on massive haunches.

  Mentally Charley kicked herself. She should have warned Alex to wake her when they arrived at Grayson Hall except that she’d never expected to fall asleep. While her father had always been eccentric and more than a little paranoid with an unprecedented love for firearms, most—to include Alex and Sidney—did not know that her father’s mind had slipped considerably in the last couple of years. Most days the elderly earl scarcely recalled his own children. “Papa, there are no Frenchman here tonight; only Lord Major Coverstone and Captain Harris of the British Army. Surely you don’t want to shoot one of his majesties’ soldiers.”

  “British soldiers you say? The only soldier I see here is you.” Confusion muddled her father’s piercing gray eyes. “Traitors is what they are! Out of my way, Charley. I’m taking these turncoats prisoner.”

  “Edmond!” The outraged voice of Charley’s mother, Evelyn Trent, cracked the tense air. “Put that infernal thing down. I can think of no sensible reason for you to be pointing a loaded weapon at our daughter.”

  “Oh, quite right!” A glimmer of reason lit the earl’s face as he swung the weapon from Charley to Alex. Recognition hit and crazed madness instantly eclipsed the brief moment of understanding. A low growl rumbled deep in his throat. “I never liked you, Richard.”

  “Richard?” Alex sputtered in surprise, a mixture of disbelief and morbid amusement lining his face. “I’m Alex. Richard died three years ago.”

  “That’s what you all want me to believe, but I know better. Richard isn’t dead.” A trembling finger grazed the trigger while a jaundiced eye raked the length of Alex. “You faked your death to spy for the French.”

  “Papa,” Charley pleaded, casting a nervous glance toward Alex who appeared cool as the night air and equally collected. “This is my husband, Alex Rawlings. You remember Alex.”

  “The army boy? Why I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “If you’d allow us a moment to explain, my lord.” Sidney moved cautiously forward.

  Edmond whipped the menacing firearm from Alex back to Sid. “Get back, Harris.”

  Sid halted, holding his palms out in defense. “Easy does it, Sir.”

  The earl stumbled down the stone steps, w
eapon trained on Sidney’s chest. “Never liked you either.” His pale gaze raked over Sid. “And why the hell are you with Richard? Thought it was Alex, the army boy, you were always in trouble with?”

  “I am Alex.”

  “Sure you are.” Edmond raked a jaundiced eye the length of Alex.

  “Mama, please do something?” Charley and her mother exchanged a conspiratorial look. The earl responded best to his wife.

  “It’s not loaded,” Evelyn mouthed to Charley.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Fairly.” She shrugged sheepishly.

  Charley gave her a dubious look. “Fairly certain isn’t good enough.”

  Ever graceful and angelic, Charley’s mother swept down the stairs, a mesmerizing show of fluttering white silk and robes. “Edmond,” she soothed, sidling between the weapon and Sidney, “put the gun down before someone shoots you. I’m sure the men can explain if given half a chance.” The dark haired countess emanated a rapturous aura of calm.

  Distracted, Edmond turned to his wife, lowering the weapon slightly.

  Quick as lightening Alex stepped forward, grasped the barrel of the shogun, and snatched the piece from Lord Grayson’s hands.

  “Hey!”

  “Papa,” Charley murmured quietly, joining her mother in efforts to calm the distraught, ranting earl. She took his hand and squeezed it warmly. “It’s good to see you. Shall we go inside?”

  “Just what the hell is going on here?” Another befuddled masculine voice blustered. “It’s five o’clock in the morning.” The tall, shirtless, form of Charley’s twin brother Thomas blew through the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He rarely rose before noon.

  “Thomas, help get your father back inside,” Evelyn ordered, steering Edmond toward the stairs.