by Diane Darcy
And there wasn’t much he was not willing to gift her to make her more comfortable, and perhaps influence her decision to become his bride.
He stood. What was a phone and where could he locate one? He finally just asked. “Where would we find such an item?” Heat crept up his neck. If she was to be his, he wished to lead, provide, become the steadfastness in her life, and he did not enjoy feeling the dolt.
“Well,” she glanced around as if suspecting this phone to appear. “To tell the truth, I’m not even sure where we’re at. Northern England, correct?”
“Aye.”
“So where is the nearest town?”
They were even now expanding the village near the manor, though he suspected that was not what she asked for. “There is a large village but a morning’s ride from here.”
She brightened. “Oh, good! When do you think we could go?”
The thought of holding her close again, for hours at a time, was tempting.
But there was much to do before they left for Newcastle to make further demands upon the king. Shelters to build, fortifications to make, late summer harvesting to tend to. There would be many mouths to feed come winter.
And the king would also demand his due.
He had thought to have his rightful wealth and properties back under his control by this time.
And the very reason it had not worked out, stood before him, distracting him from responsibilities, confusing him with words.
He did not wish to feel the irritation burgeoning within him, so he turned away. “That is not possible at this time.”
He headed back toward work and responsibility, and away from the temptation of his future bride.
“Wait!” She caught up to him. “That’s fine, but when can we go?”
“When I say so.” As far as he was concerned that was the end of the subject.
Chapter 11
Rubbing her arms, Cara watched Wallace walk away, unsure what had just happened.
One moment he was sweeter than pie — the next — abrupt and cold.
Her stomach felt heavy as she considered. This just wasn’t acceptable. A traumatized girl needed to talk to her parents. She was used to making her own decisions. She’d traveled the world, for heaven’s sake. She wasn’t used to asking permission, and found she didn’t like it.
He wasn’t going to help her get to a telephone?
Insufferable man.
She stood, undecided, wondering whether to go back and help, or to jolly well head on down the road until she found the village herself.
If he was serious about the half-a-day’s ride, which seemed crazy, because when she’d looked on a map, England seemed positively tiny compared to America.
Still, perhaps she wouldn’t have to go too far until she could find someone with a car?
Five or six hours on horseback would be, what? Half an hour in a car?
Still undecided, she stood there, wavering, until she realized the real problem was, after her attack a few days before, she simply didn’t have the courage to strike out on her own.
Which infuriated her!
Maybe, she should have told him, first of all, that her parents would be worrying.
Granted, she didn’t call them all the time, but she generally texted every few days or so. Or, if it went too long, they did the same, or called.
And no response from her would send up warning signals.
If her dad even thought for a moment that something was wrong, he’d be on the next plane out.
Still standing at the side of the manor, she looked one way, and then the other, trying to figure out what to do.
She finally sighed. She was notorious for getting around to answering text messages and phone calls sporadically. So, her parents weren’t going to call the Prime Minister anytime soon.
Still, she was tempted to head around to the front of the house, and then just keep going, simply to make the point that he couldn’t keep her here against her will.
The fear was, that he wouldn’t follow her, and then where would she be? A half a mile down the road, and afraid to go any further.
She’d have to come back, tail tucked between her legs, and he’d know he had her.
She stood there, arms crossed, her temper battered.
He already knew he had her. He’d left her on the side of the house, knowing she wouldn’t leave without him.
She considered going inside, finding a book to read, or taking a nap so she could simply disappear for a few hours and let him wonder.
But she didn’t want to spite herself, and going inside that dark gloomy place before she had to, didn’t exactly appeal.
With a growl of frustration, she realized he had her once again.
As per usual, she wanted to be where the action was. She’d been having fun helping, chatting with the ladies, and even getting her hands dirty.
She was already walking around the back of the house, and skirting the edge of the moat.
Wallace was once again holding one corner of a hut they were constructing, but she did note he was on the other side now, facing her direction, and it appeased her a bit to think he was watching for her.
Nose slightly in the air, she ignored him and joined the ladies once more.
She might not be able to do exactly as she pleased, but sitting outside in the shade, helping out with the other ladies, and watching the men, wasn’t exactly a hardship.
When she resumed her seat, sitting in the middle, the warm welcome back she received mollified her slightly.
So did the fact that Wallace kept glancing in her direction.
She’d had boyfriends in the past, worked with actors, directors, stuntmen, and businessmen.
She’d also had a front-row seat to her parents’ fun, but ofttimes volatile marriage.
If there was one thing she knew about men, it was that straightforward requests generally didn’t work during disagreements.
Because men always thought they knew best. Even her father.
It was a wise woman who could change the direction of their thoughts with a sweet smile and some feigned helplessness.
Wallace would take her to a telephone.
And he would think it was all his idea.
Cara was a distraction.
There was much work to be done, and granted, she’d been helpful the entire day, but her laughter and animated conversation was a constant draw that kept him glancing in her direction throughout the afternoon.
A lighthearted atmosphere persisted as the work carried on.
She’d disappeared not long ago, washing up at the stream with another female, leaving him wondering where she’d disappeared to, rather than focusing his thoughts on the work to be done.
They needed food stores.
They needed housing.
And they needed better fortifications, especially since the Dinsdales could now prove unpredictable.
They’d not be able to verify Wallace had aught to do with their missing men, but he’d not take any chances.
When supper was called, everyone was hot, filthy, and tired, and most headed to the nearby stream to wash up.
Wallace was one of the first to walk back, and just as he arrived, he spotted Cara coming around the other side of the manor. She smiled, gave a slight wave, and beckoned him over.
He did not hesitate, his mood lightening at her happy expression, his steps carrying him forward like a boy promised a treat.
He could not even chasten himself, as he was convinced no man could resist the temptation she presented.
She had changed her clothes, brushed her hair, and her cheeks pinked in a most attractive way.
He stopped in front of her.
“Hi,” she said, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
The sight of the feminine gesture, the hint of nerves in his presence, gave him a jolt of male satisfaction.
“I thought we’d have a picnic.” She waved a hand, and he looked to see a small table set up before
the bench. On it, a repast of chicken, vegetables, wine glasses, and pastries.
A picnic? The sight of the repast stunned him. His heart started a slow pound in his chest, and he swallowed.
He glanced down to see she watched his reaction with a slight smile. “It’s hot inside today, and I thought we might have lunch outdoors, just the two of us. Is that all right?” A hint of worry colored her tone.
No wonder she fretted. He stood like a great jackanapes, leaving her to confusion.
No one had ever done such a thing for him.
Lady Nelson would often take her young children for outings to different parts of the property.
The fostered boys were never invited, as they were considered under Lord Nelson’s care, but he’d always yearned for such a treat.
The thought of his own mother organizing such an event was laughable.
There was no way Cara could know she’d touched some cold part of him, buried deep, and warmed it with her invitation.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He cleared his throat and glanced at the table, prepared with the same food they’d have eaten inside, so it should not have mattered so much. He swallowed hard, and finally gave a nod and mustered a smile.
“All is well. A meal outdoors sounds pleasant. I thank you.”
“Okay.” She offered her hand, and he was quick to grasp it, letting her lead him like a horse to water.
They sat upon the bench, and he barely heard her words as she pulled the table closer, and cheerfully explained why she’d chosen each dish.
He looked at her, rather than the food she heaped onto their plates. A slight breeze blew tendrils of sun-bleached hair across one of her cheeks, and her smile drew his gaze.
He’d thought to keep her.
He was starting to realize it was not about keeping her, it was more that he feared he could not let her go.
Somehow, her plan was circling the drain.
She’d thought about the whole catching more flies with honey than vinegar proverb as she’d worked with the women earlier.
At the time, her plan had seemed brilliant.
Make herself as pretty as possible. Check.
Smile sweetly. Check.
Use dulcet tones and the batting of eyelashes to maximum effect. Check.
Get him alone, feed him. Check, and check.
Dang it, she’d done everything right, and then he’d undermined her evil plan by being visibly touched by her thoughtfulness in putting together a picnic for the two of them.
And his emotions were drawing out her own. “Haven’t you been on a picnic before?”
“This is my first.” His gaze dropped, and once again, she felt some sort of palpable emotion coming off him.
Either she was horrible at manipulation, or he was a genius at it, because she suddenly just wanted to sit on his lap and hug him, rather than talk him into doing what she wanted.
She didn’t want to ruin the moment by having him guess her original intent, so she wasn’t going to say anything, was she?
Maybe he really was an evil genius.
As they ate their meal, she gave up on getting him to take her into town, and settled in to enjoy his company.
They’d had two days together, before reaching his home, and she’d sort of missed him today.
Missed having him to herself, anyway.
“Your cook told me you guys never used to spend much time here.” She glanced around at the trees, the landscaped bushes near the house, and the rosebushes between the moat and house. “It’s so pretty, why wouldn’t you have come more often?”
Wallace looked around as if seeing it for the first time. “My father and I came out twice a year, and our former steward came to us at least once.”
“Where is he?”
“He died last year, so now Sir Gladwin runs it alone. But ’tis a smoothly run property, with five in the garrison. As we are so far north, we are occasionally targeted by the Scots.”
He blew out a breath. “I’m especially glad of the garrison, small as it is, as we might have need of defending ourselves and our property from the south, if the Dinsdales work up their courage.”
It occurred to her that while Wallace had told her about his father, Dinsdale, and their fight over Lady Helena, the movie was being made about their ancestors, who must have had their own set of disagreements.
She hadn’t bothered to look it up, and wished she had her phone with her so she could Google Wikipedia and find out how the original feud started, let alone how it could still be going on after all these years.
It was getting confusing.
The fact that Hollywood had found something here to twist into a good guy, bad guy scenario, or a medieval Hatfield’s and McCoy’s situation, didn’t surprise her in the least.
“It’s sad to think your father and Dinsdale were once friends. I mean, especially in light of your family history stretching back all those centuries, it’s a bummer that it turned sour.”
Wallace was silent for a moment, until finally, he said, “Centuries? My grandfather set an engagement between my mother and father. My mother, a Bassett from Darlington, was considered quite a prize, and it was a coup for my father to win her hand.”
Thinking of Wallace’s sharp-tongued mother, Cara wondered if the loss of her husband had left her bitter as she didn’t seem a happy person, let alone a prize. She placed a hand to her heart. “Were they very much in love?”
“When they married? They had never actually met until their wedding day.”
“So, what? He married her for her money?” Now Cara was incensed on the other woman’s behalf. No wonder she was bitter.
Wallace chuckled at her outburst. “They did very well together, and I suppose they did love each other.”
“You suppose?”
“As I was mostly raised elsewhere, I did not see them interact much, but what I did see? Yes, I would consider it a love match.”
Cara deflated, leaning against the bench. “Your parents didn’t raise you?”
“Of course not. I was fostered by Lord Nelson.”
Cara shook her head, but decided she wanted him to stick with the story more than she cared to discuss a neglectful childhood. “So, what happened with the original Wolfsbane and Dinsdale?”
“I told you. Lord Dinsdale tried to abduct my mother and force her into a marriage.”
“Yikes.”
He grinned at her comment. “Yikes, indeed. My grandfather and my father learned of the plots, took some men, and followed. They found Dinsdale trying to force a priest to marry them.”
Cara laughed. “Oh, sorry, that struck me as funny.”
“Dinsdale swore he had defiled my mother. When my father arrived, he beat Dinsdale, and considered forsaking my mother, but she swore to him naught had occurred, and he believed her.”
“Then what?”
He chuckled. “My father married her at that very moment, so when I say they met at the altar, I speak true.”
“Wow. What a story. My mom and dad met at a beach party. They are so much in love that sometimes I feel like a second wheel around them. I love it though. Love them.”
A wave of homesickness overwhelmed her. “When I was growing up we used to drive to the beach and watch the storms come in. Mostly Dad and me, but Mom would come too when she could. We’d pack a picnic and stay for hours sometimes.”
Realizing she’d been distracted, she said, “Sorry, then what happened?”
Wallace hesitated, looking as if he had his own questions, then he continued. “My mother barred my father from the bedroom for three months, so there would never be a question the child she bore was his.”
England was strange. “You?”
“No. A female. She is married to Lord Oxford.”
“So, you’re a second child?”
“Third. My older brother died before my father.”
“Do you have any more siblings?”
“A younger sister fostere
d by Lady Holland. She kept her despite our troubles.”
Cara shook her head. “My parents barely let me out of their sight while I was growing up.”
“You were raised at home?”
“Of course. You know, Harry Potter was fun and all, but sending your kids away is just weird.”
He gave a slight smile, and lifted one shoulder. “’Tis the way of things.”
“So, back to the subject at hand. I see why your father and Lord Dinsdale hated each other, but what about your ancestors? Why the movie about them?”
“My ancestors?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “I know naught of that. It was Lord Paul Dinsdale who planned and plotted for years, until he finally achieved my father’s death and dishonor.”
Cara was confused. This was again, sounding an awful lot like the movie, only in the movie Dinsdale was the good guy, and Wolfsbane the villain. And the fact that it happened centuries ago, was all the more confusing. Had history repeated itself?
“What year did your father die?”
“The year of our Lord, 1258.”
“Oh, really?” Now she was getting a little ticked off. So, the guy was still staying in his role, she hadn’t known it, and she was taking this whole thing seriously. Feeling bad that his dad had died and all. She curbed her impatience, determined not to put her foot in it.
“So, Lord Wolfsbane, and Lord Dinsdale lived in the thirteenth century?”
His eyes narrowed. “Of course.”
“And now it’s the twenty-first-century. And your own father has passed away as well?”
She wanted this all spelled out, didn’t want to get mad at him for playacting, and find out his father had actually passed away.
Wallace looked confused.
Good. She was as well.
“I do not take your meaning. ’Tis the thirteenth century. My father, Warrick of Wolfsbane, died two years ago.”
“No, we live in the twenty-first century.”
Wallace’s face darkened with anger. “The thirteenth.”
“Are you serious right now? I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t? I thought we were having a heart to heart, and I find out you’re still pretending to be Wallace Wolfsbane from the thirteenth century?”