A Scandalous Situation. Patricia Frances Rowell
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yet another objection, his broad hands all but encompassing her fragile waist. She seemed almost to float upward as he set her sideways behind the saddle. Handing up the case when she had settled herself, he gathered up the cob’s reins and mounted his own horse awkwardly, swinging his foot over the animal’s head. The bay sidled, signaling his annoyance at this unorthodox procedure.
Rob settled into the saddle, only to be jabbed between the shoulder blades by something sharp. Now what? Turning, he realized that his damsel in distress had placed the paint case between herself and his sturdy back and was trying to hold on to him around it. That was the outside of enough!
“Give me that!” He unceremoniously yanked the case out of her grasp and balanced it across the saddle in front of him with one hand. “Now hold on to me. We have no time for this nonsense.”
Urging his mount across the escarpment below the towering cliff, Rob made for the old castle by the shortest route. The wind howled around them now, the snow blowing sideways, stinging their faces. More drifts were already forming across what was left of the road below them in the valley. It would be of no further use to them, but his path would take them directly to the trail that led up to his home. His bay might have made short work of the trip had not the lame cob held him back, but they should still safely reach shelter.
As the laboring horses struggled up a sharp incline, Rob heard a strangled squeak, and the small arms around his waist abruptly disappeared. The bay reared slightly as his load shifted. Rob steadied him and looked back in alarm to see his passenger sitting in the snow, legs stretched before her and her skirts above her knees, exposing white leather knee boots.
And another pistol strapped to the top of one boot.
Great heavens, the woman went about armed to the teeth!
To his relief she looked startled, but not stunned. She scrambled hastily to her feet and came to where Rob waited aboard his mount, nobly forbearing to say I told you so. She at least had the grace to appear chagrined, two rosy spots coloring her cheeks. He extended a hand. “Put your foot on top of mine and push as I lift you.”
She obeyed this command without a word and, giving her the paint case to hold, Rob pulled her up into his arms and set her in front of him. His arm tightened around her waist as he dug his heels into the bay’s sides. Immediately her whole body went stiff. He frowned, puzzled. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t as though he were kidnapping her. He was rescuing her, for God’s sake!
He pulled the horse in. “Miss Kethley.” She did not respond. He couldn’t see her face. She set it resolutely ahead, like a prisoner going bravely to meet her fate. He grasped her chin and turned her toward him. He gazed into her face, baffled.
“Miss Kethley, please tell me what I have done to offend you so.” She shook her head, opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again. “Have I offered you any harm, any insult?”
She swallowed and shook her head. “N…” She moistened her lips and tried again. “N-no.”
“Nor will I.”
Rob shut his mouth grimly and set off up the mountain.
As they made their way up the slope, Iantha sat in the shelter of the baron’s body and willed herself to think, to remain calm. She would control her fear. The man had done nothing to provoke it. He had done nothing but what was right and proper—gallant even. Yet when he had fallen across her, she had thought her heart would stop. Even the roar of the snowslide had been drowned out by the roaring inside her mind; the fear of being buried alive paled beside the fear engendered by the weight of his body on top of hers.
If only she could banish those hateful images from her mind, she would feel relieved that she no longer had to fight every moment to keep her seat. And with her rescuer’s bulk blocking the wind and snow, the cold didn’t bite into her as it had been doing. Even so, her fingers felt frozen to the handle of her paint case, and she could no longer feel her toes.
Sitting thus, she realized that his lordship was much taller than he had seemed when he’d stood some distance away. The breadth of his muscular shoulders had made him appear much shorter. He was a big man. Strong. Yet, she reminded herself, he had used his strength only to aid her. She must think about that. Use it to bridle her rebelling emotions.
Control. Control was her fortress.
She would maintain control.
Just when Iantha thought the cold and the wind blasting along the escarpment would go on forever, they encountered the road that ran between the valley and the castle. Several switchbacks later they found themselves in the enveloping silence and welcome warmth of a large stone stable. Iantha straightened her aching shoulders and looked about. A stockily built groom with grizzled hair was hurrying toward them.
“Me lord! You’re home safe at last. Burnside and me was just debating should we mount a search.” He reached up, squinting at her, and took the paint case out of Iantha’s stiff fingers. “And who might we have here?”
Setting the case on the ground, he lifted his arms again, and Iantha slid off the saddle into them. He put her down, careful to keep a steadying hand on her arm. It was well that he did. Her half-frozen feet and legs threatened to fail her. She took hold of the saddle with her other hand.
“Have you ever known me not to show up intact, Feller?” His lordship swung himself down easily, smiling at the groom.
“Nay, me lord, saving that time in Orissa. You wasn’t by no means intact on that occasion.” Feller grinned. “I told Burnside, I did, ‘Just you watch. He’ll turn up like a bad penny, he will.’ And here you are.”
“And here I am,” agreed his lordship. “This lady is Miss Kethley. As you can see, she and her cob suffered a mishap on the road.”
“That I do see.” Feller turned to examine the sturdy horse, frowning. “Poor old mate here is a mite bunged up.”
He released Iantha’s arm, moving to her horse. As he did, Iantha felt her knees give way and clutched again at the saddle.
“Careful, now!” Lord Duncan stepped quickly to throw a supporting arm around her waist. “Are you faint?”
“No.” Iantha shook her head. “Just cold and stiff. I will be fine in a minute.”
“Perhaps.” He scowled doubtfully. “Shall I carry you?”
“No!” The denial emerged much more sharply than she had intended. “I mean…thank you. That isn’t necessary.”
“Let me help you, then.” His lordship still looked doubtful. “We need to get you to a fire. We’ll go up through the old castle, to avoid the wind.” He tightened his arm around her and guided her toward a door at the side of the stable.
Close. He was much too close.
Iantha shut her eyes, drew in a long breath and forbade herself to pull away. If she did that, she would surely find herself sitting on the ground. She could endure his proximity for a few minutes.
Control.
He led her through the stable door and up a flight of steep spiral steps. At the top they wound through a series of short passages with narrow doors, each facing a different direction.
“This is the portal to the original castle,” he explained. “The turns were designed to keep out an invading force. This section was abandoned long ago, but we still use it to come up from the stable when we wish to avoid the weather.” They emerged from an empty stone chamber through a newer door into a wide entry hall. Lord Duncan removed his shallow-crowned hat and knocked the snow off it against his leg, revealing a thick thatch of rich brown curls.
“Here is the new building.” He grinned. “Relatively speaking. The old part was built in the fourteenth century, the new part in the early 1600s. It is considerably more comfortable than the original structure ever was, although it does have its share of eccentricities.” He tugged at a bell rope. “Burnside! Burnside, where are you?”
Iantha