Chapter Two

      The horse—he was fairly sure it was his, although it was not in the least familiar—picked its steady way along a ridge. Despite the drifting mists, he knew precisely where he was—on Haydon land near Hadrian’s Wall. Somewhere in the whiteness ahead he could hear the sound of stone scraping, tools being used on the Wall. He tried to push the horse faster, knowing that some vandal was dismantling part of the Wall for building stone, but the horse ignored his efforts. Wind swirled down out of the north, and on the Wall just ahead of him a figure became visible...a woman in a dark cloak, tawny hair tumbling about her shoulders in wild disarray and witch-green eyes. Waiting for him. She held out her hand, either beseeching his aid or offering her own. He tried to speak, but the Wall trembled and fell, and she was gone with it into the mist....

      Ash woke to the sound of his curtains being drawn back and lay quietly. A better dream than most he’d had in the past eighteen months. At least he thought it was. Already it was fading.... Had he really dreamed that Maddy Kirkby had been standing on Hadrian’s Wall, begging him for help? Or had she been going to help him?

      * * *

      Ash looked uninterestedly at the solitary unopened letter beside his breakfast plate and addressed himself half-heartedly to the very excellent ham and eggs on his plate. Opposite him his much elder half-brother, Gerald, Duke of Thirlmere, was going through his personal correspondence while munching toast and marmalade. Occasionally the ducal brows rose. Twice he snorted out a laugh and read something aloud to his duchess, Helen.

      The duchess, glancing up from her own letters, smiled affectionately at her husband over the rim of her teacup. Both duke and duchess cast furtive glances at Ash.

      He tried very hard not to notice and even harder not to grit his teeth. He knew they loved him, but he did wish they would stop worrying about him. But how did you explain to your brother, who was more like a father to you and had never been anywhere near a battlefield in his life, and his even more sheltered wife, that there was nothing wrong? Nothing that a complete loss of memory wouldn’t fix.

      At least he was sleeping better, and the dreams—dreams that had woken him screaming, and in a cold sweat of fear—weren’t as frequent. In fact, he hadn’t had one for a couple of months. Although he couldn’t say that he entirely liked the turn his dreams had taken last night. If he had dreamed about Maddy Kirkby. He wasn’t too sure now. Perhaps he had. He’d certainly spent enough time on the journey home yesterday thinking about her. Wondering if the rest of that milky pale skin was as sweet and silken as her wrist. Or the wide, lush mouth was as passionate as his imagination wanted it to be.

      Hell’s teeth! What was worse? Suffering nightmares, or indulging in erotic fantasies about a respectable young lady he hadn’t seen since she was fifteen?

      Of course, girls grew up, and the discomfort of his saddle yesterday had attested to the fact that Maddy had definitely grown up. He would see more of her in the summer if he excavated the fort on her land, so he’d better get over it.

      Gerald, having finished with his letters, removed his eyeglasses and smeared a vast amount of marmalade on another piece of toast. Helen was gazing thoughtfully at the teapot, clearly considering another cup, and then she gave Ash another worried glance.

      It had occurred to Ash in the past that if he just joined in with whatever passed for normal at any given time, his brother and sister-in-law seemed to worry less. In that spirit he picked up the letter beside his plate and broke the wafer. Accustomed to noticing everything about him, because his life and those of his men might depend on detail, he registered the fact that the wafer had been affixed with a plain seal and the paper was of rather poor quality. On the other hand, the writing was that of an educated...woman, at a guess.

      His gaze flicked to the signature—M. Kirkby—and his pulse skipped a beat. He quelled it, and noted the address—Three Shepherds Inn, Newcastle—which explained the plain seal and cheap paper. It also explained what she’d been doing yesterday while he waited for her. But why the devil hadn’t she just told him whatever it was on the way out to Haydon?

      He began to skim the letter and then, wondering if perhaps he was still asleep and dreaming, went back and started reading again. Slowly. When he’d finished, and was convinced he was actually awake, he read the letter again. Just in case he had missed something. He hadn’t. It said precisely what he’d thought it said, and it certainly made sense that she hadn’t quite liked to broach this subject face-to-face.

      ‘Interesting letter, then, Ash?’ said Gerald.

      That was one way of putting it.... Ash handed the letter over. ‘You tell me.’

      Gerald stared at him, put his eyeglasses back on and glanced at the letter. ‘Madeleine Kirkby? What’s she doing writing to you?’ He began to read. ‘“A business proposition to put to you... Grandfather’s will—” Heard something about that. Rather an awkward business with Montfort being so determined to take the estate back, very poor showing on his part, if you ask me...’ He glanced up, frowning. ‘You didn’t say that you’d seen her at old Blakiston’s yesterday. Or that you’d had a run-in with Montfort. Fellow’s a blister. A complete wart.’

      Ash said nothing and Gerald fell silent again as he read on.

      ‘Good God!’ He looked up, removed his eyeglasses and stared at Ash.

      Ash refilled his own coffee cup and leaned over to top up Gerald’s for good measure. ‘That’s what I thought.’

      ‘About what?’ demanded the duchess.

      Gerald put the letter down, took a sizeable swig of coffee. ‘It’s a proposal.’

      ‘Yes, dear.’ Helen adopted the sort of patient tone that a wife of twenty-five years who wanted to stay sane had to perfect. ‘You mentioned a business proposal. What sort of business does Miss Kirkby have with Ash?’

      ‘Marriage,’ said Ash.

      * * *

      ‘I don’t quite see what’s bothering you about it,’ Gerald said placidly as they rode.

      The day was surprisingly clear, a miracle in early December. Gerald had said the weather would close in later and Ash agreed. But right now a pale sun filtered down, brightening the bleak fells with their dusting of snow.

      ‘What?’ Ash wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard correctly. Gerald had asked if he planned to accept Miss Kirkby’s offer and he’d answered that it probably wasn’t a good idea.

      Apparently Gerald didn’t agree any more than his own unruly body had. The moment he had read Maddy’s marriage proposal his body had proclaimed it an excellent idea.

      Ash was having a hard enough time ignoring his baser instincts and listening to the dictates of honour, which said that he shouldn’t take advantage of Maddy’s situation, without Gerald’s idiocy.

      ‘I’m not fit to marry anyone!’ he snapped.

      The idea of waking up from a nightmare screaming, in bed with Maddy...no. Except Montfort was going to take her home, kick her out... He liked that idea even less. Edward Montfort needed a thrashing at the very least. He’d thought so yesterday. His hands tightened to fists on the reins and his mare tossed her head in annoyance.

      ‘Why the hell not?’ demanded Gerald. ‘You’re well enough off as these things go. Are you dishonest? The sort of blister who’d beat his wife?’ He frowned at Ash’s fidgeting mare. ‘What’s bothering Phaedre?’

      ‘Of course not,’ said Ash, easing his hands. The mare settled at once, and he met Gerald’s calm gaze. Better to have the truth between them. ‘For God’s sake, Gerald! What woman wants a coward to husband?’

      For a moment they rode on in