Christmas Wishes Part 1. Elizabeth Rolls
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its tail but continued barking. ‘Enough, Ketch. Sit.’ That was how Maddy had always told the dog to stop barking.
Ketch sat, ears pricked.
A middle-aged man came through the gate, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he saw Ash. He cast a surprised glance at the dog.
‘Aye? You lookin’ for someone?’
* * *
Ketch’s furious barking alerted Maddy, and she set down her pen. The dog only barked at strangers and people he disliked. Strangers rarely came here, even in summer, and the person Ketch disliked most was Edward. She gritted her teeth. If Edward thought to stalk through Haydon and make claims on belongings he had no right to, then he had another think coming.
She rose, set her papers aside neatly and went to stand by the fire. It was warmer there, and she’d be that much closer to a poker if Ketch and Brady, her steward, were unable to persuade him to go away. The barking had stopped, but she could hear the clop of hooves in the courtyard below. A visitor, then.... She waited.
The outer door to the great hall opened, admitting a blast of cold air and the man she had persuaded herself she was not going to see or even hear from, unless it was a curt ‘no, thank you’—Ash Ravensfell.
Her jaw dropped as disbelief hit her like a pile of collapsing masonry. He walked in, saw her and at once removed his hat. Brady came in behind him, flanked by Ketch, who rushed forward and ranged himself beside her, tail whirling.
Aren’t I clever, Mistress? See what I brought you!
Brady doffed his hat. ‘Lord Ashton to see you, Miss Maddy.’
She said nothing. Could say nothing for the shock reverberating through her. Automatically she scratched Ketch’s ears. He had come. Against all expectation, all likelihood, Ash Ravensfell had answered her letter. In person. What on earth was she going to do with him?
Brady frowned, casting a suspicious glance at Ash. ‘Says you wrote to him?’
Maddy located her tongue and wits. ‘Yes. Yes, I did write.’ Damn it! She could scarcely breathe, let alone think or speak, with Ash watching her so closely. Her mind kept skittering back to the touch of his lips on her wrist. She managed a deep breath. At all costs she had to hide the effect he had on her. A business arrangement; that was all she had offered.
Perhaps he had come to refuse?
Ash spoke. ‘I thought it less awkward to answer your letter in person rather than in a letter.’
Dear Miss Kirkby—Thank you for your kind offer, but I have other plans for my life.
Nothing awkward about that. Did he mean—? Was he actually considering her offer?
She pulled herself together. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
His brows rose and she remembered the sound of her name on his lips. ‘Er...thank you, Brady. If you go out by the kitchen you might ask Bets to bring up a pot of tea?’ She looked at Ash. ‘Or coffee?’ He looked tired, she realised, as though he’d slept badly. Dark shadows wreathed his eyes, and his mouth looked grim. As though he had as many worries nipping at his heels as she did.
‘Tea will be fine,’ he said.
* * *
As they struggled through the niceties of him removing gloves, great coat and muffler and drawing near the fire, along with Maddy’s stilted remarks about the weather and it being a long ride from his home, Ash wondered if she might be regretting her letter. The dog remained with them, close by Maddy’s side. Ketch had not so much as growled at him again, but Ash knew that at the least threat to Maddy the dog would be in front of her, ready to defend. He’d once seen the dog take down a tramp who had threatened her.
He waited until an elderly woman appeared with a tea tray, along with a suspicious glare for him. She set the tray at one end of the huge refectory table, where it looked as though Maddy had been attending to some business, and left them.
‘Will you be seated, sir?’
At the polite invitation, he said simply, ‘You called me Ash the other day. Are we back to “sir” and “Miss Kirkby”?’
She flushed. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘After that letter?’ He snorted as he sat down. ‘Curiosity, if nothing else, would have got me here.’
He watched her as she poured the tea, handed him a cup and a piece of shortbread. Her tawny hair was pinned up simply, as though she’d had no time for more, and the shadows he’d seen beneath her eyes the other day had deepened. Now he knew what had put them there, knew he could lift the weight of care from her slender shoulders.
He sipped his tea. ‘Why me, Maddy?’ His conversation with Blakiston had been illuminating, but he wanted to know why she would take this risk. Because it was a risk for her. She knew so little about him, and marriage could potentially hand him complete control of her lands and person. Why had she chosen to trust him?
Her cup rattled in its saucer as she set it down. ‘Why? Because it’s that or lose Haydon.’
‘There were other fellows, Maddy. Men you knew better, who were prepared to brave Montfort’s bluster and marry you. You refused them all.’
She bit her lip. ‘They didn’t actually want Haydon. Just the price of its sale, or the acres and the money they could get for letting the house, or even demolishing it for the stone. The Wall, too.’
His gut twisted, and as if she knew she looked up and met his gaze. ‘Nor would it have saved my household. They would all have lost their positions, their homes.’
He nodded slowly. Blakiston had already told him this. She could have saved herself by marriage, but for her it was all or nothing. He knew from Blakiston that she ran Haydon efficiently. It wasn’t a massive holding, but it was productive. She was managing perfectly well by herself. She didn’t really need a husband; she just needed to save her home from Montfort.
And for himself? It would be the chance he wanted to excavate a stretch of the Wall uninterrupted. See if he was right about there being a fort on the northeast corner of Haydon land near the river.
And there was Madeleine Kirkby herself. The sort of woman who had chosen to stand with her people rather than save herself. The sort of woman who could haunt a man’s dreams....
He glanced around as they drank their tea. The great hall looked much as he remembered it. Once, he thought, the walls would have been covered in tapestries, bright and glowing in the firelight. Instead, someone in the past century or so had added panelling in a rich, gleaming oak. Worn Turkish carpets were scattered here and there on the wide-planked floor. There were no paintings, but a pair of crossed swords beside the fireplace.
He gestured to them. ‘Why not above the fireplace?’
She raised her brows. ‘Harder to get at in a hurry.’
Wry amusement made him smile. ‘Do you think the Scots are going to come marauding again?’
She laughed. ‘No. But they’ve always been there.’
Tradition, then. He could respect that. ‘Will you show me around?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been past this hall.’
She frowned. ‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘If you expect me to invest, I need to see what you’re offering.’ Apart from yourself. He left that unsaid, and wished he’d left it unthought.
She seemed to relax. ‘Very well. What would you like to see?’
He smiled. ‘Well, everything, I suppose.’
‘Everything? Even the root cellar?’
‘Definitely the root cellar.’
She scowled and he had to fight to repress a grin. ‘For