Christmas Heart Page 3

  She swallowed. “I should not have gone and left him with no more than a note. I thought… I thought he would easily catch up with me before Lincoln.”

  “And bring you home? Or travel with you down to Sussex?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just wanted him to know… which was quite unreasonable when I didn’t really understand myself what it was I wanted him to grasp.”

  “I think he grasps a little more now. At least enough to realize he needs to make less assumptions and to listen. And if you wonder why he didn’t catch you up more quickly, he spent all day tramping around the estate and didn’t know you’d gone until it was dark. You were always one step ahead of him.”

  She swallowed, the painful knots beginning to loosen in her heart, her stomach. “Alex?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you stop talking about yourself in the third person now?”

  She heard his breath of laughter and couldn’t help smiling into her pillow.

  “Yes,” he said. “I will.”

  Silence filled the darkness, but it was no longer an unhappy silence. He said, “We should sleep and begin again in the morning.”

  “Yes,” she agreed in relief. And yet it wasn’t quite enough to have agreed. “Alex?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

  “I’m glad you’re here, too.”

  Despite the chilly air, warmth surrounded her heart. She felt ridiculously comforted by the knowledge he was only feet away from her. On one side of her, Spring lay curled up in the hay. At the foot of her bed, Arthur lay on the clothes in her warmed trunk, covered by shawls and a blanket.

  It was odd after her furious, difficult journey, but her world felt right. As she drifted into sleep, she imagined the distance to Alex shrunk and the wall dissolved, so that if she just moved her hand another inch, she would touch him.

  *

  Her eyes snapped open in darkness. She didn’t think it was a sound that had wakened her, for Arthur was quiet and the whole world seemed silent. Even the merriment from the inn could no longer be heard.

  Sometimes, she wakened just before Arthur cried to be fed. So she lay and listened for the movements that would tell her he was waking up.

  She sensed a presence an instant before the rustle of hay under foot. Someone was in the stall with her.

  Without warning, her blood fired. Alex. Alex had come to her, and her arms ached for him. Her body ached for his love…

  She sat up, dragging the blankets with her against the fierce cold—and the quiet footfall stopped. She peered into the darkness, made out a blacker, unmoving shape between the bed and the stall door.

  “Alex?” she whispered, suddenly unsure, for she could hear panting, uneven breath that made her fear he was ill, or that it wasn’t him at all. In the hay beside her, Spring was growling quietly, deep in his throat.

  She reached for the lantern and tinder box beside the bed, but the black shape suddenly lunged forward. She heard the sharp crack of the lid shutting on the small trunk and cried out in primal fear, even as she hurled herself at the intruder.

  Arthur was in the trunk. He was stealing her child.

  The intruder side-stepped her, but he couldn’t outwit Spring who landed somewhere in the region of his ankles. She had never heard Spring snarl before.

  But with terror, she realized that even with Spring dangling from his trousers, the thief could almost certainly run faster than she could. Before he could gather his wits or shake himself free of Spring, she bolted to the stable door and flung her arms out on either side of her. Under no circumstances was he getting out of the door with her baby.

  “Leave the trunk and get out!” she commanded.

  “Stand aside, lady, I’m desperate,” growled the intruder, advancing toward her with the precious trunk in his hold. He had clearly given up trying to dislodge Spring and merely dragged him along with him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then put the trunk down—gently—and I’ll let you go.”

  Perhaps he sensed weakness in her pleading voice, for he kept coming. “You can’t stop me. Out of my way.”

  “I will never get out of your way!” She gripped the doorframe with both hands.

  Spring, stupid dog, let the man go, probably because she was talking to him. The dog came and sat on Charlotte’s feet instead.

  Impatiently, the intruder shifted the trunk to get one arm free to shove her aside. But even as he reached for her, another black shape moved on the partition wall.

  Another intruder? Dear God! Alex…

  The first intruder’s head jerked up, and then the figure on the wall leapt on him and they both dropped like stones off a cliff. Spring began to bark excitedly. The intruder tried valiantly to hold on to the trunk, but Charlotte snatched it from his weakened grip and flew with it to the other side of the room.

  Not a second intruder. Alex. Alex was not hurt at all…

  Laying the trunk on the floor, she wrenched up the lid and thrust in her hand, feeling with unbearable relief Arthur’s warmth and steady breath. Her hands trembled as she fumbled for the lantern and tinder box. With the light grasped it in one hand, she grabbed her guitar in the other and strode purposefully toward the wrestling men.

  Her husband, in his shirt sleeves with his hair rumpled, sat on the thief’s thin, ragged back, holding both arms behind him. Spring stood on two legs on the man’s back, too, while he slobbered all over Alex’s face.

  Seeing there was no need, Charlotte lowered her threatening guitar.

  “Arthur?” Alex demanded, distractedly pushing Spring down.

  “He’s fine. I think he’s still asleep!”

  Immediately giving the lie to her claim, Arthur let out a demanding wail.

  The thief in Alex’s hold suddenly went still. “Blow me!” he gasped. “There’s a baby in the trunk!”

  “Our baby!” Charlotte said indignantly. “How dare you try to steal him!” Only, of course, he was far too surprised for that to have been his motive. He hadn’t been trying to steal Arthur, just something valuable to sell. Or even to wear, for he was a very ragged individual.

  Alex slid off his back and wrenched him around. “You picked the wrong stable and the wrong trunk.”

  “Damn right,” the man said bitterly.

  Charlotte set the lantern and the guitar on the floor and went back to retrieve Arthur. He stopped crying as soon as she lifted him up. She walked back toward the men. Alex crouched in front of the slumped thief, who was a pretty sorry looking individual. He appeared half-starved and must have been freezing cold in only the tattered coat and thin trousers. There were holes in the soles of his ancient, flapping boots.

  He looked up at Charlotte, a sullen yet haunted look in his eyes. “I’m hungry, that’s all. I wanted food, something to sell, something to give me a roof over my head even for a night. I wouldn’t have taken your baby.” His gaze dropped to Arthur as she knelt next to Alex, and the desperation softened into something quite different. “Not that he isn’t a very fine baby…”

  Unexpectedly, he took hold of the last remaining button on his coat and tugged. He leaned forward and held the button before Arthur who made a grab for it. The thief grinned and let him have it. “There you are, little fellow.”

  He glanced from Charlotte, who was hastily trying to stop Arthur from putting the filthy button in his mouth, to Alex. “I’d take it kindly if you’d let me go. I won’t go near the inn. I’ll just go.”

  “Go where?” Alex asked.

  The thief shrugged. “Probably the shepherd’s hut I stayed in last night. No one else lives there.”

  “Because it’s falling down and is barely any shelter even in summer,” Charlotte said with a shrewd idea of the place he meant.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.” He dropped his eyes. “Neither can thieves. Sorry. Don’t know what came over me. I never thieved anything before this winter.”

  “Then why
start now?” Charlotte asked curiously. “What brought you to this state?”

  He shrugged. “Bad luck. Bad decisions. My wife died and my little daughter with her. I neglected my land for grief and got evicted. From then on…well, I’m sure you can imagine.”

  It could have been a story, a lie to engage the sympathies of the foolish gentle folk he’d been trying to rob. But there was no doubt he was malnourished and ill dressed for the weather.

  “What’s your name?” Alvan asked.

  “Strong. Mark Strong.”

  A soft knock sounded on the stable door. Spring snuffled underneath it without obvious concern. Alex and Charlotte exchanged glances, and then Alex rose and opened the door.

  The melancholic stranger stood there. He and Alex stared at each other while Spring gave the stranger his usual, enthusiastic welcome.

  “Alvan?” the stranger said blankly.

  “Fortescue,” Alex said with distaste but absolutely no surprise.

  Of course. Here was the real reason her husband had kept his presence from her. He must have seen her with the stranger and made all sorts of foolish assumptions.

  Perhaps she should have been angry that he could so mistrust her. Perhaps she would be later. For now, it amused her and flattered her—and touched her that he could still be so insecure about the sheer depth of her love.

  “Come in, sir,” she said calmly. “The heat is all getting out.”

  Reluctantly, watchfully, Alex stood aside and closed the door behind the stranger who now had a name. Fortescue? How did Alex know him?

  “This gentleman was kind enough to escort us back to the inn when I took Spring for his last walk,” she said. She could say no more in front of him. “How can we help you, sir.”

  “I heard the dog bark and thought you were still awake. I came to give you this. For your son.” He took something from his pocket and held it out to Charlotte. It was a gold ring. “I don’t need it.” He glanced at Alex with a faint, lopsided smile. “I didn’t quite realize whose child he was. Obviously, he doesn’t need it either, but I would like him to have it. In memory of your kindness, ma’am.”

  He nodded curtly to Alex and opened the door.

  “Wait,” Charlotte said in alarm, closing it again. “Where are you going?”

  “Just out,” Fortescue said vaguely. “I shan’t be long.”

  He was lying. She feared he would die in the cold, that this was the end he sought. Charlotte looked desperately at Alex, for she couldn’t physically force the stranger to stay. Alex could, if she could only make him understand.

  But Alex, it seemed, had already recognized the problem. And no one understood it better than he.

  “Not yet,” he said casually. “Stay and have a drink with us. I’d like to thank you for your gift to my son and your kindness to my wife.”

  “There is no need,” Fortescue said.

  “There is every need. It’s not every day one runs into an old acquaintance. Charlotte, make our guest comfortable. This is Mr. Strong, by the way, who has rather fallen on hard times but also made a gift to Arthur. I’ll just fetch a little brandy. And my coat, for it’s dashed cold.”

  Alex left the stall and both Strong and Fortescue gazed at Charlotte in bewilderment.

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” she said nonsensically. “It’s good to have company since none of us is really where we wish to be. Pull down some of the hay to sit on and be comfortable.”

  Alex returned a moment later with his flask and two glasses. He sloshed a little brandy into the glasses and presented them to his guests, after which they all lounged in the hay.

  “Merry Christmas,” Alex said, raising the flask and presenting it to Charlotte.

  His fingers brushed hers as she took it. “Merry Christmas.”

  Their guests mumbled slightly bemused replies but drank from instinct.

  *

  It was an odd gathering by any standard. The remains of dinner—a half slice of a goose pie, bread, biscuits, cheese, and a few nuts and dried fruit, were set out on another hay-table and everyone pretended not to notice that Strong wolfed it all. By the time he was in a fit state to pay attention to his genteel company, he had become so much part of it that he could not be overawed.

  It could not be denied that Alex and Charlotte bore the brunt of the conversation, but she found it no hardship. Just hearing her husband’s voice was a sweetness she had not bargained on, and they quickly fell into their old habits of banter that raised a smile even from Fortescue. Gradually, they drew both their guests into the conversation and learned a little more about them and their journeys to the Hart.

  Once, when Mark Strong had fallen asleep in the hay, and Charlotte was attending to the baby, Fortescue leaned toward Alex and said quietly, “You are a lucky man to have won such a lady.”

  “I know it,” Alex replied at once. “I know, too, I don’t deserve her, but God help me, I will keep her. It wouldn’t be untrue to say that she saved me.”

  “From what?” Fortescue asked, staring at him. “Intolerable boredom? Stultifying self-satisfaction?”

  Alex smiled. “Is that how you see me? I accept it was probably the face I showed the world, but I have never been remotely satisfied with myself. The trouble with you and me, Fortescue, is that we really don’t know each other at all.”

  A frown of genuine curiosity tugged at Fortescue’s pale brow. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I have been in a similar place to the one I suspect you inhabit now. I’m sure we arrived by different routes, and your path out will be different, too. But there is always a way, my friend. You never know what’s round the next corner—it has to be worth finding out.”

  Fortescue stared at him. Charlotte was sure a little color seeped into his pale, exhausted face. The color of shame because for the first time, he suspected that they knew his self-destructive thoughts.

  “You are a strange man, Alvan,” Fortescue said slowly. “But you’re right, I suppose. I judged you without knowing you.”

  “Likewise,” Alex said.

  Fortescue’s lips twisted. “Oh, I don’t think so. You were right.”

  “Well, let us find out,” Alex said. “I believe you have an appointment to breakfast with my wife.”

  Fortescue stood and kicked Strong with the toe of his elegant boot. “Shall I take him away, too?”

  Strong sat up with a jerk, blinking owlishly around the company.

  Alex glanced at Charlotte and, understanding, she nodded once.

  He said to Fortescue, “Are you sharing a room at the inn? Do you want to go back there? Or would you rather sleep in the stall next door? I’m afraid you’ll have to share it with Strong here, who isn’t fit to go any further by the look of him.”

  For the first time, Fortescue looked unsure. He swallowed. “I cannot put you out any further.”

  “It does not put us out in the slightest,” Alex said. “In fact, you would be doing me a favor.”

  Fortescue blinked, not understanding. But Charlotte did. Having guests in the other stall provided Alex with the excuse to stay in this one. With his wife. Her heart began to flutter.

  Fortescue nodded once, then bowed to Charlotte. “Then I’ll bid you goodnight.” He jerked his head at Strong. “Come, let’s leave these good people to their rest.” He walked away, and Strong stumbled after him.

  Alex held Strong back. “Look after him,” he breathed. “Don’t let him hurt himself, and I will owe you a great deal.”

  Strong’s eyes widened in clear shock. Then he nodded once and strode after Fortescue. Alex had always been good at judging men.

  The question was, now that they were face to face and alone, how did he judge his errant wife?

  Chapter Four

  Arthur lay asleep in his trunk, his little face peaceful and contented. She pulled the blanket a little higher to be sure of his warmth. Alex, meanwhile, ordered Spring into his bed of hay and turned to face her.

  They both knew they had
only the illusion of privacy, and yet at that moment, Charlotte thought she would die—or at least scream—if things were not resolved between them. The very necessary matters of feeding a starving and reluctant thief and deflecting a gentleman from the brink of suicide had changed nothing between them.

  Or had it? Had they not understood each other and acted as one since the moment she confronted Strong at the stable door? They were one. Or they had used to be before they were three.

  The thoughts flitted helplessly through her head as he walked toward her. Just as in the earliest days of her love, her heart drummed. He halted right in front of her, almost touching, and slowly reached up to place his hands on her shoulders. Her stomach dived as he lowered his head. His breath kissed her cheek, her ear.

  “Forgive me,” he breathed.

  She swallowed, closing her eyes. Perhaps she was tired, for she wanted to cry. Instead, she stood on tip toe until her lips could reach his ear. “Forgive me.”

  She sank back to her normal height so that she could look into his eyes, serious and profound—and pleading, it seemed, for permission. She tilted her head a little further and parted her lips, and his breath came out in a rush that seemed like relief.

  His mouth closed softly on hers, tender, gentle, and sweet. Her tears surged closer. So did desire as their bodies touched and remembered.

  He released her, still giving her the choice. She removed her pelisse as she walked toward the bed and dropped it on top before sitting and unlacing her boots. It was far too cold to remove anything else, even under the blankets. She slid between the sheets, cold now because of her long absence. When she had the courage to look, he stood some feet from the bed, his coat off but still in his hand.

  Meeting his gaze, she drew back the covers in unmistakable invitation. He smiled and dropped the coat. Pausing only to blow out the lantern, he came to bed and took her in his arms.

  Tears of gladness squeezed from the corners of her eyes at last, because this was right, just as it should be, and no more words were necessary. He should have paid more attention to her needs. She should never have run as she did. But the love had never died and never would. Their problems were utterly trivial as their visitors had shown. They had a beloved, healthy son, more than enough to eat, many luxurious roofs to choose from, and a deep happiness.