On a Midnight Clear Page 13

  Then a voice whispered to her through the dark shadows, carried by the chilly breeze. “Your time is coming, Sarah. You’ll pay for your treachery.”

  It couldn’t be. He’s found me! Cold terror poured through her body and left her shaking. For the first time in her life, common sense fled her. She opened her mouth and screamed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Sarah’s blood-curdling scream tore through the idyllic quiet, Cecil immediately dropped his axe and bolted into the garden. Only then did he remember that he’d left his cane in the woods. She’d been right; his healing had improved exponentially since coming to this cottage. Still, he ignored the twinge of pain in his calf and didn’t stop his forward momentum until he reached her location.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Cecil.” She rushed into his arms and clung to him. Tremors shook her frame. “There was an intruder in the garden with me.” She shivered. “He... touched my arm.” Her voice trembled. “Said my name.” When she pulled back to peer into his face, her eyes were wide with terror. “He knows I’m here.”

  No matter how wonderful she felt pressed against him, now was not the time to explore. What the devil did her words mean? Never had she exhibited fear of any kind. She was the strongest woman he’d ever known, and she’d conducted her life to that effect. “Who?”

  “The spy.” From the light of one of the windows, the fear hadn’t dissipated from her eyes. The quiver in her chin nearly undid him.

  “Come inside.” Though they wasted precious time, he refused to have her in danger one more minute than need be. When she remained as if rooted to the ground, he slipped an arm about her waist, lifted her bodily and then escorted her into the cottage. As he saw Simon sitting on a fur rug in front of the hearth, he said, “Simon, stay with your mama. There is something urgent I must attend.”

  He ignored the boy’s questions as well as Sarah’s weak protest. Damn the fact that both of his pistols waited in his bedchamber, locked away in a wooden box beneath the bed, but if there was an intruder out there, he would meet with fists.

  As his eyes once more adjusted to the dim light of the garden, he prowled every inch of the space, but as he suspected, there was no one there. If there had been a prowler—and Sarah had no reason to lie in an effort to bring him running—the man was gone now. No doubt his flight was precipitated by her scream.

  If I hadn’t been nearby... He couldn’t finish the thought.

  To make a thorough job of it, Cecil inspected the wooded area just outside of the garden wall. When nothing came from that search, he retrieved the basket full of firewood as well as the abandoned lantern and then returned to the cottage. After depositing his load on the floor and the lantern to the hook, he locked the door and began the process of checking each and every door and window casement on the lower level. Only when he was satisfied the cottage was secure did he return to the common room.

  The enticing, robust aromas of dinner had his mouth watering and his stomach growling, but he shoved creature comforts from his mind. “Simon, my lad, I’d ask that you please go upstairs. I need to speak with your mother alone.”

  “But Mama promised we would eat pheasant together.” When a whine entered the boy’s voice, Cecil narrowed his eyes and the boy clamped his jaws together, ending the noise.

  “We will, indeed, and I will call you back down once I’ve finished here.” He glanced at Sarah as she sat huddled on the sofa, a quilt draped haphazardly about her frame. “But this is more important.” Then he peeked at the bird still on the skewer over the fire. “Scoot,” he told the boy as he took rags in both hands and removed the iron rod. “I promise I won’t cheat you out of our time together.” He’d rested the succulent, brown-skinned bird on the waiting platter on the hearth lip next to the customary two loaves of bread, dropping the rags beside it.

  Once he was certain the boy had followed orders, Cecil knelt at her feet. “I didn’t find anyone in the garden or surrounding area. Whoever was out there is gone,” he said softly and took one of her cold hands in his.

  “Good.” A shiver shook her frame, and it was all he could do not to bundle her in his arms.

  He put his free hand beneath her chin and tilted her head until their gazes met. A trace of fear still swam in those chocolate depths. “I think it only fair that since I bared my soul to you, you do the same for me.” When she said nothing, he sighed. “I won’t think badly of you.”

  “That remains to be seen. I destroyed a man’s life.” The whispered words were so soft, he was obliged to lean closer to hear. “It was a long time ago.”

  “So was our night together, but that flame still burns. I’ll wager this particular story hasn’t run its course either.” Now, he’d finally have his questions regarding her past answered, and hopefully that barrier would dissolve as his had started to while talking to her.

  Sarah pressed her lips together. She clung to his hand as if he’d disappear the second she let go. “Months after I lost Alexander, a couple of letters from him arrived by post. Of course, they were weeks old, but I didn’t care, for they were his words, and the letters helped me through the grieving period.”

  “I imagine they did,” he murmured and nodded for her to continue.

  “In one of those letters was a scrap of paper containing a few columns, all filled with numbers and foreign-looking figures I couldn’t understand. Neither could I fathom what the several rows of abbreviated words meant.”

  “Intel regarding troops, supply lines, cannons, artillery, and directions.” His eyes widened as he stared at her. “Did he willingly send those to you?”

  “I didn’t think so until I read one of the other letters. He hinted at what they were and that he wouldn’t live long enough to send them on to where they needed to go. What was more, he suspected his best friend who also served in his regiment, was a traitor and a spy, suspected Owen in obstructing the post. It was imperative I go straightaway to the Home Office.”

  “Were you able to?”

  “Eventually, but not before Owen came to London on leave. He immediately sought out my uncle and asked for my hand. This was around the time I met you.”

  “Ah, in an effort to kill two birds as it were: the baron wanted you married, and Owen wished to silence you.” Cecil squeezed her fingers, which were still ice cold. “No doubt you managed them with your usual charm and intuition.”

  A trace of a smile pulled at her lips. “I did, but they were both angry.” Her shrug only moved one shoulder. “When I turned the information into the Home Office, they were exceedingly grateful, said they’d been expecting the figures but feared they were lost when Alexander perished. Of course, since they were so out of date, I don’t know how much they helped.”

  “Who can say? But you accomplished one thing—ferreted out a spy working for the French.”

  “Yes.” The delicate tendons of her throat worked with a swallow. Tears pooled in her eyes, magnifying the golden flecks in the brown irises. “They thanked me for my service and promised they would apprehend Owen, hang him as a traitor.”

  “Obviously, something went horribly wrong in that regard.” The vulnerability in her expression, the guardedness in her posture, the tremble in her voice brought out his protective instincts.

  “Yes.”

  “Is that what precipitated your flight here?”

  “I had no idea he’d escaped Newgate, for I’d received an official letter once they’d apprehended him.” Pretty color bloomed on her cheeks. “At that time, I was probably three months along in my pregnancy, so I thought it best I disappear from society and London. It was safer that way.”

  “You assumed you’d vanish into village life, for all intents and purposes invisible.” He struggled to his feet with a groan at his protesting leg muscles.

  “Yes, and now he’s here, knows where I am, knows I have a son.” A shiver racked her body. “Escaped, angry, and out for revenge.” She raised her gaze to his. “Isn’t that my luck?”r />
  “It’s been my experience that we make our fortune.” Cecil bent and pressed his lips to her forehead. When he straightened, he said, “I’ll keep you and the boy safe. I promise.” Then he winked to hide the confusion tightening his chest. It happened so suddenly he was in awe of it, but those two people were his whole world. “For now, I am quite famished. Events of the afternoon have ramped my hunger.” And he feared he’d lost a piece of his heart to her.

  “Oh, hush you.” But a blush infused her too-pale cheeks and a small smile curved her lips. “Go call for Simon. He’s waited for this moment all day, for he’s curious about pheasant.”

  December 21, 1814

  Cecil whistled a merry tune as he and Simon walked back to the cottage from their most recent trip to the village. No matter how many times a nosy shopkeeper tried to pry his surname from him or trick him into revealing information about himself, he didn’t fall for it.

  Neither did Simon, and for that the boy deserved all manner of sweets. He’d hadn’t told his son to lie; he’d merely said that unless someone asked him a direct question, he shouldn’t volunteer any facts. No one ever thought to treat children like people.

  When Simon wasn’t inclined to chatter—his mouth being engaged with the stick of peppermint Cecil had procured for him—Cecil turned his thoughts inward, where they kept circling back to the kiss he’d shared with Sarah last evening.

  He’d experienced a clearing of his mind after he’d talked out his anger, told her of all the things that bothered him. Would those emotions revisit him in the future? Only time would tell, for such strong feelings didn’t merely go away simply because he’d found a sympathetic, listening ear. However, with every stroke of her fingers, with each lingering touch of her hands a newfound peace of sorts had come over him. And that he hadn’t known since being carted from the battlefield.

  It had been borne from his gratitude of her steadfast support, surely, but the heat that had always flared between them came to life the moment he’d kissed her, and it had built into an inferno of need the longer he did so. There’d been nothing staid or tender about it, and passion had gotten the better of him. Was he sorry he’d nearly acted the savage? Not a bit, for she’d willingly and unrepentantly returned his embrace. It gave him hope for a future he was only now coming to dream about.

  They were laying a good foundation, but the one wrinkle in the plan was the still unnamed danger of the spy who stalked her. She was terrified, and rightly so. By God, he’d meant what he’d said: he would protect her and the boy with his life.

  No one threatened his family.

  His heart trembled, and the wall around that organ crumbled as if it could no longer bear its weight. For the first time in his life, he had a family who truly cared for him. It made all the difference.

  An insistent tugging on his gloved hand brought him out of his thoughts. “What is it, Simon? More questions?”

  “Yes.” He pointed a finger encased in a gray woolen mitten at the sky. “Is it snowing?”

  With a start, Cecil realized snow flurries were merrily chasing through the air. When he and the boy had left the village, the sky had hinted at rain. He lifted his face to the frozen flakes drifting lazily downward. “It is indeed. Though just a baby effort, perhaps it will come in earnest soon.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “As am I.” He shifted the brown paper-wrapped parcels in his arms. He had spent an alarming amount of coin on gifts for Sarah and Simon; perhaps he meant to make up for lost time. If he were fortunate, her pride wouldn’t prevent her from accepting his offerings. She lived entirely too frugally and deserved to have such things showered upon her from time to time.

  “Do you think Mama will go on a walk with us when we get home?” The hopeful tone in the child’s voice tightened Cecil’s chest.

  “We’ll have to convince her, for everyone should experience the first snowfall of the season.” He winked at the boy. “Don’t worry. She’ll come.”

  Simon huffed. “She’ll say no.” He stuck his candy back in his mouth.

  “We’ll see.”

  As soon as they stepped foot into the cottage, Simon ran up to Sarah, who puttered at the hearth. “It’s snowing, Mama. Come walk in it with us.” He tugged on her navy skirts.

  “Oh, sweetie, I shouldn’t,” she said as she turned about. “There is so much work yet to do before dinner...”

  The boy rolled his eyes. He glanced at Cecil. “I told you.”

  “Don’t give up yet.” Cecil put his packages on the table. Then he made his way across the floor, took one of Sarah’s hands and drew her over to the nearest window. “Look, Mrs. Presley. It is snowing, and your son has long waited for this day.” He peered down at her, one eyebrow cocked in challenge. “Accomplishing work isn’t nearly as rewarding as seeing him smile over this one little thing.”

  Her expression softened as she glanced at Simon, who’d wriggled his way between them to stand at the window too. Would she ever gaze upon him like that? Sarah sighed. “I’ll grab my cloak and gloves.” Then she shook her head and addressed Cecil. “You are but a child in some regards. Do you know that?”

  Like the rogue he was, he grinned. “At times, a little innocent faith and joy in the simple things is good for the soul.” When she wrinkled her nose and shook her head, he continued. “While we’re out there, we’ll gather some greenery. Might as well begin decorating, for I never did put much stock in waiting to do so until Christmas finally arrives. The season itself should help usher in the sense of the holiday.”

  Soon the three of them were tramping through the woods. Cecil rested the axe on his shoulder while Simon and Sarah walked hand in hand.

  It was a gay affair, for their laughter echoed through the trees and Simon’s constant stream of chatter kept them busy.

  “How do we know what green stuff we need, Major Stapleton?” the boy asked as he darted between him and Sarah.

  Cecil almost tripped over the little feet more than a few times, but he never lost his sense of patience. “We’re after evergreen boughs. They’ll fill the cabin with the most wonderful scents, and we’ll hang them over the doorframes and drape them over the mantle.” He grinned, feeling suddenly years younger. “What’s more, I located a box of baubles in the shed that shall help in the decorating.”

  “How splendid!” Simon jumped up and down.

  Even Sarah had excitement sparkling in her eyes. Nary a trace of worry reflected in those brown depths. She looked enchanting in her straw bonnet trimmed with navy ribbons with her shoulders dotted with snowflakes. One of the frozen flakes landed on her lower lip and he dearly wanted to kiss it away. When it melted on its own, he heaved a sigh and glanced away from her.

  Steady, Cecil. Don’t rush your fences.

  He located a stand of evergreen trees and began the task of chopping only the choicest of boughs as indicated by Simon and Sarah. Each one he handed to her, and soon, her arms were quite full of the bounty.

  “This is jolly fun, Major,” Simon said as he ran between the trees, dancing, skipping and generally enjoying the outing.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” His heart squeezed. How could one little boy upend his world so thoroughly?

  “When we return, I’ll heat some apple cider and you can both have a piece of spiced cake before dinner as a treat,” Sarah said, and the most beautiful smile curved her kissable lips.

  Cecil stared, first at her mouth and then at her as a whole. With the greenery in her arms, she resembled an elf who’d slipped from her home in the trees. He cleared his throat. “I’ve never been one to turn away the offer of cake.”

  “Major?” Simon tugged at the side of his greatcoat. “Do you think it will really snow more than this?”

  “Perhaps.” He ruffled the boy’s curls. “Have you wished for it again?”

  “Every night. May I find some boughs for myself? Little ones?”

  “I don’t see why not.” When the boy ran ahead, happily wriggling his form thro
ugh the trees, Cecil glanced at Sarah with a grin he felt sure came off as wicked.

  “What?” Questions clouded her eyes as she stared back.

  “I will remember you like this, arms filled with evergreens, shining eyes, and rosy cheeks. You’re a vision.”

  She snorted. “I don’t know what to say to such blatant flattery.” But her smile widened. “I’m not sure I’ve ever known a military man to pay such extravagant compliments.”

  “Men change.” He shouldered the axe. “When my last leave came up, I stayed back and let a man with a family have it,” he said quietly, finally understanding just what having such people in his life meant.

  “It was a nice gesture.” Admiration wove through her voice.

  The need to share more of himself grew strong as they walked, to make her understand how much deeper their lives were intertwined. “There were times when I thought my luck would always hold; I had no reason to doubt it would. Yet the war continued.” He forced a swallow into his suddenly tight throat. “I did terrible things to men who were like me. Their only crime was they were French, and if my buddies knew that Mother was French, they would have hated me.” He uttered a shuddering sigh. For the moment, he held those thoughts at bay. “During those dark times, I kept your memory in my mind, for if I kept my focus on you, I could tolerate some of the horrors.”

  She gasped. “Truly?”

  “Yes.” Was the color in her cheeks due to the cold or pleasure? “I survived countless nights in the frozen, horrid conditions, made it through the pain by remembering you and that night we spent together.”

  “Oh, Cecil. That’s such a sweet sentiment.” Sarah shifted the fir boughs in her arms and the pungent scent of pine wafted through the air. “I’ve thought about you through the years as well.”

  “Even though you let my memory—let me—go?” he asked in a soft voice.

  The blush in her cheeks deepened. “That was a lie, for I could never forget you, no matter how much I might have needed to. Besides, Simon is a constant reminder.”