Chapter Ten
Oliver followed Ally as she strode from the parlour into the kitchen.
But damned if he could get the feel of her out of his mind.
Her slick and silky skin, on fire from his caresses – he wanted nothing more at that moment than to experience all of her passion while they were both naked and he was inside her.
There was no other way to consider the situation. A three-year-old wrong had to be righted, and Miss Allegra Carruthers had to realise she was his.
Convincing her of that fact, however, might be easier said than done.
He managed to hold his tongue, difficult though it was as he watched her bending down to rummage through lower drawers, and then leaning in sensual curves as she checked cupboard after cupboard, tapping on the panelling within, then sighing and moving on to the next one.
That damned dress of hers clung to every inch of her, and his breeches were getting tighter by the minute.
“I think I’ll check the privy,” he sighed.
She shot him a surprised look. “Really?”
“You never know.” He stared back at her.
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Very well then. Good luck.”
Knowing she assumed he needed to use the darned thing, he opened the back door and found a sizeable drift.
Fortunately, there was also a handy shovel nearby, so he worked off his inner heat, making a path for himself, ignoring the fact that he had no outer covering, just his shirt.
He had to wonder if Mrs Bartholomew had conjured it up specifically for him. He didn’t recall seeing it before.
But, ghostly origins or not, the thing was a help, and he gave the privy a cursory once-over.
His expectations of not finding anything in there were met in full.
So, more comfortable now, he returned to the inn before the cold really hit him, happy to close the door on the storm, which showed no signs of abating.
“How long do you think we’ve been here, Ally?” He stamped the snow off his boots and brushed his sleeves and shoulders, shivering just a little.
“Hours at least,” she answered. “Why?”
“It’s still snowing. I can’t recall a snowstorm this heavy lasting this long, can you?”
She thought about it. “No, not immediately. But then again, the weather is always unpredictable, isn’t it? There may well have been snowstorms that lasted weeks, but we just weren’t around at the time.”
He had to nod at that logical statement. “No luck?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I venture to say, with reasonable certainty, that this kitchen does not, in any place at all, contain what one might call treasure.”
“Fair enough. Same for the privy. So…upstairs?”
“Upstairs.”
They both paused at the start of the corridor, and she turned to him.
“I know it’s difficult to be logical about this entire situation, Oliver, but my sense is that we’ll do nothing more than waste time by searching these unused rooms. Only one has been prepared, if you want to call it that, for us to use. ”
“So you’d suggest we focus our attentions on that room?”
“Yes.”
“I agree.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You do?”
“Indeed I do. It’s the most sensible course of action.”
“Well.” She seemed taken aback. “I…I’m glad you concur.”
They started down the passageway. “You expected an argument?”
“I don’t know what I expected, to be honest.” She walked beside him. “I wouldn’t have been surprised had you argued, but I’m glad you didn’t.”
“We’re learning about each other this evening, aren’t we?” He absently voiced his thoughts.
“I suppose you could say that, yes.”
“Now I’m surprised,” he chuckled. “I’m not sure I expected an argument either, but I admit it’s nice not to have one.”
They paused at the doorway to the master suite.
“The fire’s stoked up,” commented Ally. “Bright and warm, at least.”
“And more candles, too.” He blinked at the several sconces which illuminated most of the room.
“Excellent. A much better chance of finding the treasure, wouldn’t you think?”
“I’d like to hope so.” He walked in. “Where shall we start?”
She pursed her lips as she stared around. “I still like the idea of something behind the wall. I know we’ve looked, but it bears repeating.”
“Just a minute…” He frowned at the bed. “The bedposts. I recall hearing someone talk of hiding things in a bedpost.”
They were ornate, certainly, so Oliver began touching, twisting, turning bits and pieces to see if any revealed a hiding place.
Ally, apparently, was happy to leave him to it, and walked to the wall behind the bed, beginning her routine of tapping, knocking on panels, and listening for any telltale hollow echo.
Both of them spent the next twenty minutes or so in unproductive frustration.
“These must have been carved from the trunk of a single and very obstinate tree.” He glared at the inoffensive furniture. “Not a single piece separates, moves, or betrays any inclination to hide anything.”
“And my knuckles are getting sore.”
“All right. The fireplace. There might be a loose brick or tile?”
They moved in tandem toward the warmth, ignoring the howling wind outside.
There was something comforting about being cocooned in a snug bedroom while a blizzard raged on nearly unnoticed.
Oliver glanced at Ally, appreciating the intensity she brought to the search.
She wasn’t a woman who entered into anything without giving it her all, that much was certain.
And she would love the same way, he knew. Perhaps that was what he’d sensed before when he’d thrown caution to the winds and offered for her hand.
Perhaps that’s what he’d felt most when she’d refused him. Disappointment. The knowledge that the opportunity to grasp something important might have just slipped from his hands.
Whatever it was, he was determined that this time he’d get it right.
“Oliver…”
He recalled himself. “What? Did you find anything?”
“A book,” she answered, holding it in carefully in both hands. “It wasn’t here before. I checked these bedside tables and their drawers, and they were empty.” Moving closer to a branch of candles, she opened it…and gasped aloud.
“Let me see,” he hurried over.
“Look…” She pointed to the title. “It’s the Book of Rowan.”
“It can’t be,” Oliver muttered, staring at the pages. “That’s impossible.”
Ally shot him a surprised glance. “Well, in that case I don’t know what I’m holding, because what I see says Book of Rowan, in clear letters.” She snorted. “Admit it. It’s real.”
“But…”
“And what’s more, there’s something handwritten in here…” She peered closer. “Can you make it out?”
He leaned over her shoulder, his scent drifting around her nostrils, teasing her and reminding her that all he wore was his shirt, having left his vest and jacket in the parlour.
For a few moments she indulged herself with the notion of slipping her hand beneath the white silk and finding that hot, firm chest of his.
“I think it’s a Latin phrase,” he frowned. “Sadly, my Latin is pretty rusty these days. But I believe it has to do with the solstice. I see the word sol here and sistere, which I think is where we get our solstice from…”
“Hmm. If it’s a book of magic, then that would be logical. I have read that believers think their powers are magnified around such times.”
“All nonsense, of course,” he answered, but with less certainty that she expected.
“I think, given what we’ve already experienced, we should probably restrain ourselves from such opinions at this point.”
Oliver looked slightly abashed. “Hmm. Well, all right. But still…” He gestured to the book. “I’m not sure I’m a believer yet.”
“We’ve talked to a…spirit, Oliver. An apparition. Unless you believe we’re both suffering from some very strange delusions caused by God knows what?”
He ran his hands through his hair, a gesture that surprised her, given his usual self-control.
“I don’t know, Ally. All this…” he waved his arms around. “All this is beyond rational explanation. I don’t like things I can’t explain.”
“Which makes me wonder why you offered for me,” she quipped, her grin taking the sting out of her words.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m ignoring that statement. Let’s get back to the book. Are we supposed to…to…cast a spell or something, to find this treasure?”
“I doubt it,” she replied firmly. “Neither of us have any idea how to go about such a thing, and I’m sure your great-grandfather wouldn’t expect it.
” She glanced down again. “My Latin is very rusty too, so if any of the incantations or whatever is in here require that language, we’re not going to get very far. ”
She closed the book and stroked a hand over the cover. “It’s beautifully bound, I will say.”
He touched it as well. “You’re right. A soft leather, I’d guess…”
The instant his hand met Ally’s on the surface of the book, it began to vibrate.
“Oliver…”
“I feel it…”
A tiny ball of light shot up from the cover and headed toward the fireplace, bursting into a thousand tiny sparkles over the mantelpiece. They vanished almost immediately, but left both Ally and Oliver gasping.
There, on the shining wood over the fire, were four gleaming chalices.
“D’you see?” whispered Ally. “Two are like the ones Mrs Bartholomew showed us. The other two – ”
“Are bigger,” he finished for her.
“They are the men’s chalices, I’ll wager,” she still spoke in hushed tones. “Oh Heavens – ”
“No need to be afraid, young lady.”
The voice from behind them made both Ally and Oliver jump like startled rabbits. She pressed a hand to her heart, afraid it was about to leap out of her bodice. Oliver’s arms went instantly around her, bands of iron holding her tightly as the two of them spun to face this new…whatever it was.
“There you are, lad. I knew you’d work it all out.” The spectral figure leaning against the footboard and grinning at them, nodded in satisfaction.
“How…what…who…?” Oliver’s voice was a croak.
“I’m your great-grandfather, lad.”
“You?” Ally found her voice. “You’re the Baron? Arthur Bennett?”
“The very same, young lady. And very pleased to make your acquaintance.” He bowed politely.
“But…but…” Oliver struggled.
Ally managed to loosen his grip enough to move. She dipped a polite curtsy. “My Lord,” she murmured.
“Lovely. Quite lovely.” The figure stared at Oliver. “Your great-grandmother will be most pleased with your choice, young Oliver.”
“I…” he cleared his throat. “I’m having a bit of difficulty with all this, great-grandfather.”
The spirit sighed, his pleasant face reflecting the sound.
“Poor lad. It is all a bit much, isn’t it?
But what’s one to do when the planets align so close to the solstice?
” He paced a little. “So very close. And to Christmas as well. Here you are…just where I need you to be, and with the woman who is your perfect match.” He beamed.
“Er…” Ally bit her lip.
“Oh, I know, I know. You two are still sniffing around each other like a couple of hunting dogs in heat.”
“Now just a minute,” Oliver found his voice. “That could be construed as quite an offensive comment, you know.”
“It could, I suppose,” Lord Arthur considered the matter for all of three seconds. “But I’m dead, lad. I can say whatever I damn well want. You can’t put a bullet through me, or engage in a sword fight with me and slice me in two, so you’ll just have to put up with my plain speaking, won’t you?”
“It’s all right, Oliver. We mustn’t take offence. Remember that language has changed over the generations. We must allow your great-grandfather some licence when it comes to his expressions.”
“Hmph.”
“Oh, don’t be such a paltry fellow, Oliver. You’ve my blood running through your veins, and it’s past time you took the right woman as your wife.”
Now it was Ally’s turn. “Um, forgive the observation, my Lord, but I do have something to say about it, you know. Yes, times have changed, and now women are allowed a little more leeway than they were in your time.” She paused and thought about what she’d just said. “Not a lot, I’ll admit, but some.”
Lord Arthur shook his head. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it? A damn good thing.” He threw up his hands dramatically. “And you still haven’t found the treasure. What on earth are the two of you doing, anyway?”