Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
J uliet held the hood of her cloak with one hand, holding the garment closed about her with the other.
She envied the rabbit that she had released. It would have immediately found shelter beneath the verdant undergrowth. Eventually, it would reach the safety of a warren, waiting out the storm in the warm and dry.
But she had no such refuge.
The trees crashed and quivered in the wind and cold rain had soaked through the woolen cloak. The garment was clearly more for show than for hard wear, the water penetrating the loose weave easily. Her fingers were stinging where they were exposed to the cold water, as was her face when the wind snatched the hood from her grip and slapped her cheeks.
What worried her most was the ominous growls of thunder. That meant lightning. Juliet was very aware of the proximity of many tall trees, any one of which might attract the lightning. The fact that it had struck the tree and not her would do no good when it burst into flames as she passed. Or even exploded.
The worst of it was that her sense of direction had completely fled her. Keeping her head down beneath the hood meant she hadn’t been paying close attention to the direction in which the path she followed was taking her.
Now, there was no sign of sun behind the black storm clouds. She could not tell in which direction she faced or what direction Little Hinton lay. Trees clustered all around her, denying her a view of the landscape so that she might look for landmarks such as a church steeple. She might be wandering in the opposite direction, off into the wild countryside. It might be miles before she came across a habitation, let along a road. And in that instance, the combination of exposure and the weakness that was brought on by the illness might render her unconscious.
It was not inconceivable that a person in England in the nineteenth century could become lost and die of exposure. Without horse or transportation, the open countryside of England became a very big place.
She stopped, wondering for the hundredth time if this was a wise course of action. She could still return to Ravenscourt. No, impossible . She could not face Horatio’s doubt. Or Frances’ crowing victory as she hung on the Duke’s arm.
It was too much.
Resuming her march, her foot slipped on a patch of mud. Before she could recover her balance, Juliet found herself slipping to land on her side, catching herself with one hand. Rain assaulted her as the cloak was flapped open by the wind, the hood falling away.
The purse of coins dug into her hip where it lay beneath her. She got to her feet, wearily. Ahead and to the left, off the path, was a felled tree. Its roots had torn free of the ground and were exposed, leaving a substantial hole in the earth where they had once anchored the tree. Its considerable trunk and cluster of dead branches would provide some shelter and it should be safe from lightning, surrounded by so many upright trees.
Deciding it was sensible to wait out the storm somewhere that she would not get any wetter than she already was, Juliet hurried for the tree, brushing through dense undergrowth, and then crawling on hands and knees under a large bough that jutted from the stony bark. The ground was wet, but the downpour on her head was lessened to a series of drips.
Pulling her feet in and wrapping her arms about her knees, she tried to keep as much of her body as she could in the makeshift shelter. For a long while, she stared glumly out at the lonely woods. The castle was invisible, hidden by the trees. After a while, she decided to see how much Aunt Margaret had given her in the purse, just to pass the time. As she began to count through the coins, a voice sounded from behind her.
“ What a lot of pretty silver .”
She screamed.
It was a man’s voice and was followed by two heavy, mud-encrusted boots thudding to the ground beside her. The man had clearly been atop the fallen tree, watching her. Now, he crouched. In one hand, he held a long-bladed knife. He wore a leather jerkin and his thinning hair was plastered to his head by the rain. He was leering at Juliet with a lop-sided grin. In his other hand, he held a dark bottle which he raised to his lips and took a long draught from.
“What have we got here then,” he growled. “Little Miss Lady from the castle, eh? Lost are yer?”
“Just caught out by the rain,” Juliet replied as firmly as she could, “while walking in the woods. Foolish of me to get caught out like this.”
“Aye, foolish,” the man agreed. “You always take silver with you when you go out for a walk?”
His eyes went to the purse, then roamed over Juliet’s body. She could not tell which brought the greater gleam to his eyes.
“That is my business. Who are you and what do you want on this land? This is the Duke’s land.”
A spasm of anger contorted the man’s features. “Who I am, little Miss, is none of your concern. And this might be his high and mighty Duke’s land but it’s a free country. I’ll come onto this land if I want. And I’ll do whatever I choose once I’m here.”
With that, he stabbed the knife forward so that its blade thunked into the bough above Juliet’s head. She screamed involuntarily, not wanting to show this man fear but unable to contain it. He grinned, the evil smile of a predator whose prey was cornered.
“You the Duke’s lady, are yer?” he drawled.
“I am a house guest, yes. And the Duke will be very angry at your behavior,” Juliet tried.
“I bet he will. Have to catch me first though, won’t he? Now, how about you give me that purse to begin with.”
He reached for the purse, but Juliet lashed out with her foot, catching him on the wrist. The man hissed and fell back, clutching at his injured appendage. But he was soon back on his feet. Heaving the knife free of its temporary wooden sheath, he pointed it at her, grinning to show lopsided, yellowed teeth.
“Now then. Any more of that and you’ll regret it, Miss. Just hand over the purse.”
Juliet hefted it, and then hurled it at his face. It struck him on the temple, coins spilling out. He cried out louder this time, clutching at his head and cursing loudly.
Juliet knew that it was now or never.
She pushed herself out from under the bough and shoved at the man hard to move him out of the way. But he grabbed for her wrists as she did. Juliet found herself dragged off her feet and on top of the man who promptly rolled to gain the upper hand over her. She screamed again, kicking, and thrashing as he used his greater strength and weight to pin her wrists to the ground.
“Now I’ve got your money. And I’ve got you. A pretty little bird in the hand for old Tom, eh?”
Juliet opened her mouth and a wild, feral scream of helpless terror came out. Her wrists were pinned to the ground beside her head and this loathsome creature was straddling her. Her body felt exposed before him and her inability to help herself was both terrifying and utterly humiliating. She screamed from frustration and fear. From loathing and terror.
Then something came out of the bushes to slam into her attacker.
One moment, he was leering down at her, face lowering to hers until mere inches separated their mouths. Then he was gone.
Juliet looked up, seeing two figures rolling into the undergrowth. Tom cursed and swore. The other did not.
It was Horatio.
Juliet saw his face, framed by long hair disheveled during the struggle. His teeth were bared and his eyes implacable. Suddenly, Juliet found herself afraid for the man who had attacked her. Afraid for this creature calling himself Tom . Because she could see animal hate in Horatio’s eyes. Could see death.
Horatio raised a fist and brought it crashing down into Tom’s face. Then again. Again. He got to his feet, seizing Tom by the collar of his dirty shirt beneath the leather jerkin. The other man's legs were limp but Horatio’s strength was such that he dragged him onto his toes. Holding him upright with one clenched fist, Horatio pulled back the other. Juliet cried out as he swung and Tom’s head lashed to the side, blood flying from his mouth.
Then Horatio cast him aside into the undergrowth before turning, panting, to look at Juliet.
“Where did you think you were going?” he demanded.
“How did you find me?” she stammered.
“I tracked you. Do you know where you would have ended up if I hadn’t?”
“I was going to Little…” Juliet stammered.
“Little nowhere ! The direction you were following would have taken you out into the downs where there are no houses or even shepherd’s huts for miles. You could have been killed!”
He fell to his knees before her, angrily pushing wet hair out of her face. She lay on the ground before him, propped up on her arms, body becoming increasingly soaked by the downpour.
“Would you have cared? You have not spoken to me for days!” Juliet shouted.
“I am here, am I not?” Horatio replied. “I have tried to stay away from you but can only think of you swimming in the mere. Of how close my body was to yours in that water. Your cousin tells me you are a liar. But I cannot believe it!”
“I have not lied to you. Not once!” Juliet insisted. “I have kept my illness from my Aunt because I feared she would cast me out if she discovered it. They were afraid of my mother when she was ill, isolated her as though she was a leper.”
“You did not fear that I would have the same reaction?” Horatio asked.
“Of course I did! It would have broken my heart to see that fear in your eyes. But, I had to tell you. You decided we would be married so how could I not.”
“Did you decide to run away so that you didn’t have to watch me do the same?”
“No, because I did not want you to grieve when the illness takes me,” Juliet cried.
“I had a choice today. To let you go and accept your cousin’s hand or to come after you. I am here,” Horatio said simply.
For a long moment, their eyes locked together. The rain vanished. The wind and thunder became insubstantial. Time slowed. Juliet felt something she had not felt for a long time. A tiny spark within her. A fragile flame that burst into life, wavering weakly. Hope . She shook her head, trying to quench that spark.
“No, it cannot be. I will not make you a widower,” she said with determination, “go to Jane Bonel. Go to Carlisle and be happy!”
She pushed herself to her feet but Horatio caught her hand. He remained on his knees. Juliet stood over him, looking down. Slowly, he pressed the back of her hand to his lips. Juliet almost swooned from the sensation of his lips upon her skin. He was warm and that warmth seemed to enter her, to flow along her veins.
Hesitantly, she reached up with her free hand and held it over his head. Then she ran her fingers through his hair. She shuddered, muscles trembling involuntarily from sheer ecstasy.
Those two points of contact, his lips on her hand and her fingers in his hair, became the center of all of her senses.
From those points of touch, sensations reached out into her body. Shuddering pleasure. Tingling excitement.
Horatio raised his head, looking up at her. Then he was standing, towering over her, arms going about her waist to pull her close to him. Juliet’s heart hammered in her chest as though about to burst. She felt as though she could not catch her breath. Her cheeks felt hot and her hands cold. He took both of her hands into his own and she felt the warmth of his body flowing into her. He kissed her fingertips where they peeked out of the grip in which he held them. Juliet thought of being kissed by him, a little at a time, from her fingers to her palms to her wrists.
She gasped in delirium at the images that swam up in her imagination. Then all thought fled her mind as he lowered his face to hers and kissed her on the lips.