Chapter 16 #3
Why had he not thought of this earlier? He stopped walking forward and took a step towards Arabella and let go of her hand.
Still holding the reins attached to the bridle, he wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up.
He put his mouth to the side of her head, where he thought her ear might be, under the scarf and the bonnet.
“I’m going to put ye on the horse!” he shouted.
She nodded.
He lifted, and she reached her arms up, and he boosted, and she was astride, the top half of her body lying flat on the horse’s back, her free arm clutching the horse’s flanks.
The horse did not seem bothered.
Alasdair put his hand on her stockinged calf. With no saddle, with her so exhausted already, he must make sure she did not fall from the horse.
And was it so very wrong of him to take note of the fact that his hold on her leg constituted new territory?
He stepped forward, and the horse stepped forward with him.
After what seemed to be hours but might have only been minutes, he saw a light ahead.
And he could see Ewen MacEwen and Paterson—or at least he assumed it was they—and the three horses.
He came up behind them and recognized they were at a lodge or a gatehouse of some kind, and there was another man with a lantern, taking the bridle of one of the horses and leading Paterson and the other two horses away.
Ewen, relieved of his horse, pushed his way to Alasdair.
“Ye are to take Miss Lovelock into the lodge, Doctor! We will get the horses to the stable!”
“Where are we?”
“’Tis the house of a lord!”
Ewen put his hand out, and Alasdair nodded and handed him the reins of the horse he had been leading.
He turned to the horse’s flank and put his hands under Arabella’s arms and slid her off.
Her eyes were open above the scarf and looking at him, and she linked her arms around his neck, and he was able to get one arm under her knees and the other under her back.
He began trudging through the snow towards the lit windows in front of them.
Her arms were strong around his neck. She was holding herself up. Those were good signs.
Pushing against a wooden door, he saw a small room with a stone floor and a large room beyond. There was light and warmth. They were inside the lodge.
He put Arabella down on a low stool by the door and was glad to see she sat up straight and looked at him with her blue eyes. He closed the door and knelt down at her feet, taking off his hat and pushing the tartan scarf from his face.
“Are ye all right?”
She nodded, and he unwound the brown scarf from around her head and face, noticing for the first time that his fingers were numb and clumsy in his gloves.
The bottom half of her face appeared, and although she was pale, she was not blue. She smiled, and when he leaned forward to kiss her lips, they were not as cold as he had feared they would be.
“Ewen and Paterson have gone with the lodgekeeper to stable the horses.”
“Good,” she said. And he was so happy to hear her voice, he kissed her again. And again.
He was kneeling in water. He looked down at the stone floor, and there was a puddle there that had not been there before.
She cleared her throat. “We are melting.”
“Aye.” He grinned and got off his knees and into a crouch.
“I want,” she said and lifted her dress, and his breath hitched for a moment. She went on, “I want to get the snow off my stockings before it melts more, and they get too wet.”
He helped her, using his gloved hands to pick off the pieces of snow that clung to her stockings and her skirt and her petticoat. And if at times his hand lingered on her stocking-covered calf or ankle, she did not say anything.
“Where are we, Dr. Andrews?”
“I assume we are in England, in Northumberland. Shall we take off our boots and find the fire?” he asked. “I dinnae think the lodgekeeper will mind if we avail ourselves of that before he returns.”
He took off his gloves and had to laugh at how he fumbled at her bootlaces. He blew on his fingers.
“Give them here,” she said, and, after unbuttoning her own coat, she took his hands and placed them by the sides of her breasts, under her own arms and held them there, pressed between her upper arms and her trunk.
At first, he only had the perception of returning sensation. Then warmth. Then an acute awareness of the swell of her flesh next to his palms.
Only this morning, she had put his hand on her breast for the first time. Now both of his hands were almost on her breasts.
Very slowly, he slid his hands towards the front of her body, his palms following the delicious curve of the sides of her bosom.
Now it could be said her breasts were actually being cupped by his hands.
These lovely, miraculous, generous bits of flesh.
Even encased in what he knew must be at least three layers—dress, stays, chemise—he could feel the heat and the softness.
And very gently, he now dared to apply a bit of pressure.
Her body twitched slightly, but she did not pull away from his hands. He had been looking at his own hands and their placement, but now he looked up at her face, to gauge her reaction to his boldness. Her mouth hung open a bit, and her gaze was far away. Then her eyes settled on him.
“I suspect your hands have been adequately warmed.”
He could not read her. Had he ventured too far? Almost certainly, yes. Feeling chastened and the rising heat of a blush on his face, he withdrew his hands and applied himself to the laces of her boots. “I’m sorry, Miss Lovelock.”
She spoke over his bent head. “No, you are very good, Dr. Andrews, to warm my bosom as well.”
He kept his head down, working on her wet laces, hiding his grin from her.
In just a few minutes, he had her in front of a good blaze in a cozy room, both of them on a bench close to the hearth, feeling the heat on their faces, putting their stockinged feet close to the fire. She took her bonnet off and her hair glinted gold in the firelight.
“When the lodgekeeper comes back, we will find out what kind of accommodations there are to be had for ye, Miss Lovelock.”
“I’m not worried,” she said and folded her hand into his. “I was never worried.”