Damn it, he wasn’t used to agonies of doubt—over anything, least of all a woman. But then, Bess Farrar was the first woman who had really mattered. It was impossible to plot his course with his usual unshakable élan.
“There’s some mistletoe.” She pointed to a high branch. “We’re lucky to see any at all. It usually doesn’t grow this far north.”
If she’d been like every other lighthearted conquest, he’d make a joke about kissing her—then kiss her. Instead he crossed to cut down her find, using a saw attached to a long stick.
“Well spotted,” he said, deriding how jolly and avuncular he sounded when he felt so horribly hot and bothered. “I haven’t gone out after Christmas greenery since I was a boy.”
Bess regarded him curiously as she collected the tangle of leaves and berries from the snowy ground and packed it onto the cart. After a couple of hours, they’d fallen into an efficient work pattern. She was cheerful company. But he already knew that from sharing the Herculean task of setting up the house. She was cheerful company with everyone. It was a humiliating admission, but Rory reached a point where he was ready to go on his knees and beg for some sign that he was special.
He knew he was unreasonable. They’d met less than a week ago, and while he’d immediately recognized the flaring attraction, she was much less used to dalliance. The day after he’d kissed her, she’d hinted that she’d be happy to do it again. But since then, she’d backed away from anything overtly flirtatious. Perhaps closer acquaintance made her decide she didn’t want to kiss him after all.
Right now, he’d cut off his left leg for one word of encouragement. For some physical contact she initiated, he’d cut off both legs.
“What did you do on the ship at Christmas?”
He shrugged. “Nothing on this scale. We’d have something nice for dinner and share out extra rum. I’d read the nativity story from the Bible to the crew, and if the men were keen, they’d sing a few carols. And of course, it all depended on weather and the enemy. Once gales off the Azores kept us jumping for a fortnight. Nobody did much celebrating that year.”
“What an adventurous life you’ve led.” Her expression was wistful. “You might find things at Penton Wyck dull in comparison.”
He picked up the sledge’s handle, trudging a few yards deeper into the woods. “It hasn’t been dull so far.”
“You’ve arrived at a busy time. Things go quiet now until spring.”
“Then I look forward to enjoying my spectacular new house and getting to know my tenants.” One tenant in particular.
She stopped to cut a few branches off a holly bush. Balancing his long-handled implement on the sledge, he crossed to help and noticed her shivering. “It’s getting colder. And darker. Perhaps we should go back.”
He made the offer reluctantly, because despite the constant hum of frustration, he was enjoying himself. Tramping through the sno
w with a bonnie lassie and the promise of a blazing fire when he returned home made for a braw afternoon. The scent of the dormant woods sharpened his senses, and the air was crisp as a new apple.
Bess peered up through bare branches at the leaden sky. “We probably should. The weather is closing in.”
As if to confirm the wisdom of returning, a gust of icy wind whistled through the trees. Rory took charge of the sledge. “Hold on to me so you don’t slip.”
She immediately hooked her gloved hand through his arm. His blood warmed despite the worsening chill.
After slogging through the intensifying gale for an arduous hour, Rory realized that they were much further from home than he’d thought. And now they contended with snow as well as wind. “It’s a perfect day for rum punch. I’ll make some when we get in.”
Bess smiled, but he noted the worry in her eyes as they pressed on through thickening snow. When he glanced behind him, their tracks had completely disappeared.
“The villagers will enjoy that.”
Rory blinked away snowflakes sticking to his eyelashes. “And you?”
“I’m one of the villagers.” She shifted closer. He hoped it wasn’t just because the temperature plummeted. “I’m sorry. I’ve brought you too far.”
Not far enough, he thought wryly.
The weather deteriorated with alarming swiftness. Only minutes ago, he’d clearly seen the path ahead. Now even the huge oaks on either side loomed as gray, indistinct shadows.
“We need to find shelter until the worst of it is over,” he said, shouting through the blasting wind, even though Bess struggled on right beside him. “Is there anywhere?”
“There’s a woodcutter’s hut near here, if we haven’t wandered too far out of our way.”
He abandoned the sledge and grabbed Bess’s hand. Be damned if having found her, he’d let her freeze to death. “Let’s find it.”
They forced their way forward against the wind. It made a mockery of his thick clothing, slicing through to freeze his skin. He angled Bess behind him so he took the brunt, but he knew from her uneven progress that she found it hard going, even using him as a windbreak.