Running Scarred (7 page)

“What about your hat? Anton has one outside for you.”

He laughed grimly.

“Huh! What’s the point? If anything falls on my head, it can’t possibly do any more damage can it.
Just mind where you tread.” He stomped forwards, kicking a few shards of glass out of the way and she followed quickly. He shone his torch around in the gloom and she moved away from the shadows, closer to his shoulder.

She could smell the woodsy, herby, fragrance of him again and she breathed it in deeply. It was warm and delicious, safe and comforting. She leaned in closer, closing her eyes as she pulled in another long breath.

“Are you okay?” His voice was quizzical in the darkness beside her and she opened her eyes quickly as she realized how oddly she was behaving. He was staring down at her, his deep blue eyes just visible but his expression unreadable in the gloom.

She almost choked and her voice shook.

“Just a bit musty I think.” She covered herself quickly, her heart pounding in her chest.

He sniffed loudly. All he could smell was her wonderful intoxicating fragrance. He tried not to notice it.

“Can’t smell anything myself. Maybe it is the dry rot. I expect I’m more used to it.” He made his tone indifferent though it was last thing he was feeling.

“Yes, you’re probably right.” She agreed. She closed her eyes once again. There was no smell of rot. It was him, his scent, his body. Her heart fluttered unevenly. She held herself as still as possible, trying to regain some sense of composure. And then she felt the air move gently as he walked away from her. She opened her eyes and stared at his tall figure. His broad shoulders moved fluidly, the muscles just visible beneath his shirt, his slim waist twisting gently as he made his way to the
centre of the hall. She shivered all over, her whole body reacting to the overwhelming feeling of power that he exuded.

He spoke over his shoulder.

“Come on. We might as well go upstairs. We can only go to the first floor as after that it’s mainly sky. You might as well see the worst of it first.” He was already on the wide staircase and clomping up the first half dozen treads. He stopped when he didn’t hear her follow.

He turned to see her staring at him again,
her wide eyes travelling all over him, touching every inch of his body. Her lips were turned up at the corners. Not a full smile, just a look of…He didn’t know what it was a look of. He looked at her curiously, then in astonishment.

It was a look of satisfaction.

That was the only way to describe it. She looked like a Cheshire Cat. The one that got a whole big bowl full of cream. He felt a strange thrill run through his body, flames of desire fuelling his whole frame.

And then he scowled at himself for being so stupid. It must be a trick of the light. She must just like the staircase or some other feature of the Chateau. There was nothing sa
tisfactory about him to look at. Maybe a few years ago it might have been different, but not now. He cleared his throat, surprised at how dry it felt, and was about to speak when a shaft of sunlight shone through the still open doorway. Suddenly the whole hallway was lit up with thousands of sparkling lights.

It looked as though she were standing at the
centre of her own universe, with a million stars held in her gravity.

“Wow!” He breathed quietly, as if not wanting to break some magical spell. “What the hell is doing that?” His eyes were darting this way and that, following the mass of twinkling sparkles. Then he stopped as he saw her radiant smile. It was brighter and more beautiful than any of the lights
flashing about him. He gasped at her beauty, unable to take his eyes off her, and, shaking with emotions he hadn’t dared to want ever again, he had to steady himself on the rotting handrail.

She smiled another breathtaking smile up at him.

“It’s just my hairclip. Isn’t it lovely? My brother gave it to me for my birthday. The stones are reflecting the light.” She reached over her shoulder and pulled the end of her plait. The sparkling lights danced about the room as she twirled around, waggling the clip in the sunlight. They spun over the gloomy walls and danced on his denim clad legs as he stood on the stairs.

Patrick stood breathless, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, the blood pounding through his veins.

And then she covered the clip with her hand. The room and his heart were plunged into darkness again.

Patrick blinked away the riotous emotions running through his whole being.

“Huh! Well at least you know what the place will look like if you turn it into a disco tech.” He muttered frostily and was about to carry on up the stairs when he stopped. He turned to look back at her, suddenly curious, as she hurried to catch him up.

“How did you know about my leg? And how come you don’t seem to notice my face?” His tone was almost accusing.

She jogged up the next couple of steps to stand beside him. She smiled radiantly again and gazed, unafraid, into his blue eyes as she scoffed.

“Of course I noticed it. I’m not blind.” She was completely unembarrassed. “My brother had both of his legs blown off three years ago in Afghanistan, along with most of his face. If he hadn’t had the best body
armour, he would have been killed. Some fourteen year old kid had been persuaded to become a suicide bomber. Terrible thing to make a child do. I guessed something like that had happened to you too. You look kind of the same as David but not so…well, not so bad, but of course, I don’t mean bad, because David doesn’t look bad. He just looks like David now and not David before. I didn’t know what you looked like before, so you just look like you to me. And just so you know, I think you look great actually. Does that make sense?” She looked up at him, her face twisted as though she were thinking hard.

Patrick stared at her in complete amazement. She was so open. He had never heard anybody describe him like that since the bomb. He had avoided people so
much, he rather hoped they wouldn’t be able to describe him at all. He shook his head.

“Huh! No not really. My face looks like shit, and the rest of my body is loathsome. If your brother got hit worse than me, I feel sorry for him.” He stomped up the last flight of stairs, leaving her
trailing behind him.

She was silent as she tried to catch him up. She couldn’t fathom his mood swings. One second he seemed light hearted and happy and the next a bewildering hulk of glowering hardness. The anger was rolling out of him at that moment, but it didn’t seem to be directed at her. Perhaps it was at himself. It was impossible to guess.

They reached the upper floor and he guided her through the rooms to the front of the Chateau. He delighted in showing her the curl of smoke, wafting through the forest, from his own chimney, and the break in the tall trees at the head of the ravine. Then he stomped furiously back along the gallery to the staircase, begrudgingly taking her back down stairs, through the great hall again and round to the back stairs and the cellar.

She
ignored his wavering moods. She was happy just to be in his presence. Every time his deep voice growled at her in the dim light, her whole body shivered in delight. Several times his hand brushed her arm and heat burned through the fabric of her jumper. She breathed in his wonderful manly scent and kept as close to him as possible.

The cellar was
pitch black. Patrick shone the flashlight over the damp, grimy walls. At some point in time they had been covered in wildly extravagant wallpaper. Now it hung limp and mouldering, peeling away from the plaster and falling onto the tiled floor.

She kicked a curling sheet out of their path.

“Ghastly pattern. I can’t imagine having to look at that all day.” She murmured as they passed through a long corridor with rooms off each side. He shone the torch briefly into each room. Some were bigger than others. She walked into one that appeared to have a small window at the top of the outside wall. She reached up, rubbed away the festoon of cobwebs, and peered out. She could see a pair of legs swinging on the wall outside, feet kicking at the gravel.

“Not much of a view either.” She giggled as Anton dragged his toe in the dirt and swore flamboyantly in French at the scuff on his shoe. She glanced back into the room and then outside again. “I wonder what these rooms were used for. They’re so dark and if they had bars they’d look almost like prison cells.”

Patrick came into the room behind her and stood looking down at her. Her face was still tilted up towards the slither of daylight. Her skin looked almost luminescent in the soft light.

There was a cobweb falling from her hat across her forehead. He pulled the hat from her head and placed it on the windowsill,
then he reached up a finger to lift the thick web from her hair and face. His fingertip touched her skin on her forehead. She didn’t flinch. She just stared back up at him, her eyes wide and sparkling.

He could barely breathe, the air felt almost
thick in his lungs. He pulled back a fraction, needing some distance, and dropped his hand to his side.

“I think they must have been dormitories
from when the place was a mental home or maybe treatment rooms. I came down here once before. There are old bed frames and mattresses in some of the other rooms. All rotten and pretty uncomfortable looking. I wouldn’t have fancied being shut up in here.” His voice was soft again, almost a whisper.

She lifted a pale hand to his
wide shoulder and brushed gently at his thick cotton shirt.

“No,
me either, must have been awful...” She hesitated for just a moment and then carried on. “You have cobwebs on you too.” She said gently as her hand came up to the unscarred side of his face and she wiped her thumb lightly across his cheekbone. She was very close to him, her breath cool and sweet.

He stood very still, his hands clenched
tightly at his sides as her fingertips touched his skin. His heart was crashing against his ribcage, his blood racing through his veins so fast he could hear a rushing noise in his ears. He couldn’t stop himself. He lifted his hand again and touched her plaited hair.

His voice sounded as soft as the gossamer threads wafting in the air around them.

“They get everywhere. This place hasn’t been cleaned for years.” He ran his fingertips over the side of her face, feeling the contours of her cheekbones as fire leapt through his body at her tender warmth.

She hadn’t moved away from his touch. She hadn’t moved at all. She was still staring up at him. He could hear her fast, shallow breaths. Her lips were just parted over her teeth and he could see them glisten moistly. Her top lip quivered a fraction, just a tiny, involuntary flicker.

Realization suddenly flooded over him. His whole body leapt with anticipation. She wanted this. She wanted him to kiss her. Her desperation was almost as acute as his own. He bent his head, completely unable to resist, wanting to taste her more than anything in the whole world. Her rose coloured lips were just a whisper from his, warm and succulent, trembling with desire. He could feel their heat, could taste her delicious breath in his mouth, he hesitated for a second longer wanting to prolong this moment, this torture, wanting it to last as long as possible. Her eyelids closed slowly. He breathed a deep sigh of longing, shut his own eyes and bent even further, his lips brushing the outer corner of her beautiful mouth.    

There was a loud crack as the pane of glass above them shattered and his eyes flew back open.

A small stone clattered to the floor between them and Ellen jumped back in surprise. She looked as though she was going to faint. Patrick leapt forwards to catch her, but she swivelled out of his arms towards the broken window.

“God Anton!
Be careful, you nearly hit us.” She shouted up through the small hole in the glass.

There was a mumbled response and then more grating on stones. Anton’s face appeared at the tiny window. He knelt down and squinted at the broken window then peered around in the gloom.

“Mon Dieu! What an ‘orrible place. All those spider webs, ugh! They must be monstrous, crawling creatures. You must come out now Patrick, whatever are you thinking of, taking a lady into such a disgusting cave? Are you nearly done? It’s getting very late for lunch.” He was backing up, moving away from the window as he dusted his knees.

Patrick
glanced back towards Ellen. She was looking down at herself, brushing more cobwebs from her jacket. Even in the dark, he could make out the deep flush on her cheek. She was obviously embarrassed now. What on earth had he been thinking? She didn’t want to be kissed by him, what beautiful woman would? He must have been delusional. He aimed his voice towards the window.

“We’ll be about five minutes Anton. We’re all but done here now.” His tone was harsh and then he was silent.

Ellen stopped brushing her jacket and looked up at him in the gloom. Her pulse was still racing in her body, but she felt a cold shiver as she watched his face. His eyes had been burning with desire, but now they were as cold as ice. His lips had been as soft as melted chocolate, but now they were as firm as set concrete. His shoulders had been surrounding her, deep and caressing, enclosing her in warmth and security, but in less than a second everything had changed. He was as stiff and unyielding as granite. She couldn’t fathom his expression at all. She must have been mistaken his intensions. Her imagination was running wild. Maybe he hadn’t been about to kiss her at all, he was just getting the cobwebs out of her hair. That was what she had felt brush over her lips, just a silken cobweb. She blushed even deeper at her error.