The Gentle Wind's Caress (15 page)

Gritting his teeth, Ethan glared at his oldest friend. ‘Hamish, you are a valued friend, but you have no right to speak-’

‘Where is she?’ Hamish strode to the door.

Startled, Ethan went after him. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m going to call on her. I must see for myself what spell she has put you under.’

Ethan grabbed his arm, stopping him in the entrance hall. ‘You’ll do no such thing.’

‘I have to wonder at what hold she has over you. Won’t she lift her skirts until you’ve married her, is that it?’

Anger licked at his insides. ‘You are pushing the boundaries of our friendship.’

Hamish, his face pale, blue eyes pleading, looked at him. ‘I can’t let you make this mistake. Rachel will never forgive me. I cannot let you ruin your life.’

‘Ethan?’ Clarice stood at the top of the stairs dishevelled with her hair hanging in long childish braids. She leant her bulk against the banister and puffed as though she had run a mile when she’d only walked across the landing. One hand held a jar of boiled sweets.

Ethan hung his head and swore.

Hamish stepped towards the bottom of the staircase. ‘Good day, Clarice. You might not remember me. I’m Hamish MacGregor.’

‘MacGregor?’

‘My brother, John married Ethan’s sister and the three of us left for Australia six years ago.’

She wrinkled her nose, obviously trying to remember. ‘Are you staying with us?’

‘Yes. Just for one night. Ethan and I are going for a ride. Shall I see you at dinner?’

She stepped back and looked over her shoulder towards the bedrooms. ‘No, I don’t think so. I’m not feeling too well at the moment.’ For one so large she turned swiftly and disappeared back along the landing.

Hamish looked at Ethan and his smile barely lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘It is an impossible situation.’

Emotion clogged Ethan’s throat. ‘No, not impossible. Just difficult.’

***

Isabelle took the golden loaves out of the oven and dashed them out onto the table. Bertie’s eyes followed her every move and she couldn’t help but grin at him. ‘They are too hot to cut.’ She turned them upright in short movements. ‘You aren’t hungry again, are you?’

The boy shook his head but seemed hesitant to admit it.

She sighed and took the lid off the jar in the middle of the table. ‘Here, have one barley sugar and then go and help Hughie and your father.’

Bertie took the sweet and ran out of the kitchen. Isabelle stared after him as he passed the window and ran across the yard. Six days. Her father and new brother had been at the farm for only six days, yet Hughie and Aaron Gibson had formed an immediate bond. This did not surprise her really, for Hughie had a soft heart. And their father might be older since his departure and his good looks may have dimmed a little, but he could still charm the birds from the trees.

It had been a tight squash, fitting them into the house, but they managed to find enough space to accommodate two extra people.

She threw another log onto the fire and closed the oven door. Bread was all she was to bake today. Four pies sat on the shelf in the larder, unsold from Saturday’s market. Marge Wilmot’s lies had begun again the moment she set up her stall table, but at least the woman herself didn’t come to physical violence this time. Isabelle ignored her threats and fist waving from the end of the market. Hughie and their father kept close by and so the day passed without further incident.

Isabelle sat at the table and rested her chin in her hand. Ethan came to mind and her heart swelled. He arrived again yesterday after an absence of a week. With him he’d brought his friend, Mr MacGregor, who was staying at Bracken Hall. MacGregor had studied her as though she was the first woman he’d ever seen. Instantly she knew that Ethan had spoken to him about her. She didn’t know what to make of the tall Scotsman. She sensed his protectiveness towards Ethan and his disagreement about her.

Thankfully, MacGregor’s scrutiny of her was cut short when she introduced them both to her father and Bertie. Ethan kept his shock in check, but she didn’t miss his meaningful glances. They stayed for an hour, talking with Hughie about the animals, checking the lambs and finally asked her opinion about the small herd. Plans were made for the spare cows to be taken to market next week.

She glanced at the small, tin carriage clock on the mantle above the fire. Ten minutes to noon. As Ethan mounted his horse on leaving yesterday, he had bent low to whisper in her ear. ‘Meet me below Lee Bank at the edge of the wood tomorrow. Midday.’ Her legs nearly buckled at his closeness. She didn’t reply and watched him ride out of the yard with her skin alive with awareness.

Now, as she twisted the cloth in her hands, she watched the minutes tick by on the clock. Lee Bank. Ethan. Alone. The words sounded in rhythm to the clock’s ticking. No. She couldn’t go. He disturbed her senses, filled her mind and body with longing she couldn’t control. She couldn’t be his mistress.

One meeting couldn’t be so harmful could it?

Abruptly, she jumped up and ran into the scullery. She washed her hands and face, dried them and then tidied her hair. After taking off her apron, she slipped off her house shoes and put on her boots. Puffing slightly, her blood singing in her veins, she grabbed her black shawl and tossed it around her shoulders. In the next moment, she was out the door and striding up the yard.

‘Belle? Where are you going?’ Hughie held a dead rabbit in one hand.

‘Just for a walk. I’m tired of being in the kitchen.’ She didn’t pause, for if she balked just slightly she’d not have the courage to go.

Hughie smiled and held up the rabbit. ‘Dinner.’

‘Lovely. Skin it and put it in the pot. I’ll see to it later.’

‘Be careful.’

She waved and glided out through the gate. Ethan. He spurred her on. Invisibly calling her, beckoning. She lifted up her skirts and ran across the fields to the stile. Once on Draper’s Lane she slowed, not wanting to be out of breath when she met him. At Lee Bank, she entered the wood. The dark coolness halted her for a moment before she once more lifted her skirts and tripped lightly down the slope, winding between thick, fungus covered trunks. She skidded a few times on loose dirt as the ground sloped sharply closer to Hebden Water. She could hear it now, bubbling and churning, swollen from the melting snow high on the moors.

Out of breath, she stumbled into the sunshine again and walked to the bank. The sunlight reflected off the water like a thousand stars. She scanned the area, looking for him, but there was nothing save the birds wheeling from either wood on each side of the river. Insects chirped in the grass and a butterfly quivered near her skirts. Isabelle frowned and steadied her breathing.
Where was he?

She followed the water and rounded a slight bend. Ethan stood throwing pebbles into the river, further away his horse cropped at the grass by the water’s edge. He was unaware of her presence and she took the opportunity to study him. He wore dark brown cord trousers with a lighter shade jacket. A cream shirt showed every time the jacket gaped open when he raised his arm to throw. Warmth spread from the pit of her stomach throughout her whole body. As always, the urge to reach for him, to touch and caress him consumed her like a blaze. She shouldn’t have come. This was madness.

He bent to select another pebble and caught sight of her. Slowly, he straightened and smiled. Within the space of a heartbeat he was in front of her. ‘You came.’

She nodded, not able to do anything else but gaze at him.

He took her hand and led her into the shadow of the trees where Gyp lay panting and wagging his tail.

Her eyes widened at the picnic before her. Chicken, ham, cheese, crusty bread, pickled pears, macaroons and what looked like a jug of cider, all spread out on a thick woollen blanket, beneath which was a canvas sheet to protect them from the cold ground. Everything was as it should be and it took her breath away.

‘Will you join me?’ He swept his hand over the blanket clearing it from imaginary dust.

She answered his question with a tender smile and sat down, tucking her feet under her. Gyp sidled over to her and nudged her hand for a pat. ‘How are you, boy?’ She tickled under his chin. Content, Gyp flopped down beside her, resting his large head on his paws. Isabelle turned her attention to Ethan. ‘It all looks wonderful.’

‘I hope you are hungry?’ He lay on his side opposite her, stretching his longs legs out towards the river. ‘I wanted it to be perfect, for you.’

‘Why?’

He poured a glass of ale and passed it to her. ‘I want to show you how much you mean to me.’

She swallowed nervously. ‘This changes nothing.’

His gaze pierced her heart. ‘I want you to be happy. I can make you happy. If you let me.’

‘No, you cannot.’ She dropped her lashes and peered at the drink in her hand. ‘It was silly of me to come here.’

‘But you did.’

‘Something overcame me. I couldn’t resist it.’ She shrugged and gazed at the water. ‘We are wrong to do this.’

‘I see nothing wrong in loving someone.’

She whipped her head back and stared at him. ‘You can’t love me. You don’t know me.’

An ironic smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘I adore you, but,’ he opened his arms to encompass the picnic, ‘all this is so we can learn more about each other.’ He picked up a plate and forked slices of chicken and ham on to it. ‘We’ll talk and eat. Nothing more. Agreed?’

Isabelle swallowed the lump of emotion blocking her throat. ‘Just talk?’

He nodded, his eyes bright with subdued mischief. ‘Absolutely.’

The look that passed between them was full of charged understanding. Isabelle raised her chin accepting the challenge, and a challenge it would be. To be so close to him and not give in to the temptation of touching would be torture, but she would do it if he could.

‘I want to know all about you.’ He passed her plate over. ‘And I hope you want to learn about me?’

‘I do, yes.’ She nibbled a piece of ham and he sucked in a breath as he watched her. She lifted her glass towards him. ‘To friendship.’

He grinned at her salute and lifted his own. ‘To us.’

***

Isabelle threw her head back and laughed. She gripped Ethan’s waist tighter as Copper surged on, eating up the ground, thundering over Wadsworth Moor. Sheep darted away bleating in fright. The wind teased her hair from her hat and her skirts billowed out like a flag behind them. She closed her eyes, enjoying the thrill of the ride, the closeness of Ethan.

They had met again two days after the picnic and walked through the wood, just talking, learning a little more about each other. Not once did Ethan touch her in anyway that was unchivalrous. He helped her over tree roots or fallen branches, but other than that he remained a good three feet from her at all times. For over an hour they talked, before parting with a promise to meet today at noon.

It was Sunday. The surrounding mills were quiet and deserted. Isabelle’s heart fluttered a little at the risk they took, but it was over-shadowed by the prospect of spending time with Ethan. She met him on Horse Bridge that crossed Crimsworth Dean Beck. Thankfully, at that time no one was using the old Limer’s Gate packhorse trail. On arriving, she found Ethan mounted on Copper and Gyp nowhere in sight. At first she thought he was to tell her that something kept him from their meeting and he would have to leave.

Instead, he slipped his foot out of the stirrup. ‘Put your foot in there and give me your arm.’ His loving smile broadened as he reached down, grabbed her arm and hoisted her over the saddle behind him.

The shock of riding pillion, of even being on a horse, kept her silent for a few minutes. That, mixed with his nearness, sent shivers of excitement through her. Never had she experienced something so primal as hugging her arms around his waist. His corded muscles bunched under her touch and she heard his sudden intake of breath. Then, before she could gather her scattered thoughts, he was urging Copper out of Crimsworth Dean and up onto the surrounding moors.

Copper’s thundering hooves matched the thud of her heart. Every ounce of her being sang in glorious exhilaration. It was all new to her; the speed, the ride. She wanted to shout, to scream, to cry at such a simple joy.

Soon enough, Ethan gently reined Copper in until he walked and then wheeled him back southwards down across Shackleton’s Moor and towards the valley they’d come from.

They rounded a stonewall bordering a lane and Ethan halted Copper and slid off his back. Isabelle put her arms out for Ethan to help her down and grinned when he swung her about him. ‘Put me down, what would people think?’ She laughed.

‘There is no one to see except the crows and sheep.’ He winked and released her. ‘I want to show you something.’ Taking her hand, he led her over to a small monument on the left.

She peered at the two ancient pillars. ‘What is it, a wayside marker?’

Ethan knelt to look closer. ‘They call it Abel Cross.’ He straightened and walked around it. ‘See how on each pillar there is a simple Latin cross?’

‘How fascinating.’

‘I’m not certain of its age, but it is old.’ He came to stand beside her. ‘There is a legend about it.’