The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7) (11 page)

Phelan shifted his weight, then crossed his arms as he gave my current attire a careful inspection. Having him look at me so closely quite made the blood rise to my cheeks, and I knew there was no way he could not have seen my flush this time, not when we stood only a foot or so apart. “Ah, that,” he responded. “I fear we have no simpler women’s garments on hand, and I somehow doubt you would care to dress in one of the kitchen boys’ clothes.”

No, I most definitely would not. Why, the very thought of allowing anyone to see me so immodestly attired — I shook my head. “I fear that is not a proper solution. I will just have to muddle along in this gown and hope for the best. At least it is wool, not velvet, and so may survive a soaking along the hem better than some of the other dresses you have lent me.”

“Very practical of you. Then let us hasten, so we do not miss our chance at seeing the sun.”

Ah, that would be a tragedy indeed, after so many days of gloom and snow. I said quickly, “Let me get my mantle,” and hurried over to the wardrobe so I might settle it about my shoulders.

Once again Phelan offered me his arm, and I did not even hesitate as I took it. Somehow it felt right for him to guide me downstairs thus. Perhaps it was not entirely charitable of me to hope that Master Merryk might see us with our arms locked together, and realize that his attempts to prevent Lord Greymount from spending time in my company had proved ultimately fruitless.

But I did not see the steward, nor anyone else as we descended to the ground floor of the castle. I noticed that Phelan led me along the opposite way from whence I had gone the day I had encountered his men-at-arms in the great hall. Perhaps he did so on purpose, so that we could avoid meeting up with any of them, or perhaps this route was better suited to our intended destination.

We did traverse a long hall, one that opened on a short gallery which appeared to border the courtyard. It seemed his lordship had counted on my agreeing to this expedition, for two sets of snowshoes, one a good deal larger than the other, waited for us there.

“Should I be gratified by your confidence that I would say yes to your proposition?”

Something flickered in his eyes at my use of the word “proposition,” but he merely gave a slight lift of his shoulders and replied, “Let us just say that I would have been surprised if you had declined the opportunity for some fresh air and sunshine.”

True, he had gauged my reaction well enough there. “It is a good thing that I am not some fragile court lady and am used to walking in all weather,” I said as I picked up one of the smaller snowshoes and began to fasten the straps over my well-worn boots. After one or two instances of nearly tripping in the too-large slippers that had come along with my borrowed wardrobe, I had gone back to wearing my boots, which were not nearly as elegant but much more comfortable. Just as well, I supposed, for those dainty slippers of kidskin would have been ruined in less than a minute if subjected to the conditions outside. Indeed, I did not even know if one could put on snowshoes over delicate shoes such as that.

But my boots had trodden through winter’s snowbanks and summer’s thunderstorms, and I knew they would serve me well now. Phelan did not respond to my comment about fragile court ladies, instead sending me a quick grin as he worked on getting his own snowshoes fastened.

Soon enough we were both outfitted. I took one stride in my snowshoes and almost tripped because of the dragging hem of my gown.

“Some difficulty, my lady?” Phelan inquired in arch tones.

“Not at all.” I had already guessed that I would have to choose between ease of motion or modesty, and so I grasped my heavy woolen skirts and looped them up through the belt of embroidered leather I wore, thus getting them more or less out of the way.

It was certainly a far more practical arrangement for tromping through the snow, but I could not miss the way Phelan’s gaze flickered toward my exposed ankles and lower calves — clad in fine woolen hose, true, but still — before he glanced back up at me.

“Ready, Bettany?”

Oh, how I loved to hear him say my name! I had already begun to think of him as Phelan, but only in the privacy of my own thoughts. I knew I would never dare to address him so unless he gave me leave. And so far he certainly had shown no sign of doing so.

He did, however, chivalrously offer his arm after he had opened the door to the courtyard, letting in a blast of freezing air. It quite took my breath away, and I wondered how long he intended for us to stay outside, even though the sun was out.

Well, I supposed we could address that problem later. For the moment, it was enough to follow him out to the heavily drifted snow, stepping down two shallow stairs before we began to move across the smooth, heavily packed surface.

“We should be far lower than this,” Phelan said as he led me out to the center of the courtyard. His breath came from his mouth thick as white smoke. “There are actually twelve of those steps, but the rest are buried.”

I looked down, shocked, but of course I could see nothing of what he had described, only the unblemished snow on every side.

A flash of white teeth as he smiled at my astonishment. “It is quite amazing. The actual ground of the courtyard is some twelve feet below where we stand now.”

“What will happen when it melts?” That was the first thing to come to my mind, especially since we stood in a spot where we were out of the shadow of the keep, and the sun blazed down strongly upon us, even though its light had no real warmth.

“There is a drainage system, but I suppose the gallery we came through will flood, as it often does when first the spring rains come to wash away the snow. You may have noticed that there were no real furnishings in that chamber.”

I hadn’t been paying that much attention to my surroundings— that was a difficult thing to do when Phelan Greymount held my arm — but now as I cast back in my mind, I thought I did recall that there was no furniture at all, and only heavy sconces of dark iron on the walls, with not a single painting or tapestry. “That is rather inconvenient.”

“A fact of life in a place as old as this, I fear.” He raised his head toward the sky, as if wishing to drink in the sun. In its fierce light, I could see warm tones come to life in his heavy dark hair, as well as the faintest of laugh lines around his eyes.

Had he ever looked more handsome? I could not say for sure, because he had nearly taken my breath away from the first moment I laid eyes on him. But there was something about the way he stood there in the sunlight, as though some care that perpetually weighted his shoulders whilst he was inside the walls of his castle had now lifted, if only for a moment or two.

“Is it so very old?” I asked, thinking that a neutral enough subject. I knew I could not keep gazing at him like that, for he would see at once how much I wanted him to turn toward me and take me in his arms.

But again that shadow touched his features, even as he shrugged. “Yes. You saw all those portraits in the gallery. The oldest goes back some three hundred years, when my great-great — well, there are a too many ‘greats’ to trouble myself with calling them all out — my grandsire was given a grant to build a castle on this land and keep the surrounding country safe from an invasion to the north.”

“From frost giants and such?” I made sure my tone was slightly teasing, for I truly did not believe such creatures had ever existed. Ours was a prosy enough world now that magic had been driven from it, and I found it hard to put much credence in the sorts of tales that were generally told by the fire to frighten young ones into staying close to home.

“No, of course not. Those are old wives’ tales, and nothing more than that. But there was a great threat in the north once, although I have not been able to find much in any of the histories about it. Something, though…something came from there, came from the dark and the cold, and was enough to make the early Marks of Eredor believe there was value in giving this land to those who would defend it.”

A great shiver passed over me then, although I could not say whether its origins lay in Phelan’s dark words, or merely because it was so dreadfully cold out in the courtyard, even with the sun shining down on us. The mantle I wore was warm enough, but I had no scarf or gloves. The chill began to work its way through the soles of my boots and on up my legs, and I shivered again.

“But we should go inside,” Phelan said then, looking down at me solicitously. “It is far too cold to stay here any longer.”

“B-but the s-sun is still out, my lord,” I protested, stammering as my teeth began to chatter. “Surely it would be a very g-great waste to miss any of it.”

As if to give the lie to my words, the bright sunshine dimmed, and I looked up in dismay. A cloud passed over the sun, followed by another. It seemed Phelan’s prediction that this was only a small passing gap in the storm was beginning to come true.

“No, we must go in at once,” he replied. “It would not do for you to catch a chill, and at least you did get to see the sun, if only for a few moments. Besides, your lips are turning blue.”

“They are not,” I began in some indignation, then stopped when I realized he was probably teasing me. “Very well,” I continued with as much dignity as I could muster. “If you think we should.”

“I do think it.”

So we turned and began to make our trudging course back to the doorway through which we’d first entered. As I moved, however, putting one snowshoe with care in front of the other, my skirt began to slip from where I had it tucked into my belt. It fell just as I had begun to take another step. Before I could stop myself, the snowshoe tangled itself in the heavy woolen folds, and I could feel myself beginning to fall.

A gasp escaped my throat, and Phelan turned at once, reaching to catch me before I could tumble into the snowbank before us. Somehow his own snowshoe got caught in mine, and in the next instant, we were both falling, crashing into the hard-packed snow as we landed with him almost directly on top of me.

For the longest moment, neither of us moved. I was acutely conscious of his weight pressing down against me, the strength and heat of his body. His mouth was only a scant inch from mine, his breath warm even as it rose in misty white clouds around us.

Surely he should be pushing himself off me, should be apologizing for his clumsiness — even though the spill was really my fault — and helping me to my feet. But he did none of those things. He only remained where he was, staring into my eyes.

Then he muttered, “Dammit,” under his breath, just before he brought his mouth down on mine.

It was cold, so very cold, but in that moment I was as warm as if I stood out in the hottest sun of midsummer. Heat flared all through me, rushing into my icy fingers and toes, a heat that seemed to be its strongest somewhere in my lower belly. Oh, gods, I wanted this, wanted his lips touching mine, his body pressed against me, his tongue tasting me as I opened my mouth to his.

I had never known it could be like this, this need that seemed to pulse along every limb, every nerve, every vein. My arms went around him, even as his encircled me. I began to move my leg, having a vague idea I wanted it to wrap around him as well, but the snowshoe defeated me, banging into his calf and quite ruining the moment.

Well, almost. He did lift his head enough to break the kiss, but his eyes were still hungry, fixed on my mouth, and a tremor went through me.

When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. “Are you hurt?”

Was I? In that moment, I could not begin to tell. The heat started to recede, and I realized how very damp and chilled I was. But aside from one throbbing elbow where most of my weight appeared to have landed, I seemed to be more or less unharmed.

“No,” I said, although my voice shook. I cleared my throat and added, “Perhaps a small bump on my elbow, but that is all.”

With a groan, he pushed himself off me and got to his feet, managing his snowshoes with far more skill than I would have been able to. Then he extended a hand, and I took it. I did not reach a standing position with quite the same grace as he had, but a moment later I was back on two feet, albeit covered with snow.

“You must come inside at once,” he told me. “Can you walk?”

In truth, my knees trembled somewhat, but I doubted that had very much to do with the fall I had just suffered. “Yes, my lord. I am fine.”

“Stop it with that,” he commanded. “You know you must call me Phelan now.”

Although my feet were so cold I could no longer feel my toes, I went warm all over at those words. “Yes, my — Phelan.”

He pulled me to him them and kissed me again. I forgot everything — my discomfort, the way the sun was now truly blotted out, the snow that began to fall all around us, lightly at first, but thicker and thicker as the kiss wore on.

“Yes, I am your Phelan,” he said, still in that rough voice, as if he, too, had been overtaken by an emotion he could hardly explain. “But come.”

Before I could react, his arms had slipped under me, and he lifted me from the snow and carried me to the doorway which led into the bare gallery where we’d put on our snowshoes. There, he deposited me on the floor and bent to undo the straps on the wicker and leather contraptions.

“There is no need for you to do that — ” I objected, rather appalled that he would take such a subservient stance.

“Yes, there is. You are chilled through, and your gown is soaking. I would not wish you to bend over and become faint.”

His tone would not allow any argument, so I subsided. And truly, it did feel good to have him minister to me thus, for it was not enough that he removed my snowshoes. After he had taken off his own snowshoes, he unclasped the cloak from his throat and put it around me. Its warmth helped to ease some of the shaking that had begun to wrack my body, and I smiled at him.

“Brave girl,” he said. “Now I will take you to your rooms, and see that another hot bath is brought up for you. And you must rest, for I will never forgive myself if you should become ill because of our little…escapade.”

The way he said the word made me worry that he was not as happy with this sudden alteration in our relationship as I had thought he was. Something in my expression must have shifted, for at once he bent and placed his lips on my cheek, then murmured,