Mouse stood unmoving. Quietly, one by one the men walked past, none daring to lift their eyes to meet hers. Watching them file out, she counted the number of weapons they carried. It was clear that Michael had but a slim chance of survival. The fear written on the faces of the men who’d left to search for him had spoken volumes.
Mouse went to the west window to watch the proceedings. Outside, there were others waiting for them, at least twenty more, with Ambray at their head, directing them all into different directions.
“No.” She whispered quietly, “I won’t believe it! Michael isn’t capable of such a thing.” Though there was no one about to argue her point, she felt the weight of the obvious. Of course, if his mind had veered away from sanity the way it had these past few weeks, anything was possible. If it had been a shooting, or a fall, then perhaps it could have been misconstrued. But a strangling?
Mouse would like to have cried, but something inside wouldn’t let her. While she’d not favored her father’s choice for a second wife, she certainly had not wished her any harm. But this? No, she admitted, Elsbeth had been kind, in her own way. No matter that it meant a slighting here or there or even bit of jealousy she’d harbored for the spoiled, wealthy children of her late husband.
Mouse dismissed the thoughts of her late stepmother. Best to save the grieving for another time. Now she needed to think only of Michael. She left her husband’s room. Wandering the now empty manse, she tried to decide on what to do next? Wait and pray that the
men were able to bring her husband home safely? That would seem the best course of action.
A niggling thought worried the back of her mind. She didn’t trust Ambray. There was something between the two men, she was sure of it. Some underlying hatred and whether Michael believed so or not, Ambray meant him harm.
Nearing the stairs, Mouse saw that the front was door open. She barely made out the sound of a man’s voice. Walking quietly down to the foyer, she paused as she rounded the newel post.
“His Lordship ain’t no murderer.” The voice belonged to a young man. Tall, lanky with light brown hair and an awkward frame, he stood looking across the yard where the rest of the men had dispersed. Beside him, sat a rather large, black and gray hound, both of them staring off into the distance. Hearing Mouse’s approach both jumped slightly.
“Hello,” Mouse stated.
“Oh, ah, Lady Winningham,” the young man bowed in an awkward, jerky motion. “We didn’t mean to disturb you; we’ll be on the way. Come on, Bailey.” He motioned for the dog, but the animal wasn’t cooperating.
“It’s all right,” Mouse told him. “I’m rather fond of dogs, always had one or two hounds under foot at home.” She bent and patted the animal, which only looked up once then returned his gaze outward. “He’s a nice fellow.” She took a long breath and continued on. “I overheard what you said earlier. I happen to agree with you. I don’t think the Earl is capable of hurting anyone.”
The man instantly relaxed. “Oh, aye, ma’am, me neither.” Extending his hand, he gave her a warm smile. “The name’s Tom Fowler. I’m the assistant groomsman.”
She took it, suddenly glad to make at least one new friend. With Elsbeth gone, she thought, but then stopped herself. There wasn’t time to let circumstance overcome her. Knowing well that if she didn’t hurry, Michael would certainly be hurt or worse, she plundered on.
“Good to meet you, Tom. Please forgive my forwardness but how well did you know my husband?”
Turning his smile to a serious expression, he cleared his throat, “Not all that much. I mean I’m the staff and he’s the earl—”
“Yes, I know all about propriety, Tom. I am so very frightened and I don’t really give a whit about social boundaries. I am worried for Michael’s safety. If you could help me to find him before the others do, I’d be very grateful.”
Mouse watched as his expression tightened with caution. The war of whether or not to share his information with her was fought out quite thoroughly in his eyes. Despite his uncertainty, his stance never wavered.
“The truth is, the earl has been very good to me, bringing me here when I was a boy and all. I don’t mind saying the yon Mister Kelton doesn’t always have his cousin’s best interest in his heart. He’s the devil himself. I don’t like him a bit. If he’d had his way, I’d have been pounding the stones before I could spit. It was the earl who kept me on and I’d do anything in the world to help him.”
“I see. Well, it should please you to know that I hardly ever agree with Ambray. He’s most rigid where my husband is concerned. You can believe me when I tell you that my concern is only for Michael and his safety. The longer we wait to find him, the less are our chances of helping him.”
“On that we agree, Lady Winningham.” He motioned for her to follow him and the two walked towards the stables.
“Is he here?” She asked, as they entered the dark, earthy warmth of the barn.
“No, ma’am. But, he’s not too far. Do you ride?”
“I did as a child. Though I admit it’s been awhile.” He quickly pulled two mares out and prepared them for riding.
~ * ~
It was a hard hour’s ride before they reached their destination, a rustic cottage with a thatched roof. The structure was dilapidated with parts of it sunken through. A family of squirrels had set up housekeeping, running along the crossbeams to a tree at the far end of the building. The smell of mildew hung about the place, that and of things long dead and best forgotten.
The Mad Earl Pam Labud
115
“This was a squatter’s cottage,” Tom added helpfully as he helped her down from her mount. “And I reckon no one’s lived here since before the old Earl himself was born.”
“How did you find such a place?” She asked stepping over a large tree root that had grown up over the unkempt path to the house.
“Oh, his Lordship brought me here once while we was hunting. We got caught up in bad weather. Terrible storm it was, too. In the spring, if I remember right. I was just about ten or so.”
She looked about once, before they entered the unstable dwelling.
Seeing her hesitation, Tom cleared his throat, “Speaking of storms, it looks as if we might have one soon.”
Mouse took his arm and allowed him to help her over the threshold. The room was lit only by patches of light that drifted down through the open spots in the roof.
“Yes, the spring gales are always problematic.” Mouse ducked quickly, just missing some swinging frame from the rafters.
“I’ll fix that soon as I can,” Tommy told her, reaching up to keep the errant piece of the architecture from falling on her head.
Well inside, she surveyed the room better. It was a single room dwelling. Fallen debris was scattered about and small animal tracks lead across the center of the living area. Despite its poor condition, she noted that at one time it must have been quite homey. She could easily envision a large ****************************************ng pot under the chimney, clean swept wood floors, and thick warm comforters against the raging cold of the outside.
From the opposite corner of the room, she heard a noise. Turning, she peered into the darkened area where a low moaning sounded. The lament came from a bundled figure lying on a narrow cot. Quickly removing her wraps she turned to her guide.
“Tom, please gather some kindling and see if you can get a small fire going. Nothing big, mind you. I don’t want to attract attention.” A few spatterings of rain began to tap the rooftop. “Not much of a ********************************ter, but at least he’ll be out of the weather.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, I really am. I just couldn’t think of anywhere else to bring him. He wanted to get away from them at the estate
house. Anywhere else and they would’ve found him right quick. He wants to die in peace,” he added sorrowfully.
“Die?” Mouse asked, glancing yet again to the figure in the corner. “Is that what he told you?”
The young man nodded. “It was his last wish, or I wouldn’t have brought him here.”
Mouse felt a stab at her heart. “I’m sorry,” she told him. Taking his arm she led Tom out of hearing distance. “I don’t mean to contradict the Earl, but I’ve no intention of letting him die. Don’t worry about the house. We won’t be here long. I’m glad you got him this far.” Mouse thought for a moment. “So it was you who helped him escape from Mr. Mauler?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed. “He’s so weak, he couldn’t swat a kitten. I had to clout that fellow. I’m not a bit ashamed to say so. He deserves that and more. He’s treated Lord Winningham terribly. I’d do it again. I’m just sorry I didn’t thump him sooner.”
Mouse nodded. “Believe me, Tom, I wouldn’t mind having a swing at him myself. You get that fire going. After I’ve examined him, we’ll sit down and figure what to do.”
The boy nodded and scurried off. Mouse went to examine her husband. When she reached him, she could hardly believe her eyes. A mess was how she would remember his condition. Wrapped up in a couple horse blankets, she noticed first that he was shaking. While it was chilly in the room, it wasn’t cold enough to warrant his tremors.
“Michael?” She called softly.
Kneeling beside her husband, Mouse gently caressed his brow. Small beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and trickled down the side of his head. A fever burned in him and being a physician’s daughter, she knew if she didn’t take action soon, her husband would likely not last until dusk. Watching his chest rise and fall, she thanked the heavens that at least his chest was clear. Likely what the Earl needed most was lots of fluids and some sustenance. Hot tea, some thick broth and a day’s rest were in order. She was certain he wouldn’t get such kind treatment if Ambry and the others found him.
Michael sighed in his sleep. Surely anyone seeing his ailing condition would agree that he couldn’t possibly have killed Elsbeth.
Mouse’s stepmother had enjoyed robust health. Though the woman had always aspired to be among the swooning, delicate class of society ladies, in truth her character was entwined with the harsh, corded strength. No, Elsbeth would not have fallen easily. Furthermore, though she’d often been the topic of parlor gossip, Mouse was certain that the woman had few enemies among the well bred. Did some slighted servant carefully plot the woman’s demise? Certainly there were worse mistresses than her stepmother. Mouse dismissed the house staff from her list of possible assailants.
Seeing her husband sleep, a heady feeling of protectiveness overcame her. Had the killer intended his crime only to implicate Michael? Had Elsbeth posed some threat to someone at Rosecliff or in the nearby village? She wondered what time the murderer had crossed their paths. Was it last night while Mouse visited her husband? Or this morning, as she performed her own toilet? Worse yet, they were blaming Michael, and it was clear he’d been in no condition for such activity, especially so soon after Dr. Winthorp’s treatments. No matter what, it seemed as if he was certainly going to pay the price for someone else’s misdeeds.
Michael moaned and drew Mouse’s attention to more immediate things.
“Michael?” She gently touched his face. He looked up at her this time, his eyes focusing on some unseen vision, searching the rafters.
“Tom, is that you?”
“No,” she told him quietly, “It’s me, Mouse.”
“It can’t be!” Twisting around, he struggled to sit up, to look closer.
“You shouldn’t be here, Mouse. If they find you, they’ll think you’re part of this—”
“Nonsense. I was in my room when you escaped. Besides, Ambray and the rest of the tenants are too busy searching to ever worry about me.”
“I’m sorry for bringing you into this. You should go, now. Go back to London. Before you get hurt.” Suddenly the energy seemed to flow from him. Eyes fluttering, Michael’s head lolled back, his weight
settling once again on the cot. “Go,” he whispered with his last breath before losing consciousness.
“Absolutely not,” she told the supine figure.
Behind her, Mouse heard the noise of Tom’s return.
“I brought kindling, ma’am, and a bucket of water from the spring just down the other side of the hill.”
“Good. We should set some aside for later,” she stated thoughtfully. “If we are to stay here any length of time, we’ll need some supplies. Tea and whiskey, I think. Brandy would be better, of course, but whiskey will do fine. Even rum, if we can get nothing else. Oh and some food, easily palatable. Like eggs, milk, bread, and maybe some of that fine pudding the cook makes.”
“I did gather some things, Your Ladyship. I have tea, an’ some berry pies, his Lordship’s razor, and some soap, should he feels like shaving.” The boy said hopefully. “I can skip over to my Gran’s house. She always has a supply of whiskey, I think. An’ she’s got some of those plants of hers that always seems to help the sickly.”
“That would be wonderful, Tom. Let’s heat some water and start with tea.”
It took some work, but in twenty minutes the aroma of tea filled the cabin. Settled beside her husband, Mouse expertly began her ministrations.
“You shouldn’t be doing this, Mouse,” Michael commented, as she spooned small sips of the warm liquid into his mouth. “Leave me to die. It’s for the best.” A few moments later he drifted off to sleep again.
“I know he’s awfully ill,” she explained to Tom after they’d finished clearing the food and seen to the Earl’s comfort. “And ill people often wish for death. I just don’t understand it. Is his sickness really so bad that it is affecting his mental state, or is it his mental state affecting his health?”
Tommy shrugged. “I imagine, ma’am, it’s that he doesn’t want to go back.” He said simply.
“Go back? Go back where? To the estate?”
“No, ma’am. Back to Cadbury’s. It’s a terrible, awful place, so he says. Never been there, myself.”
“Back? You mean he’d been committed once before?”
“Oh, yes. He spent nigh on two months there. It was after the first Lady Winningham died.”
“I see. But he became well enough to be sent home.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Well enough, I guess. But, my Gran says as how it was just that Mr. Kelton didn’t want to spend any more of his Lordship’s money. She thinks he’s the greedy sort, you know.”
“I’ve not seen him as overly thrifty. No, I don’t think so.” She paused a moment. “Do you remember when the first Lady Winningham died?”
“Yes, ma’am. I had just started working in the stables. It was terrible. Plain awful. She fell from that balcony on the west side. Died instantly. His Lordship was very broke up about it. Didn’t offer a bit o’ fight when they come and took him off.” He paused, glancing at the too still figure lying on the cot. “Whatever it was they did to him, it was bad. Just bad. My Gran says them places ain’t for nothing but milking gold from the wealthy.”
Mouse had heard of several houses for the insane which were of good repute, and those, like Bedlam in London, that held the worst sort of reputations. With her already low opinion of Dr. Winthorp and the misguided concern of Ambray Kelton, it was easy to see they could take advantage of a man still suffering the effects of war.
Just when she meant to ask more, Michael began moaning again. Both of them moved to his side, when Michael promptly and very unpleasantly emptied his stomach *******s onto the floor beside him.
“Bring that bucket back, Tom, and hurry!”
“Aye, ma’am!” The young man yelled as he threw the *******s out the closest window that wasn’t boarded over.
In the next instant, Mouse found herself holding her husband upright behind his shoulders as he wretched out the sparse *******s of his stomach. Fortunately there wasn’t much remaining.
“I’ve never seen so much come out of a person, before,” The groom’s apprentice commented. “A horse, maybe, but not a man.” He shook his head thoughtfully and exited out into the night with the clean pail to fetch fresh water.
“Oh, God,” Michael cried, between the spasms in his stomach and chest.
“It’s all right, let it go!” Mouse told him. Mouse had seen a few times that fevers resulted in so much distress. She remembered that one of her father’s patients had vomited so much that he’d started bleeding, dying only a few hours after his condition worsened. She watched her husband closely for any sign of hemorrhage, but after awhile there was none and he settled into a fitful slumber.
With nightfall, the spring chill deepened. Mouse shivered, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“I’ll stay here with him, if you think you could find your way back, Ma’am?” Tom offered.
Mouse thought a moment. “No. I’ll stay. We’ve enough kindling to keep the fire going until morning. You’d best go back. When morning comes and you’ve finished with your duties, come back and bring more provisions. We’ll keep him here until he’s better,” she decided.
“But, if they find you—”
“We’ll be no worse off than if they’d found him before now. No. I need to stay with him. I helped my father many times caring for the sick. I will just keep him warm and give him tea and soft food as his condition warrants. When he’s well enough to ride, we’ll get him straight away to my sister’s house in London. She’s married to a Duke, and they will help me get him proper care.”
Tom nodded tiredly. “But what of the manse? Won’t Master Kelton be searching for you?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Tell him that I took an extra carriage and went to visit my sister Catalina. I was in too much grief and distress to stay any longer.”
The boy nodded. “It’ll be no problem. Mr. Kelton never comes to the stables; we sent a carriage into town for repairs last week. So, when it’s returned I’ll sign for it and make sure that he thinks it’s the one you borrowed sent back.”
“Good. Well, off with you, then. You must get back before you’re missed.”
The young man gave her a tired grin. “No one will be looking for me, ma’am.”
~ * ~
Fearful visions assaulted Michael. Ambray was over him, shaking his fists and shouting words that he could not understand. Beside him, Winthorp hovered, bags full of toxic medicines and his arms laden with long strips of cloth used to bind his luckless patients. Michael wanted to flee but his limbs felt heavy and his breaths came in short, shallow breaths. In the distance, one figure stood apart from his torture. Mouse waited, still and silent in the farthest corner of his vision. Her face was damp with tears and her arms reaching out to him. It was no use, he tried to call out to her but his voice wavered and died a slow death in the deafening silence around him.
When Michael thought his despair could grow no worse, the ********************************ure of his dream faded and he returned to another place and time before his rescue. The smell of death and decay was so thick around him, the earl could barely draw a single breath. He was in the grave again. Dirt walls all around him, darkness that seemed to come from within his soul, shadowing his existence. It wasn’t just the lack of light that frightened him, but rather the living death that meant the solitude of the grave. As time passed, the walls grew closer and closer and closer…
~ * ~
Mouse absently rubbed her hands together. Making adjustments to the small fire, she sat close enough to absorb the warmth, but could not stay there long because the chimney was in bad repair. The smoke filtered back down choking her, leaving a burning sensation in her eyes, nose and throat. Taking the blanket she’d hung over a barrel in front of the fire, she walked over to her husband. Pulling off the cooler fabric, she wrapped the warm one around him and replaced the other by the fire.
“You’re as efficient as any army surgeon.” His voice came quiet and deep against the shadows.
Startled, Mouse jumped. “Michael. How long have you been awake?”
“Just a few moments. Thank you for the blankets. I feel much better. At first light, I want you to leave.”
“No.” She told him, crossing her arms. “When we leave, we leave together.”
She stepped closer. For a moment, she thought she saw the hint of a smile but he turned his head away and his face was hidden in shadow.
“Don’t you realize, you silly chit, that I don’t want you here?” His voice was a low growl now. “It isn’t safe. I’ve killed before. I could do so again.”
“You did mention that.” Mouse yawned and walking tiredly to the cot, sat on an old stool that rested beside it. “It was an accident. Your wife leaned against the balcony and a piece of an old building fell under the stress. Why should you be blamed for something like that? It was a tragedy, yes, but not a murder, surely.”
Michael struggled to sit up. “You weren’t there.” He sputtered. “You didn’t see her fall.”
“No,” Mouse said, struggling against her alarm to stay seated. “You’re correct. I wasn’t there. I know it was the most terrible thing to happen to you. I am sorry for it. But it doesn’t make you a murderer.”
He leaned back, his face pale in the dim light, a shocked expression as he paused to consider her logic. “Go on,” he said after a moment.
“If you ask me, your cousin and that Doctor Winthorp may have taken advantage of you or overreacted at best. You were still suffering the effects of the war and you were not yet yourself again. That is easy to understand. It was unfortunate that you came upon the two people you trusted most in the world and found them betraying that trust. I cannot imagine even a well person not reacting badly to that.
“My uncontrollable temper caused the death of my wife.”
“Yes, it did. Michael, please listen. It was an accident. I’m not saying you were blameless. You were guilty right enough—of having a bad temper but that is all. You were not well and still suffering from the effects of war and your imprisonment. If you ask me, your cousin
and your wife were equally to blame. Their poor behavior caused the accident as much as your temper.”
He lay quietly for a moment, considering her arguments. “I never considered that.” He said at length.
“No. And neither did anyone else. Michael Kelton, your only guilt is that of a fool if you think yourself responsible for every misfortune of the world.”
Mouse softened her expression. Reaching out, she took hold of his left hand and warmed it between her own. After a bit, the chill began to recede. She saw his color change, not a blush but at least some of the healthy tone had returned to his face.
Seeing him move restlessly in the bed, she squeezed his hand slightly for reassurance. “You should sleep.”
“No.” He told her, “I can’t sleep until the sun rises. I haven’t slept at night without laudanum since Katerina’s death.” He paused a moment, clearing his throat spoke again. “They didn’t place me because of her accident.”
“No?” She leaned closer. “Why did they send you then?”
He turned his head away. “Since I was a child, I’ve had these spells. Lapses in time, sometimes in my memories. Once, I’d wandered off into the woods and it was almost an entire day before they found me. I was just sitting on a large rock, staring off into space. I have no memory of that time, except for joining my parents for breakfast the morning before. The next thing I knew, I was being carried home.”
“How terrible! How old were you?”
“Eight years old that time. There were others. An hour here, an afternoon there. I thought I’d grown out of it, because I hadn’t had any more until that last battle in Spain. It all started happening again. Two weeks after Katerina died. I’d wake up and an entire day had passed. It was worse then. They said I’d had screaming fits. Shaking and jerking all over until they’d restrained me.”
“And you don’t remember any of it? You have no warning?”
“Not always. Sometimes it’s a feeling that comes over me; sometimes my vision goes dark. Lately, it’s gotten worse. I can’t describe it any better than that. When I’d had no blackouts for a
month, they let me leave Cadbury’s. I hadn’t had another until two months ago. When the letter came from my father’s solicitor in London. That’s when Ambray started to arrange the ball, when he contacted you and your stepmother.” He closed his eyes.
Mouse waited, but when he said no more, she remembered what Tom had said about Cadbury’s. Clearing her throat, she asked him baldly, “Tell me about that place. About Cadbury’s.”
Michael waited a moment. His voice took on a distant quality, as though it wasn’t he who was telling the story, but someone else.
“The first thing I remember when I think about that place is the residents. There were at least twenty of us, I think, though I’m sure the number changed frequently, depending on the comings and goings of the patients.” He stopped. Mouse watched as he reached a shaking hand to touch his brow.
“There was a place, they called it the ‘quiet room.’ It was a cellar of some sort, I think, that was used to place unruly patients. You know, for those of us who didn’t stay in a stupor with the mixtures of laudanum or weak from the bleedings. It was a cold, damp room. We were told that the isolation helped to settle the soul. I think we were just put there because they didn’t want to take care of us.”
He thought a moment. “Still, it wasn’t the worst that I saw during my stay. There was one woman I remember very well. Her name was Sally Ferguson, the wife of some gentry up in the north, I think. She was often screaming and injuring herself. The poor woman walked in daylight with the terror of a nightmare on her face. Sometimes she spoke in odd ************************************************************ ****s or grunting sounds. Quite frightening, I remember. They would truss her up in a straight waistcoat, tying her arms behind her.”
“I watched one night, when I was still relatively new to the establishment. As they took her into an exam room. I wasn’t quite about my own wits but seeing what happened to her that night made up my mind. If I ever gained my freedom, I’d die before I ever went back.”
“Hearing her screams, I managed to pry the door open a small bit and watched as they treated her. They placed her on a table and began a bleeding, but while doing so, they also propped up her legs on two
chairs tied to the end of the table. Taking two lengths of rope, they secured her with a leg on each chair. They inserted a spigot between her legs.” He stopped a moment, swallowing. “The attendants had brought in two buckets of water. It was early April, I remember because there were never enough blankets and I constantly heard complaints from the other patrons of their cold rooms. The water came straight from the well and it was near to freezing. They filled the spigots and,” He stopped, wiping his brow once again.
“They put all that cold water into her womb. When they’d finished with that, they then wrapped her in cold, damp towels, and turned her over on her stomach. I thought she would die, she screamed so loud. Then they replaced the spigot, and repeated the same treatment to her backside. Into her bottom. She turned a gray-blue color then. That was when her screaming stopped. She began to convulse violently, her body jerking in all directions, her mouth and nose bleeding and a rush of fluids from below—both water and blood.” His voice had grown softer now, barely above a whisper. His eyes snapped open. “I never saw her again, Mouse. Never. One of the attendants caught me watching behind the door and pulled me away.” He added quietly.
“She died?” Mouse asked, her own voice high and strained.
Clearing his throat, Michael drew his hand from hers. “I imagine so. That is why I won’t ever go back, Mouse. Never. I’d rather die.” The resolve in his voice echoed off the walls around them.
“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you don’t.” She told him. “But it will be difficult.” She began.
“What do you mean?”
“About the time you and Tom were making your escape this morning, Ambray found Elsbeth dead. She’d been strangled.” She waited, watching him closely for any reaction to the news. “Ambray and the others think that you’re the one responsible.” She added quietly.
“I see.” Michael then turned away from her. “You’d best leave, Mouse. They won’t think you’re safe here.”
“That’s not true and you well know it.” She sat forward. “You are not dangerous! I know that you didn’t kill Elsbeth! You were with Tom.”
When he turned back to her, Michael’s expression had softened. “Are you certain? I’m not. I don’t remember anything after your visit last night. When I woke it was morning and I was here. It’s very possible that I killed her. She came to visit me last night. I don’t remember anything after that.”
“Why are you doing this? I mean, look at you. You haven’t the strength to lift a cup. Even if you wanted to kill someone, you couldn’t strangle a…” she stopped a moment, remembering Tom’s earlier statement, “…a kitten.”
He laughed then, “Oh Mouse. You are such a trusting sort. However did you become my wife?”
She looked at him a moment, then smiled. “That is a question you’ll have to get much better to answer.”
Finished with their discussion, Mouse yawned. The hour was now past midnight and she’d not seen sleep since early in the morning. Stretching, she shook her head, determined to remain awake with her charge.
“You’ve no need to stay with me, Mouse,” his voice came out of the darkness. “You’ll become ill if you don’t get some rest.”
She laughed. “I have sat up many nights with my father and his patients. I don’t mind. Besides, this is a small cottage and there is only the one cot.”
“I could manage to sit elsewhere or perhaps just lay a blanket on the ground.”
“And have you catch your death from lying on a drafty floor? I should say not.” Mouse crossed her arms and set her jaw in a manner that defied argument.
He watched her a moment. “I don’t like you being so cold, either. Is there another blanket?”
“No, just the one by the hearth. I’ll get it in a minute.” Of course, now that he’d mentioned the chill, she couldn’t help noticing the dropping temperature.
Suddenly, another thought occurred to her. Mouse leaned forward, thanking heaven above that the lack of light prevented him from seeing her blush when she shared her idea.
“I do know of one way we could both stay warm,” she began, trying desperately to keep the tremor from her voice. Unfortunately she wasn’t sure if her shiver was from the coolness of the room or something quite different.
“Really?” he asked, obviously intrigued by her statement.
“Uh-huh.” She couldn’t help the bit of a smile from taking over her own face. “We are husband and wife, after all. It’s not like we’re doing anything improper you know. We are just sharing two blankets and—” she stopped, garnering her strength for the rest of the conversation, “—heat.”
“Heat,” he commented dryly.
Mouse swore she could almost hear him thinking. “Yes. Why not?”
“Well, aside from the obvious. I mean, although I am not well, in the broadest sense of the meaning. There are, um, parts of me that are quite well.”
“Parts?” She stopped a moment. Mouse, having been the daughter of a physician, knew about such things as surgery, medicines, and all sorts of folklore knowledge. Unfortunately, the relations between a man and woman, specifically on the physical side, were pretty much unknown to her. After all, as a single woman with no intentions towards the institution of marriage, what possible use could she have for such familiarity?
“Yes, parts. Certainly you do understand what effect a wonderfully desirable woman has on a mere mortal man?”
“Um,” she began. “My parents never saw the need to share such information.” Her flush of playfulness was deepening into a deeper shade of embarrassment. “You find me desirable?”
“Utterly. Completely. Unbearably.” He took a ragged breath.
“I see.” She said quietly, her reply short, for she simply could not muster the breath to say more. She remembered seeing her parents the same way, when she was a child. Odd, they seemed to speak without speaking, their eyes beginning a conversation, which always ended in a touch. Hand to hand, and eye to eye, and minds joined. She shook herself out of her reverie.
Mouse remembered Ambray’s telling her how important for her husband’s inheritance it was that they produce an heir. Well, Mouse, she told herself, there is no better time than now. Although she knew nothing about children in general and very little about making them in the specific, she’d grown up with no less than a dozen or so pets, so she had some idea what must be done.
Just as her understanding of this rare opportunity occurred to her, Mouse’s resolve weakened, but only for a moment. Until now the two of them had a marriage in name only. Settling in her mind to what she must do, she quickly decided to begin the proceedings.
“Utterly.” She commented, rising slowly from her seat. He said nothing, just waited, a man mesmerized by the shadow of a woman in the darkness.
“Completely.” She said again. She’d moved to the small fire and pulled down the blanket that was hanging there. The warmth of the fabric was nothing compared to the heat that was beginning to overtake her body.
“Unbearably.” She turned, the blanket clutched in her hands, the end of it dragging on the floorboards, making a soft whooshing sound as she walked slowly to the cot.
“I see.” He whispered quietly. Despite the chill in the room, his forehead dampened visibly. The moist sheen of his brow glistened in the firelight.
Without saying a word, Mouse pulled back the covering and looked down at her husband, really seeing him for the first time.
Beneath the blankets, he’d worn his shirt, a white stock fabric, now torn and dirty from his flight through the forest that morning. The shirt was fastened only half way. She noted that his chest was covered with a spattering of thick, dark hair, the coloring matching that of his head and facial hair. The sight of his maleness was quite visible, standing erect, pointing upward.
“Oh my,” she said, barely breathing.
“Yes. I thought you might say something like that. Have you never seen a man, Mouse?” He asked, of course leaving the term ‘aroused’ from his question, hoping she’d pick up his meaning.
“Well, I haven’t any brothers. "
“Yes. You’re correct.” She looked down. “Is it always, um, thus?”
He laughed then. “No. Fortunately not."
“Oh. So temperature makes a difference.”
“Sometimes.” The smile was in his voice and Mouse relaxed a bit, putting the warmer blanket over him.
She stood for a moment, hesitating, before trying to decide what should be her next actions.
“Mouse,” he began. “If you want to change your mind, I’ll understand.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said quickly, though knowing that the tone of her answer betrayed her.
“Of course, not. I mean I shouldn’t find you at fault if you were. It’s difficult for women, as I understand it. This is not exactly the wedding bed, now is it?” He chuckled slightly, “Nor, am I the ideal husband.”
“It isn’t that,” she told him sharply. “I’m sorry for my ignorance is all. I can’t seem to think what I should do next. Should I disrobe?”
“If you want to,” he told her quietly. “I mean, I don’t want you to catch a chill, either.” He tried helpfully.
“Very thoughtful of you,” she stated weakly.
“Not really. To be honest, and a true gentleman always is, if I had the strength, -----"
“Oh.”
Mouse stood, transfixed, enveloped in the velvety sounds of his voice. Reaching down, and
Suddenly he pushed her back. “No, Mouse! You must leave me! Run, quickly, before I do the unbearable!”
Half dazed from the myriad of sensations, Mouse focused her eyes upon him. Suddenly she became angered, her voice high and shrill.
“You listen to me Michael Kelton, Fifth Earl of Winningham,” She said, her own voice rising to meet the emotions swelling within her. “You will stop this nonsense of sending me away right now! I
know our circumstances are not the best, but I love you. I do. I didn’t realize it until just now, but I do. You will cease this ridiculous talk this instant or I shall slap you until your ears ring!”
Stunned, Michael sat still. Mouse watched a number of emotions cross his face, first surprise, then elation, and finally wonderment. She watched this creature that was her husband and waited patiently for him to either resume to the beating she was more than willing to administer if it would bring some sense to him.
Much to her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed.
“Amusing! You find all this amusing?” She asked, indignant, her senses rising once again.
“Oh, not a bit, my sweet Mouse!” He chuckled. She had to admit that the sound of his merriment was much preferable to his melancholy.
“Well, then, what are you laughing at?” She asked.
“At me, of course,” he answered, sobering. “I am such a pathetic fool and you are so serious, so serene. Here I am feeling sorry for myself, with a barely clad, beautiful woman ready to love me and all I can do is try to throw her off with both… hands.” He finished, noticing just where his hands rested, one on each side of her waist.
She waited a moment, as he sat unmoving, staring at her .
“Well, are you?” She asked, her voice softer now, full and sensual.
“Am I what?” He looked, slightly confused for the moment, his hands tightening upon her skin, gently rubbing .
“Are you going to throw me away with both hands or are you going to love me?” She asked.
He looked up at her briefly and a slow, lazy smile spread across his face.
“Stay with me, Mouse,” Michael whispered, his voice hard. “Stay with me!”
“Yes.” She answered in a rough tone she did not recognize as her own. “Yes.”
For the barest of moments they sat together—husband and wife for the first time, neither one daring to move or breathe. Suddenly Mouse felt him go away next to her slightly.
When she looked up at him, his expression was that of a man who’d just discovered a diamond mine. It instantly warmed her to her very core.
“Mouse, I do love you!” In the very next instant, her husband, and now lover’s eyes rolled back in his head.
~ * ~
The sun had just begun its ascent into the morning sky and red streaks of daybreak were thrown carelessly across the cabin. Michael realized first, that he’d slept through the night, second that the chill of the room was touching only his nose and forehead, and thirdly that he was not alone.
Slowly, memory of the night before returned as did their conversations in the near darkness. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d given this woman his soul. For the first time in his life, Michael Kelton realized he wasn’t alone.
“I love you, Mouse,” he whispered into her. She only siged in response. Michael then settled her closer and decided that he was glad to be alive.
16-02-07, 05:46 PM
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