Katie Oliver - Who Needs Mr Willoughby?

A mutter of what sounded suspiciously like thunder rumbled off to the south, and Marianne stepped away from the window. The sky had darkened and the wind had picked up, sending leaves scattering. Clouds gathered and skimmed across the sky.

It was time she headed back to find the village.

She was nearly to the car when she spied a tree house nestled in the crotch of a great, gnarled oak behind the cottage. Curious, she made her way up the grassy slope to investigate further. A rope ladder dangled from the branch. It looked old, but sturdy.

Marianne eyed it in consideration. She’d love to have a peek inside the tree house. But the clouds were scudding across the sky and the first few drops of rain fell.

She hesitated, undecided. I really ought to get in the car and go back to Barton Park. But the temptation to see the tree house’s interior won out over her hesitation, and she decided to climb up and have a look.

Marianne gripped the rope in both hands and thrust her foot on the lowest rung, testing it to see if it would hold her weight. It did. Encouraged, she continued to climb.

She was nearly at the top when one of the ropes groaned, creaked, and gave way with a snap. Marianne let out a gasp and clutched at the remaining rope, hanging on as tightly as possible even though her palms began to burn and her heart pounded so fast she feared it might burst. The ground was now an alarming distance below her dangling feet.

Stay calm , she told herself, and forced down panic. You’re nearly to the top. Just pull yourself up the rest of the way, it’s not that far, climb inside the tree house, and wait out the storm in there.

She’d almost reached the deck when it began to rain in earnest – no spring shower, this, but a driving, cold, relentless rain that left her drenched in seconds. Her hand slipped on the rope, slick now with damp, and as she did her best to hang on, she wondered how much longer before she lost her grip and fell. Her throat constricted.

This storm – or whatever it was – had literally come up out of nowhere. If I can just focus on holding on , she thought, and not panic, I’ll be inside the tree house in no time –

Just then, lightning struck a tree a few yards away with a terrifying, ear-deafening crack. Marianne screamed, and her grip slackened and she fell, hurtling downwards and landing on her back. The fall knocked the breath from her.

For what was probably a few seconds but seemed much longer, she lay stunned, as thoughts whirled like a flock of panicked birds in her head.

Mrs Fenwick thinks I’ve gone shopping after my visit to the house. She won’t worry or wonder where I am until the sun goes down.

I could lie here for hours – days! –before anyone finds me .

There are creatures in those woods and fields. Crows…and deer ticks…and adders.

She knew this, because Elinor had read up on Northumberland wildlife once they learned they’d be staying at Barton Park.

Marianne let out a piercing scream as another bolt of lightning seared the sky. She had to get up off of the ground and out of here – she had to.

Over the sound of the wind and the growling of thunder, she felt the ground beneath her begin to vibrate, and fresh fear gripped her.

Oh, arsing hell , she thought wildly, what is it now, a bloody earthquake ?

But she soon realised that the steady, rhythmic sound she heard drawing ever closer was a horse’s hooves.

Marianne lifted her head just in time to see a horse and rider silhouetted against the sky, and relief swept through her. A man sat astride the horse.

He saw her then, and cried out hoarsely, “Are you all right? What’s happened?”

Without expecting or waiting for an answer, he leapt down from the saddle and ran towards her. Dark hair was plastered to his head and rain dampened the hard line of his jaw. His riding boots were soon muddied as he pelted across the field and knelt on one knee beside her.

“Are you hurt? Can you move?”

She nodded slowly. “I – I think so. I couldn’t for a moment.”

“You’ve had the wind knocked out of you.” He glanced up at the frayed rope ladder and turned back to her in disbelief. “Good God – you didn’t try and climb that old rope, did you? It’s hung from that tree above twenty years.”

“I confess I did. It was stupid of me.”

“Never mind that. Good thing you landed in the grass.” He reached out, and gently touched her leg, her ankle. “Can you feel that?”

“Y-yes.”

“What about your foot? Can you move it?”

Again she nodded, and – feeling a bit silly – complied.

“Good.” He eased off her shoe and took her foot in his hand, rotating it gently. “Any pain?”

She winced. “It hurts a bit, but it’s probably just a sprain.”

“I’m no doctor, but I’d say you’re right. Nothing seems to be broken. Here, let me help you sit up. Slowly, now.”

Gently, with the utmost care and concern, he slipped his arm round her shoulders and helped her to sit up.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, and shivered as the rain chilled her skin. “I-I think I’m all right.”

“I’m taking no chances,” he said, his words decided. He eyed his horse. “There’s a stable nearby; I need to secure Jasper. Will you be all right here until I return? I shouldn’t be gone above a few minutes.”

She stared at him, oblivious of the rain running down her face. He was quite the most handsome man she’d ever had the good fortune to meet, with a sweep of thick dark hair and firm, kissable lips –

“Miss –?”

Marianne blinked. “Holland. Marianne Holland,” she said, embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t seem to be myself at the moment. And yes, to answer your question, I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t move,” he instructed. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded and watched as he rose and ran back up the hill to the horse and swung himself up. With an urgent command, her rescuer dug in his heels and pulled at the reins, and the horse galloped off into the rainy darkness.

Marianne shivered and wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to panic. What if he didn’t come back? she wondered. What if he changed his mind? What if she had a concussion and was having one of those hallucinations? It didn’t bear thinking about.

But she’d barely processed the thought when, true to his word, he returned barely five minutes later, breathless and soaked through.

“Now, let’s get you home,” he said, and glanced behind them. “Is that your car over there?”

She nodded. “It’s Lady Violet’s. She’s let me use it while I’m visiting.”

“Oh – you’re staying at Barton Park?” The news pleased him. “Then we’re practically neighbours.” He held out his hand. “Kit Willoughby. My aunt lives at Allenham Court.”

Marianne’s hand was eclipsed in his larger, warmer one. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Willoughby.”

“I’m glad I happened along when I did.” He frowned. “Do you object if I carry you to your car? I don’t think you’ll make it, otherwise. The ground’s a bog at the moment.”

She blushed and shook her head. “Not at all. I don’t think I can stand up without someone to lean on. To tell the truth, I feel a bit…muddled,” she confessed.

“I’m not surprised. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. I’m happy to take you home.”

So saying, Mr Willoughby scooped her gently into his arms and swung her up without effort. Rain dripped from the end of his nose and ran down his jaw, but as he carried her down the slope and across the muddied field to her car, Marianne thought that she’d never known a more handsome or gallant man in all of her life.