Patricia Rowell - A Scandalous Situation

He pulled the horse in. “Miss Kethley.” She did not respond. He couldn’t see her face. She set it resolutely ahead, like a prisoner going bravely to meet her fate. He grasped her chin and turned her toward him. He gazed into her face, baffled.

“Miss Kethley, please tell me what I have done to offend you so.” She shook her head, opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again. “Have I offered you any harm, any insult?”

She swallowed and shook her head. “N…” She moistened her lips and tried again. “N-no.”

“Nor will I.”

Rob shut his mouth grimly and set off up the mountain.

As they made their way up the slope, Iantha sat in the shelter of the baron’s body and willed herself to think, to remain calm. She would control her fear. The man had done nothing to provoke it. He had done nothing but what was right and proper—gallant even. Yet when he had fallen across her, she had thought her heart would stop. Even the roar of the snowslide had been drowned out by the roaring inside her mind; the fear of being buried alive paled beside the fear engendered by the weight of his body on top of hers.

If only she could banish those hateful images from her mind, she would feel relieved that she no longer had to fight every moment to keep her seat. And with her rescuer’s bulk blocking the wind and snow, the cold didn’t bite into her as it had been doing. Even so, her fingers felt frozen to the handle of her paint case, and she could no longer feel her toes.

Sitting thus, she realized that his lordship was much taller than he had seemed when he’d stood some distance away. The breadth of his muscular shoulders had made him appear much shorter. He was a big man. Strong. Yet, she reminded herself, he had used his strength only to aid her. She must think about that. Use it to bridle her rebelling emotions.

Control. Control was her fortress.

She would maintain control.

Just when Iantha thought the cold and the wind blasting along the escarpment would go on forever, they encountered the road that ran between the valley and the castle. Several switchbacks later they found themselves in the enveloping silence and welcome warmth of a large stone stable. Iantha straightened her aching shoulders and looked about. A stockily built groom with grizzled hair was hurrying toward them.

“Me lord! You’re home safe at last. Burnside and me was just debating should we mount a search.” He reached up, squinting at her, and took the paint case out of Iantha’s stiff fingers. “And who might we have here?”

Setting the case on the ground, he lifted his arms again, and Iantha slid off the saddle into them. He put her down, careful to keep a steadying hand on her arm. It was well that he did. Her half-frozen feet and legs threatened to fail her. She took hold of the saddle with her other hand.

“Have you ever known me not to show up intact, Feller?” His lordship swung himself down easily, smiling at the groom.

“Nay, me lord, saving that time in Orissa. You wasn’t by no means intact on that occasion.” Feller grinned. “I told Burnside, I did, ‘Just you watch. He’ll turn up like a bad penny, he will.’ And here you are.”

“And here I am,” agreed his lordship. “This lady is Miss Kethley. As you can see, she and her cob suffered a mishap on the road.”

“That I do see.” Feller turned to examine the sturdy horse, frowning. “Poor old mate here is a mite bunged up.”

He released Iantha’s arm, moving to her horse. As he did, Iantha felt her knees give way and clutched again at the saddle.

“Careful, now!” Lord Duncan stepped quickly to throw a supporting arm around her waist. “Are you faint?”

“No.” Iantha shook her head. “Just cold and stiff. I will be fine in a minute.”

“Perhaps.” He scowled doubtfully. “Shall I carry you?”

“No!” The denial emerged much more sharply than she had intended. “I mean…thank you. That isn’t necessary.”

“Let me help you, then.” His lordship still looked doubtful. “We need to get you to a fire. We’ll go up through the old castle, to avoid the wind.” He tightened his arm around her and guided her toward a door at the side of the stable.

Close. He was much too close.

Iantha shut her eyes, drew in a long breath and forbade herself to pull away. If she did that, she would surely find herself sitting on the ground. She could endure his proximity for a few minutes.

Control.

He led her through the stable door and up a flight of steep spiral steps. At the top they wound through a series of short passages with narrow doors, each facing a different direction.

“This is the portal to the original castle,” he explained. “The turns were designed to keep out an invading force. This section was abandoned long ago, but we still use it to come up from the stable when we wish to avoid the weather.” They emerged from an empty stone chamber through a newer door into a wide entry hall. Lord Duncan removed his shallow-crowned hat and knocked the snow off it against his leg, revealing a thick thatch of rich brown curls.

“Here is the new building.” He grinned. “Relatively speaking. The old part was built in the fourteenth century, the new part in the early 1600s. It is considerably more comfortable than the original structure ever was, although it does have its share of eccentricities.” He tugged at a bell rope. “Burnside! Burnside, where are you?”

Iantha winced at the sudden shout. His lordship’s vocal vigor, however, was rewarded by the prompt appearance of a wiry man of middle years.

“Aye, me lord?” The newcomer stopped abruptly at the sight of Iantha and looked questioningly at Lord Duncan.

“Miss Kethley was caught in the storm and will be staying with us. Please ask Thursby to go and make up a fire in the dowager’s bedchamber and fetch Miss Kethley some hot water.”

“Oh. Aye, me lord, right away. There be a fire in the library now if Miss Kethley would like to…”

“Ah, very good.” His lordship turned to Iantha. “May I help you with your coat?”

“Thank you.” Iantha allowed him to remove the garment, using the opportunity to step away from his supporting arm. As the hood came off, she braced herself. But surely he was too much the gentleman to comment on her silvery hair.

And, of course, he was.

After assisting Lord Duncan off with his greatcoat, Burnside departed as quickly as he had come, taking the wet wraps with him. His lordship opened the door to a comfortable room off the entryway. Books lined the walls, and more books and scrolls lay in piles and in crates. Some of them displayed covers of soft leather with exotic art, but a few had no covers at all.

“Forgive my disorder. I am in the process of integrating my own collection with my father’s library.” He set a chair near the fireplace and ushered her to it.

“I have found many interesting volumes in the East, some of them very old. I have been studying the various languages in order to read the texts.” He pulled up a chair for himself and sat, extending capable-looking hands to the fire.

Iantha clasped her own hands together in her lap and cleared her throat. “Lord Duncan, I feel I should say… Please forgive me if I have seemed ungrateful for your help. I found the situation very…very disturbing.”

His lordship raised one eyebrow. “Apparently.”

“I am appreciative. Truly I am.” She looked into his face—which displayed a hint of a wry smile and a twinkle in his coffee-brown eyes. A very good-natured response, indeed, to what she’d put him through. “What I would have done had you not arrived when you did, I don’t know. I had not realized that there was so much snow in the fells—and certainly not that another storm was brewing.”