Chapter Seven

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Present Day

Ailsa woke up in the narrow bed on the third floor and felt like she had the start of a headache. She’d been asleep for only a few hours, and she awoke with her mind churning over what had maybe been a dream, or what had, less likely, been some sort of Christmas reality that was too weird for words.

She was aching in her legs and bum and back, exactly as she would have been if she had indeed been ice-skating by the Abbey pond. But then again, it wasn’t the world’s most comfy mattress and it wasn’t her own bed after all.

But it had been very, very realistic, that dream. She could have sworn she had spent a day with the Carricks. She sat up in bed and looked around the room, seeing the modern furnishings, the desk under the window with her iPad on it and the glow of her mobile phone next to her, a few minutes away from the alarm going off.

On the bedside table was the Becky Nelson Carrick Park book.

‘Of course.’ Ailsa blinked and shuffled over so her feet were on the ground. She’d been chatting to that guy last night and they’d started talking about the Carricks and the Christmases they must have experienced in Victorian times. It had all been on her mind – that and the bloody wedding today—

She checked herself. It was somebody’s special day. She had no right to be grouchy over the fact she had to supervise it all for them on Christmas Day. But God, she could have done with a bit more sleep.

A vision flashed across her mind of standing on the terrace with the dark-haired man – Ned Cavendish. They’d been out there for some reason and she’d heard carols coming from the drawing room so she’d gone back in … She shook her head to clear it and scooped her hair back over her shoulder. That was Tara’s fault, teasing her about the music.

It was all logical, but damn, it seemed real. She’d come straight up to her room after chatting to Ned and fallen into bed exhausted. And now, deep joy, she had to put her work clothes on and smile at a bride and groom, when all she wanted to do was analyse the dream.

Merry Christmas.

But never mind. It was her job, and she was paid to do it. So do it she would, and she’d do it with good grace. Sophie and Gabe were relying on her.

 

CHRISTMAS NIGHT

The guests were still hanging around in the drawing room, Sophie and Gabe having long since departed to their suite. Ailsa was hovering in the corner, her legs aching, her smile fixed on her face as she nodded a goodnight to everyone and willed them all to leave so she could finish up the last few things and get the room returned to normal.

The only thing was, because she’d been so busy, she’d never had a great deal of time to think about Ned.

The more she considered him, though, the more questions it generated. Had it been real? Had he been real? Had the fact she’d fallen asleep reading the Carrick Park book meant she’d been dreaming the whole thing? His kisses and his touches and the sparks he generated whenever he touched her had seemed real enough. So had the sleigh ride and the ice-skating and the scent of that Christmas tree with the wonky top. She smiled as she remembered it.

She remembered also the mistletoe, hung over that very door there; and, more than any of it, she remembered how his kiss had felt as he took hold of her under the mistletoe bough, and how he had smelled of winter and frost and pine, and how his damp hair had curled under her fingertips, and how warm his skin was against hers.

She blushed furiously and dipped her head. Good grief. He was a wedding guest she’d met briefly last night; that was all, wasn’t it? Although, if she thought very hard about it, had she even seen him today? Her attention had, she admitted, been on Gabe and Sophie; but surely Ned had been somewhere? Hadn’t he?

Perhaps he had just stayed out of her way, hidden in the shadows in case he distracted her – goodness knew he wouldn’t have to do much to distract her. One look, one smile and she’d not know if it was Christmas Day or Midsummer’s Eve. The idea that he was simply a guest and her dreams had been more vivid than usual was what she had kept telling herself and what had carried her through the day.

She shifted position and the stiffness in her muscles told quite a different story – but it wasn’t a story she thought she could believe.

 

Ned stood on the cliff path near Whitby, overlooking the sea. He was at the ragged semi-circle of bluff, which had crumbled away in that long-ago storm. He leaned his hands on the railings and looked out across the water. The sea was moving like molten mercury, heaving and rolling under the swell of the waves as they crashed onto the rocks and fell back onto themselves.

He had come here far too often, watching and wondering, trying not to let himself dwell on it. If he closed his eyes, he could see it still; the terrified girl in her green riding habit, her chubby little horse as panicked as she was. The lightning blasting across the night sky, the thunder making the very ground shake beneath his feet as he stood in the shadows, helpless, watching her attempt to control the animal.

Then there was Jacob – dark-haired, infatuated and passionately ruthless – appearing before her, jumping off his own horse to try and save her.

‘The cliff path is crumbling away, Ella,’ Jacob shouted, ‘and the storm is too bad. It will not be safe. The rain …’

He tried to signal what he meant, but she just shook her head again, close to tears. ‘I cannot do it, Jacob; I cannot understand you. Please let me past. I need to find my husband.’

Adam had gone to Whitby to see his solicitor – something to do with the estate, an appointment he’d arranged on their return from honeymoon. Ella, stubborn, beautiful Ella had insisted on riding with him, but the storm had come in with the evening, and she’d lost him, somewhere in the town. She’d tried to head back to the Park on Blackie, in the pitch dark of a November night. Jacob was there, following her secretively, trying to bring her back safely – and to hell with Adam.

But she’d been panic-stricken and hysterical and it had all gone wrong.

She tried to make the horse skirt around him, but the gap was not very wide and the horse stumbled. Jacob grabbed the reins and pulled the animal towards him. Then he didn’t know exactly what happened. One minute Ella was in the saddle, the next, apparently unseated by the horse’s stumble, she was gone …

Ned dropped his head and stared at the edge of the cliff, inky, shiny black where it sheared away into nothingness. And he knew worse was to come, but he had to let it play out. He knew the sound of the argument would never leave him, the angry, bitter words, cousin against cousin, both men dangerously in love with Ella Carrick.

Adam had Jacob on the ground now; he was taller and stronger, the punches becoming more aggressive. Jacob, pinned down on his back, groped around the area, looking for something to defend himself with, something to get Adam off him. His fingers found a rock and closed over it; he brought the rock up, slamming it into the side of Adam’s head. There was a gasp and Adam’s eyes opened wide. Then he went limp and fell, tumbling away from Jacob and lying motionless in the mud …

Ned swore and slammed his fist into the hand-rail. This was his cross to bear. This. The fact he had to stand back and watch it happen. The fact he couldn’t help them; the fact he had gone there, and broken all the rules by doing so. He raised his head, his cheeks damp – but whether it was tears, sea-spray or snow, he didn’t know and he didn’t care.

‘I know there’s never an easy way!’ he shouted into the darkness. ‘I know it had to happen – but …’ He listened, as if someone would answer him. Nobody did. ‘Why them? Why them?’ Silence answered him and he shook his head. ‘I know. I know.’ His voice broke and he stared at the ground again, his eyes tracing the edge of the cliff, black on black. ‘I shouldn’t have been there, I should have stayed away. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I hoped it would be different.’ He looked up again and trained his gaze on the vast, lonely horizon. ‘But it never is, is it?’

A soft hand laid itself on top of his, with just enough pressure to let him know she was there. He didn’t look in her direction. He didn’t try to see her.

It wasn’t the first time he had felt her near him, but he was surprised she was here and he just nodded. ‘I would have stopped it if I could,’ he told her. ‘You know that, don’t you? Nobody who knew you properly could fail to love you in some way, but you were always his. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

He didn’t expect an answer. Could she even hear what he was saying? But apparently, she understood. She squeezed his hand and a kiss as soft as a whisper touched his cheek.

‘So I take it I’m forgiven?’ he asked, smiling crookedly. Another squeeze of his hand confirmed that. ‘I should go to her. I shouldn’t wait, should I? I don’t want to waste any more time.’ He looked up into the clouds as they parted across the moon, marking out a silver channel through the sea. He followed the glittering pathway and saw it led onto the jagged rocks below. He shuddered and looked back up at the moon. ‘I still wonder what you told her that Christmas Eve we were all together, when you were alone with her in the drawing room. She wouldn’t tell me. I know you said something, something in that way you had, something only the two of you understood. I should have learned your language – I might have eavesdropped.’

A breeze wafted past him, and it seemed as if the wind whispered in his ear: I said enough.

‘Enough,’ he repeated. He nodded again. Then he narrowed his eyes and looked along the cliff path. A shadowy figure, darker even than the velvet sky stood patiently. ‘I can see he’s waiting for you. Go to him. You’ve always been his angel and after all it’s Christmas – everyone needs their angels at Christmas.’

There was a breath of wind that may or may not have been a giggle, and he felt the hand lift from his. He waited a few seconds, then looked back at the cliff path; for a moment, the moonshadows shifted and changed and he saw her next to him; saw her tilt her head up and kiss him. Then he took her hand and there was nothing else to be seen, and Ned knew he was alone again.