On the edge of Rannoch Moor
A little later in the morning, 13th December
Only when her toes began to throb and the tip of her nose went numb did Ursula realize how cold she was. Her navy-blue coat, in finest quality wool, reached almost to her ankles, but was designed more for fashion than insulation. Her gloves and scarf were similarly inadequate. Her hat did nothing to cover her ears.
The mist wrapped around her—a curling, milky haze through which the sun struggled blearily. Where the platform ended, bracken began but she could see nothing more.
No carriage. No one to meet her.
Or rather, no one to meet Miss Abernathy.
Ursula put down the bags and pursed her lips. It was really too bad. A woman of such advanced years could hardly be expected to wait indefinitely in such a remote and exposed location. Ursula felt most indignant on her behalf—not to mention her own.
Someone was supposed to be coming to collect Miss Abernathy, but that someone was late.
Ursula felt a sudden pang at what she’d done—leaving Miss Abernathy on the train like that and taking her belongings. In running away, had she left behind her sense of integrity? Her scruples? She kicked at the rolling mist, which merely shifted about her hem before closing round again.
A still, small voice inside whispered that she’d acted badly.
Walking the length of the platform, Ursula berated herself. A full twenty steps, then she turned and walked back again. It wouldn’t matter how far she walked, it wouldn’t change anything.
However wicked it was, she had to make the best of the situation.
But I’ll do something “good” to make up for my failings. Regardless of how revolting the child is, I’ll be kind to them.
At one end, there was a rough cutting through the frosted bracken leaves. Not a road but a track of sorts. Ursula could see no other. From that direction, surely, the carriage would come.
This being the case, oughtn’t she to set off? The exercise, at least, would keep her blood on the move. She couldn’t just stand here, getting colder and colder.
It couldn’t be too far, could it?
And there were hours of daylight ahead, even though the sun was having trouble penetrating.
Where was it she was going?
Ursula knelt over Miss Abernathy’s handbag. It was a sturdy thing, though the leather was cracked at the corners and the clasp tarnished. It was a handbag that had served its owner well.
Worrying her lip, Ursula pulled the metal frame wide. Inside, the contents were an unexpected jumble, but the letter was near the top: A pale grey envelope, addressed to Miss U. Abernathy at Kilmarnock Manor.
It was a convenient coincidence: their names being so similar.
Steeling herself to do what she must, Ursula scanned through. She was expected at Castle Dunrannoch on the fourteenth of the month “to undertake lessons in etiquette and manners befitting the future earl—a young man unaccustomed to the circles in which he will be moving”.
Apparently, there had been a series of bereavements and the title would be falling to some unsuspecting grandson—a child for whom the family had employed Miss Abernathy.
Except that it wouldn’t be Miss Abernathy turning up. It would be Ursula.
And it wasn’t the fourteenth of the month; that would be tomorrow.
And, though the mist was as thick as ever, she was pretty certain that it had started to snow.
She gave a strangled gasp of laughter.
How absurd everything was.
Incomprehensibly ridiculous.
If she didn’t laugh, she’d sit down on the spot and cry.
Whichever guardian angel was supposed to be looking after her, she assumed they were having a good chuckle as well. Ursula only hoped they might give themselves a stitch from all the jolly good entertainment, because she wasn’t sure how much more of this celestial humour she could bear.
Ursula got to her feet and picked up the bags.
Logic would dictate that the track led to the castle, so she simply needed to keep walking until she happened upon civilisation—or whatever passed for it in these parts.
She ignored the quiver in her chest as she left the platform, following the track. A brisk pace was the answer, and her eyes on the path at all times. Never mind that the snow was settling on her eyelashes and her teeth wanted to chatter. The castle might be only a mile or two away.
It was beautiful, in an eerie way—everything white and still and quiet.
And with each step, she was closer to sitting before a fire, being offered crumpets, and fruit cake, and scalding hot tea.
As for the matter of impersonating Miss Abernathy, she was a great believer in the power of charm. She mightn’t feel terribly charming at this minute but, once she was warm again, she’d dredge some up.
Onwards she went, the cold breath of the moor on her cheek. The swish of her skirts against the stride of her legs became the rhythmic count to her pacing. She tried to ignore how the bags were making her arms ache.
All had seemed still and silent, but now she heard the invisible. Water trickling nearby. Croaking. A faint hoot.
Then something else.
A distant thud, repetitive and coming closer—though she couldn’t tell from which direction. The mist and snow conspired to deaden sound, while her own breathing seemed to grow louder.
Ursula shivered.
“Is anyone there?” Her voice sounded feeble.
She moved to the edge of the track, peering through the pale vapour.
Something was in the mist. There was a snort and a pawing of the ground.
A stag? She’d never seen one but they were huge, weren’t they?
With horns.
Ursula was unsure what to do for the best. If she stayed upright, she might be gored through on a candelabra of antlers. If she fell to the ground, she could be ridden under-hoof.
Before she had the chance to decide, the creature was upon her. She saw flaring nostrils and a wild eye, and gums drawn back on huge teeth.
Not a stag but a stallion, its hooves rearing up over her head.
Ursula screamed.
“Whoa there, Charon!”
The man pulled his mount round sharply.
“What the hell?” A deep, drawling voice barked out above her. “I damn near killed you!”
Ursula cowered back from the frisking horse and its irate rider, quite unable to find her voice.
In a single bound, the man leapt down to stand before her.
“What in the name of all that’s holy are you doin’, wanderin’ round like a wraith? You scared the bejesus out o’ me.”
Ursula found herself looking at a man taller than any she’d seen before. Tall, wide-shouldered and well-built.
Loose-limbed too.
The way he’d kicked his heels out of the stirrups and thrown his leg over the mount’s head to jump down, he moved like an acrobat.
She blinked. “How b-big you are!”
He gave a slow smile.
“I mean t-tall! Very tall!” She was chilled to the bone, her teeth chattering madly, but Ursula felt the tingle of heat rising to her cheeks.
“Six foot, five, ma’am. Corn-fed in the heart of Texas.”
He held out his hand. “Name’s Rye, and I’m mighty pleased to meet you.”
Ursula stared at his hand a moment before shaking it. Really, it was all most peculiar.
Texas? Wasn’t that where the cowboys lived? It would explain his attire: the most ludicrous hat, and oddly shaped boots—embroidered and heeled. His coat hung open, despite the frost in the air, revealing a checked shirt and soft trousers. There was a red kerchief, bright and patterned, at his neck, and he was unshaven and sun-darkened, like a bandit.
His hands, strong and firm, went to her shoulders, and it occurred to her that he was probably holding her up. Whether it was the cold or the shock of being near-trampled, she couldn’t feel her legs at all. They were utter jelly.
Trembling, she raised her gaze to his. His eyes were quartz grey, short-lashed and heavy-lidded, and staring right back at her.
“Miss Abernathy,” she said at last.
“Well, Miss Abernathy, it’s colder than a blue norther out here.” That drawl again, as if he were caressing her skin with every word. “If you’re lost, that makes two of us, what with this damned fog.”
Her breath caught, looking at his mouth. It was deliciously masculine.
“With this snow gettin’ thicker we’d best lit outta here. There’s a bothy roundabouts. The vapours shifted just afore I clapped eyes on you and I’m mighty sure I spied a red roof out yonder.”
Without waiting for her response, he picked up the bags and tied one to either side of the rear of the saddle.
“You’ll be safe up front, with me behind. I won’t let you slip.”
Ursula looked at his outstretched hand.
He wanted her to climb on the horse with him?
Was he mad?
She didn’t know him.
And he wanted to take her to a bothy—whatever that was—where they would be alone.
He must have seen her hesitation. “You’ve nothin’ to fear, ma’am. Charon’s a devil when he’s scared but he’ll hold steady now. As for me, I was raised to be respectful. I’ll have ma arm about your waist but I won’t take no liberties, however temptin’ that may be.” His mouth quirked up in a half-smile.
No sooner had her fingers touched his than she was launched upwards, her toes guided to the stirrup and her bottom plonked in the saddle.
As he settled behind, she was aware of his straddling thighs tucked around hers. With one hand taking the reins, he brought the other around her middle, pulling her into his chest, and gave Charon a gentle kick.
She’d only just met him, but he was just what she needed.
A source of heat!