Christmas Wishes Part 1. Elizabeth Rolls

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       Chapter Three

      It was mid-morning when Ash’s mare clattered over the stone bridge into Haydon village, the river tumbling beneath. He’d spent the night in Newcastle after seeing Blakiston, who had seemed quite unsurprised by the visit, or the tentative instructions he’d been given.

       ‘Certainly, my lord. A very sensible solution for both of you, if I may say so.’

      Ash wasn’t sure what sort of answer he’d returned. His head ached and his eyes and temper were scratchy from a poor night’s sleep. Not the usual battle dreams, though, but dreams of Maddy again, this time soft and willing in his arms....

      He shoved the images out of his head, trotting Phaedre through the little village clustered by the bridge. It hadn’t changed since last he’d seen it. Grey stone houses huddled together along the narrow street, smoke drifting from their chimneys. The church, with its squat tower, nestled beside the rectory, and at the far end of the street, just before the road rose steeply towards Haydon itself, stood the Bowman’s Arms.

      It had stood there in one form or another for centuries. Ash knew it well, having often stayed there when he came down to this part of the county looking for Roman remains. He wondered if old Runcorn the landlord was still there, but rode past. Maybe he’d stop on the way back to Newcastle if he had time.

      It had snowed lightly the night before and a thin drift of white lay over everything. Phaedre’s breath steamed in the chilly air as she breasted the rise out of the village.

      Higher and higher they climbed as the road curved round. As he recalled, Haydon was only a mile or so out of the village, perched on a steep drop above a bend in the river. He couldn’t possibly get lost, because this road between the bare hedges led only to Haydon. He’d never been up to the castle in winter before, and even in summer it could be bleak. Now, even with his pounding head, his heart leaped at the bite of the wind and the threat of snow in the air.

      At last the buildings came into view. Haydon Castle... Ash reined the mare in, looking. Compared to Gerald’s pile, calling Haydon a castle was slightly overstating the case. It was more of a fortified manor, not really a castle at all. Still, it had an outer bailey, a courtyard that one might designate an inner bailey and a curtain wall. Once it had even had a portcullis, although he very much doubted it had ever kept any seriously pillage-minded Scots out. In these more peaceful times buildings had been erected outside the old fortifications. A barn, a cow byre larger than the one within the walls, several cottages. It was its own little world up here.

      He nudged Phaedre and rode on, approaching the main gate. It stood wide open, but as he rode into the old outer bailey a fusillade of barking broke out and a very large black-and-white crossbred hound he remembered only too well charged through the gate that led to the inner bailey.

      He drew rein and Phaedre halted, shifting restlessly as the dog stopped several yards away, still barking, hackles raised. Peaceful times, but Haydon retained some defences. Ash spoke soothingly to the mare and she settled, although wary of the barking dog.

      ‘Ketch!’ He spoke firmly, and at the sound of his name the dog wagged its tail but continued barking. ‘Enough, Ketch. Sit.’ That was how Maddy had always told the dog to stop barking.

      Ketch sat, ears pricked.

      A middle-aged man came through the gate, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he saw Ash. He cast a surprised glance at the dog.

      ‘Aye? You lookin’ for someone?’

      * * *

      Ketch’s furious barking alerted Maddy, and she set down her pen. The dog only barked at strangers and people he disliked. Strangers rarely came here, even in summer, and the person Ketch disliked most was Edward. She gritted her teeth. If Edward thought to stalk through Haydon and make claims on belongings he had no right to, then he had another think coming.

      She rose, set her papers aside neatly and went to stand by the fire. It was warmer there, and she’d be that much closer to a poker if Ketch and Brady, her steward, were unable to persuade him to go away. The barking had stopped, but she could hear the clop of hooves in the courtyard below. A visitor, then.... She waited.

      The outer door to the great hall opened, admitting a blast of cold air and the man she had persuaded herself she was not going to see or even hear from, unless it was a curt ‘no, thank you’—Ash Ravensfell.

      Her jaw dropped as disbelief hit her like a pile of collapsing masonry. He walked in, saw her and СКАЧАТЬ