His Lady Mistress. Elizabeth Rolls

anything else. The bulbs won’t flower till spring. Maybe they won’t realise. Then if…if I can come back one day, I’ll be able to find him…’ Tears choked her and she turned away, searching for the fallen bag of bulbs.

      The moon sailed out and she saw the bag by her satchel at the edge of the grave. Shivering, she knelt again and realised that her companion had knelt too.

      He held out his hands. ‘I’ll help you.’

      Fresh tears slid down her cheeks as she tipped bulbs into his cupped palms and tried to thank him. No words came and in silence they planted them.

      At last they were done and Verity’s companion lifted her tenderly to her feet. ‘Come now. With those to deck his grave he will be at peace.’

      Her hand clung to his. ‘Wait,’ she begged.

      Dragging in a deep breath, she began in a childish treble, ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills: from whence cometh my help…’ Her voice cracking and breaking, she stumbled through the psalm she had memorised until she came to the final verses and the strangling lump in her heart silenced her. Shuddering, she dragged in a useless breath, and another, only to feel a powerful arm go around her shoulders.

      The deep voice continued for her in steadfast accents, ‘The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: yea, it is even he that shall keep thy soul.’

      Drawing upon his strength, Verity found her voice again and they finished together, ‘The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in: from this time forward for evermore.’

      It was finished. She had done what she set out to do—all she could do—to make amends for her betrayal. There was nothing else she could cling to.

      Strong arms held her as she stumbled and then lifted her to lie cradled against a broad chest. Seeming not to feel his burden, her champion strode along the lane, uttering a piercing whistle. A whinny and trotting hooves answered and the horse loomed up before them.

      She found herself lifted to the horse’s back and held there as her rescuer sprang up behind her and drew her back into his arms. His cloak was flung around her in heavy protective folds and she realised that she had been wrong. She did have something to cling to. She had this stranger, whoever, whatever he was, and she would cherish the thought of him all her days.

      ‘Will you tell me your name?’ she whispered.

      The arms tightened as the horse broke into a slow trot. ‘Max.’

      ‘You knew him, didn’t you? How?’ She had to find out. She couldn’t bear to know nothing of the one person who had comforted her grief in a shattered world.

      ‘He was my commanding officer. My superior in every way. A gallant officer and a gentleman. Remember him that way, Verity. And I will remember him as blessed above all men.’

      A sob tore at her. Blessed? How could he say that? She could not even frame the question. The horse came to a halt as the moon flickered out again, gleaming hopefully in puddles and on wet hedges.

      A gentle hand lifted her chin and she gazed up, seeing him clearly for the first time. Weary eyes looked back out of a harsh, angular face, all colour leached in the silver wet moonlight. Even as she gazed, the face twisted in a sad smile. ‘You don’t believe me, do you, little one?’

      Mute, she shook her head.

      The smile deepened and he bent to press a light kiss on her brow. ‘He died blessed with a child as gallant and loyal as himself. No man could ask for more. He would be proud of you, Verity. As proud as you should be of him.’

      The horse moved on slowly and Verity turned and wept unashamedly on Max’s chest. He doesn’t understand; doesn’t know what I did. If he knew…

      But he didn’t know and he held her, rubbing his cheek against her wet hair as the horse picked its way slowly back to the village.

      Gradually some of the chill left her. The warmth beneath Max’s cloak lulled her, vanquishing the nightmare, and she dozed, only waking fully when they reached the village and Max spoke.

      ‘Who is looking after you? Have you any family?’

      She looked about, puzzled. They had pulled up outside the inn. ‘Pardon?’

      ‘Who are you staying with? I’ll see you to the door.’

      ‘Oh.’ She tried to sound indifferent. ‘I’m still at the cottage. I…I believe my uncle is coming for me tomorrow.’

      A low voice spoke from an upper window. ‘That you, sir?’

      Max looked up. ‘Harding! Good man. Come down, will you, and take the horse.’

      ‘Aye, sir.’

      Verity clenched her teeth against a shiver. She could make it back to the cottage alone from here. It was only a step. She made to slip down, but found herself held firmly in place. He leapt off and lifted her down, steadying her as she stumbled on legs stiffened with cold.

      ‘Gently,’ he said, supporting her.

      The rest of her might be half-frozen, but her heart felt as though someone had lit a fire under it.

      A moment later the inn door opened and a small man came out with a lantern.

      ‘Everything all right, sir?’ Then, ‘Who the devil’s this?’

      The arm around her tightened. ‘Harding, this is Miss Scott. Can you rub Jupiter down while I see her home?’

      Harding lifted the lantern higher. ‘Miss Scott?’

      She flinched at the light, shrinking closer to Max.

      The lantern lowered. ‘I’m that sorry, lass. About everything. He was a brave man. You go with the major. God bless you. I’ll see you later, sir.’

      ‘Harding?’

      ‘Yessir?’

      ‘Don’t wait up.’

      ‘Sir?’

      ‘Don’t wait up.’

      ‘Don’t…? Oh, aye. No, sir. Goodnight, sir.’ He led the horse away.

      ‘I shall be quite safe now,’ Verity protested. ‘You needn’t—’

      ‘Don’t waste your breath,’ he advised her and swung her up into his arms. ‘I’m taking you home and that’s all there is to it.’

      The easy strength in his arms shocked her into silence until they reached the cottage and he set her down gently. ‘Key?’ he asked.

      A bitter laugh escaped her. ‘It’s not locked. They didn’t leave anything worth stealing.’

      He opened the door

      The darkness within was total. ‘Wait,’ she said and made her way carefully to the table, fumbling for the candle and tinderbox she had left there.

      Her numb fingers struggled with the flint and steel. Again and again she tried to strike a spark. A small sob of frustration escaped her at her clumsiness. An instant later both flint and steel were taken by gentle, unerring hands and light flared as the spark ignited the rags in the box.

      ‘Sit down,’ he said brusquely as he set a chair by the fire and squatted down to touch the candle to the kindling and faggots laid there. Verity obeyed and watched in bemused fascination as he tended the fire and then prowled around the kitchen, looking into every corner. Warmth stole through her, despite the damp clothes.

      ‘Go up and bring some dry clothes down here.’

      That jerked her out of her doze. Blinking up at him in the shadowy, dancing light of the fire, she asked sleepily, ‘Whatever for?’

      His voice was very patient. ‘To put on. You need to get dry. Quickly.’

      Down here? With him in the kitchen? All of a sudden she was