Christmas Wishes Part 1. Elizabeth Rolls

      The hall rang with laughter and shrieks as, along with Ash, the children snatched raisins from the dish of flaming brandy until the flames subsided and they each had a pile of raisins in front of them. Maddy’s mind ranged ahead. Christmas was a time for promises, for hope and joy. Once, long ago, a child had been born who was all that—promise, hope and joy. By next Christmas would they have their own child? Might she already be carrying Ash’s child?

      ‘Right. Let’s see,’ said Ash, counting his raisins.

      The children counted theirs, as well. Only one pile looked as big as Ash’s.

      ‘I’ve got twenty,’ announced Ash, sitting back in his chair, candlelight gleaming on his hair, and his eyes glinting a challenge at the boy with the biggest pile, who was scowling in concentration.

      A moment later there was a triumphant shriek. ‘Twenty-one! I’ve got twenty-one. I beat you, sir!’

      Ash narrowed his eyes, examining the challenger’s pile. ‘Young whelp. You have, too. Well done!’ He grinned at the boy, reaching out to ruffle his hair, and Maddy swallowed, imagining him with his own sons. ‘You’d better eat them now,’ he said, rising. ‘You can share mine out.’

      He strolled over to where Maddy was sitting by the fire. ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ he said, bending over her. At her feet, Ketch wagged his tail.

      If she said what she was thinking, would it spoil what she already had? Her heart quailed. Falling in love with Ash was going to break her heart. He had married her for convenience and to protect her. It was clear enough that he desired her. Could that be enough for her?

      She managed to smile up at him. ‘Only a penny? I was thinking that it must be time to retire.’ She let her eyelashes drop as his eyes darkened. ‘I’m sure we’ll be excused.’ Her fingers toyed with the lace kerchief about her neck, unknotting it slowly while she held his heated gaze, and then gently drawing it off. ‘And I believe I have a favour to return.’

      * * *

      When at last Ash tumbled his wife beneath him on their bed he was hard and aching. God help him if she learned anything more about inciting a man to madness. She’d returned every favour and invented a few more. Now it was her turn.

      ‘I’m going to have you now, wife,’ he whispered.

      Her smile was Eve incarnate as she yielded sweetly, her arms coming about him as he settled between her thighs.

      ‘I thought it was mutual,’ she murmured, and kissed him.

      ‘Maddy,’ he whispered, and took her mouth as completely as he took her body.

      * * *

      Ash woke with a start, unsure what had disturbed him. He’d been dreaming, he thought, but not the usual nightmares. Just an ordinary dream.

      The sound came again. A scratching and snuffling at the door. He sat up carefully, trying not to disturb Maddy, snuggled next to him. There was a very faint glow from the fire—enough to see by.

      ‘I think it’s Ketch,’ she said sleepily. ‘Someone must have forgotten to take him to the stables. Just open the door. He’ll sleep by the fire if you tell him.’

      Ash looked down at her. ‘Where does he usually sleep?’ he asked suspiciously.

      She looked a little self-conscious. ‘Well, in here. By the fire, mostly. But sometimes he sneaks onto the bed, and I thought last night—’

      He was fairly sure she was blushing. Just as well she had put the dog out last night.... Clearing his throat, he got out of bed and went to the door. Sure enough, when he opened it, there was Ketch.

      Ash pointed to the hearth. ‘There,’ he said, employing his best commanding officer voice.

      The dog gave him a very surprised look, but wagged his tail and made for the fire, curling up in front of it and looking hopeful, just the tip of his tail moving.

      ‘Very well,’ said Ash, fighting a grin. ‘But just remember—the bed is mine.’

      The next time he woke up it was to the sensation of something wet and cold nuzzling at him. He cursed as something scratched at him.

      ‘Damn it, dog!’

      He opened his eyes to the glow of firelight. Ketch was reared up, one paw on the bed, the other raised, apparently about to nudge him again. Ash sat up, about to explain to the dog exactly where he was making his mistake.

      Ketch got down, backed up a little and growled. Then he ran to the door, still growling, and looked back at Ash.

      ‘Does Ketch want to go out?’

      Maddy sounded half-asleep.

      Was that all it was? A dog needing to go outside? Ash got out of bed, reached for his breeches and shirt and hauled them on.

      Maddy sat up, clutching the blankets to her. ‘Why is he growling?’

      ‘He doesn’t usually growl to go out?’

      ‘Of course not. He stands on me and licks my face!’ She threw back the bedclothes.

      But the dog had come to him. Growling. Something was wrong.

      Maddy had flung on her nightgown and was belting her robe about her, sliding her feet into slippers.

      ‘You stay here,’ he snapped, with Parmenter’s warning in mind. He couldn’t believe Montfort would be so stupid, but...

      She glared at him, pushing hair out of her eyes. ‘This time you can save your breath. I’m coming with you.’

      His mind raced. ‘All right. But stay back with Ketch until we know what’s going on.’ Seeing mutiny in her eyes, he added, ‘That’s called strategy. Keeping something in reserve in case your first plan doesn’t work.’

      Her eyes narrowed, but at least she nodded. Strategy, hell. If it was Montfort, he didn’t want her anywhere near him.

      The door that led from the corridor into the hall was closed. Ash set his hand lightly to the handle, listened. Muffled footsteps sounded. Ash tensed. It sounded as if someone wearing heeled boots was trying not to make too much noise. Only old Bets and Cally Whitfield slept in the house. They didn’t wear boots.

      He glanced over his shoulder. Maddy stood halfway along the corridor, Ketch’s collar gripped in one hand, a candlestick in the other. He held up one hand in a ‘no farther’ gesture and eased the door open a couple of inches.

      The hall was lit only by the fire. The fire they had left banked. Someone had stirred it up again. In the flickering light a man moved around quietly, pouring liquid from a can. He wore a heavy coat and a hat pulled down low over his face, but for a moment the firelight caught his features. Montfort.

      Ash sniffed. Lamp oil. His gut twisted. The bastard thought he was going to burn them out. Even as he watched, Montfort started laying the trail of oil towards the fire. Ash cursed mentally. He had to try to stop Montfort before he got any closer to the fire. If the blighter was armed, he was in trouble, but there was no time to find his own pistol and load it. By the time he did the hall would be ablaze.

      He opened the door fully and strolled in. ‘Good evening, Montfort. You’re a little late for the Christmas goose.’

      Montfort swore and dropped the can. Oil flooded from it but, thanks to the uneven old floor, did not flow towards the fire.

      ‘You’re a bloody nuisance, Ravensfell,’ he said.

      Ash shrugged. ‘I do try. The magistrates are going to take a rather dim view of this, you know.’

      Montfort laughed. ‘The magistrates? They aren’t going to hear anything except what a tragedy it was that Lord and Lady Ashton Ravensfell died when Haydon burned to the ground. I’ll be chief mourner for my poor little cousin. Might even persuade the courts to award the estate to me.’

      He