Tallie's Knight Part 10

He'd tried to keep her from noticing how few people there were in the church. He was sure she hadn't yet seen who was or wasn't there--her eyes hadn't left his on her proud, triumphal march down the aisle; she'd been smiling at him and only him.

But he hadn't succeeded. He knew to the second the moment she had realised there was no one on her side of the church. That no one had come to see Thalia Robinson married. The small gloved hand lying so limply in his had suddenly gripped him, tightening convulsively around his fingers. She had made no other sign, had stood straight and slender, looking ahead at the stained gla.s.s window above the altar, but Magnus had felt her trembling. Beneath the darned veil he had seen her biting her lip, struggling to maintain her composure. He had slid his arm around her, and unknowingly she had clutched onto him, tighter than ever, hanging onto his hand as if it was all she had to hold her up.

That pathetic, wounded look she'd given him had pierced him to the core. He would never forget it.

She had expected well-wishers--the children, the housekeeper and the butler at least. And was reeling under the cruel impact of the empty pews. And Magnus had been able to do nothing about it. Except become even more furious.

Then he'd tugged off her glove--her attention had been elsewhere at the time--and slipped his ring on her finger. She'd repeated her vows in a wooden little voice, and as he'd listened he had stared down at his ring, gleaming on the small, stained paw with the childishly chewed nails. And had wondered what the h.e.l.l he was doing, marrying this little orphaned stranger, so very much out of her depth in his cynical, sophisticated world.

And so very innocent and vulnerable and alone.

The coach swayed and bounded along the road at a breakneck pace.

Tallie had been proudly informed by Lord d'Arenville's coachman that the vehicle was the latest design, built for speedy modern travel and sprung to ensure the smoothest ride. She hung onto the travelling straps like grim death, wedged into the corner of the coach as tightly as she could to prevent herself being thrown off the seat again.

Tallie was feeling rather queasy. She had travelled very little in her adult life--only from Miss Fisher's seminary to her cousin's p? B house. If this was what travelling entailed. And this was England, where the roads were said to be the best in the world. Her mother must have been stronger than she'd realised. Lord d'Arenville had not exaggerated when he had said that travel was difficult for a lady to endure-But of course! That was it! The realisation hit Tallie like a bolt of lightning. That was the reason for this dreadful journey--undertaken in such a rush and at the last minute! Departing in the late afternoon, when n.o.body ever travelled in the dark unless they could help it! Pretending he had quarrelled with Laet.i.tia and would stay not a moment longer in her house. Bundling Tallie into his coach on her wedding day, tossing her embarra.s.singly small bundle of belongings after her and riding off on his own horse as if the hounds of h.e.l.l were in pursuit. What nonsense!

As if Lord d'Arenville--The Icicle--ever dashed about the country in a rage. The man was a positive by-word for cold self-control. He must be trying to frighten her, to get her to change her mind about foreign travel. The day before, he'd made no secret of his opposition to it.

Hah! Lord d'Arenville would find his bride was not so simple--she was awake to his dastardly machinations! She would have her Grand Tour.

He'd promised.

Tallie sat up, her queasiness forgotten in the light of her discovery.

For some reason she felt immensely cheered. She'd had some slight suspicion that she'd been, in some unknown way, the cause of his quarrel with her cousin.

The moment they had arrived back from the church he'd sent her upstairs with a maid to refresh herself while he spoke to Laet.i.tia.

Tallie, annoyed to be dismissed like a child, had crept back down the stairs to listen at the door, but had heard frustratingly few actual words--only the sound of their voices. His voice had been icy-cold, cutting, as if flaying her cousin with sarcasm, but Tallie could not see why he should have been so cross.

She had a right to be upset--a tearful Mrs. Wilmot had explained how Laet.i.tia had prevented herself. Brooks and the children from coming to the wedding. But he would care little about that; he'd wanted a small wedding--she'd heard him say so. And look at how few people he'd invited!

Pressing an ear to the thick wooden door panel, Tallie had been sure she'd heard something about a dress. Her dress? She'd pressed her ear harder to the door. But then he had said something about a village half-wit, so that couldn't be it. And Laet.i.tia had denied any responsibility for it and burst into noisy tears. It had all been very peculiar, and Tallie had been most intrigued, but then she'd heard his footsteps coming towards the door and she'd fled up the stairs.

So, it was all a hum--Tallie was convinced of it. And she was going to teach her husband a lesson about attempting to trick women out of their promised rights. She pulled open the shutters which covered the coach window. The sound of the pounding hooves and the creaking springs was almost deafening. Holding the leather straps tightly, Tallie knelt on her seat and peered out of the window.

It was very dark. Clouds moved across the sky, obscuring the moonlight intermittently. Wind whipped at her hair, tiny pellets of rain stung her cheeks and dark shadows whooshed past the window at an incredible rate. Goodness knew how fast they were travelling--Tallie had heard some gentlemen kept teams of horses that could travel at twelve, even fifteen miles an hour. The speed was a little scary, but also very exciting.

Tallie took several deep breaths. The fresh night air was most exhilarating, and she felt a thrill of naughtiness as she breathed it in--Miss Fisher had maintained the night air contained evil humours.

Her pupils had been strictly forbidden to breathe it. Tallie wound the straps around her wrists more securely and leaned farther out, inhaling blissfully. Her husband was out there somewhere ahead, riding his own horse-not for him a stuffy ride in a horrid jolting coach.

The coach lanterns provided some light, by which she could see the outline of the two rear horses, but there was no sign of Lord d'Arenville. He was probably a long way ahead of them.

"What the devil do you think you're doing?" a voice suddenly roared in her ear, giving Tallie such a fright that she almost let go of her straps.

She turned her head and saw her husband had come up close beside the carriage, so close she could almost reach out and touch him. Her mouth dropped open. She stared, wide-eyed, suddenly oblivious of the lurching of the coach. This was her husband? This creature of speed and power, shadows and moonlight--this was The Icicle?

He rode as if born to the saddle. Tallie had heard the expression before but had never been able to imagine it. She stared, half fearfully, at the superb black beast beneath him, gleaming with sweat in the moonlight. She noted its strong arched neck, the powerful hindquarters, the steam coming from its nostrils, the slight flecks of foam at its mouth. It seemed enormous, and very fierce, its hooves pounding through the night. And yet her husband dominated this huge, powerful beast effortlessly. Tallie had never ridden a horse-it had not been on Miss Fisher's curriculum. but ancient myths and legends had.

Suddenly Tallie knew exactly what a centaur looked like.

She had always imagined them to be rather ridiculous creatures--but this. He was. magnificent.

She stared at horse and man, pounding along in the intermittent darkness, now a mysterious black creature of the night, now a gleaming silver knight, kissed by moonlight. He rode bare-headed, and wet locks of dark hair clung romantically to his brow. How he could ride his horse so perilously close to a racing, bouncing carriage was more than Tallie could understand--it looked frightfully dangerous.

And then she suddenly remembered--he was probably trying to scare her.

She turned a blinding smile on him, freed one hand and waved.

He moved even closer.

"Is something wrong?" he shouted.

Hah! thought Tallie. You hope in vain, my lord.

"Not ... in the least," she shrieked back at him, her hair whipping about her face.

"In fact ... it is monstr--' The coach lurched and she nearly fell off her seat again.

"What did you say?" he yelled.

"Are you all right?"

Tallie plastered her smile back in place.

"I am per--perfectly well, my lord," she shouted as she jounced around on the leather cushions.

"This tr--trip is ... most delightful! I am having--' She hauled herself back from the edge of the seat again and clamped her fingers onto the window frame.

"I am having ... a won--wonderful time. It ... is monstrous exciting!" She directed the biggest smile she could muster out into the darkness. That should do it, she thought.

"We'll stop in an hour or so." Lord d'Arenville rode even closer to her window.

"You can rest and recover yourself then. We shall sleep the night at an inn." He galloped off into the darkness.

Sleep the night! Tallie gulped. She had forgotten--it was her wedding night. And at some time tonight, in some unknown inn, Lord d'Arenville would know her, and she would become, in truth, his wife. Her mouth was suddenly dry.

Chapter Six.

1 he inn was small and ancient, with exposed black beams and a sagging roof. Lamps spilled warm puddles of golden light across the wet cobblestones. The coach stood in the courtyard, the horses weary, their breath smoky against the shadows.

The rain had intensified in the last hour. Lord d'Arenville waited to hand Tallie down. She emerged stiffly and stumbled as she landed on the wet and slippery cobbles, but a cold, strong hand caught her and she was safe. Her husband pulled her hard against his body and allowed his greatcoat to drop over her, shielding her from the rain.

The sensation was overwhelming. His body radiated warmth and strength and power. And an odour--not at all unpleasant, she decided--of horse, damp wool, leather and fresh male sweat. Tallie allowed her body to lean against his, knowing her behaviour was indecorous and that there were grooms and other people watching. She was too cold to argue, too tired to pull away--and in any case his arm was wrapped around her like a warm steel band, and she could not have moved away if she'd tried. She had never been so close to a man before and was entirely taken up with the sensations it produced in her. Odd, fluttery sensations. And a sort of breathlessness.

Nerves, she decided. Bridal nerves. "Landlord!" Lord d'Arenville shouted, hustling her inside.

"A private parlour, and refreshments for my wife!" He handed her over to the care of a large clucking woman, the landlord's wife. She ushered Tallie to a small, cosy sitting room with a fire crackling in the grate.

Shivering with cold, Tallie stood as close to the fire as she dared.

Lord d'Arenville's coach contained several warm fur rugs, which she had used, but they hadn't prevented a chill from seeping into her bones, a chill she knew stemmed as much from nerves as from cold.

Tallie looked around her. The inn might be old, but it was clean and warm. There was a knock on the door and the landlord's wife bustled back in, bobbed an awkward curtsy and set down a tray containing a large steaming jug, some cut lemons, a small brown pot and several pewter mugs. An enticing aroma of wine, spices and citrus fruit came from the jug.

"Ere you are, milady.

"Is lordship bespoke some mulled wine, and says you're to take some

immediate and not to wait for 'im to arrive.

"E's seeing to the 'orses, makin' all right and tight." Shechuckled."There be no need to worry. Our Jem reckons it's Christmas--such prime bits o' blood 'is lordship's 'orses are."

She poured some steaming liquid into a mug and handed it to Tallie, beaming.

"Drink it down now, milady. It'll warm your blood proper."

It was very strange, Tallie thought, to be addressed as milady, but she

supposed she would become accustomed to it. She took a cautious sip of the steaming drink, then smiled at the hovering woman.

"It's very good," she said softly, and sipped again.

The woman beamed.

"Good of you to say so, milady, but there's more lemons if you want them, and honey, too, if it be too sour for you."

"No, no, it's very good just as it is," Tallie a.s.sured her, taking a large swallow of the hot drink and feeling the tangy warmth of it curl around her empty insides.

"Thank you."

The landlord's wife seemed to swell with delight.

"A pleasure to be serving such a kind-spoken lady. The Quality ain't

so easy to please in general. Now, I'll be off to the kitchen, milady, but I'll be back in a trice with dinner for 'is lordship and yourself. I've got a couple o' fat hens a-roasting, and a I stewed pig's ear and f.a.ggots, as tender and sweet as you could wish for.

And mutton pie, if 'is lordship fancies it. " She frowned and hesitated.

"I--er--I didn't 'ave much warning of your arrival, milady, so I'm afraid I ain't got no jellies or... or delicacies what a lady might--' " Please don't worry, Mrs. " Tallie reached for the jug, refilled her mug, added honey, and sat on a plush-covered chair.

"Mrs. Farrow, milady. Farrow, my us band be the landlor--' " Mrs. Farrow, you must not worry about any lack of ladylike delicacies.

I am hungry enough to eat whatever you can provide, and I am sure Lord d'Arenville is too. And if he is not," Tallie added, with a gleam of mischief, 'he has only himself to blame, does he not?" She took another mouthful of mulled wine.

"He did not, after all, give you sufficient notice of his arrival."

The landlord's wife, appalled at being implicated in any criticism of a lord, uttered a series of embarra.s.sed disclaimers and hurriedly curtsied herself out.

Tallie reached forward and refilled her mug. She sat back . in her chair, snuggling against the warm plush, remembering Miss Fisher's high, adenoidal voice"--A lady never allows her spine to contact the back of a chair." She took another sip of mulled wine. It really was a most deliciously warming and relaxing concoction. She had tasted wine before, and had found it rather nasty, but this--the lemons, honey and cinnamon--made such a delightful difference.

She kicked off her slippers and tucked her stockinged feet under her--another of Miss Fisher's solecisms--and basked in the warmth provided by the fire and the mulled wine. The scent of roasting meat tantalised her tastebuds. She leaned her head on the back of the chair. So nice not to be bouncing and jolting around. Such an interesting journey. She closed her eyes. The dashing highwayman thundered along the road in daredevil pursuit of the runaway coach. The coach lurched and swayed perilously, but the kidnapped princess remained calm, knowing her beloved was riding ventre a terre to rescue her.

Desperately she battered at the shutters which the evil Count had nailed over the coach windows, but they were too strong for her. Then, suddenly, crash! With a splintering of wood the shutters were wrenched away from without. Laughing with joy, the lost princess leaned out, her long dark tresses tossing romantically in the wind.

"Beloved," he called in his deep and manly voice.

"I am here. Hold out your arms." Smiling into the darkness, the princess trustfully held out her arms. Hooves pounded, wind whipped at her hair, and then out of the inky depths of the night rode the highwayman, moving as one with his magnificent jet-black steed. He rode perilously close to the razor-sharp wheels of the coach. The treacherous coachman turned his gun and fired. She gasped, filled with horror.

But the highwayman's gleaming white teeth glinted in the moonlight and she heard his soft laugh. Suddenly she was seized in a strong, secure grip and lifted by powerful arms onto the back of his gallant steed.

"Cold, my little love?" he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, and. he wrapped his black velvet cloak around her shivering body and drew her close.

His strength supported her and his body warmed her, smelling of leather, wet wool and fresh male sweat.

"You belong to me now, Tallie, my dearest one," he said, 'and I belong to you. " And, holding her safe against his heart, he galloped into the night... Magnus, stripping a sodden pair of leather gloves from his hands, had to duck his head under the low, smoke-stained portal as he entered the private parlour. His riding buckskins and his high leather boots were spattered with mud.

He straightened, sniffing appreciatively.

"Ahh, mulled--' He stopped, seeing his bride of ten hours curled up in a chair like kitten, her slippers kicked carelessly off, sound asleep. He sAd looking down at her. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders; damp wispy curls clung to her pale forehead and cl.u.s.tered around her neck.

Long dark lashes fanned her cheeks, which were flushed from the heat of the fire. Or maybe not, he thought wryly, as he bent down and removed the pewter mug which dangled precariously from one hand.

HA put a hand on her shoulder.

"Thalia," he said, then, "Thalia more loudly. She didn't stir. He decided to let her sleep until dinner arrived.