Visions of Mistletoe: A Ridlington Christmas Novella Page 8

  He nodded. “That’s what the man said.”

  “Have you ever heard of him?”

  “Not a whisper. It came right out of the blue.” He took a gulp of the ale from one of the tankards on the tray between them.

  Ariadne had taken shameless advantage of the hot water and not only cleaned herself but had slipped into her old warm nightgown. She was already tucked under the covers when Michael arrived back with the tray and his exciting news.

  They’d put the tray on the bed and were sharing the meal along with a discussion of the unusual developments.

  Tearing off a piece of warm bread, Ariadne frowned. “He must be a person of some distinction, for the groom to have thought you were him.”

  “Thank you,” said Michael, raising one eyebrow. “I think.”

  She shook her head and swallowed. “What I meant was that there must be something distinctive that you both share. Did he happen to mention any similarities? Or what made him mistake you for this Baron?”

  “Other than the fact that my eyes were green and his are brown, there was nothing. He was on his way out, I was on my way in.” Michael munched a piece of cheese.

  Ariadne rolled her eyes. “At least tell me you asked where Ridlington Vale is…”

  He met her glare with a smug grin. “About two hours ride east.”

  “Oh, thank Heavens.” She flopped back against the pillow. “Now we have a destination. I will confess I feel much better knowing we have one, because wandering aimlessly over the countryside in the winter isn’t the most pleasant of experiences.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry for it.” He looked penitent.

  Her conscience twinged. “Please don’t apologise. I insisted on coming with you, after all.”

  Michael took another swig from his tankard, then looked at her over the rim. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  His green gaze fastened on her face. “You could have let me leave alone, Ariadne. There were a dozen reasons for you to stay, and not nearly as many supporting the notion of you coming with me. The matter of our not being related in any way is scandalous enough to keep most women securely at their own firesides…”

  Since there’d been a small pot of tea on the tray, Ariadne took the time to pour herself a cup while she considered her answer. With food in her belly, a warm bed and a cup of tea, she was experiencing an unusual degree of relaxation. But she didn’t want it to make her careless in her words to Michael. She couldn’t let him know of the feelings for him she was doing her best to keep hidden.

  “I suppose the obvious answer is that I didn’t want to stay by myself. And you yourself mentioned the trouble that might arise should Graymore return.”

  “An easy answer, and yes, I wanted you with me. But I’d like to know your reasons,” said Michael, one of his thick eyebrows lifting in challenge.

  “You’re right. Yes, it is the easy answer. But a valid one, nonetheless.” She sipped, thought, sipped again while the fire crackled in the hearth. “I couldn’t let you go alone.”

  He tipped his head to one side and stared at her. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Yes, really.” She took a breath. “There are many things in this world we cannot begin to understand, Michael. Some people go through their entire lives unaware of such matters. Then there are others—like myself, and I think perhaps like you—who are more open, more sensitive to occurrences of an unusual nature.”

  He chuckled softly. “That was very well put.”

  “Thank you. I had to spend a bit of time choosing my words.”

  “Indeed. Saying we both hear voices and have various kinds of visions would make us both candidates for Bedlam, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She answered quietly, keeping her eyes on his face. “You heard a voice, didn’t you? It wasn’t someone giving a groom an order. You heard a voice telling you to go to the stables.”

  He couldn’t meet her gaze. “I did,” he confessed. “There was nobody behind me, and the words were too clear to have come across the room, no matter how much I wish they had.”

  “So you believe in…in extraordinary happenings?”

  His head shot up as he smiled. “I met you, didn’t I? That has been nothing less than extraordinary.”

  She felt her cheeks flush even as she shook her head in denial.

  Then he yawned.

  “You must be even more tired than I am. Let’s get some rest and tomorrow we may hope to get some answers for you…” She sighed.

  He finished his ale, stood and picked up the tray, putting it onto the small bureau. “You’re right.” He took the water behind the screen and she slipped from the bed, blowing out all the candles but two.

  “Can you pass me my nightshirt? I forgot it.” He fussed behind the screen.

  She grinned. “Certainly, dear.” It sounded so husbandly.

  His snort was sufficient answer and she pulled his nightshirt from his bag and tossed it over the screen, hurrying back to bed since her feet were rapidly cooling. “I’ll bank up the fire,” she said quietly, knowing if they didn’t, they’d be in a very chilly room come morning.

  “All right,” he muttered, then emerged from behind the screen to lay his clothes higgledy-piggledy across a chair.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to admonish him, but then she remembered just in time that he wasn’t Joshua, but a grown man and could do as he pleased with his clothes.

  She shifted all the way to one edge, knowing there was no option but for him to join her beneath the covers.

  He pulled the linens back on his side. “This could be awkward, you know.”

  She shrugged, tucking the blankets higher around her shoulders, turned away from him. “It could be, but both of us have shared beds before. And we’re not a young couple with lusty fires roaring through our veins.” She yawned in her turn. “We’re two people who have had a long and tiring day in the saddle, in the middle of winter, on roads that were little better than slushy ruts. I don’t know about you, but even if I did have lusty fires roaring, I’m too damn tired to do anything about them.”

  Michael spurted out a laugh at her declaration. “Well, you just doused all my lusty fires quite nicely.” He arranged himself beneath the covers with a groan of relief. “But you’re right. I’m weary right down to my soul.” He wriggled a bit. “At least it’s comfy and warm.”

  “Mmm,” she murmured in agreement. It was indeed warm. And very comfortable. And the sensation of another warm body in the bed produced a feeling of relaxation and security that Ariadne couldn’t have managed to put into words. It had been so long since she’d shared a bed with a man.

  And she wasn’t sure she’d ever shared a bed with someone who made her feel quite like this. She trusted him and had no idea why. They’d known each other for barely a day, and yet here she was, lying next to him, completely assured of her safety.

  “Michael, to answer your question. I wanted to be with you on this journey. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Mmmm…”

  He was already asleep.

  As she let herself relax and follow him, idle thoughts swirled through her mind and a voice whispered softly “he was always meant to be yours…”

  *~~*~~*

  Michael wasn’t quite sure what woke him, but the room was dark, just a few glowing embers in the fireplace offering what illumination they could.

  He stretched a little, enjoying the warmth of his cocoon, and paused in surprise when his foot hit another one—that wasn’t his.

  Ariadne. She was curled up next to him, sleeping soundly, little puffs of air coming from between her lips. A delicate snore that made him smile.

  Obeying a natural instinct, he turned toward her, snuggling up to her back, tucking her into his body and letting their natural curves meet from knees to neck. Thus spooned, she nestled into his arms, and he lay there for some time, simply enjoying the warmth and softness of a woman, something he’d not enjoyed like this in…well, he couldn’t a
ctually remember the last time.

  It was quite astounding, not to mention shocking, that he felt this way given the brief time he’d known her. A day…scarcely more…and now here they were together. In bed. And it seemed right.

  He thought about that when the word came to him. The rightness of it, her scent, her shape, the way it matched his. Familiar and yet not. Drowsy, he simply let himself drift into this moment, a brief scrap of time that he’d never imagined he’d experience.

  “She was always meant to be yours.”

  He stirred as the words seemed to whisper somewhere in his mind. His. Yes, that’s what it felt like. Ariadne was, and always had been, his. He had to smile at himself for his absurd notions, and yet…

  She moved, shifting position, stretching against him, murmuring something indistinct.

  His body couldn’t help but respond, waking now to the acceptance that a desirable woman lay in his embrace. He let his hand rest on her hip, then move down to her leg, bared where her nightgown had caught beneath her. As if he petted a kitten, he let his palm stroke the smooth skin, learning the texture and the feel of her.

  He sensed her as she awoke, wondering what her response would be to his touch, ready for her to move away…framing his apologies for his far-too-intimate caresses.

  But she surprised him.

  “Ohhh…” she whispered, and pushed back into him, a silent request for more.

  Thrilled and aroused, he answered with more long strokes, this time letting his hand push away more of her garment to reveal hip and waist. From there it was but a second for him to find the soft curves of her stomach and the dip beneath that led to those tight curls…and more.

  Silently, she moved again, this time opening herself to his searching hand, gasping a tiny breath as his fingers moved lower to her woman’s flesh. He played, petted, toyed and stroked, aware of her tiny movements, her responses to each different touch.

  Beneath her skin her muscles tensed and at last she rolled free onto her stomach with a whispered groan. “Michael…”

  “I’m here,” he answered softly.

  Regretting the loss of her warm wet folds, he transferred his attention to the sweet and firm globes of her buttocks, now revealed by her movements and becoming visible as the day began and dawn crept into the sky outside their room.

  He palmed them, cupped them, ran his fingers daringly down the cleft between them, and then squeezed them, biting down hard on his arousal, vowing to simply pleasure her as best he could.

  She moaned again, and he smiled at the tiny goosebumps he could feel as she shivered beneath his touch. He splayed his hand at the base of her spine, covering her lower back. She was all silk and heat and yet there were firm muscles beneath that delicate covering.

  “Michael,” she whispered his name once more and rolled away from him. But instead of remonstrating or complaining, she wriggled closer and took his breath away as she reached for him. “My turn.”

  Willingly he settled next to her, easing his own night robe out of the way, shamelessly flaunting his now-rigid length lying across his thigh.

  Mimicking his moves, she began to stroke him, learning in her turn the sensation of the hairs on his legs, the muscles, the dips and valleys and curves that made him the man he was.

  Gently she grasped him and he clenched his teeth against the urge to grab her hand, make her into a tight fist and bring him to his peak.

  “God,” he hissed, as she moved to investigate his balls.

  “You’re so much a man,” she murmured.

  If he could unclench his teeth he might answer her, but if she kept up doing what she was doing, he would soon demonstrate quite energetically how much of a man he was. All over her hands.

  Nearing the limits of his self-control, Michael finally had to loosen her grip. “I cannot hold back if you keep doing that, Ariadne…” his whisper was harsh with desire.

  “I’m sorry,” she began, moving away.

  “No.” He held her in place. “Don’t be sorry. I love having your hands on me. I want more. Much more.”

  “Like what?” she asked, her voice a seductive purr.

  He took her at her word, pulled the linens away from her and without a hitch pulled her nightgown up to her neck. Before she could do anything he found her breasts, one with his mouth, the other with his hand.

  She gasped, whimpered and arched into his touch, her fingers grabbing his shoulders and holding him tightly to her.

  Michael suckled, the taste of her filling him to overflowing, the sensation of her nipple hardening to a taut nub against his tongue, her hands urging him on…he was near to exploding and wanted nothing more than to rise above her and plunge himself deep inside, where he could release all the pent-up passion crying to be freed. He wanted to take her with him, to take her up, up to the dizzying heights he knew they’d both reach without check.

  He desired, he lusted…and he knew he couldn’t do it.

  Leaving lingering kisses behind, he drew back, painful though it was. “I cannot,” he groaned. “I will not risk it, love.”

  “I…” she clung to him.

  “I will not risk a child, Ariadne. Not now. Our future is too uncertain and if I take you now, as every iota of my being is screaming at me to do, we’ll both be taking that risk…”

  He saw her eyes close and then open again, the dawning of his meaning taking hold. “Damn,” she muttered. “Damn.”

  And she let him go, unwillingly, but he knew she understood. He was a bastard, as was her son. Neither would condemn another child to such a situation.

  “We will finish this, Ariadne. I promise you we will finish this.” He readjusted her nightgown and his own clothes. “There’s too much between us to leave it thus.”

  Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he turned his back to her, running his hands through his hair and willing his body to relax, a task he wasn’t sure it would manage for a few moments yet. “I don’t know what’s between us, or why I am drawn to you like no other woman I’ve ever met, but I cannot lie and pretend it’s not there.”

  “I am of the same mind,” she said quietly. “I thought I would only ever love one man. I wanted him so much I bore his child. But what I felt for him is nothing near what I feel for you. And like you, I cannot even begin to guess why.” She shifted, making the bed move a little. “Perhaps we should not even be questioning. Just accepting.”

  He bowed his head. “A voice spoke to me again before I fell asleep, Ariadne.”

  She was silent for a few moments. “Let me guess. It told you what it told me. That you were always meant for me.”

  How could he answer when chills skittered down his spine and adequately shrivelled his arousal. “What is happening to us?” It was a plaintive whisper.

  “I have no idea,” she confessed. “And perhaps I should be scared. But then I look at you and I am not afraid. Because whatever it is between us…well, it just seems that it is right.” She sat up and pushed away the covers. “That sounds so silly…”

  “No, it doesn’t. It’s true. I feel the same way.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And I can’t complain since it is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He reached toward her, leaning back over the bed, and she accepted his hand. “I just hope we’re not being pushed together by some…I don’t know……something…” His voice tapered off. “I never imagined words like that would come out of my mouth.”

  “You should have,” she remonstrated gently. “You’re Irish, dear Michael. Such matters are well known there, I understand.”

  “If you believe…” he answered.

  “Do you?”

  He turned fully, looking at the sight of their hands clasped together, then raising his head and looking at her, so lovely in the morning light, her cheeks flushed, her hair tumbled loose and free. He answered from his heart, the only words he could come up with.

  “I believe in you.”

  She squeezed his fingers and smiled. “As I believe
in you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Their departure was barely noted by anyone at the inn, since it seemed many were travelling for Christmas, and the courtyard bustled with activity.

  So Michael and Ariadne set out on what they hoped was the last leg of their journey with little or no fanfare. Which was exactly as they wished it, thought Ariadne. The fewer people who saw them, the better. Nobody stopped, stared or pointed at Michael, so she felt safe in assuming the groom he’d met last night wasn’t from the local area.

  Whether this was a good thing or not, she wasn’t sure, but she certainly hoped that they might gently introduce themselves to this Baron, rather than have several local folks arrive with the news of Michael’s likeness before he himself could appear to confirm it.

  Once away from the inn, she voiced the question uppermost in her mind. “Do you know what you’re going to say when we arrive, Michael?”

  He shook his head. “I really have no idea. I’m hoping that simply introducing ourselves will be sufficient. Asking if the Baron would spare us a moment of his time. That’s all. Something courteous and polite, of course.”

  “Naturally,” she chuckled. “It wouldn’t do to walk in and demand to know if he’s your father.”

  “Or if his father could also be my father,” Michael grinned back. “Upon reflection, I have to guess that the latter is the more likely situation. For a groom to believe I was the Baron would indicate we’re of an age.”

  “And thus share a father. Yes, that makes sense.”

  “By the way,” he slowed his horse a little so that they were side by side. “You are my wife.”

  Her mount shifted at the involuntary tug on the reins as she jumped in surprise at his words. “What?”

  He lifted his chin and looked at her. “You are my wife. We have not said the words, nor made the vows, nor signed any register. But in my mind—and in my heart—there is no doubt. You are my wife.”

  For a moment the entire world shimmered in front of Ariadne’s face. She understood his words, and they made sense, but the billowing wave of joy that rocked her was unexpected. Tears stung her eyes as she swallowed a great lump of emotion and fought to find her voice.