Sandra Madden Read online

  "Do not be deceived by thine eyes." She blinked at him in an accusing manner.

  "My apologies."

  "The surgeon cannot discover what ails me. I have been bled and blistered to what end, eh? I continue to feel weak and indisposed day after day."

  "Do you take daily walks in this good country air?"

  His aunt recoiled as if Edmund had suggested throwing herself on a bed of nails. "Nay! I could catch something dreadful in the outdoors."

  Before Edmund could respond, the door to the drawing room opened. He looked up and experienced his second shock of the day.

  "Edmund," Cordelia asked, "do you remember little Kate?"

  The air rushed from his lungs.

  Little Kate. This was not the smelly, dirt-covered girl he'd discovered earlier that day in the rosebushes, nor the small child with the big round eyes who years ago followed him to his castle in the trees.

  The Kate who stood just inside the drawing-room door regarding him with a soft, enigmatic smile was a tall, slender beauty.

  Edmund could not be certain he was breathing as he beheld his former fishing companion. A mixture of awe and appreciation fixed him in a near mesmerized state.

  Who would have guessed Kate would blossom into a beauty with high, regal cheekbones the same soft pink shade as the garden roses? Who could have known the smattering of freckles he remembered would fade, leaving a flawless, creamy complexion? The child's mass of tangled blond curls had been captured and tamed by the woman. Kate's sleek honey mass had been pulled back and covered by a net caul at her crown.

  She wore a simple open gown of violet silk over voluminous petticoats. The low square neckline of her cream-colored bodice displayed a tantalizing view of full, round breasts.

  Edmund felt warm of a sudden. Without ruff or farthingale, Kate managed to be more attractive than any lady of his acquaintance dressed in the height of fashion.

  "My lord," she said. Her lips parted in a teasing smile as she made a slight curtsy.

  Edmund drew a ragged breath.

  "Edmund?" his aunt repeated.

  Jarred from his stupor, he grinned and strode across the room. "Mistress Kate! What a delightful surprise." He winked as his eyes met hers. Clasping her hand in his, Edmund slowly brought her fingers to his lips, brushing them softly.

  "I fear I keep appearing where you least expect me," she said. Her wide amber eyes sparkled like spun gold.

  The pulse at his wrist raced.

  "I am charmed, nevertheless," he replied, lowering his voice to an intimate aside. "But I must confess I hardly recognized you without your gardening attire."

  "Or dirt?" she asked with a saucy grin. Her lips were scarlet and dewy, as if she'd just run her tongue across and wetted them.

  Fleetingly, Edmund wondered if Kate's lips had ever been kissed. She smelled of rosewater. The sweet flower scent drew him closer. "You have become a beautiful young woman," he said, rather hoarsely.

  They stood inches apart. The urge to gather Kate into his arms and whirl her about again struck Edmund with amazing force.

  "You flatter me, my lord. Time has made changes."

  Edmund nodded, willing his body to cool, his eyes to look away. "Time has blessed you."

  She gave him a brilliant smile. "You appeared surprised when first you saw me."

  Kate had always spoken what was on her mind. 'Twas a disconcerting habit Edmund had hoped she had outgrown. Apparently, she had not.

  "Not at all," he mumbled.

  Embarrassed, Edmund took Kate's elbow intending to hurry her to his aunt's side. But she balked. She scanned the room, searching for someone or something.

  "Is something amiss?" Edmund asked.

  "Is... is your hound about?"

  "No. Percy waits downstairs."

  "Did you find my comfrey?" Aunt Cordelia asked, unmindful of Kate's apprehension.

  "Aye. 'Tis here." Kate held up the ivory vial and carried it to where the old woman waited impatiently. " 'Twas in your bedchamber, just as you suspected."

  "God reward you," Cordelia declared. "In my delicate condition, 'tis necessary to keep the comfrey close at hand, eh?"

  Edmund gave a nod without taking his eyes from Kate.

  "Sit here, Kate." Cordelia blinked as if the dim room had suddenly flooded with sunlight. She patted the bench beside her box chair. "Kate has been a fine companion to me since she came home to nurse her papa," his aunt explained to Edmund.

  "I am certain that she's an excellent companion.

  She always was," Edmund replied as he met Kate's eyes.

  "Fortunately, Papa has not required all of my time, so I have been able to visit regularly with your aunt."

  "Kate plays the lute, you know," Cordelia said, flicking a speck of lint from her black wool shawl.

  "Nay, I did not know."

  "And she plays draughts with me."

  "A woman of many talents," Edmund offered.

  "Aye. And, oh, my dear, when I have the headache, she gives the most comforting strokes about my forehead, and here at my temples." Cordelia demonstrated with her own gnarly fingers while she talked, "Kate all but chases the pain away, eh? She is more effective than any herb."

  Edmund imagined Kate's slender fingers caressing his brow with the soft, feathery touch of an angel. He could almost feel her fingers trailing down to his chest, splayed against his heart. With his eyes wide open Edmund could even dream of her hands drifting still further down.

  Bloody hell! What was he thinking? Such devil thoughts were blasphemous in the company of his spinster aunt and a lovely young virgin. But was Kate a virgin?

  Bloody hell! Had he lost his mind? The state of Kate's virginity was no business of his. Had he been brought to the brink of madness by the country air? Or was it something in the gardener's daughter's smile? He knew not.

  "I shall miss Kate when she leaves," Cordelia lamented.

  "When she leaves?" Edmund repeated. "Where are you going, Kate?"

  "Since Papa has recovered, I have applied for another position as nurse."

  A small part of Edmund relaxed. Her departure did not appear imminent. "Will you be happy as a nurse?"

  "Aye, my lord. I am quite fond of children."

  Her smile was warm enough to melt an iceman's heart.

  "Then why not marry and have children of your own?" he asked.

  'Twas a forward question, but the thought of his childhood friend laboring as an unappreciated servant rankled Edmund. Even worse was the thought of what untoward demands might be forced upon Kate behind the stairs. Many of his fellow noblemen were infamous for taking liberties with the more fetching help. If Kate was a virgin now, she might not be for long.

  Pursing her lips, heavenly lips in Edmund's opinion, Kate considered the question. "Someday I shall. I look forward to having children... but I am not yet ready for marriage."

  "The vicar is smitten with our Kate," Aunt Cordelia offered in an exaggerated whisper before heaving a sigh. "But I can hardly see a future for her with him, eh? Dudley is twice her age and has a dreadful over-bite."

  "Are you matchmaking for Kate, Aunt Cordelia?"

  "Not at all," she snipped. Visibly affronted, she quickly changed the subject. "Will you stay to hear Kate play or are you off to join Mister Trumble once more?"

  "Forgive me, but I must meet often with Trumble while I am at Rose Hall."

  "But I shall see thee before nightfall, Edmund, eh?"

  "Most certainly, Aunt." Edmund shot his aunt a reassuring smile and then turned to Kate. "I look forward to our next meeting, Mistress Kate."

  She lowered her head demurely, but not before he caught her enchanting smile and the sparkle of gold in her eyes. "As do I, Lord Stamford."

  Chapter Two

  Throw caution to the wind; no harm shall befall you while Mercury is in retrograde

  The next morning, as soon as she and Edmund cleared the stables, Kate gave a whoop, a gentle nudge of her knee to her mare, and rode off in a cloud of pebbles and dust. She raced as if the devil-hound Percy was at her back.

  The hood of her cloak fell back almost at once, and the biting wind tore her hair from her caul, loosening the mass in a wild cloud of honey-kissed curls. Chills swept through her body. Her skin prickled and stung. She hadn't felt such exhilaration in years!

  Taken by surprise, a laughing Lord Stamford caught up to her in moments. He looked so fine, so very masculine in his snug buckskins and polished black boots. Astride his enormous black gelding, Edmund appeared every inch an earl. His raven hair curled at the nape of his neck, with one loose shock falling across his brow in a rakish manner.

  With a teasing wink and a devastating lopsided grin, her childhood friend suddenly surged ahead. Kate gave chase.

  The early fog had lifted, but a mottled gray sky threatened rain. She could smell it in the air. Although she had not visited their former fishing spot in many years, Kate had not forgotten the route. The clear, winding stream was little more than two miles down the back road and off through a meadow bursting with the first golden primroses of spring.

  Urging her mare to one last surge of speed, Kate galloped past Edmund. His startled expression evoked a burst of laughter from Kate. She was unable to stop laughing, and tears soon streamed down her cheeks. When at last she felt herself under control, she looked back to determine if the astonished earl was gaining on her. 'Twas a mistake.

  She did not see the low-hanging sycamore branch ahead of her. Wop!

  Kate landed on her back in the dirt.

  Two of Edmund leaped from their mounts and ran to her side.

  Two Edmunds! How wondrous!

  But alas, she knew it to be only double vision from the blow to her head.

  "Kate! Kate! Are you all right? Can you
see me? Can you hear me?"

  He was shouting in her ear. "Aye, aye."

  Slipping an arm beneath her shoulders, Edmund lifted Kate to a sitting position. His emerald-green eyes reflected concern as he examined her for visible signs of damage. A cowlick stood upright in his dark, windblown hair.

  Surely Kate could reach up and straighten the cowlick?

  But no, what would he think of her?

  If she were younger and unaware it was not the thing, Kate would not have hesitated to reach out and push back the unruly lock. As she would like to do now. The urge to touch him had possessed her ever since he'd taken her in his arms and whirled her about the day before. She yearned to be in his arms once more, crushed against the power and strength of him. How delicious his warmth would feel against the cool morning air!

  And oh, how her feelings so quickly betrayed her. Kate closed her eyes as she felt her body warming and the blush rise to her cheeks. A body bruised and battered! How could she be thinking such scurrilous thoughts when she was more than likely near to death?

  "I daresay you ride well for one who claims to be 'sadly out of practice,' " Edmund said, sweeping a distracted hand through his hair. The wayward midnight lock settled into place.

  "Aye." Kate sighed as her fingers gently searched for the painful lump she felt protruding from the side of her head.

  " 'Tis the last branch one must watch out for," Edmund added drolly.

  "Aye."

  "We are not far from the stream. Can you walk if I help?"

  "I, I believe so."

  But she did not walk. Apparently having a change of heart, Edmund scooped her up in his arms. Kate's pain vanished.

  "I shall carry you to the stream," he declared. "As a precaution."

  "God reward you," she whispered with all due humility.

  Hey-ho! She was in Edmund's arms once again! Her heart danced a rousing galliard, leaping and twirling as hearts are not wont to do.

  He carried her with ease, as if she weighed no more than a mayfly. Held close to Edmund's chest, Kate basked in the feeling of his lusty warmth—for some twenty paces.

  Ever so gently, Edmund lay her down beside the stream and then fashioned a pillow from his folded jerkin.

  Dappled light filtered through the trees in hazy splotches. Taking care not to move her head abruptly, Kate scanned the wooded area. If she listened well, she might hear the laughter of a young girl and a growing boy, woven through the winds of spring for all time. She and Edmund had returned to a place and time where happy memories dwelled.

  Ancient oaks offered a canopy of sheltering branches on either side of the stream that splashed a greeting as it ran off into an even thicker copse and disappeared. This shaded spot where lush ferns, hog-weed, and dusky wild dog rose flourished was where Edmund and Kate had often fished for trout together. The Garden of Eden could not have been more idyllic.

  "Would you like to return to Rose Hall, Kate?"

  "Nay, my lord." The lump on her head throbbed unmercifully. A spot below her left cheek ached. "I shall be fine with a bit of rest."

  "Would you mind if I fish while you rest?"

  "Nay." As long as she did not have to bait his line, as she had in the past.

  Edmund had always been an avid fisherman.

  An hour later the earl had caught a twig but no trout, Kate had recovered sufficiently to watch his efforts. She leaned against a tree trunk, struggling to maintain a stoic expression. For some reason, she found his frustration humorous.

  "The fish are not biting today," he growled, throwing down his pole.

  "Aye, but look, my lord," she pointed to a stately oak several yards to the south of where they fished. "Your tree fort still remains."

  Constructed haphazardly, the weather-beaten structure perched in the thick old tree was no more than a ramshackle ruin with only half a roof wedged between two giant limbs. At least two floorboards had rotted away.

  "Fort?" Edmund repeated, feigning offense. " "Tis my castle, wench, where I ruled as king."

  "A thousand pardons."

  "And pray, Kate, when we are alone, call me Edmund. 'My lord' sounds odd coming from you."

  "Aye... Edmund."

  The Earl of Stamford regarded the remains of his youth, and chuckled. "I am astounded that even parts of my castle still stand. Mayhap I possessed some structural talents in my youth."

  "You were always most clever."

  His eyes met hers and his lips parted in a crooked grin.

  Kate's heart fairly jumped from her chest. Disconcerted, she placed a protective, staying hand over the general area.

  "I fear only you would say so, Kate."

  "You never allowed me up into your tree... castle."

  "King Arthur could not allow females entry to his private chamber."

  "You pretended to be King Arthur?"

  "Aye. Who else?" He grinned, the sheepish grin of a boy caught stealing comfits.

  Assuming the identity of a proud mythical knight of honor suited Edmund. As a girl, Kate had believed he possessed the most worthy qualities of a valiant knight. She still did.

  "Who else?" she repeated, returning his smile, meeting the deep forest green of his eyes.

  A languid warmth spread through her, leaving a bright burning spot at her core. 'Twas as if the sun had broken through the overcast sky in a fiery blaze. For a moment, even the lump on her head ceased its throbbing.

  The knight of her girlish dreams contemplated Kate with narrowed eyes and a mocking half smile. "Did you ever trespass in my castle, Mistress Kate?"

  "Never." Many times. Kate had found comfort by trespassing in Edmund's tree castle after he left Rose Hall.

  "Would you like to climb with me into my castle?"

  "Methinks a delicate female should not climb trees."

  Edmund pressed his lips together and swiped back the wayward lock of sloe-black hair that had fallen across his forehead once again.

  "Where is this delicate female, Mistress Kate?" he asked with twinkling eyes. "Who would she be?"

  Undaunted by Edmund's merciless teasing, Kate laughed. " 'Twould most certainly not be me, for I am not known to be delicate," she replied. "And that's the shame of it."

  "No shame," he countered with a roguish grin.

  A grin, Kate was certain, that brought the ladies of the court close to a swoon. Edmund possessed charm enough for ten men. His playful manner and beguiling smile made the Earl of Stamford a dangerous man. A very dangerous man.

  A thrum of excitement spiraled through Kate. 'Twas the thrill of challenge, she expected. "I should like to climb to your castle, Edmund."

  "You are a rare female, Kate. But are you certain you feel steady on your feet?"

  "I am fully recovered." Two broken legs would not have kept Kate from being with Edmund in his castle.

  "I will go before you."

  She watched Edmund climb, admiring his quickness, his strength and agility. When he reached the platform, he planted his hands on his hips, appearing full of himself and quite like a conquering crusader of old.

  "If you will turn your back, I shall climb up and be settled in a matter of moments," she told him.

  Once more, the dashing earl flashed a smile that transformed his rugged features into a striking, heart-pounding force. Edmund's pleasure showered down upon Kate like tingling beads of crystal rain.

  'Twas not an easy climb in her cloak, heavy broadcloth gown, and voluminous petticoats. Fortunately, Edmund had not built his castle on the loftiest branches, and Kate had not far to go.

  At the last moment, he turned, clasped Kate's hand, and pulled her up.

  She stood before him on the platform, gazing at his extraordinary face, making each well-hewn feature familiar to her once again. Free from moustache or beard, the firm, square line of his jaw suggested an invincible masculinity.

  The silence between them deepened, at once comfortable and uneasy. A ripple of pleasure skimmed down her spine. Kate longed to touch her fingertip to the vague cleft in Edmund's chin.

  "Someone has been here before us," he said softly, breaking the spell.

  Kate looked to the spot where he pointed. Obviously, Edmund's personal attendant had come ahead to deliver a small basket and folded blanket.

  Edmund had promised refreshment, and he was a man of his word. A man who made Kate feel more like a queen than a gardener's daughter. Queen of a castle perched high in a tree.