He met Ellie’s gaze rather sheepishly, his blue eyes twinkling in wry humour.
“Oh, Mama, Mr. Bruin keeps moving and spilling my dolls’ picnic. Look!” Amy crossly displayed several tipped-over bowls. “Bad Mr. Bruin!” the little girl said severely.
“I’m sorry, PrincessAmy, but I did warn you that we bears are great clumsy beasts and not fit company for a picnic with ladies,” responded Ellie’s murderer apologetically.
Ellie burst into tears.
There was a shocked silence. “Mama, what is it? What’s the matter?” Amy scrambled off the bed and threw her arms around her mother’s legs tightly.
Ellie sat down on the stool, pulled Amy into her arms and hugged her tightly, tucking the child into her body, rocking her. The sobs kept coming. Hard, painful, from deep in her chest. She couldn’t stop them.
She heard movement from the direction of the bed, but the weeping had taken hold of her. She could do nothing but hold her daughter and let the tears come. She knew it was weak, knew it was spineless of her, that she was supposed to be strong and look after Amy…Amy, who was now sobbing in fright because she had never seen her mother cry before…
But Ellie could not control the harsh sobs. They came from somewhere deep inside her, wrenching painfully out of her body, almost choking her. She had never cried like this before. It was terrifying.
In a vague way, she sensed him standing beside her. She thought she felt a few awkward pats on her shoulder and back, but she couldn’t be sure. Suddenly she felt powerful arms scoop her up. He lifted both her and Amy and carried them back to the bed and sat down, holding them on his lap, in the circle of his arms, hard against his big, warm chest. Ellie tried to resist, but feebly and after a moment or two, something inside her, some barrier, just…dissolved and she relaxed against him, letting herself be held in a way she had never in her life been held. The sobs came even harder then.
He asked no questions, just held them, nuzzling Ellie’s hair with his jaw and cheek, making soothing sounds. Amy stopped crying almost immediately. After a moment, Ellie heard him whisper to her daughter to go and wash her face, that Mama would be all right soon, that she was just tired. She felt her daughter slip out of her grasp. Amy leaned against his knee and waited anxiously, patting and stroking her mother’s heaving shoulders.
Ellie forced herself to smile in a way she hoped would reassure the little girl. She tried desperately to get control of her emotions, but she couldn’t yet speak—she was breathing in jerky gasps, gulping and snuffling in an ugly fashion. Sobs welled up intermittently; dry, painful shuddery eruptions. She heard Amy tiptoe downstairs.
Finally, the last of the frightful, frightening outburst passed. Ellie was exhausted, with as much energy as a wet rag—and feeling about as attractive.
“I…I’m sorry about that,” she said gruffly. “I…I don’t know what came over me.”
“Hush, now. It doesn’t matter.” His arms were warm and steady around her. He smoothed a damp curl back from her face.
“I’m not usually such a dreadful watering pot, really I’m not.”
“I know.” His voice was deep and soft in her ear.
“It was just…I suddenly got the idea—I mean, I thought…” How could she tell him what she’d thought? What could she say? I thought you were going to hurt my daughter and when I found you hadn’t, I burst into tears all over you instead. How ridiculous was that? He would think she belonged in Bedlam. She wasn’t sure herself that she didn’t belong there!
“I’ve never cried like that in my life. Not even when my husband died.”
“Then you were well overdue for it. Don’t refine too much on it,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “No doubt you were at the end of your tether and things had built up inside you until there was no bearing it. When that happens, you have to let it out somehow.”
She made a small gesture of repudiation of his words and he went on, “Women cry, men usually get into a fight, or—” she felt the smile in his voice “—take to the bedchamber. But I have seen men weep and weep, just like you did when things have got too much to bear. There is no shame in it.”
There was a small silence. “Have you wept like that?”
She felt him tense. He said nothing for a long moment and then shook his head. “No, blast it! I still cannot recall. Iw could sh had it for a minute.” He sighed and she felt his warm breath in her hair. “It is so frustrating, as if it’s all there, waiting. Like something half glimpsed in the corner of my eye and when I turn my head to look at it directly, it is gone…”
She laid her hand on his. “It will come soon, I am certain of it.”
“That’s as may be. Now, do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
He turned her in his arms so that she could see his face properly. “Don’t prevaricate. What was it that so upset you? Tell me. I might not be able to remember anything, but I’ll help you in any way I can. Did someone try to hurt you?” His voice was deep and sincere.
Ellie couldn’t bring herself to confess the ugly suspicion that had crept over her at the vicarage. She looked at him, trying to think of how she could explain…
Her face must have shown more than she realised.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” he said softly. “I’m your problem.”
She said nothing for a moment, but he knew it anyway. His hands dropped away and suddenly she felt cold. He gently lifted her off his lap and placed her on the bed beside him.
“No, no,” she said hurriedly. “It’s—there are so many problems and difficulties, but I don’t want to burden—”
“Just tell me this—I…I need to know it.” His voice was a little hoarse. “Do you
truly
not know me, or do you know me and…and fear me for some reason?”
There was a short silence, then he reached down beneath the mattress and drew out the frying pan she had placed there on the first night.
Ellie reddened. She didn’t know where to look.
“I found it this morning, as I was getting dressed. This was for me, wasn’t it? In case I attacked you in the night.”
Ellie nodded, embarrassed.
“And when you came rushing in here just now, having run a mile or more…I was the reason. You were worried about Amy, weren’t you? About leaving her alone with me. And when you found her safe and…untouched, you burst into tears of relief…”
Ellie was miserably silent.
His fist curled into a knot of tension at her unspoken confirmation of his theory. “I cannot blame you for it. We neither of us have any notion of the sort of man I am. I do not
believe
I would harm a child…but until I get my memory back, I cannot
know
what sort of man I am…or have been.” Frustration and distress were evident in his voice.
Ellie tried to think of what to say. He was a good man, she felt it in her bones. But he was right. They didn’t know anything about him.
“I suppose I made the situation worse, grabbing you like that,” he said bitterly. “I didn’t know what to do. I just needed to hold you… I see now it was presumptuous of me.”
Ellie wanted to cry out, No! She wanted to tell him that he had done exactly the right thing, that she had derived such comfort from being held that it was too embarrassing to admit. She couldn’t explain how in his embrace she had discovered the release of being weak for once…even for a short while. All her life she had had to be the strong one.
She wanted to tell him how wonderful it had been to be held by a strong man as if she were precious, as if he cherished her…despite her weakness.
But she could not expose such vulnerability to him. Men exploited a woman’s vulnerability. And God help her, she was coming to care for him—much more than was reasonable—a nameless stranger she had known two nights and two days, and most of that with him insensible. She could not let him know that about her.
“And for this morning…in bed…I also apologise.”
Ellie’s face flamed. She scrambled to her feet. “There’s nothing to apologise for,” she said huskily. “We were both half-asleep and you cannot be held responsible for…for what you did. You did not know what you were—”
“Yes, I did,” he interrupted her in a deep voice. “I knew exactly what I was doing. And I give you fair warning, Mrs. Carmichael. While my memory is impaired, your virtue is safe with me. But the moment I discover who I am, and whether I am married or not…”
She waited for him to finish his sentence and, when he did not, looked up at him anxiously.
He smiled at her in a possessive, wolfish manner and said with soft deliberation. “If I am not married, then be warned, Mrs. Ellie Carmichael…I plan to have you naked in bed with me again, doing all of those things we were doing and more.” It was a vow.
Ellie’s face was scarlet, but she managed to say with some composure. “I think I may have some say in that matter, sir.”
“You liked it well enough this morning…”
“You have no idea what I thought!” she snapped. “And we will discuss this foolishness no further! Now, I have brought some slippers for you. The vicar’s feet are too small to borrow his boots, but the slippers will do at a pinch. And there is a razor, too.”
He ran a rueful hand over his jaw. “So you don’t like my bristles, eh? Your daughter didn’t, but I thought you may have rather enjoyed the…stimulation.” He grinned at her, a thoroughly wicked twinkle in those impossibly blue eyes.
“Enough!” said Ellie briskly, thinking her whole body must have turned scarlet by now. “I shall fetch hot water for you to shave and then we shall dine. There is hare stew in the pot.”
“Yes, the smell has been tantalising me for some time.” His eyes were warm upon her. “There are so many tantalising things in this cottage, a hungry fellow like me has no chance…” His eyes told her exactly what he meant by “hungry.” And it wasn’t about stew.
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“Mama sent me up with her looking glass,” announced Amy from the doorway. “She says you will need it to shave.”
He grinned. A few minutes earlier, Mama had poked her head in the room, dumped a pot of hot water just inside the doorway and disappeared again, muttering things about having work to do. He probably shouldn’t have taken off his shirt, but he was damned if he was going to shave in the only shirt he apparently owned.
Amy handed him the small, square looking glass and he took it gingerly, suddenly unnerved by the prospect of his own reflection. Would he recognise himself?
He lifted the glass slowly and grimaced. No wonder she didn’t trust him an inch! He was a bloody pirate! All that was missing was the gold earring and the eyepatch! His skin was dark—tanned by weather, he decided, comparing it with other parts of his body. So he lived a lot out of doors. Gentlemen didn’t do that. Pirates, however…
His eyes were blue, but then he knew that earlier from the little girl watching him so solemnly. No wonder she’d thought him a bear, though—he didn’t just need a shave, he needed a haircut as well. Under the bandage, his hair was thick and dark and unruly. His brows were thick and black and frowning like the devil. His nose was long and—he turned his head slightly—not quite straight. He’d broken his nose at some time. And his skin carried several small scars as well as the remains of recent bruises. All in all, not a pretty sight. He’d found old scars on his body, too. He’d been in more than his share of fights.
A fine fellow for a woman to take in and care for—a brawling, hairy, black-bearded pirate! He wouldn’t have blamed anyone for leaving such a villainous creature out in the cold, let alone an unprotected woman with a small daughter. He reached for the hot water and soap. At least he could take care of the beard.
“Will you hold the looking glass for me, please, Princess?”
Eagerly Amy took it and watched, fascinated, as he soaped up his skin and then carefully shaved the soap and beard off.
“Better?” he asked when he’d finished.
She reached out and passed a small soft palm over the newly shaven skin. “Nice,” she said consideringly, “but I liked Mr. Bruin’s prickles, too.”
He chuckled. “Prickly bears don’t belong in cottages. Now, I’m going to finish washing, so you pop downstairs, Princess, and help your mother. I’ll be down shortly.”
Ellie’s throat went dry. She tried to swallow as he bent his head under the low beam and came down the last few steps. He suddenly looked so…different. Freshly shaved, he had removed the bandage and combed his hair neatly back with water. His skin glowed with health, his eyes were bright and lit with a lurking devilish gleam. His clean white shirt seemed to shine against his tanned skin; the sleeves were rolled back almost to his elbow. The shirt was tucked into buckskin breeches, not quite skin-tight, but nevertheless…
It was foolish, she told herself severely. They must have been tight when he arrived, too—in fact, tighter, because he was drenched. It was knowing the body beneath buckskins, knowing it had been pressed against her, naked, only this morning, which was creating this unwanted heat in the pit of her stomach.
“Sit down. The table is set.” She gestured and turned back to the fire to lift off the heavy pot of bubbling stew.
A brawny arm wrapped itself around her waist, while with his other hand, he whisked the cloth pad from her hand and used it to lift the black cast-iron pot off its hook.
“I can do that,” she muttered, wriggling out of his light clasp.
“I know. But I’ve caused you enough work. While I’m here, I’ll lighten your load as much as possible.” He carried the pot carefully to the table.
While I’m here
… The words echoed in her head. Yes, as soon as he recovered his memory, he would be off, no doubt, back to his wife and children. All twelve of them, she thought glumly.
They ate in silence. He ate neatly and without fuss. He passed her the bread and the salt and refilled her cup of water without being asked. Ellie pondered as she ate. His manners and his accent suggested he was gently bred, but his body bore the signs of one who had led a very physically challenging existence. He was also familiar with the workings of a cottage hearth; he deftly swapped the stewing pot with the large water kettle, rebuilt the fire in a manner which revealed he knew not to squander her precious fuel and generally showed himself to be at home in her meagre surroundings—as no gentleman would be. A servant might acquire table manners and an accent, but he showed none of the servility of a man who had been in service. On the contrary, he was rather arrogant in the way he simply did what he wished, whether she wanted to be helped or not.