Page 51 of Exile's Return
He returned to Seven Ways in the small hours of the morning after a long evening tucked into the corner of the parlour of the village inn. His plans for oblivion had been thwarted by his recent illness. It only took one small jar of wine before the overwhelming urge to sleep overcame him and the landlord had to wake him and throw him out into the cold, damp night.
The old house slumbered in darkness, except for a tiny flickering light high up in the guest bedchamber— his chamber. He took the stairs two at a time, conscious of every creak andgroan from the ancient risers. The door to his chamber stood slightly ajar and he took the precaution of inching it open.
Agnes sat beside the dying embers of the fire, curled up in the chair, wrapped in a blanket. Conflicting emotions churned through him. His anger at Kit still simmered below the surface, mingled with guilt at his harsh words to Agnes.
She hadn’t deserved his wrath or hard, hurtful words. In truth, she had been a good friend to him, and he wondered where an arrangement of mutual convenience had turned to friendship. He huffed out a breath — an inconvenient bout of marsh fever had changed the nature of their relationship forever.
She looked so innocent and peaceful, lit only by the light of the fire, and another emotion altogether stirred and tightened in the pit of his stomach. How easy it would be to take her in his arms and take the solace he needed. He yearned to bury his face in her soft hair and drink in the scent of her, but like a half-healed scratch he also needed to pick at the scab of hurt and betrayal, cause the blood to flow, feel the pain…feel something…anything.
He threw the door open loudly enough to wake her with a start.
A smile lit her face. ‘Daniel. Thank heavens. I was worried.’
‘Why? I’m not one of your children,’ he snarled.
The smile died on Agnes’s lips.
He took a few steps into the room, throwing his hat onto the chest and fumbling with the strings of his cloak.
‘Concerned that poor, ailing Daniel may take cold in the horrible rain?’ The heavy sarcasm in his tone should have been enough to warn her.
‘Concerned for you, yes,’ she said, a slight tremor creeping into her voice.
‘I’m fine, Agnes. Nothing a copious quantity of appalling wine at the nearest hostelry couldn’t cure,’ he lied.
His sodden cloak joined the hat and they stood staring at each other.
‘There is some supper on the tray,’ she said, waving her hand at the table, where a jug and covered tray had been placed.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You should eat —’
He rounded on her, all his anger for Kit directed at this one person. ‘I do not need you to mother me, Agnes. If you want to help me then lie down on the bed and spread your legs, just like you did for Elmhurst…God knows you owe me for your board and lodging.’
All the colour leeched from her face and he immediately regretted his words.
‘Agnes…’ He put out his hand but she hit it away and ran from the room.
He heard the door to her room open and close and sank onto the bed, burying his head in his hands.
Chapter 22
With her back braced against the door to her bedchamber as if she expected Daniel to come rampaging down the corridor, Agnes fought to control her breathing and push away the hurt intended by his words.
Her brother had once taken her into the woods on a tour of some rabbit traps he had set up. They had come across a young fox, clearly terrified and in pain, caught in the teeth of a larger trap set by the gamekeeper. She had begun to cry as the animal attacked George with bared teeth and claws, resisting all his efforts to help.
‘Hurt animals will lash out,’ George had said, as he loosed the teeth of the trap and the animal made a bid for freedom.
She had told Kit not to give up on him. She could not disregard her own words.
Her breathing stilled and she opened the door onto the silent corridor. Faint light spilled from the half-open door to Daniel’s bedchamber. For a long moment, she hesitated, torn betweenslamming her door on him forever or returning to face his anger once more.
Hesitantly, she pushed open the door, prepared to flee if he rounded on her again, but somehow she didn’t think he would. Like that hurt fox, he had lashed out at her because she was there, for no other reason.
Daniel stood at the window, looking out over the peaceful countryside, painted a silvery white by the full moon that had broken through the rain clouds. He didn’t look around or move as she came to stand beside him, although he must have heard the creak of the floorboards. His hands rested on the windowsill, the fingers of his right hand curled around a crumpled sheet of paper.
They stood side by side for a long, long minute in total silence.
