Page 15 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
“Trust me.” Lucilla’s words were clipped. “Neither you nor I want to leave him without an explanation.”
Recalling the level—warning—look he’d received from Marcus the last time their paths had crossed—at the Hunt Ball—Thomas had to accept that she knew of what she spoke. Cynsters were not known for being understanding over territorial incursions, and knocking Marcus out and whisking his twin sister away was not going to endear him to Marcus.
Thomas frowned. “Your parents are away, so he’s running the Vale.”
Lucilla nodded. She glanced at the sky, which remained clear, then tucked the open notebook into her twin’s hand. Then she rose. “As long as he knows—from me—where I’ve gone, he won’t come after me. Not unless I send for him.”
Thomas inwardly admitted that Marcus turning up unannounced was one encounter he was happy to know he wouldn’t have to face. He reached for Lucilla’s arm. “We need to get going.”
Lucilla allowed him to keep a light grip on her arm as they made their way over the rough terrain to where she’d left her horse. A flighty but very fast black, the mare pricked up her ears as they approached. Lucilla untied her reins. “What’s the fastest route from here?”
She asked the question to distract him—and herself—as she drew the mare around. She would have to allow him to lift her to her side-saddle; there was no other option.
Steeling herself against his touch, she stood beside the mare and waited.
Somewhat to her surprise, Thomas’s lips set, and he looked almost grim—almost as steeled against the moment as she. “North,” he replied, then he closed his hands about her waist and hoisted her up.
He released her the instant she was stable, but the few seconds of contact, the sensation of being entirely within his control, had been every bit as riveting, as senses-stealing, as she’d expected.
As exhilarating, as transfixing.
Ostensibly busying herself settling her boots in her stirrups, from beneath lowered lashes, she watched him stride to a big gray that had been cropping the sparse grass a short distance away. She watched him grab the gray’s reins, then swing effortlessly up to the saddle, the movement drenched with male power and grace, and a certain sense of reined aggression.
Realizing that she’d stopped breathing—that the moment had only set an edge to the need that, with him close once again, was rising within her—she drew in a tight breath, raised her head, lifted her reins, tapped her heel to the mare’s side, and trotted forward to join him.
This might not be anything like the reunion she’d hoped for, but in the circumstances, she would take whatever situation the Lady handed her. And once she’d done her duty for those the Lady held within her care, she would turn the opportunity to her own purpose—to fulfilling her own very real need.
Thomas was waiting, every bit as impatient as she. Without further words, they set out, riding as fast as safety allowed for the Bradshaws’ farm.
* * *
They rode up to the Bradshaws’ farmhouse as the last glimmer of daylight was fading from the western sky.
Lucilla reined in before the farmhouse door, kicked free of her stirrups, and slid to the ground; she didn’t need the distraction of feeling Thomas’s hands close about her waist at that moment. Untying her saddlebag, she glanced at him.
Already dismounted, he reached for the mare’s reins. “I’ll stable the horses. Joy’s on the sofa in the main room.”
Lucilla nodded. Her saddlebag in one hand, she headed for the front door. Opening it, she paused, waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness, then walked in.
The Carrick healer was still lying on the sofa. There was no fire, no light, no warmth in the house. After setting her saddlebag on the table, Lucilla went into the kitchen, but the lamp she found was empty. The stove was cold, the fire in the kitchen hearth long gone to ashes. No candles lay in sight. Walking back into the main room, she scanned the furniture, the mantel—and saw a candle in a holder sitting beside a tinderbox.
She made quick work of lighting the candle, then carried it to the sofa.
Two minutes were enough for her to confirm that Joy Burns had passed beyond her ability to help. The healer was still alive, but barely, and she wasn’t long for the world.
Lucilla straightened; she looked up as Thomas came inside and shut the door.
“How is she?” He crossed to stand behind the sofa and looked down at Joy. His face hardened. “She hasn’t moved since I laid her there.”
Lucilla hated to say the words, but she’d had to often enough to know the importance of simply saying them. “You thought she was dying, and you were right. There’s nothing I can do to help her. I’m sorry.” After a moment, she added, “As she hasn’t moved, I don’t think you could have done anything for her, even when you first found her.”
His face had set, the lines harsh and unyielding; for a moment he said nothing, then he glanced up and met her eyes. Briefly, grimly, he nodded. “The Bradshaws?”
“Pray they’re in better straits.” She lifted the candleholder from the small table beside the sofa and turned to the archway she assumed led to the bedrooms. “I’ll check on the youngest first—the little girl, isn’t it? Which room is she in?”
He came around the sofa and pointed to an open door to the right of the corridor. “The three girls share that room. The two boys are in the end room, and Bradshaw and Mrs. Bradshaw are in the room to the left.”
“I’ll examine them all—children, then the parents.” She walked into the corridor.
