Christmas Spirits Read online

  Lord Kenley emerged from the darkness, his arms loaded with wood, which he dropped in a pile with the rest that had been gathered. He built the fire up, stirring the embers and the flames grew brighter, putting off more heat.

  No, he was not like any of the lords she’d met in London. They could barely light their own cheroot, let alone a fire to keep them from freezing during the night.

  “You should sleep. My driver may return early.”

  Lord Kenley was correct, and she was tired since she hadn’t slept well the night before. But did she dare? He was a stranger, with changing moods. What if he grew angry for no reason or thought to take advantage of her and the situation?

  Mary bunched a blanket to use as a pillow and lay down on the cold ground. If he was going to harm her, he would have already. Or, at least she assumed he would have. She slipped her hand into her pocket and slowly drew her pistol out. It was too difficult to retrieve within the layers of blankets if she needed it suddenly.

  While Lord Kenley made up his own bed, she slipped the gun beneath her makeshift pillow and settled down. She may be tired, but there was no way she was going to sleep tonight. In fact, she might not sleep again until she was home.

  Odd, she thought that once she returned to Scotland she’d no longer need to sleep with a pistol beneath her pillow. But here she was—under the clouds, before the fire, laying on the hard ground with her hand on a pistol, just like she spent many nights for nearly four years.

  Chapter 6

  Ben settled back against the log and watched her sleep. For the longest time Mary had lain there silently, simply staring at the fire and he’d been unable to take his eyes off her. Slowly her body relaxed and her eyes grew heavy. She’d open them, they’d drift shut again, until they finally remained closed. Now, her breaths were deep and even. He kept the fire high so that she was not chilled more than necessary and the light danced across her face, highlighting the beauty and shadowing the hollows of her cheeks and hiding her neck.

  To think, he’d been so afraid he was attracted to…No. He couldn’t even finish the thought, and he would never think on it again.

  Mary was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. One he also admired. She wasn’t like anyone he’d met before. He knew of no woman who would dress as a man and drive a wagon filled with whisky that had been hidden in a coffin across town, let alone from Falkirk to Danby Castle.

  Did Brachton know what she was about? Surely, he would not approve.

  Once again, Ben reminded himself to have a talk with His Grace about making unreasonable demands. Anything could have happened to her. If anyone had seen through her disguise, it could have gone very badly. Or, what if excisemen had decided to search the coffin. She’d be in jail, possibly sent all the way to Newgate.

  She shivered in her sleep and Ben rose to drag another blanket from the back of the wagon, but they were all gone. Instead, he grabbed the one he had been using and placed it over her. After a moment, she seemed to relax and he returned to his spot against the log. The ground was colder against his backside without the thick wool. Soon, it began sinking into his skin through his trousers.

  Before long, he was shivering. Even a few drinks of the whisky didn’t warm him anywhere besides his belly.

  He’d freeze with no blankets and he’d be no assistance to Mary when she woke to find him frozen solid.

  After tossing more wood on the fire, Ben made his way to her side. Doing his best not to disturb her, he slid beneath the blankets and snuggled as close as he dare without waking her.

  Slowly he began to warm and relax. The only sound was the fire as flames cracked and burnt limbs fell and settled, and he was almost asleep when he heard the distinct click of a gun.

  His stilled as Mary rolled to her back and pointed a pistol at his head.

  * * *

  She should have known Lord Kenley would try to get beneath the covers with her. All men were the same. At least they were when it was too dark to see her scars.

  His hands came up defensively and he rolled away from her. “You were freezing.”

  “I’m fine,” she bit out.

  “Maybe I’m cold,” he answered with indignation.

  “Move closer to the fire.”

  “You have all of the blankets,” he pointed out.

  She did feel warmer and the covers upon her were heavier than before. “Take them.”

  “I’m not going to let you freeze,” he argued.

  Mary snorted. Body warmth. She had heard that before. “I will be fine.”

  “Well, I won’t,” he argued.

  Mary didn’t exactly care how cold he was at that moment. “As we are alone ye thought to slip beneath the blankets, perhaps suggest other ways to stay warm?”

  Lord Kenley’s eyes widened as shock registered on his face. “I would not! You’re a woman. I’m only concerned that you don’t catch your death.”

  He was a man. And he had been acting strangely. At this moment she wasn’t sure what to make of him.

  “Mary, it’s cold,” he pleaded with her. “There aren’t enough blankets to keep us both warm separately.”

  He was correct. Not that it meant she’d sleep with him.

  “I swear, I will simply lay beside you, share the blankets and not even touch you.”

  Even though he had rolled away from her, she could still feel the heat coming off of his body, trapped beneath their covers.

  “You may keep your gun.”

  As though she would give it up!

  Last night had been bitterly cold. So far, Lord Kenley had behaved like a gentleman toward her. Well, except when he picked her up and whirled her about, and she still didn’t understand why. But even when he thought she was a lad of fourteen, he’d been considerate. He hadn’t even needed to remain behind when his men went to get a wheel. Kenley could have left one of them as he went ahead in the comfort of his traveling coach, having no idea at the time she was a woman.

  “You willna touch me,” she warned.

  “I promise. I only want to keep us both warm.”

  She stared into his light brown eyes. There was sincerity in his depths. And it was frightfully cold. “Just stay there.” With that, she rolled back onto her side, facing the fire and tucked the pistol back beneath the waded up blanket she was using as a pillow. It was warmer with him beside her. However, if he attempted to move even an inch closer, he would be sorry the thought ever came to him.

  Chapter 7

  What were those noises and why was it so bright? He snuggled closer to the woman in his arms, her hair tickling his nose. Though the ground was hard and there was a chill in the air, this was the most comfortably he had slept in a very long time. Mary lay on her side and he was curled around her, holding her close.

  Ben’s eyes popped open. He was holding her? Touching her? She was going to kill him.

  Quickly, he got out from under the blankets, tucked them around her and backed away before blowing out a breath. It was a very pleasant way to wake, and thankfully he’d survived.

  “Good morning, Lord Kenley.”

  He whipped around to find his traveling coach approaching, his driver in the seat and Gaylord beside him, exactly as they had left. Each glanced at him, then the blankets and back at him again, with odd looks on their faces.

  The horses and coach must have woken him. Thank goodness he did wake because he would hate for them to arrive while he and Mary still slept in one another’s embrace.

  Behind the coach was a similar wagon to the one Mary had been driving, with four men. Ben assumed a wagon wheel and the necessary tools were within.

  The coach stopped and his servant jumped from the seat. “We’ve brought food and drink,” the man said brightly. A little too brightly, as his eyes kept shifting from Ben to Mary and back.

  “Please, do be quiet. We don’t wish to wake…”

  “Maryn,” his coachman supplied slowly.

  “Yes, Maryn.” He glanced back to Mary, who appear
ed to be sound asleep. The blanket was over her head at the moment, and her hat was nowhere to be found. He had started to go after it last night, but the shock of her being a woman had wiped the thought completely from his mind. Turning, he searched the area for the brown leather, much too large for her head, but it was nowhere to be seen.

  Well, it wasn’t up to him to correct his staff. She could explain when she woke.

  “I’m going to get more wood for the fire,” Ben announced quietly. “Please try not to disturb…” He gestured back to Mary.

  “Maryn,” his coachman supplied again.

  “I’ll be happy to gather wood, Lord Kenley.” The footman hurried to offer.

  He shook his head. He needed a few moments to himself. There were too many thoughts in his mind right now and he needed to sort them out. Without a backward glance he stepped through the bushes and trees, leaving everyone behind, and went about gathering more sticks.

  He had slept with Mary in his arms last night, and lived to tell the tale. Not that he would ever breathe a word of what had transpired. He wouldn’t ever shame her in such a way.

  But he knew. And he could still smell the sweet lavender scent of her hair, and remembered how it tickled his nose, and the softness of her curves against his.

  He’d never slept with a woman before. He’d never even been in bed with one. Not that they were in a proper bed, but that didn’t matter. It was still pleasant. More than pleasant.

  Still, she’d nearly killed him last night when she’d drawn her pistol. No woman that he knew possessed one, or knew how to use it. Had Maryn pulled the gun, Ben would have been confident that man could kill him on the spot if he so chose, given he’d been in the army. Mary holding the pistol scared him. What if it had gone off? Did she even know how to load it properly, let alone shoot? He’d never been as relieved as when she put it back beneath her makeshift pillow.

  He came to stop at a clearing beside the stream and settled onto a log.

  What to make of Mary Grant.

  As Maryn she claimed to be twenty-three. He still wasn’t so certain, but it was far more believable that Mary was that age than Maryn. Besides, why would she lie about her age?

  However, where had she come up with the tale of how she received that narrow scar? He had believed every word Maryn said. But as she was really Mary, he wasn’t so certain.

  Well, he certainly was not going to ask. It was bad enough he had been so rude in staring at it last night and in discussing it when he thought she was a man. Now knowing that she was a woman, he most certainly couldn’t remark upon it. Not that he wasn’t desperately curious. It did look as if it could have come from a sabre as she claimed, but he would not mention it again. He may not know much about women, but he was aware that they could be highly sensitive, especially when it came to their appearance. Not that it detracted from her beauty. No, never that. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and hoped to come to know her better as they traveled on to Danby Caste.

  * * *

  Mary shivered in her blankets. She’d been warm earlier, when she briefly woke to find Lord Kenley curled around her. She should have made issue of it, but as he was sound asleep, he was probably unaware that he was touching her, which she’d forbidden him to do. She could have woken him and pushed him away, but his body radiated so much heat that she was loathe to relinquish it. So, she let him slumber and drifted back into oblivion herself. But the warmth at her back was gone and from beneath the blankets she heard a number of voices. They were talking quietly, but she heard them all the same. Slowly she pulled the blankets down and peeked out. The traveling coach had returned, the driver and Kenley’s servant were beside the fire, and other men were removing the broken wheel from the wagon. She glanced around, but Kenley wasn’t where she could see him.

  Six strange men were going about their business as she lay here sleeping. Perhaps other women would be shocked, but Mary smiled. She’d awoken many mornings like this in the four years she’d followed her husband. Rarely was there any privacy, especially when forced to sleep out in the open, and many mornings she woke to several men sitting about the fire, drinking coffee and talking quietly.

  But these men were not soldiers and she shouldn’t laze about. Pushing the blankets aside she stood. The driver and footman gaped at her. Mary quickly straightened her clothing and smoothed her hair, not that she had much success in doing so since most of it had fallen from the pins at the back of her head. She must look a fright.

  “You’re a woman?” the coachman asked with wide-eyed surprise.

  “I’m so glad,” the footman said.

  “Aye, as am I,” the footman breathed out.

  Why were they so relieved she was a woman?

  “Ah, you’re awake,” Kenley said as he emerged from the wooded path. “I hope you slept well.”

  Her face heated, remembering how well she had slept and how nice it had been to have his arms around her. She had nothing to be embarrassed about. Well, except that others had seen them. Or, so she assumed. It wasn’t as if she could be ruined. She was a widow.

  “Yes, and you?”

  “I did.” He nodded and dropped more wood beside their dwindling fire. His footman hurried to build it up and the driver took a basket from the coach.

  “Why don’t you break your fast while the wheel is fixed?” he said.

  Mary’s stomach grumbled. She was starving, but waited because the footman was now bustling around, straightening a blanket and placing plates, utensils, and mugs for her and Kenley before the food. Mary bit her lip to keep from chuckling. One would think they were on a lovely summer picnic, by the way the footman was making sure everything was just right. Then again, he was a servant to an earl and her brother’s footman would do no differently.

  Once he was finished, Kenley waited for her to take a seat and the footman filled a plate for each of them. Really, this wasn’t necessary. Until she returned from the Continent she’d never had a servant and was well used to doing things for herself.

  Even though her brother was an earl, he hadn’t inherited the title until two and a half years ago. By then, she’d been married and gone from Scotland. Of course, her brother had always lived somewhat with privilege, being her uncle’s heir. He saw that Lachlan was educated and learned to manage the estates. Lachlan wanted for nothing while the rest of her family fairly starved, not that Mary or the rest of them ever resented Lachlan for his good fortune. He was to be the heir after their uncle passed, so it was only natural that he learn what was to be his. Of course, they all knew their uncle hoped Lachlan made better choices than his younger brother, and would take a proper English bride for his wife. They were the poor relations, whom her uncle resented, having never approved of the woman his younger brother married.

  Lachlan tried to make things easier for the family when he could, and sent all quarterlies to them. Once he inherited, everything changed. Her brother became a wealthy man and his first priority was seeing that their manor was repaired, the barley crop plentiful, and increased their distillery and warehouse.

  When she first returned home, it had been a shock to see the difference from what she’d left, from a moldering house in need of repair to a pristine manor, filled with servants to do anything she may wish. Though she tried to adjust to this new way of life, Mary found it impossible to live a life of leisure. With Lachlan and Ian gone most of the time, she slowly took over the management of their illegal smuggling business. She could read and write as well as her brothers and it freed them to see to other matters.

  She spooned the porridge into her mouth, surprised to find it still warm. Perhaps the town hadn’t been as far back as she realized. The bread was warm as well, though the meats were cold. Not that it mattered. The meal was filling, and good.

  “The men have finished, Lord Kenley,” the driver announced.

  Mary turned to see the new wheel was indeed in place and the broken one gone.

  Kenley walked forward and thanked t
he men, then pulled a small purse from his pocket and pressed coins into the palm of one. They nodded and loaded back into the wagon they’d arrived in and drove away.

  The footman quickly cleaned up the remains of their meal and Mary went about folding the blankets they had used last night and put them beside the coffin as the coachmen hitched her horses back to her wagon. As they would soon be traveling again, she ducked into the woods to take care of private matters and let the men tend to putting out the fire. When she emerged, the footman was seated on the wagon.

  “Gaylord will be driving the wagon and you shall ride in the coach with me.”

  She looked at the young man and then at Kenley, who waited by the open door.

  She could argue and insist that it was her wagon and she’d drive it, but any such argument would be futile. These were Englishmen who now knew she was a woman. In the end, despite any argument, she would end up in his coach anyway.

  “I just need to retrieve some things,” Mary announced, going to the back of the wagon. If she were going to be in the back of the coach, she might as well make use of the comfort and repair some of the damage to her person.

  “I can get it, Miss.” Gaylord jumped from his seat.

  “That isna necessary,” Mary answered and lifted her leg to get into the back of the wagon, but stopped suddenly when her trousers tore out at the seam. Her face heated immediately and she lowered her leg. None of the men could see anything, but it was still embarrassing.

  Gaylord came around and hopped into the back of the wagon and she did her best to keep her backside away from him.

  “By the head of the coffin is a portmanteau. Could ye hand it to me, please?”

  He nodded and quickly grabbed it, then jumped to the ground.