Under a Christmas Sky Read online

  Milton sat up and brushed snow off his shoulders.

  “That is where I need your help, my lord,” he said, and shook his head. “Someone else has passed this way and was not as lucky.”

  He rose awkwardly to his feet, slipping in his tracks, and held out his hand to Will. “I will get the lantern.”

  Will looked around, seeing nothing until Milton grabbed the bright metal box, burning all the brighter because of the darkness that surrounded them. Something rose up before them, not yet fully enveloped in the snow. They approached it cautiously.

  “It is a fallen tree,” Will guessed. “Perhaps we can make our way around it if we can dig a makeshift road.”

  “It is not a tree,” Milton said with certainty. “It is a coach, nearly as large as this.”

  Will realized what he thought were branches were the spokes of the wheels, and the trunks were the heavy harnesses, poking up from the snow.

  “The horses?” he asked.

  “They were released,” Milton said quickly. “See, there is the disturbance in the snow, and tracks. Perhaps the driver and occupants rode away, abandoning the coach.”

  “One could only hope so,” Will said quietly, impressed with Milton’s calm assessment of the situation, and happy to accept a solution to the mystery that allowed for a happy ending. God knows, he had witnessed enough misery lately. A wrecked carriage, struck down by harsh weather conditions, could have been more.

  They stood in silence, listening to the rustling of the few leaves left on the trees, and the sound of the heavy snow hitting the still-exposed wood of the fallen vehicle.

  And then, barely discernable, a cry came from the carriage. Will looked at Milton, wondering if he heard it, too. But the man said nothing as he seemed to contemplate their next step.

  In the next moment, Will took his and he heard the sound again. Perhaps it was an animal, seeking shelter. But no animal he knew was capable of speaking English.

  “Help me, Milton,” he cried as he descended on the coach. “There’s someone still inside.”

  Will climbed over a wheel and nearly stabbed himself on a broken spoke. A steady thumping sound guided him to a cracked window, and that gave him bearings of the site. He used his hands to dig until he found what he looked for, and as Milton held the lantern aloft, Will found the outline of a door, and then the handle to open it.

  But only trap doors are made to open to the sky, and this one—like his own, ten minutes before—was frozen shut. Milton lowered the lantern to warm the wood as they hammered against it with their hands until they heard the gentle release of air that told them the door was freed. Standing with his legs secured against the sturdy railing, Will pulled the door open, and fell back onto the window with a broken handle still in his grip.

  He saw her arms rise first from her frozen prison, slim and oddly graceful in their gesture. Will scrambled to his feet and stood above her as he grasped her ungloved hands. Even through the leather of his gloves, he could tell they were dangerously cold. With a sense of urgency, he pulled her up, as her caped head was followed by a small form wrapped in a plaid blanket, by the drapery of a wool gown, by boots too elegant to get far in these rough conditions. He lifted her until her pale face was even to his, and then he gently lowered her onto the side of the coach.

  No sooner did her feet touch the slippery wood than she cried out again, and fell against him. He caught her in her bundle of garments and jumped to the ground, thinking it nothing short of a miracle they did not slide down the embankment.

  But Milton caught them before they were in any danger. “Well done, my lord!” he applauded him. “Is the woman still with us?”

  Will looked down at her still face, catching a glimpse of a reddened cheek and dark hair. She was indeed a woman, and a very beautiful one. She also looked like someone he had once met before, though he could not place her. “She does not appear to be sensible at the moment, but one can hardly fault her for that. She must be near to death.”

  Milton pushed them a little desperately toward their own coach, where the horses patiently watched the whole show. “Get her in the coach. I’ll shovel and cut close to the embankment, and we’ll be on our way. Perhaps her people await her at the inn.”

  Will did not think so, but he was not of a mind to argue the point with Milton, or offer to help with the task of clearing the road. Her people apparently cared so little for her, they did not take her with them, or return to see if she lived or died. She appeared to be a woman who mattered to no one, like the thousands of others who were victims of the catastrophe on Java.

  He had not been able to save those others, or alleviate their misery. But he could save this one. And suddenly that mattered a great deal.

  Stomping away from Milton, each to their own anxious concerns, Will maneuvered his way to the coach, propping the woman’s limp body awkwardly against its side as he struggled to open the door. Bracing it open against the wind and driving snow, he pushed her into the coach with only somewhat more care than he would a rolled-up rug, managing the business with more strength than grace. Once she was within, he scrambled over her, and pulled her onto the seat he recently vacated, hoping it might still be warm.

  It was not.

  She hadn’t moved. He feared they were too late, that she had used her last bit of strength to call them to her, and that was all she had. Feeling defeated, Will sat down heavily on the opposite seat and pulled off his gloves, along with his ring. Then came his coat, now made heavier by the snow. Beneath it, his jacket was dry and surprisingly warm. He could only hope that the woman’s garments had served her as well.

  He contemplated her still form, buried beneath layers of cloth, and realized there was only one way to find out. Therein was the challenge; he knew something about undressing women and removing languid arms and legs from tangled blankets and clothing. But they had all been willing partners, and very much alive. He was not so sure about his Lady Frost.

  The coach rocked from one side to the other as Milton resumed his place. Two knocks of the whip’s handle against the wood was answered by Will’s own signal, and so they were once again on their way through the treacherous snow.

  As he studied his companion, the bundle of blankets shifted and started to slip off the seat, as snow might fall off a gabled roof.

  Will moved quickly to catch her, and then set her down beside him as he reclaimed his own seat. He reached across her still body to pull together a pile of velvet pillows, allowing her to slump against them. He thought she sighed, very softly, and took some hope in that. But that was his only cause for hope as he started to unfold her from her voluminous blankets and heavy cape.

  Her garments were dry but as cold as the cloths he might find in the Wakefield winter lodge before he lit a fire in the hearth. There, he would pile the bedclothes on the warming racks and busy himself about the property until he could breathe in warm air to comfort his chilled body, and bury his hands in the heated blankets.

  He was not quite certain how he might restore his frozen lady, when his own body was the warmest thing in the carriage.

  But of course, that was it. He could not let a lady die because of some misguided sense of modesty. She had already been abandoned once, and a gentleman could not compound the seriousness of her situation.

  Of course, she might not be a lady, but that was of no consequence when it was a matter of life and death. Her station was only of consequence if it was believed that he took advantage of her situation, but he was prepared to deal with the breach of propriety at another time. If, indeed, there was such a time.

  All this ran through his mind in a matter of seconds, for he was already set upon the only real course of action. He started to unbutton the tiny pearls at her breast, a task made more difficult because his hands were stiff and cold. She raised one limp hand in a gesture of protest, but her w
aving him off made him more determined to manage this business.

  “What is your name?” he asked conversationally, but the only answer was the renewed rigor of ice hitting the window. “I’m called Willem, and I am on my way to Seabury. I have only recently returned from the East Indies, where the climate is a great deal more charitable than it is here this evening. I have not lived in England much, for my father was posted to The Hague. My mother is Dutch and I am more at home along the Konigskade than I am by the Thames. What say you to that, Lady Frost? Have you ever journeyed to Amsterdam? Is that where we met before? Have you purchased fine porcelain at a shop near the Olde Kirk in Delft? Did you ever see the fossils at the university in Leiden?”

  Will laughed at himself, realizing he sounded just like the aimless chatterers at dinner parties, the very people he assiduously avoided. But it proved difficult to concentrate on both conversation and undressing her, and, by speaking, he might somehow awaken her from her frozen stupor. He did not know what else to do or what to say.

  Her garments were as cold and stiff as his own hands, though they seemed of good quality. When he slipped the heavy gown off her shoulders, he considered how pale was her skin, though he could not tell if this was a natural state, or because of the cold. He pulled her closer, rubbing her back and soft upper arms, praying that she would live.

  “Stay.”

  He turned his head, and his cheek pressed against her nose. Had she said something?

  “Stay,” she said again. It was some comfort to him, as he hoped he was to her.

  “You are near frozen, but you are safe with me.” He said this with more confidence than he felt.

  She sighed, and her breath was warm against his chin. He leaned against the cushions so that he might look at her, and finally see the face of the woman for whom he felt a responsibility he had never really experienced before.

  He saw her as he might a creature of a fairytale, delicate and soft, and of a rare beauty capable of inspiring poets. Her complexion was as pale as the rest of her, but even in the dim light, he saw that her cheeks were reddened and her parted lips pink and swollen. Her hair, falling down over the sleeve of his longcoat, was as straight and dark as was the hair of the ladies of the East Indies, though not nearly as long. Some sort of netted cloche, speckled with pearls, hung limply from what remained of her braided coronet and glistened as brightly as the snow in the moonlight.

  And then, perhaps as a consequence of his fear and uncertainty, he did the only thing that made sense. He shifted her body so that her face was only inches from his own, and kissed her.

  This time, she did not say anything, but her mouth opened and closed, as if she sought air to breath, or possibly sought him.

  He kissed her again, pressing her closer, giving her warmth. Her lips parted again and he gently breathed between them, savoring her sweetness, and yet wishing for her to awaken, even though the spell would be broken. But he had given her back her life, so she might open her eyes and heart on a happier day and know what it is to be loved and cherished. And, oddly, in his doing so, she had somehow given him back his life, his heart.

  “Lay,” she said, and sighed.

  She must be in pain, sitting up against him, and needed to lie back down against the cushions. Will reluctantly lowered her, feeling the rush of chill air between them. He desired her warmth as much as she probably needed his.

  She murmured something.

  “Did you say something, my darling Lady Frost?” He rather liked the sound of the endearment on his lips. He could not imagine any circumstance under which he might say such a thing to a woman at their first meeting, though as to that, he wasn’t quite sure this qualified as a meeting.

  She pulled herself back up and rested her head against his well-padded shoulder.

  “Please don’t leave me. Please.”

  Will understood her perfectly this time, and her words were made even more plaintive by her hands desperately grasping the lapels of his coat. No hero of fairy tales ever had a better invitation.

  He held her, warm and close, until the glittery lights of the Captain and Mermaid posting inn came into sight.

  SHE’D DIED, ALONE and abandoned in the storm. Her friends in Rye would wonder what became of her, and why she had not arrived for their Christmas festivities. They would be shocked and saddened when they heard the news of the tragic accident, and would pause during their merriment to offer reflections on her young life, one punctuated by so much sadness. Perhaps they would console themselves in knowing she was already united with her dear Leighton, that they were together in perpetuity.

  He was with her now, murmuring some nonsense in her ear while she only wished to feel his lips against hers, the warmth of his lean body, the caress of his fingers. She had never known him to be so talkative, though in the last hours of his life, he seemed to have a great and desperate desire to tell her everything she might ever wish to know, perhaps already aware that he must make every minute count for a year.

  And now he seemed to be describing the Dutch countryside to her, though she was not aware he had ever been there. The haze of her confusion lifted for just a moment when she wondered if indeed, he had never been struck by that beech branch at all, had not died, had not been buried in the Kingswood crypt. Was it possible he had simply been in Amsterdam for these several years? Why had he not sent for her?

  “Stay,” she said. She interrupted his words so that he might go back to the start, and explain everything to her.

  But then he was kissing her and called her his darling, and somehow she knew she had arrived in heaven. Certainly, it was too cold to be that other place.

  But why was he setting her aside? And why could she not move her limbs? The memory of the accident, of Mimma screaming as the coach crashed onto its side, of the driver calling for her when she could not answer, shocked her out of her dream. She had been abandoned and left to die once, only hours before.

  It could not happen again.

  She reached out and grasped hold of warm, damp woolen cloth, and held on as if her life depended on it.

  WILL STUDIED THE scene in front of the Captain and Mermaid Inn and deduced that Christmas had arrived early in East Sussex. Despite the snow and continuing shower of ice, men and perhaps a few women were jumping about, behaving like a rowdy bunch of children. Or, more likely, partygoers who had had a few too many glasses of ginever.

  He would enjoy one himself, but this was England. A scotch would do fine. Perhaps some rum. Both, in fact.

  But hot tea sounded even more enticing.

  Will enjoyed a good time as much as anyone else, but he doubted he had much energy for carousing this night, no matter the occasion. And of more concern, he guessed that with so many people about, the inn might not have enough rooms for his small party.

  He looked down at the woman bundled in his lap, fitfully sleeping. She required a room, preferably close to his own. And he thought of Milton, who somehow managed to deliver them safely to the Captain and Mermaid, and deserved something better than the shared rooms in the attic or in the loft of the stable. Will was prepared to pay whatever was needed, but both his coins and he would grow cold if the innkeeper declined to receive them.

  Milton was at the door within a minute but opened it cautiously.

  “Does she live, my lord?”

  “She does. You merit a bonus for this night’s word, my man,” Will said and stretched his legs under the blankets.

  “I would be glad of a night’s rest, my lord, if such a thing is still possible.” Milton reached for the lady bundled in the blankets, so that Will might extricate himself from the coach.

  “I thought very much the same thing myself,” Will said. Several grooms already approached to relieve them of the care of the horses and secure the coach. “What do you say to our chances of actually getting one?”
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  Milton laughed, and Will could not help but share in the sorry humor.

  “I wonder if our missy has ever spent a night in the hay,” Milton said.

  Will thought of her fair and soft skin and unblemished features. “I doubt it. But come to think about it, I don’t think I have ever spent such a night myself. Coming at the end of this perilous day, I am prepared to sleep in the water closet, if it is the only place available.”

  Milton grinned, and Will noticed an icicle hanging from the driver’s hat. He took Lady Frost from Milton’s undoubtedly weary arms, and they made their way into the bright lights and warm air that smelled a bit too pungently of hops and spirits.

  They were greeted at the door by the innkeeper, who somehow seemed to expect them. Will took that to be a good sign.

  “We require three rooms,” Will said without preamble. “Dare we hope that you have them available? It seems to be a busy night.”

  The innkeeper shrugged. “These fellows are out for a night of carousing before their wives demand that they attend church services and spend time with relatives. Most are local boys. I have two rooms of good size, above the kitchen.”

  Will did not need to be a housekeeper to know that such rooms were the warmest in the house.

  The innkeeper looked curiously at Will’s bundle, though there was little to be seen but the lady’s pink nose and her upper lip.

  “One room is attached to a small dressing room, where a valet might stay, or perhaps a driver.” He glanced pointedly at Milton who, by now, was dripping water onto the rug. “Your lady wife will be comfortable in the room opposite.”

  Will looked down at his lady wife, and though she was neither, felt a rush of affection for her. And certainly a sense of obligation; having taken her this far, he would not have her die during the night.

  “I believe Mr. Milton here requires a room of his own. He has fearlessly led our horses through this storm,” Will said. “I will sleep in the dressing room and give my wife the bed. She is exhausted from her journey, as you see, and may require my help through the night.”