He roared. Higgins jammed the iron bar into the gap, throwing his entire weight against it. The boulder groaned, tilted, and rolled heavily into the soft bank of the ditch, clear of the water flow. Instantly, the damned, muddy water surged forward, rushing through the cleared channel. Nathaniel stood in the kneedeep muck, chest heaving, his hands raw and bleeding from the rough stone.
He looked up at me, standing on the bank. He wasn't a monster hiding in the dark. He was a man who had forgotten he still had strength left to use. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a clean linen handkerchief, and stepped right to the edge of the muddy bank. I held it out to him.
He stared at the white square of fabric, then at my face. Slowly he weighed it out of the ditch, took the handkerchief, and wrapped it around his bleeding palm. "We will send a cart of dry timber from the estate stores tomorrow, Mr. Higgins, I told the stunned farmer, not breaking eye contact with my husband. To repair your roof. In exchange, you will clear the rest of this drainage channel before the first freeze.
Yes, your grace. Higgins breathed, staring at Nathaniel with a newfound, profound reverence. Thank you, your grace. We rode back in silence. The rain began to fall harder, washing the mud from the horse's flanks.
When we finally reached the courtyard of Harwood Hall, we were both soaked to the bone and shivering. Nathaniel dismounted and came to the side of my horse. He reached up, grasping me by the waist, and lifted me down to the cobblestones. He didn't let go immediately. His hands, massive and warm even through my damp cloak, lingered on my hips.
You ruined your boots," he said quietly, looking down at my feet. "They are just boots, Nathaniel," I replied, looking up into his face. The rain had plastered his dark hair to his forehead, obscuring the worst of the scars. "I can buy new ones when the spring rents come in." A small, genuine smile cracked the rigid lines of his face.
It transformed him utterly. You are a very stubborn woman, Cecilia, and you are surprisingly useful in a ditch. I stepped back, breaking the physical contact, though my skin burned where he had held me. Go inside before you catch your death. We have ledgers to balance.
Winter clamped down on Yorkshire with a suffocating grip. The moors turned iron hard and white. Inside Harwood Hall, life found a strange functional rhythm. We were not lovers. We were generals managing a besieged fortress.
We ate breakfast together, reviewing the estate manager's daily reports. We spent afternoons in the library, where a modest fire now burned daily, reading in companionable silence. We were polite, we were efficient, we were running out of time. The reminder arrived in a thick cream colored envelope bearing the wax seal of Nathaniel's London solicitors. It was delivered during dinner.
Nathaniel broke the seal, read the brief contents, and laid the parchment face down on the polished mahogany table. The muscle in his jaw jumped. "Bad news?" I asked, slicing into a piece of roasted mutton. "Mr. But Finch wishes to remind me," Nathaniel said, his voice stripped of the warmth we had slowly built over the last 2 months.