not. But—’
‘Oh. You hid in your tent and didn’t even go out to fight?’ Gerald nodded. ‘See what you mean. Very bad form, that.’
‘Don’t be a bloody idiot!’
‘That would be you,’ said Gerald. ‘And I’ll thank you to stop insulting my brother, whoever you are. If you think a few bad dreams make you a coward, you are an idiot.’
‘You don’t—can’t—understand,’ said Ash. He’d been unable to hide the dreams from Gerald, but this was the first time the topic had been mentioned openly.
Gerald nodded. ‘No. Not fully. You know, when I started learning to ride I had an accident. Only about four, but something spooked the pony and she bolted. Full-scale bolt. I hung on, absolutely terrified, as long as possible—’
‘You were a child!’ said Ash. ‘That doesn’t make you a coward!’
‘I fell off in the end,’ said Gerald, as if his brother hadn’t spoken. ‘Soft landing. Nothing broken. And they put me right back on, so I rode home. But that night I had nightmares and the next time I was taken out for a lesson I wouldn’t get on. Screamed the place down. Wasn’t so much the fall itself, but the bolt, I think—the fear of falling. Took weeks before I’d get on again. But I did get on in the end.’
‘You were a child,’ repeated Ash.
‘I was,’ agreed Gerald. ‘And you weren’t much more than a boy when you went out to the Peninsula and—’
‘I was twenty-five!’
‘That’s what I said—a boy,’ said Gerald, from the vantage point of the twilight side of fifty. ‘And you saw God knows what, but I never heard you bottomed out or failed in your duty in any way. And you finished up at Waterloo.’ He snorted. ‘If you’d told me you hadn’t been frightened I’d think you a damn fool.’ He considered. ‘Or a liar.’
There was nothing to say to that, and eventually Gerald spoke again, his voice slightly thicker.
‘Thirty thousand men dead. I’ve often thought it must have been something like hell. And I can tell you it was hell waiting to know if you were one of those thirty thousand.’
It had been worse than hell, because the carnage had not distinguished between good and evil.... But perhaps Gerald did understand after all.... Who would have thought it? Kind, stolid, dependable Gerald, stuffed with duty to the backbone.
‘The thing is,’ said Gerald, ‘we hang on for as long as we have to, even when we’re terrified, but sometimes, man or boy, it takes time to...well, not to forget, you don’t do that, but learn to see the memory from a distance or something.’
Was that what he needed to do?
Ash changed the subject. ‘And you think I should marry Maddy Kirkby? I hardly know the girl!’
Which begged the question of that shattering awareness of her in Blakiston’s office yesterday. And certainly didn’t solve the problem of sharing a bed with a woman when you might wake up screaming.
Gerald snorted. ‘Well, that’s never been considered an impediment to marriage. If you think about it, it’s no more odd than if her father or brother, were they alive, had approached me about an alliance between the pair of you. All Miss Kirkby has done is be rather more direct than is usual. Look at the facts, Ash. You’ve been offered exactly what you want—a property right on that blessed Wall of yours. If it comes with a wife attached, where’s the problem? You seem to know her well enough to call her Maddy.’
He shot Ash a shrewd look.
‘And for some reason you didn’t see fit to mention to me that you’d seen her yesterday, let alone had some sort of run-in with Montfort over her.’
‘I’d be marrying her for her money!’ And her stretch of Wall, of course. He shoved aside the thought of Montfort. He’d settle with him soon enough.
Gerald shrugged. ‘Happens all the time. And it was her idea. Look at it this way—if you don’t marry her she’ll be out on her ear and won’t have any money.’
There was that. And there was also the shocking attraction he’d felt yesterday. He’d wanted to see her again, and here she was offering to marry him.
A business proposal. That’s what she’s offering.
‘Seems to me,’ said Gerald, ‘that you’d be helping each other. You need something to do with your life. She needs to keep her home.’
Ash took in a deep breath. ‘I’ll have to see her again.’
Gerald nodded. ‘Need to discuss the marriage settlements, for one thing. And while it’s perfectly understandable that she proposed in a letter, the least you can do is accept in person.’
It was mid-morning when Ash’s mare clattered over the stone bridge into Haydon village, the river tumbling beneath. He’d spent the night in Newcastle after seeing Blakiston, who had seemed quite unsurprised by the visit, or the tentative instructions he’d been given.
‘Certainly, my lord. A very sensible solution for both of you, if I may say so.’
Ash wasn’t sure what sort of answer he’d returned. His head ached and his eyes and temper were scratchy from a poor night’s sleep. Not the usual battle dreams, though, but dreams of Maddy again, this time soft and willing in his arms....
He shoved the images out of his head, trotting Phaedre through the little village clustered by the bridge. It hadn’t changed since last he’d seen it. Grey stone houses huddled together along the narrow street, smoke drifting from their chimneys. The church, with its squat tower, nestled beside the rectory, and at the far end of the street, just before the road rose steeply towards Haydon itself, stood the Bowman’s Arms.
It had stood there in one form or another for centuries. Ash knew it well, having often stayed there when he came down to this part of the county looking for Roman remains. He wondered if old Runcorn the landlord was still there, but rode past. Maybe he’d stop on the way back to Newcastle if he had time.
It had snowed lightly the night before and a thin drift of white lay over everything. Phaedre’s breath steamed in the chilly air as she breasted the rise out of the village.
Higher and higher they climbed as the road curved round. As he recalled, Haydon was only a mile or so out of the village, perched on a steep drop above a bend in the river. He couldn’t possibly get lost, because this road between the bare hedges led only to Haydon. He’d never been up to the castle in winter before, and even in summer it could be bleak. Now, even with his pounding head, his heart leaped at the bite of the wind and the threat of snow in the air.
At last the buildings came into view. Haydon Castle... Ash reined the mare in, looking. Compared to Gerald’s pile, calling Haydon a castle was slightly overstating the case. It was more of a fortified manor, not really a castle at all. Still, it had an outer bailey, a courtyard that one might designate an inner bailey and a curtain wall. Once it had even had a portcullis, although he very much doubted it had ever kept any seriously pillage-minded Scots out. In these more peaceful times buildings had been erected outside the old fortifications. A barn, a cow byre larger than the one within the walls, several cottages. It was its own little world up here.
He nudged Phaedre and rode on, approaching the main gate. It stood wide open, but as he rode into the old outer bailey a fusillade of barking broke out and a very large black-and-white crossbred hound he remembered only too well charged through the gate that led to the inner bailey.
He drew rein and Phaedre halted, shifting restlessly as the dog stopped several yards away, still barking, hackles raised. Peaceful times, but Haydon retained some defences. Ash spoke