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drag-ged Tony out he-re; she cer-ta-inly wo-uldn't com-po-und her cri-mes by
crying.
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He cros-sed the ro-om and squ-at-ted down be-si-de her, ta-king her numb
hands in his. "Don't lo-ok so dis-t-ra-ught, lamb," he sa-id in his kin-dest
vo-ice. "We'll find them. They can't ha-ve be-en go-ne long."
"You me-an they we-re he-re?" She hadn't even con-si-de-red that
pos-si-bi-lity.
"I as-su-me so. Who el-se wo-uld ha-ve be-en he-re re-cently eno-ugh to
ha-ve left co-als? Let me see if I can find any can-d-le stubs aro-und. Who
knows, they might even ha-ve left us so-met-hing to eat. In the me-an-ti-me,
why don't you ta-ke off yo-ur ca-pe and dra-pe it ne-ar the fi-re? You're
go-ing to want to dry it out be-fo-re you we-ar it aga-in."
For a mo-ment she didn't mo-ve. Her hands we-re swal-lo-wed up in his
lar-ge, warm ones, and his eyes we-re too kind. She wan-ted to fling her-self
aga-inst him, to ab-sorb so-me of his warmth, so-me of his com-fort.
In-s-te-ad she ma-na-ged a shaky smi-le. "If you find so-met-hing to eat," she
sa-id in a soft vo-ice, "I'll be yo-ur sla-ve for li-fe."
His eyes crin-k-led in a smi-le. "I'll re-mem-ber that pro-mi-se."
He di-sap-pe-ared in-to the next ro-om whi-le El-len strip-ped off her
ca-pe, all the whi-le ta-king stock of her sur-ro-un-dings. It was far from
re-as-su-ring. The ro-om was un-p-re-pos-ses-sing, with only a three-leg-ged
tab-le, a co-up-le of cha-irs, and a sag-ging ro-pe bed for fur-nis-hings.
The-re was an old car-ri-age ro-be on the ro-ugh mat-tress, for which she
than-ked God. She didn't ca-re if it we-re in-fes-ted with fle-as, or even
so-met-hing wor-se. At le-ast she'd find a sem-b-lan-ce of warmth.
"We're in luck," Tony sa-id as he ca-me back in the ro-om, his lar-ge fra-me
thro-wing an even lar-ger sha-dow aga-inst the wall. "The-re's so-me stew in
the bot-tom of a ket-tle, and a hunk of che-ese. Best of all, I fo-und this."
He held up a flask.
"Wi-ne?" she as-ked in a ral-lying vo-ice.
"Bet-ter still. Brandy. Ta-ke off yo-ur wet bo-ots, El-len. We're not go-ing
an-y-w-he-re for the next few ho-urs." He drop-ped down on the cha-ir that
held his ste-aming gre-at-co-at and be-gan re-mo-ving his own muddy top
bo-ots.
"You don't sug-gest we spend the night he-re?" she qu-es-ti-oned, both
ag-hast and not a lit-tle ex-ci-ted at the she-er im-p-rop-ri-ety of the
no-ti-on.
"I cer-ta-inly don't sug-gest we go back out in-to the storm and ret-ra-ce
our fo-ot-s-teps, then tra-vel an ex-t-ra half-mi-le in this hel-lish
we-at-her. It's cozy eno-ugh for the mo-ment. We'll ta-ke things as they
co-me."
"Tony, the-re's only one bed," she felt for-ced to po-int out.
"That's all right, lo-ve," he sa-id che-er-ful-ly. "I trust you."
She had to la-ugh. "At le-ast no one is go-ing to know abo-ut this," she
sa-id, un-fas-te-ning her damp bo-ots and kic-king them to-ward the fi-re.
"Even if they did, they wo-uldn't be-li-eve it of two so-ber cre-atu-res li-ke
our-sel-ves."
He glan-ced over at her. "I don't know that you're at all so-ber, El-len
Fit-z-wa-ter. As a mat-ter of fact, I think you've had a sadly
de-bi-li-ta-ting ef-fect on my so-ber na-tu-re. Too much ti-me spent in yo-ur
com-pany and I'm be-co-ming qu-ite alar-mingly mad-cap. Ha-ve so-me brandy."
She glan-ced at the sil-ver flask he held out to her, too be-mu-sed by his
ban-te-ring to-ne to qu-ite re-mem-ber that drin-king brandy was de-fi-ni-tely
not the thing. She'd had so-me on-ce be-fo-re, with Gilly, and she'd got-ten
so silly that her fri-end had in-for-med her with so-me se-ve-rity that she
had no he-ad for spi-rits and sho-uld avo-id them at all costs. She re-ac-hed
for the flask.
"I sho-uldn't be drin-king this," she sa-id, still he-si-ta-ting.
"The-re's not-hing bet-ter for a chill," he sa-id. "Don't wor-ry-if you
drink too much you'll simply fall as-le-ep. Not-hing shoc-king in that."
It se-emed to her that her pre-vi-o-us ex-cur-si-on in-to the world of
spi-rits had in-vol-ved a gre-at de-al of gig-gling, a fa-ir amo-unt of
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diz-zi-ness, and even a sur-fe-it of te-ars. At le-ast she hadn't cast up her
ac-co-unts. If she was spa-red that ig-no-mi-ni-o-us com-p-li-ca-ti-on, then
she co-uld cer-ta-inly ta-ke just a sip or two with equ-ani-mity. Af-ter all,
Tony had he-ard her gig-gle be-fo-re. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]