Page 20 of An Enchanting Dare

Biddy sighed, shaking her head sadly. “You did not make a mistake, love. You were young and innocent and taken advantage of. ’Tis a different thing.”

“Perhaps,” Aisling allowed. “But that’s not all of it, and you know that. He needs to stay away from me, for both our sakes. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt him too.”

Biddy clicked her tongue, her next words sharp and impatient. “Child, you cannot punish yourself forever, and you ought not punish a man if he is truly trying to be a friend to you. The past is gone, stop biding there.”

“And how do I know? How do I tell, Biddy?” Aisling demanded, frustrated now. “Men lie, and I’ve believed those lies. I don’t trust my instincts anymore, and I certainly don’t trust him.”

The old woman stared at her hard, as if trying to make Aisling heed her words by sheer force of will.

“Your instincts are sound, and you ought to listen to them. You’re not a child any longer. It is time to let the past go, love. Listen to that little voice in your head. Listen to your heart.”

Aisling got to her feet. She had come here hoping that Biddy would sympathise and agree that Mr Cootes was an annoying presence and she’d be well shot of him. Biddy had little patience for most men herself. She had never married, refusing to become anyone’s property, so to hear her defend the wretched man was infuriating.

“Ah, you’re all at sixes and sevens,” Biddy said, her expression softening and her smile only making Aisling crosser. “Reckon you know why, too. Don’t fight it so hard, love. You like the annoying fellow, so why not enjoy it? Maybe he’ll kiss you and make you remember how it feels to be a young woman again.”

Aisling scowled, remembering Mr Cootes telling her in no uncertain terms that he hadn’t the slightest interest in her romantically. Why those words had made her feel so much like weeping, she did not know, but they had, and ever since she’d heard them, she’d had no peace. She had not slept last night, hearing his scathing retort circling in her head until the early hours of the morning. The lack of sleep had hardly helped her temper and now she was, as Biddy had suggested, as cross as a wet cat. That she knew she was being irrational did not help a jot.

“I told you. He’s not interested in me like that. He just wants to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong, and I will not let him.”

“So you say,” Biddy said, with the singsong air of a woman who knew better.

Aisling gave a harrumph of frustration, kissed Biddy on the cheek, and snatched up her shawl, feeling even crosser than when she’d arrived. Her skirts swished as she strode out of the cottage, and she was well into the castle gardens before her temper subsided enough for her to slow her pace. She took a deep breath and told herself she was being ridiculous. Why was she so cross that a man she didn’t even like wasn’t romantically interested in her, when she hadn’t wanted him to be interested in her in the first place? It made no sense.

She was still puzzling over this conundrum when she arrived at the large ornamental pond. It was a great circle with a fountain at its centre, and she usually found it a soothing place to be. Today, her nerves leapt as she saw Mr Cootes standing at the edge of the pond, gazing down at it as though he were looking for something hidden beneath the dark water.

Aisling hesitated, uncertain of what to do. She did not wish to speak to him after last night, but if she backed up and left, he’d notice. He’d think she was running away. Well, he’d be right, obviously, but she was damned if she’d let him know it. Deciding to just ignore the problem, she picked up her pace again, intending to stride past him with a nonchalant ‘good morning Mr Cootes,’ but not stop.

“Good morning, Mr—”

“Wait.”

He moved the moment he saw her, moving to block her path. Aisling was so surprised that she took a quick step back and turned her ankle. She stepped again to steady herself and stumbled upon the low wall of the pond. With a gasp, Aisling fell backwards and shrieked as her backside hit the cold water with a splash. For a moment she just sat there, gaping up at him with her mouth open, the shock of sitting up to her waist in a mucky pond enough to stun her into silence.

Mr Cootes looked equally shocked. Thankfully he wasn’t laughing, or things might have taken a turn for the worse.

“My lady,” he managed, reaching for her.

Aisling batted his hands away. Anger morphed rapidly into abject humiliation, and she wanted to get away from him, wanted to cry, blast him. She never cried, not anymore, and yet this was the second time the impulse to sob had come upon her in his presence. Oh, how she hated him. Loathed him. The absolute beast!

Somehow, she got herself upright again and stared down at her ruined gown, which was now decorated with green pond weed. She swallowed hard. No tears, Aisling. Don’t you dare.

“Aisling. I’m so sorry, I—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not a word.”

“But please… I must talk to you.”

She shook her head again, determined to get away, though her sodden petticoats and skirts weighed a ton and clung to her legs, threatening to trip her.

“Aisling!”

He grasped her wrists and Aisling stilled, shocked by the sensation of his hands on her bare skin. His hold was gentle, and she could easily have pulled free, but the sensation of being touched by him had scattered her wits.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, the words angry and brittle, as though they’d been torn from him against his will.

He looked a little wild. His hair was all over the place, as if he’d dragged his fingers through it several times over, and there was a slightly desperate look in his hazel eyes that made her stomach feel all skittish and peculiar.

“W-What?” she managed, for she was all in a muddle. He had his hands on her and… and she rather liked it. In fact, she didn’t want him to let go and yet she was still so furious with him, and he was talking and… what was he saying?