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CHAPTER ONE
Hetty groaned when raucous singing suddenly shattered the silence. She drew a pillow over her head in an attempt to block out the discordant noise but could still hear him, out on the driveway, wailing and screeching like the cat did when he got too close to the fire.
She threw the pillow back onto the bed with a groan of disbelief, and glared balefully at the ceiling while she listened to the cacophony.
The rather risqué sea shanty grew increasingly louder, then suddenly stopped.
“For heaven’s sake,” she muttered when several loud thumps on the front door reverberated around the house.
She contemplated whether to answer it. The thought of climbing out of bed and losing the precious warmth within made her snuggle deeper beneath the covers for several long moments in stubborn defiance of her brother’s demands. Unfortunately, the second round of hammer blows on the door rendered any chance of sleep absolutely impossible.
Guilt pricked her conscience. She knew that if she didn’t let him in, Simon would be forced to sleep his excesses off in the grain store again like he did last week. She just couldn’t bring herself to leave him in the cold again. The last time he had spent the night outside he had caught a chill, and had been a bear for several days while he sniffed and snivelled in misery.
“Hetty!”
Hetty looked at her window. The sound of pebbles being thrown rather too forcefully against the glass forced her to throw the covers back. She clambered out of bed with a disgruntled sigh, and drew her shawl over her shoulders as she reluctantly made her way downstairs.
“God, he is talking to himself now,” she grumbled when the sound of her brother’s voice grew louder.
She wondered just how much of the innkeeper’s watered down ale he had consumed to get in such a state – again. His muttering became muffled for a moment before a loud thump on the door preceded several more knocks and a rattle of the latch.
“H-e-t-t-t-t-y-y-y,” Simon sang loudly, then began to mutter again.
“I’m coming,” she snapped.
Hetty glanced upstairs but, sure enough, there was no sign of her oldest brother Wally, who always seemed able to sleep the sleep of the dead.
“H-e-t-t-t-t-y-y-y.”
She sighed. “Talking to your imaginary friend again, Si –”
She yanked open the door as she spoke and watched as, without the door to keep him upright, Simon fell into a heap on the floor at her feet.
To her stunned amazement, a second man, a stranger, slid through the doorway after him, and gave her a rather charming smile as he grinned blearily up at her.
“’Ere, Simon, are you dead yet?” the stranger mumbled as he roughly shook his new friend by the shoulder without taking his eyes off Hetty.
“Not yet,” Simon replied in voice that was muffled by the weight of his friend’s shoulder.
“We’ve got an angel,” the man whispered.
“Ugh,” Simon grunted without bothering to move.
Hetty tried to keep her gaze away from the handsome stranger at her feet, but found herself drawn back to him again and again.
What was she supposed to say in such a situation? How are you? Pleased to meet you? What are you doing lying on my hallway floor looking handsome and mischievous?
He was not much use; he simply lay there smiling at her like a puppy waiting to be patted.
“Can either of you get up?” she demanded; determined to ignore the tiny thrill of attraction that coursed through her.
“Charlie?” Simon grunted.
“Hmm?”
“You get up?”
Charlie seemed to consider that for a moment. “No, don’t think so,” he replied.
Simon grunted. “Me neither.”
