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We fell silent then. But that wasn’t a problem. Silence wasn’t bad. In fact, cantering across the snowy expanse of the plain with Mr Ambrose’s arms wrapped around me, snow swirling around us like miniature d
iamonds, it was bloody wonderful. I nearly made me forget that my wet feet were about to freeze.
‘Bridge ahead, Sir!’ the silence was broken by one of the riders. The man pointed ahead and, following the direction of his arm with my gaze, I saw a small bridge spanning a half-frozen river. The little thing had clearly seen better days - in the Middle Ages. Its weathered stones were covered by ivy and moss, and the arch seemed to sweep towards the sky with a sort of rheumatic charm: Look here! I may be seven hundred years old, but I’m still in as good a shape as ever!
‘Developed an interest in medieval architecture, have you, Mr Ambrose?’ I enquired.
‘No. This is where we are meeting up with Karim and the other men.’
‘The other men?’
‘The maid could not provide any information on whether Dalgliesh had already removed you from the hut she saw you in. So I sent some men to Dalgliesh’s closest holding, just in case.’
Dear me. He really had gone all out with this rescue. Carefully, out of the corner of my eye, I glanced up at the stern face of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. It was impassive and cold, just as immovable as ever, and yet, and yet…there was something in his eyes. Something that hadn’t been there before. And I didn’t mean a stye.
‘Halt!’
Mr Ambrose raised a hand. Only a few yards away from the bridge, our cavalcade came to a stop. In an effortless move, Mr Ambrose slid out of the saddle, taking me with him. If I’d imagined him doing something silly and romantic like catching me in his arms, however, I was disappointed. I landed solidly on my own two feet.
How fabulous that I was a feminist and would never, ever expect such a thing!
‘Spread out!’ Mr Ambrose commanded. ‘Dalgliesh’s men may follow our trail and decide to attack. If they do, I want ample warning. Form a perimeter. Keep your guns handy, and be ready to fight.’
‘Yes, Sir! You heard him, men. Go!’
The riders scattered, leaving Mr Ambrose and me alone at one end of the bridge.
‘Come.’ Jerking his head towards the moss-covered stone arc, Mr Ambrose strode forward. He stopped only when he was standing at the apex of the bridge. Resting his hands on the stone railing, he gazed out over the ice of the river. I stepped up beside him, hands under my armpits to protect them against the biting cold. A stiff breeze bit into my face, and a shiver ran down my spine.
‘Bloody hell! You couldn’t have found a warm spot to wait, could you?’
‘At the time, Miss Linton, I had slightly more pressing matters on my mind.’
Like whether or not you would survive. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to. I heard the words as clear as a bell.
Silently, he lifted one arm, extending it towards me. Without even thinking about it, I scuttled closer, snuggling against him, his arm wrapped around my shoulder. Good God…! How could such a cold man feel so incredibly warm?
For a while we just stood there, gazing out across the icy river sparkling in the light of the sinking sun. The sunset was alive with fire, painting the entire expanse of ice and snow a glowing red-golden colour. It made the world look just like I felt: on fire in the grip of ice.
‘Miss Linton?’
I resisted the temptation to glance up at Mr Ambrose’s face. To judge by the sound of his voice, things might be visible there that he would not want anyone to see.
‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
‘While Dalgliesh had you in his power, did he…do anything? Hurt you in any way?’
The arm around my shoulders tightened to an almost painful degree. I didn’t complain. Instead, I only pressed myself against him closer.
‘No, he didn’t harm me.’ In order to keep him from starting a war in the middle of the English countryside, I decided it was probably better not to mention Dalgliesh’s plans with regard to certain of my fingers. ‘But he did talk quite a lot.’
‘Whatever he told you was probably lies.’
I took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing…
‘Oh? So you didn’t run away from home as a boy because of an argument with your father, then?’
