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The wind howled, sending needles of rain against Ellery’s skin. It had been like this for hours before Conor turned them off the road and through a bricked gateway. Her whole body ached, and her head was muzzy with exhaustion. A bed was all she wanted. A bed and at least a full day to sleep with no interruptions and no guilt. Heaven.
She had a hazy impression of an imposing approach of terraces and steps, then a house with gables and a tower and rows of windows. Lighted lamps swung in their brackets on either side of the porch and somewhere a gate squeaked. She’d have been impressed if she hadn’t been so damn tired.
She slithered from her horse, caught in Conor’s arms before she could drop to her knees in the mud.
“We’re here. We’re safe,” he said.
The queasy gut-wrenching panic that had followed her all night slowly dissipated. But without the tension, the exhaustion only rushed in faster to take its place.
“Shall they be glad to see us, do you think?” Ellery squinted up at the house, but the storm whipped the sodden collar of her coat into her face, and rain stung her eyes.
Conor seemed surprised. “They’re family, and this is my home. Glad is nothing to do with it.”
She shot him a look. “So you don’t know either.” A groom appeared out of the darkness, doffed his cap, shouting to be heard over the wind. “Welcome back, Master Conor. Expecting you, we were.” His gaze rested on Ellery for a moment. “The girl as well.” He nodded as he led the horses away.
“Conor?” she prompted. “What did he mean they were expecting us?”
But Conor had already taken her hand to pull her up into the shelter of the porch.
She shook the water out of her hair, staring up at the carvings above the nail-studded door. The wolf’s head symbol of the Blighs surrounded by a crown of leaves. She glanced over at Conor, but he took no notice. He stood stone-faced, rigid as the carving with one hand poised on the door handle.
It moved from under his grasp, thrown open from the other side. “You’re late.” A lean gentleman with shaggy dark hair and sharp gray eyes ushered them in, glancing out into the wild storm with a troubled look. “We thought you’d be here hours ago. Mishap on the road?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle, Father,” Conor replied. “This is Ellery Reskeen.” He paused. “A traveling companion.”
Conor’s father frowned. “We heard about her, too.” He sketched her a bow. “Welcome, Miss Reskeen. I’m Mikhal Bligh. This scoundrel’s father. Our home is yours,” his eyes flashed to Conor, “for as long as you have need of it.”
As if suddenly aware of the water streaming off them, he laughed. “You look positively drowned. Here,” he took Ellery’s greatcoat, “let’s get you dry.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, reluctantly handing it over. Though soaked through, it had offered some warmth. Without it, the gooseflesh rose on Ellery’s chilled skin. She rubbed her arms briskly and tried not to yawn. The flight south through the storm had been nightmarish. Couldn’t he just show her a cot in some corner and save his courtesy for tomorrow when her brain might be functioning?
“Conor? Your jacket?” his father offered.
The two men’s gazes locked as if each searched the other for something. Golden-yellow met steel gray. Both flint hard.
Both unyielding. Mikhal Bligh looked away first, his lips tight with concern. What did he see in Conor
that made him look so solemn? Or was it something he didn’t see?
An awkward silence followed. Was Conor going to explain their arrival? Her presence? She squirmed under the disapproving eye of Conor’s father. She couldn’t stand it. “I don’t want you to think…I mean, there’s nothing improper. That is to say between Conor and myself. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”
Mikhal surprised her by giving a shaky smile as he motioned for her to move out of the hall and into a long parlor. “No? More’s the pity. He could use a strong woman to bring him back.”
“Father,” Conor warned.
But Mikhal only waved him off. “No more to be said on that for now.” His gaze speared him. “But I’ve not finished with you. We will talk—later.”
Conor shrugged.
His father crossed to a sideboard. Poured out a brandy for Conor, and glanced her way “Something to warm you, Miss Reskeen? A spiced wine? Claret? A cup of tea?”
Ellery’s gaze swept the offerings. Settled on her usual. “Whiskey, please.”
Mikhal raised a surprised eyebrow, but nodded and poured her out a bumper, which she downed in one quick gulp. It slid down with a smooth smoky heat before spreading its delicious warmth to every part of her body. Definitely not the hell-broth she was used to. That was like swallowing acid. And about as soothing. This was perfection.
“Where’s Mother?” Conor asked.
“In her study as usual,” Mikhal answered. “She knew you were coming, but you know her. Probably lost in an archaic translation or some obscure point of reference that can’t wait.”
