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But her first
priority now was to look after him. While it was a pity to cover up that superb torso, she passed him a blanket. “I should never have sent you away.”
“You didn’t send me away. I went.” The straight look he shot her threatened to upset her wanton plans. When he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, he looked like a dashing Roman. “We need to talk.”
“Not now.” Avoiding that searching green gaze, she hooked up the wet shirt he’d discarded and bundled it near the fire. If she washed it after supper and hung it before the hearth, it would dry overnight. “Warm up. Eat. Rest. We’ll talk later.”
And perhaps they wouldn’t.
Another shiver rippled through her. This time alive with anticipation.
“Maggie—”
“Sit near the fire while I heat up some of yesterday’s soup.” She gestured to the stove. “You’ll be hungry.”
She was hungry, too. Odd to think that not long ago, she’d felt like she never wanted to eat again. What a range of emotions the day had brought. Joy. Passion. Guilt. Sorrow. Despair. Fear.
To her surprise, he obeyed her without an argument. Sign enough that he was still in a bad way. She beat back her fear and concentrated on her cooking. When she glanced across at him slouched on the settle, she was glad to see his eyes closed. Sleep was what he needed after what he’d been through.
When the meal was ready, she crossed to shake his shoulder. “Joss, wake up.”
The smile he gave her was so sweet, she almost took him in her arms. But right now, he needed food more than he needed her embrace. “Sorry. I dozed off.”
“Have something to eat, then go to bed.” When she took his hand, it was no longer icy cold. She blinked away hot tears of relief.
Maggie helped him across to the table she’d set, watching his halting progress with a frown. He was still moving with arthritic stiffness. With a groan, he collapsed into the chair.
Knowing he wasn’t yet up to much conversation, she didn’t try to talk to him as they started eating. Only once he’d made short work of his soup and she saw some color return to his face, did she speak. “Tell me what happened,” she said, putting down her spoon.
“You were right. I left my departure too late.” He hitched up his blanket and leaned back in his chair, half-full wineglass in one hand. “It started snowing as soon as I got to the end of the drive.”
“You should have turned back at that point.”
He still sounded mortally tired. “You know why I didn’t.”
Maggie did. She cut him a huge wedge of the beef pie she’d warmed in the oven and slid it onto his plate. She’d looked after his meals since he’d arrived. Tonight why did this basic act of hospitality seem particularly…wifely? “Had Emilia started limping by then?”
“No. And I only had a few miles to go.”
“It must have been so frightening. I’ve been caught in a snowstorm a couple of times. I completely lost my sense of direction.”
“I could still make out the shape of the hills. And the prevailing wind has been from the north since I arrived. I wasn’t likely to get lost.”
She was overjoyed to hear him sounding much more like himself. “You noticed that?”
He shrugged and began to eat once more. “An architect notes a house’s cold and warm spots. Whoever built Thorncroft knew what they were doing. A small difference in the windows and the doors, and the place would be freezing.”
“It’s usually a warm house,” she said, serving herself a smaller piece of pie. “Especially with all the fires lit.”
Yet how cold and forbidding it had felt after Joss left. Now, it was the Garden of Eden. Such a difference love could make.
“We got to the pass, but it was blocked. I tried to go over the hills and around, but that proved impossible, too.”
Maggie could imagine how he’d struggled on. When he left her, she’d seen his determination. And regret.
She began to eat her pie. “I’m glad you had the good sense to come back.”
He sent her a hard look. “Are you?”
