Chapter 9
Maggie had fallen into a troubled doze in front of the fire when the door to the kitchens slammed open, letting a blast of freezing air inside.
Groggy and stiff with sitting still so long, she stumbled to her feet. Her sudden movement dislodged Smith, who jumped down from her lap and stalked off with her tail waving in displeasure.
“Joss…” she said, wondering if she was dreaming.
She hadn’t really been asleep. Or at least she’d thought she wasn’t.
Forbidden joy overwhelmed her. Then she looked at him more closely, and concern overcame every response but the need to help. “You look terrible.”
He was utterly exhausted, with his eyes sunk back in his white face. Those deep lines between nose and mouth were like chasms.
Joss took a dragging step across the threshold, dropped his hat and saddlebags to the floor, and turned to fumble with the heavy old door. She rushed forward and slid her shoulder under his arm. He was freezing, shivering so violently that she had trouble holding onto him.
“I couldn’t get through the pass.” His voice was hoarse.
“Oh, my dear,” she said, before she could think to censor herself.
He wasn’t getting far with closing the door. She gave the heavy door a kick to shut it and helped him across the short distance to the hearth. Thank goodness the roaring fire kept the kitchens so warm.
Frantic, she tugged off his wet outdoor clothes and threw them to the floor. Her anxiety grew as he stood passively under her attentions. Joss Hale was many things, but passive wasn’t one of them.
“God knows I tried,” he said through chattering teeth. As the heat worked on him, he began to steam gently.
“I know you did,” she said softly, pushing him onto the settle and going on her knees to tug off his icy boots.
And she did know. She suspected he’d tried far past the point where most men would have given up and turned back.
He was staring at her the way he’d stared at her when he first arrived. “You’ve been crying.”
She must look a complete fright, but when he reached out and touched her cheek, she almost didn’t mind. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie.”
Sorry he’d left her and made her cry? Or sorry he came back? He looked too tired to meet emotional demands, although tomorrow they’d have to talk about what happened now. “How’s Emilia?”
“I soon realized she wasn’t likely to make it. If she was in a better state, I’d have done my best to go on.”
Maggie’s lips turned down in disapproval as she stood up. “Then you’d be a fool. This…feeling between us isn’t worth dying for.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” she snapped. She’d nearly lost him. To hide the queasy terror that thought aroused, she headed into the pantry to fetch some brandy. “Here. It will help.”
As he accepted the bottle, he turned his face up toward her. Already some of the life came back into his features, but the hand that pulled out the cork was shaking. While he drank from the bottle, she went into the linen store.
When she emerged, carrying towels and blankets, he was slumped in the chair. The sag of his body expressed deathly weariness, and his long legs stretched toward the fire.
“Do you want me to dry your hair?” She might still sound angry, but the rusty taste of fear was sharp in her mouth. And guilt. How could she have let him go? She knew the dangers.
He raised his head to observe her brandishing a towel like a weapon. “No, thank you. I can manage.”
The brandy and the fire had started to work their magic. That deep rumble of a voice almost sounded like usual. He reached out for the towel and began to wipe his neck and shoulders.
She didn’t turn her eyes away when he stood to remove his coat. “Do you want to take off your breeches, too?”
“Why, Miss Carr, you make me blush,” he said with an attempt at his usual humor.