A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(13)

The answer was plain. She couldn’t.

Her father addressed the officer. “Bramwell, you’ve led entire regiments into battle. I’m asking you to train a company of four-and-twenty men. Believe me, I know full well this is like asking an African lion to serve a barn cat’s purpose. But it is a position of command, and one I’m free to offer you. And it’s only a month. If you do well with it . . . after midsummer, it could lead to something more.”

A meaningful look passed between the men, and Bramwell—now Lord Rycliff, she supposed—was silent for a long moment. Susanna held her breath. A half hour ago, she’d wished for nothing more than to see the back of this man and his party. And now, she found herself forced into a most unpleasant occupation.

Hoping he would stay.

At length, he stood, pulling on the front of his coat. “Very well, then.”

“Excellent.” Rising to his feet, Papa clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “I’ll write to the duke forthwith. Susanna, you’re always fond of walking, and there’s ample time before dinner. Why don’t you show the man his castle?”

“This is the way,” Susanna said, leading the men off the dirt lane and onto an ancient road grown over with grass.

The path was a familiar one. Over the years she’d resided in Spindle Cove, Susanna must have walked it thousands of times. She knew each curve of the land, every last mottled depression in the road. More than once, she’d covered this distance in the dark of night with nary a misstep.

Today, she stumbled.

He was there, catching her elbow in his strong, sure grip. She hadn’t realized he was following so close. Just when she thought she’d regained her balance, his heat and presence unsteadied her all over again.

“Are you well?”

“Yes. I think so.” In an effort to dispel the awkwardness, she joked, “Mondays are country walks; Tuesdays, sea bathing . . .”

He didn’t laugh. Nor even smile. He released her without comment, moving on ahead to take the lead. His strides were long, but she noticed he was still favoring that right leg.

She did what a good healer ought never do. She hoped it hurt.

Perhaps, with that swooping tackle in the road, he had saved her from losing a few toes. But if not for him, there would have been no danger in the first place. If not for him, right now she would be seeing the Highwoods settled in at the rooming house. Poor Diana. Poor Minerva, for that matter. Charlotte was young and resilient, at least.

They climbed the rest of the way in silence. Once they crested the sandstone ridge, Susanna pulled to a stop. “Well,” she said between deep inhalations, “there it is, my lord. Rycliff Castle.”

The castle ruins sat perched at the tip of an outcropping, an arrowhead of green heath jutting over the sea. Four stone turrets, a few standing arches . . . here and there, a bit of wall. This was all that remained. In the background spread the English Channel, now turning a lovely shade of periwinkle in the dimming afternoon.

Silence reigned for a long minute as the men took in the scene. Susanna kept quiet, too, as she tried to see the ancient fortress through fresh eyes. As a young girl, she’d been taken with the romance of it. When one viewed the castle as a picturesque ruin, the absent walls and ceilings were the best features. The missing parts were invitations to dream; they inspired the imagination. Looking upon this as a prospective residence, however, she could only imagine the missing parts would inspire grave misgivings. Or perhaps hives.

“And the village?” he asked.

“You can see it from here.” She led them through a standing fragment of arched corridor, across an open expanse of grass that had once been the castle’s courtyard, to the bluff, where they could overlook the crescent-shaped cove and the valley that sheltered her beloved community. From here, it looked so small and insignificant. With any luck, it would remain beneath his notice entirely.

He said, “I’ll be needing a closer look tomorrow.”

“It’s nothing special,” she hedged. “Just an average English village. Hardly worth your time. Cottages, a church, a few shops.”

“Surely there’s an inn,” Lord Payne said.

“There is a rooming house,” Susanna said, leading them back from the edge of the bluff. “The Queen’s Ruby. But I’m afraid it is completely occupied at this time of year. Summer visitors, you understand, come to enjoy the sea.” And to escape men like you.

“An inn won’t be necessary.” Lord Rycliff walked slowly about the ruins. He propped a hand against a nearby wall and leaned on it, as if to test the wall’s soundness. “We’ll be staying here.”

This statement was received with universal incredulity. Even the stones seemed to throw it back at him, rejecting the words as false.

“Here,” the corporal said.

“Yes,” Lord Rycliff said. “Here. We’ll need to begin settling in, if we’re to make camp before nightfall. Go see to the carts, Thorne.”

Thorne nodded his compliance and quit the place immediately, descending the way they’d come.

“You can’t mean to stay here,” Lord Payne said. “Have you seen here?”

“I have,” Rycliff answered. “I’m looking at it. So we’ll be camping. That’s what militiamen do.”