The Earl's Christmas Delivery (6 page)

"Yes, and I see no sign of any village anywhere," she replied. "I guess we'll get wet again, sir."

"It's not far now!" one of the young men called up to them. "We've almost made it."

"Yes, but so has the storm and I—"

He was cut off by the sudden flash of lightening and the almost immediate crack of thunder. Miss Meriwether cried out and leaned in toward him. He found that he did not at all mind, so he held the reins tightly in one hand to steady the startled horse and put his other arm snuggly around her.

"It seems the storm is upon us," he said.

"Look! Something else is, as well!" she cried, pointing off to the side.

He barely had time to glance over before a loud, wooly wave began surging over the low stone wall that ran along next to the road. The horse started violently and he was forced to take his arm from Miss Meriwether and hold more tightly to the reins, calling out to calm the usually sedate creature. The wave rolled toward them, a mass of baaing and stampeding sheep.

"What the devil...?" one of the young men yelled out.

"A whole flock of sheep has been startled by the storm!" Miss Meriwether said. "Heavens, but they've packed the roadway in front and behind us!"

Indeed she was correct. The sheep must have been grazing in the pasture just on the other side of the wall, but now in their panic they rushed the wall and heaved over it, milling about in a crazed panic around them, trapped against the high banks of the roadway and the walls
running along both sides. The foolish creatures had no idea to move forward and instead were pressing against the wagon, shoving the wheels and being snarled underneath it. A few unlucky ones of the flock were quite trampled under the feet of their fellows, further trapping the wagon and adding to the horrific din surrounding them.

On top of it all, now they could hear the shouts of men and wild bark
ing of dogs. Shepherds and sheep dogs began pouring over the walls now, caught up in the chaos and doing very little to sort it all out. The dogs darted madly through the mess, nipping at heels of the sheep as well as the horse and the pony. Miss Meriwether worried for her little charge so she leaned out of the wagon, calling for the shepherds to signal their dogs. It was a muddle of disaster no matter where Myserleigh turned his head.

Mostly, though, he was concerned for Miss Meriwether. He risked losing control of his horse to put his arm around her again in hopes of keeping her inside the wagon, despite how she twisted and squirmed in her efforts to get to her pony. He did not wish damage on the poor little thing, but he'd much rather lose it than Miss Meriwether.

"Sit still! You'll be trampled for certain if you go tumbling out," he advised.

"But the pony
!" she cried.

"The shepherds are here. They'll settle their sheep; just give them a moment."

He hoped that was true. For an agonizing few seconds it seemed as if it might never happen, but finally the two healthy young men in the wagon were able to reach over the sides and help shove sheep in a useful direction and the dogs finally made up their minds which way to begin driving their flock. The pandemonium calmed and most of the flock began moving forward, away from the wagon.

A few unlucky lambs, however, seemed a bit worse for the wear. Two of the shepherds scooped up three injured younglings. Thunder rolled overhead again and the sheep bolted
forward, charging up the roadway ahead of them. The majority of the shepherds called back to their friends with the armloads of wounded, then hurried on ahead to keep up.

Myserleigh
invited the stragglers.

"We've room in the wagon," he said. "We can cart those lambs as far as
Newchild-on-Bourne."

The two
remaining shepherds seemed thrilled with that offer.

"That's where we was headed, sir," they said, approaching with their bleating bundles.

The young men made room and the very last inches of space in the wagon were now filled with shepherds and wailing lambs. The sounds of the dogs and the flock was fading out ahead, indicating they were moving much faster than the wagon. Myserleigh was quite amazed, actually, that his old horse was still able to pull it—
piano-forte
, scholars, shepherds, and all. If they made it to Newchild it would be a miracle, for certain.

"Is the pony unhurt?" Miss Meriwether called back.

"Looks good to me," one of the young men offered.

"Skittish, but she's not turning up lame," a shepherd added. "Well fed,
ain't she?"

"She's a Christmas gift for some children," Carole explained.

The shepherds chuckled. One muttered his opinion on the mater.

"For some wide children, I should hope."

"She just needs regular exercise," Miss Meriwether said, finally finding something to be offended over.

"Pity she
ain't no racing horse, though," the other shepherd said. "We're all going to get wet here in a minute or two if we can't hurry the pace."

And indeed he was correct.
Myserleigh could hear the rush of wind and the sound of the rain coming their way. He urged the nag just a bit faster and glanced at Miss Meriwether.

"Better pull that oilcloth tighter around yourself," he suggested. "I think your bonnet's not yet seen the worst of it."

She did as he said, then pointed ahead. "Look! Beyond those trees. I can just make out the spire of a church."

"
Newchild-on-Bourne is right over the next rise," one of the shepherds said. "That's Bethlehem Church you see there."

Myserleigh
could think of no more welcome sight. So they'd made it, and just in the nick of time. The light was fading fast and thick clouds closed in all around. He leaned back to call to the young men.

"Is Jasper still with us?"

"I'm here, sir," the young man replied, his voice weaker than ever. "And I can't tell you how pleased I am to see home. That's our little village for sure."

One of his companions had even more welcome information to add.

"And our Nana lives just across the way from the church. She keeps the inn there—
The Fettered Ghost
. She'll have hot meals and lots of room for us all around her warm fire."

Although the inn's name didn't hold much promise, the thought of a hot meal and room at the fire sounded like heaven.

There was no room at the inn.
Myserleigh could scarcely believe that such a tiny, insignificant little village could be as filled with visitors as it was, but apparently distant family members had returned for the holiday and some local couple anticipated an upcoming wedding that had brought an influx of guests. Whatever the reason, the result was that the common room of
The Fettered Ghost
was crowded to overflowing, food was at a premium, and rooms were full beyond capacity.

The shepherds were not worried for they were planning to wait out the storm
out in the stables with their recovering lambs. Apparently a night in the stable was not as unappealing to them as it would at first seem. Myserleigh's other passengers were content to sleep in whatever corner or cupboard their Nana offered to provide them. This left Myserleigh to be only concerned for Miss Meriwether.

She was traveling alone, after all, and if a bed was located for her it would most certainly be in a roomful of strangers.
Myserleigh could not be at all comfortable with that. Nor did he like the idea of her passing the night here in the common room, getting what sleep she could find on a bench or one of the straight wooden chairs. No, after the horrible day she had spent she certainly had earned a safe, restful night.

Nana turned out to be a sturdy woman with
mounds of wiry gray hair and a smile that made all her guests feel welcome, even though she could provide them very little at this point. Her name was Mrs. Hark and Myserleigh was more than happy to finally have some way to refer to her other than calling her Nana. She ran
The Fettered Ghost
with her husband, a large, boisterous fellow named Harold. He was happily serving his guests what resources he had while his wife disappeared into the back to tend Jasper's injuries.

Miss Meriwether warmed herself near the fire and struggled to keep her eyes open as they waited to hear word on their young companion's condition.
Myserleigh stayed very close to her, watching the various groups of travelers and visitors who populated the room, keeping his eyes open for anyone of unsavory character that might pose some risk. It was beyond foolish for the young woman to have set off on such a journey without a companion. She was just lucky she had ended up with him. If he'd sent some anonymous delivery person as he'd initially planned on, there was no telling where she'd be now.

"Excuse me, sir," a voice at his elbow interrupted.

He turned to find one of the shepherds approaching him.

"Are the lambs safe for the night?"
Myserleigh asked. "Do you expect them to recover?"

"Indeed, sir. Thank ye for asking. But I thought that... well, it's about the little miss's pony out there."

Now Miss Meriwether perked up. "Holly? What has happened? Is she unwell?"

The shepherd twisted his still-damp hat in his hands and seemed uncomfortable.
Myserleigh did not look forward to whatever bad news the man clearly had come to deliver. He could have kicked himself. Damn, but he must have pushed them too hard for the last mile of their journey. In his efforts to get out of the storm, he must have overtaxed the already exhausted pony. If the poor thing collapsed now, it could only be his fault.

"I just thought you might want to know, Miss, and I don't think that you do, else you probably would have said something."

"What is it, man?" Myserleigh chided.

"The pony, sir. She's... well, she
ain't just fat like I first thought she was."

Miss Meriwether wrinkled her brow. "But what's happened to her?"

More hat twisting from the shepherd. "Er... she's gone into her labors, Miss. It seems your fat pony has rather a good reason for being so round."

Miss Meriwether still appeared confused.
Myserleigh understood completely, though.

"Good grief, you mean to say I dragged an expectant mother halfway across the country today?"

"It seems that way, sir," the shepherd replied. "Your little miss seemed so concerned for her I thought I'd better come in from the stables and tell ye."

"Thank you,"
Myserleigh said. "Are there any grooms out there who can attend the mare for us?"

"The grooms are rather tied up, I'm afraid, but I can help ye with the birthing. Can't be much different than my ewes, I imagine."

"Birthing! Oh heavens," Miss Meriwether said, the whole thing becoming clear at last. "That poor pony. All this time I had no idea—I should not have made her travel so far."

"These beasts are made for this, missy," the shepherd assured her. "Don't see no reason she should
n't come through it fine. Ye'll have a healthy young foal there by morning."

"I should go out to her!"
Miss Meriwether exclaimed, leaping up from her chair and gathering her wrap.

Myserleigh
tried to convince her to allow the shepherd and other stable hands to take care of things, but knew from the start he was fighting a losing battle. Shed' been charged with the care of the pony and, by God, she was going to do just that.

Before she could escape the room and rush out through the rain to the
stables, though, Basil and Mel showed up, blocking her way.

"We thought you'd be wanting an update on Jasper," Basil
—or maybe it was Mel; Myserleigh really never knew the difference—announced.

"Yes, of course," Miss Meriwether replied, only slightly breathless from her pony concerns. "How is he?"

"He's going to be just fine. Nana said that cut on his head was all bluster without much ado. She patched it up and says a few days of plaster will have it mended good as new."

"And what of his arm?"
Myserleigh asked.

"Broken, but not badly. Nana put a splint on it and told us we'll have to do things for him until the bone fixes together again. He's likely to run us ragged, the scapegrace."

"I'm so happy to hear it," Miss Meriwether said, earnestly beaming for them. "I was so worried for him."

"Takes more than an overturned carriage to do away with
us Kings," Basil—or whoever—said with a roguish wink at her. "But we do thank you both for helping us out."

His
brother agreed. "We'd have been in a sore shape if you hadn't come along, and we won't soon forget it."

"I'm happy we were able to help out,"
Myserleigh said and realized he actually meant it. There was something decidedly pleasant in feeling that he had done worthwhile things for his fellow man today.

"Did you hear the news about my pony?" Miss Meriwether said
, changing the subject and practically bouncing up and down.

The young men were very interested
—or at least they pretended to be—as she told what she had just learned from the shepherd. Myserleigh watched her eyes as they grew larger and larger, her smile infectious as she described her excitement and shock at this stunning turn of events. And then she was all worry and concern again.

"But what will we do? What if there are
difficulties? Oh, I need to get out to the stable. Holly should have someone with her she knows she can trust."

And of course that meant they were heading for the stable.
Myserleigh bid good evening to the young men and made sure Miss Meriwether was bundled up appropriately. He left word for Mrs. Hark to send something warm out to them, then hurried after Miss Meriwether as she dashed out into the storm. God, but he hoped this pony didn't disappoint the woman tonight and do something regrettable like die. He didn't know much about Miss Meriwether, but he had a feeling she could use something happy in her life.

It had definitely been warmer inside the crowded inn, but Carole refused to think about that. She also refused to think about how untidy it was in this stable. Very likely that was because most of the stable hands had finished settling their charges for the night and then gone off home, eager to spend Christmas Eve with their families and in their own beds. A few shortcuts had been taken and fresh bedding for some of the stalls had obviously been neglected.

But it was not a bad stall that Holly was in. There were no leaks in the roof and the floor was good and solid, not muddy or covered in rotted boards. For a pony, Carole was content this appeared a more than adequate place to give birth.

For an earl, however, it was a terrible place to spend the night. She couldn't believe he was still here with her.
Yet here he was, keeping vigil on the makeshift bench he'd created for them out of some crates and an old plank.

"Perhaps it was a false alarm and the foal will not come until tomorrow," Carole suggested, noting how the earl tried valiantly to hide a yawn. "You should go back inside. Surely for you Mrs. Hark will find a room."

"No, it is full up to the rafters in there. I'm far better off out here," he replied. "Besides, you cannot possibly believe I'd leave you to tend the little mare alone?"

"The shepherds said we could wake them if needed," she reminded.

"A young lady passing the night in a stable with snoring shepherds still counts as 'alone', Miss Meriwether. No, I am staying and that is final."

Gracious, but he did tend to be imperious about things. Still, she could not complain. Those shepherds had been decent sorts, but she was truly glad for the earl's company tonight. Even as low as her circumstance had brought her, she'd never yet slept in a horse
stall. She had to admit the wind battering the roof and the occasional squeaky scurry of rodents left her feeling less than at ease.

Not to mention her nerves were completely on edge for the little mare. How could she possibly not have known the pony was nearly ready to give birth? When she found the sweet little gray last month she'd simply thought it a bit overweight. The man she bought it from had not mentioned any special condition. Very likely if he'd known he'd have charged extra for her.

It did, though, make her feel rather stupid to be so very ignorant. Poor Holly... to have been hurried along through all sorts of weather, now to be in a strange stall with no one knowledgeable to tend her... it seemed so very wrong. She could not imagine how there might be a positive outcome to all this.

"She seems rather agitated, and her breathing is rushed," she said, watching the pony.

"I believe that is normal."

"You've assisted with this sort of thing before?"

"I do keep a stable at my family seat. Admittedly, I'm not there often and usually my grooms attend to such things, but I see nothing here that appears out of the ordinary with your little pony's behavior."

"I hope so."

"Estelle will be very proud of your selection. This is a fine little mare, and she comes with something extra. You chose quite well, I must say."

She shook her head. He was being awfully kind to her, but she could not allow him to pretend for her sake.

"No, I chose foolishly. Estelle wanted a pony the children could ride. I should think it ought to be several weeks, at least, before they can do that now."

"But how excited they will be when you show up with a foal."

It was no use. She was not going to let him excuse her incompetence.

"I was not asked to supply a foal. Thank you for being so gracious, sir, but the truth is I'm a failure. Perhaps you've realized by now that I'm not really an instructor. It's been years since I've even been around horses and Estelle was merely taking pity on me. I have no right to accept her kindness under such pretense. As you can see, I'm the last one who should be giving horse instruction to anyone."

And now she could see that she'd made him feel badly for her. She turned away so he could not see the tears that were welling up in her stinging eyes, but not before she had a good look at the expression filling his.
Pity
. Yes, she recognized that all too well.

Drat, but
this had not been her intent. Earlier in the day she hadn't cared one way or the other what his opinion was of her. Now, however, the idea that he should feel nothing more than pity nearly broke her heart.

That heart nearly leaped out of her chest when she suddenly felt his hands
—hot like glowing embers—on her shoulders. He turned her back to face him. When she could not bring herself to look up into his eyes, to see that aching pity again, he put his fingers to her chin and tipped her head up. She had no choice but to meet those eyes.

"Don't ever think you have no right to accept kindness from anyone," he said firmly.

He spoke in a voice she'd not heard before. It was a kind voice, warm and gentle, yet it assured her no argument would be tolerated. Not that she had any left in her.

"Yes, my lord."

But he would not release her. She was captive there, held in his fiery grip and frozen by his icy eyes. Only... they were not so icy now. In fact, they were blazing with an intensity that seemed to be building even as she watched. She doubted she could have escaped him if she'd tried.

Which she didn't.

She was very glad she didn't, in fact. Escaping would have made her miss out on the wonderful, tender way he slipped his arms around her and pulled her tight up against himself. Heavens! She felt like she could melt into his warmth and hide there from the world forever. The warmth, however, soon turned to an inferno when his lips came down upon hers.