Storm of Bells

30. New Protection

Silence reigned. Where before the air had been filled with the chatter of villagers and the rattle of tools, now there was only one thing: silence. Beside me, Tom sat, mouth agape, staring down the roof at something—or someone.

'You. Boy,' a voice came from behind me. 'Leave.'

Tom moved faster than a speeding bullet. And if you think that's hyperbole, think again. During the last few years, I'd had more encounters with speeding bullets than I cared to count, and I was very familiar with their various attributes.

I, for my part, was in no hurry. Leisurely sliding the string I was holding between the straw, I tied the required knot, drew it tight, and only then slowly rose and turned to face him.

'Hello, Mr Ambrose.'

He stood at the gable of the roof, gazing down upon me like the admiral standing at the prow of a ship. An admiral rather dissatisfied with his underling. His eyes, glittering icily, were narrowed infinitesimally.

'What are you doing?' he demanded.

'Good works,' I informed him cheerfully, reaching for the shears again and resuming my work. 'In case you don't know what that is, look it up in the dictionary under "G".' I frowned. 'Or maybe under "W". I'm not altogether sure.'

'Miss Linton...! I...I...'

'...would never waste money on a dictionary?'

I hadn't thought anyone could move as fast as he did on top of a steeply sloping roof. In an instant, he was standing before me. Strong, long fingers closed around my wrists and hauled me up against him.

'I cannot believe you you'd risk yourself like this!'

'Like what?' I asked, although of course I knew perfectly well.

'Dalgliesh is here! Dalgliesh!' His voice dropping to an icy whisper, he drew me even closer until his body was pressing against mine, hard. As if he wants to shield me. 'And you're unprotected, out in the open. You of all people should know what that means.'

Those storm-coloured eyes of his bored into mine, and reflected in their depths I could almost see the snow-laden hut in which Dalgliesh had held me hostage, the blood of the wounds he had suffered at the hand of Dalgliesh men, and a hundred other things I didn't even want to think about. His hand touched my cheek.

The flippant reply I had been about to make died on my tongue.

Darn! I had loved that flippant reply. I would see to it that it got a decent headstone.

'I do know.' My voice was just a whisper. Reaching up, I touched his fingers where they rested against my cheek. 'That's part of the reason why I'm out here.'

He cocked his head, his gaze boring into me. 'I do not understand.'

I gazed into his deep, dark eyes, searching.

No, you don't understand, do you?

But he would, sooner or later.

'M-My Lady?'

Leaning to the side, I peeked around Mr Ambrose to see where the hesitant voice had come from. At the edge of the roof, I saw Mrs. Delaney surrounded by a cluster of other women and a few men. Her eyes flickered uncertainly over me and Mr Ambrose. She had to be feeling the volatile energy crackling in the air between us.

'You. Woman.' Mr Ambrose speared the farmer's wife with a look that could send whole armies into retreat. 'Leave.'

Mrs Delaney didn't move an inch. Quivering slightly, her chin rose into the air. Ignoring Mr Ambrose, she looked at me. 'Are you all right, My Lady?'