The Countess' Lucky Charm Page 12

  His woman. He loved the raw, primitive sound of that. His woman.

  Certainly his woman as long as they stayed here.

  Then what?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I have something to show you,” Temple leaned on the fence to look down into the garden where Simone, on her knees, weeded the turnip rows. A month had passed since the incident with Chief Kwah’s son and it neared the end of July.

  “Phew, your timing is perfect,” Simone answered, squinting up at him before rocking back on her heels. Perspiration beaded her hairline and she used a corner of her apron to swipe at her forehead. “I’ve just now finished up. Lisette asked me to take over because Polly needed a nap and wouldn’t settle here like she usually does. I think it’s too warm for the little one.”

  “It is hot,” Temple agreed, “the perfect day for a surprise.”

  “A surprise? For me?” She tried to read his expression but the late August sun sat behind him and all she could see was the dark outline of his head.

  “I daresay it’s a surprise for me, too.”

  “How can it be a surprise for you? You know what it is.” She got to her feet then bent over to massage the ache in her knees. “Do we have far to go?”

  “A surprise in that I didn’t know I could do it.” A self-deprecating smile crooked his lips. “Doubtless a few other people would be surprised, too. And no,” he added, “it isn’t far. Just down to the beach below the trading post.”

  “Stop teasing me and tell me what it is,” Simone pouted, hands on her hips.

  “No, you have to see it. Come along.” Without waiting for her, he spun around on his heel and strode away.

  “Temple! Wait!”

  “You’ll just need to walk a little faster, Simone. The faster we get there, the sooner you’ll know what it is.” The words tumbled over his rapidly receding shoulder. Within mere seconds, he passed through the gate and disappeared from her view. Even though out of sight, his whistled tune hung on the breeze—a ribald ditty usually heard in the ale houses at home.

  “Oh, you,” she muttered before picking up her skirts to scurry after him.

  Temple was headed straight to the water’s edge, toward what looked no more than a skinned log. Not until she got closer could she see it was hollowed out.

  “It’s a canoe,” he said proudly when she reached him.

  “I can see that. Where did it come from?”

  “I made it. With the help of Baptiste and Musdoos.”

  “You made it?” She stared at him, dumbstruck. “You? But when?”

  “Yes, me.” He scowled at her obvious amazement. “It’s where I’ve been every afternoon after finishing in the warehouse.”

  She had offended him so she hastened to make amends. “It’s beautiful. Are you going to take me for a paddle?” She flashed him her sweetest, most winsome smile. “It’s a lovely afternoon.”

  “After that reaction, I’m not sure you deserve a paddle.” He grumbled but Simone could see him softening.

  “Oh, please, Temple, please. You took me by surprise, is all. Gentlemen aren’t usually caught up in the pursuit of making canoes.”

  “I loved it, Simone.” Excitement exploded from his very pores. “With every pull of the blade, every blow of the chisel, a thing of beauty came to life beneath my hands. Feel how smooth.” He tugged on her hand, placing it on the forward lip. “And here.” He moved her hand to feel inside.

  “It is beautiful,” she breathed. “I love how you can see every stroke in the wood. You did this?” She touched the outside of the canoe, feeling the ridges left by the blade. The ridges made a pattern that resembled feathers on a bird.

  Temple had built this. Pride at his ability filled her. Her man.

  “Well, Musdoos started it but once I got the hang of it, he left it to me. Baptiste came along to interpret for me.”

  “Musdoos?”

  “He’s one of the Indians I meet regularly at the warehouse.”

  “Have you tried it out yet?”

  “I have.” His chest swelled with satisfaction. “I had to paddle it over from the village.”

  “Take me out on the lake, Temple. It’s too warm here.” She fanned herself with both hands so as to prove her point.

  “Precisely my thought, Simone. That’s my surprise—a paddle on the lake. Get in.” He held his hand out to help her in. “You must sit facing forward so you can see where we go.”

  Once she settled herself, he shoved off, wading through the water a few steps before stepping in. The canoe rocked a little while he manoeuvred to his knees then he grabbed a paddle.

  “Are you certain you know how to do this?” Doubtful, she looked over her shoulder at him as he dipped the paddle in the water first on one side, then the other. In no time, it dipped and flashed in rhythm and they were gliding over the water.

  “Nothing to it,” he replied. “I’ve practiced a bit. Musdoos gave me some tips.”

  Simone sat for a few moments, fists so tightly clutching the edge of the canoe that the fingers were white. Gradually, however, she relaxed, letting loose her grip to lean over and trail one hand through the cool liquid.

  “How lovely.” She lifted her hand, watching the drips roll off her fingers and hit the water like so many crystal beads.

  “Yes, very lovely.” Temple said pleasantly, to all intents and purposes agreeing with Simone, but in reality commenting on the pleasing sight of her in her periwinkle blue seersucker frock. “Now sit still or you shall tip us over.”

  “Aye aye, captain.” She twisted around to throw him a saucy look but her motion caused the canoe to rock side to side. With a squawk, she grabbed for the canoe gunnels, holding on with both hands.

  Behind her, she could hear Temple’s throaty chuckle. Thankful he couldn’t see her face for certainly it must be beet red, she kept her back stiff, nose tipped in the air.

  At first they followed the shore but as Temple grew more confident, he began to traverse their little craft across the rocky points marking each little indent in the shoreline. They rounded one promontory and saw a bear gorging itself on berries; another time, a flash of rusty red as they disturbed a fox drinking from the water’s edge.

  “Look!” Temple pointed at an osprey hovering overhead.

  “Oh!” With wide eyes and open mouth, Simone watched as it dove at breakneck speed, plunging into the water before emerging with a wriggling silver fish clutched in its talons. It flew off into the blue brilliance of the sky, disappearing behind some tree tops, fish still struggling valiantly to escape.

  A doomed endeavour, Simone thought. “Poor fish,” she murmured.

  “That’s the law of nature,” Temple shrugged, voice matter of fact. “Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. Sink or swim.”

  “Be that as it may, it’s still a horrid end.”

  “Speaking of a horrid end, it’s time we turn back. The sun is getting low.”

  “I’m ready to go back, too. I’m getting hungry.” As if to emphasize her words, her stomach rumbled. “Lisette has a fresh salmon and invited us to eat along with them.”

  “Well, double the reason to hurry back, then.” And with a few strokes, Temple turned the canoe. “I think we can cut across the lake to save some time.”

  “Will it be safe so far away from shore?” But even as she asked the question, she could see the lake resembled a looking glass, with nary a ripple to mar its surface. There would be no danger in traversing that water. Besides, she was with Temple. He would keep her safe.

  “As long as you sit still,” he teased. “You almost swamped us once already.”

  “Well, you didn’t warn me how easy it was to tip,” she retorted.

  “True,” he acknowledged. “But now I have.”

  “Having no desire to get wet,” she said loftily, “I shall sit as still as can be. If we tip, it shall be on your conscience.” Simone squared her shoulders to the bow of the canoe and shifted to a more comfortable position.

&nbs
p; Even with a short cut, she surmised it would still be at least an hour before they were back at the outpost and her back was already stiff thanks to the hours spent earlier in the garden.

  Behind her, she could hear an occasional grunt from Temple and the peaceful, cadenced slap of the paddle. The late afternoon sun warmed her shoulders and content, she began to drowse.

  * * *

  Temple cast a worried glance forward past the sleeping Simone, to the ruffle of wind speeding across the surface of the lake, tipping the water with white foam. The cheerful sunlight of a scant few minutes before had disappeared, and an ominous shadow chased the ripples.

  “Bloody hell,” he snarled. Cursing his lack of attention, for in truth, the calm waters and late afternoon heat had lulled him too, he tried to manoeuvre the canoe to hit the onslaught head on. “Simone, wake up! Hold on!” He watched her just long enough to see her head jerk before turning his attention back to the stormy lake.

  Regrettably, his lacked prowess with the paddle and the first waves hit them broadside, rocking them with ferocious intensity.

  An idyllic afternoon outing had turned into a fight against nature. That grim thought had no sooner crossed his mind than the canoe tipped in the heavy waves, sending a sprawling Temple into the lake. The water, chilled by undercurrents whipped up by the storm, fair took his breath away.

  He surfaced, gasping for air, treading water frantically. He twisted his head, first one way, then the other, searching the waves for Simone. Dread clutched at him with bony fingers, sending shivers through him that had nothing to do with the icy water.

  “Simone!” No sooner did he open his mouth to shout than a wave slammed into his face, filling his nostrils, shoving him down.

  He struggled to the surface again, in the process kicking off first one boot, then the other. He burst through and sucked in precious air, one heaving breath, another one, life-giving breaths that cleared his mind and focused his thoughts.

  Simone, where is Simone? Cursing the waves, he heaved himself out of the water as far as he could, scissoring his legs in an attempt to give himself as much leverage as he could. “Simone! Simone!”

  She was nowhere to be seen.

  Taking a desperate gulp of air, he dove beneath the waves, searching the watery depths.

  Nothing.

  Panic chilled his heart much as the water chilled his body. He must find her, had to find her, for he couldn’t bear to lose her. He surfaced only long enough to grab another desperate breath then dove again.

  There.

  There, directly below him.

  Blue skirts billowed, golden hair glinted, bright against the murk. Kicking strong and hard, he swam down toward her, grabbing her by the hair to pull her up. Her eyes were closed, her body limp. Dragging his precious cargo, he kicked hard, hard, up toward the light. Lungs bursting, he broke through the surface.

  “Simone! Can you hear me?” Turning her on her back, he slapped her face once, twice, before cradling her chin in one elbow. No response. He had to get her to dry land, had to start pumping her lungs.

  Fighting the waves, he swam toward shore, towing her lifeless form behind him. His progress was agonizingly slow, every second that passed adding to the mounting fear. His feet touched the rocky bottom and he waded toward the shore, throwing her before him on the sandy strip of beach.

  “Simone, breathe,” he pleaded, thumping her chest then pausing to listen for breaths. Raw, naked fear gripped him, a terror so total, so complete, it drove all else from his mind. He couldn’t lose her, not now. She meant too much to him.

  “Simone, Simone!” He began to shout, willing his voice to rouse her. He pounded on her chest again.

  She coughed, and water splashed out of her mouth. When she coughed again, he turned her head so she wouldn’t choke.

  “Thank god, Simone, can you hear me,” he demanded.

  “Papa?” Her voice was weak, childlike. “Papa, what happened?” Her eyelids fluttered briefly, but her eyes remained closed.

  “No, not your papa, Simone, it’s me. Temple.” He grabbed her chin. “Look at me, Simone, it’s Temple.” Still, her eyes remained shut.

  “Papa, where are you? Where’s Mama?”

  Bloody hell, she’d lost her wits.

  “Simone! Open your eyes, it’s Temple.” He leaned forward and gathered her into his arms, pulling her into his lap before brushing wet tendrils away from her forehead to plant a kiss there. “Simone, look at me, I’m not your papa, I’m Temple.”

  Your man, he thought. For an instant, Lisette’s face rose before him. Your man. That’s what Lisette always said to Simone when talking about him.

  Simone coughed one more time, retching hard to expel the last of the water before her eyes opened fully. With relief he saw recognition flood through them.

  “Temple. What happened? Why are you wet?”

  “I dare say you’re wet too, Simone. The canoe tipped. You almost drowned but I was able to snag you before you sank to the bottom of the lake.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes closed and she sagged against him. A second later, her eyes shot open. “It’s happened before, Temple. In my dream. Only in my dream, no one saves me.” Sorrow passed across her features, a brief shadow clouded her sapphire eyes then she smiled at him. “But you did. Thank you, Temple.”

  “No need to thank me.” He brushed it off. “I’m not really the hero type.”

  “You are to me,” she whispered, looking up at him, blatant adoration pouring from her eyes. “This is the second time you’ve saved me. First from a dreary life in London and now this.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.” Bloody hell, now he knew for certain her wits were addled—she thought him heroic. Embarrassed, he changed the subject.

  “I can’t possibly fathom what your dream means.” He looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Dreams are, I believe, one’s mind clearing out memories and thoughts. Is it possible you almost drowned before?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I don’t see how. We always stayed away from the river. I can’t swim,” she added.

  “I know,” Temple said wryly.

  “I never thought it was something I needed to know,” she blurted out, defensive. “Don’t tell me ladies of quality need to know how to swim, too.”

  “No, no, of course not.” He rubbed his finger along her jaw. “You’re an orphan, aren’t you? Isn’t that why you grew up in the workhouse? Do you know anything of your life before then?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No. The only thing I know is that Gentry Ted brought me to the workhouse. I only have this chain.” She pulled it out of her blouse to show him.

  “Yes, I’ve noticed it before. Simone.” He leaned forward to gaze into her eyes. “Do you think it’s happened to you before? Do you think that’s why you keep having the dream?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I never thought about it at all. But I always wanted to find out about the chain. See, it has a medallion with a crest on it. I just never knew how to go about it.”

  “Let me see.”

  Obedient, she pulled the chain off over her head and handed it to him.

  He inspected the medallion carefully.

  It was the size of her thumb nail. Although worn, it apparently held a family crest—a boar’s head and a stag rampant facing each other with a fleur de lis below. The fleur de lis intrigued him—it would imply French ancestry. Simone was a French name, so it was plausible.

  Fool, he chided himself. Why didn’t he think to ask to see it before? It definitely offered a clue as to her identity.

  “Were you named by Mrs Dougherty?” He handed back the medallion.

  “No.” She shook her head before slipping the chain back over her head. “Mrs Dougherty told me I knew my name and that I was this old.” She held up three fingers.

  He nodded thoughtfully. “When we get back to London, we can make some inquiries.”

  “Of course.” Simone didn’t want to remind him she couldn’
t go back to London. She would be doing the dance upon nothing if Constable Carstairs saw her face again.

  “In the meantime, it appears as if we’ll be spending the night here. It’ll be dark soon, too dark too travel for it is new moon.” He looked behind them to the wild jumble of trees crowding the little beach and then out to the lake. “We may as well stay where we are. We’re more visible here.” He gestured toward the sky. “The storm seems to have passed us by so we won’t need shelter.”

  “Shall we have a fire?” Simone’s voice quavered a little. Still chilled from the fall in the lake, fear from her recent ordeal had not left her yet.

  “I can try, Simone, but my flint’s wet.”

  “Let me help you.” She pulled herself out of his grasp. “I need to move about before I collapse with cold. Surely if we can find dry moss, it won’t need much of a spark.” She picked her way into the forest and returned in a matter of minutes with hands full of moss and twigs to add to the pile of dead branches Temple had gathered in her absence.

  “Put it here.” Temple pointed down at the rough fire ring he had cobbled together with a few larger rocks picked from the edge of the beach. He broke a few branches over his knee and placed them beside him within easy reach. “Let’s have a go, shall we?”

  With a nod, she set the moss and twigs in the centre of the rocks and he began to strike the flint.

  Luck smiled on them for with a tap or two, sparks flew. In no time, the smouldering moss turned into a cheerful blaze that brightened the evening.

  They sat close to each other, close to the flames, savouring the warmth now that the air had turned cool with the sun’s disappearance.

  “Your socks are steaming,” Simone said suddenly. “Where are your boots?”

  “I lost them in the lake.”

  “It will be difficult to walk back to the outpost.”

  “Difficult,” he shrugged. “Not impossible.”

  “Lisette and Daniel will be worried for us.”

  “Aye,” Temple agreed. “But perhaps they will see our little fire and know we are safe.”