“I’ll come and help you,” another lady called.
Conventional behavior, too, had less dominion out here in the wilds of Derbyshire. Catherine’s gloved right hand had been enveloped in Lysander’s leather-clad left hand since they’d entered the woods a half-hour since.
“There may be hidden obstacles beneath the snow, which could cause my fiancée to stumble,” Lysander had pointed out, in response to Henry’s disapproving frown. “I am obliged, therefore, to provide her with my support and protection.”
“Very chivalrous of you,” Henry replied, rolling his eyes heavenward.
Catherine’s smile accompanied a squeeze of Lysander’s hand. He glanced down at her, wearing a smile of his own.
“If you start to feel chilled, tell me,” he said. “I mean it.”
“I will,” she replied, but doubted very much that it would be necessary. Not only was she well-wrapped, but the sheer warmth of her spirit was bound to keep winter at bay. On this, the day before Christmas, she was more at ease with herself. The previous day, also sunny and cold, had passed gently, with walks in the gardens, parlor games, and more music. Lysander had paid Helena little mind, much to Catherine’s relief. Only her meeting with Anjali remained as something out of the ordinary, mainly due to the way the cat had reacted. But then, Anjali was a stranger. Perhaps that was why the cat behaved the way it did. In any case, Catherine hadn’t mentioned the meeting with Helena’s nurse to anyone. Helena had made no reference to it either.
As for today, the lady in question was off in the distance with Philip and Henry, leaving Catherine and Lysander to wander more or less alone. Unbeknownst to Lysander, Catherine had a destination, a place she’d known of since childhood. Gradually, they drifted further away from the others, till they came at last to a large clearing, where a single linden tree reached bare branches to the sky.
Lysander gazed up at the tree, his eyes widening. “I say! Is that…?”
“Mistletoe, yes,” Catherine replied, shading her eyes with a gloved hand as she regarded the telltale clumps clinging to the branches. “It always grows here.”
“Does it now.” Lysander regarded her with a stern expression. “Am I correct in thinking that you led me here knowingly, my lady?”
Catherine tutted. “As if I would, my lord. It was purely by accident.”
“Hmm.” He squinted up at the mistletoe. “Haven’t climbed a tree since I was a lad, but I think I can manage it.”
“What?” Catherine felt a stab of alarm. “You will do no such thing. You might fall.”
“No, I won’t.” Still looking up, he wandered over to the tree, and reached for one of the lower branches. “Trust me.”
“Lysander!” Catherine stumbled after him and grabbed his coat. “Stop, please. I’d never forgive myself if something went wrong. We can gather some sticks and try to knock some of the mistletoe down.”
He regarded her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Well, that won’t be quite as much fun, but it might work. There’s something I have to do first, however.”
“And what might that be?”
Smiling, he looked up to where a clump of mistletoe hung from a branch. “Come here,” he said, and held out a hand. She took it, allowing him to draw her close. Then he cupped her face, his leather gloves warm against her cold cheeks. Catherine, knowing what was to come, held her breath and gazed into his eyes, which seemed to speak of feelings that words could never express.
“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he said. “And how long I have loved you? That I get to spend the rest of my life with you is…” He shook his head. “Is a blessing I cannot begin to accurately describe. But there is nothing I want more than a future with you, Catherine.”
Then he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, softly, almost tentatively, as if awaiting permission, perhaps, to take it further. Catherine responded by lifting up on her toes and wrapping her arms about his neck, anchoring herself to him. Lysander made a sound deep in his throat as his arms folded around her, drawing her closer still. His tongue teased the seam of her lips, and she opened instinctively, tasting peppermint and brandy as he deepened his kiss. The sensation of his mouth against hers, his powerful body against hers, was utterly intoxicating. She parted with a soft whimper of delight.
As if starved of air, Lysander immediately broke away, his chest rising and falling as he regarded her. “God knows, I do not want to stop,” he said, breathlessly, “which is precisely why I must.”
“But I do not want you to stop, Lysander,” Catherine replied, her arms still wrapped around his neck.
“Which is also, my love, precisely why I must.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, and gently untangled himself from her embrace. “Now, if you’re not going to allow me to climb the tree, how about we find some sticks and start throwing them at this…” He scratched his jaw and looked up. “…at this pagan paradox.”
Catherine laughed. “Why do you call it that?”
“Because it is a plant that has long been associated with romance, yet all parts of it are poisonous.”
“Mmm, I suppose that is something of a contradiction.” Catherine, still delirious from her first kiss, heaved the happiest of sighs, and glanced about. “All right let’s find some—” She inhaled sharply at the sight of Helena Elliot standing on the edge of the clearing, watching them, her dark garb creating an oddly ominous silhouette against the winter backdrop.
“What the hell?” Lysander muttered. “I wonder how long she’s been there.”
Even as he spoke, Helena turned away, showing no sign she’d seen either of them. Catherine suppressed a sudden shiver. “How strange,” she said. “And rude, frankly. She must know we saw her.”
Lysander shook his head. “I cannot get the measure of that woman. She’s an enigma.”
