Page 84 of The Betrothal

The wind cut through the clothes I was wearing. Even with Seb’s extra outdoor layers, I was cold. I had been colder when I had been lost in the blizzard, but in contrast to that day, on this occasion I was using the slicing cold to distract me from the pain that increased with every metre I moved further away from Ben.

The snow was still deep, but the cold had served to leave it dense and solid enough for the snowmobiles to push on over the surface. Their heavy weights behind them meant it would take a good half an hour to get to the manor. Or so Alex told me when we left. I expected we weren’t far now, but if we didn’t get there soon, I wasn’t sure I would be able to maintain control over the heavy thing. My fingers were so cold.

I thought back to Seb’s quiet words as we left.

“Don’t try to get back if you aren’t sure where to go or the weather is dangerous.” He had slowly zipped up the jacket, which buried me.

“Yes, Mum.”

“If you have to stay, then we can see you in the morning. I’ve got Benji. Okay?” He dragged the gloves over my fingers.

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t kill him.” He gave me a meaningful stare, and I chuckled. “Save that one for Benji.”

He read my confusion because he continued. “Oh, he will kill him for dragging you away.”

“Really?”

He smiled at my surprise. “Oh, Killer, so little faith.” He pulled me to him using the tassels of the lined hood. “And whatever you do, do not permit him entry to your harem without a ridiculous amount of grovelling first.”

He silenced any questions I might have had with a searing kiss before tearing himself away and climbing the stairs to Ben two at a time.

I laughed into my snood. Seb was ridiculous. It was laughable. And I was getting frostbite.

The sky was past grey, the winds picking up with intensity, the roar loud through the hood of the jacket. I looked up to the sky to see the forming blanket of clouds, the sight of a white helicopter against the greying backdrop of the storm surprising me. The winds whipped through black block lettering on the side of the helicopter, half hidden by the open door where I was sure I could see a person peering out. Was that a news station logo? The snowmobile rocked as it hit a hidden rock and I tugged the handlebars to keep the thing from rocking further and damaging the cargo, unwilling to imagine Alex’s fury if the windows sustained damage. Then the manor was in view.

Pale limestone, white against the rolling clouds. A deep entrance nestled beneath a tall central tower. Bay windows along the façade and decorative stonework, parapets around huge gothic windows.

As we drove closer, though, I saw the cracks in the façade. Cracked panes of glass, the entrance door weathered with time.

I followed Alex around the property until we rounded one of the wings to find a large orangery, the frame wooden and contrasting with the stone beautifully. But here glass and frames were missing and the interior of the room was empty and windswept.

I turned off the engine. The sound of the storm was louder than the snowmobile had been. Stiffly rising, the bitter cold having infused into my bones, I trailed Alex.

He struggled with the door, a short kick finally driving it inwards, I thought I heard the curses that accompanied it as I followed him inside.

The cold in the room was barely less than outside, but the roof had been repaired, so that was a little benefit.

Flinging my gloves down I stormed back outside and threw the cover off the window frames. Lifting one, I carried it carefully inside, moving it to the wall furthest from the door and laying it carefully down.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Alex blocked my path back outside.

“Unloading windows, Alex. If you’d stop asking inane questions, we can get this over with and I can get back. It’s a straight enough line between the cottage and the manor and I have no interest in being here longer than I have to.”

He didn’t move, thrusting my gloves into my hand. “Put your gloves back on.”

I threw them back down. “My hands are frozen and I’ll be damned if I drop Ben’s windows because I’ve got zero dexterity with the gloves on. Move.” I stormed past him, collecting another frame which he relieved me of at the door.

I spun and retrieved the next, then the next, passing them to him to store inside until my trailer was empty.

Replacing my gloves I snagged the keys.

“Help me with the glass.” Alex didn’t ask. “I’ll carry the panes and you move the padding so they don’t get damaged.”

I scowled but relented, following him quietly until his trailer was also unloaded, dozens of well-wrapped glass sheets now secured inside the orangery.

“Good? We done?” I asked, keen to get back. It was darker outside and I’d be pushing it, but I’d take my chances outside in the dark over inside here with Mr Personality.