Lost in Your Arms Read Free

acres. A little marsh, a little mountain, with good soil and sunshine.”
    “What are you going to do with your acres?”
    “Have neighbors who’ll visit occasionally. Go to a village church built five hundred years ago and listen to the same vicar for the rest of my life. Grow herbs. Make ointments. Potions. Sell them and never work for someone else again. Have a home.” A superstitious shiver worked its way down Enid’s back as she expressedher deepest desire. Was this like wishing on a star? When she spoke aloud the dream of her heart, was she setting the furies on her trail . . . or had they already discovered her when they’d happened upon her husband?
    “You’d be smarter marrying a rich man,” Lady Halifax declared.
    “I’m already married.” Enid hadn’t wished for MacLean’s death—she wasn’t so far gone into acrimony—but she had dared to dream that someday freedom would be hers. “If I should be widowed, I see no reason to repeat the wedded experience.”
    “You young girls these days have no sense of propriety.” Lady Halifax’s mouth puckered as if she’d sucked a lemon, and the wrinkles on her upper lip cut like ravines into her skin. “Make ointments, indeed. Silly plan.”
    “Not so silly. I would be the master of my own fate.” Enid’s chest tightened as she contemplated the facts. “I fear when I discover the true extent of MacLean’s debts, I will find myself impoverished again.”
    “You worry for nothing. You’ll be compensated for doing the right thing, if not here, then in heaven.”
    Enid had heard those promises years ago from the charity workers who’d urged resignation to her fate, and she rejected resignation just as vigorously now as she had then. “I’m a poor, wretched creature of the flesh who wants to reach heaven, but not yet, and not by starving to death.”
    Lady Halifax risked a brief pat on Enid’s hand. “I promise that won’t happen. You’ll get that land of yours.”
    Enid imagined herself walking through her gardens,scissors in her gloved hands, basket on her arm. “Yes, I will. I just hope that MacLean—”
    “There’s no use worrying about it now.” Lady Halifax moved restlessly on the pillows. “You’ll discover the truth soon enough.”
    Enid saw the shadows under Lady Halifax’s eyes and smoothed the covers in a futile effort to bring comfort through tidiness. “My lady, I don’t want to leave Halifax House.” Enid realized her voice quivered and realized, too, that she had formed an attachment not only to this place but also to its mistress.
    “Yes, well, needs drive.” Lady Halifax wouldn’t allow for pity, not for Enid, not for herself.
    Yet their attachment had developed from wakeful nights and pain-filled days, and for Lady Halifax, too few of those remained. Enid would probably never see the old woman alive again. Both of them knew it. This was the hell Enid feared. The pain of separation, the heartbreak of unwelcome duty.
    Enid blinked the tears away. Lady Halifax wouldn’t thank her for coming maudlin. “I’ve left you a jar of the rosemary cream. Have your new companion rub it on your back every night, and make sure she frequently turns you.” Lifting her hand, Enid pressed a farewell kiss on the bony knuckles. “God grant you peace, my lady.”
    “Don’t be so sloppy and sentimental, MacLean. It’s not attractive.” Lady Halifax turned her head away, but not before Enid saw the shadows under her eyes.
    Quickly, before Enid could allow the doubts to stop her, she hurried from the room and left Lady Halifax alone.

Chapter 2
    A black wrought-iron gate with the initial T worked into the metal in ornate curlicues guarded the entrance to hell. Hell’s coach was well sprung, with padded velvet seats and matching curtains, which Mr. Kinman had insisted remained closed throughout most of the journey. Only now, as they waited for the gatehouse keeper to approach, did Mr. Kinman allow Enid a glimpse outside.
    Hell