The Ice Seduction (Ice Romance) (8 page)

26

It sure is wild out here.

Past the neat green lawns, t
he wind blows and the sky is ashy white, and all around us are craggy grey rocks, thistles and pine trees.

There’s mown green grass all
around the castle, with flowerbeds and well-tended trees, but past that there’s nothing but wilderness.

It’s beautiful but wild at the same time. Untamed.

Bertie runs straight over a little rocky bridge and into the woodlands, and I follow him, my cowboy boots slipping and sliding on snow.

He seems to know exactly where he’s going, considering he’s not supposed to play out here.

‘You remember it out here?’ I ask, hurrying to catch up.

Bertie doesn’t answer. Instead, he jumps over craggy rocks and weaves between trees.

He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning either and he seems to feel at home.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask, as we head deeper into the woodlands. We’re in so deep now that I can hardly see the castle any more.

Suddenly, Bertie begins climbing a tall pine tree.

‘Bertie?’ I cal
l, but within seconds he’s halfway up the tree.

There’s nothing wrong with a little boy climbing a tree, but this is a tall tree and up in the branches I see a bird’s nest.

Oh hell.

If Bertie
destroys a nest and Mrs Calder finds out, he’s going to be in trouble. And that’s the last thing we need right now.

‘Wait for me,’ I shout, scrabbling onto a low branch, my c
owboy boots scrabbling to get a grip.

I climb up and up as fast as I can, until I’m right underneath him.

Sure enough, Bertie is heading straight for the bird’s nest.

‘Bertie, don’t do anything to the nest,’ I tell him. ‘There are
probably rare birds out here. We want to help them, not hurt them.’

Bertie keeps climbing until he’s right by the nest. Then he stops.

I clamber onto a branch beside him.

Then I see it – a beaut
iful golden eagle circling above.

Bertie glares at the eagle, sho
oing at it with his hands, and it flies away.

Something clicks.

‘You climbed up here to scare the eagle away,’ I say. ‘In case there were already eggs in this nest.’

Bertie doesn’t say anything, but I know I’m right.

‘And Mrs Calder thought you were trying to upset the nests before,’ I say slowly.

What an old witch.

We’re about to climb down, when I sense someone is nearby – even though I can’t hear footsteps.

‘
Wait a minute.’ I grab Bertie’s arm and hold him still.

I strain my ears, but I don’t hear anything else. Maybe I’m being paranoid. But I
just can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

And then …

Oh my god.

Down below, I see
Patrick Mansfield.

27

Patrick is a hunter all right. Stealthy, silent and deadly. If we were prey, he’d have shot us by now.

His blond-brown hair is blowing wild in the wind, and he’s wearing a camouflage jacket and carrying a shotgun under his arm.

‘What are you doing up there?
’ he growls up at us, swinging the shotgun into a holder on his back.

‘We were just coming down,’ I call
, helping Bertie onto the lower branches.

‘Of all the stupid, dangerous things …’
Patrick comes to the foot of the tree and reaches up to catch Bertie, swinging him to the ground.

When I get to
the lowest branch, he reaches up for me too.

Before I can argue,
Patrick’s hands catch under my arms and he lifts me to the ground.

We stand for a moment, facing each other.

I’m out of breath from the climb, but Patrick is still as a statue, his angry eyes roaming my face.

‘What
the hell were you doing? You could have been hurt.’

He still hasn’t let me go, and I feel the firmness of
his fingers against my ribcage.

I notice the
brown stubble around his jaw and a hint of sideburns by his ears. Everything about him is just so, so …
wild
.

‘Bertie … I mean we both decided to climb up. There was an eagle circling the nes
t. And Bertie wanted to scare it away. We weren’t doing any harm.’

I’m aware that I’m still breathing quick
ly, my hair flying all around my face in the wind.

Patrick
turns to Bertie, but his hands are still around my ribs.

I feel a lovely
sort of icy warmth in my chest, and shiver.

‘I
t’s good Bertie’s out in the woods,’ Patrick says. ‘I never liked him being shut away inside.’

‘
Look, if there’s any trouble about this, I should take the blame,’ I blurt out, my cheeks turning red. ‘None of this is Bertie’s fault.’

‘Trouble?’

‘I thought he wasn’t allowed out here … Mrs Calder said …’

Patrick
’s lips pull into something like a smile. ‘You really can’t follow orders, can you?’

‘I guess not
.’

‘
But I don’t give a damn what Agnes Calder thinks. If she knew what was right for Bertie, he wouldn’t need a nanny.’

‘But doesn’t she look after him sometimes? Between nannies?’

‘She has done. But I’ve never liked it.’ He hits me with those sharp blue-green eyes. ‘He needs someone like you. Someone who cares.’

His
eyes twinkle a little and a smile pulls at his lips.

My heart beats hard in my chest, and I feel like I’m falling.

Get it together, Sera. Mrs Calder says that Patrick Mansfield is spoken for, and even if he isn’t … this is dangerous territory.

I
step back out of Patrick’s large hands, going to Bertie and putting a hand on his shoulder. As usual, he shrugs me away.

‘Um. So what are
you
doing out here?’ I ask Patrick.

He
laughs. ‘I have to justify myself now, do I? For walking around my own woodlands?’

‘No, I
—’

‘I’m p
rotecting the grounds,’ says Patrick.

‘From
what?’

‘Poachers. They come for the white stags.
One in particular, Hawk Turner, I’ve been after for a long time. He’s out there today. I can always tell by the damage to the woodlands.’ Patrick spits on the ground. ‘He shoots first, looks later.’

‘
Hawk
Turner?’

‘His name for himself, not mine. I’d call him Scumbag Turner. He never
comes this near the castle, but out there—’ Patrick waves towards the dark woodlands and the snow-capped mountains, ‘the stags roam wild. Stay in this part of the woods. Like I said. No further than the stream. And you won’t get caught in the crossfire.’ Patrick’s strong eyebrows pull into a frown, and those clear sea-green eyes fix on my reddy-brown ones. ‘Got it?’

‘Yes
.’ I don’t know where to look. It’s hard to stand still with Patrick’s eyes on me. This is just too much. I tug myself free of his stare and turn to Bertie. ‘I guess we’ll just carry on with our walk,’ I say.

‘Don’t climb any more trees,’ says
Patrick gruffly, taking his gun from his back and putting it under his arm again.

I watch him stalk away through the
snow and the brown bracken.

He’s so
much a part of these woodlands. The way he moves so effortlessly over the rocks and through the shrubs. I bet he knows his way through these trees blindfolded.

It’s only when he’s gone I realize how fast my heart is beating.

28

Bertie and I spend the rest of the morning walking around the woodlands. He doesn’t say anything, but sometimes he stops to look at things. Birds. Insects. He’s really interested in the wildlife.

At lunchtime, we head back to the hall and Bertie fills up on liquorice sticks and milk, while I have Vicky’s steak and kidney pie with a mountain of mashed potato. Then we head back out into the woods and spend the afternoon walking around.

I can tell Bertie is, well
… not exactly happy, but he likes it out here. I guess if he’s been playing Xbox for months and has been banned from using the grounds, he must feel like a caged bird set free.

And l
feel like that too. Which surprises me. I thought I loved the city, but I have to admit that I feel clean and fresh and free out here. So different from a day in Camden, when I can’t wait to jump in our foot pump shower and get the pollution off my skin.

The air
is so clear that just breathing it in makes me feel healthy. And the mountains – wow, everything is just so beautiful.

It gets dark early up here, so when dusk falls Bertie and I head in for supper.

Bertie has liquorice and milk again.

I have roast chicken and apple crumble.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to try any of this?’ I ask, digging my spoon into the crumble. ‘It’s really good.’

I’m not expecting any response. But to my amazement, Bertie shakes his head.

‘No?’ I say.

Bertie drops his head down and looks at his plate.

Fin
ally. A response. Okay, so Bertie only shook his head, but it’s something.

After supper, Margaret Calder arrives to give Bertie his tutoring.

She has a mean-looking face like her mother, but unlike her m
other she wears bright red lipstick and has her raven black hair cut into a sharp, chin-length bob. And she’s dressed in a fitted black business suit with swoopy designer shoulder pads.

Margaret
walks right into the hall while Bertie is still finishing his milk. She taps him on the shoulder without even looking at me.

‘Come along, Bertie. Time for your lessons.’

Her brown eyes are covered with designer black-framed glasses, and she would be strikingly pretty, if her face didn’t look so annoyed.

‘Hi,’ I say, pushing the bench back. ‘You must be
Margaret.’

Margaret
gives me a curt nod, then ignores me. ‘Come along Bertie. We have work to do.’

‘What sort of work do you do with him?’ I ask.

Margaret throws me a pitying glance. ‘Nothing a
nanny
needs to worry about. Things that will prepare him for the adult world. Mathematics. Grammar. But he’s very behind. Very, very behind. Not the best of pupils.’

‘T
here are no bad pupils, only bad teachers right?’ I say innocently, dropping my spoon into my crumble dish. ‘Isn’t that what they say?’

Margaret
’s brown eyes narrow. ‘Not where Bertie is concerned.’

‘Doesn’t Bertie need some other kids around at his age? Maybe that would help him learn better.’

Margaret looks me up and down. ‘I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand, but children like Bertie learn better alone. Come on Bertie.’ She pushes Bertie’s shoulders.

‘Should I come with you?’ I ask.

‘Why would you do that?’ says Margaret.

‘
Well. It’s my first day with Bertie. I want to spend as much time with him as possible. And also, Bertie can show me where his bedroom is when he’s done. I get kind of lost in this place …’

‘Yes.’
Margaret looks me up and down again. ‘You look like the sort of person who gets lost.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Meaning?’

Margaret ignores me again. ‘Come on Bertie.’ She’s just shepherding him away, but then she turns and looks back over her shoulder. ‘Have you seen Patrick today?’

‘Yes,’ I tell her. ‘I
n the woods earlier.’

Oh shit.
I want to clamp a hand over my face.

Well done Sera! You and your big mouth …

Margaret stops walking. ‘You were in the woods? With Bertie?’

‘I … um … no, it was just me.’

Margaret’s eyes bore into me. ‘
You
were alone? In the woods? With Patrick?’

‘Y
-es.’

She looks me up and down again, taking
in my jeans and home-printed sweatshirt. I guess next to her designer suit, I don’t look up to much.

She presses her lips tight together
. ‘I plan to marry Patrick Mansfield this year. So consider him spoken for.’

‘That’s what I heard,’ I say. ‘Not tha
t it matters to me, anyway.’

‘Good.’ She
marches away, pushing Bertie along with her.

‘Wait!’ I call out. ‘Where will you be?’

‘I told you. You won’t be needed any more this evening. Take a break.’

‘But what about Bertie’s
bedtime? Who’ll put him to bed?’

‘He doesn’t
need
someone to put him into bed. He’s five years old, he’s perfectly capable of undressing and sorting himself out. I just send him to his bedroom when he’s done.’

My mouth opens and closes. Did she really just say that?

‘With no one to say night night to him?’ I ask.

‘He doesn’t need a
nanny
to say night night to him,’ says Margaret. ‘His mother’s not here. While she’s away, staff should know their place. The boy will go to bed by himself. That’s what he’s used to. Don’t try to mess up his routine. Or I’ll be having words with my mother, and you’ll soon find yourself out of a job.’

With that, she marches Bertie away.

I take a seat, quietly fuming, trying to work out how I’m going to find Bertie’s bedroom.

There’s no way I’m letting Bertie go to bed with no one to say night night to him. He’s a little boy, for crying out loud. He needs to know he’s loved before he falls asleep at night.

I hear a crash in the kitchen, and Vicky say
ing, ‘oh bothering heck.’

I get to my feet
, picking up plates and bowls.

‘Vicky?’ I near the serving hatch, and see her sweating over a huge sink of washing up. ‘Are you okay?’

She turns to me and smiles. ‘Fine, doll. Just dropped a pan.’

‘Any chance you could help me? I need to find out where Bertie’s bedroom is.’

‘Haven’t you been there already? I thought all that little lad did was play computer games?’

‘I was there this morning, but I’m shit with directions.’

‘Of course I’ll help you. Is it okay if I get this place cleaned up first, though? Then I’ll take you up there.’

‘Sure!
Do you need a hand with this washing up?’

‘I’d love that. Wors
t part of the job.’

‘Here.’ I push open the serving door wi
th my hip and drop plates and bowls into the sink. ‘I’ll do it. You go put your feet up. You’ve worked hard enough doing all our meals.’

‘Wouldn’t hear of it,
’ says Vicky. ‘We’ll do the washing up together, and that’s that.’