Chapter Four

Kate just stared at the man, her heart pounding as she wondered what the hell was going on. She was dreaming, she had to be. She reached out her hand and hung onto the side of a table, the skates dangling from her fingertips. She couldn't put her foot down without it being agony and she felt sick and dizzy with the pain.

‘Go on. You know he'll not bite.' He nodded towards a mongrel sort of dog that was doing that doggy-smile thing at her and wagging its tail.

‘I know.' And funnily enough, she did know. ‘It's all right, boy. You're friendly. You're lovely.'

The dog moved out of the way of the chair and Kate got herself over to it with a great deal of difficulty. She sat down, rather heavily, and was surprised to feel a weightiness as her skirts gathered up around her. She'd come downstairs in Chris's shirt. Where had it disappeared to? If this was a dream, it was a bad one and she wasn't impressed. She dropped the skates onto the floor and surreptitiously pinched herself; but all it did was hurt. Tendrils of fear began to creep up her spine. What on earth was happening to her?

Kate cast a glance over at the wall, where not five minutes ago she'd walked in from the school-room exhibit. There was no door; just a clean, bumpy, white-washed wall.

Shaking, she pressed her hands against her skirt, feeling soft wool beneath her fingertips. The firelight played on the fabric and she saw the skirt was dove-grey with some sort of patterned piping on it. It was also soaking wet around the hem and all down one side, with a huge tear in the material from hem to calf.

‘Here,' said the man. Hefting the basket of wood under one arm, he dragged a footstool over to her and indicated she put her foot up on that. He stood up and looked around. Kate followed his glance and saw that there was a crochet blanket on the back of a second chair. ‘Are you warm enough?' he asked. ‘I can bring the blanket over.'

‘I'm warm enough.' She bit her lip. She had to ask him; she knew it was ridiculous, but still . . . ‘What have I done? To my foot. Or my ankle. Or whatever.' The pain was coming over her in waves and she still felt horribly sick.

The man smiled and all of a sudden she knew his name. This was Will. William Haddon. And he lived here. Kate blinked, wondering where that information had come from.

Will Haddon poked at the fire. His arms were strong and muscular. His loose white sleeves were pushed up and the firelight seemed to be showering his forearms with golden sparks.

‘I'm not quite sure, MissCatriona. I think you've done yourself some nasty damage. I would suspect it's either twisted or sprained or broken.' He frowned. ‘Perhaps you'd like some brandy? Would that help?'

The thought of something strong and alcoholic was very welcome. She wasn't sure if she should be blaming Bob's micro-brewery ales for this or not. He'd encouraged them to try his latest one out — and it must have contained a hallucinogenic. It had to. And if it hadn't, it clearly didn't mix well with the wine they'd had afterwards.

Kate nodded. ‘Yes, please.'

‘Very well. It may not be what you're used to up at the Hall but it's not too bad.'

The Hall? She swallowed. ‘I don't often drink brandy. I prefer wine.' It wasn't a lie. She did.

‘Then you won't know the difference,' he said with a wink. ‘Here.'

She held her hand out and received an enamel mug with a little bit of amber liquid in the bottom. She really wanted to glug it all down in one, but she had a feeling that wasn't very seemly, so she sipped at it, watching Will move about the room, fussing the dog here, adding logs to the fire there.

‘Please. Sit down yourself,' she said, finally losing patience with him.

He looked startled. ‘Me? Sit down?'

‘Why ever not?'

‘It's just . . .' He shrugged. ‘It's not "done" is it? Me sitting with a lady.' He grinned. ‘And anyway — I don't want to sit down because you gave me too much of a shock, and I can't settle.'

‘I don't give a damn what's "done" and what's not! I want you to sit down and tell me why my ankle hurts like hell!'

‘MissCatriona!' Will looked shocked. ‘I never thought I'd hear you use that sort of language!' His eyes twinkled. He was teasing.

Catriona Aphrodite Tredegar . That was her name. The information hit her like a proverbial brick, straight into her consciousness. Aphrodite, disgustingly enough, because the story was she'd been conceived in Greece.

‘Just tell me, Will!' Kate said again. ‘Stop teasing. It's not funny. It's never funny when you tease me.' The words came too easily; he did this all the time. The knowledge made her feel faint — or the pain did. One of the two made her feel faint, anyway.

Kate pulled her skirt up and looked at her ankle. Dear God — what a mess. It was swollen to about three times the size and was black and blue. Her foot was at a really dodgy angle as well and this time she really did start to panic.

‘I'm not quite sure myself,' he began. He sat, or perched rather, on the end of a chair. ‘I was taking Hector for his walk by the River and I just saw you fall. You came down with such a crack.' Will shook his head. ‘I was fearful because you'd hit your head and now—' He looked at her curiously. ‘If you don't mind me saying so, I think you might have done more damage than I thought. I'm going to get you seen to, just as soon as.'

Oh, well, a crack to the head was good. A crack to the head would be an excuse for her to have forgotten what she was doing here. She could work with that.

She rubbed her head as if it hurt and nodded, adding in a wince for good measure. ‘I think I did hit it, just a little maybe. Where? Where did I fall?'

‘On the river itself! Come on Cat, you must remember that!'

Cat? She'd never been nicknamed Cat in her life, but here it seemed to fit. She took another slug of brandy and blinked as her head went woozy. Perhaps she had hit it after all.

‘So what happened after I fell?' The words tumbled out, as if she was trying to stop herself listening to her thoughts. The fear of what was really happening here had to be kept at bay and if she concentrated on Will, perhaps she could stop herself from panicking.

‘You really can't remember?' He looked at her curiously.

She shook her head; then she wished she hadn't. It was hurting dreadfully. Kate pressed her forefingers to her temple and there was a definite swelling. ‘Um — do you have a mirror? So I can see if there's a bruise?'

‘Certainly.' He jumped up. ‘But you'll not like what you see. I don't like what I see.' He went over to the wall and unhooked a little shaving mirror. He handed it to her and for a moment their fingertips connected. Kate made an involuntary little sound, and stared at him. She thought he might have felt it too, that little current of electricity, because he took a step backwards. His eyes widened and then he quickly looked away.

Kate cleared her throat and held the mirror up in front of her. She looked like Kate — she had the same face and everything, the same blue eyes and pale, freckled complexion, but her hair was different. It was all ornate and curly, piled up on top of her head but with strands coming loose around her cheeks.

‘Good grief,' she murmured. She angled the mirror to take in her temple and sure enough there was a horrible bruise there and, she was gutted to see, a fairly nasty cut oozing blood. She swore under her breath and handed the mirror back to him. Shaking again, she lifted the enamel mug up, but it was empty. Reading her mind, Will took it from her and poured another little measure in. Kate took it back gratefully.

‘It'll heal,' he said. ‘I'm more worried about your leg. From what I saw, you managed to tie your legs up in a great big knot and just went down. You ripped your clothes too. It must have been the blades getting tangled. I'm surprised you didn't crack the ice. It's not often it freezes over that much.'

Kate plucked the torn skirt away again and stared at the offending limb. It really did look awful now.

‘So after I fell and hit my head?' she prompted. ‘You brought me here? How? I obviously didn't walk, did I?'

Will shook his head and there was a spark of amusement behind his eyes. ‘I helped you. I wish I'd had one of the horses down here. I could have slung you on its back and sent you on your way. It would have saved me the job of carrying you.' He was clearly enjoying teasing her, but there was a look behind his eyes that told her his jokes were more about relief than banter.

And one of the horses? Well, they were in the blacksmith's cottage so that kind of made sense. Come on, you know he's the village blacksmith. The notion rushed into her consciousness. Of course he is! How silly of me to forget. I must have really bumped my head hard—

A flash of memory: I'm being carried across a frozen field, half-conscious, my leg dangling, the pain unbearable. My skates are broken; I've snapped the blade in two, on the one I've gone over on. The other blade just needs reattaching to the boot and—

The image was gone; but:

‘My ice-skates?' Kate had to ask.

‘They'll mend. I'll take care of them for you.'

She tried to reach down to inspect the skates properly, but the movement was too awkward for the position she was sitting in. She tried again and gasped as the pain shot through her leg. Will was there in an instant, picking the skates up and handing them to her.

‘Thank you,' Kate said, a little stiffly. She was used to being independent — not having things brought to her or having things delivered to her. She didn't think herself and this leg were going to get on very well if it was going to impede her like this. Damn skating accident.

Kate turned the poor old skates over in her hands. As she had imagined, one was absolutely wrecked and the boot of the other one was hanging off the blade, horribly scuffed. They looked so much newer, though, than the ones in her museum. How bizarre.

‘I'll get you home just as soon as you've finished your brandy,' Will said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘I don't like the look of that leg at all. I'd bring the doctor here but I think you're better off at home. I'll go for him once I've taken you back.'

‘Home?' Kate repeated. Where on earth was home? She looked up, too sharply, and Will wavered in and out of focus. The little clock on the mantelpiece began to chime again and by the time it had finished striking, she was standing in the middle of the museum cottage and the ducks were quacking outside as if nothing untoward had happened.

Her leg was fine, her head wasn't sore and Chris' shirt was still in place — and it wasn't made of soft, grey material.

She was, however, clutching the ice-skates — perfectly presented and not a broken blade to be seen.

What had just happened? Kate stared at the ice-skates, glinting now in a shaft of moonlight, and held them up. Shefelt frozen to the core, as cold as that icy river must have been, and terrified. But it couldn't have been real. No way.

She'd clearly had a wine-induced dream and she'd probably just dozed off in the cottage. Yes, that had to be it. Anything else was . . . impossible. But it still didn't explain the fact that she was sure those skates hadn't been in the room when she'd locked up. Unless Jenna had put them there for some reason and she'd missed them?

It was only as Kate turned to leave that the cogs went ‘clunk' in her brain and she hesitated. CAT. The name inked inside the skates.

Catriona Aphrodite Tredegar . Cat.

It might have been her name — or it might have been her initials, but it was both.

Dear God, how could she possibly know that?

* * *

Theo woke up the next morning feeling quite un-rested. He normally slept like a log, but that tap tap tap- ping was bothering him.

As he went about cooking breakfast on the little camping stove and boiling up a pan of water for coffee, he contemplated the noise and came to the conclusion it had been a woodpecker. It had to be. It hadn't rained at all and there wasn't a forge on site so it was just one of those things. It was so weird what your mind could come up with during night time.

Theo looked at the guide books and leaflets he'd brought with him for his trip and decided Sutton Hoo was definitely the destination of the day. He had toyed with the idea of Hartsford Hall and then nipping back into the Folk Museum — but then an image of Kate's boyfriend flitted into his mind and he thought again. Some things were sacred, even if he had to be chivalrous to keep them so; because even though he told himself it was the exhibits that he wanted to see again, his heart told him that those exhibits wouldn't be half so appealing if the curator wasn't a five foot six red-head with bright blue eyes and a great smile.

Theo pushed the bacon around in the pan thoughtfully, watching it crackle and spit as it turned crispy and brown. No, he'd stay away. Be the gentleman and all that. It wasn't fair on anyone to get mixed up in his life at the moment, anyway. And Sutton Hoo — well, it was an incredible place. Ghostly Viking ships appearing at the bottom of a lady's garden and phantoms telling her where to excavate? And then she found a ship burial and all sorts of amazing things in the very soil of her garden. Awesome.

He flipped the rashers decisively and slid a couple of slices of bread into the pan to fry alongside them. Sutton Hoo it was. The Hall and the Folk Museum wouldn't run away.

It was a good excuse to come back to Suffolk later in the year anyway.

A little voice in the back of his mind said: Good plan. Do you think she'll have ditched the boyfriend by then?

But the chivalrous part of him refused to listen to it.

* * *

Chris was twiddling with his phone again, and Kate was staring at the ice-skates, which she had placed on the reception desk in front of her.

She'd inspected them quite thoroughly and could almost tell herself that one blade looked slightly less worn than the other, and the boot attached to the worn blade was quite clearly doubly-secured.

But that was just stupid.

‘Chris?'

‘Hmm?'

‘Did you hear the clocks all chiming last night? The cuckoo clock and the grandfather clock? They went off just after midnight.'

Chris shook his head. ‘Nope. I was fast asleep. As you should have been.' There was a wicked twinkle in his eye and she knew that he was implying his love-making skills should have worn her out considerably more than they did.

Kate didn't like to correct him. ‘They woke me up.'

‘You like the cuckoo clock though. It's never bothered you before.'

‘True.' It had never gone off fifteen times in a row before either. Then: ‘Chris?'

He sighed and looked up from his phone. ‘Yes?'

‘Do you think these skates look broken?' Kate pushed them across to him and he swept a cursory glance across them before shaking his head. ‘No. They look fine. For their age, I mean. They're a bit battered.'

Kate was slightly stung. But, of course, he was right. They were pretty old.

‘I wonder if they came from the Hall?' she mused. ‘Maeve would know. She's been here longer than me.' The word "home" from that weird dream last night was bugging her. She had come to the conclusion it had to be a dream. Anything else was preposterous, but a shiver snaked down her back just the same.

‘Is Maeve still in Outer Mongolia?' asked Chris. She hoped he was trying to be funny; anywhere north of the M25 was foreign to him.

‘Outer Hebrides,' she corrected him. ‘Yes. So I can't really ask her, can I?'

‘Nope, because if she has a phone signal up there, it's more than what you've got down here.' He tossed his phone aside and scratched his head. ‘Sorry, Kate. It's just that there's stuff going on at work and that client causing problems. They—'

Kate looked at him and raised her eyebrows. He had the grace to laugh. ‘Yeah, you don't want to know. Anyway, I thought I'd escape it this weekend, so I came here, but it's still going on.'

‘On a Saturday?' Kate was surprised his consultancy was open on a weekend.

‘We've gone multi-national — I told you. We've had to open up on a Saturday and I think a Sunday won't be long in coming.' He frowned. ‘That's going to be a problem, isn't it? With you up here working and me down there working. We won't even have the time we've got now. It'll be a rota for the staff, I expect, for weekends. I can't see any other way around it.'

Kate couldn't recall the multi-national conversation at all. She was pretty certain it would have been something she did listen to — working weekends would affect their relationship even more than his job did now.

‘And there's no way you can avoid the weekends, perhaps? There's got to be plenty of people without commitments who can cover?' It was worth a shot.

‘It can't be helped. They don't have the experience. Perhaps once we've got it off the ground, it'll free me up a little more?'

‘It's not going to be great in the meantime, though, is it?'

He came over and hugged her. ‘You know what my job's like. I promise, once it's running smoothly and I've got the technology, I'll be up here like a shot. I'm looking into it, I really am. So much is virtual now. It's just an interim measure.' He kissed the top of her head and nuzzled into her hair. ‘I have to go back after lunch. I'm so sorry.'

Kate hugged him back and sighed. ‘Okay. Go and sort out your client. And your staff, if it comes to that.'

Chris laughed and stood back. ‘Is it okay if I—'

‘—use the laptop,' she finished for him. She nodded towards the staircase. ‘You know where it is.'

‘Thanks, Kate.' He hurried off up the stairs, collecting his phone on the way.

Which just left Kate contemplating the ice-skates again. She decided that if Maeve wasn't around, it might be policy to speak to Cassie about them. Well okay, Cassie probably wouldn't have a clue, but Elodie would. Elodie might be the Countess of Hartsford, but she was also rather OCD about the history of Hartsford Hall. Kate knew she'd been boxing up a tonne of stuff and calling it "the archives", so she held out some hope that Elodie could help her. She just needed to wait until her own staff came in for their shift before she high-tailed it up there.