Amethyst (10 page)

She felt her lips burning at the memory.

At last he returned, two threadbare blankets in hand. "It was like negotiating a treaty," he declared, "and they cost me a pretty penny. I'd be willing to wager they're her own personal blankets." He sniffed at them suspiciously. "They smell as bad as she does."

Amy wrinkled her nose, remembering the stout, flushed innkeeper's wife and her greasy hair.

Colin began to hand her the smaller blanket, then glanced at Davis uncovered in his chair.

"Hell," he muttered to himself.

There was nothing for it; he was going to have to share a blanket with Amy.
Why?
What had he done to deserve all this temptation thrown in his path?

He covered Davis and gently tucked him in.

"Sorry." He spread the other blanket on the floor and sat on it to pull off his boots. "This is what I was afraid of."

"Afraid of?"

"We'll have to share this blanket," he explained crossly.

"Is that what you were so vexed about?" Amy's features lost some of their tightness. "Strangers sleep together all the time when inns are full. Of course, they generally have a bed," she reflected.

"They're generally the same gender," he said pointedly.

"Oh."

"Yes. Well, come then, take off your shoes." He shrugged off his surcoat and rolled it up to make a pillow. "If they're anything like normal, these children will be up at first light."

He lay down. Amy slowly removed her shoes, then joined him at the edge of the blanket and arranged herself on her side, carefully separated from him. He threw the other half of the blanket over them both.

Her tears were silent, but Colin could feel the blanket tug slightly when her shoulders began shaking. "Damn," he murmured under his breath. He turned toward her and positioned himself against her back, like two spoons in a drawer.

"Hush," he whispered, although she wasn't making a sound. "Hush. It's all right. I'm here."

She fit him perfectly.

Presently her tears stopped, and she reached back for his hand and tucked it around her middle. She shuddered once more and was still.

His whole body was rock hard.

His last waking thought was that he was lucky he was so exhausted.

Damn lucky.

AMY TRAILED LISTLESSLY
behind Colin as he hustled the children to the wagon. Leaning against the side, she watched them clamber into the back, wondering where she'd find the energy to climb up herself. She felt like she hadn't slept a wink last night; barring some catnaps Monday evening and her uneasy slumber in the jostling wagon yesterday, she'd been awake for nearly three days.

"Keep an eye on them, will you?" Colin asked.

She nodded, watching his broad back and easy stride as he headed into the inn. Thank God he was here…

Closing her eyes, she shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. She had to think straight, figure out a plan. While it was easier to let him take care of her, she couldn't rely on Colin. He was a tempting comfort, but a false one. She meant nothing to him.

Her thoughts drifted to last night. How could she have asked him about himself and his past as though everything were normal, as though her father hadn't just died? And God in heaven, had she actually kissed him? Her face flamed at the memory. What kind of a daughter was she? She didn't deserve to enjoy
anything
, ever again.

She opened her eyes to see Colin returning, her trunk balanced on one straining shoulder.

"What the devil's in here?" He set it on the floorboards with a decided
clunk
.

"Everything I own," she said in a broken whisper, her gaze riveted to the wooden slats, the leather straps, the brass fittings.

Dear God, her father's life's work was in there.

Colin pushed the trunk under the bench, making a hideous scraping noise. Suddenly her throat constricted and she seemed unable to breathe. The grief was bubbling up inside her. A weight settled in her stomach; a fist closed around her heart. Her eyes filled with hot, blinding tears.

It was rising, threatening to overwhelm her, and this time she couldn't stop it.

She stumbled up to the bench, but she couldn't sit upright, so she sank to the boards and covered her face with her hands. Then she let it rise up and out, the pain and the tears and the great, tearing sobs.

Her breath came in hysterical gulps. Colin stroked her hair, but she shook off his hand, though she knew it might hurt his feelings. The children were silent; she could feel their pitying gazes. She didn't care. Her father was dead. She would never see him, never touch him, never hear his voice again.

She was jostled when the wagon started moving, but the tears wouldn't stop. Wordlessly, Colin stuffed a handkerchief into her fist. Before long it was sopping wet and twisted in her hands.

The world retreated until she was a mass of wretched pain. Her father was dead; her home was gone; she had no immediate family, no family at all except one aunt in a foreign country.

It was all Papa's fault. When he'd gone back inside their burning house, he'd robbed her of both her father and her life.

Damn him
, she thought.
Damn him to hell!

Bolting upright, she gasped and covered her mouth as though she'd said the words out loud.

She felt Colin's gaze, his compassion, but it didn't help at all. When he drew her hand away from her mouth and threaded her fingers through his, she levered herself up to the bench and leaned against him, closing her eyes. The tears leaked slowly, tracing new paths down her raw cheeks. Her head throbbed; her eyes burned, hot and swollen. But no physical pain could match the anguish in her heart.

She'd damned her father to hell, and for one split second, she had really meant it.

STANDING BESIDE THE
wagon, one hand resting possessively on her trunk, Amy watched, dazed, as Lady Kendra led two children by the hand toward Cainewood's immense double oak doors.

The raked gravel of the drive crunched beneath their feet. "I cannot believe you did this, Colin." Lady Kendra turned on the steps to count the young ones. "Nine children! You must have had your hands full."

She paused on the threshold, eyeing Amy speculatively. "Though it looks as though you had help."

Colin didn't respond, but Amy slipped him a guilty sidewise glance. She bit her lip, knowing she'd been less than helpful. She hadn't even been decent company. They'd been on the road for the better part of the day, and she'd strung no more than five words together the entire time.

But she had no time to dwell on herself, not with Cainewood Castle before her in all its ancient glory.

The living quarters formed a U around the quadrangle's groomed lawn. She looked up, and up. Four stories.

"Ninety-eight rooms," Colin said beside her, as though he'd read her mind. "Most of them closed up. Jason has years of restoration ahead." He pointed out the marks of cannonballs in the high, crenelated wall. "Cromwell sacked the place twice."

Beyond the smooth green grass of the quadrangle, a tall, timeworn tower rose majestically. "The original keep," he explained. "I believe it dates from 1138. Cainewood's been in our family, save during the Commonwealth, since 1243."

"Oh…" Blinking, she turned and stared up at him, his bold features shadowed by the turreted curtain wall. An
enormous
castle's wall. Other than Whitehall Palace, it was the largest structure she'd ever seen.

And his family
lived here
…

The thought was amazing. Almost inconceivable. Back in her shop and at the inn, Colin had seemed almost ordinary.

He shifted under her stare, and she glanced away, embarrassed.

He pointed again. "Beyond the keep, that's the tilting yard. Obsolete, these centuries past. Jason doesn't bother caring for it." His wave indicated the vegetation, untamed and ankle high.

Still, a tilting yard…she could picture knights of old, mounted on glittering steeds, jousting, their lances held aloft. She'd been reading a medieval history—she'd left it on her bedside table. It must have burned—

"Come, Amy." His rich voice rescued her from those thoughts. "I know you're tired. Come inside and you can rest."

He shooed the last of the children up the steps and motioned her after them, through the massive doors. The sun was setting, and she expected the entry would be dim. But a chandelier dangled from the vaulted ceiling, blazing with candles that flooded the cream-colored stone chamber with light.

In awe she moved toward the slim columns that marched two-by-two down the center of the three-story hall. An intricate stone staircase loomed ahead. At intervals along the gray marble handrail, carved heraldic beasts held shields sporting different quarterings of…

"The Chase family crest," Amy said softly.

"How did you…?" Colin set down the trunk and blinked at her. "Oh, you carved those symbols on the sides of my ring."

She smiled to herself, admiring the ornate iron treasure chests that sat against the stone walls, alternating with heavy chairs carved of walnut. Tapestries enriched and softened the effect.

"It's…impressive, no?" Colin cleared his throat. "We, uh, used to have somewhat of a fortune," he said, rather sheepishly. "Before the war, that is."

Amy looked up to the balcony that spanned the width of the hall. "I've never seen the likes of it," she admitted. "It's magnificent. The workmanship…"

"My home, Greystone, is nothing like this; take my word for it."

She didn't reply, mainly because her gaze had wandered back down the stairs and settled on Lady Kendra. From the top of her coiffed head, with her striking dark-red ringlets wired out on the sides, to the quilted slippers that peeked from beneath her mint-green satin skirts, Lady Kendra was the picture of perfection.

Amy glanced down, mortified. Her own wrinkled, smoke-stained skirts had started out lavender on Monday, but now looked positively gray. She could only imagine what her face and hair looked like, all dirty and disheveled. She wanted to drop into the floor.

"Kendra, you'll remember Mrs. Amethyst Goldsmith?" Colin's words prompted a small smile from Amy. Only harlots and pre-adolescent girls were called "Miss," and in light of her behavior last night, she considered herself lucky that Colin considered her neither.

A frown wrinkled Lady Kendra's forehead. "I'm not certain…"

"You met Mrs. Goldsmith last month in London," Colin reminded his sister. "She made your locket."

"Oh, of course!" Lady Kendra's face lit up at the memory. She scrutinized Amy more closely, then smiled. "It's just that I didn't expect to see you here."

Considering it was more likely that Colin's sister hadn't recognized her under all the filth, Amy warmed to her immediately. "That makes two of us, Lady Kendra. I didn't expect to be here myself."

Lady Kendra's laughter tinkled through the hall. "I suppose you didn't, at that," she conceded. "And please, call me Kendra—just Kendra. May I call you Amethyst?"

"My friends call me Amy," Amy returned hopefully. She badly needed a friend right now.

"Amy, then. Um…might I guess you'd like a bath?"

"Oh, yes," she breathed gratefully.

"And some supper," Colin interjected. "She hasn't eaten in two days," he explained to Kendra.

Amy shook her head slightly. She was certain she couldn't eat yet. "I really just want to sleep."

"Warm chocolate, then," Colin insisted.

Amy nodded acceptance.

"With brandy in it," he added decisively. "And some soup."

Amy sighed. "Perhaps some soup. The chocolate sounds nice."

The brandy sounded nice. The brandy and bed. She'd be willing to wager the beds in a place like this would be soft and comfortable.

"Well, up you go, then." Colin gestured toward the stairs. "Up you all go, in fact," he declared in a raised voice, striding over to the children huddled in the back of the hall, whispering amongst themselves. "Baths for everyone, first thing. Then supper, then bed."

There were audible groans at this announcement. "Could we not just wash up a bit?" Davis spoke for the group. "We won't really have to take
baths
, will we?"