Amethyst (11 page)

Heading up the stairs, Amy smiled to herself. She knew that at home, Davis probably bathed twice a year, if that. Cleanliness was considered an invitation to infection.

"Oh yes, you will," Colin stated firmly. "Kendra, two at a time. And fresh hot water for each bath."

Behind her, Amy heard the children's startled breaths. Such lavish use of water was unheard of in the City. She met Kendra's amused eyes, then watched as her new friend's face took on a mock-serious expression.

"Tell Cook to prepare supper—lots of it," she called down toward her brother's dark head. "Then, for God's sake, come up and give me a hand.
I'm
not the one who volunteered to play nursemaid."

"THE MEWS WAS
over there," Colin said, pointing through the keep's glassless window.

The children clustered around him, craning their necks to see out. He felt a small tug on his breeches and looked down. Noon sunshine streamed into the ancient roofless tower, dancing on a small lad's red-gold mop of curls.

The child cocked his head. "What's a news?"

Colin smiled at his puzzled look. "A
mews
," he corrected gently. "A building where the lord kept his falcons. It was destroyed by the Roundheads in the siege of 1643."

"The same time the holes in the floor happened?" another boy asked.

"The same time," he told the child, a sturdy apple-cheeked lad. "But that only makes it more fun for hide-and-seek and treasure hunts, doesn't it?"

The boy and Colin shared a smile before the boy sobered. "When can we go home?"

"Yes, when?" another echoed.

"Today?" The smallest girl's blue eyes looked so hopeful in her angelic little face.

His heart aching for all of them, Colin brushed a golden ringlet off her tiny forehead. "Not today, Mary, but soon, I'm hoping." As a disappointed silence seemed to permeate the stone walls, he sighed, twisting his ring. "Very soon."

"Did you live in this keep when you were a little boy?"

Colin chuckled, gazing down into a girl's large brown eyes. "Heavens, no—how old do you think I am?" When the girl blushed, he reached to ruffle her straight flaxen hair. "No one's lived in here for centuries. The building was open to the sky long before my boyhood days. Would you like to see the wall walk?"

The sound of a clearing throat rang from the doorway. Colin turned, startled.

"'Dinnertime," Kendra announced.

He frowned. "How long have you been there?"

"We want to hear another story," piped up a chubby towhead. Davis's little brother, if Colin remembered right. After a good night's sleep and cleaned of the soot and ash, he appeared a different child.

"That wasn't a story," he told the boy, then looked up at Kendra. "I was just explaining a bit of history."

"It's time for dinner now," Kendra said firmly. "Lord Greystone will tell you another story later."

"I will?"

"Yes, you will." Kendra shot him a mischievous grin. "You brought them here, you're responsible for their entertainment. You owe them a bedtime story, at least." She motioned to the children. "Come along, you all need to wash before eating."

"But I promised to show them the wall walk," Colin protested.

"Oh, very well, but quickly. You know how sulky Cook acts when her lovely meals grow cold."

Beckoning, Colin led them all into the stairtower and down the winding steps to the archway. The children ran out along the top of the crenelated wall, shrieking with delight.

"Not too far," he yelled after them, "and be careful!"

"Dunderhead," Kendra chided. "When did you ever know a child to be careful?"

"Never," he said with a sheepish smile.

They both turned and faced outward. Resting their forearms on top of the ledge, they gazed out over the River Caine and the fields and nearby woods. Like most medieval castles, the tower at Cainewood was built on a tall motte—a huge mound of earth. Up on the wall walk they could see for miles in all directions.

"You're wonderful with the children," Kendra said quietly.

"I remembered playing in the keep—it was so much fun. I just wanted to bring it to life a bit for them."

Kendra sighed wistfully. "I never got to play in the keep." The war had begun before she was born, and as well-known Royalists, the family had adjourned to less obvious lodgings. Sadly, even that had failed to stop Cromwell from bringing his wrath down upon their home.

"I know, Kendra." Colin placed a hand over hers where it rested on top of the ancient wall. It was peaceful up here. The days of war were long over, thank God.

"How is Amy?" Kendra asked suddenly.

"Still sleeping. Sixteen hours."

"She was exhausted." Kendra slanted him a glance. "I saw you shaking her when I walked by her chamber."

"To no avail. She'd rouse for a few seconds at most, then drop back into sleep." He shrugged. "I thought she'd be wanting some dinner. She'd eaten but a few spoonfuls of broth, though her chocolate cup was empty."

"And her hand?"

"Blisters, but no telltale red streaks of infection. Thank the Lord for small favors. Coping with a grief-stricken guest is enough—I feel unequipped to deal with one who is fever-ridden, in addition." He stared out into the distance. "I changed the bandage, applied fresh honey. I believe it will mend without incidence."

Kendra hesitated. "You like her, don't you?"

"She's a talented girl," he answered cautiously, keeping his eyes trained on an outlying field.

"I meant you really like her. You're attracted to her."

"No, I'm not."

Kendra gave an unladylike snort. "I remember that day in her shop. And I've seen the way you talk about her, look at her, take care of her. And you put her in the Gold Chamber." The beautiful room was usually reserved for honored guests. "Colin…"

"I'm betrothed," he stated firmly.

"But—"

"No buts, Kendra. I—"

"I hate it when you say that!"

Colin glared at her. "As I was about to say, I know you dislike Priscilla, but I
am
marrying her. And dangling a penniless commoner in my face, no matter how attractive, isn't going to change that fact."

"But
why
? I've seen you with Priscilla—you don't love her, I can tell."

"I don't want to love her; I've told you that. She's wealthy, she's pretty, she's—"

"Cold."

Colin ignored that. "—she's titled—"

"As though we care about such things. We're titled, and what did it get us? Nothing! We were paupers on the Continent, dragged from Paris, to Cologne, to Brussels, Bruges, Antwerp—wherever King Charles wandered. We had no home, no one who really cared about us. People are what matters. Titles are worthless."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. That title kept us fed, allowed us to tag along with the court, obligated them to take us in. It was all we had, the only thing of value our parents gave us. My children will have no less—and a lot more."

"You're an earl, for God's sake. Without the war, the Restoration, I'd understand your mindset. As a second son, if you failed to marry wealth you'd have to live off Jason's largesse, or take a commission in the military, or a religious vocation."

It was Colin's turn to snort. "Not that, I'll warrant. You'll see a Chase in the pulpit the day the devil takes residence in heaven."

"You have a point there," Kendra conceded with a grin. "All right. But Charles owed a debt to our parents, and he gave you the earldom. Your children will inherit. You've no need to marry a title."

Colin's jaw was set, his voice firm. "They'll have titles from both sides. They'll never know a day of insecurity."

"What a bunch of blatherskite! You're using this as an excuse to avoid caring about someone—someone like that lovely girl asleep in the guest chamber. It's what's inside that counts—the Chases don't care about titles."

"This Chase does."

Her coloring high, Kendra stamped her foot. "Oh, you're so stubborn!"

"No more than you are, sweetheart. It runs in the family."

"Hmmph!" She crossed her arms and turned from him, facing outward.

"Hmmph!" Colin did likewise, in imitation.

She burst out laughing.

But his attention was already diverted elsewhere. "Od's fish!" he exclaimed. "I cannot believe I was blind to this earlier."

Kendra squinted her eyes, searching for something of note. "What? I see nothing."

"
Exactly
. It's London.
Not
burning."

Sure enough, although a dark cloud of smoke still hung over London in the distance, it seemed to be lifting, and there were no visible flames underneath.

"Oh!" Kendra's voice went up an octave in her glee. "Ford and Jason are on their way home already, I'll wager."

"And I'll take the children back to London first thing in the morning. We can only pray it won't prove too difficult to locate their families."

"And Amy? Will you return her to London as well?"

"Of course," he snapped.

He was relieved when Kendra didn't comment on his annoyance. "Come along," she said. "It's dinnertime. We can tell the children the good news."

He led the way down from the tower. Once in the quadrangle, the children ran ahead, racing noisily to the entrance.

Crossing the lawn more sedately beside Kendra, whose fashionable high-heeled slippers discouraged running, Colin suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"Now where am I supposed to find a story, I ask you? No one found time to tell
me
fairy tales when I was little, I'll warrant you that."

"Oh, you'll think of something." Kendra flashed him an arch smile. "I have complete and total faith in you, Colin Chase." Then she took off across the grass, running anyway.

COLIN GENTLY TUCKED
the bandage and set Amy's hand on top of the quilt. It looked tiny and delicate lying alone, with the rest of her buried beneath the covers. He licked a bit of honey off his finger, gazing at her heart-shaped face. She'd missed dinner, and now supper…he glanced behind in case his sister might be watching, then, feeling foolish, shook Amy's shoulder again.

Nothing.

He rested a hand on her forehead. Still cool, and he could tell by the rise and fall of her chest that she was breathing. He felt beneath her chin for a pulse. Nice and steady.

His knuckles caressed her cheek, then he flicked open his pocket watch. The children were waiting for that damned story he—no, Kendra—had promised them. One story, then he'd take everyone back to London in the morning. Surely Amy would be awake by then.

And by tomorrow night, his life would be back to normal.

Sighing, he gave Amy one last long look, then walked out into the corridor. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and he headed for the drawing room.

The children waited on the black-and-salmon carpet, sitting with their backs to the fire. Weary after the stress of the past two days, their bellies full of Cook's good hot supper, they watched him walk in with eyes that were already drooping.

Their chatter died down as Colin seated himself facing them in one of the salmon-colored velvet chairs. Kendra sat off to the side in its mate, her head bent to her embroidery.

The castle was cool and drafty in the evenings. Kendra hitched herself closer to the fire and jabbed her needle through the fabric. Colin was amused to see her engaged in such a ladylike occupation. It was quite foreign to her nature, but he supposed she considered embroidery a fitting pursuit for a lady passing the evening surrounded by children.

He hoped she'd stick herself in the finger.

The children shifted impatiently on their bottoms. "My lord, what story are we to hear tonight?" Davis asked.

Colin glanced up at the carved wooden ceiling, but there was no help from above. All around the room, large gilt-framed portraits of solemn ancestors watched over him, waiting for him to prove himself a worthy entertainer of children.

When his gaze fastened on a newly commissioned painting of his king, inspiration hit. "Tonight, you will hear the story of the Royal Oak," he announced.