Amethyst (19 page)

Resolved to stay calm until this torture was over, she squeezed her eyes shut tighter and started singing to herself. Perhaps by the time her song was finished, they'd be at Greystone.

"'I tell thee, Dick, where I have been; Where I the rarest things have seen; Oh, things without compare! Such sights again cannot be found; In any place on English ground; Be it at wake or fair.'"

"You've a sweet voice," Colin called back, amusement lacing his words.

He was laughing at her. If she could only get past her fear and let go of him, she might be tempted to shove him off the horse.

Instead, she continued singing.

"'At Charing Cross, hard by the way; Where we, thou know'st, do sell our hay; There is a house with stairs. And there did I see coming down; Such folk as are not in our town; Forty at least, in pairs.'"

"
Ballad Upon a Wedding
," Colin remarked. "It was written by Sir John Suckling, you know. He fought beside my father in the war."

"'Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine; His beard no bigger though than thine; Walk'd on before the rest. Our landlord looks like nothing to him; The king, God bless him, 'twould undo him; Should he go still so dress'd.'"

"That's the groom, who is said to be Lord Broyhill. And the bride was Lady Margaret—"

"If you know the song," she interrupted, irritated into finally addressing him, "the least you could do is sing along with me."

But he didn't. There were fifteen verses to
Ballad Upon a Wedding
, and Amy sang them five times through before the horse finally stopped.

"We're here," Colin said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. "I believe the basket handle has impressed a permanent indentation between my ribs."

"Thank heavens." Amy's eyes flew open, and she blinked against the daylight. "I meant thank heavens we're here, not about your ribs."

A low chortle floated back. He unwound her arms from his waist and reached back a hand. "Here, let me help you down."

When she landed on solid ground, her knees nearly buckled under her. Taking a deep breath, she looked around. She found herself on a circular drive in a modest courtyard, enclosed on three sides by a crenelated curtain wall. The living quarters of the small castle made up the fourth side. The entire structure would fit into a corner of Cainewood.

She was enchanted.

Colin hopped down from the horse and slid her trunk to the snowy ground. He gestured at his home. "It's not like Cainewood, is it?"

"No, not at all," she said seriously. "It's much nicer."

"Nicer?"
he asked in apparent disbelief.

She watched his gaze wander over the ruined portions of the wall and a huge roofless chamber that dominated the edifice. She followed along, seeing ancient weathered stones with stories to tell and a building the perfect size for one happy family.

"Yes, it's much cozier. Cainewood is beautiful, but I cannot imagine why anyone would actually want to live there."

"Try explaining that to the woman I'm betrothed to," Colin muttered, leading the horse to one of the posts set around the drive.

Still carrying the basket, Amy wandered back to the entrance and stared up in wonder at the massive oak portcullis gate. Outside the walls, she could see the moat was dry and had been for some time. A mosslike grass grew in its bottom, lightly dusted with snow.

"Once upon a time, it was filled by the River Caine." Colin's voice startled her, nearby. He pointed out the river in the distance. "It runs all the way from the coast past Cainewood to here. In fact, the license to crenelate was granted by King Richard II to protect Greystone from pirates who sailed up the River Caine from the sea. It was originally built by a bishop."

Amy felt her beloved history books coming alive within these walls. "How long has it been in your family?"

"Not at all, till recently. Its Royalist owners perished with no issue. Charles deeded it to me after the Restoration."

A ruined tower sat adjacent to the entrance, and she looked down inside it—a long way down.

"The oubliette," he explained. "It was secured with a heavy iron grille." His voice sounded mysterious and deep as the pit. "Miscreants would be cast inside…and sometimes forgotten."

Suddenly shivering, she tightened the blanket around her body.

With a grunt, Colin shouldered her trunk. "Come inside, where it should be warmer." He motioned for her to follow him down a short passageway with an unassuming oak door at its end.

He unlocked the door and entered, bending to set down her trunk. She followed in time to see him shove it against the wall with one booted foot.

"There." He glared at her accusingly. "I'm not looking forward to our riding back with it, I'll warrant you."

Her legs were still shaking, though she'd never admit it. She set the basket on the floor. "I'm not riding a horse back."

"Benchley cannot drive the carriage here with one horse."

"Then you'll ride out with him and return with the carriage. That way you won't have to carry the trunk on horseback," she pointed out.

"That's true," he conceded rather crossly. Averting his face, he turned to arrange some wood in the fireplace on the right.

The vestibule was small and square, with an open-beam ceiling of oak. An oak staircase marched up the wall opposite the entrance. To the left, Amy saw an arched door. She walked over and tried the handle.

"It's locked," Colin said, standing up. "The great hall is beyond, lacking half a roof at present."

She nodded, turning back to him. Behind him, the fire burned brightly, illuminating the dim chamber. Shadows danced on whitewashed, unadorned stone walls. The stone floor was polished smooth from centuries of use, and a fringed Oriental carpet rested in the center.

"Is this where you sleep?" Amy asked. She knew his home was mostly unrestored, and many families lived in a room this size or smaller. Perhaps he had a pallet that he put in here at night.

"Heavens, no." He laughed and picked up the basket. "I'm not that badly off. Come this way."

She followed him through an open archway and down a corridor. He paused at a doorway on the left.

"This is my temporary bedchamber," he explained. "Once the great hall's roof is complete, the rest of the living quarters will be restored."

Amy stepped into the austere room. It held a wooden washstand, a dressing table with a mirror, and a large bed with a small table beside it and a chest at its foot. Carved in a twisted design, the bedposts supported a cream-colored canopy that matched the bedclothes and plastered walls. A gray stone fireplace and hearth echoed the gray stone that framed the three windows.

She wandered to a window and drew in her breath in surprise.

"You're looking behind the great hall." Colin's voice came across the room from where he lounged against the doorjamb. "It's officially called Upper Court. The main courtyard where we entered is called Lower Court."

Amy gazed into the secret space, partially concealed by a light blanket of freshly fallen snow. Come springtime, when the winter cold subsided, it would contain a beautiful garden. Placing her elbows on the wide stone windowsill, she rested her chin in her hands and stared out dreamily. Having grown up in crowded London, the thought of a private walled garden was blissful.

"I would call it Hidden Court," she said softly.

A low chuckle came from the doorway. "That's exactly what I do call it, to myself."

Amy wasn't surprised. It was the perfect name for this most perfect place. "How do you get to it?"

"Through my study, next door."

Leaving the window, she followed him down the corridor. His study contained a large scarred wooden desk with a comfortable chair; a long, plain upholstered couch with a low table before it; and some rough shelving stuffed with a few books and a lot of ledgers and piles of paper.

"Benchley sleeps here," he said, indicating the couch.

But Amy had eyes only for the glass-inset double doors in the exact center of the back wall. She went straight to throw them open and stepped into the courtyard beyond, heedless of the frosty air and falling snow.

Colin turned to start a fire, slanting a glance now and then to watch her. He laughed when she brushed snow off the plants to see what lay beneath. What a marvelous creature she was, quick to anger, but even more easily pleased. Now that she'd emerged from the cocoon of her grief, she was like a beautiful butterfly, and his heart ached with the knowledge that he could never capture her.

Finished with the fire, he turned to warm his back near the flames, watching Amy flit around his private courtyard…the courtyard Priscilla had failed to even notice on her one visit to her future home.

He shook himself. Priscilla embodied everything he required in a wife. He wasn't a man to let physical attraction rule his life—he never had, and he had no intention of starting now.

That wouldn't be logical.

His betrothal was an ideal, rational arrangement. And not only was he bound by a formal promise, but he'd spent part of Priscilla's dowry on the restorations. He saw no way out of it, and he'd be a fool to consider it at all.

Amy was right: the two of them were unsuited, and the matter was no more simple or complicated than that.

He poked his head out the door to let Amy know he was going to settle the horse and would be right back. By the time she brushed off the snow and came in from the courtyard, red cheeked and shivering, he'd not only returned, but emptied Kendra's basket and laid out their dinner—cold chicken, bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine.

Everything was neatly divided and set on cloth napkins, his on his desk, hers on the low table in front of the couch. He closed the doors behind Amy and took his place behind the desk.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Yes, famished, although it must be early still." Amy picked up her food and carried it to the carpet before the hearth. She looked over at Colin, up through her thick eyelashes, where drops of melted snow sparkled in the firelight. "It's much warmer here. Will you join me in a picnic?"

Colin knew that if he joined her, it would be for more than a simple picnic. He felt much safer behind the desk. "I'm accustomed to dining here, and Benchley there," he said with a wave toward the table.

"I'm not Benchley," she pointed out.

He gave her a considered look. "I've noticed."

A blush crept into her cheeks, and his whole being was aware of how pretty she looked framed by the light of his fire, magical in the flickering hues. His body tensed.

"Do you suppose he'll return soon?" she asked.

"Who?"

Her eyes narrowed, regarding him uncertainly. "Benchley."

"Oh, him. I certainly hope so," he said, glancing out the window.

The storm was building, damn it. God help him, Benchley had better return soon. He wanted this chapter in his life finished—without further incident.

He looked back to her with a sigh. "I'm miserable at preparing anything to eat. I assume you can cook?"

"I've never tried. We always had a housekeeper who cooked. You
do
have food?"

"Of course," he answered crossly. "I live here, you know."

"Of course."

Amy grinned, suddenly realizing how happy she was. Colin's plan to deliver her to Dover was foiled for now—despite his hope that Benchley would return soon, that wasn't likely to happen, given the weather. She'd survived the ride on horseback, and now she was alone with Colin in his enchanting castle, possibly overnight…

She felt like she'd just received a stay of execution.

Maybe he'd even kiss her again.

COLIN UNWOUND HIMSELF
from his cross-legged position on the floor, where he'd faced Amy across the low table and whiled away the past hours playing piquet. "So, what's the verdict?"

Amy scribbled for a few more seconds before looking up. "I won…but by less than a hundred points."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" He smiled at the concerned look on her face. "You won all three parties."

"You won five hands."

There were six hands in each partie, which meant he'd won five hands out of eighteen.

Well, at least he hadn't been completely humiliated. He'd proven himself a sharp cardplayer in the past. He was out of practice; he didn't have the time to spend hours—not to mention money—playing cards like many courtiers.

He was
not
distracted by her close proximity, her quick intelligence, her joyous laugh, the sweet curves that weren't hidden by that modest old lavender gown.

No. He was tired. He was unlucky. He was hungry.

Damn, he was hungry. Where the hell was Benchley?

Tired of waiting, he reached for his cloak.

"I've been playing quite often," she said, continuing her efforts to salve his ego.

"I thought you just learned?"

"Well, I learned recently, but I've been playing quite often."

He shrugged into the cloak. "I see." Actually, he saw plenty. For one thing, he saw Amy wasn't the sort of woman who would let him win just to make him feel good. He liked that.