by Jo Goodman
Skye was aware of his closeness, of the heat of his body, of warm, sweet breath that touched her face as he spoke. She stared at him mutely.
"What were you doing out there?" he asked.
He was studying her face as if he could see the truth imprinted on her features. It didn't matter to Skye. She believed she had no choice but to lie. "I just stepped out," she said. "The wind... it was so loud and I heard... I thought I heard something tearing away from the roof." It was difficult to catch her breath when Walker was so near. She wasn't certain she liked sharing the air with him, having him steal the very breath she needed. "I went out... out to investigate."
He didn't say anything for a moment, skeptical, measuring her response. "That so?" he asked blandly. She only stared back at him. "All right," he said, dropping one arm. "Get into the kitchen."
Skye hurried past him, straightening the collar of her robe and tightening the sash around her waist. Her milk was still on the stove, a thin film on the surface. Trying to keep her hand steady, she drew it off with a spoon and poured the milk into her cup. She didn't bother adding cinnamon or sugar.
"Drinking it straight?" Walker asked from the doorway.
Skye's hands were wrapped around the cup. She shrugged and started for the servants' stairs.
Walker blocked her way. "Not so fast. Have a seat at the table."
She raised mutinous eyes to him but in the end was forced to look away. She took a seat.
"That's better." Walker pulled out a chair for himself and straddled it. "The roof's all of one piece?" he asked.
For a second Skye didn't know what he was talking about. She wondered if her confusion showed on her face. "The roof's fine," she said, remembering her lie. "At least, so far as I could tell."
"Did you climb up to investigate?"
"What?"
He pointed to Skye's hands. "They're dirty. So's your robe. Your knees, too. That should take a little explaining."
Skye was up to it. "I tripped and fell."
"No grass stains, though."
He didn't miss anything, Skye thought. "I was fortunate, but then, perhaps you've noticed that there's not much grass off the back steps."
"Plenty of frost, though. Your hem's damp, but not your knees. Your hands are dirty, not wet."
"I'm sure I don't know why that is," she said tartly, "but I'd be happy to listen to your explanation, if you have one."
Walker had been waiting for the opportunity. "I'd say you were trying to get into the cellar," he said. "The door leading off the kitchen is locked. You must have thought you could get in from the outside entrance. Those doors, however, lock from the inside, so you didn't have any success. You were careless when you left the porch, though, and the door caught in the latch behind you. Maybe the wind had something to do with it." He was watching her carefully. "Any of that sound about right?"
Swallowing a mouthful of milk, Skye nodded. "The part about the wind and the door."
When she didn't give an inch, Walker's brows rose slightly. "What brought you down here, then?"
Skye's eyes widened dramatically as she feigned complete astonishment. "You mean you figured out all the other with barely any evidence?" she simpered. "While the milk on the stove, the mug on the table, and the cinnamon and sugar weren't enough to help you deduce I couldn't sleep?"
Far from taking offense at her antics, Walker laughed. "Your point's taken." He rested his forearms on the top rail of the chair and looked at Skye intently. "Just so you know, however, I don't believe a word of it. I think you're up to something, Mary Schyler." The use of both her names was deliberate. As far as Walker was concerned, she was more than knee deep in trouble.
Skye yawned abruptly. Her attempt to cover it came too late. "I'm finished with my milk," she said, setting down the cup. "Are you done with your questions?"
Walker didn't acknowledge Skye right away. He was looking at the loosely plaited hair that had fallen over her shoulder. The end of it had unwound and lay thickly against her robe. His fingers itched to touch it, to see if it burned, if the texture was as slippery and cool as a waterfall. His eyes followed the curve of her burnished hair from her breast, to her shoulder, to the angled line of her jaw. She fiddled with a tendril near her ear, drawing it toward her mouth in a nervous movement.
Walker's attention strayed to her lips. The full lower one was drawn in slightly. As he stared her mouth parted fractionally and the tip of her tongue peeped out. His eyes went immediately to hers to gauge her intention in the gesture. She only seemed to become aware of it when his gaze bore into hers. She straightened and dropped the strand of hair she'd been playing with. Her expression was guarded.
Walker shook his head. "You're not just in trouble, Mary Schyler," he said softly. "You are trouble."
Skye wished he hadn't said it, not in quite that way. She wanted to ask him if he'd been the one to lock her in the cellar, if he'd intended to teach her a lesson. She couldn't, though, not without laying her cards in front of her. Jay Mac had taught her to play poker better than that. Poor hand or not, she had to do what she could with what she had. She pretended not to understand what he'd meant.
After a moment, Walker got up. He went to the narrow pine cupboard by the sink and took out a quarter-filled bottle of Scotch. He found a tumbler and poured himself two fingers of liquor. "Do you want some?" he asked Skye.
She had to stifle another yawn to answer. "No, thank you. The milk is what I needed. I'd like to go to bed now."
"In a moment." He leaned back against the sink counter and sipped his drink. "I noticed yesterday that when Parnell asked if you'd worked for someone other than the Marshalls or the Turners, you managed to beg the question."
"Did I?" she asked smoothly. "I don't recall. Why do you suppose he cared?"
"You'll have to ask him that. I just want your answer now."
"I don't see that it's any of your business, Mr. Caide."
"Did you know Parnell before coming here?"
Skye stood. "I'm not in favor of inquisitions, and I've had enough of this one. Last night I felt that I owed you an apology for my rudeness, but I think we're even now. I'm glad I saved my breath." She skirted the table. "Goodnight, Mr. Caide."
She never suspected he was going to reach for her. In one moment he was standing casually at the sink, and in the next he had her pulled flush to his body. There had been no hint with his eyes or his hands of his intention, just the lightning-quick action that had drawn her close with the sureness of a magnet.
His mouth closed over hers. The kiss was hot and hard and brief.
Skye staggered back when she was released. The sensation of his lips lingered against hers.
"Now I think I have something to apologize for," he said.
But he didn't bother. Skye only realized it when she was standing alone in the kitchen.
* * *
It was wings again, fluttering lightly against her cheeks. At first it tickled. When it didn't stop, she turned her head to elude it. The fluttering followed. She rubbed her cheek against the pillow when it became unbearable. The tickling sensation merely swept across her lips and touched her other cheek.
She was annoyed now and frustrated further when she couldn't raise an arm to brush it away. Silken threads drifted across her face as if she'd run headlong into a cobweb. She wanted to open her eyes to see if this was indeed the case, but there was no cooperation from either of her lids. A band of the thinnest gauze seemed to hold them in place.
There was a touch on her forehead, then her chin. Her lips felt moist heat close to them. A moan was trapped in her throat as she was robbed of breath. Her mouth was parted by something damp. She couldn't close against it.
The sensation vanished suddenly, then came again, this time at the hollow of her throat. Her heart raced. She arched, trying to force the scream out of her, but there was no sound. Cool air touched her breasts and belly. Something silky snaked across her navel and was dragged across her thigh.
; Her breasts felt heavy, the tips hard and aching. She would have almost welcomed a touch there, but none came. There was a hot lick of sensation across her collarbone, then on the inside of her arm.
Her stomach roiled. A thousand spiders crawling across her skin couldn't have caused more revulsion.
Skye twisted. Tears burned her eyes. She whimpered as a weight covered her. Her body was stretched tautly and her legs wouldn't move. Skye's fingers curled into tight fists and her nails bit into her palms. Self-inflicted pain made her lucid, and she began to make the climb toward consciousness. It was then that the voice came. The words were unintelligible, but there was no mistaking the threat in them.
A sob shuddered through Skye. The weight left her body and she seemed to float upward, tensionless. Behind her closed lids darkness shattered into shards of bright white light.
She fell back on the bed even as she fell asleep.
Chapter 6
Skye woke much as she had the previous day. This time she knew who to expect at the door.
Walker took one look at her and made his decision. He noticed that she didn't protest when he picked her up. Kicking the door behind him, he carried her straight back to the bed. "Raise your arms," he said. She managed to lift them to a half-mast position. "Your gown is soaked," he told her, tugging at the hem. "You have to get out of it."
"Don't need your help." To her own ears her words sounded slurred and barely intelligible. It was no wonder Walker ignored her.
"Look at me," he said, yanking harder on the fabric. "I'm closing my eyes so I can't see a thing."
Skye stared at his face. She imagined she could see a hint of the gold flecks that highlighted his eyes. "You're peeking."
"Just a little."
She nodded. "That's all right, then."
Walker realized Skye's thinking was as fuzzy as a drunk's. He leaned closer.
Skye's head retracted. "Don't kiss me," she said quickly.
"I wasn't going to." There was no alcohol on her breath. "Lift," he said, as he worked the nightgown to her hips.
She pushed herself up and felt the nightgown being whisked off her body. He immediately covered her with a quilt, then searched for another gown. Although it didn't take Walker long to find one, Skye's teeth were chattering by the time he returned to the bed. She didn't want to give up the quilt.
"Do what you want," Walker told her, shrugging. "I don't care if you crawl under those blankets naked." His words had the desired effect. She raised her arms and allowed him to slip the nightgown over her head. He helped her get settled under the covers, then sat on the edge of the bed. Skye was struggling to stay awake. To take her temperature, Walker lightly touched her forehead as her eyes closed.
Skye's reaction was immediate and violent. She jerked back and tried to slap at his hand. The blankets cocooned her, trapping her arms, but she was able to slide out of his reach.
Stunned, Walker let his hand hover in the air a moment. He brought it back to his side slowly. She was staring at him now, her eyes alert and wary. Seconds before, he thought he'd glimpsed terror in their depths.
"You shouldn't touch me," she said weakly. She was out of breath, as if she'd run a great distance. Her heart was still pounding. Skye had a hard time hearing herself above the rush of blood to her ears. "You shouldn't," she repeated. There was uncertainty in her voice, but the plea was urgent.
"Why is that?" Walker asked quietly. Her phasing was odd, he thought. He might not have questioned "Don't touch me," but what she was saying was different. "Why shouldn't I touch you?"
A small vertical line appeared between Skye's brows as they drew together. She freed one of her arms from beneath the blankets and lifted her hand to her temple. She massaged it as she considered the question, puzzled that she had no good answer. "It's not right," she said finally. "I... I don't think I like it."
"I kissed you last night."
Skye had been thinking about that, too, wondering what made it different. And it was different. She was certain of that. "I didn't want you to do that, either," she said.
But she hadn't been frightened of him then, Walker thought. Or particularly outraged. She hadn't even tried to slap his face. "All right," he said, letting it drop. He rose from the bed. "I'll send Annie up with a tray. I should be able to have the doctor here in a few hours."
Skye pushed herself to a sitting position. "No," she said. "No doctor. I don't need one."
"I'm afraid you don't have a choice. You're the one in bed. I'm the one who's going to ride to Baileyboro."
"Don't," she said. Her look beseeched him. "I really don't—" Her eyes slipped away from Walker's as the door behind him opened. It was Parnell. Mrs. Reading was on his heels.
"I told you he was here," Mrs. Reading was saying as Parnell's first glance went to Walker. "It's not fitting. Rose and Daisy will have it all over the village that you hired a whore."
Skye's breath caught. She looked anxiously at her employer. Parnell's face was impassive and though he spoke to Mrs. Reading, his eyes remained on Walker.
"That was unnecessarily cruel," he said.
Mrs. Reading flushed, but she refused to back down. "Cruel to be kind. She should hear it from one of us before she hears it from one of the townsfolk. This is the second day she's entertained him and it's only her third morning here." She stared hard at Skye, daring her to deny it.
"I'm going for a doctor," Walker said tightly. Without waiting for any comment, he left the room.
Parnell watched him go, then he glanced at Mrs. Reading. "You've said quite enough. Leave us."
Her eyes darted nervously from Skye to her employer. "But—"
Jonathan Parnell simply pointed to the door.
Corina Reading turned sharply on her heel. The hem of her gown swayed at her ankles. "It's no different to those Farrow girls if it's Mr. Caide in here or you," she said.
"Shut the door behind you," Parnell told her. When she was gone, he turned to Skye. "I shall stay only a moment. Mrs. Reading may have been cruel, but her comments bear hearing. However, I do not choose to admonish one employee in the presence of another. You will not entertain Mr. Caide in your bedchamber again under any circumstances. I will have words with him later today."
It didn't appear Skye was expected to respond, and she didn't.
Parnell's face softened a fraction. "You're ill?" he asked, then didn't wait for a reply. "Yes, I can see for myself that something's not quite right."
Some last bit of vanity made Skye lift a hand to her face. She brushed aside loose strands of hair. "I don't know what's wrong," she said. "I didn't mean to disrupt your household." Skye could see that Parnell had been working in the cellar again. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and there were smudges of grease and oil on his forearms. He made no comment about having his work interrupted, but it was there for Skye to see.
"I'm sorry," she said. He was quiet for so long it occurred to Skye that perhaps he meant to dismiss her after all. It hadn't seemed to be his intention when he entered the room, but she couldn't say what he was thinking now. "It won't happen again."
Parnell considered that. "No, I'm sure it won't. You're nothing like Mrs. Reading thinks."
Skye flushed. She wished he had not referred to the cook's comment. It was almost as if he'd wondered about it. She felt more uncomfortable in his presence. "I'd like to be alone now," she said.
He studied her face, his blue eyes dark, almost piercing. "Of course," he said after a moment, his face clearing. "Someone will sit with you until the doctor arrives."
Skye thought to protest, but held back. It seemed she had no choices. Jonathan Parnell would do as he wanted, just as Walker had. "Thank you," she said instead.
He nodded briefly, then left her.
Annie arrived while Skye was in the last stages of dressing. "What's this?" she asked. "Mr. Parnell told me you were ill and Mr. Caide's gone to fetch a doctor."
"No one's asked me what I want," Skye said. "Here, help me fasten
this dress." It buttoned down the back and was almost impossible to secure without the help of a maid. It was not at all practical for a housekeeper, but Skye brought it with her because it was one of her plainest gowns. The purple color was so deep it was almost black, and except for the white cuffs, the dress had no ornamentation. Skye fixed a brooch to the throat of the gown when Annie had finished with the buttons.
Sitting at her vanity, Skye brushed her hair with hard, brisk strokes, then twisted it into a knot. She secured the tail of hair with a tortoiseshell comb and gave her reflection a brief glance. "You can see for yourself that I'm not ill," she said to Annie.
Annie clucked softly with her tongue. "And I know wishful thinking when I hear it. Those aren't roses in your cheeks. It took some hard pinching to put that color there."
Skye's flush was real enough and it pointed to the truth of Annie's words. "Well," she said, "if I wasn't feeling quite the thing earlier, I'm much better now. I don't need people fussing over me."
"Like Mr. Parnell?" Annie asked, raising both brows. A smile edged her mouth. "I can't say as I'd object to that. Or Mr. Caide, for that matter. Could be they're sweet on you."
"Annie," Skye said quellingly. "Please don't say things like that. Someone might take it seriously."
"But I was serious." She caught Skye's severe glance. "Oh, all right. I won't even think it, if that's what you want."
Nodding, Skye rose from the vanity.
Annie blocked her path when Skye headed for the door. "Oh, no. You're not leaving this room. It's one thing to get dressed, quite another to leave. I'll not have Mr. Parnell take issue with something I've done."
Skye acquiesced, though not gracefully. "Very well, but don't hover so. I can't bear it."
Annie didn't take the least offense. She pointed Skye in the direction of one of the chairs, stoked the fire, and set about making the bed and straightening the room. It wasn't until she'd finished that she noticed Skye had fallen asleep. "That's just as it should be," she said softly.
* * *
Walker hunkered down beside the armchair and touched Skye lightly on the wrist. She didn't stir. He glanced up at the doctor.
