The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  He would have frowned at her, if he’d been able.

  A slight knock at the door gave him some relief. Elsa swept in with a steaming pot in hand and a few cloths draped over her shoulder. Her gaze fastened on Sam. “Well now, your eyes have a bit more life to them. Can’t tell if your face has color underneath all the soot, but the eyes are a good sign.”

  “He’s showing good signs all around,” Ashleigh answered, folding her hands in front of her like the dutiful nurse. “Good feeling in both his hands…” She bit back her grin and looked at him. “And his feet.”

  “Torture,” Sam muttered to Elsa, hoping for an ally.

  Elsa sat the pot down on the floor and wagged her finger at him. “Consider who is the one sittin’ in the cozy chair and who’s the one washing dirty feet.” She raised a brow as she pulled the door closed on her way out. “Torture indeed.”

  “Miss Elsa is one smart woman.”

  Sam nailed Ashleigh with a look and then sighed out the last of his fight. His body couldn’t take much more, and Elsa was right, he wasn’t the only exhausted one in the room. How long had Ashleigh searched for him in the cold night? How many lifeless faces had she passed by before finding him? After she’d taken care of a little boy who wasn’t hers and found lodging for them? All with the same visions and dark thoughts as himself.

  Perhaps all this time his focus had been on the wrong Dougall daughter and it took Catherine’s broken engagement to bring him to his senses. Why had he never seen Ashleigh, not really seen her, until now?

  “I know you’re tired.” Ashleigh draped a blanket over his legs and a cloth over her shoulder. “But you need to have a good wash.” She gestured toward the bed. “Imagine if Stephen wakes up in the night to find a man covered in coal dust beside him. He’ll think every childhood nightmare has come to life.”

  Sam cast her a playful glare before looking to the bed. Light filtered over the boy’s face. The physical similarities between Michael and Stephen swelled an ache through Sam’s chest. Sam’s hand gripped for the arm of the chair, but it was a weak hold, his fingers barely responsive. In the dim stillness, he still heard the moans and cries of those in the water around him. Over and over the sounds sloshed about with wreckage and corpses, until they faded into a throbbing sore.

  His eyes closed against the pain, but he couldn’t stop a raspy sob from shaking his body. Another followed, quivering through each weakened muscle. He didn’t even have the strength to lift his arm to wipe away the tears. So much pain. So much regret.

  Silent sobs shook him. Wave upon wave of memories, sights, sounds, the weight of massive loss -- the last whimpers of life drowning out around him as he floated among wreckage and bodies until everything became a murmur of confusion and the frozen pain in his limbs started to numb out his life.

  A soft touch to his arms brought his gaze up. Ashleigh knelt by him, tears and sweet compassion in her eyes. “We will get through this.” She squeezed his arm, holding his gaze, so strong and certain. “We must get through this.”

  He ached to wipe the single tear from her cheek, to cradle her face in his palm again, but his arm barely made it to her shoulder. “Yes.” His words slowed with emotion. “But time to mourn.”

  “Yes,” she whispered and cleared her throat. “There should always be a time to mourn, shouldn’t there?”

  She dipped the cloth into the pail and stood behind him. With a gentle back-tilt of his head, she poured warm water through his hair, and then massaged the soap into his scalp. Tingles shot down his neck as her fingernails skimmed his ears. He groaned at the touch and the pressure, his body relaxing back into the chair. Her fingers paused. He held his breath and kept his eyes closed, waiting. From a regular nurse, the action would have encouraged nothing but mindlessness, but from Ashleigh? The intimacy of the act comforted him to his core, yet awakened an ache...for her. She brushed his damp hair back from his forehead and continued moving the cloth over his face, occasional skin-to-skin touches elevating the temperature beneath the cloth much more than the tepid water.

  Her gentle stroke moved over his cheeks, face so close that the firelight flickered aflame in the dark of her eyes. She stayed focused on her work, casting glances to him as she went through her task. His breath caught when the cloth moved down his neck.

  Her hand stilled, acknowledging his reaction, but she didn’t look at him. The rapid rise and fall of her chest clued him in to the fact she might not be as immune to his reaction as she portrayed. When one of her hands steadied against his shoulder, he mustered up the strength to take hold of her wrist and tug her closer. That’s when he saw the tears, glimmering with the firelight in her caramel eyes.

  “Ashleigh?”

  “I’m sorry, Sam.” She shook her head, spilling more tears.

  Strength infused his muscles and he slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. Fear held her emotions in check and her body on-guard. Fear from those deep wounds she couldn’t share. Her breath shivered against his neck with a touch of her soft lips.

  His heart broke for her, for them. “It’s okay to mourn, Ash,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re safe with me.”

  His words broke some invisible barrier in her. With a shudder, she buried her face into his shoulder, her sobs encouraging his own. Having this strong, independent woman grow vulnerable in his arms brought out his deepest protective impulse, and somehow, in the pale flicker of firelight, he knew he loved her. He rubbed his clumsy hand over her head, resting in the rightness of her fit with him. Her warm tears seeped through his shirt right over his heart. Nothing but the crackle of the fire and a few quiet sobs broke the silence. They comforted each other as only the closest friends could do – without words.

  He smiled through his tears and rested his cheek against her head. He’d take his time. Earn her trust that his heart was no longer her sister’s, but one thing was certain, he’d never known anything as dear and precious as this.

  Ashleigh sat back and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, smearing some of the coal dust from his shirt onto her forehead. Her smile formed, timid and beautiful. “You need your rest, Sam.”

  He cupped her cheek. “Tell me?” He swallowed to wet his parched throat. His thoughts drifted back to the night of the Talent Show. Had that only been yesterday? “About your wounds?”

  Her gaze flew to his, and for one moment he thought she might give in to his plea, but then as quickly, her protective, porcelain expression cloaked her emotions. She slipped back from him and his hand fell to hers, wrapping around her wrist.

  “Ashleigh?”

  “I’ll send a wire to your father in the morning so he will know you are safe. I should send Mother a wire, as well. Catherine will worry for your safety.”

  “You can trust me.”

  She dropped her cloth into the basin and stared at the floor, her shoulders slackened forward. “Oh Sam, I do trust you,” she whispered and dropped her cloth into the basin. “But, I…” She sighed.

  “I’m sorry.” His thumb slid across the soft skin of her wrist. “I shouldn’t push you.” They’d been through enough today, especially her. “We both need rest.”

  “Right.”

  He looked at the one bed in the room and attempted to sort out how on earth he could share a bed with her. “Maybe I’ll sleep here?” He patted the arm of the chair.

  She narrowed her eyes. “No. It may be…against propriety, but…well…I think God will understand, don’t you?” She shrugged. “After all, if we sleep to either side of Stephen, then we wouldn’t… it might not be as…”

  “Good plan.” He tried to stand and nearly lost his balance.

  She slid her arm around him, their bodies tight against each other.

  “I’m…I’m sorry.” Sam muttered against his embarrassment. Some hero.

  Ashleigh looked up at him, her lips tilted on one side. “More proof of your stubbornness. Quit talking and get to bed.” She snapped her mouth closed. “Um…some
rest. Get some rest.”

  Even in the dim light he could see the deepening shade in her cheeks. She nodded toward the bed. “The owners have clean clothes for you to wear.” She scanned down his body. “Can you…um…manage on your own?”

  A sudden rush of heat set his face on fire. “Yes.” There was no way on this planet he’d make it through her undressing him. “If I sit?”

  She sighed beneath his weight, as relieved as he – though somehow her relief didn’t make him feel as good.

  “The clothes are here.” She led him to the bed and helped him to a sitting position. “I’ll…leave the room so you can—”

  “Yes.” He fisted her wrist before she could move away.

  She blinked and looked up at him, questions in her dark eyes.

  “I love you, Ash.” The words slipped out with ease.

  Her chapped bottom lip unhinged.

  “You know…” He grinned up into her lovely face, growing lovelier by the second. “You’re my dearest friend.”

  She closed those lips into a sad smile and slipped from his hold. “Then I advise you to get changed so this dearest friend of yours can enjoy some rest as well.” The door squeaked open and she stepped into the shadows of it. “And I love you too, Sam. Always will.”

  Chapter Ten

  The obvious disrepair of the rock walls and utter neglect of the road didn’t prepare Ashleigh for the poor condition of her Grandmama’s family manor house, Roth Hall. One gray stone wall of the west wing, which faced the hills and cold north wind, lay like a jigsaw puzzle against the other, opening the interior to the elements, the faded green walls of the former ballroom barely visible through a motor car-sized hole. A massive branch from one of the ancient oak trees protruded into an upstairs window. Wasn’t that Scott’s old bedroom…and the wing in which she was going to secure the orphanage?

  Another disappointment. Were any of her dreams ever to come true? Certainly none very easily.

  Gray afternoon fog swirled before the motor car, adding gravity to the scene. Ominous and sad. Much like her memories of this home. So much had happened in the eight years since she last stepped foot across the columned threshold. So much had changed, but more things had been buried deep inside her – creeping into everyday life on occasion. Like now.

  Her early memories, those of wealth and parties, where Grandmama’s reputation painted a bright banner over their home, faded into the desolation of her father’s poor financial choices. Not even her mother’s American money had been enough to slake their thirst for the appearance of a wealthy life. No doubt where Catherine developed the need.

  Debts rose and tensions rose higher, until their family was forced from their father’s estate in Suffolk to make their home under Grandmama’s roof in the quiet and rural town of Ednesbury. An act which stole her mother’s joy and sense of self-importance.

  And her father’s soul.

  When Grandmama moved the family to America and leased the Hall, Ashleigh hoped the move would change her parents, but her mother resented returning to the states as a pauper…and her father only sunk deeper into his debauchery.

  The memories where her nightmares began took palpable presence. Footpaths he’d traveled, a tree he’d watch her climb, the steps from the side garden to the house – all visible reminders of him, like scars.

  “Are you all right?”

  She offered a smile, she hoped. “It’s been a long time.” She buried her face down into Stephen’s curls, his head nestled on her shoulder. “Over eight years.”

  Sam’s eyes lit with the wonder of a child as he peered out the window. “I can’t believe this is your home. It’s enormous. How did you cope with moving to the house in Millington?”

  “Size has very little to do with a true home, don’t you think?”

  “It makes it a lot more impressive. When you spoke about your family home, I pictured red-bricked colonial at best or maybe a little rock cottage by a stream – not this.” He gestured forward, wide-eyed. “Were the Dougalls an extremely wealthy family?”

  “This isn’t the Dougall’s ancestral home. It’s the Spencers’. Grandmama’s.”

  His raised brow begged for further explanation. “After Grandmama’s younger brother died in the Boer War, Great-grandfather broke with tradition and entailed his property to his only daughter, instead of a male cousin.”

  “And that is bad?”

  Ashleigh grinned, another notch of pride growing for her grandmama’s family. “Scandalous.” She leaned her head back against the pillowed seat. “Estates are rarely entailed to women, but Great-grandfather saw the good of passing it on to Grandmama. She had married well and had always shone a sharp business mind. Leasing the house for those eight years probably saved it.”

  Sam’s hesitation cautioned Ashleigh to Sam’s following questions. “So what happened to your father’s money? He came to live in America with your grandmother. Something must have happened.”

  Ashleigh sat up straight and turned to face him as the autocar slowed in front of the house entryway came into view. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard this story through the local gossips of Millington.”

  “I’m not much of a gossipmonger.” His lips twisted up into a grin and the air suddenly warmed around them. “But I’d heard something about his losing money.”

  “Father married an American heiress to increase his funds.”

  Sam laughed. “Your mother is an heiress?”

  “Was an heiress,” Ashleigh corrected.

  “I’m sorry, I just didn’t realize…”

  “No need to apologize. Mother’s fortune was depleted before we moved to North Carolina. Father did not inherit Grandmama’s sensibilities for management nor self-discipline. Mother knew no other life than one of extravagance. Combine those habits with poor investments and the costs of running an estate, and the end results is...”

  “Living off of your grandmother.”

  Ashleigh frowned and nodded, the wheels of the car crunching gravel as it came to a stop. “I’m determined to make it up to her if I can. She doesn’t expect it, but I want to. She’s sold parcels of land to gather enough money to run the estate at half-staff.”

  “I never knew your grandma was so wealthy. She lives simply.”

  Another reason to aim to be like her. “She’s never been one to flaunt wealth. I suppose she lives on what she needs, which isn’t a great lot. She sends a monthly allowance to Mother, of course, but only keeps three servants. Most of her money goes to the estate, but if she could see it now...” Ashleigh sighed at the scene out the window. What had her mother done with the money? “The tenants pay a small fee, but the biggest loss was selling the southern part of the estate to the Cavanaugh’s.”

  Lord Cavanaugh was a sweet man, but his wife ruled with the arrogance of a queen and the generosity of a miser. “All the Cavanaughs needed was more control. They already owned Edensbury.”

  “Somebody owns a town?”

  Ashleigh grinned at Sam’s surprise and nodded toward the butler coming toward their stopped motor-car. “You are in for a great learning experience, Sam. By the end of your visit, we may even have you speaking in proper English.”

  The glint in his eyes belied the scowl on his lips. Those same lips she’d been tempted to touch as she washed his face and hair in Queenstown. Her fingers twitched at the tactile memory of his soft hair between them.

  But all was different now. Roth Hall forced a wedge between them with her sister’s name on it. No doubt Catherine’s presence would draw him back into their romance. It always worked that way. Dreaming of Sam Miller’s heart ended here.

  Sam took her wrist and ran a thumb over her bracelet. “Did you lose another charm in the sinking?”

  Only the locket remained on the chain, and the photograph within it faded from exposure to the water. How to answer truthfully? “I suppose so. It isn’t so glamorous anymore, is it? But Grandmama’s lovely locket made it worth the entire bracelet.”

&
nbsp; “I’m sorry, Ash.”

  She patted his hand and then wrapped her arms around Stephen. “Nothing that can’t be replaced, my dear Sam. Now, let’s see what sort of stir our arrival might cause, shall we?”

  The motor-car door opened and Sam stepped out first, examining the stone walls with another admirable gaze, then he turned to take Stephen. The little boy reached for him without hesitation. Two more days in Queenstown as Sam recovered and a day ride to Edensbury had already secured a bond between the two.

  If her childhood butler was shocked by Sam’s or Stephen’s arrival, his placid expression never conveyed it. Jackson closed the motor-car door behind her and offered a slight bow, his slicked-back hair much more gray than she remembered.

  “Miss Ashleigh, I wasn’t aware of your arrival time or I would have sent a car and greeted you properly.” He cleared his throat as if embarrassed. “I apologize, but I was unable to gather the staff —”

  Ashleigh took the older man into her arms and his stance thawed a little. “It is good to see you, Jackson.” His words registered then and she stepped back. “You knew I was arriving today, didn’t you? I sent a telegram.”

  Jackson’s expression gave nothing away. “We had been watching for you since Monday afternoon, Miss. I’ve had no other communication of a change in your schedule.”

  She caught the warning in Jackson’s gaze and the old caution of years ago winkled its way to knot in her throat. The dance of secrets waltzed in full turn in this house.

  Ashleigh motioned toward Sam. “Jackson, I’m certain you remember Sam Miller from your days serving us in Millington?”

  Sam offered a free hand. “Nice to see you again, Jackson.”

  “A pleasure, Mr. Miller, as always.” Jackson turned to Sam. “Might I inquire after your father’s health, sir?”

  “He’s well, Jackson, thank you. And you?”

  “I’m glad to see you safely arrived.” He glanced behind them at the car. “Your bags? Should I send a man to the station for them?”

  Ashleigh’s stomach dropped. Did the telegram even reach Roth Hall? “We have no baggage, Jackson.” She took a deep breath and touched his arm. “We were aboard the Lusitania.”