Behind the Mask (18 page)

Cameron wanted to shout at her for daring to throw such implications in his face. But she’d said it with such perfect compassion that he became more preoccupied with not dissolving into hysterical weeping as he realized that she
did
have some comprehension of his internal hell—if only slightly. He tried for a long moment to consider all of this from her perspective, which he felt certain was exactly what she’d intended. Attempting to save face, even a little, he simply said, “There’s no big bad wolf in the story of Goldilocks. You’re getting your fairy tales mixed up, girl.”

“I told you it was
my
version. I can tell it any way I choose.”

He sputtered a brief laugh, amazed at her defiance, her audacity, her absolute charm that left him utterly bewitched and disarmed. The battle was lost, and the white flag of truce rose high as he reached out a hand toward her. “Come along,” he said.

Abbi saw the tender side of him rise into his eyes and fill his countenance, leaving her drawn to him so completely that something warm and magical happened when she slipped her hand into his. He looked quickly away, but not before his gaze provoked a quivering in her stomach.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he placed an arm around her waist to help her walk.

“Just downstairs. Neither of us is in a position to go dancing.”

Abbi laughed, sighing deeply as they moved through the doorway. She felt as though she could breathe again. They moved across a landing where three large trunks were lined up against the wall opposite the railing which overlooked the common room below. From the landing she could see through high windows that the tree-covered mountainside rose steeply behind the lodge. With everything covered in deep snow, the view was magnificent.

Cameron helped her down the stairs, not seeming impatient at her slowness. After the stairs turned, ending in the common room near the dining table where she had once sat briefly, he helped her cross to the far side where two sofas faced each other near a large fireplace. He seemed reluctant to let go of her as he helped her sit down. The dogs immediately poked their noses at her curiously. Abbi laughed and patted their heads, which in turn made them eager for her attention.

“Back!” Cameron bellowed as if he were irritated by their acceptance of her. The dogs eased away, looking sulky.

“Enjoy yourself,” he said, turning to head back upstairs. “Life’s no better down here.”

“That’s strictly your opinion,” she replied vibrantly.

Cameron came down the stairs a moment later with his coat on and left the house without another word. Abbi was content to sit for a long while and soak in her surroundings. The room was large and decorated with practicality. Looking at the fireplace, she remembered lying near it on the night he had brought her here. There was a large bearskin rug in front of the fire, and a pile of wood in the corner that seemed astounding. It occurred to her that perhaps Cameron chopped wood with more purpose than just supplying fuel for the fires.

The remaining furnishings were simple: a desk, a well-stocked book cupboard with overstuffed chairs on either side, and a dining table with two chairs. Other than that there was only a dish cupboard near the dining area, and a low, square table between the sofas. A rifle and a crossbow hung above the fireplace, which were the only wall adornments. Abbi liked the mood of the room, and the way it spoke of the man who lived here. And he kept it tidy—a bit dusty perhaps, but tidy.

Abbi hopped around the room a little to become more acquainted with her surroundings. The dogs followed her curiously and then settled close together near the fireplace, adding a warmth to the decor. She added some wood to the fire and made herself comfortable on the other sofa. She wondered, as she often did, about the people she’d left behind and what their reactions might have been to her disappearance. It was a logical assumption that they would think she was dead. She hoped they hadn’t had a funeral. That would certainly complicate things when she went back. Concentrating her effort on looking at the positive side of everything, Abbi decided that perhaps her escape from the problems she’d left behind was not really so bad. The estate was in good hands, and maybe time would ease some of the frustrations she’d dealt with. There were, of course, disturbing aspects to being pulled away from her home like this. But it would do no good to dwell on those, so she concentrated on the positive and decided to make the most of it. The most positive point of all was that, in spite of the obvious challenges of the situation, she had finally come to peace with the dreams that had plagued her, luring her to this place where she had now eerily become stranded. Recalling her initial dream about Cameron, and the feelings that had consumed her ever since, she had to conclude that she was supposed to be here. And the turmoil she’d felt in trying to honor her promise to stay away was no longer an issue. Instinctively she knew Cameron needed her, even if she didn’t understand why.

Abbi found a book that looked mildly intriguing and settled herself near the fire to read. A few hours later Cameron returned and hung his coat near the door before he approached Abbi and presented her with a crutch.

“There!” he said triumphantly. “Now you’ve got no reason to complain.”

Abbi smiled. “Aren’t you clever.”

“Try it out.” He took hold of her hand to pull her to her feet, placing the crutch neatly under her arm.

“Just right,” she said, looking up at him. “Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you.”

“It was nothing. I should have done it a week ago.” He was silent a moment, seeming embarrassed. “Let’s see you use it,” he said at last.

Abbi went carefully at first, but it only took a few steps to appreciate how much easier she could move about. “It’s wonderful,” she insisted and saw him smile.

“If you can make it up those stairs,” he said, “I’ve got something to show you.”

Abbi moved slowly up the stairs with Cameron close behind. Again he showed no impatience at her slow pace. When they reached the landing, he moved past her and took hold of the trunk closest to the bedroom door. He dragged it near the bed and Abbi followed. She waited silently as he stooped to open it, sighing with hesitancy before lifting the lid.

Abbi saw immediately that it was filled with women’s clothing. “I thought you could probably use these,” he said. “I don’t know how well they’ll fit, but you’re welcome to do what you want with them. There’s needle and thread in the desk.” Abbi remained silent, sensing some kind of emotion in him as he stared almost helplessly into the open trunk. His voice was dry as he continued, “I’m not sure what’s in here, but it should help.”

Abbi didn’t want to ask who had owned the clothes, but she knew she could never feel comfortable wearing them if she didn’t know what she was dealing with. “Who did they belong to?” she asked with caution.

He looked up abruptly but didn’t seem disturbed by her question. “My wife.”

Abbi was taken aback to realize just how little she knew about him. She had only seen Cameron alone, and had wrongly assumed he’d always been this way.

“Where is she now?” Abbi asked, praying the answer wouldn’t leave her disillusioned. The circumstances and her feelings were complicated enough without throwing a wife into the mix.

“She’s dead,” he said without emotion.

“I’m sorry,” was the only thing she could think to say. And she was. Sorry for his loss and his grief. But at the same time her relief was deep—deeper than she wanted to admit.

Coming out of a trance-like state, he added, “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s been a terribly long time.”

“Then it won’t bother you to see me in her clothes?”

“Heavens no.” He chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed.

Abbi sensed something unusually open in his mood, so she sat next to him and asked as tenderly as she could, “How did she die?”

“You’re a curious little thing.”

“Not usually, if you must know.”

“All right, I’ll tell you. She was murdered.”

Cameron expected her to be shocked and couldn’t hide his disappointment when she wasn’t. Once again he saw only compassion.

“Who did it?” she asked, as if she might personally hunt the killer down and see justice met.

Cameron stood slowly and walked to the window so she couldn’t see his face. “Me,” he said, knowing now she
must
be shocked. Casually he turned to face her, tucked his hair behind his ear with his fingers, and folded his arms. “Or at least that’s what they say.”

Abbi watched him silently, grasping a clue to why he was here.

Cameron expected her to ask if he was guilty, but she only said, “Did you love her?”

Now he looked sad, and Abbi wished she hadn’t asked. He sat down hard in the window seat and looked at her fiercely. “If I had, she’d be dead just the same.”

Abbi took a sharp breath and held it. She knew little about him, but what she knew was heartbreaking. He’d been married to a woman he didn’t love, and accused of killing her when she’d come to a tragic end. And now he’d been completely alone for three years. All at once she saw resentment, hatred, regret, and a deep sadness flash through his eyes. She expected him to get up and leave as their conversation crept into sensitive territory, but he stayed, one arm folded over the other, looking thoughtfully distant.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. He looked surprised and she added, “Talking helps, you know. Surely you’ve missed that.” Cameron seemed dazed but said nothing. “I’m not going anywhere,” she added lightly. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

She wondered if he would resist opening up, but he finally said, “There’s not much to tell, really. It was rather a marriage of convenience. I was comfortable with her because we’d grown up together, but there was certainly no love involved. Our relationship dwindled quickly.”

Abbi felt a strange relief from his confession. She wanted to ask about the murder, but felt it might be better to tread carefully with the subject. She settled for one more question. “What was her name?”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“If I’m going to wear her clothes, I’d like to know her name.”

“Gwendolyn,” he said with no inflection in his voice. He tilted his head slightly to look at her. “And what, may I ask, is
your
name?”

“Why do you want to know my name now when you didn’t earlier today?”

“You want to know who owned the clothes. I want to know who’ll be wearing them.”

“Abbi.”

“Abbi,” he repeated carefully. “It suits you. But it must be short for something else. People don’t name a beautiful daughter just Abbi.”

“Abilee,” she said, realizing he’d just told her she was beautiful.

He smiled. “A one-of-a-kind name.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. I believe my mother made it up.” Abbi couldn’t resist asking about
his
name. “And what of Cameron? It’s not German, yet you obviously are.”

“The name is Scottish,” he said. “My father traveled a great deal in his youth. During a lengthy stay in the highlands, he was befriended by a man in the Cameron clan. Apparently this man saved his life during a difficult situation.”

“And so he named his son Cameron,” Abbi concluded.

Cameron nodded and looked down as if he felt suddenly uncomfortable. He turned in the window seat to look outside, and Abbi became fascinated by his profile against the sunlight. She discreetly pulled her drawing book from beneath her pillow and hurried to find an empty page. He glanced toward her to investigate the noise and she said, “No, turn back the way you were. Don’t look at me.”

Cameron did as she asked but not without growling, “Surely you can find something better to sketch than me.”

“At the moment, no,” she insisted.

“If you’re drawing pictures of me, you’ll have to leave that book here when you go.”

“Why is that?” She sketched frantically, doubting he’d stay put for long.

“I’m a wanted man, Abbi.” Their eyes met briefly, and Abbi could almost feel a part of him reaching out to her. He turned quickly back to his pose, adding, “We can’t have anyone knowing that you spent the winter with a fugitive—for your sake as well as mine.”

Abbi stopped sketching for a moment as several unanswered questions suddenly made sense. She felt some hope to see him opening up to her and prayed it would continue.

Chapter Six

THE SKEPTIC

F
or several minutes Cameron sat in comfortable silence, apparently lost in thought, and Abbi was grateful for the opportunity to just watch him openly as she sketched. His loose, thick curls hung down the back of his neck. But the way he combed his hair back off his face left his brow, ear, and throat fully visible. His beard concealed only the lowest part of his face, growing naturally in a way that left most of his cheeks bare. His thoughtful expression wasn’t difficult to capture. His freshly laundered white shirt billowed over his chest and arms, looking almost cloudlike. It seemed the black braces going over his shoulders were all that kept it from floating away. His narrow black breeches blended into the high black boots he always wore. One booted foot was planted firmly on the floor, the other in the window seat, with his knee folded against his chest and his fingers clasped around his leg.