Behind the Mask (5 page)

“Tell me about this dream,” he said.

Abbi felt some relief at his gentler tone of voice. She sighed and glanced down at her fidgeting hands as she set them on the table in an attempt to keep them still. “It was . . . the night before last. I woke up feeling . . . unlike I’ve ever felt. I . . . saw the covered bridge, and . . . the fallen tree.” She saw him take a sharp breath and sit up a little straighter. “And . . . the trail . . . that led to the meadow. I rode up yesterday, but I couldn’t find a way through the ridge. I came back this morning, knowing there had to be an opening. It took me a long time to find it, and it wasn’t easy to get past the thicket, but . . .”

Abbi held her breath as he reached across the table and took her hands, turning them over in his to reveal many deep scratches, crusted with traces of dried blood. “So I see,” he said, his gaze returning to meet hers and his hands easing away. “And that’s all?” he asked with only a hint of skepticism.

“No,” she said and his eyebrows went up. “I saw the lodge, and . . .”

“And?” he pressed.

“And I knew there would be a man here.” She debated whether or not to tell him what the man in her dream had said, but instinctively she knew it would more likely make him discredit what she’d told him. “That’s all,” she said firmly. “I don’t know why I’m here. I only know I felt compelled to come.”

“Did you tell anyone about your dream . . . or your coming here, or—”

“No, I’ve said nothing to no one.”

Cameron couldn’t think of one good reason to believe her. But he did—perhaps because there really was no other logical explanation. Her story was too absurd to be something she’d made up. Or perhaps it was the intensity he’d seen in her eyes as she’d told him. Whatever it was, he had little choice but to believe her. He could only pray that it was the truth, and that his whereabouts would not be discovered by anyone else.

Abbi was thinking that she might be able to ask what he was doing here, when he stood abruptly and turned his back to her. She wanted to ask if there was something he needed, if she could help him in some way. But before the words came, he turned toward her, saying, “You need to go—now!”

“But I . . .”

He took hold of her arm and dragged her toward the door. “I want you to get on that horse of yours and ride out of here as fast as you can. Don’t say a word to anyone—not
anyone
—about me or what you found here!” He hauled her out the door and took her shoulders into his hands. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“Forget it ever happened. And don’t you ever come back. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“There are no buts!” he shouted in her face, and she understood the source of his anger now. He was afraid. “If anyone ever finds me here because of you, I will hunt you down and eat you alive. Do you hear what I’m saying? Your knowledge could put us both in a great deal of danger.” His voice lowered and his eyes narrowed. “Lives are at stake.”

Abbi knew it was only coincidence that her father had said that very thing to her nearly three years ago. But hearing it put that way distracted her thoughts enough that she couldn’t come up with any feasible protest.

The anger heightened in him again and he nearly shook her. “Swear to me. Swear that you’ll never tell a soul, that you’ll never come back through that ridge.” She hesitated and he shook her again. “Swear it!”

“But I . . .”

“Swear it!” he repeated so harshly that Abbi couldn’t hold back a swell of tears. He looked startled by them, but his countenance didn’t soften even slightly.

“But you need me,” she said with a cracked voice.

Cameron’s heart began to pound as her words took hold with such force that it frightened him. Who was she to stand before him like some kind of prophetess, seeing into his soul, telling him of his needs? Still, how could he not be tempted to give in to her plea? He
did
need her. Didn’t he? Perhaps he could let her stay, just for a while. Maybe he could ask her to come back occasionally, just for company. But fear ruled that out; it was too risky. There was too much at stake. Far better that he put an abrupt halt to this here and now.

“I need you to go,” he said firmly, but Abbi caught a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. “Swear to me, girl, or I’ll—”

“All right!” she insisted, unable to bear his anger. “I swear.”

Cameron looked into her brilliant green eyes once more, wanting to emblazon them into his memory, then he practically lifted her onto the horse’s back. He handed her the reins, hating the way her expression pleaded with him. But for what? What could her coming here possibly mean? While he found it impossible not to believe her story, he was too afraid of its ramifications to completely trust her—or himself.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said, looking down at him.

“It’s better that you don’t.” He slapped the horse before he had a chance to rethink what he was doing.

Abbi galloped a short distance into the trees, then she turned back to look at him until he shouted, “Go!”

Cameron watched her disappear and stood frozen for several minutes. He felt weak and completely drained of any motivation to even go on living, let alone take a step. Then a thought occurred to him that pumped a sudden rush of blood through his body. He ran as fast as he could manage toward the top of the ridge, wanting to be certain she’d made it safely through, aching to catch just one more glimpse of her. He’d only stood there a moment when he saw her gallop across the meadow and disappear into the forest. The weakness he’d felt returned tenfold, and he collapsed to his knees. He was such a fool! He’d existed nearly three years in this hellish solitary exile, and now he’d just sent away the first glimmer of anything good. He reasoned that sending her away had been the right thing to do, for her safety as well as his. But a part of him knew that some deep, indescribable fear had fueled his insistence that she go—and it had nothing to do with physical safety.

“God forgive me,” he murmured, though it was difficult for him to understand what he’d done wrong. No matter how many times he looked back through his life, searching for some misdeed that might have warranted his being where he was now, he could come up with nothing. And now he felt more lonely than he had in months. He wondered how he could ever possibly make it through another winter alone.

Chapter Two

THE INVASION

T
hrough the next few weeks, Abbi thought of little beyond her encounter with the man on the mountain. She wondered about his name and why he was there. In spite of the fear he’d instilled in her, she ached to go back, to learn more about him, to
help
him—if such a thing were even feasible. She knew it was impossible to help someone who didn’t want to be helped, but what other purpose could there have been for her dream? Still, she kept her promise to him. She avoided riding anywhere near the trail that led to the mountain lodge, and she told no one about her dream, or her encounter.

While Abbi spent much of her time attempting to find reason in this situation, she was surprised to learn that arrangements had been made for her care, according to her grandfather’s will—arrangements that no one had bothered to tell her about until Georg brought it up in the stable, early on a morning in August.

“I won’t do it!” Abbi insisted. “It’s absurd. He should have known better than that.”

“A man’s will is law, Abbi,” Georg stated. “You have no choice.”

“It’s ridiculous,” she muttered.

Georg smiled as he threw a saddle over Blaze’s back.

“This is not funny!” she insisted. “Papa has let me take care of myself for years. So why, now that he’s gone, do I have to be subjected to a couple of bothersome aunts?”

“He loved you very much. I’m certain he just wanted to know you’d be taken care of. Perhaps he thought the feminine influence wouldn’t hurt.”

“Are you implying something, Georg?”

“Me?” He smiled impishly and bent to tighten the strap beneath the horse’s belly.

“Besides,” she justified, “I have your mother.”

Georg laughed. “She’s the housekeeper, Abbi. I doubt she’s the kind of influence a young lady of your birth should have.”

“Nonsense,” Abbi insisted. “I’ve never wanted for anything. Papa raised me well.”

“He was a good man, Abbi, despite his brashness at times.” Georg glanced toward the ground.

“You miss him,” Abbi said quietly.

“I suppose we all do.”

Abbi took Georg’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She could see the sadness in his eyes and knew that he too had loved her grandfather very much. Josef had always treated Georg more like part of the family than a servant, just as he had Georg’s mother, Marta.

“He did raise you well, Abbi.” Georg checked to make certain the saddle was secure. “Don’t let anyone try to tell you otherwise. But as far as his last wishes being carried out, you might as well get used to the idea.” He leaned over the saddle and looked directly at her. “Your grandfather is gone now. You can hardly protest. But it won’t be so bad. Once you turn twenty-one or marry, your aunts can go back to England.”

“But that’s still three years away,” Abbi said in dismay.

“Most young ladies would marry before then,” Georg said and Abbi gave him a sidelong glance. “What’s the matter?” He chuckled. “Don’t you want to get married?”

“I’ve hardly thought about it.”

“For heaven’s sake, Abbi. You’re eighteen. You can’t spend your whole life with horses.”

“You ought to talk,” she shot back. “A man approaching thirty who spends every bit as much time with horses as I do.”

Abbi scrutinized him briefly, wondering why he hadn’t married. He was handsome enough, lean and taller than average, with blond hair that was more fluffy than curly. His features were chiseled, contrasting with eyes of gentle green. And his smile was brilliant, always leaving a remarkable impression on any who saw it as he proved when he laughed at her remark. “It’s my job. Besides, I didn’t just inherit an estate.”

“At times I wish I hadn’t.”

“It’s not so bad,” he smiled, helping her into the saddle. “I’ll always be here to help.”

Abbi smiled down at him, appreciating his friendship as always. “You know,” she said wistfully, brushing her hand through the stallion’s mane, “Blaze will be three years old this month.”

Abbi saw a shadow pass over Georg’s face.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Funny how time flies.”

Blaze pawed impatiently at the soft earth beneath his hooves, but Abbi held him back, searching in Georg’s eyes for the cause of his distress. “Georg?” she asked with concern, but he looked up with a forced smile.

“You be careful now,” he said and slapped the horse to send him galloping. “And don’t go too far!” he called after her.

With no deviation, Blaze galloped a well-beaten path toward the covered bridge until Abbi stopped to turn and look back at her home. The big house stood tall and stately against a magnificent background of mountains, surrounded by a blanket of green on every side. It was still difficult for Abbi to comprehend that this was all hers now, but then Papa had not been gone long. His absence still tugged at her painfully. It was now necessary for her to see that the tenant farmers’ needs were met and that everything ran smoothly. Of course, Mr. Logen had been Papa’s overseer for many years. He was a good man and Abbi knew he would see that everything was taken care of. Still, she had to meet with him regularly and try to stay abreast of all that was happening. Just the reality that it all belonged to her now was unnerving.

Blaze turned impatiently and thundered over the covered bridge, hesitating at the fork in the road as if to ask what kind of mood she might be in. One direction led into town, passing by many farms and homes. The other went toward the foothills, which she had avoided for the most part these last few weeks. Needing peace and solace, Abbi opted to head into the hills. She’d always had a unique fascination with the Bavarian countryside, and never tired of riding the same places over and over. This fair valley of Horstberg was not only home, it felt like a part of her. She couldn’t comprehend living, or even going, anywhere else. Her explorations never ceased to put her mind at ease, and whatever trouble might have ailed her fell temporarily away to the rhythm of Blaze’s galloping hooves and the gentle rush of wind against her face. Even now the thought of having two bothersome ladies come to act as her chaperones didn’t seem quite so wretched.

By the time she returned from a lengthy ride with Blaze, Abbi felt considerably better. She knew Georg was right: Papa’s wishes would be carried out whether she wanted them or not. It was only a matter of time before her mother’s aunts arrived from England to take care of her. They had no doubt been more than willing to comply with Papa’s request, since a healthy trust had been set aside for their efforts. Nevertheless, Abbi told herself, she was mistress of this estate, chaperoning aunts or not.

The following week brought that dreaded seventeen on the calendar. Abbi felt particularly gloomy as she once again concluded the brief monthly visit with her father. It had been three years ago today that he’d appeared with his mysterious instructions. How could she forget, since it had been the day Blaze was born? As always, seeing her father made Abbi wonder over the situation, but the conclusions were the same, and she fought to push them away by loitering in the market square the better part of the day.