Martha Schroeder (15 page)

She didn’t dare look at Gideon, but she knew he had seen what she had and probably understood it even better than she did. If the ropes binding him were loose as well, perhaps it would be a simple matter to free themselves.

It was not simple. Sidley tried to make the job look good, but Blakeley came to inspect it and tightened the ropes around Gideon’s wrists. The minute Blakeley and Sidley left the room, they began to work to free themselves. It seemed to Amelia that she had a little room to move within the bonds.

“Move around until we’re sitting back-to-back,” Gideon instructed her. “Then we can try to untie each other.”

Amelia complied, and for a time neither spoke as they tried and failed, then tried again to get a fingertip around one of the rope strands. Finally she could stand the silent effort no longer.

“Talk to me, Gideon,” she demanded. “I cannot bear this silence any longer. Just talk to me.”

“What would you like me to talk about, Amy?” he said, a smile in his voice.

“Tell me ... tell me ...” She thought for a while. “Tell me what you remember about your childhood.”

“I do not want to think about that. I have told you as much as I want to remember about that time.” He was angry. He hated to talk about the past.

Amelia was well aware of his aversion, but this time she didn’t care. She wanted to know. “Not about the sweep and the fighting,” she agreed. “Tell me what you can remember about the time before.”

“Before?” His voice was tentative, quiet.

“Yes. Before. Tell me about your life before.”

He was quiet for a long time, though his fingers kept busy trying to pick her bonds loose. Then at last he said, “I can’t remember much. And what I do recall seems like a dream, something I made up to try to forget about the cold and the rats.”

Amelia’s hands clenched instinctively. She hated his life on the streets and as a climbing boy. She had always hated it, but she had made Gideon tell her about it years ago. She had to know because, loving him as she did, it was essential that she understand him. His life on the streets was a large part of what had made him the person she loved. Even as a child, she had known that.

“Some of it must be real, otherwise how could you have known to dream it?”

He gave a short, dry chuckle. “I suppose that makes sense, in an upside-down sort of way.”

Amelia flexed her wrists. Were her bonds beginning to loosen or was that her imagination? “Of course it makes sense. I always make sense.”

“Well, then, I will try.” He sighed. “I remember being warm, first of all, and full of food. I’ve always thought I made that up, just so I could think about it and pretend it was true. And laughter and a pony—that part may be true. Gypsy children often have ponies, and there is laughter at a gypsy camp.

“And I remember a house. At least, I think it was a house, not a caravan or a camp.”

Amelia could feel her wrists, raw and painful. “What kind of a house?” she asked to distract herself and Gideon.

“Big. Huge, in fact. With a double staircase in the hall that seemed to go up and up forever. But I was just a child. Anything would look huge to me. And to a gypsy, any house would be impressive.” He dismissed his memories as unimportant. “How are your wrists? Can you move them? Slip them free?”

“Not yet, but they are looser. Just a bit more, I am sure.” Amelia could feel the cold through her bare feet and legs. She tried to keep her hands from shaking so she could continue to work to free Gideon. “I want to hear more about what you remember. Do you have any images of people at all?”

“A woman,” he replied, his voice sounding strained. “She has dark hair, and she—sings to me.” He cleared his throat. “In my dreams I can sometimes remember the song. It was a lullaby, I think.” After a pause he added, “It makes me very sad to think of her. I don’t know who she was. My mother, perhaps. After all, she had dark hair, and I remember a feeling of something like safety.”

“ I wonder what the song was,” Amelia mused, trying to think of all the lullabies she knew. There weren’t many. Her mother had died at her birth. Amelia herself taught the older children and had never had much occasion to sing children to sleep. That brought an unexpected pang to her heart as she realized that she wanted very much to sing her own children to sleep. Hers and Gideon’s.

That thought made her heart ache with a profound sadness, mingled with impatience. Gideon refused to see what to her was so simple. They belonged together, were meant to be together forever. And his stubborn insistence on some incredibly stupid idea of class differences was going to keep them apart forever instead.

To her surprise, he went on with his memories without her prompting. “The clearest thing I remember is water, running water. Some sort of stream, only larger. A river, perhaps. The sound and the feel of cool water. And then it changed, and it was no longer cheerful. It was frightening, and I felt as if I were drowning.”

He shrugged. “It was only a dream. It used to come often in the gypsy camp, but once I was in London, I started to dream of the woman and warmth and food.”

“I wonder if it means more man that. Perhaps these are memories of people you knew, things that happened. Perhaps you lived in that house with the double staircase.”

“I cannot imagine what difference it makes, Amy. We are here. There is no water, no warmth, no food. Whether my dreams were true or not really does not make the slightest difference in my life. It never has. Now, try to get a bit closer to me. It will make it easier to untie the rope.”

She did as he asked, but suddenly as she sat in the dark, at the mercy of a man with a gun and her unspeakable cousin, Amelia felt as overwhelmed with hopelessness as Gideon said he had felt swamped by water in his dream.

“We could die here, Gideon,” she said, her fingers falling still. “We could die with you still insisting that we can’t be together.”

“Amy, don’t—” His voice was anguished and tired.

“I can’t help it, Gideon. I love you, and I know you love me.”

“Of course I love you, Amy. I always have. You saved my life and have always treated me like a broth—

She could not bear to listen to him try to turn the conversation. “I do not love you like that.” Her voice was high and quivered with strain. “I never needed a brother, and I never wanted one. I have treated you like a friend, because you are and always have been my best friend. And I want to treat you like a lover, because I have desired you that way as well.” Amelia tried to stop her voice from shaking.

This kind of honesty was painful and difficult even at a moment like this, when convention and reticence were as meaningless and foolish as papier mache masks. She began picking at the knots around Gideon’s hands once again, trying to keep her mind off the terrifying fact of her love and the nearness of death.

“Amy, Amy.” She felt Gideon’s fingers at her wrists. “You are hurt. The rope has rubbed you raw.” He worked on the bonds a few more moments, and then the rope fell away.

Amelia felt the unutterable relief of being able to move her arms and hands. They had almost gone to sleep, kept alive only by her own activity on his behalf. She turned around and quickly untied the knots holding Gideon captive.

“Gideon, Sidley may have turned against us. We cannot count on Sir Richard coming after us in time. After all, he does not know who our captor is. He may think we can easily escape from Eustace and anyone he might use.” She swallowed hard and moved closer to him so she could look into his dark, stormy eyes. “I love you.” A sob tore at her throat. “I wanted you to know that. Just in case. You are the only man I will ever love, whether Blakeley kills us today or I live a hundred years.”

Gideon remained silent, though his throat worked as he swallowed hard. He reached out and took hold of her shoulders. Then, never letting her gaze escape his, he pulled her closer. “And I love you. That has never been in question. I have always loved you and always will.”

“If you tell me you care for me as a sister—” Amy’s voice broke.

“No, angel, not as a sister.” He bent and kissed her forehead, and Amy could feel the smile on his lips. “I love you as the sun in my sky, the smile in my heart, the other half of myself.”

Amy sighed and put her arms around Gideon’s waist. He felt warm and solid and indestructible. But no one was that, not even Gideon. She decided to take one further chance.

“Gideon, will you marry me?”

“Amy, any man in the world would be lucky to be your husband. I am only—”

“Gideon, we may die soon. I do not know what Eustace will do when I refuse to marry him. He may kill either of us. Both of us. Just tell me that if we get out of here with a whole skin, you will admit you love me before God and man and—”

“Of course I love you.” He buried his face in her hair. “I’d walk through fire for you. And I will marry you. I want nothing more, if only I thought—” His voice broke, but he cleared his throat and added, “I will not hold you to it if you change your mind when we are out of here. And we are going to get out of here, never doubt it.”

He sounded so positive, she had to believe him. “I will never change my mind. Remember your promise.”

He grinned at her. “We are wasting time, angel. Help me take the shutters off that window again. If Sidley does not come, you may be able to crawl through and go for help.”

They moved over to the wail a little faster this time. The bulk of the ruined cot stood out and marked the way. It was the work of a few minutes for Gideon to break the shutters free again and let in the pale late afternoon light. He swept the iron side of the cot around the window to clear it of glass, and stood on the end of the cot to look out.

“There is nobody here. The yard is deserted. I think you are going to have to go for help, Amy. I’ll boost you through the window.”

“But—I don’t have my dress!” Amelia said, then could have bitten her tongue. At a time like this, how could she sound so missish?

“True. Though I think the loss of your shoes is going to cause you more difficulty.” He grinned at her. “You look very fetching. In fact, I begin to think that the less you are wearing, the more fetching you look.” He sobered and stroked her cheek. “You have my jacket, and my overcoat is in my saddlebag. Once you are on Jupiter, you can ride to the village and get help.” He held her close, and once again, Amelia felt for a magic moment that she could do anything.

“If you see Sidley,” Gideon added, “and he seems disposed to help, send him to me here. We’ll find a way to at least provide a diversion if we can’t overcome Blakeley by ourselves.”

“Very well. I am ready. The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back,” she said resolutely. “Tell me where you left Jupiter. I don’t want to have to go all the way to the stables if I don’t have to.”

“Right. I hid him in the copse, by the old smith’s forge.”

Amelia knew the exact spot. It was very near but out of the way, so few people thought of it. She and Gideon had played around the deserted forge often as children.

“If Blakeley hasn’t found him, I should be out of here in a few minutes.” She hoped she sounded more certain than she felt.

“Up you go, then.” Gideon lifted her as easily as if she had been made of thistledown.

She began to wiggle out of the window when she heard the door below her open and Eustace shout, “She’s getting away, Blakeley, you fool. Stop her!” Amelia paused, but Gideon gave her a violent shove that sent her skidding headfirst on the ground just under the window. There had been no drop and Amelia wasn’t hurt, just momentarily winded. She paused to listen for a moment to what was happening to Gideon in the pantry with Eustace.

“Come back here, Amelia, you little bitch!” she heard Eustace shout from just below. Shocked back to reality, Amelia took off as fast as she could run toward the aspen copse and the old forge, praying that Jupiter was still waiting patiently there for Gideon.

Chapter Twelve

“Heroic to the last, eh. Captain?” Eustace spoke in the same high-pitched, affected voice he always used. But Gideon could see that his eyes were all but rolling in his head, like those of a frightened horse, and a tiny trickle of spittle clung to the corner of his mouth.

Eustace Mannering, Duke of Doncaster, was very near the breaking point. For the first time since he had known him, Gideon felt a jolt of alarm. There was nothing more frightening to a military man than a loose cannon, and that was what Eustace resembled at the moment.

Gideon glanced at the doorway behind the duke. Blakeley lounged there, his gun silhouetted against the bright lantern light. Blakeley might be dangerous, but he wasn’t mad. The more he looked at Eustace, the more Gideon thought the duke might well be close to losing his reason.

“Mannering.” Gideon stood his ground as Eustace approached. “What brings you here? You’re a bit early for Christmas. But greetings of the season in any case.” He grinned at his adversary. “Your guest accommodations leave something to be desired, but I am sure that you’ll see to that before your next house party.”

“Pity you will not be on my guest list,” Eustace purred as he advanced on Gideon. “Blakeley, you had better go after my cousin, had you not?”

“The old man, Sidley is it? ’E’s gone after ’er.” Blakeley didn’t move an inch.

Pray God he had read the look Sidley had given him rightly and Sidley had not turned against them, Gideon thought.
Keep Amelia safe,
he prayed, a little surprised that he still could. There were no atheists in battle, he had heard said many times. And this was a battle. One he had to win.
Please keep her safe,
he amended.
Please.

“I may have to marry the little bitch, but I see no reason to keep you alive,” Eustace said, his drawl more pronounced than ever and the faint tremor that had been only in his hands now affecting his entire body. “Do you, Blakeley?”

The moneylender looked at his debtor as if he, too, could see the signs of imminent moral and physical collapse.” ’Ere now,” he said, “let’s not be talkin’ of killin’ till we got to.” He spoke in the calm and reasonable tone one might use to address a child.