Raquel Byrnes (12 page)

“We better get you to bed,” he said instead and stood. Grabbing the candle, he held the swinging door open, his eyes downcast. “You must be exhausted.”

We walked without speaking back to my room and stood in the hallway, a torrent of what was unsaid rushing between us.

“I understand you not wanting to talk about what happened with your family,” Simon said. “I won’t push again. You have a right to your privacy.”

I thought about the photo of him in my pocket and felt a pang of guilt. He was the first person who’d seemed concerned for me in a very long time. I needed to touch him, to make sure this was real. I reached up, ran the back of my fingers along the line of his jaw.

He sucked in a breath and closed his hand around mine, his eyes boring into me, intense.

“Don’t stay angry with me,” he murmured. “I don’t…want that.”

Stomach fluttering, I pulled my hand from his and tried to quell the emotions bubbling in my chest. Desire and worry, attraction and fear crowded my thoughts. What was I doing? I took a step back, putting space between us.

“I’m not angry. I’m just so tired, Simon,” I whispered finally. “I’m tired of being afraid.”

“I know what you mean,” he rasped.

I looked at him, surprised. Remembering his fearless gaze, I shook my head.

“What could you be afraid of?”

“You don’t think men can be afraid?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

He reached around my waist, leaning in close as he turned the door knob to my room.

I tried to act like his closeness didn’t make a deep yearning rip through me. Why did I react to him like this? I cleared my throat. “What would frighten you in your own home?”

“Things I don’t understand.” He looked at me, his hand still on the door, so close I could feel his breath on my lips. “Something that took me by surprise.”

“Simon,” I began, but the words wouldn’t come. I stood there, back against the door, my pulse racing.

He reached up, slipped his hand to the nape of my neck, tilting my head back. His touch sent waves of heat over me, and I gasped. He ran the pad of his thumb along my jaw from my ear to my chin, caressing. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

My lip trembled, and I struggled with wanting him so much and fearing for my heart. I knew something was wrong. I knew it and didn’t care. If he chose to kiss me, I wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Please,” I whispered. “I…can’t.”

Simon held me a moment longer, his gaze brushing my lips. He took in a ragged breath and then stepped back, his hand sliding away.

“I’m sorry, Rosetta,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have done that. You deserve more than a man like me. You don’t deserve pain.”

“No, I…” I began, but he was already walking away.

What did he mean by causing pain?

The shadows engulfed him as he strode down the hall, and I swallowed back the ache in my throat. A rush of regret and relief rose, and I touched my lips with shaking fingers.

I couldn’t stay at Shadow Bay Hall.

Not unless I was willing to risk more than I had left.

13

The morning came with a rush of golden rays against the pale sky. I watched the sunrise from the settee, the worn Bible in my hands. Even the songs of a king could not ease the worry in my heart. I felt so alone, so unsure of my decision to come here. Where I used to be so confident in my Christian walk, I now felt as if my prayers blew away like vapor in a storm.

I didn’t think I could stay here. Not after what happened with Simon. Though Shadow Bay Estate was quite large, I wouldn’t be able to avoid him altogether. I could just imagine how awkward our next meeting would be. How had I made such a mess of things in such a short amount of time? This had to be a record even for me.

The clock on the bedside table chimed five times, and I sighed, knowing I wasn’t going to get any sleep at this hour. Deciding I might as well start my day by checking on Davenport, I showered and dressed. I opened the door and found a box on the floor just outside my room. I picked it up by the red bow and carried it to the desk, my stomach fluttering.

Peering inside, I gasped. An antique magnifying glass framed in brass sat at the bottom. I’d seen this type of lens in a museum. A tool of botanists and naturalists a hundred years ago, the glass fit in the palm of my hand. I felt the weight of it, letting the brass chain dangle between my fingers. It was beautiful. Pulling out the note, I read the masculine script.

There are things here worth a deeper look. I hope you give yourself a chance to discover what Noble Island has to offer. ~ Simon

Tracing his signature, I stared at Simon’s note. I’d tossed and turned all night on the settee worried about what to do, troubled over my growing attraction to him. I couldn’t trust myself around Simon. Last night proved that. When I should be protecting my heart, I was falling under his spell, despite the consequences. The letter I’d written last night remained on the desk ready to be mailed. But to just leave, without a word? That wouldn’t be right, either.

Biting my lip, I gazed at the woods through the raindrops that clung to the window. The storm had blown over, and I should walk to his workshop to just clear the air. Hefting the lens in my hand, I played with the chain before pulling it over my head. The magnifying glass hung like a necklace, the thick glass resting on my blouse.

When I checked on Davenport, he was awake, already eating. I read a chapter while he drank tea, the need to go and find Simon so distracting I had to restart several times.

Irritated, Davenport sent me away mumbling about taking a walk later.

Leaving his room, I pulled the shawl around my shoulders and crept out of the house through the kitchen door. I followed the path towards the cottage workshop, my gaze scanning the woods.

The cottage had no lights on, and when I tried the door, it was locked. Standing at the door, my resolve melted into disappointment. I took the dirt path leading to the main road, the slapping of my flip-flops the only sound. Shoving my letter in the mailbox, I hesitated before turning back to the house.

Mrs. Tuttle was in the kitchen when I returned, and she looked at me with suspicion.

“I was just mailing a letter,” I explained.

“Well you just made it. The pickup for the outgoing plane is this morning.”

She murmured something and pointed to the kitchen table so I sat down. She bustled around the kitchen scrambling eggs and burning toast. Setting a plate in front of me, she poured me a cup of black coffee and set the creamer next to it.

“Thanks, Mrs. Tuttle,” I said genuinely grateful. “I didn’t know you had coffee here.”

“We do now.” She turned back to the stove. “Simon asked me to get it.”

I ate the breakfast despite my churning stomach and when I couldn’t eat any more, I sipped the dark drink and stared out the window. I wondered if I’d see Simon before I left for good. Was I doing the right thing? So much seemed to have happened between us in such a short time. My feelings for Simon threw me. Was this rebound? Had I ever really loved Michael? He’d broken our engagement, left me at the altar, and yet the thought of never seeing Simon again shook me more. My throat closed with an ache so deep, I had trouble taking in a breath.

“He flew out with the cargo plane early this morning.” Mrs. Tuttle interrupted my thoughts. She sat at the table. “He didn’t say when he’d be back, but he’s gone for months sometimes. His wife, too, would often leave for Seattle over the weekend. She’d shop and dine out. Said she felt cooped up here. Poor Lavender. And Simon, never could keep that man to a schedule. I do hope he meets with her school’s headmaster while he’s out.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say.

She’d just said more to me than she had in all the time I’d been here.

I wound hair around my index finger, fidgeting. How had she known I was thinking of him? And what was this about Lavender’s school? “The dock is still out, then?”

“That’s right.” She lifted the teacup to her lips. Her gaze went to the lens dangling from the chain. “No way off of Noble until they fix it. No way onto it, either.”

“Except by plane.”

“Yes, well, the cargo plane that dropped off the museum crates won’t be back for a while.”

“When will the dock get fixed?” The sky outside grew dark as the breeze wafted gray clouds across the tree tops.

“May take up to a week,” Mrs. Tuttle answered. “Why? Are you planning on leaving?”

My spirits fell, and I stifled a sigh of resignation. “I guess not.”

For now, anyway.

****

The next three days went by with aching slowness. Every passing hour without word from Simon made my heart sink.

Davenport slipped into a melancholy I could not coax out of him. He wouldn’t go outside, despite the sun making a rare appearance. Refusing to eat, he slept all day, making me worry about depression. I called Dr. Fliven to come for a visit, but without the dock in working order, he could only fly in if it was an emergency.

Lavender kept Mrs. Tuttle busy by hiding at every opportunity, only to show up in the kitchen just long enough to steal cookies.

I almost stepped on her one afternoon coming down the stairs.

A panel on the landing, normally a linen closet, she’d turned into a “lair” as she called it. Resolving to give her space, I pretended not to notice when she slipped out and stole down the stairs after I’d passed the door.

That night, I curled up in bed twisting my hair into knots and wondering if I would ever know why I was here. Hyper-aware of every sound at night, I didn’t hear anything. With my fear settling into general unease, exhaustion won out, and I slept through the night for the first time in weeks.

After breakfast the next day, I decided to take advantage of the sun peeking through the haze and take a walk into the village. Obviously, I would avoid Nalla and the apothecary, but I needed to get warmer clothes. The last week of August proved to be colder than my T-shirts could protect against.

Maybe I could find something at the market to cheer Davenport. Perhaps a sweet or a special treat to entice him to eat. I walked along the path Simon showed me that rainy day, hoping to use it as a shortcut to the main road. The hem of my flowing skirt brushed my ankles as I went. Morning dew clung to the delicate flowers and ferns at my feet, and I stopped to stand in a ray of light that poked through the forest’s thick canopy. Turning my face to the sun, I breathed in the scent of rich earth, flowers, and pine.

Just outside the row of trees to my right, I spotted the meadow and headed towards it. Bathed in the warm light of morning, the rustling blooms whispered softly in the breeze as I walked among them. A terrifying screech stopped me in my tracks. A scream caught in my throat. It sounded human, but barely. Frozen in place, my pulse thrummed. The resounding crack of a gun going off in the nearby stand of trees sent me diving to the ground, trembling.

I tried to look through the shifting grasses in the direction of the scream, but the wind picked up, and all I saw was the bobbing heads of flowers. Silence settled like a heavy weight, and I squatted in place, panting back the panic.

Should I stay put? Should I run for it? Could someone shoot a moving target from that far? I had no idea what to do, so I did nothing.

Thrashing in the distance kicked up my pulse, and I peeked over the top of the grass and saw a figure walking through the meadow towards me. Tears stung my eyes, and I glanced for something—anything—to defend myself. A familiar voice ticked at my ear, and I stopped.

O’Shay.

Relieved, I stood up. Stark fear froze my mouth open as I took in the bloody scratches on his face.

He glared at me, a grimace pulling his lips, and my gaze went to the shotgun in his hands.

“What are you doing out here?” he growled.

14

I stumbled back from O’Shay, suddenly aware that we were far from any witnesses.

He lunged for me, his calloused hand closing around my wrist like a painful vise. “You have to get back to the house.” O’Shay pulled me, his gaze back at the woods.

“What are you doing?” I gasped, yanking from his grasp. “What’s going on?”

“Just get,” he snapped and grabbed for me again.

I leapt away from his reach and backed up, gaze going to the shotgun. My chest tightened, fear squeezing the breath out of me.

“Y—You’re covered in blood.”

“There was…I chased off an animal.” O’Shay’s gaze slid from mine.

I peered back as he led me to the path. He pushed me out in front, his face tight. Hands gripped the stock of the shotgun, and I noticed they were scratched as well.

Mrs. Tuttle met us on the front steps, her face pale.

“No…”

“Just to startle,” O’Shay said through gritted teeth, his gaze on Mrs. Tuttle. “No one is hurt.”

“What are you talking about?” I looked from Mrs. Tuttle to O’Shay. “He’s definitely hurt. Look at him.” I refused to be propelled against my will. “Did an animal attack you?”

O’Shay merely grunted and pushed past me.

Mrs. Tuttle stood wringing her hands, gaze searching the woods.

“If there’s an animal out there, we should get Lavender inside,” I said.

Mrs. Tuttle looked at me as if I’d just appeared. “No, she’s…” Her voice trailed off. “She’s upstairs. I just saw her not five minutes ago.”

“That’s nothing in Lavender time,” I said and gathered the folds of my skirt. I ran up the stairs to her room. Empty. I checked the cabinet on the landing and under the library tables. I decided to check the cemetery, worry needling through my thoughts.

I passed the kitchen, and Mrs. Tuttle’s plaintive voice caught my attention. She was crying. I peered in through the small window in the door, concerned. She and O’Shay argued across the table, a frantic look on her face.

My worry for Lavender spurred me to move despite my curiosity.

I called Lavender’s name as I ran to Simon’s workshop. She wasn’t there. I wove through the woods, searching for a hint of her dress and straining to hear her giggle. I spotted the iron lacework gates of the cemetery and called for her again. Stopping, I listened. Nothing but the rustle and creak of wind through the weeping willows. Behind the cherub, a glimmer of movement caught my eye.