Whispers at Midnight (9 page)

There was something very compelling about
Ryne, something that excited her like lightning in a storm. But she
did not like it that he had started the strange current racing
through her body or that his eyes bore down on her with the cold,
hard look of blue ice.

She realized with a start that she had
hardly been aware she was playing a dangerous game. Amanda wrenched
her arm free and hurried down the stairs with much more certainty
than she had climbed them. At the bottom again she shuddered,
feeling a dizzy ache in her head and a flush of heat that would not
leave her skin. She turned immediately to look up at Ryne. The
smile on his face could only have belonged to Satan.

“Wax and wane, look in vain.”

The batlike shadow of Ezra in flight floated
through the candlelight in the great hall. The bird had his secret
habitats throughout the house and appeared or disappeared with a
whim. He circled overhead once and then perched on the base of the
Turkish King, spreading his wings to display the showy iridescent
color underneath. Hopping restlessly about, he twisted his head in
a peculiar motion that made it appear as if it would snap from his
squat neck. How long had he remembered those strange lines he
quoted?

Restless now herself, Amanda hesitated a
moment beside the figure of the Turkish King. Even that dour face
carved of wood bore a kinder disposition than Ryne’s had at last
glimpse. Why had he come back? And why had he allowed her to make a
complete fool of herself . . . again? Surely after last night’s
encounter he hadn’t thought he’d be welcome. And what was worse was
that he had made a ruin of her evening with Gardner. How was it
possible for brothers to be as different as Gardner and Ryne? Of
course, they were only half-brothers, but one would think they
would share a commonality of good manners.

He’d have to leave. He bothered her, gave
her a queer niggling feeling deep inside. There was no question of
his staying in the house, and yet she dreaded the ordeal of asking
him to go. It seemed, in all conscience, like turning someone out
of his own home.

With a hand pressed to her aching temple,
she moved haltingly down the long brick passageway that connected
the kitchen to the house. The rows of windows were open and the
cooling night breeze drifted freely through, carrying a scent of
rosemary and sage. But for the passageway, the kitchen was a
separate house set to the side of the main building. Across the way
was a laundry, and near that a smokehouse. The space between was
used for growing flowers and both the vegetables and herbs used in
the kitchen. Had she not felt so miserable, Amanda could have
enjoyed the serenity of the evening.

As it was, she moaned lightly as she pushed
open the door of the kitchen and peered within. Her mind had become
a muddle of confused thoughts, but not one among them strong enough
to lead her to some purpose. She wanted tea, hot and strong, to
temper the wine that had her head drumming like a child’s toy.

A lamp burned on a kitchen shelf, sending a
sphere of faint light over the room. Amanda blinked. After the
soothing darkness in the passageway her eyes objected to even those
few pale rays. She was not fond of wine or strong drink of any
sort. Somehow with Gardner she had gotten caught up in a festive
mood, and when he had ordered a good bottle of Madeira, it had
seemed fitting to toast her arrival in Williamsburg. One toast had
led to several, and soon she had consumed far more than was wise.
If her present condition were an indication, she would pay for it
dearly.

Seeing Ryne in the house had only added to
the throbbing in her head. She couldn’t possibly confront him
without first trying to undo the wine’s hold on her. She hoped
fervently he had not brought still another woman to the house. Her
blood flushed, running hot just beneath her skin as she remembered
the tryst she had interrupted last night. There were limits to what
she could endure even for Aunt Elise’s son.

A kettle hung warming above the hot coals
banked in the large stone fireplace that ran down one side of the
kitchen. A blue china teapot sat waiting on the table nearby, ready
for the morning’s preparations. Amanda breathed deeply. The room
smelled of fresh baked bread and spices. Gussie had been at work
while she was gone, and the wonderful aromas advertised the plump
woman’s expertise in the kitchen.

Amanda started for the pantry, which opened
off the back side of the kitchen. Gussie must have forgotten to
shut it, because the door, which opened inward, stood ajar a
little, held open by a wedge of wood beneath it. The tea, Amanda
recalled, was inside in a tin with a green leaf pattern.

Moving slowly into that darker part of the
kitchen, she pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. The
pantry was a narrow shelf-lined space filled with jars and barrels
of foodstuffs and supplies. It was a good fourteen feet deep,
nearly as long as the kitchen itself, and immensely dark except
near the door. She looked where she’d left the container after
making tea for Elizabeth and herself earlier. Had that been today?
Or years ago?

She sighed. The tin she sought had been
moved. Thinking Gussie must have set it elsewhere, she ran her hand
down the wooden shelves, feeling for the container. At last her
fingers touched it on the shelf above her head, and she rose to her
tiptoes, straining as she reached for it. Amanda caught hold of the
round tea tin and brought it down, but, still unsteady on her feet,
lost her balance and went staggering against the shelves. The tea
tin clattered to the floor and rolled out into the kitchen. Before
Amanda could move, the tin knocked the wooden wedge from beneath
the pantry door and the wooden portal swung shut.

“Ohh,” she moaned in despair, groping
blindly for the door. Whatever had possessed her to drink so much?
Tomorrow she would severely regret her overindulgence. She sighed
deeply, feeling a wild beating in her temple. She regretted it
already, as the dark enclosure of the pantry seemed to be spinning
like a boat in a whirlpool. She moaned and her hands went up to
massage her aching head.

“Damnation,” she muttered, imitating some
voice she had heard on the stage long ago. Normally she would avoid
like poison any theatrical expression in her voice, but something
about the absurdity of this night—Gardner’s cheeriness, Ryne’s
scowling face, Ezra’s shrill voice reciting rhymes, being shut up
in the pantry—made it seem she was acting out a part in a
ridiculous play.

Half-laughing, half-sniffling, Amanda
reached out to push the door open, hearing, as she did, a sudden
scuffle behind her. She stiffened as the darkness became
oppressively frightening. Amanda thought immediately of rats. Those
evil-looking creatures had terrified her since a time in childhood
when she had been trapped in another dark storeroom with one.

It was a day when she had wandered through
the theater alone while her mother rehearsed. She had found a box
of costumes that attracted her childish curiosity, not noticing as
she looked through them that the door had swung to and locked
behind her. She remembered with revulsion the gray rat, with its
ragged fur, and sharp little yellow teeth, crawling out of a
corner. A well of hysteria had come over her and she had screamed
and screamed until someone heard and got her out.

The memory made her horror as fresh as if
she were still a terrified child of nine. Her breathing became
erratic. A cold trickle of perspiration dampened her brow. She had
to get out. With a groan of desperation, she hurled her weight
against the door, giving it a violent shove. It held fast. Amanda
pitched her weight against the door again, in vain. The latch had
evidently fallen in place when the door shut, and she had, as she
feared, succeeded in locking herself in a place as dark and
frightening as a cave.

Another scuffle sounded, louder and closer.
Amanda cried out and pushed with all her might against the door a
third time. It creaked with the punishment of her blow but the
latch gave not one whit. From deep in the pantry she heard a heavy
breath, as if the darkness itself had taken life and meant to crush
her in its suffocating layers. She gave a horrified gasp, feeling
the press of something brushing against her and the heat of a
living thing terribly near and threatening.

She made a rasping little cry that was lost
in a din of fear as she felt hands, large and strong, grip her
trembling shoulders and thrust her gently aside.

“Let me, dear lady,” came a mocking and
familiar voice.

Amanda spun about quickly, upsetting jars
and bottles, which toppled and fell. Her breath caught like cotton
wool in her throat as the hard edge of a shelf cut sharply into her
back. She heard a crash, the sound of the wooden drop latch
splintering, as the door flew open.

Amanda gulped and blinked her eyes at the
sudden onslaught of light. She stumbled hurriedly out into the
kitchen.

“Ryne!” she shouted. “You bloody boor! How
dare you frighten me that way!”

Ryne shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
“You’re hardly the one to complain. I don’t relish being locked in
a pantry with a woman too sodden with wine to know what she’s
doing.” The corners of his mouth turned down slightly as he mocked
her. His dark brows furrowed and he gave her a cold, leering look.
“Or perhaps I was too quick to break the door open.”

Mumbling to herself, Amanda picked up the
green tea tin from where it had rolled on the floor, and though she
was fuming, kept a carefully maintained calm to her countenance.
She followed Ryne across the kitchen, glad he had taken the lead
and could not observe her tipsy steps. When he turned about to face
her, she stopped and braced her unsteady legs against the sturdy
wooden table. His expression was guarded and there was a moment of
tense silence as Ryne took the tin from her hands, opened it, and
measured out a portion of tea.

Amanda opened and closed her hands slowly,
determined she would not let him awe her.

“What were you doing in there?” she asked
stiffly. “I’d have thought you’d outgrown childish pranks.”

He turned toward the fireplace, where the
kettle was just beginning to steam. “I was there for the same
purpose as you, I suppose, looking to make a cup of tea. And the
prank, sweet Amanda, was yours. You shut us in.”

“So I did,” she conceded. “But you could
have called out, let me know you were there.” Amanda’s vision was
still deceptively fuzzy, but it did seem he was laughing at her
behind his somber face.

“And missed the entertainment of your
tittering and tottering about the shelves like a drunken pollywog?”
Ryne took the kettle from its hook and brought it to the table.
Amanda’s eyes followed a wisp of steam that rose from the spout and
swirled up like a vaporous snake between them.

“I am not drunk,” she protested, gripping
the table edge to steady herself. “I am tired.” But even to her own
ears her voice was thick and the words seemed to stick on her
tongue. She saw his brows draw tolerantly together as she tried to
turn the conversation in another direction. “How did you get
downstairs?”

“Dear Amanda, you do remember the back
stairs?”

“Of course I do.” She frowned at those
bewitching blue eyes that were regarding her with a sobriety that
was unbearable. She spoke up again quickly. “Why are you here,
Ryne?” His leg bumped against the ruffled skirt of her gown as he
approached the table, making her starkly aware of his nearness.
Amanda stepped aside clumsily and dropped into a kitchen chair that
looked invitingly stable.

“Dear little cousin,” Ryne chided as he
poured boiling water from the kettle into the teapot and covered it
with a heavy cloth. “You don’t mind my calling you cousin, do
you?”

“No.” How she wished her head would stop its
spinning and that Ryne’s words wouldn’t buzz around her ears like
insects.

“You see, Amanda,” he began as he dragged a
second chair to the table and sat across from her while they waited
for the tea to steep.

“Yes,” she responded softly. His eyes had
grown a dark, treacherous blue and gave her the sensation of
looking into a bottomless well. She rubbed a hand absently across
her neck. She could feel herself being compelled to lean farther
and farther over the edge, as if at any moment she might slip and
plunge into the fathomless depths.

“We had a fire at the lodge last month. It
destroyed the roof and weakened the timbers in the walls. The place
isn’t safe until they’ve been replaced,” he went on. “I’ve been
staying here till the rebuilding is complete. I hoped you wouldn’t
mind.”

Why did Ryne make her feel she was on the
fringe of danger. Was it because she knew he hated her having
Wicklow? Very well. She could be as difficult as he.

“You found shelter last night, I trust.”

“I did. But not in a place I’ll likely be
welcome again,” he retorted.

“There are inns.”

“There are inns for those with a fat purse,
which I have not.”

“The cottage?”

“The cottage I have lent to my overseer and
his family. He’s got five young ones and a sick wife. I couldn’t
think of putting them out when Wicklow was standing empty and with
you not expected until September.”

Amanda felt a tiny tremor in her veins. So
Ryne had a soft spot for the unfortunate. She’d never have thought
it.

“Perhaps you would be welcome at Gardner’s
house?”

“Ha!” He pounded a fist to his palm. “Cain
and Abel were closer. I’m afraid, dear Cousin Amanda, I must humble
myself before you.” He smiled a tender touching smile, and though
she knew it was only an ornament he had cleverly hung on his face,
she felt herself yielding to his charm. Sensing his advantage, he
spoke again. “If you do not allow me to stay at Wicklow, I will
have to take up residence in some barn.”