She looked down and shrugged her shoulders. “I couldn’t leave you to die.”
“Others would have.”
“I have seen enough death,” she said, and he thought he heard a touch of fierceness in her voice.
Spencer’s curiosity was roused, but why should he ask a country maid about her life? He was frustrated by his weakness when he really needed to be in London. He rubbed his shaking hands over his face and felt each bruise begin to ache.
“Rose,” he said, surprised to find his voice faltering, “whose land are we on? Are there others who know I’m here?”
She repositioned the cushion under his head. In the meager light she looked as tired as he felt. Had taking care of him cost her so much?
Roselyn sat back on her heels, praying that Thornton would fall asleep before she had to answer. He looked paler by the moment, and she lifted the blanket, but saw no fresh blood on his bandages.
“Over half the people have left the island because of the Spanish, leaving the villages strangely quiet,” she said. “Besides myself, only the bailiff and his family are on this estate, but I have not told them of you.”
His eyes closed, his mouth relaxed, and then he was asleep.
With a shuddering sigh, she dropped her chin to her chest. How long could she keep this up, holding off his questions, revealing as little as possible? And why didn’t he want people to know about him?
She remembered the way his eyes had not quite held hers when he told her about serving on theNewcastle.That look had been burned into her the first time she’d met him two years ago. Her father had introduced her, and it was as if Thornton didn’twantto see her. She’d been overcome with anger and mortification. Though she disliked having to deal with him again, she was also curious, because she sensed there were truths he held in reserve.
She pressed her eyes closed—and sawhiseyes: dark, fringed with heavy lashes, hiding his thoughts, yet penetrating enough to see through to hers.
Chapter 3
Late the next afternoon, Roselyn worked in her bake house preparing supper. She felt tired and uneasy, and told herself the cause could only be Thornton.
At the sound of footsteps outside the door, she gasped and whirled, holding a knife, her heart pounding.
John Heywood stopped in the doorway, his smile fading. “Roselyn?”
The knife dropped from her shaking hands and barely missed her foot. She ran her hands over her face and gave John a tremulous smile. What had she been thinking? Was she so on edge that she imagined enemies following her about the island?
“John, you startled me,” she said lamely, picking up the knife. “I have felt…uneasy all day.”
“It is understandable with a war going on so near.”
He came toward her and she tried to relax, to remember how happy she usually was to see him. He was the eldest Heywood son, of average height and spare from hard work, and his hands could work miracles out of wood. More and more he had taken to visiting her, to dropping hints about marriage, even though he knew they could only be handfasted, not legally married in the church.
She felt comfortable with him, and she’d begun to think that that was as good as love could ever get.
But to see him now, when Thornton was so near, only made her nervous.
“We’ve been worried about you, Roselyn,” he said, taking the knife from her hand and setting it on the table. “We’ve missed your morning visits.”
“The bread,” she said, shaking her head. “I haven’t brought your order lately.”
“ ’Tis not the bread we miss. Mother and Charlotte have baked what we need.” He smiled and leaned down to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “We’ve barely seen you. It’s almost as if you’ve gone back into mourning. Twice now, Charlotte has come to practice her baking with you, but you’ve been gone.”
Charlotte was John’s fourteen-year-old sister, and her cheerful companionship had eased Roselyn’s loneliness when she’d first returned to the island. What if the girl had followed her to the shed?
“You must be working too hard,” John said with a smile. “I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you.”
She usually enjoyed their banter, but now his words made her worry. She could not risk the Heywoods finding Thornton, not if the man could be an enemy. How could she bring such danger on the family she loved?
~oOo~
After John left, Roselyn approached the door to the shed, but she could see at once that Thornton wasn’t lying where she’d left him. She felt a moment of absolute panic, wondering if he’d truly killed himself this time.
