“Puir lassie,” he said in his pronounced brogue. “She dinna ken what happened to her.”
“Is it over?” asked Rhys.
“Aye. The worst of it is.” He hoped it was true. “She dinna know about the bairn, did she?”
“No. Neither did I.”
McKillop nodded, observing Rhys’s strained features. “Then it’s a shock to you as well.” He left Kenna’s side and began cleaning the pool of blood by the window.
“She needs to lie abed a day or so.”
“Will there be more pain?”
“Canna say, but I think not.”
Rhys wondered how long she had suffered before he found her. He called himself a fool and much worse for never suspecting she might be pregnant. He knew from Polly that no man at Mrs. Miller’s had touched her. It was their child she had been carrying.
For two days Kenna lay in bed, sleeping long hours, eating little, and talking not at all. Never once did she mention her medicine and Rhys gave her none of it. On the third day she got up and moved about the cabin, touching things thoughtfully as if they were unfamiliar to her and she wanted to learn their identity, Rhys woke the moment he felt her stir from the bed. Curious, he turned on his side, propping his head on his elbow, and watched her.
She ran her hand along the length of the oak desk, fingered the brass handle of the lantern. Standing in front of the book shelves, she appeared to read the title of every one of the volumes before she moved away. The mirror on the side of the wardrobe held her interest for long minutes as she explored her face by touching the glass. An uncertain frown drew her brows together as her hand lifted to her hair and ruffled the short mahogany curls then found the red-gold roots. She sat at the window seat, her slender back to Rhys, and watched the sun’s early morning rise on the horizon. At last she turned to him as if she had expected him to be watching her, and spoke.
“I think you had better tell me the whole of it, Rhys.” Her eyes were more brown than black now, less vacant and glazed. They touched his face from across the room.
Rhys sat up, hitching a sheet around his waist, and leaned his naked shoulders against the wall. He noticed the color that came to her cheeks when she realized he hadn’t any clothes on. He did not take it as a good sign and wondered what she remembered.
“Tell me where to begin,” he said.
Kenna cut right to the heart. “Were you responsible for my abduction from the ale house?”
A muscle jumped in Rhys’s jaw. “No.” He held his breath, searching her face for some sign that she believed him but refusing to beg for her trust. Tears welled in her eyes and her shoulders sagged as a tiny choked sob escaped her throat. He knew then she had accepted his word and that her grief was for the betrayal of someone she had never suspected.
Rhys edged off the bed and crossed the cabin to Kenna. He stood in front of her, studying her bowed head, the hands that twisted in her lap, before he caught her chin and lifted her face.
She blinked at him, stemming the flow of tears briefly. Her bottom lip trembled. “Why are these things happening to me?” Then his face dissolved again as bitter tears streaked her face.
Rhys sat beside her, sliding an arm around her back, and wiped her face with a corner of his sheet. “I only have a suspicion, Kenna. Are you certain you want to hear it?”
She sniffled. “Yes.”
“It has to do with your father’s death and your memory of that night.”
Kenna turned to him. “I want to know.”
“All right.” He let out his breath slowly. “I believe that someone living at Dunnelly murdered Robert, or is employed by the person who killed him. The only person who can identify the killer is you, Kenna. For years you have accused me and though no one believed you, your uncompromising position that I had done it kept the real murderer safe.”
“But it was you in the cave. I saw you!”
Rhys smiled faintly. “Do you remember the night I came to your room and was standing by the mantel when you woke? Who did you mistake me for then?”
She gasped softly. “Nick. Oh, but it couldn’t have been Nick. It couldn’t have been.”
“I’m not saying it was. Only that you have confused us before. Mightn’t you have made a similar error the night of the masque? There were so many people there, all costumed, many of them alike. There may have been dozens dressed as I was that evening. I don’t know. I didn’t spend a great deal of time at the ball itself, but by your own admission you watched scores of people enter the ballroom from your vantage point on the staircase.”
“I remember the four shepherdesses.”
He nodded, satisfied. “And in time you may remember more. At least someone else believes you will.”
“It’s been nearly ten years, Rhys. I doubt if I shall.”
