Kenna nodded slowly. “Sometimes I think they were more terrible on him than they were on me.” Lost in her thoughts, she failed to notice that Rhys withheld comment. She shook herself out of her reverie.
“Still, it seems absurd that someone would think I could happen upon the truth after so much time. Why did the accidents occur so far apart? And why were there so many after you arrived at Dunnelly?” Her tone almost dared him to offer an explanation.
“I have guesses at best,” he told her. He walked over to the wardrobe and began pulling out the clothes he wished to wear. “But first, let us have done with calling them accidents. They were deliberate attempts on your life.” He tossed a pair of buff riding breeches onto the bed. “I think your assailant became afraid after each arranged accident, giving up, not because they failed, but because he clung to the hope there would be no more dreams. Then, without warning, you would have another and he was forced to make the attempt again. As to why there was no end to them while I was at Dunnelly? There is a simple explanation. The killer knew my presence there would disturb you and cause a succession of nightmares. He was through taking chances.”
“Then Old Tom’s death—”
“Began as a mistake, I think. The shot that wounded him was probably meant for you. When the killer realized his error, he ran. But he became frightened, maybe when he realized who Tom Allen was and why you had brought him to the woods. He went back, strangled Tom, and took the trap as a precaution. It’s probably at the bottom of the Channel by now. Later your assailant tried poison.”
“Monseiur Raillier!”
Rhys shrugged into a shirt and began fastening it. “The cook,” he nodded. “He is as much a suspect as anyone. Then there is your maid who conveniently passed on bath salts to the doctor to cover for Raillier. And Nick who bumped me when I was trying to carry out your soup to test it myself. And Victorine who brought it—”
Kenna put her hands over her ears and shut her eyes.
“Stop it! I don’t want to hear any more. You’re wrong. You must be.”
Rhys tore off the sheet, yanked on his breeches, and went on relentlessly. “Think, Kenna! Think! You are resisting the possibilities. It’s safer to believe I must be wrong than to face the truth. You are fighting yourself again. Surely you can see that. Do you realize that you askedwhythese things were happening to you, never once did you askwhowas responsible?” He pulled on his stockings and boots and brushed his hair, observing Kenna’s confusion in the mirror. He dropped the brush on the table as he went to her again. Rhys took her by the arms and brought her to her feet. “Listen to me, Kenna. I know it will take time for you to become accustomed to the idea that I am not the villain in this piece, but it remains true nonetheless. I don’t know who’s responsible for this sleeping and waking nightmare you have been trapped in, butyoudo!” He sighed, pulling her close, and cradled her in his arms. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.” He ruffled her hair as she nestled against him. “These things no longer matter. While you are with me, no one is going to harm you. Ever.”
Rhys pressed a kiss in her soft hair. “There is much we still must discuss but I think enough has been said for now.”
Kenna agreed. She drew back from Rhys, letting her hands slide down his arms, held his hands briefly, then let go reluctantly. “I would enjoy some time alone,” she admitted. “But may I join you later?”
His heart lightened at her request. Everything was going to be all right. “Whenever you wish.”
After Rhys had gone, Kenna stood for several minutes in exactly the position he had left her. She felt curiously empty of all thought, all emotion. Slowly she sat back down on the window bench as her legs folded beneath her. Her eyes wandered to the one part of the room she had avoided since getting out of bed. Perhaps Rhys spoke more than a little truth when he said there were things she did not want to face. Kenna stared at the faint brownish-tinged stain on the hardwood floor and the darkened tips of the carpet fringe. Burying her face in her hands, she wept, mourning the loss of her innocence and the loss of her child.
When her tears were finally spent Kenna reviewed the choices open to her. She could save her would-be assassin a great deal of trouble and simply throw herself overboard. She could pry open the drawer where Rhys kept her drugs and lose herself in sleep and rose-colored dreams as long as the supply lasted. Or she could begin living again. Only one of those choices made sense to her any more.
Kenna opened the wardrobe and though it was crowded with Rhys’s clothes, she found several dresses. Something tugged at her memory as she chose an empire cut lemon yellow gown with a garland of flowers embroidered on the hem, but she shrugged it off, laying the gown on the bed. She found undergarments and hose, slippers, and a mint green fichu to cover her shoulders, and laid these out also. After washing at the basin, she dressed, brushed her hair, and straightened the covers on the bed. As she was tidying the cabin she heard a noise in the companionway and went to investigate. She found the kitchen assistant in the process of leaving her breakfast tray.
“Oh, please, bring it in,” she said, slightly bewildered by the young man’s surprise. He nearly spilled the entire tray by staring at her instead of where he was going. “Just put it on the table.” He set her meal down, blushing to the roots of his yellow hair. “Have I a smut on my nose?” she asked when he continued to stare at her. She hadn’t thought it possible but the sailor blushed even deeper.
“No, ma’am,” he stammered. “It’s just that Mr. Canning, he told us you were…but he didn’t say…”
“I’m afraid I can’t make out what you’re saying.”
“Beautiful!” the sailor blurted out.
“Oh!” It was Kenna’s turn to blush as the young man hurried from the room. There was still a measure of heat in her cheeks as she carried the tray to the oak desk. Between bites of her biscuits and eggs, Kenna jiggled the drawer containing the bottles. With the aid of the butter knife provided with her meal, Kenna managed to jimmy the drawer’s catch. She set the five vials she found inside on the desk top, lining them up like soldiers at attention at the back of her tray, and stared at them while she finished her meal.
After she was done eating she gathered the bottles in her arms and left the cabin.
Rhys was in the rigging, taking some good-natured ribbing about his clumsy first ascent, when he saw Kenna step on deck. She hesitated a moment, looking around, then walked purposefully toward the taffrail. His companions noticed the direction of Rhys’s gaze and stopped working at the same time to watch Kenna. Below them the rough chatter and activity ceased. Captain Johnson stepped away from the wheel, his sandy brows pulled in a single line over his eyes, as Kenna approached the ship’s port rail.
Rhys’s face paled as he watched Kenna from the dizzying height of his perch. He knew a gut-wrenching helplessness that he could not reach her in time to prevent her leap overboard. He shouted her name but she did not turn and he realized the sound had been carried away by the rush of wind rippling the sails. Not knowing what else to do, Rhys began a reckless rapid descent that burned the skin from his palms. Halfway down he stopped as Kenna’s right arm drew back and heaved a bottle over the side. The others followed and by the time Rhys reached the deck her hands were empty and she had stepped away from the rail.
“Kenna!” He called to her again.
She turned, smiling happily now that her decision to carry on living had been affirmed by her gesture. “Did you see, Rhys?” she asked, eyes shining.
“I saw.” She was simply splendid. He held out his arms and Kenna ran to him, filling their emptiness with her spirit.
The noise and activity around them resumed and neither heard a bit of it. It took the rough, gravel sound of a throat clearing itself nearby to penetrate their senses.
Rhys loosened his hold on Kenna and glanced over his shoulder, “This is Captain Amos Johnson, Kenna,” he said. “Captain Johnson, my wife, Kenna Canning.”
Kenna’s smile froze on her face as she extended her hand to the captain. Her mind worked furiously, reasoning that Rhys could have hardly introduced her as the sister of his friend after they had shared a cabin these past weeks. He had done it to save her reputation, of course. It made perfect sense. “How do you do, Captain Johnson. I am very pleased to meet you at last.”
