Kenna woke up screaming with the metallic taste of fear still in her mouth. Her skin was cold, clammy. The sheets tangled about her legs, trapping her, were also wet. She kicked at them impatiently while reaching for her dressing gown. She had only managed to shrug into it when her bedchamber door was thrown open.
Nick stood on the threshold, endearingly tousled and sleepy-eyed, but with a face made grave by concern. He belted his robe and nodded to the maid who stood hovering at his shoulder, dismissing her when he saw Kenna was sitting up and appeared to be over the worst of her nightmare.
He shut the door quietly behind him and crossed the room swiftly. “Kenna?” Nicholas enveloped her damp hands in both of his as he sat down beside her.
Kenna laughed uneasily as Nick massaged her numb and trembling fingers. “You should be used to this by now.” She pulled her hands away and hugged herself, tucking her feet beneath her. “You could have stayed in bed. There was no need—”
“There was every need and I doubt I shall ever get used to it. I had hoped…it’s been so long since the last one.” His voice trailed off, regret filling the silence.
“Nearly six months,” she murmured. “I had reason to hope it was over.” She shivered.
“You’re cold. Here, get under the covers.” He shifted and moved the blankets. When he felt the damp sheets he stopped. “My God! They’re soaked! Go sit by the fire while I ring for one of the maids.”
Kenna did not argue. She rarely argued any more. It was only one of the changes experience and time had wrought. She did not care to think about the others.
The bed changing was accomplished quickly. Kenna barely remembered warming her hands and feet by the hearth before Nick had her back in bed. She stirred listlessly against the pillows. Strands of red-gold hair, a far cry from the flaming tresses of her youth, escaped her thick braid and lay like rays of sunshine upon the lace sham.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Nick asked, concerned by the dull sheen in her brown eyes.
“It was much the same as always.” She closed her eyes but a tear pushed through her thick lashes.
Nick brushed away the tear with a gentle touch. “But? I can hear it in your voice. You’ve remembered something else.”
It was true though she wasn’t certain she wanted to discuss it with Nick until she had the events of her nightmare more firmly in place. Upon waking nothing seemed clear. Kenna had no recollection of the night of the masquerade beyond watching the parade of shepherdesses from the stairs with Yvonne. Her next firm memory was of the family physician and Rhys arguing in her chamber over the merits of bleeding her. Doctor Elliot was in favor of the method to release the bad blood and Rhys was adamantly against it. Nicholas, having no informed opinion, sat at her bedside and awaited the outcome. It was Kenna herself who settled the disagreement. Coming to awareness and seeing Rhys in her room, she screamed for him to be gone. When she could not be calmed, Rhys left, and the physician, seeing she was alert though clearly distraught, decided there was no reason to bleed her after all.
She found out later the argument had taken place nearly two weeks after the masque. In all that time she had not been conscious.
“Does it matter what I remember?” she asked at last, opening her eyes to search Nick’s dear face. He was older now, as was she, but there was still something boyish in the curve of his mouth, at the corners of his bright blue eyes. He had carried the responsibility for all of Dunnelly nearly ten years now and nothing indicated it had ever been a strain. “None of it seems to be true…except for Papa dying.”
“He was murdered, Kenna,” Nick said. “And you nearly died in the cave. That much is true. If there is something in your memory which would help us identify the murderer then I could almost—almost—believe these nightmares have some merit. They certainly have taken their toll on your peace of mind.”
And yours, Kenna wanted to apologize. She said nothing because Nick would dismiss it as unimportant. He knew how she felt about being a burden to him. “Victorine was there.”
Nick shook his head. “We’ve been over that before. Six months ago by your recollection. Oh, Kenna, I wish your dreams served you better. Victorine was with me when father was killed.”
“She was kissing Rhys in the gallery. I’m certain of it.”
“The gallery?” Nicks’ eyebrows knotted. “You’ve never mentioned the gallery before. What has that to do with anything?”
“I don’t know.” She passed a hand over her eyes as if to clear them. “Probably nothing. It just seemed so real. They were arguing…then kissing. And the summer-house…”
“What about the summerhouse?”
“In my dream they had been there. The bed…it was mussed.”
“An erotic dream, sprite?” he teased, touching his finger to the small bump on the bridge of her nose, the only physical scar of her experience. “Mayhap there is hope for you yet. Victorine will be happy. She has all but given up seeing you wed.”
Kenna made a face. “At twenty-three one’s prospects dwindle dramatically. I am firmly on the shelf.”
“Only because you refused a London Season.”
“If you say so,” she said, yawning sleepily. She wondered if Nicholas would recognize the ruse. She wasn’t tired in the least, but her London Season, or rather the lack of it, was a subject she refused to discuss. Nick’s generosity had made it possible for Yvonne to have a splendid season and she had accepted the marriage proposal of a young viscount. Now she was Lady Parker, living in a picturesque country home in the north and dividing her time between a half dozen committees dedicated to good works and her three lively children. No surprises there, Kenna thought a shade wistfully. Yvonne certainly had taken the proper course. Though they corresponded frequently Kenna had not even seen her youngest nephew. A visit to Cherry Hill was long overdue. When Nick left she would compose a letter and invite herself to visit the Parkers.
“Will you be able to sleep now?” Nick asked.
“Mm.”
“I take that to mean yes.” He kissed her warm cheek. “You haven’t forgotten that Rhys is due to arrive on the morrow?”
