A groan from the pallet halted her. She twirled out of his arms to attend her patient. Trevor swallowed his own moan of unsatisfied desire as he went to the door. When this latest mess was done, he was going to have to convince Sybill to see the truth of the way she teased him. Her gentle caresses urged him to discover the full depth of his craving for her. As he paused, he looked back to see her on her knees by the sea-beaten man. He knew the thoughts of the rapture had disappeared from her mind. That strangely did not disturb him. He did not want Sybill to be any way but as she was. Her compassion appealed to him nearly as strongly as her sweet body.
Soon, he promised himself.
Soon.
Sybill was startled when a hand closed with surprising strength on her wrist. She did not pull away because she was afraid to spill the soup. For over an hour, she had been crouched here, trying to give the sailor what might be his last meal. He had swallowed little. Carefully she took the spoon in her other hand and slowly returned it to the bowl. Her eyes never left his face as he gazed about the dirty room.
It startled her to see how alert he was, and she wondered if he had been awake for a while before letting her know. She put that thought from her mind. What cause could he have for such subterfuge? The fact she had not turned him over to the authorities should prove she meant him no harm.
“Your name?” he demanded, as if he were in control. His voice cracked on each word, but she understood his question through his thick accent.
“I am Sybill. You must eat, sir.”
He shook his head. “I must know first. You are a small, weak woman. You could not have brought me here alone. Who helped you?”
“A friend. He has gone to find a priest.”
Her words seemed to surprise him. Slowly he released her wrist, but refused to eat. “You may call me Joaquin Peña.” From the way his eyes slid away from hers, she knew that was not his real name. What it truly was did not matter to her. “Where is your husband?” he asked, surprising her with the continuation of his inquisition.
Softly she smiled. “I don’t have a husband, Joaquin. Don’t worry so. I didn’t have you brought here so I could betray you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I hate your country and the Armada of which you must have been a part. I do not share your Catholic faith, but I know it is right to help someone who needs help.”
Instead of the gratitude, he laughed until coughs halted the derisive sound. When he could speak, he said, “You are a fool, Sybill!”
“Am I?”
“You will die for this.” That thought appealed to him. She could not understand why. Although they were enemies by birth, she had shown him she wished to help.
“I—” The knock on the door interrupted her. She turned and called, “Who is it?”
She did not hear the answer as an iron bar clamped around her throat. Joaquin’s uneven breathing sounded loudly in her ears. Although she did not know where it had come from, a knife appeared near her. It was aimed at the door. As she saw it begin to open, she wished she could scream out a warning. All her efforts revolved around trying to breathe past his constricting arm.
The door opened to reveal a man. Her heart stopped its terrified beat in a painful, silent scream of horror. Trevor threw himself to the floor instinctively. The knife drove into the soft wood inches from where his head had been. Rising, he plucked it from the wall.
“Release her,” he said quietly. “You fool! Don’t you recognize an ally?”
“You are English. You are not my allies.” He tightened his grip around the woman. When he felt her sag against him, he knew he was suffocating her. He fought his ravaged body to garner the strength he needed to show these English he did not want their pity. With a breathless laugh, he sharply contracted his arm around her throat.
Sybill clawed at him. Black spots interspersed with glittering stars filled her vision as she saw Trevor take a step toward them. Then everything disappeared.
Slowly Sybill awoke from a confused dream. When she saw a beloved face over hers, she knew it must be a fantasy. So many times she had wished to open her eyes from sleep and feel Trevor’s arms around her. Trembling fingers rose to touch his face, and she mirrored his smile. In the soft world of her dreams, she brought his lips down to touch hers. Only briefly did he caress her mouth, but she felt a crescendo of yearning swirling through her. With his hands stroking the curve of her shoulder, his whisper sounded in her ear.
“I brought Father Stanford. Do you feel well enough to speak to him? He wants to meet you.”
She knew then she was not dreaming. If this was her imagination, such bursts of reality would not invade her longing to know Trevor’s succulent touch, which drove her past the borders of sanity. She nodded regretfully when he asked her if she thought she could stand alone. Despite her optimistic words, she swayed when she gained her feet. He kept his arm around her and turned her so she could see her patient. Joaquin’s chest heaved with his efforts to breathe. His attempt to kill her may well have backfired to destroy the vestiges of his strength.
She looked across the small hut to where a dark-haired man dressed in normal clothes was celebrating the mass she had never seen. More than before, she knew the danger she had asked Trevor to assume with her desire to be a heroine. Not only were they sheltering a man who should be hanged, but they were watching a priest performing the services that had been outlawed.
When the man stood, he came over to speak to them. He smiled gently as he saw her concern. It was an expression he had become accustomed to since he had accepted his vocation. “Child,” he said, “you have done a wondrously kind thing by caring for this man. God bless you for what you have done.”
“Thank you.” She was unsure what else to say. She had not guessed how complicated her life would become.
“I will return—home.” Father Stanford did not look at Sybill as he hesitated. “Come for me.”
“I will, Father. Thank you.”
“It is you who should be thanked. You so selflessly are risking your life for one you have never met.” He went to the man lying on the thin mattress. What he whispered to Joaquin, Sybill did not hear, but she saw the dying man nod his head slowly. When the priest left the small hut, silence crashed down around them. Joaquin’s dark eyes viewed them suspiciously.
“Do you want more to eat?” she asked.
Coldly he snarled, “No. I do not want your swill. Leave me, woman.”
In shock, she glanced at Trevor. His face was twisted with rage, but smoothed almost immediately into its normally tranquil lines. The sailor wished to goad him into doing something foolish, so Joaquin could have a chance to kill him. That the man who barely could lift himself from the pallet thought he could best Trevor showed the undiminished egotism of the beaten Armada. “Hush,” he murmured as she started to speak. “If he doesn’t want to eat, we won’t force him.” Ignoring the vicious scowl of their patient, he turned her to face him. “You must go home, too, sweetheart.”
“I can’t leave you here alone. If you were discovered—”
“I won’t be. Go home. If you are late for dinner, he will send out search parties for you. Then all will be lost for all of us.”
Wetting her lips, she noted how he did not mention Owen by name. He distrusted Joaquin as much as the Spaniard did them. She nodded. He was correct. Owen would be distraught if she was not at the Cloister at dinnertime. “All right. I will go. I will devise some tale for him.”
“Don’t come back until the morning, sweetheart. I don’t want you on the shore road in the dark. Our friend over there might not be the only one washed ashore.”
In a whisper, she begged, “Stay safe.”
He smiled as he gazed into her candid eyes and placed her expression in a most special part of his memory so he could savor it during the coldest hours. Kissing her quickly, he ignored the derisive noise from their prisoner. “I will see you in the morning.”
; Sybill nodded. Even as she walked to the door, she longed to spin about and tell him she would not desert him to the danger. Doing that would endanger him even more. She did not look back as she closed the door. The sound of a bar dropping into place told her Trevor would take no chances of being discovered. Mounting the horse, she urged it toward the Cloister. Not for a minute could she forget that three lives might depend on her ability to act as if nothing was unusual.
Sybill left the horse at the stable and hurried toward the house. If she did not have to speak to anyone, she would not have to worry about lying. She laughed as she was greeted by Goldenrod with the enthusiasm her dog saved expressly for her. Dropping to her knees, she buried her face in his sun-drenched fur and took a deep breath of the odors he had picked up on his romps among the shrubbery.
“Oh, Goldenrod,” she whispered with her cheek close to him, “why can’t we be more like you? You don’t hate. You just love everyone, and everyone loves you.”
The dog licked her hand eagerly, but raced off as she stood. She recognized his invitation to play as he paused several yards from her. She had no energy for such antics, so she merely vowed she would play with him tomorrow. She wondered if she could keep her promise.
“Good evening, Miss Sybill,” said Marshall as she opened the door.
“Hello,” she replied listlessly. The adrenaline had drained away to leave her exhausted. It took every drop of her energy to climb the seemingly endless staircase. She wandered along the hallway to her rooms. Going in, she sank into a chair. She leaned her head against the back and closed her eyes. Little had she guessed when she left for a forbidden stroll along the beach that she would become embroiled in something even more illicit.
“It’s about time you arrived back. Look at your gown, Miss Sybill! Come and let me help you get ready for dinner. Lord Foxbridge will be irritated. You are a half hour late.” Until Kate began to reprimand her loudly for her tardiness, Sybill had no idea how much time had been spent in the seaside hut.
She followed her maid into her bedroom so she could clean away the harsh sand. Beneath the skin where Joaquin attempted to strangle her, her throat continued to hurt each time she swallowed. All the derogatory insults she had heard fired at the Spanish might very well be true, if Joaquin was an example. At least she did not have to worry about being attacked again. The priest had exacted a promise from him not to hurt her. Sybill’s back became rigid as she realized Father Stanford had requested no such vows to protect Trevor. Relaxing when she heard her maid’s sharp order to loosen her shoulders a bit so she could hook her gown into place, she knew Trevor would be able to handle Joaquin.
They had been warned of his treachery. She closed her eyes as her mind erupted with the scene of Trevor opening the door to place himself directly in front of the knife. His startlingly agile reflexes had saved him. To think of Trevor injured or dead sent a cold wave of fear through her. It was impossible to imagine a life without him. Sybill stared at her reflection in the mirror over her dressing table and saw the softening of her lips as she recalled the lush joy of his kisses. No longer could she hide the truth from herself.
She loved the often overbearing, always dedicated estate manager named Trevor Breton. For the past weeks, she had been fleeing from the truth, concealing her heart’s desires from herself and from him. Lacing her fingers together in front of her, she wondered if she should stop her flight and accept the truth. She loved Trevor! Suddenly she wanted to climb to the top of the east tower and shout the tidings to be carried throughout the world on the strong wings of the seabirds.
“Miss Sybill, will you relax a bit?”
She started to retort, but knew she did not want to argue with Kate again. After …
“Miss Sybill, are you cold? Why are you shivering? What is the matter with you today, girl?”
Turning so Kate could not see her face, she said, “I’m fine.” It was a lie. After Joaquin died, she would talk to Kate about her behavior. Those thoughts she did not want in her head. Not when she held the knowledge of her love so close to her heart.
“Fine?” demanded Kate petulantly. “You act as if you are waiting for the executioner to drop his ax on your head!”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t be the one to be thinking of that!” Her frustration and fear altered into rage at Kate’s continued nastiness. “I don’t want to hear more of your comments this evening.”
“Maybe it’s time you did!”
Her heavy, bejeweled skirts bumped into a chair, rocking it back, as she whirled to face the superior expression on her maid’s face. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just remember it’s Lord Foxbridge to whom you owe your home, Miss Sybill.”
“That I never forget. You need not lecture me. I know my obligations.”
Kate was rehanging the dress Sybill had been wearing and noted the stain of salt at its hem. “Is that why you have been cavorting all afternoon with Mr. Breton when you know the lord enjoys your company?”
Her back straightened as she dredged up an image of self-righteous dignity. “Kate, if it is any of your business, which it isn’t, Owen specifically told me he was going to be busy today. I didn’t spend all afternoon with Trevor. I went for a walk. Alone.”
“Alone?” The maid laughed harshly. She tossed the soiled dress to the floor and closed the cupboard door.
“I went alone. As you can see by the salt on my gown, I went to the water’s edge. You know, I’m sure, from your favored habit of listening at keyholes, that both Trevor and Owen have forbidden me to go near the strand.” She smiled coldly. “There, Kate. You have information which you can spread throughout the whole Cloister about my misbehavior.”
“Miss Sybill, I—”
“Oh, be quiet. Don’t add lying to my face to the list of your sins. I know how you love to share every detail of my life with any who will listen.” She went to the door of the bedroom. “I don’t want to hear any more. I suggest you remember your place in this household!”
As she slammed the door behind her, Sybill bit her lip. She had never had to let a servant go for insolence. Only once did she have a problem in London. That lad had been caught stealing and was ordered from the house. She did not want to think of someone losing her position in these days when there were too few jobs. It was far easier to accept the strain of living with someone who cared only for advancing herself in Lord Foxbridge’s favor. Even as she walked down the stairs, she was deciding to talk with Trevor about this after … later. He would know the best way to handle a dismissal at the Cloister. Her frown deepened as she wondered if she would be allowed to make the decision.
For the first time since the project had been finished, she did not feel the compulsion to sneak into the parlor to peek at the completed portrait. She walked past the wide arch without thinking of it. Too many other, more vital issues cluttered her mind.
Her false smile was firmly in place as she entered the dining room. She was not surprised Owen was waiting near the door. She had become accustomed to his actions, and it no longer bothered her to find him lurking about the Cloister like a cat set to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse.
“Good evening, my dear.”
“Good evening,” she replied as he lifted her fingers to his lips. She forced her smile to be more pleasant as his pale eyes regarded her. Not for a second could she let him suspect what was truly boiling through her brain.
“How beautiful you look! I agree with M. Sievers’ assessment. Blue is the perfect color for you. It brings out the warmth of your eyes.”
As she murmured the required words of gratitude for his compliment, she glanced with little interest at what she was wearing. Until now, she had not noticed which dress Kate had taken out of the armoire. It was another new one. The rich navy velvet was only a few shades darker than her eyes. As with many of the gowns Owen had ordered, it was encrusted with gems.
She walked to the table, not caring what she wore when too many lives were in jeopardy tonight b
ecause of her impetuous actions. As Owen held her chair for her, she realized she could have done no differently. She could not have left Joaquin to die. She could not have saved him alone, and the only one she could trust was Trevor. The future was inevitable once she had heard Joaquin’s moans.
If Owen noticed her uncharacteristic quiet, he said nothing as the meal was served. Sybill whispered her thanks to the maids. After a short prayer, she began to eat. Not talking helped her keep from thinking. She wanted to concentrate on food instead of Trevor, shut away in a darkened hut tending to the needs of a man eager to kill him.
“Sybill?”
“Yes?”
Owen chuckled, the wrinkles in his face deepening to shadowed valleys. “You are far away tonight. I have been speaking to you, and I know you didn’t hear a single phrase I said.”
“I am sorry. I am tired tonight.”
“Is something troubling you?”
Fury erupted in her, but she banked it. Simply because she was upset with Kate’s never-ending curiosity, she should not react so harshly to Owen. He wanted only to be kind. “I am fine,” she replied as she had to Kate.
“Is that so?” His amazingly long fingers slid over hers. “Sybill, I want you to know you can come to me for whatever reason whenever you wish. I care for you, and I do not want you to worry about anything.”
She kept her eyes on her plate. “I know, and I appreciate that. Don’t worry. I took a walk today, and I think all the fresh air has made me sleepy.”
“I understand. Vigorous exercise does that, as well as puts the lovely blossom into your cheeks.” He picked up his knife and began to eat. “It seems strange to be eating alone with you. I don’t recall Trevor telling me he wouldn’t be here this evening.”
“Trevor is busy,” she murmured into her roast beef.
“Busy? Doing what?”
There was a strange sound in Owen’s voice which brought her eyes up to his. “I’m not sure exactly what he is doing.” That was not a total lie. She could not know what he was doing at this moment. “I saw him while I was riding, and he mentioned he would be busy.”
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