Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3)

by Jackie Ivie

  “A kiss, fair maid?”

  He leaned over. Averill reached for him, sniffing at the scent of his clean, freshly washed hair and warm skin.

  “Don’t cry, Averill.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It makes me feel...how can I describe it? Like there’s someone in this world that truly cares for me, and by the grace of God, I found her. How’s that?”

  “That’s beautiful.”

  “And true. And…bother. I miss you already. It’s probably because we’ve been together, night and day, for what feels like months. It feels strange already, and I haven’t even left, yet.”

  “I love you.”

  “Please don’t cry, Averill. You’ll make me start. My superiors will hardly enjoy seeing a weeping captain, now will they?”

  She smiled at his teasing, but the smile vanished the moment he rose. His uniform fit perfectly. It hugged his waist, while the braid followed the line of his legs to his calf-high boots. And they were highly polished, just like the first time she’d seen him.

  Then he was gone.

  Averill turned her face into the pillow.

  ~ ~ ~

  “The situation has not improved, Averill…and now this.”

  “Your message?”

  Averill added darker blue to her palette. It was impossible to find a better subject than Tenny, except when he was worried. And fidgeting.

  “Yes, that. My uncle wants me to return before something happens, like injury, or God forbid, my death.” He sighed. “It isn’t as though he doesn’t ask the same thing every month, but to send it urgent means something has happened. Will it bother you if I scratch my nose?”

  She held the brush above the canvas for a moment before resuming. Talk of his injury or death made her shake, anyway. She didn’t dare let him see. “I finished your face yesterday,” she answered finally.

  “Oh. Good.”

  He visibly relaxed much more than just his features. She smiled to herself.

  “And Harvey is worse than an old woman. Did I tell you? He wants me to resign immediately, as well. I’m being coddled to within an inch of my life. I won’t see any action at this rate!”

  Well. At least Harvey showed sense. She’d heard the same complaint from Tenny since he’d first returned to her. She didn’t blame him for feeling useless. Diplomatic meetings got canceled. Britain was fortifying the harbor. Tenny attended endless meetings at the consulate. He often spoke of his frustration. Averill had already painted that intensity into the portrait. It shone through, even though his pose in uniform didn’t lend itself to individuality.

  Still, for her first effort at portraiture, she was pleased.

  “When will you let me have another canvas, Tenny?” she asked. “This one stifles me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What you’re really asking is, when will I get that monstrosity of a canvas here? Won’t happen, darling. Apologies. That thing announces wealth. Bearing it through those crowds would start a riot.”

  She understood. Every day, more people thronged the streets, the newcomers looking even poorer and more ill-prepared than those they joined. Why…if she looked out the window at that moment, she’d probably see more than ever.

  “Think of me, for a change.”

  “Oh Tenny. It’s unsafe?”

  “I misspoke, love. No fears, all right? I’m safe. In little danger. I’ve even been assigned a berth in the officer quarters aboard ship.”

  “Aboard?”

  She set her brush down with a jolt. Did that mean he wouldn’t come anymore? His presence brought meaning to her existence, and passion to every afternoon. It was bad enough he’d been on night duty since reporting in. The nights were long without him. She rarely managed to sleep. If he couldn’t come at all?

  She couldn’t bear the thought.

  “Are we finished yet? I’d like to sample some of that hamper Harvey packed.”

  “Of course.” She forced a smile. “I’m hungry, too.”

  “So. Averill? Have you explored yet?” he asked, flexing and stretching as if he’d actually held still. “No? Not even the house?”

  “With the food you bring me? I have no reason to leave this room.”

  She dismissed the thought of the disturbance the previous night. If she told him, he’d worry over her, too. She wouldn’t add that. Besides, it was to be expected. The crowds outside grew louder and more rowdy each passing day. She’d thought Cairo had been bad. It was little compared to these streets. She’d started to fear, since they were crammed into such small spaces, that they’d find her door. And her.

  “Well. Mohammad is closing in,” Tenny said. “It might not be for too much longer.”

  She watched him sample his chicken and tried to listen. It was difficult, because he’d removed his uniform jacket and sat cross-legged on the floor.

  Light touched his hair, highlighting the red in it. She’d captured it perfectly on her canvas. It was easier to paint people than she suspected it would be. Her brush had moved almost on its own. Perhaps that was because she loved her subject so much.

  “This laziness becomes you, Averill. You’ve gained some much-needed weight, too.”

  She blushed. She noticed the change, too. “Thank you.”

  “Oh. Darling. I have other means in mind for you to thank me,” he replied and reached for her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Something woke her. It came through the shuttered window. Averill stirred on the bed, her arm automatically reaching for the vacant space where Tenny had been before cracking open an eye. It looked near dawn. She’d slept deeply. And hard. She felt safe. Secure. Drowsy. It wouldn’t take much to return to slumber. Averill stretched and looked over at Tenny’s portrait. It was official-looking and yet still showed his warm-hearted nature. And somehow she had the talent for capturing it.

  “Fire!”

  The word filtered through the shuttered window. Averill blinked the sleep from her eyes. Sat. Looked across at the aperture, just visible in the dim light. Did someone just shout fire?

  Awareness came. Finally. A moment later she was at the window, unlatching the shutter to push it open. And the next she was yanking it back closed. Dense smoke filled the streets in every direction, billowing upward and outward. It stung her eyes. Filled her chest. She was bent over, coughing for some moments while her thoughts whirled. Nobody could be down there. They wouldn’t be able to breathe. They’d perish!

  She counseled herself against rising panic. She had little time. She needed clothing. Where would Tenny’s friend put a wardrobe? She raced into the hall, checked two locked doors before finding one that opened. It was used for storage. Averill began opening trunks and found men’s clothing in the second box she opened.

  She stared at the burnoose. Tenny’s friend was a man? He should’ve told her. It would’ve been less worrisome. Or…in truth, she should’ve asked. And she was wasting precious time. She slipped the pants on and fastened a cord around her waist with shaking hands. In the dim light of dawn, she could just make out fingers of smoke filtering across the wood underfoot.

  The whole house is made of wood!

  A roar blasted from somewhere in the house, ominously. With it, came heat. The soles of her feet felt it. She tossed on a shirt and then the burnoose. It was done, but her new clothing dragged on the floor as she left.

  She staggered about the hall, gagging on smoke, but she’d gone the wrong way. She was back in her room, glancing first at the bed, then Tenny’s portrait, and from that to the bag of money Tenny had left her on a dresser. She might need that. A moment later she had the bag in her pocket and from there, it was a few rushed steps to the stairs. The fire hadn’t waited. Flames licked at the bottom steps, chasing her back up them, and right back to her room. Averill slammed the door and leaned against it, panting in fear, trying to think.

  Nobody was going to save her.

  Again.

  It was up to her. She’d have to get out somehow. Or
perish. What she needed was an exit…or water. And that’s when she remembered the pump. She grabbed the blanket from the bed, tripping over it in haste, fell against the dressing table, and knocked Tenny’s portrait from its perch. It dropped into the haze of smoke that reached her knees. She didn’t spare it another glance.

  It took two, muscle-straining pumps to get any water out, but once it came, it gushed. Averill shoved the blanket under the spout and pumped until everything was soaked. And then she wrapped it about her, shivering worse as chill added to fear, and the staircase looked like it was now engulfed in flames!

  Just a glance burned, so Averill grabbed the blankets about her, clutched them closed from the inside and slid blindly down the wall, hunched beneath the weight. She took a step. Another. One more. Another. A countless amount. Would they never end? Before she reached the landing, she knew she was in worse trouble. Her feet were radiating pain.

  The pathway finally leveled off. She reached the tile of the ground floor, but she couldn’t feel it. Very little sensation made it through agony that had reached her thighs. Oh, how she wished she’d paid more attention when Harvey had first brought them! Or that she’d had the sense to explore.

  Each breath was filled with heat and smoke. It choked her even through her blanket wall. Averill fought cough spasms, hunched further, and kept moving. Somewhere there was a door. And succor. Screams came to her, primarily from her left. She moved toward them. She slid one foot. Another. And finally her head bumped into a structure. She ran her hands along it until she felt a handle. It wasn’t hot. But it was locked. Averill fumbled with the lock before the knob finally turned, she pulled the door open, and fell out into the sunshine.

  The blanket was hissing and steaming. Averill kicked at it with throbbing feet. She refused to look at them. She didn’t dare. Smoke was pouring upward from the doorway she just left, and there was a wall of flames fueling it from behind.

  She crawled across the alley to a post. The next one. She didn’t try to stand until she’d reached the third post. Her legs gave her trouble. She had to pull herself upright. And there she stood, swaying against the pole, taking great gulps of air while blinking against a blur that wouldn’t clear. Her eyes burned. Her chest hurt. But tears were for the weak. She’d survived. Now all she had to do was reach Tenny.

  She stumbled away from the porch, ignoring how each step sent pain through her legs. A flood of people passed her, screaming about the fire. Behind, if she cared to look, the entire block was aflame. They yelled it at anyone who would listen. She didn’t turn to check. She’d seen it.

  A horse-drawn fire wagon almost ran her down. She limped to one side of the street, keeping herself from falling by an act of will. No one noticed. No one cared. She righted herself and kept walking.

  It felt like hours later she reached a square that actually contained a well. She slumped against a wall, to rest and gather courage. Pain had risen from her ankles to consume her legs, lock her knees, and send agony with every step, while all about her, people were racing. Shouting. Filling buckets and hauling them away. Nobody seemed to notice her at all.

  She kept her eyes on the bucket as she raised it. Once she had it, she slumped to the ground in order to rinse her feet, stifling cries as she poured water. The dirt was rinsed off, and that just made the pain worse. Fresh tears poured down her cheeks, dropping as black spots on her white burnoose. She tore at the hem of her garment with shaking hands. She wouldn’t be able to continue if she didn’t somehow protect her feet.

  Averill dipped the strips of material in the water and bound her feet, stopping often to wipe ceaseless tears on a sleeve. The tears were worse than stupid. They didn’t soothe the burn behind her eyes. They didn’t make the view any clearer. They weakened and sapped her resolve. And none of that would get her to Tenny. Averill stood, using her arms as much as her legs, and that’s when she saw what looked like a walking stick. Propped beside her against the well. Without anyone near enough to claim it.

  It didn’t seem possible.

  Averill slid along the well edge, swiping again at her eyes. It was a miracle! When she most needed it. She pulled the stick to her breast and held it for a long moment, expecting a challenge to her possession at any moment. None came.

  And that’s when she knew for certain that she’d make it to Tenny. All she had to do was get there. And that’s when she realized how poorly she’d been thinking. She shouldn’t have left. She didn’t know where the docks were. She couldn’t even see a ship mast. She didn’t even know which direction to take.

  She had to go back.

  Averill forced her legs to support her for a stand. And then she forced herself to walk, limp forward a step, while the stick supported the move. The other leg was awkward acting as she dragged it forward. But it moved. She could walk. So, she did the maneuver again. And again.

  The sun beating down on her was the same she had lived with all her life, but its brightness that day felt different. Almost unbearable. She stopped at a fruit seller’s stall and reached for the bag at her hip. She gasped as she opened it before quickly slapping it shut. Re-pocketing it. She hobbled away before the man noticed. Tenny had left her a fortune in large coins! She couldn’t buy food with such large coins. Someone would steal them…or do worse to get them. Stupid man.

  Stupid, wonderful man!

  Averill wiped again at her eyes. It was stupid to cry but the tears wouldn’t cease. The smoke was a gray shade now. Perhaps the fire was out. She started back down streets that blurred together in her mind. Worry arrived next. What if Tenny came for her…and she wasn’t there?

  Would he think she’d perished?

  Anxiety dogged each step. She moved quicker despite how she stumbled. Ashes clung to the air now. She knew she was getting closer. At times, a cry or groan made her look up, but otherwise, she concentrated on the ground beneath each step.

  One more step, she told herself. One more. Another....

  The smoke grew thick again. It also carried a horrid sweet smell that made her gag more than once. She covered her mouth and nose with the front of the burnoose. Smoke stung her eyes again, creating even more tears. She blinked uselessly at them, barely recognizing the street that had once been cluttered with humanity.

  And then her eyes widened. She stifled a scream. Smoking, charred, human remains were propped against the building right in front of her. She was going to be ill. Averill clutched her belly and bent forward, leaning against the stick as she heaved for breath. She slid to knees that weren’t working and fell forward until her forehead reached the dirt. She squinted as the dust below her moved as ants scurried about, far removed from the destruction right above them. Lucky ants, she thought.

  A woman sobbed somewhere near her, and a child, too. Averill wondered why no one helped them. Couldn’t anyone else hear their misery? Was everyone deaf? And that’s when she heard Tenny.

  “How could this have happened? I want her found and I want it done, now! Now! Do you hear me? Oh, God, help me! Averill!”

  Tenny’s anguish reached through her stupor. Averill lifted her head and tried to focus. He was so near, looking proud and official in his uniform, but he was moving away.

  “Tenny!”

  Her voice didn’t work. All that happened was a rough whisper of sound that hurt her throat. She pulled herself upright, forcing her legs to hold her. The walking stick shook with the effort.

  “Tenny! I’m here!”

  Averill stumbled forward, sending agony with each step. He was mounting his horse. Her feet wouldn’t move fast enough. He’d never see her.

  “Tenny! Captain Andrew Tennison! Tenny!”

  She croaked his name as he lifted the reins. No. No. He was leaving. No! And then Harvey turned in her direction. Absolute joy flooded her, overtaking even the pain. Her lower legs no longer existed. Her feet were as nothing.

  “Harvey! Oh, thank God!”

  She gathered breath through a raw throat. Others in the street saw he
r. A dog barked at her. Harvey met her eyes over the heads of the crowd. Averill waved wildly with both hands, one even holding her stick.

  And then he turned away.

  “No!”

  The word was screamed as her throat closed off, her heart swelled, and her belly lurched with a sickening motion. And that’s when her legs failed her completely, dropping her into the dust.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Here you go.”

  A nun lifted Averill’s head and dripped broth across her lips. She choked as it went down wrong. The coughing became a raging torrent that burned her lungs. That just seemed to match everything else. Averill’s eyes fluttered open.

  “You’re a very lucky young man. The wagon nearly ran you over, you poor thing. Here. Let me help you.”

  The woman put an arm behind Averill. Lifted her shoulders. And then the sister fitted a hard pillow behind her back.

  “Where...am I?” Her voice didn’t give away her gender. It was hoarse. Deep.

  “A medical station. You’ve got some nasty burns there. The doctor wasn’t certain he could save your right foot. As I said before, you’re a very lucky young man.”

  “I…I can’t stay here! There’s an inn outside the gates. I must go there—ah!”

  Averill’s words ended on a cry as blood rushed to her bandaged feet when she swiveled.

  “Well! Dr. Abrahm will certainly wish words with you. It took him more than two hours to piece skin back together, and here you are, trying to walk on it again.”

  “You must help me, Sister? Please?” Her eyes burned. Her throat closed off. But no tears came. “I must get to that inn. I must!”

  “Very well. I’ll check with the doctor.”

  “Please? I’ll do anything you ask. And…I can pay.” She lifted the bag from under her robe and poured coins into her palm. “I have money. See?”