Shades of Gray (9 page)

Chapter 10

Raindrops beat
against the window and trickled down to the wooden pane.  Kat lay on her side,
watching the watery trails.  The lightning illuminated the glass like a mirror,
reflecting the interior of the room in a blue haze.  Unlike her siblings,
storms had always been a source of comfort to her.  While her sisters clung to
their mother’s skirt, hiding their faces in its folds, Kat would swathe herself
in a blanket and snuggle on the couch. 

Filled with
daydreams of knights and daring conquerors, she would sip from a hot mug of
cider and enjoy the violent display.  She positioned the dark skies in place
for the backdrop of her story.  Thunder and lightning served as pounding horse
hooves and crashing swords.  In her imagination, sparks ignited the air as the
hero fought the evil villain to win the heart of the fair princess. 

She sighed at
the memory.  It was too bad that happy endings only occurred in childhood
imaginations.  She rolled to the flat of her back and stared up at the
ceiling.  Enwrapped in the coziness of the present storm, she considered her
conversation with Laura.  Gray’s wife had been murdered.  Death is the grimmest
ending of all.  Kat thought of the image in the painting. 

The woman who
flirted seductively with the artist showed no signs of anticipated danger. 
Even if the painter had been the one to end her life, it had not been evident
at the time of her sitting.  Daria had a pleasing look about her.  It was hard
to believe that she was dead, not to mention, murdered.  Laura hadn’t mentioned
if the killer had been brought to trial.  He could still be wandering the
countryside free of punishment.

Considering
the aftermath of Daria’s death, Kat licked her lips in thought.  Her dry tongue
offered no moisture to the parched skin.  Laura had mentioned that she would
return to fill her pitcher.  Dredging up the family trauma must have been more
difficult to relive than she realized.  She had not seen her since their
conversation.  Kat shouldn’t have pressed to know the identity of the woman in
the painting.  Always scolded for her nosiness, she now realized that some
secrets hid pain.

She pulled the
blankets to the side and sat up.  Her crutch would have to help her maneuver
the stairs.  After the hurt she had caused Laura, she would extend a small
courtesy and let the woman rest.  Surely she could locate the kitchen and pour
a glass of water.  She glanced at her foot as though making an agreement with
the limb.  If her ankle would provide enough support for her to reach the first
floor, she would prop her leg on a chair and rest while she drank her fill.

She stepped
into the hallway and waited for the lightning to strike.  With a storm as
violent as this one, she wouldn’t need a candle for illumination.  She turned
her head from left to right and tried to remember which direction Gray had
brought her on the first night she arrived.  Heading toward the end of the
hall, she leaned on her crutch and hoped she chose correctly.

The top of the
landing came into view, and she breathed a sigh of relief.  Halfway to her
goal, she leaned her shoulder against the wall and stared down the incline. 
The slant seemed much steeper than she remembered.  She shifted her foot
forward and tried to decide the best way to descend the steps.  With one arm
braced against the banister and the other on her crutch, she hopped down the
stairs, banging her body into the walls.  The kitchen tile was only inches
away.  She hoped there was a fresh pail of drinking water on the counter. 
Finally on flat ground, she breathed deep and wiped the back of her hand across
her face.  She didn’t want to think about how she would climb the stairs to
return to her room.

Lightning
flashed, revealing a candle in the center of the table.  She moved forward and
groped the stand for the flint.  A few quick flicks of her wrist and the wick
caught fire.  Her eyes had been closed when she had passed through this room
days ago.  She glanced around to see how Laura had arranged it.  Neat and tidy,
she expected nothing less from her hostess.  A water pail sat on the far side
of the counter, near the window. 

Kat hooked her
crutch on the edge of the chair and limped to the bucket.  The water line was
halfway up the side of the wood.  She dipped a nearby glass into the center and
drank deep.  Refreshment had never tasted so good.  To the side, a dishtowel
lay spread over a plate.  There were no bells tied to the ends of the cloth to
alert the baker of an impending theft.  Kat looked around the room to see if
anyone would stop her from snooping.  Since no one announced themselves, she
pulled the cloth away.  A pie lay beneath the cover.  Fragrant and enticing,
the fruity smell filled the air around her.  Her mouth watered and she licked
her lips.  To refuse a treat now would be torture.  After the trek she had made
from the second floor to the first, she could use some nourishment.  Without
wasting another second, she searched the cabinet for a plate.  

She sliced
herself a big wedge and carried her portion to the table.  Sitting down, she
broke off a piece of crust and popped it in her mouth.  Blackberry.  Her
favorite.  She took another bite and savored the lemon zest she tasted.  Laura
would have to teach her the secret to creating such a flaky crust.  Berry juice
oozed from between the layers, and Kat scooped another forkful.  As delicious
as her treat was, her thoughts wandered back to Daria and Gray. 

Gray did have
a withdrawn and aloof personality, but he had shown her kindness and
consideration since the moment she had arrived in town.  She had also felt safe
and protected from the moment she stepped her mangled foot onto his property. 
It was hard to imagine that a woman would be unfaithful to a man who had the
qualities he had shown.  But if that painting had been accurate, Daria
certainly seemed to have more than a passing attraction to the man with the
brush.

She sipped
from her glass and looked over the rim.  The back door leading to the porch
opened, and the handle twisted back to a resting position.  Kat lowered her
drink and flicked a glance to the counter.  The knife she used to cut the pie
lay next to the tin.  She could reach it within a few steps.  She turned her
legs to the side and prepared to slide out of the chair.  Before she could
stand, a man stepped from behind the door.  His head turned sharply in her
direction, and he looked at her from over his upturned collar.

“Gray,” Kat
sighed.  “I didn’t realize you were home.”

A few drops of
water darkened his brown leather coat.  She would have thought his clothing
would be drenched after a long ride in the pouring rain.  His breeches and
boots looked scuffed and dirty, but not muddy.  He left his jacket on and
pulled his hat low over his brow.  Kat narrowed her eyes and tried to see what
he hid.

“Would you
like a towel?” she asked.

He shook his
head in answer and then looked toward the stairs.  “How did you get down here?”

She sat her
glass on the table.  “I wanted some water and thought now might be a good time
to test the strength of my ankle.”

He nodded and
turned toward the stairs.  Although he had always been distant, tonight, he
seemed to hide something.

“Would you
like a piece of pie?” she asked, hoping to entice him into staying in the
kitchen.  Laura had told her that Gray’s wife had been murdered.  While she had
omitted details of Daria’s death, she was certain that Gray would know the
facts better than anyone.

With his foot
on the first riser, he paused and seemed to consider her offer.

“It’s
blackberry,” she added, hoping to tip his decision to her favor.  “I couldn’t
resist having a slice when I saw it.  I hope your mother won’t mind.  It’s
really delicious.”

She took his
hesitation as a positive response and shuffled her way back to the counter. 
The sound of leather being folded crumpled behind her, followed by the hum of
wood sliding against wood.  She smiled at the thought of sharing a slice of pie
with him.  The tip of the knife pierced the center of the dessert and she
paused.  Shifting the handle to the right, she increased the size of his
portion.  There was no need to give him a small slice.  She hefted a large
wedge onto a plate and licked the berry juice from her finger.  Laura might be
less angry if they both ate the pastry.  She lifted the dish and turned toward
the table.  The plate fell from her hand and rattled to the floor.  Fruit and
crust splattered her feet.  Opposite of her, Gray’s left eye was swollen and
his lip was red and puffy.  Blood streaked his rumpled shirt.

She bent to
scoop up the mess, but kept her eyes focused on Gray.  He sat at the end of the
table, seemingly unaffected by the noise she made.   His coat draped the back
of the chair and his hat hanged off the one post.  She had never seen him look
so disheveled.  His shoulders slumped and his head lolled forward.  He ran his
hand through his hair and revealed his face.  His chin rested in the palm of
his hand.  She looked closer. 

“What happened
to you?”  Kat stepped over the sticky spot on the floor and dipped a cloth in
the water pail.  She plodded to the table, putting more pressure on her foot
than she would have liked.  Gritting her teeth, she pulled a chair toward him
and sat down.  She dabbed at the injured area, not waiting for him to grant
permission.

He closed his
eye, but didn’t push her hand away.  “This isn’t necessary,” he said.  “I’ll be
fine.” 

Surely he
didn’t think she was going to leave him to care for his own cuts.  The marks on
his face and hands looked as though he had fallen into the horse’s path and had
been trampled.  His clothes were ripped and dirty, and from the acidic smell of
him, he must have walked for miles to corral his horse. 

She dropped
her gaze to the red splotches on his chest.  If he had been caught in the
storm, why weren’t his clothes drenched with rain water?  She continued to blot
the dried blood on his lip.  The injury was worse than she had first thought. 
The fleshy pink area had been slashed.  Straight and shallow, the gash would
heal, but not soon.  This type of wound was not acquired from a horse’s hoof. 
She raised her eyes to look at Gray, hoping to find an answer.  He stared down
at her but didn’t seem forthcoming with information. 

“Did the
thunder spook your mount?” she asked, giving him a chance to tell her what had
happened.

He peered out
from under drawn brows, looking as though he might fall asleep.  “What?” he
asked.

She shrugged
and lowered the cloth to her lap.  “With as much rain as we’ve been getting,
shouldn’t you be muddier?  I don’t know how far Crest Ridge is from here, but
if you walked part of the distance, I would expect you to be dirtier.”

He pulled his
head upright, and Kat tensed.  “What do you know of Crest Ridge?” he demanded,
his voice throaty and terrifying.

Kat blinked
and swallowed the knot in her throat, hoping it would soothe the raw panic that
choked her windpipe.  Her mouth opened and moved to form words, but only
fearful gasps squeaked out.

Gray growled
and slapped the flat of his hand on the table.  Kat flinched and her skin tingled. 
She didn’t know if she should be afraid for her safety or angered by the speed
of his temper. 

He jumped to
his feet, and his chair flipped backward.  Storming to the door, he gripped the
frame and stared out into the night.  His hands tensed, and Kat wondered if he
would rip the trim from its casing.  Leaning his head against the crystal pane,
he seemed to expend all of his energy through the glass.  He breathed deep,
visibly calming with each exhale.

“Crest
Ridge.”  He spoke as though his speaking the name of the town pained him.  “The
dealings I have in that town are none of your concern.”  He peered at her in a
sideways glare and then turned to face her in full.  “What do you know of
it?”  

Kat widened
her eyes, not knowing how to answer.  She stared at the floor, studying a knot
hole in the center of one plank.  It had not been her intent to irritate him. 
If she had known her comment would generate this kind of response, she would
have said nothing.  Now, he stared at her as though she would be hanged at dawn
if she provided an incorrect answer.  She swallowed and raised her gaze to meet
his.  Hopefully, he would judge her blameless in the matter. 

“Your mother
mentioned it,” she stated tentatively.

He turned his
attention toward the stairs and shook his head.  “My mother talks too much.  I
told you, I would protect you.  I was nearby, not in Crest Ridge.”

Kat hoped he
didn’t plan to turn his anger on Laura.  As far as she could tell, neither of
them had done anything to rouse this kind of rage.  She looked from the stairs
to Gray and pulled her head back.  His attention had dropped to her chest, and
he stared at her nightdress.  Her shoulders slumped, and she wondered if he
would add personal humiliation to her punishment.

He didn’t
move, but his face softened.  A heart rendering mix of aching tenderness had
returned to his eyes.  She had seen this distressing expression the first night
she arrived.  Then, she couldn’t understand the reason for his gloom but now,
the connection between the cause of his hurt and the garment was clear.  Daria
had worn these clothes.  She slipped her hand to the neckline of the cotton
print, hopeful that she had remembered to tie the ribbons.

“Your mother
gave it to me to wear.”

He lifted his
chin, his expression cold and stone-like.  “Apparently my mother has no regard
for my thoughts or my belongings.” 

Kat pulled at
the fabric on her lap, pinching the material between her fingers.  “I will
return it to the wardrobe.”