Shana Abe (18 page)

T
here was laughter coming from behind the wall.

Kyla frowned and shook her head, certain she was imagining the sound. It had been a long, long day, and the fact that the sun had only slipped down over the edge of the sea a short while ago didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to fall asleep where she was standing. The journey in the skiff, meeting all of Roland’s people, Harrick, Madoc, Seena, Elysia, the
boisterous meal … The facts were blurred through exhaustion; it had taken the last reserves of her energy to follow the servant up the stairs to this room, short though the distance was from the main hall.

Roland had bidden her an even good-night, a stranger once more, polite and reserved. She didn’t have the strength in her right now to care all that much. Murderer or lover, at the moment it really didn’t seem to matter. She couldn’t think anymore. All she wanted to do was wrap herself in blankets, hidden and secure somewhere in the immense iron bed over there in the corner, close her eyes, and just let it all fade away.

But there it came again, a high-pitched sound, yes, definitely a laugh, coming from behind the fireplace, followed by a muffled thump.

Kyla paused in taking off her shoes.

For a second more she doubted what she heard—it was a trick of acoustics, sounds from another part of the castle carried oddly to this particular room, she had heard of such things before—but no, not again, not when the voices were followed by a few more thumps, all most definitely behind the wall.

She walked over to the fireplace, feeling much more alert. The paneling surrounding it was actually a fine-grained wood, deftly patterned and fitted, leaving not even the smallest gap between the planks. She ran her fingers over it experimentally, up and down, across, not really knowing what she was looking for but knowing something was there. At the top of the wall was a carved row of oak leaves and acorns, weaving in and out of each other all the way across the length of the room.

The corner to her left was blocked by a sturdy, tall armoire. Kyla considered it, the weight and the height of it, a magnificent thing that reached almost to the ceiling and was pressed flush to the wall.

Fading now, the laughter came again, mingled with more voices, ghost sounds moving away from her. After a few minutes they were gone entirely.

She shook her head once more, the exhaustion coursing back in an abrupt wave. She was too tired to think about this. She had faced enough oddities today to surely last her the rest of her life. In fact, the sounds behind the walls were really just in keeping with the entire island—inexplicable, surprising—so the best thing to do had to be to go to bed.

She found the trunk with her clothing in it placed crookedly against the wall opposite the fireplace. The great leather straps had already been unbuckled for her. In fact, even from here she could see there was a corner of a gown mashed between the hinges.

A thoughtless maid, perhaps. But when Kyla opened it fully she was greeted by a jumble of color, bliauts and under-gowns carelessly crushed, strewn together in a chaotic mass. This was not the way she had left her new clothing when she had packed it away in London herself, no doubt about that. Someone had been through the trunk since then. Tonight. Not a maid. Someone who didn’t care if it was discovered that her belongings had been disturbed.

Kyla felt an unpleasant coldness steal over her. Why would anyone do such a thing? Why go through her gowns, when there was nothing extraordinary about them?

She knelt and pulled them out quickly, one by one, and thought they were all still there. She couldn’t be certain, of course. She didn’t really remember them all but it seemed to her that nothing was missing.

So whoever it was, they were not after clothing. Then, what?

She had nothing else. And the sad irony was, even the clothing and the trunk were not hers. Both had been given to her by others. Most of her real belongings were still back at Rosemead.

Kyla rocked back on her heels, surrounded by a hill of fine cloth, even gemmed belts and buckles. All of them, still here. It made no sense at all.

She made a sound of disgust and stood up, tossing the clothing back into a heap in the trunk. She would sort it all out again tomorrow. It must have just been a maid, after all.
She was too fatigued to think of anything else. At least she was able to find the nightgown easily.

The blankets on the bed were warm and soft, the goose feathers of the ticking cushioning her delightfully. Oblivion came swiftly.

Later, much later, she felt another presence in the room with her, someone else in the bed. But rather than being alarmed at the heat of the body sliding in next to hers, she felt comforted, secure. And when his arms held her firmly to him she didn’t resist, but instead fell deeper into her dreams.

Chapter Nine

D
reams or no, Kyla awoke the next morning alone in the bed to the dazzling brightness of an unfamiliar room.

That by itself was not enough to startle her; none of the rooms she had been in for the last few months had become familiar. But there was something …

Lorlmar. She was at Lorlmar. She was at Lorlmar because she was the Countess of Lorlreau—

At the end of the bed, peering just over the edge of one of the soft brown blankets, were seven little faces.

Kyla sat up, pulling the cover closest to her up to her chin, then realized how ridiculous the move was. They were only children, four boys and three girls, with one set of eyes a familiar midnight-blue that looked right through her.

“She’s awake now,” Elysia said helpfully to the others. She reached out an arm and found Kyla’s ankle, holding on lightly.

None of the other children seemed inclined to comment.

The room around them was large and brilliant. She hadn’t taken it in last night but now she could see the richness of it for what it was: the master suite. It must be Roland’s room. And that meant at least something about last night hadn’t been a dream at all, the peaceful warmth of him next to her, the strangely familiar sensation of his body curled against hers.

Her audience watched as she turned her head to take in the surroundings. Light, sturdy furniture, set off with thick
rugs in greens and blues and gold. Tapestries depicting fanciful sea scenes: mermaids, sea horses, dolphins dancing through the waves.

A collection of seashells scattered throughout the room on tables, on shelves; wild things she had never before seen or imagined, some thick and flat with stripes or spots, a few spiny and fierce with delicate pink undertones. Her eyes came to rest again on the children before her.

“Hullo,” she said.

“Good morning,” replied a towheaded boy politely.

Kyla sat up straighten “Was it you I heard last night?” It seemed a good guess, especially when they drew back and exchanged slightly guilty glances.

“I
told
you that you were too loud,” said one of the girls crossly to the other.

“It wasn’t me!” A brown-haired girl of about seven looked indignant. “It was Ainsley!”

“It was not!” A little boy rounded on the girl, vehement. “It was Matilda!”

“Well,” Kyla smiled down at the lot of them. “It really doesn’t matter who it was. I’m just grateful you were not a bunch of ghosts out to get me.”

Elysia laughed, a tinkling sound. “We couldn’t get you, even if we had tried. That’s what the armoire is for.” She tilted her head over to the corner where the wooden closet loomed, thick and imposing.

“Can’t get past that,” said the towheaded boy.

“Uncle put it there on purpose.” Elysia put her other hand on the covers.

Kyla remembered her trunk, still at its skewed angle to the wall, the gowns a colorful waterfall over the edge of it.

“So,” she chose her words carefully, “were any of you in here last night, perchance?”

“Oh, no.” Elysia shook her head. “We don’t come in without Uncle’s permission. That’s the rule.”

Of course they didn’t. Kyla had no reason not to believe the child. There was an air of sincerity hanging off all of them, in fact. ’Twas a maid, she thought again. Surely just a maid.

“Does everyone know of the tunnels behind the walls?” she asked in spite of herself.

“Oh, yes.” A new boy spoke up. “We all use them.”

“Really?” Kyla looked over at the corner with the oaken armoire again. “Everyone?”

Elysia was attempting to climb onto the bed. “It’s ever so much faster than using the regular stairs, sometimes,” she said, sliding backward despite her efforts.

Kyla reached over and helped her up, which was the signal to the other children to climb up as well.

“Spookier!” added Ainsley.

“Ask her now,” whispered the brown-haired girl.

“Yes, now,” said a boy.

“Auntie Kyla,” said Elysia, providing Kyla a whole new shock with the title, “would you like to meet the deer today?”

The sunlight made the room look celestial, highlighting the wood paneling, landing capriciously on a large, horned conch, casting a milky glow over it. The main window had a stained-glass edging of waves, starfish, and flowing seaweed. Kyla thought she could just hear the steady boom of the ocean pushing in past the glass.

“Uncle said it was fine with him.” Elysia flopped back on the covers. “He said to tell you when you awoke that breakfast is nigh past”—she wrinkled her brow at this, then repeated it—“nigh past, but that he had saved a light repast for you, to be sent up when you requested. But I rather think it might be nicer to go downstairs.”

“We could go the regular way. You needn’t be afraid,” said Matilda.

Elysia spoke again. “So, are you hungry?”

“I am,” said Ainsley feelingly.

“By all means, let us break our fast.” Kyla smiled down at the ring of faces, considering not only the message from Roland but also the messengers. Seven active children, unsupervised, one of them blind, yet they apparently roamed the hallways and tunnels of the castle with complete freedom.

And Roland had gone off, obviously, leaving her to keep her own company. Was she to be like the children, alone, left
to fend for herself on this island that was supposed to be her new home? Was this to be the state of their supposed marriage, two permanent strangers encountering each other only in passing? Fine.

Or perhaps she was reading too much into an innocuous comment. Perhaps he hadn’t meant anything at all.

“Look, is it yours?”

One of the girls had Helaine’s dagger in her hands, holding it up to the sunlight to watch the sparks of color from the gemstones in the sheath.

“It certainly is.” Kyla took it from the girl, hefting the familiar weight of it in her hands, frowning down at it. Roland had been keeping it somewhere these past few days, no longer wearing it at his waist as he had on the journey to London.

She had thought it a deliberate taunt, the way he had worn it, a cruel thing designed to remind her of her weakness, that she had lost and he had won. But those thoughts had not matched the moments of kindness she had seen in the man, and after their marriage he must have packed the dagger away for his own reasons. Until now.

“It was over there,” said the girl, pointing to the short pine table by the bed. Kyla nodded absently, rubbing her fingers over the smooth warmth of the stones and metal.

Elysia, still lying flat on the covers, smiled up into the air above her. “You should take care of the blade, Auntie,” she said. “I think it must be very keen.”

A
fter banishing the boys to the hallway Kyla had dressed quickly, encouraged by the girls, until a maid had come from nowhere, insisting on doing her hair. In her desire to be at home here Kyla had acquiesced to the deferentially worded demand. The maid’s unrehearsed reaction upon seeing the mess of the clothing had banished the thought that this gentle girl had rifled the trunk. Indeed, when she saw the
disorder she had clucked her tongue in reproach, then threw Kyla an abashed look.

Kyla realized with some amusement that the maid believed her new mistress had left her gowns in this mess. And so she had, she supposed. She made the mess the night before. Lovely. She was building up a fine reputation already. Outlaw, vigilante, and slattern all in one.