At the thought of him, her gaze skipped to her employer. He was already looking in her direction, blue eyes deep and unreadable.
She was only a day gone from Collie-Ben but she understood the desire for a feminine voice and soft gaze. Her employer was all hardness. No softness or kind words from him. With any luck, she would find that at Kilmarkie House. Perhaps in another servant. It would be nice to have a friend. At least until she managed to get away to somewhere of her choosing. That’s what mattered the most to her. Her ability to choose. To decide where and how she would live. Right now she would do what was necessary, but someday she would have a choice.
She would endure as always and not be so foolish as to expect softness from this man. In truth, any man. Not anymore. She was on her own. Even if she was fortunate enough to make a few friends, she would never again fully trust.
“Come. I’ll see ye both settled in fer the night. The wee ones can sleep wi’ us.” Mara crossed the small space of the main room, her gait waddling, and motioned them up the narrow ladder to the loft.
Of course they assumed she and Weatherton were husband and wife. She sighed, dread running through her. Which meant another night sharing a bed with him.
Everything inside her rebelled at this lie they were perpetrating. Even for only one night. Even if they would never see these people again. Of course, it was for the best to let Mara and her husband live under that delusion. Better that than explaining their complicated situation.
Except was it really a lie?
Alyse shoved that grating voice aside. There would be none of that. She would not entertain such thinking. They had both agreed that buying her off that auction block did not constitute a marriage in reality. The act might have served to dissolve her marriage to Mr. Beard but it did not bind her in matrimony to Weatherton. She didn’t care what some deed of sale claimed.
Mara’s husband had already moved to the bed and was scooting the children to the center to make room for the four of them. He hardly acknowledged them. After Weatherton embarrassed him he’d avoided their gazes. Understandably.
“I’m sorry we can no’ offer ye better accommodations,” Mara said.
“This is quite generous. Thank you,” Alyse quickly assured.
“Yes. Thank you,” Weatherton echoed as he motioned for Alyse to ascend the ladder.
“You first,” she insisted and she wasn’t certain why. Perhaps she wanted to be closest to the ladder, her means of escape, the one way out of the loft in case she needed to make a hasty retreat.
Weatherton nodded and climbed the ladder. Alyse stared up at the shadowy ledge he ducked inside. The long length of him disappeared. She inhaled a shuddery breath. She was expected to follow him. To disappear in that dark little den with him.
Her throat thickened and her hand moved to the pocket of her skirts where she kept her dagger. She felt the same panic pressing on her as she had when facing the auction block. The uncertainty. The sense of being penned in. Trapped.
Here she was again. Alone all night with him.
She’d done it before and yet this time felt different.
She should feel a little more at ease, more reassured after last night and this morning. He hadn’t harmed her. In fact, he’d given her a dagger should she ever feel the need to defend herself.
And yet . . .
The dark little cave looming above her was so very different than the spacious room they had shared last night. Odd as it seemed, last night already felt a lifetime ago.
Her fingers closed around the rough wood ladder. She peered above her with another shaky breath. There was only darkness up there. And him.
“I know it’s not the most inviting . . .” Evidently Mara did not miss her hesitation and she misread it.
“Oh, no. Not at all. It’s perfectly suitable. We’re so grateful.” Alyse fixed a smile on her face and hardened her resolve to climb. “Thank you.”
Mara nodded amiably. “Well. Good night then.”
Alyse watched as she ambled toward her bed, her hand braced against the small of her back and felt a fresh stab of guilt for adding to the woman’s discomfort by forcing her children into the bed she shared with her husband.
With a shake of her head, she reminded herself that they would be well compensated for the single night of discomfort. That gave her some consolation. Readjusting her grip on the ladder, she lifted her skirts with her other hand and began to climb, mindful not to miss a rung.
Arriving at the top, she peered into the dark loft. She couldn’t even make out the shape of him in the unremitting blackness. There wasn’t much to the loft other than the mattress. She patted with her hands and crawled forward a few inches before bumping into the bed.
She eased down a knee, testing, making certain she wasn’t going to collide with a man’s body. Fortunately, she didn’t come into contact with him. Evidently he had bedded down on the opposite side of the loft and she wasn’t climbing atop him. She winced. That would have been awkward.
The space was tight. The shared air passed back and forth between them.
She stretched a hand above her, fingertips meeting the ceiling that was only a scant inch above her head. Cramped, indeed. He was much taller than she was. If he sat up too suddenly, he would bang his head.
She lowered her arm and settled down onto her back, arranging her dress around her. She lay stiffly, unaware how close he was to her. It was disconcerting. She was, in effect, blind. He was near, but she had no idea where he was.
She only knew that they were not touching. Relief coursed through her. She could almost convince herself she was alone. That he wasn’t up here with her.
Except she could sense him, feel him, his bigger body radiating heat beside her.
Expelling a breath, she laced her fingers together over her stomach and willed herself to relax. It was futile. A slat of wood couldn’t be any more rigid. Minutes slid past. She unlaced her fingers and her hand drifted to her skirt, patting where the dagger was tucked away, feeling its comforting shape. Ironic indeed that the item gave her such comfort as he had been the one to give it to her.
She turned her face to the side on her pillow, staring where she knew him to be, where she heard the steady fall of his breath.
Everything is fine. Everything is fine.
The refrain ricocheted through her mind. He’d had plenty of opportunities to harm her and had not.
It could be far worse. She knew that. She could have been sold to someone else.
Her mind drifted to the image of the tanner and she had to fight back a surge of bile. All those uncomfortable encounters from her girlhood flooded over her. His disturbing stare. The occasional brush of his hand on her person. She could be married to him right now. Enduring that.
Instead she was here with this man who had not made one threatening move against her . . . who even tolerated her wayward tongue.
The reminder made her feel better.
Better enough for her body to finally relax and drift to sleep.
Chapter 12
The dove told herself it was well and good to be without family.
There was not room enough in her cage for others.
She woke with a scream hot in her throat. She lurched upright. Tears scalded her cheeks as she stared into blackness, bewildered, confused. Terrified.
The darkness was so thick it sat on her skin like a heavy blanket. She was blind to the world, but visions flashed across her mind.
The tanner’s leering face. Rough, dirt-crusted hands, grabbing her, hurting her. The smell of him, foul and bitter as copper in her mouth.
“Alyse,” a voice rasped. Hard hands shook her.
“No!” She surged, fighting like a wild animal, striking out with fists, desperate to get him to go away. To leave her alone.
“Alyse! Stop! Stop! It’s me.”
His words meant nothing to her. They buzzed meaninglessly in her ears. She only saw the tanner. Felt his touch on her. Battled the suffocating fear.