Always in My Dreams (18 page)

The realization that she would be alone gave Skye a motive to get out of bed. She put on slippers and wrapped herself in the familiar comfort of her thick cotton robe. It was like a hug around her body. Smiling to herself, Skye gathered the strands of hair that had drifted over her shoulders and let them fall down her back. She plaited her hair quickly in a loose braid that she did not bother to fasten. Tendrils of it were damp from the quick washing she'd given it; if she confined it now it would still be damp in the morning. At least that was the excuse she gave herself for walking out of her room with her hair unbound.

The bedside lamp she carried gave sufficient light to permit her to use the servants' stairs easily. She hesitated at the bottom, listening for the sound of any other occupant of the kitchen. When only silence was returned, she pushed open the door with confidence.

Skye took the lamp with her to the enclosed back porch, where stoneware jugs of milk had been set to keep cool. The wind sounded louder here, she thought, as she chose one of the smaller containers. Each gust rattled the outside door and made the wooden beams creak overhead. The force of it seemed more than enough to separate the porch from the rest of the house, and Skye quickly backed into the pantry area with her lamp and jug.

She put both on the kitchen table and began looking for a cup. The kitchen was so much the province of Mrs. Reading that Skye had no clear idea where to search. Locating the cup proved easier than finding the cinnamon and sugar among Mrs. Reading's spices and dry goods.

Skye fired up the stove and warmed the milk in a small saucepan. Her eyes kept drifting to the door off the pantry area while she worked. She had managed to resist testing the handle on her way to the porch, and again on the way back, but it was getting more difficult to think of reasons why she shouldn't at least try the entrance to the cellar.

Listening again for sounds that would indicate someone else was up, Skye heard nothing except the fire in the stove and the whisper of milk scalding in the pan. She removed it from the heat and set it aside.

Aware her palms were suddenly damp, Skye wiped them on her robe as she headed for the cellar door. She laid her fingers against the handle and before her resolve failed, she twisted it.

Skye's heart knocked against her chest as she felt the door give. She opened it a crack, listened, then opened it wider. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark. She considered going back for her lamp and decided against it. She could see well enough to manage the steps without breaking her neck. There was bound to be a lamp in the workroom, she thought.

The steps were smooth, indented slightly in the middle by the numerous trips up and down them over the years. Skye placed one hand on the dank whitewashed wall to steady herself and made each step a cautious one. When she reached the bottom, she simply stood there. There may indeed have been a lamp in Parnell's workroom, but she couldn't see well enough to get there. She had no clear idea which part of the cellar might hold the inventions and which might hold the wine. There was nothing for it but to retrieve her lamp.

She turned just in time to catch the last glimpse of light that was available to her as the door shut. A single gasp, as if it were air that was being denied her, rose from Skye's throat. She scrambled up the stairs and groped for the handle. It only turned fractionally in her hand. The door was already locked.

Skye leaned against it, catching her breath and thinking furiously. It was no accident that had closed the door
and
locked it. Someone meant for her to be found out. It was what kept her from pounding on the door and begging for her freedom. She refused to believe there wasn't another way out.

The darkness of the cellar was oppressive. The damp air was cloying. Skye strained to see as she placed her left hand on one wall and began cautiously to follow its path around the perimeter.

Once, when she was still a child, her father had proposed a visit to a maze garden. Thinking he meant a maize garden, Skye was less than enthusiastic about the Sunday excursion. It wasn't until they arrived and she was confronted by hedgerows taller than her father that she realized there was something about it all that she hadn't understood.

She could still remember listening intently to her father's explanation of the maze, thoroughly intrigued by the lifesized puzzle. Her four sisters had paired off immediately, the twins together, and Mary Francis with Maggie. That left Skye alone. Jay Mac and Moira had planned to accompany her, but she would have none of it. After her sisters disappeared into the maze, Skye followed at a deliberately thoughtful pace.

It took her a while, but she still finished before any of her sisters.

Mary Francis, Mary Michael, Mary Renee, and Mary Margaret all thought Skye had cheated when they discovered how she'd managed the hedgerow maze. Jay Mac thought she was very clever and her mother declared her a genius to anyone who would listen.

All she had done was keep one hand on the hedgerow through every turn and corridor. It brought her to the same end as everyone else.

She used that method now, confident that if she didn't reach an outside entrance, she'd return to her starting point none the worse off.

Skye paid attention to the texture of the path she was following so she could distinguish between the stone wall and the doors that blocked off other areas of the cellar. Though she tried each of the two doors her hand made contact with, neither opened. For her pains she was rewarded with a splinter in her index finger.

Occasionally her feet found obstacles on the floor. She had to go around a pile of wood stacked against one wall and several covered barrels shoved in a corner. She tripped over an empty jar, then had to get down on her hands and knees to find it when it rolled away. Skye could only imagine the mess she was from crawling around on the dirt floor.

She estimated that she had covered just more than half the cellar's perimeter when she came to an opening in the wall and found stairs leading from it. They rose five high, and when she reached the top, she discovered what she was looking for: double wood doors latched on the inside that opened outward to freedom.

"Eureka," she said softly.

She pulled the latch and pushed open the doors. Frigid air swirled in to greet her, but she breathed deeply. Even in the dead of night it was easier for her to see once she was out of the cellar. Starshine and moonlight allowed her to close the doors easily and make her way around the house without fear of falling. She didn't expect the door to the porch to be open, and it wasn't. She paused on the steps, shivering as she determined her options.

She was still thinking when the door was opened behind her. Skye nearly toppled off the steps. It was a hand grabbing the collar of her robe that kept her from falling. Another hand covered her mouth and silenced her surprise.

Remembering the time not long ago when she'd been held in a similar manner, Skye found that her struggle was as instinctive as it was panicked. She clawed at the hand on her mouth and tried to shimmy out of the robe.

"Settle down," Walker said. He lifted Skye just enough to get her inside before released her. He didn't give her a moment to catch her breath, forcing her back to the door and placing a stiff arm on either side of her shoulders. When she tried to duck under him, he feinted in the same direction and kept her enclosed. "Don't fight me," he said. "You're in enough trouble already."

Skye was aware of his closeness, of the heat of his body, of warm, sweet breath that touched her face as he spoke. She stared at him mutely.

"What were you doing out there?" he asked.

He was studying her face as if he could see the truth imprinted on her features. It didn't matter to Skye. She believed she had no choice but to lie. "I just stepped out," she said. "The wind... it was so loud and I heard... I thought I heard something tearing away from the roof." It was difficult to catch her breath when Walker was so near. She wasn't certain she liked sharing the air with him, having him steal the very breath she needed. "I went out... out to investigate."

He didn't say anything for a moment, skeptical, measuring her response. "That so?" he asked blandly. She only stared back at him. "All right," he said, dropping one arm. "Get into the kitchen."

Skye hurried past him, straightening the collar of her robe and tightening the sash around her waist. Her milk was still on the stove, a thin film on the surface. Trying to keep her hand steady, she drew it off with a spoon and poured the milk into her cup. She didn't bother adding cinnamon or sugar.

"Drinking it straight?" Walker asked from the doorway.

Skye's hands were wrapped around the cup. She shrugged and started for the servants' stairs.

Walker blocked her way. "Not so fast. Have a seat at the table."

She raised mutinous eyes to him but in the end was forced to look away. She took a seat.

"That's better." Walker pulled out a chair for himself and straddled it. "The roof's all of one piece?" he asked.

For a second Skye didn't know what he was talking about. She wondered if her confusion showed on her face. "The roof's fine," she said, remembering her lie. "At least, so far as I could tell."

"Did you climb up to investigate?"

"What?"

He pointed to Skye's hands. "They're dirty. So's your robe. Your knees, too. That should take a little explaining."

Skye was up to it. "I tripped and fell."

"No grass stains, though."

He didn't miss anything, Skye thought. "I was fortunate, but then, perhaps you've noticed that there's not much grass off the back steps."

"Plenty of frost, though. Your hem's damp, but not your knees. Your hands are dirty, not wet."

"I'm sure I don't know why that is," she said tartly, "but I'd be happy to listen to your explanation, if you have one."

Walker had been waiting for the opportunity. "I'd say you were trying to get into the cellar," he said. "The door leading off the kitchen is locked. You must have thought you could get in from the outside entrance. Those doors, however, lock from the inside, so you didn't have any success. You were careless when you left the porch, though, and the door caught in the latch behind you. Maybe the wind had something to do with it." He was watching her carefully. "Any of that sound about right?"

Swallowing a mouthful of milk, Skye nodded. "The part about the wind and the door."

When she didn't give an inch, Walker's brows rose slightly. "What brought you down here, then?"

Skye's eyes widened dramatically as she feigned complete astonishment. "You mean you figured out all the other with barely any evidence?" she simpered. "While the milk on the stove, the mug on the table, and the cinnamon and sugar weren't enough to help you deduce I couldn't sleep?"

Far from taking offense at her antics, Walker laughed. "Your point's taken." He rested his forearms on the top rail of the chair and looked at Skye intently. "Just so you know, however, I don't believe a word of it. I think you're up to something, Mary Schyler." The use of both her names was deliberate. As far as Walker was concerned, she was more than knee deep in trouble.

Skye yawned abruptly. Her attempt to cover it came too late. "I'm finished with my milk," she said, setting down the cup. "Are you done with your questions?"

Walker didn't acknowledge Skye right away. He was looking at the loosely plaited hair that had fallen over her shoulder. The end of it had unwound and lay thickly against her robe. His fingers itched to touch it, to see if it burned, if the texture was as slippery and cool as a waterfall. His eyes followed the curve of her burnished hair from her breast, to her shoulder, to the angled line of her jaw. She fiddled with a tendril near her ear, drawing it toward her mouth in a nervous movement.

Walker's attention strayed to her lips. The full lower one was drawn in slightly. As he stared her mouth parted fractionally and the tip of her tongue peeped out. His eyes went immediately to hers to gauge her intention in the gesture. She only seemed to become aware of it when his gaze bore into hers. She straightened and dropped the strand of hair she'd been playing with. Her expression was guarded.

Walker shook his head. "You're not just
in
trouble, Mary Schyler," he said softly. "You
are
trouble."

Skye wished he hadn't said it, not in quite that way. She wanted to ask him if he'd been the one to lock her in the cellar, if he'd intended to teach her a lesson. She couldn't, though, not without laying her cards in front of her. Jay Mac had taught her to play poker better than that. Poor hand or not, she had to do what she could with what she had. She pretended not to understand what he'd meant.

After a moment, Walker got up. He went to the narrow pine cupboard by the sink and took out a quarter-filled bottle of Scotch. He found a tumbler and poured himself two fingers of liquor. "Do you want some?" he asked Skye.

She had to stifle another yawn to answer. "No, thank you. The milk is what I needed. I'd like to go to bed now."

"In a moment." He leaned back against the sink counter and sipped his drink. "I noticed yesterday that when Parnell asked if you'd worked for someone other than the Marshalls or the Turners, you managed to beg the question."

"Did I?" she asked smoothly. "I don't recall. Why do you suppose he cared?"