Always in My Dreams (22 page)

He pointed to the servants' stairs. "We'll take those to my room. I need to get some blankets." Walker put the book in Skye's hands and picked up her lamp. "I'll go first."

Skye followed Walker to his room and waited just outside as he collected blankets and a pillow. She half hoped that Mrs. Reading would come out of her own room and surprise them. Skye doubted the cook would have been as reticent to wake Parnell.

In truth, Skye was bothered more than a little by her own reluctance to do so. Walker had called her intrepid, but she was feeling decidedly cowardly. He had just given her a perfect opportunity to get away from him. She could lock herself in her room and be done with his interference—at least for the night. Yet she didn't move.

Skye didn't think her action, or lack of it, could bear much scrutiny. She consciously put it out of her mind. When Walker was finished collecting his things, she followed him to her own room without a word.

He locked the door as soon as they were inside, leaving the key in the hole. "No one has to know I was here," he said. "That will be your decision."

"I can't think of a reason that I'll want to keep this to myself," she said stiffly.

"Just the same," he said indifferently. "Your choice."

Skye placed her book on the nightstand beside the unopened bottle of laudanum. In her absence the fire had been reduced to embers. She stoked the logs and added more wood. Walker had already moved aside a chair and was snapping out one of his blankets on top of the braided rug. It could not possibly be very comfortable for him, but Skye didn't offer to share her bed. She turned back all the lamps except the one at her bedside and removed Walker's jacket.

Holding it out to him she said, "You might need it. It could get cold there."

He placed it on the nearby chair. "Are you going to read?" he asked.

"Will it bother you?" As soon as the words were out Skye flushed, painfully aware it was the sort of question her mother might have posed to her father. It was the kind of question that had a comfortable relationship behind it, something one asked when concern for another was the motive. "No," she said quickly, before he could answer. "I'm going to try to sleep." In an odd way, she thought she'd be able to now. This also did not bear scrutiny.

Skye lifted the glass globe covering the lamp and gently blew on the flame. Except for firelight her bedchamber was dark. She replaced the globe and turned her back on Walker. Skye removed her robe.

"Pleasant dreams," he said.

She couldn't remember having a dream since she'd arrived at the mansion. Skye thought about that as she climbed into bed and pulled the comforter up to her neck. Walker was already lying on the floor in front of the fire. His long frame was silhouetted by the light.

"How did you break your nose?" she asked. She watched the dark outline of his body change shape and knew he was touching the slightly bent bridge, feeling the shape of it. "Were you in a fight?"

"I was in lots of fights," he said. "But I broke my nose falling down a flight of steps."

"Oh."

Although he knew she couldn't see, he smiled. This time his signature single dimple appeared at one corner. "Disappointed?"

"No, of course not." But she was a little disappointed. She had imagined something quite different. A saloon brawl in Dodge City, or a gang fight in the Bowery... even an attack in Central Park. Skye drew her knees closer to her chest. It had been a long time since she'd thought of the stranger in the park. She sighed.

"Would you think more of me if I told you I'd been pushed?"

"Hardly," she said primly. Then, more softly, "Were you?"

He chuckled. "No, but I was prepared to make up a story."

Skye thought about that. "You'd like me to think more of you?" she asked.

"Something like that."

There wasn't a good reason to be so attracted to him. Jonathan Parnell had more strikingly handsome features and was more refined, less irritating, probably smarter, definitely wealthier, and... possibly the person her father had handpicked for her. The last reason worked strongly in Walker's favor, but Skye was sensible enough to know it did not count as a good reason. Yet the attraction to Walker was there, sensible or not.

Turning more fully on her side, Skye slipped one arm under her pillow and closed her eyes. She had other questions she wanted to ask him. She fell asleep with one of them forming on her lips.

* * *

It was the fluttering touch against her cheek that she felt first. Skye wrinkled her nose and turned her head. There was no avoiding the touch. It covered her face, her neck. It was lightly drawn across her breasts. She sucked in her breath as the sensation swept lower across her belly and her thighs. She tried to lift an arm, then her knee. She could only twist from side to side with the movement of her head.

Her lashes lifted a fraction, then closed again as she struggled toward complete consciousness. There was a voice. Words she couldn't quite make out drifted toward her. She strained to hear and her ears failed her just as her arms and legs had.

The voice receded and with it the weights that kept her in place. She raised one arm, then the other. They both dropped limply back to the mattress, her strength depleted by the small movement. Her knee was raised a few inches. Exhaustion shivered through her.

The shutter of darkness lifted suddenly and with its passing Skye woke completely, her eyes opening wide. There was a pressure in her chest, an ache she was desperate to release. She pushed herself to sit up. Her fingers clutched the sheet. Skye opened her mouth.

The thing that was a terrible pressure in her chest, the ache that needed to be released, was Skye's anguished scream.

* * *

Walker's drift to consciousness was even slower than Skye's. He couldn't quite contain the groan as he sat up, and pressing both hands to his ears didn't relieve the pounding in his head or the sharp pain in his ears.

It was when he became aware that the things inside his head were also happening outside it that he opened his eyes.

The pounding was coming from the door. The source of the piercing ache in his ears was Skye.

Walker scrambled to his feet, his normally graceful balance challenged by the darkness and the burning sensation at the back of his head. He stumbled once, righted himself by grabbing the back of a chair, and went straight to Skye.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her entire body rigid. The wide straps of her nightgown had fallen off her shoulders and the fabric was bunched below her breasts. The hem of the garment rested against her upper thighs. She was virtually naked and insensible to it.

"What's going on in there?" The cry, mingled with the pounding, came from the other side of the door. It was Parnell. It was joined a moment later by Annie Staplehurst's entreaty.

Walker ignored both. He spoke softly to Skye, whispering her name and nothing more. Her scream dissolved into a sob and he absorbed her shudder by taking her into his arms.

"It's all right," he said quietly. "You're all right. It was a dream." He said it because he hoped it was true. More difficult to explain was the ache at the back of his head. Walker released her slowly, afraid his touch would have a reaction opposite to the one he wanted. She was still shaking, her smile bereft of any warmth. "Let me help you," he said.

Skye looked down at herself. Her nakedness frightened her. She didn't remember... she glanced sideways at Walker. Outside the room Parnell continued to slam his fist against the door. Skye heard Annie, then Corina Reading. Her screams had awakened everyone. And here was Walker, solicitous and gentle, sitting next to her, telling her it was a dream.

"Did you?" she asked.

"Did I?" He wasn't certain what she was asking.

Skye hooked her index finger around one of her nightgown straps and raised it to her shoulder. With the other hand she pushed at the hem of the cotton gown and covered her thighs. Clothing gave her the courage to pose the question. "Did you rape me?"

Chapter 7

"Jesus," was what Walker said.

Skye watched him get up slowly and go to the door. He fumbled with the key and opened it. Annie Staplehurst practically fell into the room. Jonathan Parnell was right behind her. He held a lamp in his left hand and raised it as he entered. His eyes scanned the scene in front of him, missing none of the detail. Skye could only stare at him, knowing what he saw was damning. He would want an explanation, she thought. How could she explain when she didn't understand it herself?

Walker pulled on his trousers and tucked in the tails of his nightshirt. His action was unapologetic, neither hasty nor clumsy. He picked up Skye's robe and carried it to her. "Here, put this on."

The hand she held out trembled. Walker had to press the robe into her grip. He gave her a moment, then helped her into it, lifting her hair out of the way and straightening the collar of the robe.

"Get away from her, Walker," Parnell said. He raised his right hand slowly and drew all eyes to the gun he held. He carefully set the lamp aside, never taking his gaze from Walker. "Take your goddamn hands off her." The weapon was as steady as his voice. "I mean it. Now."

Walker's fingers slipped away from Skye's collar and he raised his hands slowly. His face was expressionless.

He didn't watch the gun in Parnell's hand. He watched Parnell.

Skye could hardly speak for the hard knot in her throat. She forced words out, harsh and raspy, and prayed they made sense. "No... please don't... it's not—"

Parnell wasn't listening. His hand tightened on the weapon and he jerked it once to indicate where Walker should move. "What did you do to her?" he demanded.

Walker didn't answer. He simply continued to stare at Parnell.

"Say something, damn you."

"You already think you know what I did," he said. "I'd be a fool to talk with a gun pointed at my chest."

Parnell's brows lifted in a slight arch. His look was frank. "You'd be a fool not to."

Skye's legs were shaking as she came to her feet. She held the corner bedpost for support. "For God's sake, put the gun—"

What happened next took only seconds, but in Skye's mind the players moved slowly, as if the air had taken on the density of water. She saw Parnell glance in her direction. Behind him, Annie's head swiveled toward Walker and Mrs. Reading's mouth opened to shout a warning. Walker pivoted on his left foot and faced the mantel. In part of the same motion his right leg struck out, and using the bottom edge of his foot, he delivered a snapping kick to Parnell's hand. Advancing closer in an identically fluid movement, Walker landed a slashing blow with his cupped hand on Parnell's wrist. The weapon spun free of Parnell's numb fingers and thumped loudly against the wall. It skittered across the floor and slammed against the wall without discharging.

Parnell staggered back, clutching his injured wrist. Annie was thrown off balance when Parnell fell into her, and Mrs. Reading had to move into the hallway to avoid being crushed against the doorjamb.

Walker's long, light stride covered the floor quickly. He calmly picked up the gun and flipped open the barrel. Taking out the bullets, he dropped them into a pocket, then examined the weapon more closely. "This is a short-barrel Colt .45," he said. His tone was emotionless, without inflection. He was not winded or flushed. His posture was casual, relaxed, with no visible sign that anything untoward had just occurred.

Skye watched Walker's long fingers rub the cool blue-gray Colt like Aladdin must have rubbed his lamp. Shock and fascination stirred her. His words were coming to her as if from a great distance. She was remembering another place and time when she had seen a man strike out with equally graceful menace.

Walker's eyes lifted from the Colt to Parnell. There was a question in them. "Men who make their living with guns use this weapon," he said. The four and three-quarter inch barrel was preferred by gunfighters for its ease in handling. It had a maple handle and a cutaway trigger guard that could save a shooter a split second in reaching the trigger. "Not what I'd expect you to have."

Parnell set Annie from him and shook out his injured hand. He didn't respond to Walker's comment and looked at Skye instead. "Are you all right? We all heard you scream."