Behind the Mask (64 page)

Cameron knew he didn’t begin to understand what was involved with bringing a child into the world, but he was eager to learn. He wanted a part in all of it, including being there for the birth. Knowing it wasn’t an acceptable practice didn’t make him any less determined.

Beyond the birth of their first child was where his dreams really began. He could see Abbi so clearly as a mother, and she would be such a fine one. Cameron knew that what he and Abbi shared gave them the potential to raise good and happy children, who could grow up to be upstanding, responsible people, able to find their own dreams.

As predawn light crept into the room, Cameron forced himself from his reverie, knowing he had to leave. Not wanting to disturb Abbi’s sleep again, he left a note on his pillow. He pressed his lips softly to her brow, touched her where the baby grew, and climbed quietly down the trellis.

The note on Cameron’s pillow did little to ease the ache Abbi felt to wake and find him gone, but still it touched her as she read:
Knowing that you need your rest, I couldn’t bear to wake you. I’m not certain when I can return to see you again, but it will be at the first possible opportunity. Don’t watch for me, keep busy with that wedding, and take care of yourself. It’s little more than a week, my love, until our wedding day, and as you read this I’ll be one step closer to my freedom, counting down the hours. I love you, Abbi, with all my heart. Be patient and strong as I know you are. I am forever yours, C.

Abbi touched the letter to her lips as if it could bring him closer, longing as she knew he was, for the waiting to be over.

When Elsa came to her room later that morning, Abbi noticed a fine lace collar that had been added to a dress Elsa wore frequently.

“It’s beautiful,” Abbi said to her. “Wherever did you get it?”

“Georg gave it to me a few days ago. He told me he met a man whose wife makes the lace, and he had to buy some for me. I just finished putting it on the dress last night. I think I should like more of it.”

“I think I should like some as well,” Abbi said.

Dr. Furhelm called mid-morning to see how Abbi was doing. She was puzzled by his extra attention as it hadn’t been a week since she’d last seen him. They went through the usual examination and questions, and convinced that all was well, he left without further comment.

Abbi was pleased to find that the next two days passed more quickly than she’d anticipated. She finished up her painting, and since it turned out better than she’d expected, she took it into town to get it framed as a wedding gift for Cameron.

On Sunday Abbi went to church as she usually did, except that Lance came along. They were assaulted by many well-wishers, and Abbi had to keep in mind that in a week this deception would be over and she would be living openly with her husband.

On Monday she picked up the framed painting and had it wrapped. She also picked up a few other things in town, then she returned home and spent the afternoon going over wedding plans with Marta and Elsa. Marta seemed ecstatic over the whole thing, and Abbi concluded that she cared very much for Cameron and was pleased to know they would be together.

Sitting in her room Monday evening, Abbi felt good about the time that had passed. She read Cameron’s message over and over and found strength in the reassurance he had given her. She only prayed that he would continue to avoid any harm, and that he might be able to see her tonight.

Cameron sat discreetly in a poorly lit corner of the pub, observing the comings and goings. He loved the normalcy of life he found by being here. He’d come to this place almost daily for years, and it pleased him to see that little had changed. He enjoyed just sitting there, unobserved as he hovered like a ghost on the perimeter, listening and watching. He’d felt the same kind of awe as he’d wandered through the streets and the market square on the day of the fair. Secure behind the mask he’d worn, he’d been able to observe a world that had once been familiar to him, just soaking everything into his senses like a sponge that had long been dry. And for the same reason, Cameron loved to sit here in the corner of the pub. He kept the hood of his cloak up, leaning back against the wall, pretending to be asleep. He only slipped in when Boris made certain it was clear, and he slipped out when the crowds were preoccupied.

He was surprised when Boris set some supper in front of him. Was it already that late? “Thank you,” he said. Boris just grinned and slipped back into the crowd. This was one of the busiest times of day as men stopped on their way home from work, some just for a drink and others settling in to stay all evening. Cameron ate his meal at a leisurely pace, and smiled when he saw Georg come in and immerse himself into the crowd. He didn’t speak with Cameron. He didn’t even make eye contact with him. That was the way it needed to be.

Long after he’d finished his meal, the crowd finally dispersed enough for Cameron to slip away. Even Georg was long gone. He was about to stand up and leave when half a dozen officers of the Guard filtered through the front door. They sat down and ordered something to eat, but it was evident by the way their eyes scanned the room that their reason for being there was not hunger alone. Cameron’s heart quickened as one of them took notice of him. A minute later the officer stood and walked casually toward Cameron. He forced himself to appear calm and unconcerned. But it was difficult when he recognized this man as someone he had once known well.

Lieutenant Wurtzur
. How could he possibly forget the day this man had escorted Nikolaus du Woernig into his prison cell? How well he recalled kneeling on the cold floor, doubled over in pain, bruised and bleeding. And now he was face-to-face with Wurtzur again, praying that the lack of light and the hood of the cloak would conceal his own features.

“Are you new around here?” Wurtzur asked in a tone that was grating. Cameron ached to be in a position to see this guy without a job.

“Yes, actually, I am.” He kept his voice low and gruff, attempting to disguise it.

Wurtzur came to the edge of the table and leaned over. “I don’t think so. You look awfully familiar to me.”

Cameron forced indifference. “I’ve been told I look like somebody dead.”

“Maybe you
are
somebody dead,” Wurtzur said and laughed.

“Are you threatening me?” Cameron asked.

“Only if you’re up to mischief.”

“Why would I be? I was just enjoying the peace and quiet. It would appear that
you’re
up to mischief. I’m certain your captain would love to hear of your appalling manners.”

“You know the captain?” Wurtzur asked, unconcerned.

“Indeed, I do,” he said and came to his feet. “Now if you will excuse me. I can see I’ll need to go elsewhere for respite.”

Cameron hurried out the front door, expecting Wurtzur to order the others to pursue him. The thought made his heart pound into his throat, which increased when he realized that three other officers were loitering where his horse had been tethered among many others. He turned and walked the other direction, hoping to lose himself in an alley. Then he heard commotion behind him. He didn’t know if it had to do with him or not, but he ran like hell, fearing hell would catch up with him if he didn’t.

Abbi’s heart went wild when she heard a thud outside her window, and she went quickly to the balcony and looked down. In the darkness she recognized the top of Cameron’s head as he leaned heavily against the trellis, and she could hear his labored breathing.

“Cameron,” she whispered loudly.

His head shot up, startled. He muttered her name hoarsely and began climbing upward. The night was dark, but Abbi could tell he was having difficulty. When he finally got close enough for her to reach him, she took hold of his arm and helped him over the railing. He leaned heavily against her, barely able to stand.

“What happened?” she demanded. His breathing was too strained to respond as she helped him to the bed. “Good heavens,” she said when she saw blood running down the side of his face, “you’re bleeding!”

Cameron collapsed on his side, still unable to speak as he struggled to catch his breath. Fighting to keep her composure, Abbi grabbed a towel, wet it, and began wiping the blood away to find its source. Much to her relief, she only found a small, vertical cut through his eyebrow.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked as his breathing slowed a little.

“I don’t think so,” he said with difficulty, “but I ran from the middle of town and my whole body hurts so badly that I can’t tell.”

“Cameron, that’s at least three miles.”

“Don’t I know it,” he said, trying to laugh.

“What you need is a good hot bath to ease those aching muscles. You can tell me what happened later . . . just like you tell me everything else.” She couldn’t help the bit of sarcasm that seeped into her words.

Cameron remained silent on the bed, gradually feeling himself come back to life while Abbi rang for Elsa and then paced the room. He wanted to console her worries but didn’t know what to say. A torrent of fear and confusion left him wondering if he was doing the right thing, or if he’d lost some portion of his mind in believing he could actually pull this off and keep Abbi safe.

Abbi met Elsa at the door, saying softly, “I need you to prepare a hot bath.”

“But Miss Abbi, you already had a bath today.”

“I know that,” she insisted. Elsa looked puzzled so Abbi moved aside and motioned toward the bed where Cameron lay. “He’s been hurt,” Abbi whispered. Elsa gave an understanding nod and left to take care of it.

A short while later the bath was ready and Abbi dismissed Elsa for the night. Turning her attention to Cameron, she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. She touched his shoulder and his eyes flew open. He looked up at her with such childlike trust that she was almost brought to tears. She had no idea what had happened, but she sensed fear in him, which made her wonder if he would make it to their wedding day alive. But Cameron needed confidence and hope, so Abbi pushed her fears away for the moment.

“Come on, my love,” she said, pulling him by his shirt collar to a sitting position. “We’re going to get you into that hot tub before those muscles stiffen.”

As she removed his cloak, Abbi noticed a long, bloodstained tear across his shirt with a nasty scratch beneath it on his shoulder. He winced slightly when she touched it.

“You are hurt elsewhere, and you didn’t even know it,” she scolded as she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his arms. He smiled weakly at her as she helped him out of his boots and breeches and into the tub.

“You’re so good to me, Abbi,” he said, sinking into the water.

“Someone’s got to look after you,” she said, feeling an onset of emotion as she knelt beside the tub, “so you don’t get yourself killed.” The last barely escaped through a flood of tears, and she leaned against his shoulder and cried. Her efforts to encourage him were futile when she couldn’t even control her own fear.

“Abbi,” he said lightly, “it’s not as bad as all that.”

“Then you tell me just what it is!” She felt like screaming.

“It’s all under control,” he said, while his fearful eyes contradicted his calm voice.