Sybill (19 page)

When Trevor placed the form on the thin mattress, she said nothing. She went out to her horse and pulled off the canister of soup she had taken to snack on by the sea. By the time she came back into the small room, Trevor had a fire going on the littered hearth. “How did you know?” she whispered, although even shouts would not have aroused the injured man.

He smiled and took her hand to bring her closer. “I know you, sweetheart. You will do all you can to save this doomed fellow. When I put him on the horse, I saw the canister.”

“I cannot let him die without trying.” A plea for understanding filled her voice. “Trevor, I didn't want to risk your life, but there was no one else I could go to.”

“Don't worry. We will be careful. No one will know we have given succor to a shipwrecked Spaniard.” When she winced at his words, he put his arms around her. “It's a bit late for second thoughts.”

“I could not leave him there.”

He tilted her head back and kissed her forehead. “I know. Why don't you heat that soup? If you can get some into him, it might keep him alive long enough.”

Biting her lip, she looked at the motionless form on the pallet. In a cupboard, she found a pot. It was rusted, but appeared clean. She emptied the soup into it and placed it on the iron bar over the fire. “Thank you,” she said when Trevor handed her a spoon.

“I put a bowl on the table.”

“Good. I don't want to let this get too hot. Scorching him will not help him at all.”

While the beef soup heated, Trevor closed the shutters on the windows. He hoped the thin spiral of smoke would be invisible against the clouds on the horizon. He watched as Sybill spooned some of the liquid past the badly cracked lips of the Spaniard. She was as gentle and caring as if the suffering man was her own child. His eyes settled on her slender fingers, which were cupped beneath the spoon as she tried to get the barely conscious man to swallow.

Softly, he said, “I must ride for a priest if I wish to be back before dark, Sybill.”

“You know where—?” Her head snapped up to stare at him in shock. She had thought they would be unable to fulfill the stranger's last wish.

He smiled mysteriously. “There are few secrets in the western wilds. I should be back in about two hours.”

“Hurry, Trevor.” For the first time, the fear she felt was in her voice. She stood and clutched the spoon so tightly, her knuckles bleached.

“Sweetheart, I will be fine. I want you to be cautious. Don't open the door unless you know it is me.” He smiled coolly. “You are Lord Foxbridge's ward. That entitles you to certain privileges.”

“Including harboring an enemy?”

Drawing her close, he tried to quiet her quivering. He could not refute the truth. In these days when hatred was only ebbing against the Spanish, she was risking painful death and shame for Foxbridge Cloister with her actions. He gazed down into her wide eyes, which were as blue as the summer sky. When her left hand slid along his arm to stroke his shoulder, he took the chipped bowl from her. Placing it on the floor, he pulled her into his arms. The fresh smell of her sun-warmed hair filled his senses.

As she felt his fingers creating a loving pattern on her back, she sighed with happiness. In Trevor's arms was where she wanted to be. His broad finger beneath her chin moved her face up to look into his eyes. The dark glow within them spoke directly to her heart. She stared into his face, which showcased his hunger to love her as she wanted so desperately. When his mouth lowered toward hers, she closed her eyes and moved to meet the sweet joy they could share.

A groan from the pallet halted her. She twirled out of his arms to attend her patient. Trevor swallowed his own moan of unsatisfied desire as he went to the door. When this latest mess was done, he was going to have to convince Sybill to see the truth of the way she teased him. Her gentle caresses urged him to discover the full depth of his craving for her. As he paused, he looked back to see her on her knees by the sea-beaten man. He knew the thoughts of the rapture had disappeared from her mind. That strangely did not disturb him. He did not want Sybill to be any way but as she was. Her compassion appealed to him nearly as strongly as her sweet body.

Soon, he promised himself.

Soon.

Sybill was startled when a hand closed with surprising strength on her wrist. She did not pull away because she was afraid to spill the soup. For over an hour, she had been crouched here, trying to give the sailor what might be his last meal. He had swallowed little. Carefully she took the spoon in her other hand and slowly returned it to the bowl. Her eyes never left his face as he gazed about the dirty room.

It startled her to see how alert he was, and she wondered if he had been awake for a while before letting her know. She put that thought from her mind. What cause could he have for such subterfuge? The fact she had not turned him over to the authorities should prove she meant him no harm.

“Your name?” he demanded, as if he were in control. His voice cracked on each word, but she understood his question through his thick accent.

“I am Sybill. You must eat, sir.”

He shook his head. “I must know first. You are a small, weak woman. You could not have brought me here alone. Who helped you?”

“A friend. He has gone to find a priest.”

Her words seemed to surprise him. Slowly he released her wrist, but refused to eat. “You may call me Joaquin Peña.” From the way his eyes slid away from hers, she knew that was not his real name. What it truly was did not matter to her. “Where is your husband?” he asked, surprising her with the continuation of his inquisition.

Softly she smiled. “I don't have a husband, Joaquin. Don't worry so. I didn't have you brought here so I could betray you.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know,” she replied honestly. “I hate your country and the Armada of which you must have been a part. I do not share your Catholic faith, but I know it is right to help someone who needs help.”

Instead of the gratitude, he laughed until coughs halted the derisive sound. When he could speak, he said, “You are a fool, Sybill!”

“Am I?”

“You will die for this.” That thought appealed to him. She could not understand why. Although they were enemies by birth, she had shown him she wished to help.

“I—” The knock on the door interrupted her. She turned and called, “Who is it?”

She did not hear the answer as an iron bar clamped around her throat. Joaquin's uneven breathing sounded loudly in her ears. Although she did not know where it had come from, a knife appeared near her. It was aimed at the door. As she saw it begin to open, she wished she could scream out a warning. All her efforts revolved around trying to breathe past his constricting arm.

The door opened to reveal a man. Her heart stopped its terrified beat in a painful, silent scream of horror. Trevor threw himself to the floor instinctively. The knife drove into the soft wood inches from where his head had been. Rising, he plucked it from the wall.

“Release her,” he said quietly. “You fool! Don't you recognize an ally?”

“You are English. You are not my allies.” He tightened his grip around the woman. When he felt her sag against him, he knew he was suffocating her. He fought his ravaged body to garner the strength he needed to show these English he did not want their pity. With a breathless laugh, he sharply contracted his arm around her throat.

Sybill clawed at him. Black spots interspersed with glittering stars filled her vision as she saw Trevor take a step toward them. Then everything disappeared.

Slowly Sybill awoke from a confused dream. When she saw a beloved face over hers, she knew it must be a fantasy. So many times she had wished to open her eyes from sleep and feel Trevor's arms around her. Trembling fingers rose to touch his face, and she mirrored his smile. In the soft world of her dreams, she brought his lips down to touch hers. Only briefly did he caress her mouth, but she felt a crescendo of yearning swirling through her. With his hands stroking the curve of her shoulder, his whisper sounded in her ear.

“I brought Father Stanford. Do you feel well enough to speak to him? He wants to meet you.”

She knew then she was not dreaming. If this was her imagination, such bursts of reality would not invade her longing to know Trevor's succulent touch, which drove her past the borders of sanity. She nodded regretfully when he asked her if she thought she could stand alone. Despite her optimistic words, she swayed when she gained her feet. He kept his arm around her and turned her so she could see her patient. Joaquin's chest heaved with his efforts to breathe. His attempt to kill her may well have backfired to destroy the vestiges of his strength.

She looked across the small hut to where a dark-haired man dressed in normal clothes was celebrating the mass she had never seen. More than before, she knew the danger she had asked Trevor to assume with her desire to be a heroine. Not only were they sheltering a man who should be hanged, but they were watching a priest performing the services that had been outlawed.

When the man stood, he came over to speak to them. He smiled gently as he saw her concern. It was an expression he had become accustomed to since he had accepted his vocation. “Child,” he said, “you have done a wondrously kind thing by caring for this man. God bless you for what you have done.”

“Thank you.” She was unsure what else to say. She had not guessed how complicated her life would become.

“I will return—home.” Father Stanford did not look at Sybill as he hesitated. “Come for me.”

“I will, Father. Thank you.”

“It is you who should be thanked. You so selflessly are risking your life for one you have never met.” He went to the man lying on the thin mattress. What he whispered to Joaquin, Sybill did not hear, but she saw the dying man nod his head slowly. When the priest left the small hut, silence crashed down around them. Joaquin's dark eyes viewed them suspiciously.

“Do you want more to eat?” she asked.

Coldly he snarled, “No. I do not want your swill. Leave me, woman.”

In shock, she glanced at Trevor. His face was twisted with rage, but smoothed almost immediately into its normally tranquil lines. The sailor wished to goad him into doing something foolish, so Joaquin could have a chance to kill him. That the man who barely could lift himself from the pallet thought he could best Trevor showed the undiminished egotism of the beaten Armada. “Hush,” he murmured as she started to speak. “If he doesn't want to eat, we won't force him.” Ignoring the vicious scowl of their patient, he turned her to face him. “You must go home, too, sweetheart.”

“I can't leave you here alone. If you were discovered—”

“I won't be. Go home. If you are late for dinner, he will send out search parties for you. Then all will be lost for all of us.”

Wetting her lips, she noted how he did not mention Owen by name. He distrusted Joaquin as much as the Spaniard did them. She nodded. He was correct. Owen would be distraught if she was not at the Cloister at dinnertime. “All right. I will go. I will devise some tale for him.”

“Don't come back until the morning, sweetheart. I don't want you on the shore road in the dark. Our friend over there might not be the only one washed ashore.”

In a whisper, she begged, “Stay safe.”

He smiled as he gazed into her candid eyes and placed her expression in a most special part of his memory so he could savor it during the coldest hours. Kissing her quickly, he ignored the derisive noise from their prisoner. “I will see you in the morning.”

Sybill nodded. Even as she walked to the door, she longed to spin about and tell him she would not desert him to the danger. Doing that would endanger him even more. She did not look back as she closed the door. The sound of a bar dropping into place told her Trevor would take no chances of being discovered. Mounting the horse, she urged it toward the Cloister. Not for a minute could she forget that three lives might depend on her ability to act as if nothing was unusual.

Sybill left the horse at the stable and hurried toward the house. If she did not have to speak to anyone, she would not have to worry about lying. She laughed as she was greeted by Goldenrod with the enthusiasm her dog saved expressly for her. Dropping to her knees, she buried her face in his sun-drenched fur and took a deep breath of the odors he had picked up on his romps among the shrubbery.

“Oh, Goldenrod,” she whispered with her cheek close to him, “why can't we be more like you? You don't hate. You just love everyone, and everyone loves you.”

The dog licked her hand eagerly, but raced off as she stood. She recognized his invitation to play as he paused several yards from her. She had no energy for such antics, so she merely vowed she would play with him tomorrow. She wondered if she could keep her promise.

“Good evening, Miss Sybill,” said Marshall as she opened the door.

“Hello,” she replied listlessly. The adrenaline had drained away to leave her exhausted. It took every drop of her energy to climb the seemingly endless staircase. She wandered along the hallway to her rooms. Going in, she sank into a chair. She leaned her head against the back and closed her eyes. Little had she guessed when she left for a forbidden stroll along the beach that she would become embroiled in something even more illicit.

“It's about time you arrived back. Look at your gown, Miss Sybill! Come and let me help you get ready for dinner. Lord Foxbridge will be irritated. You are a half hour late.” Until Kate began to reprimand her loudly for her tardiness, Sybill had no idea how much time had been spent in the seaside hut.

She followed her maid into her bedroom so she could clean away the harsh sand. Beneath the skin where Joaquin attempted to strangle her, her throat continued to hurt each time she swallowed. All the derogatory insults she had heard fired at the Spanish might very well be true, if Joaquin was an example. At least she did not have to worry about being attacked again. The priest had exacted a promise from him not to hurt her. Sybill's back became rigid as she realized Father Stanford had requested no such vows to protect Trevor. Relaxing when she heard her maid's sharp order to loosen her shoulders a bit so she could hook her gown into place, she knew Trevor would be able to handle Joaquin.