Always in My Dreams (4 page)

"Remember the masquerade at the Bilroths' last month?" Skye asked.

"Of course I remember." He had had his share of attention as a buccaneer. Skye had had hers because she was one of two women to faint in the hot and crowded ballroom. The other was Mrs. Spencer, a matron in her sixties who was said to suffer a heart condition. Daniel supposed that that was the origin of the rumors.

Skye saw by his changing expression that he understood. "I suppose it's easy for people to think the worst of me." She sighed. "Though, truth be known, there are a lot worse things than being pregnant."

Daniel blushed at her plain speaking. "Watch your voice," he cautioned her. "People will hear."

"What if they do?" she said recklessly. She raised her voice purposefully and repeated, "There are a lot worse things than being pregnant."

Daniel wanted to slink off the bench and into a nearby snowdrift. Skye's timing had been perfect. A lull in the music permitted her voice to carry across the pond unfettered. He saw several people in the skating party glance in their direction. "You've convinced them now."

"They were already convinced. They probably think—" she raised her voice again, "—you're the father."

Daniel turned on her, yanking his scarf away from his face. "Skye! That's not amusing!"

She couldn't find it in herself to be contrite. "Would you be ashamed to be the father of my child?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, dismissing her.

Skye had expected a fervent denial from him, not some comment on the absurdity of her statement. "Daniel?" She turned toward him, studying his profile.
"Would
you be ashamed?" she asked softly. She watched the play of emotion on his face and heard in his hesitation an answer for which she wasn't prepared. "Oh, Daniel," she said sadly. "You, too."

He sat up a little straighter, defending himself. "You haven't let me answer."

"Yes, I have." She finished slipping on her shoes and picked up her muff. "It's all right. Don't give it another thought. I know I won't. It's not as if I wanted to have a child by you so I don't know why I'm disappointed. Perhaps it's just because I thought you were my friend."

"I
am
your friend."

"You wouldn't be ashamed." She stood, turned her back on Daniel, and began walking away. He called to her, but he was tangled in his skate laces. Skye didn't look back. When she heard him call again, she increased her pace. It was important to get away from Daniel right now. What his friends thought only touched her a little; Daniel's silent admission seemed more like a complete betrayal.

Skye found one of the paths in the park and kept to it. Where the snow hadn't been cleared it was crusted, and her leather boots made a crunching sound as she hurried along. She concentrated on the sound, trying to block out more intrusive thoughts, but she was only marginally successful. In the silent spaces she heard the condemning voices. She not only heard what they had said; she imagined she heard the reproachful things they'd all been thinking.

In her mind she heard them call her mother an Irish Catholic whore. The way they said it it was difficult to know which word carried the most disapproval. Skye heard old, familiar phrases like "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," and "Like mother, like daughter." It didn't matter that Moira Dennehy and Jay Mac Worth had been together for more than a quarter of a century, that her mother had loved no other man. She was a whore, her five daughters bastards; and while Jay Mac's wealth and considerable influence sometimes altered the way the Dennehys were treated, it did little to change what anyone thought of them.

The family had weathered scandals more damaging than this little rumor, Skye thought, but it was the first one that had touched her so personally. She wondered if her father had heard the rumor. Was that why he was offering her the opportunity to get away?

It was something worth considering, and Skye promised herself she'd confront her father directly on the matter. He'd scowl at her straight talking, probably waggle his finger at her for being impudent, but she'd be able to see through his bluster to his heart. She'd know if he was lying.

A sound behind her caught Skye's attention, stopped her musing, and halted her in her tracks. She felt the hair rise at the back of her neck as the crunching sound came again, this time closer. She had wanted to believe it had been her own feet making the noise, that the sound had been an echo of her own steps. She had to stop pretending that now.

Skye stepped off the path and moved into the shadowed area of some pines. The evergreen canopy sheltered her. She hugged the rough bark of one tree, making herself nearly invisible. She couldn't even say why she was suddenly wary, why she suspected it was someone other than Daniel sharing the path with her. Her breathing became light and shallow. She waited and watched.

The man who came along the path had established a pace that was both hurried and somehow restrained, as if he wanted to run but was holding himself back. Skye saw him pause not far from her grove of trees. He never once looked in her direction but cast a backward glance over his shoulder. It was then she realized she had never had anything to fear from him, that he wasn't following her, but that someone was following
him.

His breath seemed to hang in the air a moment as he considered his options. He blew on his ungloved hands to warm them while his eyes darted around, looking for protection in the bushes and trees. Skye could hear another set of footsteps approaching, then realized it was at least two men, perhaps more. She almost called to the man on the path, beckoning him to join her, when she saw he had made his decision not to hide or run. He was turning in the direction of his pursuers, his fists clenching and unclenching lightly at his sides.

His body crouched slightly, his lean frame coiled in a way that made him seem powerfully wound. His feet weren't planted, his shoulders weren't braced, he held himself lightly and loosely, giving the impression of lithe tensile strength. He wore neither a hat nor a scarf. In the moonlight his hair only appeared dark and overlong at the nape where it brushed the collar of his coat. His profile was clean-shaven and stark, the lines of his face hard. He was so still that he might have been a statue.

They came upon him suddenly. There were two of them, Skye saw, relieved that there weren't more, though why she should be favoring the lone stranger she couldn't say. They were both burly, hard muscular men with shoulder spans that seemed as wide as they were tall. They both wore wool caps that covered their hair and ears. One cap appeared black, the other a lighter color, probably yellow in daylight. Their faces were broad and their cheeks were hidden by large side-whiskers. Their chins were bare.

"There he is!" Black Cap yelled. They charged forward as if expecting their quarry to turn tail and run. When he didn't, they didn't stop to think what it might mean.

Yellow Cap leaped first, throwing himself at his prey to drag him to the ground. Skye pressed her knuckles against her mouth to keep from shouting a warning. As she watched, the man simply and gracefully pivoted to one side and Yellow Cap pitched forward, flailing at the air until he landed belly down on the path. He grunted hard, the warm air spilling from his body and misting in the moonlight.

Seeing what happened to his companion brought Black Cap skidding to a halt. "You all right?" he called.

There was a muffled groan. Black Cap accepted it as a signal that no real harm had been done. He gave his full attention to his quarry, circling slowly, elbows bent and gloved fists raised in a fighting posture.

Black Cap closed the circle, jabbing and thrusting with his right. The other man feinted, easily dodging and ducking the intended blows. A left hook sailed above his head. A right jab missed his ribs by inches. Skye saw Black Cap become frustrated and make his punches wilder and harder. Yellow Cap was on his knees, pushing himself upright. He staggered for a step or two, found his land legs, and threw himself into the fight.

With Black Cap and Yellow Cap both punching and jabbing, their victim had to watch his front and his back. He was able to avoid their throws, bobbing and weaving, until both his assailants were fairly growling with anger. Without a word passing between the two of them, they closed in again. Then Black Cap managed a swing that connected. The stranger's head snapped back and he lost his footing for a moment, pushed backward by the force of the blow. Black Cap came at him again, this time aiming for his ribs, but his victim was already recovering.

From Skye's vantage point she thought the lone man's movements were so precise they almost seemed choreographed. He twisted and feinted with the powerful grace of a dancer, his hands and arms part of the same motion as his legs. He struck like a snake, coiled in one moment, then unleashing a terrible fury in the next.

The stranger used his right hand like a cleaver, chopping Black Cap hard on the curve of his neck and shoulder. Black Cap's heavy coat wasn't enough padding to absorb the power behind that blow and his knees buckled under him. He groaned, as much in surprise by the attack as in pain.

Yellow Cap stepped back, confused by his victim's tactics. The distance he put between himself and his quarry prevented the stranger from using his arms. Yellow Cap couldn't have anticipated that the stranger might use his legs.

Skye's eyes widened as she saw the stranger leap feet first. His right foot connected with Yellow Cap's midriff. Before Yellow Cap could take stock of what had happened, the stranger's left foot followed through, shoving Yellow Cap backward with enough force to push the breath from his lungs. Gasping for air, Yellow Cap dropped to his knees again, this time clutching his middle. When his head dropped forward, exposing the vulnerable nape of his neck, the stranger struck again, this time with the same cleaver-like chop he had used on Black Cap. Yellow Cap toppled sideways and lay groaning for a moment before his body jerked once, then was completely still.

Skye's gaze lifted from Yellow Cap's motionless body to his partner's. Black Cap charged the stranger from behind. She opened her mouth to yell a warning and in the next second realized it wasn't necessary. The stranger seemed to have an awareness beyond what his eyes could see. He pivoted and stepped out of the path of Black Cap's charge. At the same time he reached out to grab Black Cap by the scruff of the neck and the small of the back and pushed, using Black Cap's own considerable weight and speed to force him even further away.

Black Cap stumbled and fell forward, collapsing on all fours just a few feet from where Skye stood. She remained perfectly still in her hiding place, afraid to even draw a breath. Black Cap shook himself off, much like a shaggy, sopping wet dog after a bath, then he scrambled to his feet, turned, and charged again.

It seemed to Skye that the stranger waited until the last possible second to step out of the way. Black Cap was once again helped along in the direction he was already going. This time he skidded on the ground on his stomach and face, his broad chin pushing clumps of snow out of the way like a plow. For a moment he remained still and Skye thought he just might have the good sense not to get up. It wasn't to be. She winced as Black Cap pushed himself into a kneeling position, swiped at his icy chin with the back of his hand, and looked over his shoulder at the prey who had become the predator.

"You're a nasty bit of business, ain't you?" Black Cap muttered. "You afraid to face me with your fists?"

The stranger stood his ground, saying nothing.

"That's what I thought." He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a derringer, a deadly weapon in the right hands and at close range. "Then go up against this, you bastard."

The stranger didn't wait until Black Cap finished his sentence before he attacked. His lithe body was a blur of motion, spinning, flying, leaping. A single kick dislodged the gun from Black Cap's hand. His wrist, devoid of all feeling now, was trapped beneath the stranger's foot. A second solid kick to Black Cap's gut drove the breath from his lungs. Black Cap collapsed and never saw the blow that centered between his shoulder blades. His body shuddered once, then was as still as his partner's.

The stranger stepped back and paused, looking at his felled attackers. Skye thought he might be using the time to catch his breath, but he wasn't winded in the least. He simply seemed to be indulging in a moment of detached curiosity.

Skye watched him take his fill. He shook his head back and forth slowly, as if he could not quite believe what had taken place, or at least couldn't comprehend the stupidity of his assailants. Although his back was to Skye, she imagined that she could see his mouth curved in an ironic sort of half smile.

"You were never in any danger, ma'am."

Skye started, blinking widely. She looked around, her eyes darting to shadows on the other side of the path. It didn't seem possible that he intended his comment for her.

"Or is it 'miss'?" he asked.

Mary Schyler inched away from the pine tree but not out from under its protective canopy. "Sure and I'm thinkin' it's none of your concern," she said cheekily, affecting her mother's lilting Irish brogue.

He turned toward her and the moon shining on his face gave Skye slender evidence of a smile that was a bit menacing in its coolness. "You're right," he said. "You'd better be on your way."

Skye didn't want to leave the safety of the sheltering pines. She was merely a shadow to him and she wanted to remain that way. "You first." He ducked his head and she thought the action hid a more fulsome smile. She wished she could see him better, yet to do so would have compromised her own anonymity.