The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance (15 page)

He broke into a grin. “Hey, this is good. Quite life-like, if I do say so myself.” He glanced up at her. “I may not have seen much art, but I’ve seen plenty of trees, peaches and girls. I can imagine the sweet fuzz smell on the breeze. This is a tree from outside the kitchen, right?”

How could he know? Did he see the tree nymph, too, since he changed to an animal? “I-it is.”

“Thought so. Had that feel to it.” He flipped the page. “Say, hold on a sec. I really look like this sleeping?”

Oh, Lord,
no.
She reached for the book, but he pulled it in close.

Heat flooded over her. What could she do? Tussle with a boy? Or rather, a young man, and one who was hurt and wore only a sheet and blanket?

His quick fingers slid under the page and turned to the next. “Wow, a close-up. This is great, because I’ve never seen myself with my eyes closed.”

Another page and he would see her rampant imagination at work, depicting that animal, er, him. And more of him. “Daeryn?” she squeaked.

He looked up. “Huh?”

“I’d rather you didn’t look at more of my drawings. I’m sorry.”

“What’s there to be sorry about?” His gaze dropped to the page again. “You got stuck babysitting me this afternoon. Although, from the looks of it, you kept busy.”

He edged up the next corner and then laid his hand flat on the page just as she put hers on the top. His head lifted, his chocolate-brown eyes met hers, and the closeness of him startled her. But she didn’t move back. She couldn’t, not without her sketchbook.

Yet nervousness about what he might see wasn’t the only thing holding her in place. Long, dark lashes lined his large eyes, his golden skin stretched like a tea-washed canvas, and his lips…a shade of pink mixed with tan. They puckered and opened—

“Four portraits of me. How long does it take you to do one? Or were you here for hours while I slept?”

She blinked. He’d asked a normal question, unlike Mr. Shearing, who at this distance would have said something improper. Annmar forced her mind to answer like a normal girl would, one having a normal conversation. “No, I stayed an hour or so. They’re sketches, no more,” she whispered. “Five, ten minutes apiece. I didn’t mean to…to invade your privacy. I’m sorry.”

He grinned and lifted his hand, just like he was going to pat hers. But then he drew it back and shook his head. “Heck, quit saying you’re sorry. I’m not. It’s flattering you think me interesting enough to draw.”

“It’s—” She stopped to breathe. This was awful. He was one page from seeing she was the one who was improper, drawing
everything
she’d seen of him last night. What could she—
ah, don’t make so much of it, Annmar.
She took another breath. “It’s embarrassing to be caught at it.”

“So embarrassing I shouldn’t turn this page? Suppose not, you’re biting your lip and… Here.” He pushed the book to her.

Thank God in the heavens above.

She clenched the sketchbook closer than she should let him see, watching him watch her. He had stopped. He hadn’t seen. Knowing he was an animal was a conversation she could have, sometime, but the last drawing…no. Not now, not ever. “Thank you for not being angry. About me drawing you, I mean.”

“I don’t mind, really. If sometime you’d be willing to share your other sketches, let me know.”

She nodded. Mercy, she was hot. She had to get away from him. Where was Rivley? And why did a grown man need her to sit with him anyway? He wasn’t sick anymore. “I hope your foot recovers soon.”

“So do I. Don’t understand it since the rest of me… Say, I’ll share some news, since I discovered your drawings.” He slid the blanket off his shoulder and held out his arm.

She froze. Swells of muscles flowed under his ever-so-smooth skin. How could she capture this beautiful rich brown… Wait. What did he want her to look at? Lord, he was distracting. “Um, you must be strong.”

Daeryn laughed. “You drew me earlier, right?” He pulled his other arm out from under the blanket, an arm every bit as beautiful as the first. “Notice anything different?” He extended his arms, side by side.

Suddenly it hit. “I must look like an idiot. Your arm’s healed. The shoulder, too? But the other cuts? Not that I looked.” Oh, my, she was blushing all over again.

“Exactly, no bite marks. Just as smooth and healthy as you drew me—” His mouth gaped, then opened and closed several times.

What was the matter with him? No, she hadn’t drawn the cuts because that would
mar his beautiful body, but if he thought she was going to admit to how attractive she thought him—

“Great Creator,” he whispered. “Annmar, did
you
heal me?

chapter Eighteen

Annmar stared at
Daeryn’s arms, his shoulder, his chest. She couldn’t have healed him.
But he looks just as I drew him, just as I imagined he’d look.
The proof was hard to deny. Her fingers itched to stroke the miraculous skin, perfectly restored…because of her. The thought took her breath away. Yet…

If healing were part of her family Knack, then Mother wouldn’t have died. She might have cured herself.

Unless it wasn’t part of Mother’s Knack
.

But Annmar had never seen any inkling her drawings could… That old kitty belonging to the Gapton stationmaster. Soon after Annmar had handed Mr. O’s sketch to Mr. Yates, the orange cat had leaped from Mrs. Yates’ lap and lunged after a bird in the shrubs.

Annmar squeezed her sketchbook to her chest, so hard her heart thudded against it. If she hadn’t inherited the Knack from Mother, then the talent must come from her father’s bloodlines, and—oh, Lord—if Annmar had only recognized it years ago, Mother needn’t have died. Her knees turned to jelly, and her ears roared with a thousand engines as heartache flooded her soul.

Daeryn cocked his head. “I mean, I’m fine with you using your Knack on me,” he said. “I didn’t know, so I’m surprised is—say, are you all right?”

She
shook her head and backed to the door. Somehow she wrenched it open, darted through and smacked right into someone. Hands grabbed her forearms and then wrapped her shoulders in a secure hold.

“Annmar? What in the—” Mistress Gere reached out and snapped the sickroom door shut. “I’m going to skin that boy,” she muttered. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

The lady steered Annmar through the back door. The cool night air swept over her hot skin and pricked up her hair across her scalp.

Mistress Gere eased her onto a bench protected by the porch. “There. Take it easy. Breathe,” she directed, and accompanied the short commands with squeezes to Annmar’s elbow.

Annmar couldn’t afford to sob for Mother now, not in front of her new employer. She sucked in breath after breath, quelling a misery worse than she’d come to terms with months ago. Sorrow clouded her head, but her lungs settled into their normal pattern, and she wiped unshed tears from eyes. She’d somewhat managed to salvage appearances.

Mistress Gere patted her shoulder. “You’ve had a bit of a shock, I’d say.”

Annmar nodded, but held her tongue. What could she say that didn’t sound like hysterics? She hadn’t drawn Daeryn’s injuries, and now those cuts didn’t exist? If she’d known about her Knack, she could have saved her mother? Likely she’d be told there was no crying over spilt milk. She was here to do a job, not be consoled. So she said nothing.

Mistress Gere stared into the moonlit farmyard. “I thought my one caution would be enough. The boy has respected my advice before, so I had no reason to doubt he would this time. But I’ll take care of him. You have my word nothing more will happen.”

With Annmar’s thoughts circling back to Mother, moments passed before she realized Mistress Gere blamed Daeryn. Why, when this seemed to be Annmar’s doing? “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Mistress Gere patted her hand. “If I may ask, are you, er, hurt? Would you like to talk to our healer, Miriam? Or there’s a newly trained lady surgeon in town. Many women prefer her to Mr. White, to discuss feminine issues. I could send for her to attend to you.”

A surgeon? Why would she need a…oh, my, Mistress Gere thought Daeryn—“No!”

“She’s very nice, Annmar. Gentle—”

“No, there’s a misunderstanding.” One on her part also. Did anyone else know about Daeryn’s healing? Should they? “Daeryn didn’t…nothing happened.” Heat rose again over her body, but she couldn’t let Mistress Gere think what she was most definitely thinking. “He can’t even walk. He never touched me. Nothing. Polite. Totally proper.”

Mistress Gere raised a brow. “Then may I ask, what did happen?”

And there it was. Annmar wasn’t sure herself what had happened. How could she tell Mistress Gere? This woman wasn’t one to suffer fools gladly, and how could Annmar look other than foolish with this story? She bit the inside of her lip to keep her face blank, but the lady stared, definitely expecting an answer.

One that was not a lie. Any slight to Mistress Gere, and Annmar might not pass the trial. Also, if any blame fell to Daeryn, he’d likely be angry. She needed his help figuring out what had happened.

Annmar averted her gaze. It fell on her sketchbook. Yes, that was a lesser thing to reveal. Far safer. And only a
bit
of a variance from the events that had happened.

She cleared her throat. “I was showing Daeryn my drawings and he, uh…” Oh, Lord. Annmar drew a deep breath and opened her sketchbook. She paged to the last drawings of Daeryn, to a page he hadn’t seen, and held out the book.

Mistress Gere peered down, then carried the book closer to the gaslight. She studied the page, a portrait of Daeryn and beside it the animal drawing Annmar had so carefully crafted from her one brief view of his change.

It showed a pointed, furry face with circular, wide-set eyes and cute, rounded ears edging the crown of bristle. The snout and nose had been the hardest to render, because the animal, er, Daeryn, had his lips peeled back in pain, and she hadn’t wanted that image on paper.

Mistress Gere turned, her concern showing clearly in the light. “It’s an excellent likeness. I think I understand now. You’re learning all this too quickly. Has his animacambire heritage upset you?”

Animacambire? That’s what one called these animal changers? She might have said yes yesterday, but now she knew them. They weren’t like
real
animals. She shook her head. “Not really. He’s nice enough. Everyone is.”

Mistress Gere waved to the sickroom. “Are you sure there’s not more to this?”

Drat, she’d answered too lightly. Mistress Gere glanced at the drawing again, but then returned her gaze to Annmar with raised brows. No, from a Basin resident’s casual view, this animal sketch was commonplace. What then? Her mind raced to—
no!
But it was the one thing scandalous enough to give reason to why she’d dash from a room in a state of nerves. Something Daeryn, who’d eaten cake while covered in only a blanket, probably wouldn’t mind.

However, for her, telling it was another matter.

Under Mistress Gere’s piercing stare, Annmar could think of nothing else, nothing that kept the attention—and blame—away from Daeryn. She wrapped her arms around her corseted middle. “I also saw him, uh, change back. Turn the page.”

The lady did and angled the book up to the gaslight again. Her lips parted in a slight gasp. “Ohh.”

Oh, indeed. Had she really just revealed this to her employer? Annmar dropped her head into her hands, but the sketch she’d made of Daeryn this afternoon floated across her vision. Alone in her room, in what had always been her private sketchbook, any risk of exposure never occurred to her. His form seemed burned on her retinas. His manly,
naked
form.

“Ah, this is an excellent drawing as well, though I cannot say if it’s an excellent likeness.” Mistress Gere handed the closed sketchbook back to her. “And I’m happy I can say that. The animacambires have no self-consciousness among themselves, but around other species they do keep to human convention. Being injured was, of course, an exception. You said that’s when you witnessed his change?”

“The first I’d seen.” Time to be blunt. She took a breath and rushed on. “A change or a male naked. I’ve never drawn this sort of thing before, but the whole incident was quite the, uh, revelation for me. I couldn’t stop the drawing from its creation, but then to have”—
careful now
—“it viewed is difficult. Personal.”

Mistress Gere laughed.

Laughed? Annmar stared at the woman.

She covered her mouth, but still shook a little. “I’m sure it was quite
personal
for Daeryn as well, though the boy has no modesty. He was pleased at the attention?”

“Er, yes.” Annmar released a breath. The lady’s reaction was odd, but she accepted Annmar’s explanation for her actions. “He told me not to be sorry I’d done them without his knowledge. But I find the whole situation embarrassing.” Now for the key to her—
oh, my
—deception. “You won’t say anything, will you?”

Mistress Gere smiled. “I won’t do anything to lose my artist. Especially over something that could make you quite in demand around the Basin, should you choose to, shall we say, expose
your skill.”

Annmar heated at the very thought of rendering such drawings for strangers.

Oh, Lord, what am I thinking?
She didn’t want to render them for people she knew either.

She needn’t think of that. She had the lady’s word, as well as her indication that she wanted Annmar to stay on. Time to confirm that last part. “Thank you. I do have other, more business-appropriate drawings to show to you.”

“I should like to view them in my office, if you’re ready to go in?”

Mistress Gere ushered her into the house, but paused at the door to the sickroom. “I feel I owe Daeryn an apology,” she murmured.

“No,” Annmar blurted. She had to urge Mistress Gere down the hall, away from this room and its occupant who might spoil everything. “Please,” she whispered. “He probably didn’t notice anything amiss. Much. I’d rather drop the whole incident.”

“He couldn’t have missed your reaction, ” Mistress Gere whispered back. “The animacambire senses are heightened ones, and the boy’s interest in you was obvious from the moment he laid eyes on you. Your drawing relays you share that interest.”

Daeryn was interested in her? And Mistress Gere knew? A lifetime of societal decorum dried her mouth. No one should suspect these things before a girl’s father was approached. Of course, she had no father. She and Mother were working class, not part of society, yet very firmly bound to its rules to keep their well-paying clients. Wagging tongues ended careers faster than poor quality. Here, this disclosure may not carry the same impropriety, but she didn’t know. Annmar could only hope her own surprise didn’t show, or confirm, the guess.

But Mistress Gere was giving her quite the intent look.

Annmar returned it.

Mistress Gere sighed. “I’ll leave it for you to handle, then.”

She turned and walked toward her office. Annmar glanced at Daeryn’s door before scurrying after her.
Mercy
. She had no clue how to deal with a ruthless businessman’s attention, but handling Daeryn’s interest seemed possible. It might be…nice. She could only hope he still liked her after she’d done such a personal…
thing
involving his body.

* * *

No creaking came
from the hall, but the door to the sickroom swung open. Daeryn felt even more ill at ease with Rivley sneaking around than he had listening to Mistress Gere bring Annmar back in. A furtive entrance meant his friend suspected trouble. What had the women talked about outside?

Rivley closed the door and propped the crutches against the wall. He tossed Daeryn’s clothes to him. “You better get dressed. It won’t be long before she’s back to lecture you.”

Daeryn shook his head. “Don’t think so. They had a whole ’nother conversation in the hall.” He sorted out the long-sleeved shirt and pulled it over his head. “Annmar stopped the lady from coming in.”

Rivley raised a brow. “Seriously? What’d you hear?”

“Probably not much more than your sharp hearing caught in the open. Too many of the lady’s barriers in these buildings. Annmar wanted to drop the
incident
. Not sure what that referred to. You hear anything?”

“They were quieter than mice under a foot of snow, and I stayed clear,” Rivley said. “They talked about drawings in the sketchbook and you and—” His eyes narrowed. “The girl knows about your healing.”

“Yes. She drew me without injuries. Her Knack is drawing, so I put the two together and asked her.” Both frowned for a moment before Daeryn added, “Do you think Annmar told Miz Gere about the healing?”

Rivley shrugged. “No idea. Figured covering up your cleared arms was the best plan even before I saw them talking.”

Daeryn stuffed both feet into the legs of his trousers and wobbled upright to raise them and swing up the braces.

“Move back to bed since you’re up.” Rivley handed him the crutches.

“Don’t go all mother hen on me,” Daeryn muttered, but did it. He sank into the pillows while Rivley perched on the chair edge. Their gazes met. “Thanks for the clothes. If Annmar did tell her, Miz Gere will be in shortly to see for herself.”

“What are you going to say?”

“In a way, it’s not my news to tell. Annmar didn’t seem too keen to discuss it when she ran from the room.”

“Uh, right.” Rivley cleared his throat. “Some Knack-bearers are flattered, but others become downright ruffled about their talents being discussed.”

Daeryn’s gaze drifted to the door. “Annmar is the last person I want to be angry at me.”

* * *