Karen Robards - Amanda Rose

“Why did you do that?” He sounded genuinely curious.

Amanda glared at him. “I have trouble swatting wasps, too,” she answered with more than a hint of bite. He grinned a little at that, seeming to relax as one corner of his mouth tilted up lopsidedly. Then he grimaced, his hand moving to press against his hip. Amanda saw that his breeches were wet with blood.

“I’m grateful,” he muttered.

“You should be.” Amanda’s reply was tart. “I must be as crazy as you are.” She hadn’t meant to say that last aloud. Biting her hip, she eyed him.

“Yes.” He didn’t seem particularly offended. In fact, he was smiling faintly as those silvery eyes met hers. “I won’t hurt you, you know. You’re perfectly safe with me-I give you my word.”

For what it’s worth, Amanda couldn’t help thinking, but still it was better than nothing. “You promise?” she asked, sounding uncertain all of a sudden. A small part of her still wondered if she shouldn’t go screaming for help.

“I promise,” he answered gravely.

Watching him, feeling a ridiculous qualm of conscience as she saw the raw scratches her nails had raked in his cheeks, she gave it up. She was committed now, for better or worse. It was far too late to worry about the possibility of his wrapping those long fingers about her neck and choking the life out of her. To begin with, how could she explain why she had not denounced him at once? Amanda felt faintly sick; with her usual headlong lack of caution-another fault the nuns were always deploring-she had gotten herself into another scrape. And this one was no mere childish peccadillo. It was an out-and-out disaster.

“We’re going to have to get you off the beach before it gets light.” Amanda was thinking quickly. What couldn’t be cured must be endured, as Sister Mary Joseph was fond of saying. If she was going to help Matthew Grayson-and it seemed as though she was-she had better do it right. She could worry about the moral aspects of the situation later. “There’s a cave not far from here, behind that outcropping of rock.” She pointed; his eyes followed the direction of her hand. “You should be safe enough there until I can think of something better.”

“What about that gardener’s shed you were telling me about?” He sounded only mildly curious, but his eyes were suddenly keen as they rested on her face. For the life of her, Amanda couldn’t stop herself from feeling-and looking, she had no doubt-extremely guilty.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea anymore,” she mumbled.

“I see.” She inferred from the tone of his voice that he did-all too accurately. Amanda looked at him warily. Would he fly into a murderous rage now that he guessed what she at first had planned for him? To her relief he continued to look calm. She took heart a little, but her next words were still faintly reluctant.

“You’d better let me bandage your wound again before you start moving around. You’re bleeding quite badly.”

He shook his head. “It’s all right-I made a pad out of what was left of your petticoat and tied it up again. I think it’s more urgent that I get off the beach before anyone else decides to come for a morning stroll.

“Yes,” Amanda agreed slowly. What he said made sense, she knew, but… “Do you think you can stand up?”

He looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, but I feel as weak as a day-old infant. Do you suppose you could…”

“Of course.” Amanda stifled an inward sigh. Well, she had known that she would have to put herself within his reach again. She couldn’t help him from a safe distance, for goodness’ sake. But…

“I really won’t hurt you,” he said, his voice oddly gentle. His eyes were knowing as they watched the emotions that flitted all too plainly across her face. “From a strictly practical standpoint, I would be a fool to, wouldn’t I? Without you I’d be stuck on this damned beach until your friend or some of his cohorts came back and found me-and I’m counting on you to bring me food and a few other necessities, too. Hurting you would be the last thing I’d dream of doing.”

Amanda thought about that for a moment. It made sense, she realized with a quiver of relief. Feeling a little better, she edged closer until he was once again grasping her hand in his. The feel of those strong fingers locking around hers brought a rush of panic with it. She tugged sharply at her hand, wanting instinctively to be free. He released it at once.

“See?” he said softly, meeting her eyes. Amanda returned his look for an instant, then nodded. And extended her hand to him again.

Helping him to his feet, feeling the warmth and strength and life of his body as he leaned heavily against her side, she began to feel a little better about what she was doing. Perhaps he deserved to be captured, deserved to forfeit his life for what he had done-and she knew that most people, the nuns included, would say that there was no perhaps about it-but she didn’t see how his death could really benefit anyone. The people he had killed-as she thought of them she winced-were dead; nothing could bring them back. Matthew Grayson was alive. And whatever he had done, he was a human being and he needed her help. She couldn’t just abandon him to his fate or, worse, turn him over to it herself. It just wasn’t in her, and she knew it.

It took a little time and quite a lot of effort, but they managed to traverse the eighth mile of beach that separated them from the outcropping of rock that hid the entrance to the cave. The opening itself was just a narrow fissure running sideways through the hard stone of the cliff, barely wide enough for a grown man to slide through sideways. It was nearly impossible to see from the beach unless one knew it was there. In the old days-and still upon occasion, as Amanda knew full well-it was used by smugglers; as far as she was aware, she and the smugglers were the only ones who remembered its existence. And with the nightly patrol on the beach, she doubted that the smugglers would be using it anytime in the near future. She had to grin at that. How the smugglers must be cursing Matthew Grayson. He had undoubtedly put a severe crimp in their usual operations, not only here but along the entire English coast.

“Something funny?” He sounded faintly put out, and, glancing up at him, Amanda didn’t blame him. Sweat was rolling freely down his face; he was pale and obviously in pain while she was grinning like a hyena. The thought made her grin again, wider than before, and he rewarded her with a sour look.

“Share the joke, why don’t you? I could use a good laugh.”

So Amanda did. He didn’t appear to find it overwhelmingly amusing, but it did help to take his mind off the pain he must have suffered as he squeezed through the narrow opening. Once inside, it was so dark that Amanda couldn’t even see his face as he stood right next to her. If it hadn’t been for the weight of him leaning against her, and the feel of his hard arm wrapped around her shoulders, she might have thought she had imagined everything.

The cave was as cool and damp and dark as a grave. Before they could proceed any farther, they had to have a light. The candle Amanda always left inside was just to the left of the entrance, but before she could find it, she had to free herself of his crushing weight.

She stretched out her hand to feel for the stone wall behind them. It was cold and moist to the touch.

“Can you lean against the wall for a moment?” she asked, her voice sounding almost unnaturally loud in the tomblike quiet. “I have to light a candle.”

“A candle?” He sounded surprised, but he obligingly allowed her to ease him against the wall; when he was reasonably secure, he released his grip on her shoulders. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Amanda Rose? Do you always carry candles about in your pockets, or did you just have a feeling you might need one this morning?”