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  “David Morys.” She wiped a tear away. “Schoolmaster in Llanddeusant.”

  This grew increasingly curious. Odd enough that Evan should have been near Llynwydd with Mrs. Price, though from how Juliana had tried to throw them together, it shouldn’t surprise him. Still, Evan had left only a week ago.

  “Why did a schoolmaster shoot Evan?” he asked, praying she wouldn’t collapse into tears before he could get the entire story. If this Morys fellow was running loose shooting people, Rhys wanted to be prepared. Besides, focusing on finding Evan’s attacker kept him from thinking about that bloodstained shirt and the wan face of his friend.

  “It’s complicated, and I promise to tell you all of it eventually, but I . . . I can’t talk about it right now.”

  “I understand.” He reached over to pat her hand. “Under the circumstances, your first concern has to be making sure Evan lives. Nonetheless, I must know if this David Morys would come to the estate after either of you.”

  “He might. The only way I got him to leave was by threatening to shoot him with his own pistol.”

  “Good God,” Rhys said, incredulous. “Where is it?”

  She pulled the weapon from Evan’s coat pocket. “I never want to see another as long as I live.”

  That made him smile. “I imagine not.” Rhys tried to envision the shy Mrs. Price facing a man down with a pistol but couldn’t. She had obviously changed considerably since he’d met her. Juliana would be surprised.

  “When David was leaving,” Mrs. Price went on, “he said he’d be back. I think he assumed we had nowhere to hide. That’s why I had to pull Evan off the road. I was afraid David might find him before I could return.”

  Rhys gaped at her. “You pulled him off the road? Alone?” Why, she was a little slip of a thing!

  “He could still stand, but I had to support him while we walked. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it.” She lifted her face to him. “I . . . I couldn’t let him die.”

  Rhys took her hand as they neared the squire hall. “You did well, Mrs. Price. If he comes through this, it will be largely due to your efforts.”

  In the lights blazing from the house he could see tears fill her eyes again. “If it hadn’t been for me, he wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

  “Nonsense. It sounds as if it was this Morys fellow’s fault entirely.”

  She hid her face. “Oh, but you don’t know . . .”

  The wagon halted at the foot of the entrance. As servants scurried down the steps, followed by an anxious Juliana, Rhys squeezed Mrs. Price’s hand. “He’ll be all right. He’s in good hands here. Evan’s strong. He’s survived many things in his life, and he’ll survive this. So don’t worry about him. All right?”

  She managed a smile. “I hope you’re right. I couldn’t bear it if . . . if . . .”

  Rhys shared her sentiments entirely.

  16

  Layers of mist clung to Evan like damp cotton, dragging him into a swamp. He flailed his arms. The mist swirled tighter . . . closer . . . It suffocated him. He sucked in air, but it was fetid and poisonous.

  Bone-chilling cold. Alien and clammy, drowning him in a terrible black emptiness.

  “No . . . No . . . Please help . . . me,” he choked out.

  “I’m here,” came a voice out of the mist.

  A gentle voice. Catrin’s. He stopped flailing and turned. Only Catrin could part the dangerous vapors.

  I must find her. She’s here, somewhere, my Lady of the Mists.

  “Catrin!” he croaked out as the mist wrapped his legs in spidery tendrils.

  Then he saw her, cocooned in a halo of light. His Catrin, coming to him with a smile.

  “It will be all right.” She held out her hand. “I’m here. Everything will be fine.”

  He strained against the blackness threatening to swallow him up, then strained toward Catrin. The cold trickled out of him, seeping away like vapor that vanished in her light.

  He fought the pull of the mist. His shoulder ached from the effort of reaching for her, of fighting. But he ignored it. Catrin would rescue him from the darkness if he could only reach her. But his shoulder ached so much . . .

  Her hand closed around his . . . warm, supple fingers and strength greater than his own . . . stealing into him, heating him. Relief rushed through him as he gripped her hand.

  Suddenly the mist faded, and he realized he was lying on his back in a soft bed. His mouth was dry and hot, but his skin was drenched in cold sweat, making his breeches and shirt cling to him. His shoulder throbbed. He tried to move it, but discovered it was bound in bandages, as was his arm, which lay on his chest beneath the loose shirt.

  “It will all be fine,” came a hoarse whisper from somewhere to his right. “It has to be. You can’t die. You can’t!”

  His eyes fluttered open, and he was disoriented. Sunlight streamed through the windows of a lavishly appointed room, and Catrin gripped his hand, pressing it against her pale cheek as anguished tears slid down her face.

  Dark smudges under her eyes attested to a lack of sleep. Her hair was a wild mass of tangled curls, and her gown was stained and creased.

  She looked like an angel.

  Suddenly, everything came back to him. Catrin crowning Morys with the chalice. His own fight with Morys. The pistol going off and Catrin struggling to save him. Their torturous walk to the side of the road that had ended with him alone, staring at the sky and wondering if he was going to die.

  He obviously hadn’t. He glanced at his arm. It must be in a sling, since the left arm of his shirt hung down empty from his shoulder. Someone had patched him up very well.

  His eyes widened as he stared at Catrin. How had she gotten him here? And where was “here”? He remembered her talking about getting him to Llynwydd. Had she managed that? Was that where he was?

  Licking his dry lips, he tried to speak. Only a pitiful rasping noise escaped his lips, but it was enough to draw Catrin’s attention.

  She lifted her head to look at him with glistening eyes. “Evan?”

  He swallowed, then croaked, “Good . . . morning.”

  Shock filled her face, then she flashed him a brilliant smile. “You’re awake . . . and alive and—” Tears streamed down her face. “When you had such a bad fever last night, I thought—by heaven, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now that you’re all right.” Then her face fell. “You are all right, aren’t you? I know you must be in pain, but—”

  “I believe I’m through the worst of it.” He flexed his legs and his unbound arm experimentally, pleased to discover he’d maintained control of his other limbs. “As you said, there’s pain . . . but everything seems intact.”

  With a sob, she clasped his hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry about David’s shooting you. I keep getting you hurt.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He squeezed her fingers weakly. “Nothing matters but . . . that you’re here and . . . I’m here. Safe.”

  A devastating smile lit her face. He tightened his grip on her hand, then ran his thumb over her knuckles. Her fingers were so delicate and dainty, the skin so soft. Something flickered in his mind, something about a mist and a hand held out to him, but thinking about it made his head hurt, so he stopped.

  Besides, it felt wonderful just to hold her hand, to feel her warmth against the cold clamminess of his skin. It seemed as if he’d wandered in the darkness for an eternity, waiting to hold this hand. “How long . . . have I been here?”

  “Two nights and a day. The surgeon removed the ball successfully, but you’d lost a great deal of blood and you didn’t awaken.” Her mouth tightened. “Last night during the storm, you were so still and your fever so high that I feared—” She squeezed his hand. “We’ve all been frantic with worry.”

  “We?”

  “The Vaughans. You’re at Llynwydd. Don’t you remember?”

  Running his tongue over his parched lips, he murmured, “Some. Not all.” He remembered asking her why she’d stayed. What had she sai
d? Because their lovemaking had meant something to her, even if it had meant nothing to him.

  And he had thought to give up the beauty of lovemaking with Catrin, simply because . . .

  Other things came back to him then—all the accusations he’d thrown at her, all the lies she’d told him. Justin’s murder seemed a lifetime away now. Strange how none of it mattered so much anymore.

  He was alive and whole. He hadn’t perished by the side of the road. Catrin hadn’t left him, even when it had been to her advantage to do so. She’d nearly killed herself to save him. Surely that proved her innocence.

  “Evan,” she whispered, drawing his attention from his unsettling thoughts. “Mr. Vaughan and Lady Juliana are beside themselves with worry for you, so I must tell them you’re awake. It will only take a minute. All right?”

  He nodded, though he watched her leave the room with a spurt of panic—the same panic he’d felt when she’d left him propped against the tree. The menacing darkness had clawed at him, reminding him of nights as a boy when his father’s fury and beatings had driven him to hide in the woodshed, when he’d lain in the dark hearing rats scrabble along the floor as he waited for morning and the abatement of his father’s anger. He’d struggled to stay conscious enough to use the pistol if Morys came back.

  But his struggles had been fruitless, for somewhere in that horrible night, he’d slipped into unconsciousness and a black morass of—

  He wouldn’t think of it now. He was safe and among friends. The darkness was banished, and Catrin was here. Everything was right with the world.

  A need not to look helpless and weak assailed him, and he struggled to push himself into a sitting position. That was all he managed before the door opened and Lady Juliana thrust her head inside. With a little cry, she rushed into the room, followed closely by Rhys and Catrin.

  Evan noticed that Catrin stood back, watching as Lady Juliana fussed over him and Rhys teased him about being a “damned sight too big to carry.” It took all of Evan’s will not to call Catrin to his side. After what had happened, he needed her even more than before. He needed to feel her warmth, her strength, her will. Yet he knew that Rhys and Lady Juliana would make much of his urge to have Catrin at his side, and he didn’t want to embarrass his darling.

  Instead, he turned his gaze to the squire. “I’m afraid I lost the horse you loaned me, old chap.”

  Rhys laughed. “As if I care. But you didn’t lose it. She showed up at the stables yesterday, a little ragged and weary, but otherwise whole.”

  “Good.”

  “The surgeon said your shoulder would heal well if you lived through the fever and loss of blood.” Lady Juliana settled her hip on the bed. “You should be fine now, thank heaven.”

  “Yes, thank heaven,” Rhys echoed. “I don’t think the university could stand to lose an instructor of your caliber.”

  Lady Juliana rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t give a whit about the university. He would have been destroyed if something had happened to you. He’s paced the floor ever since he and Mrs. Price brought you back in the wagon.”

  As Rhys smiled at him, a lump formed in Evan’s throat. It was good to have such loyal friends. “Thank you, all of you, for looking after me.”

  Lady Juliana patted his hand. “Yes, well, it’s not over yet. You must get your strength back. You need lots of rest and plenty of food in that bottomless pit you call a stomach. I’m having Cook prepare some broth for you right now.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Evan murmured.

  “We shouldn’t tire you too much, so we’ll let you rest for a while.”

  She turned toward the door, but when Catrin did the same, he blurted out, “Will you stay, Catrin?”

  “Of course,” she said, her eyes bright as she stepped toward the bed.

  But Lady Juliana checked her with one hand. “Evan, you need rest. And so does Mrs. Price. She hasn’t slept since she and Rhys brought you here, except for dozing in that chair.” She pointed to a chair that looked uncomfortable as hell.

  “If Evan wants me to stay with him—” Catrin began.

  “No, it’s fine,” Evan broke in. Good God, he was such a dolt. Of course she needed rest. “I am indeed . . . quite tired. I think I shall sleep awhile.”

  Catrin cast him an anxious glance. “Are you sure? If you need me, I’ll stay.”

  He looked at the weariness evident in her slumped shoulders and the worn lines about her mouth, and cursed himself for not thinking sooner of what she must have been through. She had eaten next to nothing the day they’d been on the road. Thanks to him, she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. And she’d probably drained her strength in her struggle to get him here.

  The enormity of what she’d done struck him. After he’d threatened to turn her over to the magistrate, she’d saved his life at great personal hardship. It was amazing. She was amazing.

  And tired. “I’ll be fine,” he said, keeping his eyes averted from Lady Juliana, who watched the interchange with interest. “Truly, I do need sleep.”

  Catrin nodded but laid her hand briefly over his. “If you want me, just call.” She lifted her hand as if to stroke his cheek, then drew away. “I’m so glad you’re doing better. Sleep well.”

  Long after she and the others were gone, he thought about her aborted gesture and wondered how she felt about him now. She must have cared some for him to save him from Morys. But was it merely the kind of caring one showed to another human being, or was it a sign of something deeper?

  Had he so alienated her affections with his accusations that he would never again feel her hand against his cheek? God, he hoped not.

  Blinking back tears of relief, Catrin followed the Vaughans to the stairs. Evan was going to make it.

  Lady Juliana insisted that she eat something, and Catrin was too tired to protest, so she let them lead her to the dining room.

  Though her joy at seeing Evan well seemed to have roused her appetite, the prospect of sharing a meal with the Vaughans unnerved her. The only words she’d spoken to them since she’d arrived had concerned Evan’s condition. Despite Lady Juliana’s attempts to get her to sleep or eat, Catrin had refused to leave his side, for fear he would wake up and no one would be there to help him.

  Now she felt like an outsider in this house where everyone knew Evan so well—not only the Vaughans but the servants, too. When Evan’s sister, Mary, had joined Catrin at his bedside yesterday, Catrin had learned why Evan was so close to the Vaughans. They’d paid for his education and treated him like a son for twenty years. They’d seen in Evan what no one else would have taken the trouble to see—a genius who only needed nurturing to blossom.

  No wonder they’d been so distraught. No wonder they were kind to her for saving his life. She swallowed the lump in her throat. If they knew how responsible she’d been for his near death, they wouldn’t be so kind to her.

  She sighed as the Vaughans ushered her to the table, their expressions so considerate and friendly. As she’d left his room, Evan had looked at her with such tenderness it had made her heart beat faster. It was the same way he’d looked at her the night he’d made love to her.

  Had he forgotten why they’d been traveling this road? Or was he simply feeling a temporary gratitude that would fade as he grew stronger? She almost didn’t care, she was so happy to see him alive and well and smiling at her like a man who has found good fortune at last.

  “Why don’t you sit here by me?” Lady Juliana said, patting the chair next to her. “Cook has prepared enough food for an army.”

  As Catrin sat down, she scanned the Vaughans’ tired faces and realized they were probably as weary and hungry as she. They, too, had waited through Evan’s frightful fever, and they, too, had missed meals and sleep to be sure Evan was cared for.

  “Where are the children?” Mr. Vaughan asked his wife.

  “Owen was up before dawn to go into town for me, and Margaret is still asleep, but they’ll join us for lunch.” She cast Cat
rin a kindly look. “I think, however, that our guest won’t be there to meet them, since she’ll probably spend the next several hours sleeping.”

  Catrin looked down at her plate. “Yes, if Evan doesn’t need me.”

  “He can do without you a few hours,” murmured Lady Juliana, though Catrin could feel the older woman eye her with curiosity.

  The food came then, blessedly ending attempts at conversation. Eggs and sausage had never tasted so good, nor simple baked bread so exotic.

  When they’d eaten, Mr. Vaughan leaned back with a sigh of contentment. “I tell you, Mrs. Price, there is nothing so wonderful as a good meal when one is starved.”

  “I’ll have to agree with you there, sir.”

  Lady Juliana said gently, “Except perhaps for a good night’s sleep when one is tired.”

  Mr. Vaughan turned serious. “I know Mrs. Price needs a long rest. But before we send her off to bed, I must ask her a few questions.” He looked at Catrin. “If that’s all right with you.”

  With a sigh, she nodded. The time had come. Ever since she and the squire had carried Evan here, she’d waited for him to question her more thoroughly.

  “A man calling himself Mr. Price showed up here yesterday.”

  For a moment, she simply stared at him, bewildered. “Mr. Price?”

  “I suspect it was David Morys, since he asked for you and Evan.”

  Fear clutched at her. “What did he say?”

  Mr. Vaughan cast her a shrewd look. “That his wife, a pretty woman named Catrin, had run off with a mountebank from London, and he wanted to know whether they’d stopped here. He said the mountebank had stolen his pistol.”

  “That wretched liar! I assure you I’m not his wife!”

  Mr. Vaughan smiled. “Yes, I know. I figured that the likelihood of your having married two Mr. Prices was slim. Obviously, your Mr. Morys was lying. He must have realized you’d use your real name to gain help, and he couldn’t very well pose as your husband with a different last name.”

  A shudder wracked her. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I hadn’t seen the couple, of course. I did remark that a coach passes this way late at night on its way to Carmarthen, and perhaps you had taken it.”