Chapter Six.

Grey held Berkeley beside him while he directed the men to take Mike upstairs. He dispatched Sam to find a doctor and when Annie Jack pounded out of the kitchen demanding to know what was going on, he sent her back to make poultices and cut bandages. Berkeley tried twice more to wrest free of Grey, but he held her fast. The imprint of his fingers bruised her fair skin and made her arm tingle and finally go numb. In spite of her desire to remain stoic, she heard herself whimper pitifully.

Grey didn't ease his grip on her arm. He steered her up the steps after the others had gone. At the top he turned them toward his suite and away from Mike's room.

Berkeley dug in her heels when she realized where she was going. Her resistance meant only that Grey had to pull her harder. Her heels b.u.mped along the floor until she stumbled forward and her feet caught up with the rest of her. She accompanied him quietly after that.

At the entrance to his suite Grey trapped her between outstretched arms while he opened the door. He placed one hand squarely on the center of her back and pushed, easily sending her far enough in the room for him to close the door and lock it before she understood his intention. He was moving down the hall before he heard her twist the handle and make her first demand to be let out. He was out of earshot when she asked again.

Berkeley did not repeat herself a third time. She slumped against the door and remained there the better part of half an hour. She scrambled to her feet and moved quickly to the green-velvet settee when she recognized Annie Jack's heavy tread in the hallway. The door was unlocked and thrust open. Annie carried a tray in front of her, and for a moment her wide shoulders filled the frame as she hesitated on the threshold.

"Don't be tryin' to sneak out while Annie's hands are busy," she said. It was Annie's peculiarity to always refer to herself in the third person. "Mista Janeway will take a pound of flesh from you and more than twice that from Annie Jack. He says Annie's supposed to bring you breakfast, and that's what she's doin'."

Berkeley stood, but her movement immediately made the cook wary. She sat down slowly. "I meant to help you, Miss Jack."

Annie bristled. Her coffee-colored complexion darkened a shade as her brow furrowed. "Now don't give me your airs. No one calls Annie Miss Jack, and no one's startin' now." She placed the tray on the pie table just inside the door. "There's eggs and tomatoes and Annie's spicy hash. Don't expect you'll be gettin' this personal service again. Never had to serve no man's mistress at the El Dorado, and this is the last time here. Mista Janeway's got another think comin' if he expects Annie's goin' to be his house nigra."

Annie's plain speaking simply took Berkeley's breath away. She nodded numbly.

"Now what's wrong with you?" Annie demanded. "It's a fact you're lookin' sadder than a wet puppy. You just realizin' now how upsettin' your voodoo is to some people?"

"Voodoo?'' Berkeley's head came up. She frowned. "I don't know anything about that."

Annie shrugged. "You cast a spell on Mike, sure enough. Got him followin' you around like he was a pup himself. Near to got himself killed, that's what the doctor says. Annie says it's your spirit that almost done him in. Mista Janeway's done the right thing, keepin' you here. Safer for everyone if you can't get to your charms and powders."

Agitated, but not wanting to frighten Annie off, Berkeley slid forward to the edge of the settee. "What are you talking about, Missa Annie? What charms and powders?"

"Annie knows what a spirit woman needs to make her magic." Her tone clearly indicated she would hear nothing to the contrary. "She's seen your amulet."

"My amulet? I have none."

Annie stared her down, her eyes very nearly black in her dark face. "Annie's seen it, she's tellin' you. With these eyes. A pearl, it is. In a crown setting. A teardrop of pure gold hangs from it."

Berkeley's face cleared. "You mean the earring," she said.

"Earrings come in twos, same as your ears. You only have one of these. It's a charm, plain and simple."

There was no point in arguing with Annie's reasoning, but the fact that the cook had seen the earring was worth discussing. "It would seem you've been searching through my room," Berkeley said. "I know where I keep that earring, and it's not in plain view. You couldn't have seen it unlessa""

Annie's substantial girth shook a moment as she set her shoulders rigidly. That she had just been offended was made abundantly clear. "Unless Annie had been chasin' down that cat of yours with her broom and the evil thing hightailed it straight to your rooms lookin' for a safe place to hide her sorry self. And Annie, thinkin' she'll save herself another chase later in the day, lets the cat into your sittin' s.p.a.ce all quiet like so you ain't disturbed a lick in your bedchamber. The cat takes herself right up that high-backed wing chair you got by the fireplace and jumps on the mantel, where she knocks over a little treasure box that's sitting right there on the edge, so precious and una.s.sumin' it makes a body forget what kind of magic might be inside. So Annie picks up the box and sees the charm, and the cat pounces straight away on Annie's arm, scratchin' fierce." The cook thrust her arm forward and rolled up the sleeve to her elbow. Two raised welts almost four inches long were plainly visible. "Annie pushes the charm back in the box with the point of her broom and puts the box back on the mantel. That's when the cat lets go, but before Annie can swat her good she's run off." Annie pointed her thick index finger in Berkeley's direction and waggled it hard. "Now you can believe Annie's searchin' your rooms or you can believe the truth. It's no account unless you're fixin' to put a spell on Annie."

Berkeley sighed. "I'm not going to put a spell on you," she said tiredly. "I believe you." Yesterday morning the cat had bounded into her room and taken refuge under the covers. Berkeley had a dim memory of something crashing to the floor in her sitting room, but when she got up later there was nothing out of order. She had dismissed it as part of a dream and never given it another thoughta"until now. "I'm sorry, Annie. I didn't know about Pandora's trip to your kitchen. I try to keep her in at night."

Annie gave no indication that she was appeased. "Pandora," she said under her breath. "That's a spirit woman's cat if ever there was one." She was still muttering as she let herself out. The door was locked again and given a shake for good measure. Annie's footsteps quieted gradually, like thunder rolling in the distance.

Berkeley picked up the tray and moved it to Grey's dining table. She was not hungry but she went through the motions of fixing a plate with small portions. She ate a little and pushed more around. The tea was hot and soothing. She drank it without milk or sugar and was pouring herself a second cup when Grey's return drew her attention to the door.

She put down the teapot. Her cup clattered in the saucer as she laid them on the table. Berkeley's eyes searched his features for some sign that would answer the question uppermost in her mind. His gunmetal glance was shuttered. There were small lines etched at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Everywhere else his skin was pulled taut over the bones of his face. A muscle worked in his jaw. He leaned against the door, not looking at Berkeley, but looking right through her. It was tension that kept him upright, nothing else.

Berkeley could not a.s.sign meaning to anything she observed. She did not know if she was looking at anger or the last tenuous hold Grey had on his emotions. She remained silent, her eyes following him warily as he finally pushed away from the door and crossed the room.

Grey pulled out a chair, but he didn't sit down on it. Instead, he sat on the table and used the chair as a stool for his feet. His position was no accident, but a compromise of sorts, better than towering over her, but still with the advantage of the high ground.

"The doctor thinks Mike will survive," he said, watching Berkeley carefully. He saw no relief in her pale features. The words didn't comfort her because there was no a.s.surance in them. "His shoulder's been set, and the cuts are all st.i.tched. There's bruising on his belly and back that might mean he's bleeding on the inside." Her head bowed but she accepted the news calmly. Her hands folded in her lap and remained still. "If he makes it through the night, he'll probably recover fully.''

Berkeley nodded once. It would be a long night. "May I sit with him?"

"Look at me, Berkeley." Her head came up, but she stared at a point past his shoulder. Tears hovered on the rim of her lashes. "You expect him to die, don't you?"

She nodded. The movement was enough to make the tears fall. She knuckled them away impatiently. "Ia I knowa" She stopped and tried to gather her thoughts. Finally she said, "Yes, I expect Mike to die."

Grey waited for her to say something else. When she didn't he made his appeal in a tone that was meant to be answered. "Talk to me, Berkeley. Tell me the whole of it."

She bit her lower lip and said nothing. Grey's own silence didn't prompt her to speak any more than his command had.

"This has something to do with what you saw in his palm," Grey said. "Are you telling me you really believe your own parlor tricks?"

"I know what I felt," she said quietly. "I believe I know what it meant."

The heel of Grey's hand struck the edge of the table sharply. Berkeley jumped, darting him an uncertain glance. His hand was steady, not raised, and he was watching narrowly. "Look at me," he said when she would have turned away again. "You're acting as though you knew all along this would happen."

"I didn't know this would happen. Only that something would. I never felt anything like it before. I didn't understand that Mike's life was somehow caught up in mine. I didn't realize I would have some part in his death."

"You don't," Grey said tightly. "He's not dead."

Berkeley said nothing to that.

"I was there, remember? When you read his palm. You never warned him about any accident. You never told him he had only a short time to live."

"What would you have had me say? He asked about his family, and I told him he'd see them sooner rather than later. I told him to write to them and tell him he loved them. I gave him the answers he wanted to hear because the truth would have served no purpose. If he listened to me, if he did as I suggested, then at least his family will derive some comfort from his words." Her voice had risen slightly, then it fell off. Her tone was quiet, deliberate. It felt as if her heart were in her throat. "Not all of us get that same chance."

Berkeley's eyes implored him. "Please, let me go to Mike."

"And do what?" Grey asked. "Do you really think you can give him a measure of peace when you expect him to die?''

She flinched as though he'd struck her. Berkeley thought she finally understood why she had been locked in his suite. "You're afraid I'll hurt him, aren't you? You think I'd actually do Mike some harm to make you believe my prediction." Wounded, she squeezed herself into one corner of the chair.

The distance between her and Grey still wasn't enough. The chair sc.r.a.ped harshly against the floor as she pushed it back.

"I never said that," Grey told her. "I put you in here to keep you from saying something rash in front of the others. No one needs to hear that you hold yourself responsible for Mike's injuriesa"least of all Mike. And certainly I don't want you telling anyone that you saw this in his palm a month ago."

"Don't you believe me?"

"I believe there is no such thing as a foregone conclusion," he said. "I don't want anyone giving up on Mike because you're acting as if he's already dead. That's why you're going to do exactly what I say. You're going to sit with Mike while I'm there to monitor every word, and you're going to thank him for saving you. Then you're going to pick up his hand, and you'll study it, and you're going to tell him that what you see in his future is a long life, a happy marriage, and three towheaded boys all farming in Kentucky. You can elaborate any way you like, but you're going to convince him that his life is all in front of him, not behind him." His eyes were the exact steely color of a razor's edge. Their intensity held Berkeley still. "Now, can you do that?"

She nodded.

"Good," he said. But he wasn't finished. "Afterward you're going to go to your own rooms and begin preparation for this evening. The Phoenix is going to open as scheduled at six o'clock, and you're going to make your first appearance on my arm at seven. You will greet our guests graciously and you'll read the palms of a few I've chosen for you. I've made some notes on these guests, and this afternoon I'll have them delivered to your room. You can study them at your leisure. It's not complicated information, just some basic facts that will embellish your performance and make it more convincing. Are you clear on what I expect?"

She nodded again, more slowly this time, her leaf green eyes a little dazed.

"Tonight I want you to call me Grey, never Mr. Janeway."

A small crease appeared between Berkeley's brows. She worried her lower lip before she spoke. "People will think you and Ia that is, they'll probably believe thata" She didn't finish, couldn't really, not when Grey's eyes mocked her.

"That you're my mistress?" he asked. "Is that what you can't quite bring yourself to say?"

"You know it is. I thought that was settled between us."

"It's never been fully discussed between us. No, don't start going on about not being my wh.o.r.e. I have no desire to hear all that again. I'm talking about appearance here, not fact. In fact, you have your own rooms. The appearance, however, should be otherwise. It's for your own safety, and when you allow yourself the time to think about it you'll realize I'm right. You'll find that people will believe you're my mistress whether you encourage them to or not. You may as well encourage them. It will afford you considerable protection and leave you free from constant propositions."

One of Grey''s brows arched. "Unless you wish to be propositioned? Do you, Berkeley?"

"No." Her voice was barely audible. "No, I don't."

"Not all of them will be unseemly," he said. "I imagine you can expect to get more than a few for marriage."

Her throat was dry. She eyed her cup of tea and would have picked it up if her hands had been steadier. She swallowed with difficulty. "I don't want to be married."

There was no mistaking her sincerity. Grey wondered at it, wondered at the experiences that had led her to it. "Very well," he said quietly. "Then you'd do well to follow my lead this evening. Actually, I'll expect that from you." Grey pushed aside the chair where his feet rested and stood. "Do you have any questions?"

There was one. Her tongue seemed to grow thick in her mouth with the prospect of asking it. She forced herself to do it because antic.i.p.ation was worse than knowing. "You haven't mentioned how I'm to be punished," she said.

Grey stared at her. "How you're to be punished,'' he repeated slowly. "No, you're right, I haven't mentioned it. I'll have to give it some thought." If anything, she grew paler. Grey raked his hair and swore softly under his breath. "G.o.d, Berkeley, I have no intention of laying a hand on you. Is that what you're expecting?''

Her eyes betrayed her. She answered him without saying a word.

"Mike could die," he said quietly.

Berkeley sucked in her breath. She wished he had hit her instead.

Grey took her by the wrist and drew Berkeley to her feet. "Let's go," he said. "Remember what I want you to tell Mike. Convince him that you mean every bit of it." He dropped her hand and, without a backward glance, preceded her out of the room.

Berkeley closed her eyes. Steam rose like twisted threads of silk above the water. She rested her head against the back of the tub, exposing the length of her slender throat The fragrance of lavender was released as her fingers made a sweep across the water. She palmed the soap and raised it to her damp shoulder, then let it fall again.

She lay there, breathing slowly, evenly, unwilling to move until the water cooled to the point she was forced out. Berkeley did not think it was possible to be so exhausted and still be alive.

Sitting with Mike had taken its toll on her spirit; taking his hand had robbed her of strength.

With her eyes closed, Berkeley had no difficulty bringing Mike's face to mind. Even bruised and swollen his mouth had managed an endearingly lopsided smile. Two pillows had been tucked under his head so he didn't have to raise it to see her. Behind the slit that pa.s.sed for his left eye, he watched her walk up to his bedside and take a seat on the very edge.

She thanked him for his rescue and told him no one had ever risked so much for her. He blushed. Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. His flush deepened, and he looked past Berkeley's shoulder to where Grey stood.

"She makes me wish I was where you are,'' Grey said easily. Mike would have to believe him because he meant it. "The next time she needs rescuing I won't leave the heroics to you."

Low laughter rumbled in Mike's broad chest. He began to cough hard. A spittle of blood appeared on his lips, but he managed to get out the words, "Like h.e.l.l."

Berkeley took the handkerchief Grey handed her and wiped Mike's mouth. She wet one corner of it in the basin at Mike's bedside and dabbed at his split lip again. The blood hadn't come from there. "Do you have a loose tooth?" she asked.

Mike's brows lifted slightly. He ran his tongue around the interior of his mouth. He held up three fingers.

Berkeley allowed herself to believe the blood had come from any one of them. She tucked the handkerchief under her cuff in the event she needed it again. "Would you like to hear what your future holds, Mike? It will give you something pleasant to think while your bones knit." In spite of his battered face, Berkeley could tell he was wary of what she might see in his palm. She saw him look to Grey again.

Grey shrugged. "It's up to you, Mike, but I'd be curious. Four weeks ago she told you you'd be seeing your family soon, and right now Donnel Kincaid is making arrangements so you can be on the next clipper out of San Francisco if that's what you want. Return is guaranteed if you decide to make the trip west again. I can't say that I like how it's all come to pa.s.s, but I don't suppose Miss Shaw has any control over that."

Berkeley glanced over her shoulder at Grey, her expression a mixture of surprise and grat.i.tude. "Did you write to your family, Mike?"

He nodded, then grimaced.

"I won't ask any more questions," she promised. Berkeley took the hand he extended but held it in only one of hers. She girded herself for the shock of the first touch and threw up all her defenses. Still, she sucked in her breath at the depth of the pain. "Your hand's very cold," she said, smiling weakly to cover her lapse. "I wasn't expecting that." Behind her she heard Grey take a step forward. His shadow hovered like a bird of prey.

Berkeley examined Mike's palm and cautiously allowed herself to feel something beyond his pain. "Why, Mike, you've never mentioned this before. There's a girl sweet on you back home in Kentucky. Did you think Shawn would never give you peace about her?" She felt his hand stiffen slightly, and she managed a teasing smile. "You know it's more likely that he'd be jealous. It's a certain thing you're going to marry her, probably before he marries again. I don't think you realize how deeply she cares for you, Mike. She's a bit shy, like you, and never wanted to seem forward. You broke her heart when you left your farm. I suspect she'll be waiting for you when you go back, sitting on your mama's porch, helping her snap beans for canning. She won't know which way to look when she sees you. She'll be thinking she looks a fright, and you'll be thinking there's never been anyone prettier."

Berkeley was aware her breath was coming shallowly. The pain in her arm was intense. The skin from her fingertips to her shoulder felt like a single exposed nerve. "There will be children," she whispered. She bent over his palm. "I can't make out if you'll have five or six. Oh, I see it now. There are six. You're going to have twins." She dropped his hand and stood up quickly. She rubbed her arm but tried to make it look like an absent gesture. Tilting her head to one side, the smile she offered him was a playful one. "At least I think it's twins. You have a lot of scratches on your palm, Mike. It could be you'll only have three beautiful babies."

Mike stared at her. Berkeley thought he was seeing more clearly through that single slit of his than he ever had with two good eyes. It had never been so important to him to know the truth before. Her own gaze didn't waver in the least. She held his stare, her features untroubled and serene, and willed him to believe every bit of what she had just told him.

When he finally spoke, Mike's voice was the clearest it had been since the beating. "Do you suppose it's Bonnie Sue McMasters?" he asked.

Berkeley's laughter was part relief and part unfettered, youthful joy. "Oh yes," she said, dropping to her knees beside the bed. "Yes, Mike. I think it's Bonnie Sue McMasters you're meant to marry."

Mike laid his hand over the crown of Berkeley's head. Her pale hair was like silk under his palm. His fingertips pa.s.sed through it lightly, then fell down her cheeks and rested on her shoulder. He could feel her trembling, but she didn't move away from him or seem to want to. Her eyes appeared too large for her small face, but they were shining, awash with tears that she wouldn't shed. Most important was the complete absence of pity in their depths.

Berkeley felt Mike's hand fall away as Grey helped her to her feet. "He needs to rest," Grey said. "Find someone to come and stay with him. I'll be here until I'm relieved." He followed her into the hallway, leaving the door opened a crack in case Mike called for him. He spoke in a whisper that didn't carry beyond Berkeley's ears. "You couldn't have done it any better," he said. "Thank you."

"It wasn't a performance," she said. Berkeley left him alone to think about what that meant.

The water was cooler now, and Berkeley realized she had slept a little while her thoughts drifted back. She found the soap and rubbed it across her shoulders and arms. Her skin tingled. Washing didn't erase the sensation; it aroused it. Berkeley soaped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They were faintly swollen, and the nipples were taut. She caught sight of her flushed face in the cheval gla.s.s near the fireplace. Her eyelids were heavy, and her damp skin glowed. Then she saw Grey Janeway's reflection as he stepped up to the tub behind her. He knelt and took the soap from her hands.

Berkeley's breath caught. There was an unfamiliar pressure in her chest, a deep, abiding ache that made her want to draw her knees up close to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She didn't. Couldn't. Grey's hand lay on her naked shoulder. The soap was gone and it was just his palm against her skin. His thumb moved back and forth over the ridge of her collarbone, and in the mirror his eyes held hers.

She watched his hand as his fingers trailed slowly down her arm and disappeared under the water. She bit her lower lip, her eyes darkening, when she felt him graze her thigh. The water rippled. Berkeley shivered.

His hand was on her hip, then the curve of her bottom. Without a word pa.s.sing between them he conveyed his need for her to lean forward. When she did, his thumb traced her spine with enough pressure to make her arch. She saw herself unfold under his touch, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s lifting, her shoulders rising. When he held the nape of her neck her chin came up, and the length of her slender throat was exposed.