The Unicorn's Tail (The Artifact Hunters) (7 page)

She grasped the tea pot to centre her body. He moved to the table with his breakfast, and she was able to breathe without taking him into her lungs, which would be most inappropriate. What would it be like to have him inside her body? She gave a gasp and hot tea sloshed over her hand.

"Are you all right?" He rose from his seat.

"Yes, quite." She held him back with a raised hand. "So clumsy of me, I just spilt my tea."

He dropped back to his chair and turned his attention to his sausage.

She plucked up a cloth and dabbed at her hand and then the tea puddle. Foolish, to moon over him. His home was in the sky, free like a bird. He soared far over her head. She needed someone grounded in her life. Someone who wanted a family like she did. Someone with a beautiful cottage overlooking a lake and an enchanted forest where unicorn roamed. She chewed her bottom lip as thoughts of Jackson intruded on her mind. Perhaps deep down he wasn't so bad. Could he be more teddy bear than grizzly bear?

The two men were air and earth. What was she doing? She possessed a pragmatic soul, and had come to Lowestoft to re-evaluate her life. Then two men looked in her direction and she turned into a giggling blushing mess. Well, not so much of the giggling and blushing around Jackson, but she no longer jumped and shuddered when he entered a room. He aroused her curiosity with his quiet way.

She finished cleaning up the tea puddles and wiped her hand.
I need to take time for myself. I've used wallpaper samples and rug colours as a distraction. What happens if I look inside and find nothing? Am I dark, bottomless, and empty like a dry well? Or will I find something lost in the depths?

*

Thursday, 9
th
January

The house's resemblance to a mausoleum became starker once everyone left. Amy roamed the hallways like an abandoned ghost. In the long-disused part of the house she trailed one hand along the wall, leaving a dusty mark to find her way back again.

The corners of my mind are like this house. My brain so unused it has gathered cobwebs.

Even Jackson vanished, although there was probably little appeal in her company for the working-class man. The isolation came with one benefit; she made a decision about her future. She set herself the goal of doing one useful thing every day. Not something decorative or pointless (like rearranging cushions) but one task she could undertake with purpose, something that would reawaken long-dormant brain cells.

A shiver shot through her body. She intended to turn her mind in a direction that would horrify the
ton
. They would cast her out if they knew. Well, cast her out again. Since her early childhood she'd paid rapt attention to the talk that swirled around her father when he brought home fellow surgeons. Being able to fix a person was such a noble calling. To use your hands to heal fascinated her, as though it were a type of witchcraft.

Her father allowed her interest to a certain point. After all, doctors needed nurses to change bed pans and mop brows. But a young woman of her position was forbidden to work, except to arrange dinner parties. Her particular situation did reveal the tiniest bit of leeway as she grew older. Her father permitted her to assist as his nurse when he was required to perform delicate procedures shrouded in the strictest confidence. It normally meant young bucks caught fighting, or worse, duelling, who needed to be mended before parents or the authorities found out.

On those occasions she fetched water, arranged instruments, and soaked up as much knowledge as possible during the clandestine operations. Her eyes riveted to her father's dexterous fingers as he made neat stitches in flesh while some fop groaned and cried about the unbearable pain and how his best cravat was ruined.

With the luxury of time before her, Amy reacquainted her mind with the medical text books liberated from her father's library. To her enormous delight she found more in the Lowestoft library, and old treatises in the original Greek and Latin. She placed them on the ancient walnut desk with pen, ink, and paper at the ready for the sections harder to translate. On the opposite side sat a little stack of dictionaries.

Butterflies flitted around her stomach and gave a warning that her task was considered
unseemly
for a lady. She was being a rebel, not openly like Cara with her pants, pistols, and attitude. No, she was a quiet rebel, one reading scholarly books and educating her mind. She gave a wee laugh. An educated woman, the one thing society feared above all else. For words have power, and what would happen in the world if women learned to wield them?

With a deep breath she opened the first book, an introduction to anatomy, and delved into the wonder of the human form. Then for a spot of something different she flicked through the
Hippocratic Corpus
, in the original Greek.

By lunch time her stomach rumbled and her head felt heavy on her neck with the weight of knowledge being unearthed and crammed inside. She gave a stretch and the idea of one practical thing to do ran through her mind. Today she seemed at a loss to find a suitable task. Since she need a break from her study, she decided to walk to the lake house and enjoy its serenity.

Decision made, she packed up the books and roamed the empty house. She took the servants' staircase to the kitchen and signs of life and noise burst from the lower level. With only her residing upstairs, the kitchen operated to feed the house staff and the men who laboured in the workshop.

"Cook," she asked as she packed away her lunch. "Where does the special tea come from, the green tea with ginger?"

Cook looked up from her enormous pine table where she sliced a sandwich in two and then wrapped a piece of muslin around it. "Oh, that stuff. Mr Jackson had it ordered up from London for you. Said you preferred it in the mornings."

"Did he?" she murmured as she went to the larder for an apple. On impulse she snuck a carrot into her bag, just in case she saw the unicorn again. She tucked the knowledge about Jackson away, next to the sprig of witch hazel.

Stefan the houseboy hobbled in, unshed tears shimmering in his eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He gave a sniff and wiped a silvery snot trail on his shirt sleeve. "I fell off me steps I use to fill the coal scuttles. Me foot hurts ever so much, miss."

"Let's have a look." She helped him over to the little three-legged stool by the range.

He plonked down and thrust a foot out.

Kneeling, Amy lifted his grubby limb to her lap and slipped off the oversized work boot. The ankle was swollen and turning black and red. No wonder the poor mite struggled to hold back his tears. With gentle fingers she prodded around the joint. He sucked in a breath and snorted back more tears and mucus.

"It's not broken," she said and gave him a smile. "Just a nasty strain. I'll bind it up and I think you should stay off it for the next few days. I'm sure cook can find something to keep your hands occupied while you sit quietly here."

While cook did just that and found a task for the lad, Amy went to the linen cupboard and found a clean bandage and bound his ankle.

He watched with wide eyes as she wound the cloth and then tied off the end.

"Thank you, Miss Amy. You're ever so clever."

She blushed; no one had ever called her clever before, and she had achieved her one practical thing for the day.

"Thank you, Stefan." She gave him a peck on the cheek and left him peeling potatoes.

Once outside she pulled her scarf tight around her neck, and while still on the cobbles, hiked up the front of her skirts like Jackson had shown her. With the hem six inches off ground it would stay out of the snow and sludge. She headed across the lawn, toward the little path through the trees.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and she stopped and turned a slow circle. Far off in the distance she spotted a man on a horse. He seemed to be watching her, but she couldn't tell for sure even with squinting. Instinct told her to hurry inside the forest, and she soon disappeared from his view, if he indeed tracked her.

The farther she walked away from the main house the closer she came to her refuge, or so she thought of the little cottage. Silly really, when it wasn't hers and never would be, but she enjoyed her time out here, even in the depths of winter. After a thirty-minute walk she halted at the end of the path and simply soaked in the quiet.

The skeletal tree branches decorated in frost crystals sparkled in the watery sunlight. The world out here was washed in tones of silver and pearly white. Even the black timber seemed luminescent. Her hand crept into the bag at her side and her fingers found the carrot. Was the unicorn here, watching her? Had the bracelet called him forth to assist her? She wondered if he sent the dashing pirate for her. Or Jackson.

She dropped the carrot on the ground and then felt foolish for her whimsical thoughts. She skirted the water to the cottage and caught her hand as she raised it to knock. Instead she grasped the handle and the door opened on well-oiled hinges. Jackson worked to bring new life to the house. Inside, puffs of steam came from the newly fitted vents. She wondered when he found the time to stoke the boiler out back that generated the heated air.

They had finished the main parlour. She'd chosen a wallpaper in a deep blue and brown plaid. A bold choice, but it gave the room character, and combined with the glowing waxed woodwork it had a masculine but comfortable feel.

Jackson's next job would send him back to the roof, where he intended to install the small turbines that caught the wind and stored electricity in batteries. It would power a small light in each room. "Add a bathroom and this cottage is as well-equipped as any palace."

She moved through to the kitchen. The previous week the men had moved in with sledge hammers and removed the wall between kitchen and dining room to create a large open area. Amy swept and mopped the slate floor and then washed down the walls. She sanded the rust from the cast iron coal range and oiled the metal finish so it gleamed as the black heart of the house. The room needed only a fresh coat of paint and it too would be finished. Even a new pine table sat near the window, with four hand-carved chairs arrayed around it.

She passed a hand over the table top as she unpacked her lunch and headed to the window seat. She curled up in the corner and gazed over the mirror-like lake as she ate her sandwich.

A flock of birds shot out of the trees, squawking and wings flapping. They circled above the trees, cawing to one another. Curious, she squinted to see what alarmed them, just as Jackson strode out of the forest, his head down, his neck swathed in wool scarf, and a hat low on his ears.

"No wonder the birds were scared." She waved and the movement caught his attention.

He paused on the path, glared at her, then continued on his way.

*

Hunter's men rode the sea side of the ridge, spying on the house, waiting. It became a game. Lyons' crew knew they were watched. Hunter's crew made themselves obvious to try and spook them. Which just proved what idiots they were, if they thought a couple of horsemen would upset the equilibrium.

They spotted one this morning, but when the house staff said Amy had wandered off on her own, his blood ran cold. She would be an easy target if they lured her off the estate. He grabbed his coat and all but ran the woodland path, hoping like hell she was all right and undisturbed. His hands itched, wanting to protect her, even though his mind knew she would never be his to protect. The conflict was causing him to break out in hives.

He muttered to himself as he approached the cottage. Bloody princess had no idea of the danger lurking in dark corners. How the hell was he supposed to protect her and keep her ignorant? He wanted to hold her tight and push her away at the same time. If he scared her off back to London and her society life she would never know about the seedier side of his world. Except the niggle in the back of his head said,
Keep her
.
Shag her until she can't walk and hide her away in the cottage.
Then she would have the solitude she sought and she would be safe.

She would be
mine
and no one would ever hurt her
.

He drove his fist into a tree trunk and set roosting birds squawking up to the sky. Damn woman would drive him batty chasing his own tail round and round. Bloody pirate and his stupid bet started him on this path. Otherwise he would have buried himself in work and never looked at the princess. Now all he could think about was helping her escape from the blasted ivory tower that held her captive.

He trod the path around the lake and looked up at the house. Movement in the dining room window caught his eye. There she was, curled up like a kitten in the built-in seat, waving at him. He raised one hand at her in return and took a deep breath. She was safe.

He shouldered the door open and let it slam shut, stomping the snow and compacted mud off his boots. He stood in the doorway and let his gaze rest on her form. She pushed herself into the corner, as though retreating from his anger. Damn someone had hurt her in the past.

"You shouldn't be here on your own." He pulled the scarf free and dropped it over the back of a chair. The heavy coat soon joined it.

"I'm quite safe out here in the quiet." She gestured out the window to the expanse of solitude that enveloped them.