the headboard, her arms wrapped around her exhausted body.
“Who are you?” Alyssa begged, her voice cracking. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”
She felt his weight leave the bed and buried her head more deeply into her arms, fearing a blow. She was breathing hard again, like an animal backed into a corner with nowhere to escape. Alyssa blinked. Why couldn’t she see? There was no blindfold upon her. Her attention was torn between the darkness that enveloped her and the movement of what she knew to be a man in close proximity to her. Her ragged gasps punctuated the silence and she swallowed, in dire need of water. When the blow she was expecting did not come, Alyssa cautiously lifted her head. Where was she? And who was the man? And Sean! Alyssa’s eyes narrowed as she tried to control her own raging emotions.
“Where are you!” she cried, but the words came out as a broken whisper.
Tray stood frozen in guilt and shame as he watched Alyssa cower in the bed. She was trembling, the covers drawn tightly against her body. What should he do? She hated him, hated his touch. He swallowed painfully, his gray eyes anguished as he stared down at her. Although she could not see his gesture, he lifted his hand in a sign of peace and quietly began speaking to her.
“Alyssa, my name is Tray. I know you can’t stand the touch of a man, so let me get my mother, Sorche. You shouldn’t be moved yet. You’re still injured. Believe me, I won’t hurt you. Please, just stay where you are and I’ll bring Sorche.”
Alyssa’s breasts rose and fell quickly and her slender fingers gripped the sheets more tightly. Just the calming tenor of his voice shed layers of the fear that cloaked her. “Wh-where am I?”
“At a friend’s home.”
“And Sean? Where’s Sean?”
“Just down the hall. As soon as I get Sorche and attend to your needs, I’ll bring him to you.”
She gave a jerky nod of her head, biting hard on her lower lip. “He’s alive?” she quavered.
“Alive, well fed and happy. Now all we have to do is make you the same way, little one. Please, lie back down. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
Little one…The way the endearment rolled off his tongue caressed the open wounds of her soul and relaxed her. “A-are you Irish?”
Tray managed a sliver of a smile. “Raised on the milk of the Irishwoman who will care for you, Alyssa.”
Some of the panic drained from her pale features.
“Now stay quiet and I’ll get Sorche,” he promised.
Alyssa tensed as she heard the scuff of his booted feet against the carpet. A door quietly opened and closed, and she was left in a room she could not see. Releasing the blanket, she stretched out her left hand, investigating the area around her. She had outlined the shape of the huge bed by the time the man called Tray returned with his mother.
Sorche waddled into the room, the white mobcap askew on her now frizzy gray-haired head. Awakened out of a sound sleep, she was barely sensible as she came around the edge of the bed to where Alyssa sat, tense and wary.
“Child,” she whispered, reaching out and putting her hand over Alyssa’s, “you are safe here.”
The comfort of Sorche’s gruff voice tapped the well of conflicting emotion within Alyssa, and she let out a single sob. The woman sat down near her, gently pushing the heavy hair away from her face. “Thank all the saints you’ve come back to us,” she murmured. “We were so worried for you, child. You’ve been here seven days now and no one held much hope of you recovering except Tray. Our prayers are answered.”
Alyssa groped, finding and clutching at Sorche’s arthritic hand. “I can’t see, Sorche…my eyes…what happened? Why am I blind?”
“I don’t know, child. Tray is going to send for Dr. Birch. He’s the one who examined you and brought you back to health. He’ll be here before dawn. Is there anything we can get you? Are you hungry?”
“I—I want to see Sean. I need to know he’s alive.”
Sorche glanced up at Tray, whose features were almost as tortured as Alyssa’s. “Tray will get him up. What else? Would you like some good cabbage soup?”
Alyssa shook her head, her fingers moving to her throat. “Water. Just water. I’m so thirsty.”
Stiffly, Sorche got to her feet and went to the sideboard, pouring a large glass of water for her from the pitcher. Alyssa was far weaker than she thought; she couldn’t hold the glass. Sorche coaxed her to lie back against several pillows and then guided the glass to her lips. Before Tray returned to the chamber with a sleepy-eyed Sean in tow, Alyssa had drunk four glasses in succession.
Before they entered the bedchamber, Tray knelt down in the hall, his hands resting on Sean’s small shoulders. The boy’s eyes were still puffy with sleep, his red hair mussed. “Listen to me carefully, son. If your cousin asks you where she is, tell her you’re at a friend’s home. That isn’t a lie. Right now she’s upset about her blindness and she doesn’t need any more shock. She doesn’t need to know she’s in Wales. It will do nothing but aggravate her, and it might affect her health. You don’t want Alyssa hurt any more, do you?”
Sean slowly shook his head, his blue eyes widening. “Blind? But—how?” he blurted.
“I don’t know, Sean. Perhaps the blow to her skull caused it.” Tray’s fingers tightened momentarily on the boy’s arms. “We’ll know more when Dr. Birch arrives. Come, you were the first person she asked for when she woke up.” Tray got to his feet and kept a hand on Sean’s shoulder. The Irish boy seemed to sense the seriousness of the moment. Instead of flying to his cousin’s arms, he walked up to her with a sober expression.
“Lys?” Sean whispered, holding out his small hand, lightly brushing her arm.
“Sean? Oh, Sean!” Her voice stronger, Alyssa reached out until she found him.
Sorche sniffed, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she watched them hold each other in a long embrace. She felt Tray’s arm go around her shoulder, drawing her near, and she leaned gratefully against his powerful, seemingly tireless body. As usual, it was Tray who was keeping everything and everyone together.
Craddock appeared at the doorway in his rumpled nightgown, blear-eyed. “You rang, sir?” he mumbled.
The butler’s entrance diverted Tray’s attention from the reunion between Alyssa and Sean. The boy had buried his head against her shoulder, sobbing hard. At least there was one male she didn’t hate. Perhaps there was hope, after all. “Yes, get Dr. Birch here as swiftly as possible. Have Stablemaster Thomas hitch up the grays and send the coach. With the weather the way it is, I don’t want the good doctor falling off his horse or getting thrown. Send two outriders to light the way.”
“Yes, Lord Trayhern. Right away.”
* * *
Tray sat in a chair near the fireplace, his long, muscular legs stretched out before him. It had been three hours since Alyssa had awakened and now the excitement had worn off, leaving everyone exhausted. Tray felt gutted emotionally and he was sure Alyssa felt even worse. Sean had spent the better part of an hour with her, patiently answering
