Chapter Fourteen

“So Tate thought you might be willing to have Miss Delaney stay here just till we can decide what’s to be done,” James concluded his explanation to Roselyn, who had listened quietly throughout, her careworn hands folded. A spunky, quirky woman, he nevertheless knew her heart to be every bit as big as her brother’s.

He shot a look at Catherine, who’d kept far from quiet during his recitation. She’d squirmed in her seat, interrupted several times, and virtually steamed emotion throughout. Funny how he could sense so very clearly what she felt. Funny too how her true nature had begun to come out, proving her far different from the gentle maid he’d first taken her to be. A firebrand she was. He couldn’t imagine how Boyd had kept her in check so long.

But why did she stare at him so? She’d scarcely taken her big, hazel eyes off him since he started talking. Such scrutiny made him uncomfortable, to say the least. The last thing he wanted was to appear hideous to her.

“Well, well,” said Roselyn, who had sent the little maid off about some errand while they spoke together. Her generous lips tightened. “That is a fix, and no mistake.” She asked Catherine, “Where’s your family, then?”

“In Toronto. It’s only my mother and sister about whom I’m concerned.”

“Aye, sure, I get that picture. You’ve already consigned the stepfather to hell, haven’t you?”

“Where he belongs.” Catherine leaned across the wide wooden table impulsively. “I had to protect my sister; you see that.”

“I do, and her but a lass. ’Tis to your credit. But what makes you think the stepfather won’t do the same again if Boyd returns to him?”

“That’s my worst fear.” Catherine chewed on her lip. “I need to get a message to my mother and warn them.”

“Sure, a message can be sent,” Roselyn said. “Toronto’s not so far. Question is, will your mother heed your warning and leave the scoundrel?”

“She hasn’t yet, and I’ve begged, beseeched, and threatened.”

“I’ll ask you this, woman to woman,” Roselyn said. “Why won’t she leave him? Do you know?”

Catherine bit her lip harder. “He’s a good-looking devil.” Her gaze flicked to James, and he wondered if she made a hasty comparison. “But weak to the bone. Besides, she’s the kind of woman who thinks she needs a man to provide for her.”

“And you’re not?” Roselyn’s homely face split in a wide smile. “You and I are going to get along just fine, then. Me, I’ve been looking after myself a long while—more hindered by that troublesome brother of mine than otherwise.”

“I can see that,” Catherine said admiringly.

James sat quietly and chucked the brown mutt behind her ear. She’d climbed out of the box and into his lap as soon as he sat down. One by one her pups had followed, tumbling over the floor to his feet, where they cuddled in.

“Well, my opinion is”—Roselyn usually did have an opinion—“you need to get your sister away even if the mother will not come.”

“Do you think I can?” Catherine leaned forward still more intently.

“You can do anything at all, lass, if you set your mind to it. Meanwhile…” Roselyn reached a swift decision. “You’ll stay here with me, just till that bastard, Boyd, figures out whether or not he means to die.”

“Oh, Miss Murphy, that’s so good of you! I’m willing to earn my keep, of course, working round the place.” Catherine considered. “You’ll need to train me, though.”

Roselyn laughed. “Fine lady, is it, trained up as a housemaid?”

“Not so fine.” Catherine spread her pretty little hands. “Only look at me.”

“When it comes to that,” Roselyn murmured, “I think it best that you remain disguised as a lad a while. I’ve a set of boarders coming and going in this house, and we wouldn’t want anyone flapping his gums and leading the hounds here. That means you might have to cut your hair.”

James made an involuntary sound of protest, and Roselyn eyed him. “Well, she can’t be wearing that cap all the time, can she? And we’d better come up with a likely name.”

“Albert,” Catherine said promptly. “Will you call me Albert, after the queen’s consort?”

“The queen of England, you mean? Saints preserve us, lass, you’re not in the Commonwealth now. But Albert it is.” She slanted another look at James. “A bit pretty for a boy, isn’t she? Think she can pass?”

He returned Roselyn’s look steadily. “If you keep her close. I wouldn’t like her out on the streets anyway. If Boyd survives his injuries, I expect he’ll stop at nothing to find her.”

“Oh, I’ll keep her close. Problem’s going to be housing you, lass. I can’t put you in with any of the men, for obvious reasons. And ’twould be scandalous to put you in with Dottie when she thinks you’re a boy. There’s a room at the top of the house, but I doubt you’ll like it much. Hot and musty, and the window’s stuck shut.”

“I don’t mind.” Catherine touched Roselyn’s chapped hand. “I’m ever so grateful to you. I only hope I won’t bring trouble down on your head.”

Roselyn looked amused. “I hope so too. James, lad, why don’t you take her up and see can you persuade that window to open? I’ll scrounge up some clothing and tell Dottie a new lad’s come to stay. I’ll be up shortly with the shears for that hair.”

Very gently, James lifted the brown mutt from his knee and placed her back among her brood. He got to his feet. “Come along then,” he told Catherine.

Immediately she reached for his hand. Roselyn slapped it away. “None of that! How would it look, a big drink of a man holding hands with a lad?”

“Sorry.” Catherine looked remorseful. “I forgot.”

“Well, don’t forget.” Roselyn directed a fierce look at both of them. “Your safety might depend on it.”

James struggled for something to say while they climbed the three flights of stairs at the back of the house, and failed. Things changed far too quickly for his liking. Though he appreciated Roselyn offering Catherine refuge, he felt uncertain about continuing the ruse and certainly didn’t like the idea of Catherine’s glorious hair, which she’d now stuffed back into her cap, being shorn.

The room in question occupied the back corner of the tall attic and had recently been used for little but storage. Boarders’ rooms occupied the floor below; Dottie and Ben, the lad who ran errands for Roselyn, had rooms on this floor as well, but surveying this closet with misgiving, James acknowledged it to be the least desirable location in the house.

“Are you going to be all right here?” he asked dubiously, finding his voice at last.

“It’s fine.” Catherine indicated the cot in the corner. “I doubt I’ll be up here much. Our house staff in Toronto always kept busy working and seldom had time to rest.” Her lips quirked. “Funny, isn’t it, how things turn about?”

“And not for the better,” James muttered.

“Don’t say that. My life as a lady of supposed means was no happier than this may prove. I only worry for Becky now.”

“Give me her address before I leave, and Tate can send a message.”

She turned and stepped up to him. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

Suddenly, James couldn’t catch his breath. He told himself he could blame that on the close air of the room, but he knew he lied. She’d pulled off her cap when they entered the place, and her red-gold hair once more tumbled about her face. Her eyes clung to his, unwavering.

What would she do if he reached out and caressed that matchless hair? Before he could let himself answer the question, he raised his fingers and brushed it lightly. Soft it was, so soft, like the white fluff of a dandelion.

She smiled. “You needn’t look so scandalized. It will grow back, you know.”

“Not scandalized. I—” He longed to tell her just how beautiful he thought her, but she must have heard that a thousand times and didn’t need it from him. He blinked and caught a sudden glimpse of his right hand, scarred and mottled, in juxtaposition with her glowing curls. He jerked the offending member away as if stung.

“What is it?” Catherine whispered. “What’s wrong?”

Helpless, he shook his head. For the first time in many years, his heart truly protested his appearance. Why couldn’t he look the way a man should, if only for her eyes?

Her gaze grew serious. “You will come back and see me?” she beseeched. “Soon?”

“I will, or Tate will send someone else as soon as there’s any word.”

“You. I know I’ve no right to ask anything more, but please—you come.”

His heart quivered within his chest. “I’ll try.”

“You got that window open yet?” So distracted had James been by what he saw in Catherine’s eyes, he hadn’t even heard Roselyn puffing her way up the stairs. She appeared now with a set of kitchen shears in her hand and looked round the place. “Worse than I remembered, it is. We’ll get it cleaned out, lass, and clean sheets for the cot, as well.”

“Lad,” Catherine reminded. “And this room will be fine.”

“Sit down there, then, and let’s get you shorn.”

James turned away to the window as Catherine perched on the edge of a wooden packing box. The window in question looked down over the tiny yard, with a glimpse of the next street to the left. Swollen shut by heat, it resisted his efforts, and he wrestled with it even as he listened to what happened behind him.

“No need to worry now, Albert—I cut all the lads’ hair. Scads of experience.”

Snip, snip.

“I’m not worried at all.”

“Mind, now, you’re going to have to try and think like a male. Won’t be easy, like, to turn off half your brain, but necessary for the duration. Right, James, lad?”

“Ha, ha,” James said, and felt the window move slightly beneath his hands.

“Of course”—snip, snip, snip—“you’ll only be able to do one thing at a time—men are notorious for that.”

James longed to glance behind at the bright tresses that must now litter the floor, see if Catherine still looked beautiful. He fought a brief battle with himself and then stole a look. One side of her head had been successfully cropped; the other still sprouted a bright fall of hair.

Like him. No, not like him, because she was still beautiful, so very beautiful.

She smiled at him, and his poor heart spasmed once more.

“How bad does it look?” she asked.

And he answered, “Not bad at all.” The window lifted beneath his hands, and fresh air streamed in.

“Ah, now, that’s grand. If you squint your eyes, you should be able to catch a glimpse of the river from that window,” Roselyn told Catherine. “Canada and home, for you.”

“This is my home now.” Catherine didn’t take her eyes from James.

Snip, snip, snip. He stood and watched openly as the bright tresses fell, each one a wound. When it was done, that criminal act, she still didn’t look like a boy, not to James, but a bit less like a fine lady.

“There, now.” Roselyn ruffled her hand through the cropped hair, and James’ fingers twitched. “Albert, lad, I forgot to bring up the broom and dustpan. Your legs are much younger than mine; run down the three flights, will you, and fetch them? You’ll find them just behind the kitchen door.”

Catherine arose, flashed James a cheeky grin, and went.

Roselyn gave James a thoughtful look, bent down, and deliberately chose a lock of hair from the pile at her feet. This she passed covertly to James’ hand.

“Here, lad. You just take that, and tuck it close to your heart.”