Her fork slipped from her fingers, and he caught it before it hit the table. He quietly set the fork beside her plate, then lifted her into his arms and carried her to their bedchamber.

CHAPTER 12

A letter to Robert Hurst from his brother Michael, after finding a mention of the lost Hurst Amulet in an ancient inventory list for the household of Queen Elizabeth.

What I know thus far about the Hurst Amulet fascinates me, and makes my resolve to find it even firmer. The origins of the amulet are still a mystery. Our Mam would have the amulet steeped with the magic of fairies, embellished with a curse or two, and stolen from a white witch, but I’m long past the age of believing in something I can neither see nor touch.

Still, it is interesting to note how many people—some of them very powerful—have had the amulet in their possession, only to quickly give it away, as if it had burned their fingers. It is odd and does make one think.

Moira awoke slowly to sunlight streaming across the bed and warming her shoulders. She moved over to savor more of the warmth and found that the entire side of the bed was warm, even where there was no light. She lifted up on her elbow and noted an indention on the mattress. Robert.

She looked about the room, trying to collect her thoughts. The inn. Dinner with Robert. And . . . Nothing else came to mind.

She didn’t remember arriving in her bedchamber, undressing to her chemise, or even climbing into bed.

I didn’t drink that much brandy. Did I fall asleep?

She must have; there was no other explanation. She rested her head on her hand as she looked at the pillow beside hers. It gave her a pang to realize that he’d been so close and she’d been oblivious. She’d been waking to an empty bed for so long, it felt odd to share one. Of course, in her own house, sometimes Rowena would come running into her room in the mornings. Moira could see her daughter’s excited face as she raced into the room and begged to be lifted into the bed.

Moira cleared her suddenly clogged throat. Where was Rowena now? An instant image of her daughter sleeping, her long dark lashes on the crest of her cheeks, filled Moira’s mind. She crossed her arms and imagined Rowena there, snuggled against her, her dear little heart beating against Moira’s. Tears rose, and Moira bit her lip to keep from crying.

No crying. Just get the box. Then, when you have her back, you will make Aniston pay. Focus on that and nothing else.

After a few moments the tears subsided, though the weight of them still pressed behind her eyes. She would never grow used to being away from Rowena. Her fury at Aniston carried her on whenever despair threatened.