Free Beyond Compare by Candace Camp Page A

ought to look inside the bag.”
    Kyria drew in a sharp breath and took an involuntary step away from the body, shaking her head.
    “Don’t worry. I’ll get it for you. Here.” Rafe took Kyria’s arm and propelled her from the room and to a bench in the hall outside. “You sit here. Smeggars will get you a glass of water.”
    “Yes, of course, my lady.” Smeggars moved offquickly, obviously relieved to have something useful to do.
    “You just rest here for a minute,” Rafe told her. “I’ll get the bag.”
    Kyria nodded and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. It didn’t help much, since she could still see the dead man’s face in her mind’s eye—the open, staring eyes, the unnatural pallor of his dark skin. She pressed her hand against her stomach, which was still roiling. She had never seen a dead person—or, at least, not one who was not prepared for burial and in a casket—and the experience unnerved her.
    She thought about the way she had clung to Rafe, letting him hold her in the protection of his arms. It had been a decidedly weak thing to do, she knew, not the sort of thing that Thisbe or her mother or even Olivia would have done. But she could not help but recall how wonderfully warm and safe it had felt for that moment, to be enclosed in his heat, to smell the masculine scent, mingled with the faint, lingering smell of tobacco and cologne, to feel the hard strength of his arms around her and hear the reassuring thud of his heart beneath her head. Something stirred deep inside her as she thought of his holding her, and she realized with a guilty start how far her thoughts were wandering from the scene of death she had just witnessed. It was another sign, she supposed, of how shallow she was.
    “My lady.” Kyria looked up to see Smeggars holding a small tray with a glass of water on it. She took the glass and sipped from it, grateful for the distraction.
    “Smeggars, don’t tell anyone else about this.”
    “Of course, my lady. What would you have me do with, um…”
    “Send for the constable, of course. But tell the servants who know about it to keep quiet. I don’t want my family or the guests to hear of it. I am terribly sorry for that poor man, but I refuse to let this sad news disturb my sister’s wedding day.”
    Smeggars nodded in understanding. “I shall make sure that not a word is uttered.”
    “Thank you.” Kyria took another sip of water, feeling somewhat more in control of herself.
    She glanced over to see Rafe standing in the doorway, a small, canvas, drawstring bag in his hand. “Here it is.”
    Kyria stood, looking doubtfully at the bag. “And you are sure he meant it for me?”
    Rafe shrugged. “All I know is, he said your name and something like ‘give’ or ‘please give,’ and then he started babbling in some foreign tongue.”
    “Really? What language?”
    “Not one I recognized. So I would say with some certainty not French or Spanish or German.” He glanced around. “Shall we open this?”
    “Yes. Let’s…go somewhere else.” Kyria did not like to think about lingering here.
    She started down the hall, Rafe beside her, and emerged from the servants’ area into a wide hall. Turning away from the direction of the ballroom, she went into one of the smaller drawing rooms.
    Rafe set the bag down on a table near the door, and Kyria opened the drawstring and reached in, pulling out a hard, squarish object wrapped in velvet. Carefully, she unwrapped the velvet to reveal a small box. She could not help but let out a small cry of delight.
    The box was ivory, with a curved lid rather like a very small trunk. All around the box were intricately carved patterns and what looked like some sort of figures. Its crowning glory, however, was a huge dark gem, crudely cut and unfaceted, that was set into the center of one side of the box.
    “It’s beautiful!” Kyria exclaimed, picking up the box and looking at it closely. She ran a fingertip over