by Barbara Best
Matt sits tall on his majestic steed at the crest of a hill that is covered in sweet grass and spring daisies. The sun washes him in bright white, radiating vitality. The sight of her husband never ceases to make Jane’s heart skip a beat. She knows her path will always be one with his. He is worth her life and all she has to give.
“Can I take Cleopatra?” Jane inquires loud enough for Bryce to hear her. Her camel-colored mare is already saddled and contentedly nibbling on a patch of clover. “Matt’s up there,” she points.
“Have at it. Oh, and tell your husband we have a repair to make on one of the wagons come nightfall,” Bryce says.
“Will do.” Jane smoothes the hair on Cleopatra’s forehead and speaks lovingly into her nostrils until the mare snorts her readiness. She runs her hand along the new saddle Matt had custom-made for riding straddle. It is a comfortable fit and her loyal Cleopatra doesn’t seem to mind the change. White Owl is even teaching her how to ride bareback.
Grabbing up the reins of her horse, Jane thrusts her foot into the stirrup and throws her leg over. The saddle crackles with her weight as she adjusts her position. She and Colette are dressed in tailored pants and boots. They still wear skirts to maintain their ladyhood, although considerably shorter. In cozy amusement, they say it makes them look like Annie Oakley.
Like the wind, Cleopatra shoots off in Matt’s direction. Jane grips with her knees and leans forward to match her horse’s rhythm. They are so in tune Jane barely has to touch the spirited creature.
When Major Matthew Hopkins sees his independent and impetuous Jane coming, his face lights more brilliant than the sun itself. He sweeps the horizon one more time for anything amiss and turns his horse to take in the luscious sight of her.
“Matt,” Jane giggles, panting heavily when she reaches him. She is aglow with exhilaration from her ride and reins her horse to his side. Her face is one big smile, her eyes the color of sparkling emeralds.
He chuckles, “You paint a wild and willful picture, wife.” Jane is forever a joy to him.
They linger for a while in solitude, side-by-side on the hilltop, absorbing the purity and splendor of a spring day.
“Jane?” Matt searches his wife's face in earnest, suddenly uncomfortable with the distance in her eyes. He worries she has traveled to a place where he can neither tread, nor relate. A gentle gust plays with her red hair. Wispy tendrils shoot fiery sparks when they catch the sun’s rays. It reveals budding life in her stillness.
“Jane, dear?” Matt repeats.
“Huh? Oh, yes,” Jane says, abruptly brought from her musing. She slowly turns to meet her husband’s probing eyes and immediately comprehends without a word being said.
“I’m here, sweetheart,” she smiles gently. “We are both here, together, Matt. Fixed to this perfect moment. It is as it should be.” She adjusts her weight in the saddle and boldly twists over to plant a kiss on his parted lips.
Matt takes Jane’s hand in his and draws her slender fingers to his mouth.
“Matt?” Jane says, feeling giddy all over. Others may suspect their little secret, but they have kept it private, rejoicing their intimate bliss alone for a time. “I’ve been thinking on something.”
“Heaven help us!” Matt taunts, cocking his head comically. His raised eyebrow and loving smile express a wealth of good humor. It is a disposition he is known for.
“Stop your teasing. I’m being serious.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Hopkins. And, what might my darling wife be thinking on this glorious day overflowing with our contentedness?”
“Well, if White Owl is right and it’s a girl, I’d like to name her Henrietta.”
“After my father?”
“Yes, and your middle name.” Jane squeezes her husband’s hand and gives him time to consider. She focuses on Cleopatra, petting the animal’s smooth neck and talking silly talk that causes the mare to raise her head and give a proud whinny.
Matt ponders Jane’s tender proposal for a long minute. He waits for her eyes to fall on him again. Eyes that have kissed the stars and embraced the mysteries of the universe. Eyes that imbue a sense of wonder and majesty, and in the presence of reality, a sacred glimpse of a world he will never understand in a thousand lifetimes. The eyes of an angel found in the midst of a beautiful dream, that by God’s grace are locked on him, and him alone.
Finally, he nods his head, “It is a fine name. We will call her Henny.” His love warms the air around them. Pleased to his toes, Matt kisses Jane’s hand once more and smiles handsomely, “Now, Mrs. Hopkins, shall we get back to camp? I can smell Colette’s cooking from here.”
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Thank you for reading THE CELTIC KEY. I hope you enjoyed it. At the end of this book, a page is provided by Amazon for your rating. Before you go, please consider leaving a review for me and telling your friends. Independent authors rely heavily on word of mouth. A few minutes of your time is a tremendous help and will be greatly appreciated.
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T R I L O G Y
The Lincoln Penny: A Time Travel Series, Book 1
The Lover’s Eye: A Time Travel Series, Book 2
The Celtic Key: A Time Travel Series, Book 3