“Cut through?”
“It is either that or have you remove them.”
A red hue crept up his face, and for some reason, it brought a smile to Rose’s lips to see that a man could blush so easily. Rose took the scissors and began to cut through the black linen. “You won’t be needing them anymore.”
Alex’s heart sank at her words. In truth, he wasn’t ready to go. He longed for a few more days’ reprieve from the harsh British navy—a few more days feeling as though he belonged to a family. A few more days with this precious lady. He studied the way the lantern light made her hair shimmer like fine gold. Her delicate fingers worked so gently to cut the fabric of his breeches without disturbing his wound.
She finished slicing through his breeches, then moved the lantern closer to get a good look at his thigh. “What, no complaints, Mr. Reed? No excuses why you should impose upon my family’s hospitality further?”
Alex longed for a glimpse into her lustrous eyes—eyes that could not hide her true feelings—but she kept her chin lowered.
He sighed. “No. I am a man of my word. I am well enough to leave. And leave I shall.”
A visible shudder ran through her. Sniffing, she gazed into the empty space of the room.
A spot of dirt marred her graceful neck, bringing a smile to Alex’s lips. “You were very brave yesterday at your friend’s house.” He didn’t exactly know why she’d been so frightened, but he’d fought in enough battles to know courage when he saw it. Her tender care in light of what she must be feeling toward him—toward all British—caused his throat to clog with emotion. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for what his fellow countrymen had done. But he couldn’t find the right words. More than likely, she would not believe him anyway.
She chuckled. “Me, brave?” Shaking her head, she snipped one edge of the stitches. The scissor blade was cold against his thigh. She tugged at the thread and a slight twinge of pain made Alex wince. “You don’t know me, Mr. Reed.”
Alex rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “It pains me that I will not have the chance.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes misty pools of turquoise. “You speak foolishness, Mr. Reed. Are all British filled with such inane flattery?”
Alex lifted an eyebrow.
Prinney snorted, then meandered over to sift through the hay by the door.
Miss McGuire tugged on the thread again, and Alex watched it slip though his flesh. Queasiness rolled across his gut.
Her cheeks glowed like sweet cream in the lantern light, and Alex longed to brush his fingers over them. While her eyes were downcast, he leaned over and drew in a deep breath of her fresh scent if only to implant it upon his memory.
She finished pulling the remainder of the stitches, then plucked some salve from a small jar. She spread the paste over his wound—a wound that was now nothing but scarred, pink flesh. Afterward, she cut a stream of bandage from a roll, placed it over the wound and wrapped it around his thigh. Every touch of her fingers to his skin set him aflame.
“That should suffice until you see your ship’s surgeon.” She stood and avoided his gaze.
Alex let out a humph. The ship’s surgeon was a ninny. He’d trade that man’s ministrations for this lovely creature’s any day.
She picked up her things and headed toward the door. But Alex wasn’t ready to say good-bye. He stood and plucked a rose from the vase. “Allow me to escort you back to the house, Miss McGuire. It is dark.”
She stopped but did not turn around. “Your job of protecting me is over, Mr. Reed.”
Alex slipped beside her. “Well then, I thank you, Miss McGuire, for tending my wound and saving my life.”
“And I thank you, Mr. Reed, for rescuing me from your comrade.” A breeze wafted in through the open door, fluttering her curls. Prinney ambled outside as if bored with the conversation.
“We shall call it even then.” He took her hand in his and felt her tremble. Raising it to his lips, he placed a kiss upon it.
At last she lifted her gaze to his. Eyes sparkling with tears searched his face. Tears for what?
“Forgive me. I have upset you.” Alex frowned, longing to see her smile again. He held out the rose to her.
She eyed him quizzically but did not take it. Instead, she tugged her hand from his.
“A token of our time together?” He attempted a smile that did not reflect the agony in his heart. “The color reminds me of your lips.”
She snatched the flower from his hand and stepped out into the darkness. “Godspeed, Mr. Reed. I pray we do not meet again.” Then turning, she fled into the night.
Hoisting a burlap sack stuffed with his uniform over his back, Alex made his way to the barn—Miss McGuire’s barn. Somehow being in the place she held so dear, the place where he had first seen her, made him feel close to her. And he needed one last dose of her presence before he left her forever. Mr. Snyder’s threats rang fresh in Alex’s mind. He must leave tonight. Should the councilman discover Alex’s true identity, the entire family would be tried for treason.
And Alex could not let that happen.
He stomped forward, his boots squishing through the weeds and mud. His service sword stuffed in his belt, slapped against his thigh. But how could he leave Miss McGuire at the mercy of Mr. Snyder? With no other prospects, the Drummonds would no doubt force her to marry the nincompoop. A nightingale took up a harried call from a tree by the barn. A warning? Yes, that was what he must do. Before Alex left, he must warn Mr. Drummond of the councilman’s true intentions. But how? Mr. and Mrs. Drummond had already retired to their bedchamber.
Halting, Alex gazed back at the house. A sliver of a moon peeked from above the dark treetops in the distance as if God were smiling down upon him. He sighed. When had he started thinking of God that way? If God was real and He did answer prayers, Alex could sure use some help. Pausing, he decided to give it a try. He’d never prayed before, not really. But seeing the Drummonds’ faith lived out daily stirred a deep part of him, made him want to talk to God like a friend. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and began, “God, if You’re there, I need to speak to Mr. Drummond tonight.” A breeze heavy with moisture and the scent of cedar stole his whispered words away. He nearly laughed out loud at his pathetic appeal.
Shaking his head, he ventured into the shadowy barn, struck flint to steel, and lit a lantern hanging on a center post. Removing his sword, he leaned it against a post and set his sack beside it. Liverpool let out a low groan and a chicken crossed his path, scolding him as it made its way to the chicken roost against the far wall. The smell of hay and manure and leather swirled around him. He chuckled, realizing he no longer found the scents offensive. Surely the woman had bewitched him. He moved to Valor’s stall and eased his fingers over the horse’s face.
“What do you think, mighty Valor?” The animal nodded her head up and down, then gazed at Alex with brown, intelligent eyes that reminded him of Mr. Drummond’s. Alex chuckled. “I believe you are far wiser than you allow me to believe. Much like the man of the house.”
“What’s that you say?” Mr. Drummond’s cracked voice turned Valor’s ears in the direction of the door.
Alex jerked around to see Rose’s uncle approaching him, lantern in hand. Stunned, he could only stare wide-eyed at the older man. During the time Alex had been here, he’d never once seen Mr. Drummond come out to the barn. A tremble jolted him. Had God answered his prayer? Impossible.
“Talking to a horse, Mr. Reed?” Mr. Drummond’s eyes twinkled.
Alex chuckled. “I seem to have more success conversing with horses than people.”
Mr. Drummond set his lantern down atop a post and gave Valor a pat on the side. “Oh I doubt that, Mr. Reed, although you did stir Mr. Snyder into a dither this evening.”
Alex shot a glance at his sword and pack, but thankfully, they were hidden in the shadows. “I beg your forgiveness, sir. I fear the man brings out the worst in me.”
“Think nothing of it, Mr
. Reed. I quite enjoyed the exchange.”
Alex blinked. He’d expected a proper scolding from a man who lived his life by God’s law. “Indeed? I was under the impression Mr. Snyder was a friend of yours.”
Mr. Drummond swatted at a fly buzzing about his head and pressed a hand on his back. “I am quite delighted to say that I do not count him among my friends, though I do pray for his soul.” Pulling up a milking stool, he sat down with a moan. “Old age, Mr. Reed. I do not recommend it.” He chuckled. “No, it is my dear Muira who favors a match between the councilman and Rose, though I have been unable to ascertain her reasons.”
Alex studied the elderly man. Everything he said and did slammed headfirst into Alex’s long-held opinions of how clergymen should behave. But Mr. Drummond had opened a door, and Alex decided to step through it. “If I may, sir, I believe Mr. Snyder’s interest lies more in Miss McGuire’s land than in the lady herself.”
Mr. Drummond nodded as a look of sorrow deepened his eyes. “As the good Lord has told me.”
The odd words struck Alex like a wave of icy water. “God speaks to you?”
“Aye, quite often.”
Valor snorted and bobbed her face up and down again.
Alex ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head, hoping to ignite some insight into the man’s way of thinking. “Is this an American invention? For I cannot fathom it, sir.”
“American? No. I’ll wager God even speaks to Englishmen from time to time.” Mr. Drummond chuckled.
Alex doubted it. None of the bishops he’d met back home claimed such an intimacy with God. In truth, they seemed more interested in politics than faith. “So, your government has no say in the dictates of religion?” Alex asked.
“Indeed. We are free to worship and believe as we please.”
Liverpool groaned as if uttering her approval. And Alex had to agree with the beast. At least these Americans had it right on one account for he had seen how government used the cover of religion as an excuse for all manner of hatred and ill treatment. But God speaking directly to man? “I beg your pardon, sir, but perhaps you only think you hear from God.”
Mr. Drummond patted his waistcoat pockets. “He speaks to all his children, but many never hear Him because they are not listening or they do not believe God speaks at all.”
Again, the man shocked Alex. Doubts pecked at his rising faith like vultures on a wounded beast. “Pray, tell me how He speaks to you, sir. In a burning bush, or perchance an angel appears to give you the message?” Alex snorted.
Mr. Drummond smiled and pointed toward his chest. “In here. A still, small voice, a knowing that always brings peace.”
Pushing away from the stall, Alex took a step back, suddenly wondering if the man was mad. “I have never heard such a thing.”
“Perhaps because you do not believe you can.” Mr. Drummond’s gray brows rose.
“You are a reverend, sir. If God does still speak to man—and I’m not saying He does—hearing His voice is no doubt a privilege of your profession.” Alex nodded, content with his explanation.
Mr. Drummond’s brown eyes flooded with wisdom and something else—a love so intense it caused Alex to avert his gaze. He shifted his boots over the dirt.
“It is a privilege of all He calls His children,” Mr. Drummond said.
Children. Was Alex God’s child? He didn’t want to be anyone’s child ever again. Children were commodities to be used or tossed aside at the whim of an uncaring parent. “You speak of God as if He were, indeed, your father.”
Mr. Drummond nodded.
Alex gave the man a caustic look. “A bit disrespectful, wouldn’t you say, calling the Creator of the world by so familiar a name?”
“He is the Father of all, my son.” A gust of hot wind tore through the barn and Mr. Drummond coughed. “When we believe in His Son, Jesus, we are adopted into God’s family and are privileged to call Him Abba, Father.”
Son. Mr. Drummond had called him son again. And with more affection than Alex’s own father had ever spoken his name. Family. Home. Love. All the thoughts that had recently brought such warmth to Alex now rose like a whirling tempest within him.
Mr. Drummond fingered his beard. “I believe God has brought you to us for a reason. He has told me you have an important task to complete.”
“Absurd.” Alex tugged on his tight waistcoat. “It only proves that no one truly hears from God, for I assure you, sir, I will never do anything of import. At least not that you would consider so.” Alex frowned. No, the feats he hoped to accomplish in His Majesty’s Navy were the only things important to Alex. And they would only further his own family name and wealth and hopefully gain him entrance to his home again.
Though he was beginning to wonder why he sought so hard after that goal.
Mr. Drummond folded his hands over his portly belly. “There’s only one way to find out. Ask God to show you His will and then submit to His direction.”
“Humph.” Alex crossed his arms over his chest.
A smile—not an insolent, pretentious, or taunting smile—but a smile that bespoke a knowledge that Alex did not possess settled on Mr. Drummond’s lips.
Alex rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and glanced out the barn doors. Nothing but darkness met his gaze. Thick darkness—the kind of darkness a man could get lost in and never return. Which was what Alex intended to do. He snapped his gaze back to Mr. Drummond. Golden light from two lanterns spilled over the man, surrounding him in an ethereal glow. Something in the confidence and peace in his tone, on his face, sparked hope within Alex.
But what did it matter? He must leave this place, leave this man, and leave Rose. “Mr. Drummond, I beg you to protect Miss McGuire from Mr. Snyder. I believe a match between them would cause her great unhappiness.”
“Oh, you do?” The knowing smile on the man’s face curved into a taunting one.
“And it is not because of any affections I may have for her.”
“I made no mention of any affections.” Laughter sparkled in Mr. Drummond’s eyes. He cocked his head. “Is there something you wish to ask me, Mr. Reed?”
Alex studied the odd man. “No, sir,” he said carefully. He couldn’t afford to reveal his growing affection and then leave. It wouldn’t be fair to Rose.
“Hmm. Very well.”
Alex huffed. “I must leave. Go back to my sh—regiment.”
Mr. Drummond lowered his chin. “As I feared.”
Upon his honor, Alex could not figure the man out. “Surely you do not wish me to stay here because of my exemplary skills as a servant?”
Mr. Drummond laughed. “No, but you are good for Rose.”
“I fear you are mistaken.”
“Am I? I have not seen her so lively, so vibrant in years.”
Alex looked away. He didn’t want to hear it. It hurt too much to know that he could bring her joy only to have to break her heart. “I assure you it is not my doing.”
“Hmm.”
“Nevertheless, I must leave you tonight.” Alex forced determination into both his tone and his resolve. “I cannot thank you enough for your kindness in offering me a position in your home.”
“Tonight?” The elderly man struggled to rise. “You cannot possibly leave tonight.”
CHAPTER 16
Crying. A woman’s crying echoed through Rose’s ears, bouncing off the walls of her mind, jarring her awake. She turned on her side and drew her quilt over her head. The sobbing continued. Did it come from within her? Had the sorrow that had weighed so heavily upon her when she retired that night followed her into her dreams? Sitting up, she swiped her cheeks. No. Not her tears.
Whimpering drifted through the walls. Amelia. Leaping from her bed, Rose swung a robe over her shoulders and crept through the dark hallway into Amelia’s chamber next door. The poor woman lay curled in a ball on her coverlet. Misty fingers of moonlight streamed in through the window, caressing her, even as her long black tresses fanned over the
coverlet like silken threads. Amelia’s chest convulsed. Rose inched to her side and laid a hand on her arm.
Amelia shot up, her eyes wide. “Oh miss, it’s you.” She gasped for air and looked down. “Forgive me, I woke you again.”
Rose sat beside her and enfolded her in a tight embrace. The aged bed frame creaked. “Has something else distressed you or is it …” Rose hated to even mention his name lest the woman break into sobs anew.
Which Amelia did anyway at just the hint of him—Richard, her husband.
“I miss him so much, Rose.” She inhaled a sob, then leaned her head on Rose’s shoulder.
“I know.” Rose stroked her back. “I know.” Tears burned behind Rose’s eyes. It had been two years since Richard disappeared at sea, yet still his young wife mourned him as if he’d left only yesterday. “Your love was one of a kind.”
Amelia pushed back from her. Glassy brown eyes brimming with pain gazed at Rose. “It was, wasn’t it?”
Rose nodded and wiped a moist strand of Amelia’s hair from her cheek. Though she knew no man was perfect, the way Amelia described Richard as an honorable, kind, and brave man who loved Amelia deeply made Rose long to be loved by such a man. Oddly, a certain British officer filled her vision—an officer who was gone forever just like Richard. Her heart grew heavy. And for the first time, Rose felt the weight of her maid’s ongoing agony. “You were blessed to have had Richard for as long as you did. Most women will never be loved so passionately.”
Amelia nodded, then fell into Rose’s embrace again. “Why am I not getting better? Why do I still think of him every moment of the day and dream of him during the long night?”
“Because he will always be with you, Amelia. And you, with him.” Rose grabbed a handkerchief from the table and handed it to her maid. She blew her nose and gave Rose a tiny smile. “Thank you, miss.” Then dropping her hands into her lap, she gazed out the window. Starlight drifted over her, transforming her skin into porcelain and her tears into silver. “Even when I play the coquette and attract all manner of attention from men, the pain does not subside.”
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