So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4)

by Amber Lynn Perry

  His mind struggled to work, the pulse of his heart stealing all the function his body could muster. Swallowing, he leaned forward for a bandage, then turned to dip it in a nearby pitcher.

  “Let me clean your face.”

  Hannah’s throat bobbed, but she didn’t protest—didn’t speak, hardly even took a breath, for her chest was almost still.

  Cupping her chin in one hand, he dotted gently beneath her nose and around her mouth. The flow had stopped, thank the Lord. When all the red had been dabbed away, he went to one last place above her lip, and the soft, warm breath of her nose tickled his fingers. Joseph froze, cloth hovering just above her mouth. Her eyes, vast fields of green, were round and laced with a desire his soul had yearned to feel from her for so long.

  He lowered his hand and rested the cloth at his side. Unable to stop his gaze from dropping to her freshly cleaned and slightly parted lips, he felt his head drooping closer. Smoothing his hand from her chin and over her ear, he cupped the back of her head—wishing, wanting, hoping to be taken exactly where he knew he ought never to go.

  * * *

  Mercy.

  Hannah stared up, Joseph’s hooded eyes studying the shape of her mouth. They shouldn’t be here like this. Any moment Stockton could enter, and if he saw them…

  She tried to move, tried to find the strength to pull away, but her frame was intoxicated with the feel of him, utterly heedless of the tiny timorous warning that chimed somewhere in the back of her mind. Ten years she had thought of him, longed to tell him all she’d endured, prayed for the chance to see him again despite the endless preaching of such folly. Her father’s words tried to save her. He told me, Hannah. He’s never loved you.

  A dozen times in the next fleeting seconds she reminded herself of what she knew. But what she knew of the past and what held her helpless in his arms collided, raining over her like tiny flecks of gold. From the way his firm chest pumped, the way his hooded eyes roamed her face and his fingers rubbed through her hair—it could not mean nothing.

  His head inclined, slightly at first, his body moving closer to hers. Her lungs raced, trying to meet the matchless pace of her heart. She must move away. Yet she could not. Her body was not her own. ’Twas owned by something far more powerful. A small kiss would hurt naught. Perhaps it would prove away the girlish imaginings she’d unwisely harbored for so long. Hannah closed her eyes, willing the rest of her to move away from the edge of the black cavern, despite the promise that the bottom was near and soft.

  Calloused but tender, a finger curled around her chin and nudged her face upward. Slowly she opened her eyes, and her gaze married with his, her heart leaping into the beautiful darkness. His hands at her cheeks, Joseph’s nose dusted against hers, tempting her face to rise ever so slightly and bring her lips closer to his. She blinked her eyes shut, savoring the fresh scent and warm feel of his soft breath as his lips brushed over hers.

  He whispered her name, and she raised a hand to his stubbled jaw, when the door burst open. She jumped back with a gasp and whirled toward the parlor.

  “Miss Young? Are you here?”

  Stockton.

  Hannah’s body went rigid. Had they been seen? Joseph’s mouth was partway open, his eyes still upon her.

  “Miss Young?”

  Strong footsteps beat across the parlor floor and stopped hard when Stockton’s frame shadowed the doorway of the kitchen.

  In an instant Stockton’s face flared the same shade of crimson as his coat. “Dear God, what’s happened?” His gaze flew from her face to Joseph and the bandage around his waist. The last measure of ease fled his expression, and his shoulders went back. “Who has done this?”

  Hannah’s mouth was stuck open, no words forming.

  Joseph answered, pulling his torn shirt back over his head. “She was attacked on the road.”

  Stockton’s expression flashed white before an even deeper shade of red consumed his face. “Who?”

  “Stockton!” Greene burst into the parlor, hobbling. “Arrest that man!”

  The major pivoted, looking back and forth between the two men whose glares reached across the room, fighting already across the distance.

  “I have a feeling I won’t get an accurate report from you, Lieutenant.” He turned to Hannah, strained eyes studying the wound on her face. “What happened, my dear?”

  Her fingers quivered. Knitting them tight at her middle, she answered in truth. “I was on the road when…” Tempted to lower her gaze, she slayed the weakness, meeting her assailant’s venomous gaze as she condemned him. “When I was assaulted by Lieutenant Greene and another solider.”

  “What?” Stockton spun, his coat flying on the air as he moved. “How dare you!”

  Greene leaned against the frame of the open door. “We had to, sir. Major Pitman said to question all travelers, and when she resisted we—”

  “You imbecile!” He marched across the floor, chest rounded. “How dare you lay a finger on that woman!”

  The thunder of Stockton’s words brought Greene to his full height, no longer leaning for support. “Pitman made it clear we are to find whoever it was that gave away the location of our latest provisions shipment, and I am not about to take such a command with anything but the utmost—”

  “You are not in Major Pitman’s company. You are in mine, and I did not issue any such demand.”

  “You should have!”

  Stockton slowed, his voice frighteningly quiet. “What did you say?” Shock and rage twined over him until it seemed his very coat smoked from the fire of hate that turned his skin red.

  Hannah glanced to Joseph, and his hard look told her to stay both motionless and silent.

  Greene stepped forward, heedless of the danger that lurked in Stockton’s narrowed gaze. “You should have, Major, but you are too blinded to see anything past that woman!”

  “Speak of her again, and I will throw you out of this house.”

  “She was here that night. I know it.” He neared, his volume full, neck veins bulging. “I saw her in the barn—I watched her ride away. Yet you will take her word over mine?”

  An eerie calm settled over Stockton’s tense shoulders. “You are relieved of your post, Lieutenant.”

  Greene balked. “You cannot—”

  “Gather your belongings from camp and ready a mount. I am putting you on assignment in Sandwich.”

  “Major—”

  “Enough!” His roared response shook the walls. Stockton stalked forward until Greene was forced to back his way to the door. “If I ever hear that you have come within even ten miles of this place, I will have you hanged.” His gravelly voice grated the wood at Hannah’s feet. “Get out.”

  Greene sneered, enmity pulling at his posture. “Major Pitman will hear you’ve become a slave to your mistress, and when he does—”

  The kick to Greene’s stomach was swift and hard. He stumbled backward through the door and out of Hannah’s sight.

  Stockton shot a rigid arm at Joseph. “Stay with her until I get back.”

  In a single giant step he was out of the parlor, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Standing straight, Joseph’s forearms rippled as his fists worked. “What were you doing on that road?”

  The missive.

  She stepped closer, speaking low and quick. “I made a copy of a message I saw hidden in Stockton’s cloak and tried to find you so you could deposit the information with your own.”

  The muscles of his face tipped slightly, angling his features in rich concern. “What message?”

  Thunderous yells volleyed back and forth outside as Stockton and Greene exchanged their hatred.

  Hannah neared. “Four hundred troops are to arrive in Boston with supplies and cannon. But they plan to dock at Duxbury first to gather the munitions that you are helping to supply.”

  Joseph’s scowl carved deep grooves between his eyes. “What else? Anything?”

  Stockton’s voice grew louder as he neared the
parlor door. Hannah’s pulse raged, and her whisper hovered over silent. “Stockton and Pitman are to prepare their men to engage, but I didn’t see—”

  Slamming the door open, Stockton barreled in. “The criminal!” Hurrying to the kitchen, he halted inches from Hannah, gaze trailing her face as if his look and gentle words alone could ease her suffering. “I take this upon myself.” He threw a look to Joseph. “Major Pitman must come to trust you as I do.” Pausing, he stepped back. “My dear, would you allow me to issue an invitation for Major Pitman and his wife to join us for dinner tomorrow evening? Higley will accompany me as well. But only if you are agreeable.”

  Panic swept through her like a broom over a dusty floor. Dinner for two officers. And a woman who no doubt had enjoyed a life of ease? To answer in the negative seized her throat, but such was not a request for what could be. Rather, a declaration of what would be.

  “’Twould be an honor, Major. But…” She could feel her cheeks flushing with heat. “I am ashamed at the size of our kitchen. ’Tis unfit for such fine company.”

  “Not at all, Miss Young. Do not trouble yourself with such trivialities.” He stepped backward, glancing between them. “I shall send word to the Pitmans immediately.” Circling back to the parlor, he gestured to Joseph with a nod. “Come with me. I shall need a full report from you. I do not wish to cause your cousin any greater distress by having to relate again what she’s suffered.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Joseph bowed slightly and offered Hannah a concerned look before following Stockton out the house.

  There, alone, surrounded only by the silent furnishings, Hannah’s legs lost their strength. She reached for a chair and sank onto its safety, folding over the table, with her head on her arm. Of all the times she’d been foolish, of all the choices she’d made that were impetuous and gross, this defeated all those with fantastic idiocy.

  Grief-induced action was one thing. Spying another. But agreeing to spend any time with Joseph was beyond her scope of understanding. Why had she done it? She pushed up, staring blankly at the center platter. Ensign did not die in vain, and ’twas she who must make it so. Elbows on the table, she groaned and put her face in her hands.

  How was she to resist the pull of such a man? One for whom she’d loved and lost—one for whom her heart still reached? These two weeks would pass like a lifetime. Yet despite the risk, the longing that pressed upward beneath its shallow covering warned that it could not easily be contained. She knew, despite her efforts, despite the risk, their duty must be fulfilled, their work completed. There was no circumventing the days ahead. She had to go through them, and pray her heart was not in tatters at the end.

  * * *

  Tufts of dark smoke drifted lazily from the smithy’s chimney, carving a thick path through the cloud-covered sky. Philo hurried across the street in front of a passing horse and wagon, preparing his most gracious smile. Clumps of dirty snow lined the road, and puddles of icy water dotted the pathway he tried to navigate. Slipping down the small alley beside the blacksmith shop, Philo rounded the corner to find the back door slightly ajar.

  At the anvil, Leo pounded against a long strip, orange flecks jumping with every whack.

  Unseen, Philo reexamined his practiced speech before entering. He rubbed one hand with the other. The soldier he and Maxim had tried to bait turned over nothing of value, but one fact remained. Joseph had given his shop at the same time Ensign had sold his, and the timing was too conspicuous to overlook. He prayed this fellow would divulge what information the other soldier had not.

  Ease well in place, he strode in. “Leo. Good day to you.”

  Halting midstroke, Leo grinned slightly. Civil, but nothing more. “Reverend Young. What brings you here?”

  “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  Leo’s face went slack, and the brightness left his cheeks. “Aye?”

  “This smithy is yours now, is it not?”

  “Oh.” The color returned in an instant, and he released a held breath.

  Had he feared Philo might say something of Caroline?

  “Aye, sir, ’tis true. I’m pleased indeed to have it.”

  Philo glanced around, sure to mold surprise and satisfaction in the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Quite a well-managed arrangement, I must say.”

  Leo went back to his pounding. “Joseph is a remarkable blacksmith. Meticulous to a fault and far more talented than I will ever be able to boast, though I shall try.”

  “You do him too great a credit.” Why did everyone fawn over the man? He was no saint. A devil in sheep’s clothing, more like.

  Eyes darting him a sideways look, Leo brought the piece back to the forge and shoved it into the coals. “I give credit where it’s due.”

  “Where is he then? I mean…” Philo pretended ignorance. “Why would he leave his shop? ’Tis clear he loves his work.”

  “He’s off to lend his hand to Washington like so many others.” He yanked on the bellows. “I should go myself, but Mother and the girls need care. Father says I cannot be spared.” There was a thread of enmity in his voice. Was not the man old enough to make such decisions for himself?

  Philo shrugged the thought down his back. “So Joseph will return after the war, is that it?”

  Leo brought the radiating glow back to the anvil and once again began pounding. He remained silent as he hammered, then quickly bent the metal at a straight angle and dunked it into a trough of water, the metal hissing and steaming at its sudden bath.

  “He’s not coming back, ’cept to take Jacob to his new home.”

  The answer teetered just out of reach. He choked back the runaway thrill. “And where is that?”

  Leo shrugged. “I know not. He wouldn’t share it with me, and such a question wasn’t mine to ask.”

  Wasn’t it? Philo glanced around again, more to calm the restless anxiety than study the tool-lined wall.

  “I venture it can’t be far.” Leo relieved the iron from the water and examined it. “He said he’ll return on occasion to give me additional training if I should like, and I certainly shall, I can tell you that.”

  Genuine glee lifted the corners of Philo’s mouth. Is that so? “Excellent, excellent.” Philo backed his way to the door. “Well, I would not want to keep you from your work. I can see you are quite busy.”

  Leo halted. “That’s all you came for?”

  He chuckled. “Aye. Unless you should like to discuss my niece.”

  Leo’s throat bobbed as the color drained from his face. His jaw worked, and he turned to a box of small tools. “Good day, Reverend.”

  Philo bowed slightly and touched his hat while amusement pulled a tight grin over his lips. “I hope to see you at Sunday services.”

  Only Leo’s eyes lifted. “You know I attend with Reverend Charles.”

  “Of course.” Philo shrugged. “But should you wish for additional enlightenment, you are always welcome.” Turning, he marched out, leaving the musky warmth of the large space, eager to free his legs of the tension they’d borne since before he entered.

  He stopped in the alley, staring at his shoes on the dirty snow. ’Twasn’t much, but more than he’d had before. He looked up, scowling the information into place. Ensign must have sold the foundry to Joseph. The man had always had a weakness for Hannah, and should she have ever expressed any remaining inclination toward Joseph, Ensign might have lured him there for more reasons than simply business.

  That discordant melody played its mournful tune, as it had from the time Hannah had left. Nay, since he’d forced her out. She had defamed him, she and that lecherous man. The whisper of Philo’s conscience tried in vain to crack the pride that kept him standing. What he’d done, he’d done to protect her as well as himself. How could she have been so thoughtless to heap upon them such shame? He scratched the back of his head and started walking. He hadn’t been wrong in his actions. He’d done the harder, more righteous thing. And after all this time, Ensign a
imed to renew the pain and ruin that Hannah and Joseph’s first tryst had caused them—had caused him.

  In the street once again, he made his way to Newcomb. He craved not only supper but a warm seat while his brain simmered on the knowledge he’d been given—before he would make his way to Plymouth and unveil the secrets Ensign kept hidden.

  ’Twas time, at last, he paid a visit.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hannah scrambled to place the last plate on the table and the last glass at its station before Stockton and the other guests arrived. The approaching evening swept a rich navy over the sky, a few sparkling stars already beginning their nightly watch. Peering out the window, her stomach coiled in knots. And not only for the visitors who were minutes away.

  Ever since yesterday, ever since that bewitching featherlight kiss… Oh dear heaven. She was a fool.

  Moving in front of the fire, Hannah placed a hand over her stays, securing every lingering sensation safely within their prison walls and tossing the key.

  That moment was naught but a lapse, a fleeting of weakness. He had just rescued her from atrocity. Thus her actions were understandable, were they not?

  Like a breath over steam, she sighed away the rest of her thoughts. She must think of this moment, this impending meal. Certainly that was enough for her palms to moisten over. Keeping her mind upon that would be no difficult task. She raised her chin, feeling more pacified already.

  Hannah peered again out the window, then at the fried chicken at the center of the table, the meat pie, and bounteous dish of potatoes and carrots. The onion rings, succotash, and corn cakes infused the air with scents that made her mouth water, though she feared her appetite was less than minimal, her nerves having robbed any desire to eat.

  Fingernail at her teeth, she studied the table. Had she forgotten anything? Stockton must be impressed. If not, his like for her might lessen, and if so, he might seal his lips to what knowledge she and Joseph worked so hard to attain. They must learn where the British planned to engage. And how. However much they nauseated her, his attentions might prove to be the nurturing ground for her and Joseph’s secret works. She grimaced. At least, thank the Lord, she needn’t till that ground for long.