Heartbeat of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Kudos for Jennifer Taylor’s

  Heartbeat of the Moon

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Ian glanced her way, finally.

  “Do you think Josef has lost his wits?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “For we have seen stranger things than this, things I never thought were possible. And it’s as if…”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “It is fanciful and silly.”

  “Maggie, I have told you before.” He came to her and took her hands. “Nothing you ever say to me will be taken lightly, for every word you utter is like holy writ to me.”

  She moved into his embrace, her hands on his bristled cheeks. He was very warm. “The spirit of the holy nun lives in me still.”

  He nodded.

  “Something happened today.”

  Josef moaned in his sleep. “Let me in. The beast is out there, in the woods, and he comes for us. Where are your weapons? Where is Ana? Has she not arrived? The beast is coming; do you hear it? No, the floor is sticky with her blood, I slipped in it, I could not help it,” Josef screamed.

  “But I just saw her yesterday,” he continued in a voice not his own. “She sold chestnuts in the market. How can this be her, neck laid open? She will not stop bleeding. Her eyes opened, she snarls.”

  And his own voice returned. “No, stop screaming, sister. We must bury her, bury her deep.”

  Fear rippled down Maggie’s back.

  Kudos for Jennifer Taylor’s

  MERCY OF THE MOON

  Book One in the Rhythm of the Moon series

  MERCY OF THE MOON won Second Place

  in the Historical Category

  of the 2013 Lone Star Writing Competition.

  Heartbeat

  of the Moon

  by

  Jennifer Taylor

  Rhythm of the Moon Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Heartbeat of the Moon

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Jennifer Taylor

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Mainstream Historical Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0861-6

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0862-3

  Rhythm of the Moon Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedications

  To Wayne,

  for thirty-seven years of kindness, love, and passion.

  May there be many more.

  ~*~

  To Emily, Leslie, and Geoffrey,

  for your encouragement and humor.

  ~*~

  To my beloved mother, Gloria,

  for your boundless love and

  living example of creative grace.

  ~*~

  In loving memory of my father, Gene.

  ~*~

  Many thanks to my childhood friend,

  Anna Jean Bradley, registered midwife.

  How cosmic that I would connect

  with a childhood friend

  who has over thirty years of experience

  in bringing new life into the world!

  Your knowledge and expertise is greatly appreciated.

  I will strive to get it right.

  Chapter One

  King’s Harbour, England 1735

  Maggie Pierce awoke from a dreamless sleep and reached under the pillow for her husband Ian’s letter. His scent rose from the foolscap, clove and bayberry, the sharp bright tang of the sea. She closed her eyes to let sleep pull her into its dark waters. Ian’s words echoed in her heart:

  My Dearest Maggie,

  Every mile I travel across the Channel and through the mountains of Bohemia, takes me farther from you, and as I ride, I write your song. Distance has not dulled the memory of you: the grey of your eyes, dark as an undertow when you are vexed, your black hair spread like fine Chinese silk over my bare chest, your wide hips my comfort and compass. I yearn for you, but know the search for my affliction’s remedy must continue. For us.

  The urgency of singing you, possessing you with the words of my soul, grows with each step of the journey. Then, my heart plummets. I can never do you justice, for you are ever-changing like the moon. Oh, Maggie, look down upon me with your cool regard, rise above me with your passion, lie beside me so I might truly know you.

  Until then, I remain your Most Loving and Besotted Husband,

  Ian Pierce

  Maggie tossed and turned. Ian had been gone for three months; why could she not get accustomed to sleeping alone? She slung her bare leg to the other side of the bed. The scent of clove and male musk rose from the warm sheet. Oh. The burn and glow of pleasure in her secret place were not the products of a dream. Ian had returned last night.

  He stood by the window, utterly naked. “It is early still, my Maggie. You fell asleep like the dead as soon as we slaked our passion. Go back to sleep.”

  Not just yet. She must gaze upon him, all of him. Two hours ago, he had suddenly arrived, and the urgency to make love overpowered everything else. Now, in the dim light, the green glow of his eyes lit her body from the inside out. The lines of his broad shoulders, tapered waist, and long, muscled legs made her mouth water.

  “You liked my letters?”

  “Of course I did.” She put the letter under her pillow again out of habit, and glanced at him, to see if he would make sport of it.

  “Oh, Maggie, I hoped you would.” The bed creaked under his weight, as he gathered her in his arms. He seemed impossibly big, the contained strength in his arms, the hard muscled planes of his chest warm against her bare skin. “Imagine my joy upon receiving the news of our child! Are you well, Maggie mine?” The tips of his fingers were rough as he caressed her back. “So soft, so smooth.”

  The rusty edges of his voice invoked twinges of pleasure in her limbs.

  “Yes, I feel fine. My, y
our fingers are abraded.”

  He broke away from her and searched her face. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No, of course not. I just wondered why.”

  He grinned, teeth white in his tanned face. “I worked on the boat. The hard labor is a good remedy for my restlessness.”

  “Ian, did you find what you were looking for, to ease your affliction?”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her. His sun-chapped lips made hers tingle. “Let us not speak of it now,” he said. “It has been a long three months without you. Can we not celebrate our reunion? And then, my hard-working midwife, I insist you sleep some more.”

  He rose above her, clasping her hands and putting her arms above her head. He trailed his fingers down the underside of her arms, and to her breasts with the lightest of touches. Her body rose to meet him, and he smiled against her lips before he kissed her.

  A pounding on the door doused their passion like a splash from the English Channel.

  Ian bolted from the bed and bounded down the stairs stark naked. “Stay abed, my love. I’m sure I won’t be long.”

  The door opened and Ian said, “Josef! You have arrived home! Why are you not in the arms of your Lena?”

  “Ian, my friend. Give me all the millet seeds you have, and quickly! We must sprinkle them around the grave, for when the creature rises, he cannot resist counting them all.”

  Chapter Two

  Maggie dressed and joined them downstairs. What brought Josef here at this hour?

  Josef paced across the parlor, wringing his hands. His brown eyes were bloodshot, and a foul odor emanated from his weathered and filthy clothing. His black hair hung loose and greasy upon his shoulders.

  “Josef, you are overwrought. Sit for a moment and have some of my wife’s good soup.”

  Maggie first built up the fire, and before she could take the ladle from its hook, Josef said, “There is no time. We must bury Nikolaus before dawn. Help me, Ian.”

  Ian grabbed him by the shoulders. “Bury your nephew? Josef, what happened after we met at Boulogne?”

  “I don’t understand,” Maggie said. “If the two of you met up in Boulogne, why did you not take the same boat for home?”

  Josef trembled, wiry arms tense, hands hard fists.

  Ian shoved a mug of ale into his hands. “Here, drink. Catch your breath.” He took Maggie aside, keeping one eye on Josef. “Josef’s nephew, Nikolaus, was coming back with him to learn the business of running an inn and making beer.”

  Josef had left the same time Ian had, for different purposes, Josef to fetch his nephew, and Ian to search for herbs for the apothecary shoppe, and a remedy.

  “Nikolaus fell ill,” Ian said. “He had a raging fever, and the captain feared smallpox. The ship’s doctor would not allow him passage, but I left on it. Josef must have found another boat captain whose love of coin was stronger than the fear of disease.”

  Josef slammed his mug down on the table. “My Nikki is all alone in the ship’s hold. We must bury him.”

  She had never seen the normally taciturn man so distraught. Surely he must be ill to be speaking so. And why the urgency for burial?

  Lena’s husband wrung his hands. “How will I tell my sister her only boy has died? I failed to get him away from the monsters in my homeland. If only I had left sooner. I have failed her, and my Nikki, my boy, is gone.”

  “The boy is dead?”

  He nodded. Bits of dirt fell on the floor at his feet. “Yes, man. His condition worsened, and I had to take him down to the hold, for the sailors threatened to throw him overboard. I fought them off. And he died there, like an animal.”

  It must be a lethal disease indeed for him to have sickened and died so quickly.

  Josef grasped Ian by the shoulders. “I went straight from the boat and dug the grave in the grove outside the Landgate. For the love of all we experienced as boys, please help me.”

  Maggie and Ian glanced at each other, mirroring their confusion. Surely grief altered his mind?

  Josef ran into the apothecary shoppe, opening and closing drawers. “Your seeds, where are they? We must bury him now, millet seeds, poppy seeds, for if he rises, he is compelled to count them all, and he will never finish before the light of day. May the sun burn him and send him to his eternal rest before he can become a monster.”

  Ian lit a candle and handed Josef a basket for the seeds. “Let me grab my cloak, Josef. Maggie, I will return as soon as I am able.”

  “No.” She grabbed her cloak as well. “I will not be parted with you so soon, and then have to wait here, wondering and worrying.”

  “I would rather you stay,” he whispered. “I fear disease.”

  “No. If you are going, then so am I. You have only just returned.”

  Ian laid his palms on her cheeks. “I can tell you all about it later, when we have returned to our bed, and I have made you moan again.”

  “Do not try to charm me. I’m going.”

  “I can see there’s no convincing you. Allow me to at least put on your gloves.” He fit them on her hand, with a tug, reminding her of the fit of his member deep within her. His hand slid up her arm. She held her breath. Why did it seem he was broader, more powerful, despite the gentleness of his fingers?

  “You must take care,” he warned. “You are carrying our child.”

  “I do not require special treatment. It’s not an illness.”

  “I would guard my treasures.” He embraced her.

  “Come on, man!”

  “Josef, fear not. I’m coming.”

  As they followed their friend out the door, Ian whispered, “I wish we were not venturing out on this grim endeavor tonight. It doesn’t matter whether I understand what he is talking about. For I owe Josef my life, more than once.” He kissed her thoroughly, his hands on her arms trembling.

  “For God’s sake, hurry!” Josef shouted.

  King’s Harbour rested upon a hill, with the church at the top above the market square. The decline to the docks was steep from Maggie and Ian’s apothecary shoppe. The full moon guided their way, and the leafless trees cast their shadows on the cobblestones. The wind moaned its way from the sea.

  Josef raced ahead. “Hurry.”

  Ian cradled Maggie’s elbow as they approached the harbor. The fishing boat rocked back and forth, and the salt-tinged wind slapped her about the face, stinging her eyes. She closed them for a moment and, upon opening them again, discovered Ian’s hair had whipped out of its tie. He looked as wild as the waves crashing against the pilings, reminding her of all the places he had been, and all he had experienced without her.

  Then he smiled, the ends of his mouth curling, and as he helped her onto the deck of the boat, his whisper blended with the wind. “It’s not how I imagined us spending our reunion.”

  She followed his gaze to Josef’s bulk hurrying to the boat.

  “I’ll not let you stay up here alone. There’s no telling who might be lurking around here,” he said. “Follow closely.”

  Once in the boat, she trailed Ian through the torch-lit passageway, down to the ship’s hold.

  Josef stood waiting, wringing his hands. “God forgive me. I could do nothing for him. I had to bring him down here, for he was delirious and raving, burning with fever. He was up on deck and would not cease yelling of how the light hurt his eyes. He was half blind with it, and I had to guide him down here, fighting him all the way.”

  As Ian stepped into the hold, he put his hand out to block her way. “Please. You do not need to see this, Maggie.”

  She shook her head. She had seen plenty in her midwifery work. Josef was Lena’s husband, and a dear friend. She would try to be of use.

  Ian gave a sharp nod toward the top of the stairs. “Maggie, I would not have you breathe this miasmic air. Go up the stairs a bit.”

  She acquiesced at the fierce glint in his eyes and was glad she did, for the stench hit her all at once. She reached in her apron pocket for the peppermint-scente
d handkerchief she always kept there. The sweet, sickly smell of death crawled toward her. She forced herself to breathe. How could she be of help holding onto a handkerchief like a delicate duchess?

  In the dim light, Maggie eventually made out a figure lying in a corner, a rope wrapped around his middle, tying his arms to his side, a gag in his mouth. A blond fuzz covered his chin. She gasped. He’d died with a snarl on his young face, teeth bared wide, tongue hanging from his mouth, swollen and purple. His body was bloated. His skin swelled around the ropes on his wrists.

  Josef knelt in front of his nephew. “I had to tie him, for he would have hurt me. He tried to escape up to the deck once, claiming he was thirsty, but he would not drink. He died growling, like an animal. He did not recognize me.” He swiped his tears with the back of his hand. “I cannot cast him into the sea. I must bury him.”

  “I will help you do whatever needs to be done. Let’s not delay.” Ian handed Josef a kerchief to put around his mouth. He put on leather gloves, and he and Josef lifted the body and wrapped it in a canvas sail. Maggie led the way to the deck of the ship. With great haste they loaded the body into a wagon waiting by the docks. The horse’s hooves echoed on the cobbles as they set out with the sea wind against their backs.

  Maggie shivered as they made their way out of town through the ancient Landgate. The warmth of Ian’s arm around her did much to chase the chills away, as Josef tried to dodge the ruts in the ancient road.

  “This way,” Josef called. “I remember this place from the smallpox, when those without coin could not afford to be buried in the churchyard.”

  They reached a grove of trees off the main path. Josef handed the reins to Maggie, and the two men jumped out of the wagon.

  Ian took her hands. “I would ask you to stay in the wagon, but I know what your answer would be.” He helped her down, and she walked over to the hole Josef had dug.

  Ian held the boy in his arms, then without a word, Josef climbed into the grave and held his arms out for the shrouded body of his nephew. When Ian handed him the body, he gathered the boy in his arms and sobbed.

  Ian joined Maggie. The wind had turned bitter as a spurned lover, and he tightened his hold on her as she shivered. There was nothing they could do but let Josef grieve. She remembered the flask she held in her apron pocket and handed it to Ian. He took a sip and gave it back. “Take care not to catch a chill, sweeting.”