“Why? What did he do?”
“Fell in love with the daughter,” Matthew replied with a yawn. “And she with him – or that’s what he says.” He relaxed under her hands, made a series of contented sounds, and just like that dropped into sleep. Alex smoothed his shirt down, drew the blanket up over them both and curled up close.
*
She woke early to find him wide awake beside her. At his silent question, she nodded, and they walked further into the forest, barefoot and half-dressed. She could feel the heat in his hand leap into hers, and all of her fizzed with sudden and urgent desire. It almost made her laugh out loud. They were too old to be driven this crazy by each other’s touch. But they weren’t, and when he stopped under an oak to spread the blanket, she was wet with want for him and all because of the way his fingertips grazed her wrists. She felt her breath hitch in her chest at the brightness of his eyes. They didn’t undress; there was no time. She just opened her legs and took him inside.
“Is it safe?” he asked into her hair. She was beyond the point where she cared, because all she could think of was how good it felt when he pounded into her, how big he was, how warm and strong he was, and how heavenly it felt when he nuzzled her neck.
“I’m not sure,” she whispered back, “but I swear I’ll kill you if you stop right now.” She locked her legs around him, ground her pelvis into his, and raised her head to bite his ear.
“Ah,” he groaned, “have mercy, woman!”
*
“I feel like a teenager,” she said with a giggle when they walked back towards the clearing. He looked momentarily confused until he recalled what the expression meant.
“You look like one.” He stopped to pick leaves out of her hair. His fingers floated deeper into her curls and he drew her close to kiss her, kiss her as he just had loved her, forcefully and yet so tenderly it nearly made her cry.
“My Alex,” he said, taking her hand. All around them stood dawn proper, birds sang and hopped, the ground was covered with the red and yellow of columbines but as far as Alex was concerned there was only one thing to feast her eyes on. Her husband smiled, a slow smile that made her insides quiver with renewed desire. His smiled widened.
“Insatiable,” he murmured, bending to nip her throat. “And wanton,” he added, laughter colouring his voice.
“It takes one to know one, Mr Graham.”
“Oh aye, that it does.” He presented her with a red columbine and led them back to camp.
*
With the cows setting the pace, it took them five days to get back home. The sun was setting, and for the last hour or so they’d ridden in silence, Alex half asleep against his chest. Matthew sat thinking back to all the times they’d ridden like this, with her a heavy weight against his heart. The first time he took her to Hillview, she a wild, strange lass that tried so hard not to show how fearful she was of all that was unfamiliar in this new world of hers... All the times coming back from Cumnock, sometimes with her sitting pillion, but mostly like this, because both of them preferred it that way. He buried his nose in her hair and drew in that scent so particularly hers, of crisp apples and newly spliced wood, of sun and salt.
He turned off the bridle path and halted Moses to study his homestead. The western sky was shifting into turquoise; in the meadows grazed his cows and mule. Encircled by whispering forests, his fields were ripening into gold and, halfway up the slope, Alex’s kitchen garden was a multitude of green hues. His bairns were everywhere: Ruth and Sarah squealing as they fought over the rope swing, Daniel whittling with an admiring David crouched beside him. Samuel was tottering after a hen, his smock fluttering in the breeze, and there came Ian and Mark, two dark heads bent towards each other in conversation.
“Home,” Alex murmured.
Matthew tightened his hold around her and nudged Moses into a walk.
“Aye,” he said, “home.” And for the first time since he’d left Hillview, he actually meant it. This was home, here was his family, and this was his land.
Serpents in the Garden
The Graham Saga continues in book five
“Not again,” Alex muttered, throwing an irritated glance up the lane.
“Long time since the last one.” Mrs Parson shrugged before bustling off to prepare something to drink and eat for their unbidden guests.
Alex made a face. Mrs Parson was right: the impromptu visits from militia troops were, thank heavens, becoming rarer now that some kind of peace had been re-established between colonists and Indians. In Alex’s opinion, the men who still rode in militia companies were the scavengers of this world, more out to feather their own nests than to uphold any kind of peace, but the rules of common courtesy prevailed and so Alex stepped into her yard to welcome the dozen or so men who were riding down their lane.
It was years since Alex had laid eyes on Philip Burley, but she knew him immediately. Older, gaunter, but still with that lock of hair that fell forward over his face, giving him an air of mischievousness belied by the coldness of his light grey eyes. He bowed, his mouth curling into an amused smile at what she assumed to be her aghast expression. With an effort, she closed her mouth.
“Did you hope I had died?” he asked, dismounting.
“Yes, but at least I wished you a quick and painless death – you know, falling off your horse and breaking your neck or something.”
Philip Burley laughed, eyes doing a quick up and down before returning to her face. “Alas, here I am.”
“But looking quite worn round the edges.” Alex took in his threadbare coat, his downtrodden boots.
“I don’t dress up for riding through the woods.”
“No, none of you have, have you?” Alex nodded to the man who seemed to be in charge, swept her hand towards the bench under the oak. “Beer?”
“And food,” the older man said, patting at his rumbling stomach.
“I’ll get you some bread and then there’s some leftover stew from yesterday.”
Philip Burley sniffed the air. “What? No chicken?”
“No, they’re meant for our dinner. Besides, they’re not done.”
“But we can wait.” Philip smirked.
No way! She’d rather have a cobra at her feet than him in her yard. “Stew and bread. Take it or leave it.” Alex directed herself to the leader.
“We take it,” the man said, “however ungraciously offered.”
“That’s because of him.” Alex pointed at Philip. “For some reason, he gives me severe indigestion – it must be the general look of him. Quite repulsive.” Not entirely true, as the man exuded some sort of animal magnetism, as graceful and dangerous as a starving panther. Some of Burley’s companions broke out in laughter, quickly quenched when he glared at them.
Alex and Mrs Parson served the men, helped by Agnes. For all that they looked dishevelled and stank like hell, the men were relatively polite, taking the time to thank them before falling on their food. Alex retreated indoors, keeping a worried look not only on their guests, but also on the barn and the path beyond.
“He’s over on the other side of the river,” Mrs Parson said, no doubt to calm her. “He won’t be coming in for dinner – you know that. Besides, it’s not as if that Burley can do anything at present, is it? However unkempt and wild, I doubt his companions will help him do Matthew harm.”
Alex relaxed at the irrefutable logic in this. “At least it’s only him. I wonder where his brothers are.”
“We know where one of them is: in hell, there to burn in eternal agony.” Mrs Parson replenished her pitcher and stepped outside to serve the men some more to drink.
“Yeah, thanks to Matthew.”
“Good riddance,” Mrs Parson said over her shoulder. “And we both know why, no?”
Alex nodded. Will Burley had died while attempting to kill her Matthew, and for that the remaining
Burley brothers intended to make Matthew Graham pay. Alex swallowed, smoothed down her skirts, ensured not one single lock of hair peeped from under her cap, and grabbed the bread basket.
“So many children,” the officer who by now had introduced himself as Elijah Carey said. “All yours?”
“No, but most of them are.” She was made nervous by the way Philip Burley kept on staring at her girls, in particular at Sarah.
“Not that young anymore,” Philip said. “Soon old enough to bed.”
“Absolutely not!” Alex bristled.
Philip laughed, tilting his head at her daughters. “I don’t agree, Mrs Graham, but then I like them young.”
“Burley...” Carey warned with a little sigh. The younger man raised those strange, almost colourless irises in his direction and just stared, nailing his eyes into the officer until Carey muttered something about needing the privy and, with a hasty nod in Alex’s direction, disappeared.
“My, my, what have you done to him? Sneaked up on him at night and kicked him in the back? That’s how you do it, isn’t it? Under cover of the dark...” In a movement so swift Alex had no time to back away, Philip was on her, crowding her against the oak.
“You don’t take me seriously, do you, Mrs Graham?” he said, in a voice so low only she could hear him. “Most women – and men for that matter – know better than to taunt me.”
“You don’t scare me,” she said, her knees shivering with her lie.
He looked at her for a long time. “Oh yes, I do, Mrs Graham. Only a fool wouldn’t be frightened of me, and that you are not.”
Alex shoved at him, creating some space between them.
“I suppose I must take that as a compliment,” she said, mentally patting herself on her back for how casual she succeeded in keeping her tone.
Philip Burley laughed, an admiring look in his eyes. “Take it as you will, Mrs Graham. But never commit the mistake of thinking we have forgotten the blood debt your husband owes us. However long it takes, we will have revenge for what he did to our Will.”
Alex tried to say something, but her tongue had glued itself to the roof of her mouth, and to her shame she could hear her breathing become ragged, a slight whistling accompanying each inhalation.
“I was right: I do scare you.” With an ironic little bow, Philip Burley walked off, and Alex wasn’t quite sure how she made it from the tree to her kitchen door.
Copyright Notice
Published in 2013 by the author using SilverWood Books Empowered Publishing®
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Copyright © Anna Belfrage 2013
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-78132-135-5 (paperback)
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A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga) Page 40