by Pam Hillman
In war, my peace—in loss, my gain.
A sob from Leah had Isabella out of her rocker in an instant. Alarmed, Isabella knelt by her sister-in-law’s side and clasped her hands. “What is it?”
“Oh, Isabella. It’s as if they’re singing to me, for me. Straight from God’s heart to mine.” A tremulous smile blossomed on her face even as her tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “Listen to the words.
“‘Jesus . . . my rest in toil, my ease in pain.’” Leah whispered the words along with Mrs. Horne and her daughters. “‘The medicine of my broken heart, in war, my peace—in loss, my gain.’”
Leah’s gaze met Isabella’s, her eyes shining. “How could I have been so blind to try to carry my burdens alone? Why haven’t I called out to God before now?”
Isabella blinked back her own tears, fighting the heaviness that weighed her own heart down. Blindly she whispered, “I don’t know.”
After Leah retired to her room for an afternoon nap, Isabella walked toward the creek, where everyone had gone fishing. Even her father had asked Toby to bring the pony cart around for the outing.
Grateful for the gentle breeze ruffling the leaves overhead, she followed the path along the edge of the creek. Birds chirped overhead, and a squirrel scampered across in front of her, darting up the nearest tree. The milk cows lay in the shade, chewing their cuds, avoiding the heat of the day. The possibility of someone trying to kill her father, Leah, or the babe seemed far-fetched indeed on such a sunny Sunday afternoon.
Surely her father had just been overwrought and worried. And all mothers worried needlessly in the weeks before the birth of their child, didn’t they? Once the babe was born, everyone’s fears would be laid to rest.
Isabella found herself humming the tune to the hymn that had touched Leah’s heart. “Thou hidden source of calm repose; Thou all-sufficient love divine.”
Quickly she shut off her thoughts. She wasn’t ready to hand over her sorrows, her grievances. How could God justify all the wrongs that had befallen her family? She’d grown up without a mother. Leah’s babe would be bereft of a father.
How could one sermon, one song, heal the wounds festering in her heart? But if the peace and joy on Leah’s face were any indication, she’d embraced Jesus as her source of comfort. A longing to do the same washed over Isabella like a cooling spring rain, but she pushed it away. She couldn’t let go of her hurt so easily. She . . . she just couldn’t.
Lifting her skirts, she hurried down the path toward the fishing hole. She’d spent too much time with her own maudlin thoughts today. Lizzy’s joyful countenance and one of the child’s fishing poles was just what she needed.
Everyone, from the oldest to the youngest, lounged along the bank, poles dipped in the water. Lizzy spotted her first, hopped up, and ran to her side, red braids flying. “Miss Isabella, I caught a big fish. Come see.”
She pulled Isabella to the bank and lifted the string of fish from the water. Isabella dutifully admired the walleyed creatures gaping up at her.
“We’re going to have fish tonight.”
“Hmm, that sounds delicious.”
“You wanna fish?”
“Do you have an extra pole?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lizzy took her by the hand again. “Come on.” She led her to where Connor sat and handed her a pole. “Sit here, Miss Isabella. It’s the best spot in the whole world. It’s where I caught the big fish.”
“I couldn’t take your spot, Lizzy.” Especially since it was about as close to Connor as one could get. She avoided his gaze. She hadn’t seen him since the night she’d rushed out of her father’s rooms to the grape arbor. In spite of the heat of the day, she shivered remembering the touch of his thumb lightly tracing her lips.
“It’s all right. There’s plenty of room.” Lizzy reached for her hand and tugged her down. Chattering like a magpie, the child plopped down beside her, grabbed another pole, and expertly threaded a worm on the hook.
Isabella tried to concentrate on the small cork that bobbed in the water but found it impossible with Connor so near. He sat to her left, one forearm resting on a raised knee. Lizzy sat to her right, keeping up a running monologue on how best to catch a fish.
She felt a tug on her line and jerked the pole, being careful not to pull too hard. Confident she’d caught a fish, she lifted it out of the water, but an empty hook was all she had to show for her efforts.
“Your bait’s gone, Miss Isabella.” Lizzy sounded disappointed.
“That it is.”
Connor reached for a wooden bucket, fished out a worm, and baited Isabella’s hook. He shook the bucket, then held it out to Lizzy. “Think you can find some more bait?”
“Yes, sir.” Lizzy gave him an adoring look, grabbed the bucket, and took off.
Isabella tossed her line back in the water, smiling as the child ran for the woods. “She’s smitten.”
“I guess I just have a way with red-haired lasses.” Connor grinned and then winked.
Isabella focused on her cork again, his teasing setting off a fluttery feeling in her stomach. They fished in silence for a while; then Connor asked, “How’s Miss Leah?”
“Worried about the babe.” Isabella jiggled her line. “I should have insisted she go straight back to the house that night. I knew it wasn’t safe.”
“How so?”
“The day the Wainwrights were here, Papa said you’d seen riders on our land. Is that true?”
“Horne, his two older boys, and I have been snaking logs out all along the bluffs on the other side of the sawmill, and we’ve seen evidence of riders crossing that part of Bartholomew land.”
“But you haven’t seen anyone?”
“No one.” Connor shook his head. “And neither has Mews, Horne, or any o’ the others. Just this past week, we saw evidence of horses passing through, but we were in the woods all day every day and never saw anyone.”
“There are plantations behind us who have to cross our land on their way to the trace. As a matter of fact, Nolan Braxton owns most of the land on that side of us. There’s nothing wrong with his workers crossing our land.”
“’Tis true. But you’d think we would have encountered someone. As it is, we’ve seen nothing but the signs of their passing. And moving fast, too.”
“What if it’s highwaymen?” Isabella frowned at her cork.
Connor arched a brow at her. “No need in borrowing trouble.”
“I’m not borrowing trouble, but—”
Lizzy came running with the bucket of worms, and neither Isabella nor Connor said anything more about bandits and robbers.
An hour later, Mews declared they had enough fish for supper, and the children piled into the pony cart with her father and Toby. Lizzy grabbed the string of fish she and Connor had caught and ran to the cart. “I’m gonna help my da clean the fish.”
“Do you want to ride?” Connor helped Isabella to her feet and motioned toward the cart.
She shook her head, not seeing room for one more body in the small cart. “No, let the children go on. I don’t mind walking.”
Toby slapped the reins, and the pony plodded off, carrying its load of children and fish. Mr. Mews and Mr. Horne walked along behind, discussing the best way to clean the fish. As the pony cart disappeared around the bend along with Mews and Horne, Isabella realized that she and Connor were alone.
Butterflies danced in her stomach. More than once, she’d been invited to take a stroll around Breeze Hill by first one, then another suitor, and never had she been as aware of being alone with anyone as she was with Connor O’Shea.
It was the strangest, most wonderful feeling in the world.
And the scariest.
She cast about for something to talk of, anything to break the silence that grew louder with each passing step. She pointed to a stand of oaks in the ravine to her left. “Have you inspected those trees? Jonathan and I used to play here, and some of them were so big we couldn’t even reach around
them holding hands.”
Connor nodded. “I’d noticed them, but I would hesitate to cut this close to the house and the creek bank.”
“Why?” Isabella frowned.
“These trees provide a windbreak for the house and outbuildings.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Isabella nodded. “Papa says it’s possible to look at the rings and patterns on a tree and tell how long ago it was damaged by a hurricane or a tornado.”
Connor laughed. “I’m no’ that good, I’m afraid. But I have cut into some o’ these trees and found the grain t’ be twisted and gnarly. So I suppose it’s possible.”
They rounded a bend and half a dozen cows grazed along the path, slowly making their way back toward the barn. Isabella picked up a stick and prodded one of the stragglers along. “Get on up there, Bessie. Toby always has to come looking for you.”
The boom of a musket rang out, followed by an inhuman shriek. Connor and Isabella froze. The cows’ ears perked forward, their attention focused on the ruckus up ahead. Another explosion of sound signaled a second shot, and the one shriek became many and grew louder.
Isabella’s heart thudded. “That sounds like wild hogs.”
“It is, and they’re headed this way.” Connor grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
He hurried down the path toward home, but as soon as they rounded the bend, the herd of hogs rushed across the open field straight toward the narrow pathway.
Connor pulled Isabella off the path toward a half-rotten log. It wasn’t the best place to seek shelter, but it was their only option. He grabbed her by the waist and threw her over the log. She hit the ground, the breath nearly knocked out of her, but fear overrode her discomfort. She rolled toward the log, just as Connor vaulted over it himself.
“Dig in tight, lass.”
The pungent odor of decay rose up to meet her as she wedged herself into the depression next to the log. Connor dropped down behind her, cocooning her with the length of his body. She closed her eyes and prayed that the hogs would be so terrified they’d just keep going. The animals would tear them to pieces if they got a whiff of them.
Moments later, the squealing, grunting mass careened down the path, some passing around and over the log, the entire thing shaking with the force of their passage. Connor jerked against her and let out a low moan.
She tried to twist around to see, but his strong arms tightened around her like a vise. He squeezed in even closer, his shoulders hunched protectively over her, his head nuzzled against the crook of her neck.
In moments, it was over.
The hogs were gone, disappearing into the wilderness as if they’d never been there. The only evidence was the churned earth and the choking dust billowing all around them.
Connor touched her shoulder, urging her to look at him. Isabella opened her eyes and squinted through the dust.
“Are you all right, lass? Are ya hurt?”
“I’m fine. Just a bit scared.”
She sat up and pushed her hair back, then sucked in a quick breath when she spotted a smear of blood on Connor’s temple. She reached out trembling fingers. “You’re hurt.”
“I got clipped on the skull, but I’ll live.” Connor sat up and leaned back against the log.
“Let me look at it.”
She rose to her knees, jerked up a fold of her skirt, and dabbed at the blood. With shaking fingers, she pushed a lock of hair out of the way, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized the cut was small, barely bleeding.
Connor watched her, his eyes half-closed and looking slightly dazed. Panic swept over her. Maybe the injury was worse than she’d thought. Her hands fluttered against his chest. “Connor, are you all right? Should I get Mews?”
She started to stand, but he grasped her by the wrist and stopped her flight. He shook his head. “I’m fine. Just—”
Isabella faltered, then sank back to the ground. She let her hand drop to her lap, her heart still pounding from their near miss. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She shuddered at the brush of his fingertips against her sensitive skin. His gaze flickered, dropped to her lips, then swept back to meet hers again.
Questioning.
Asking permission.
She closed her eyes, trembling with an emotion she didn’t dare try to examine. His hand lingered, then cupped the back of her head. She couldn’t summon the power to resist. Didn’t even want to try.
His lips were firm and warm. She rested her hands against the soft cotton of his shirt and melted into his kiss. He groaned, then wrapped both arms around her and caught her against him, slanting his mouth over hers.
Isabella’s arms slid around his neck, her fingers digging into his hair, as he devoured her mouth with his. Did a near brush with death make her heart pound like this, or was it just Connor’s kiss that put her heart to flight as sure as the gunshot had startled the hogs?
He pulled away, his eyes at half-mast. Isabella gazed at him a moment before embarrassment heated her cheeks. He tucked her head against his chest, and she felt the rapid thud of his heart through the thin cotton of his shirt.
“Lass, what’s happening between us?” A deep breath shuddered through his chest.
“We got one!” Mews yelled out.
Isabella jerked away, eyes wide as she stared at Connor.
He straightened, and they both peered over the log.
Two hundred yards hence, Mews and Mr. Horne stood next to an oak tree, grinning at the massive hog lying dead at their feet.
Connor slumped back against the log, closed his eyes, and ran one hand through his hair.
“You almost got more than a hog, you eejit.”
Chapter 14
MEWS ALL BUT SUFFERED an apoplexy.
Connor was sorely tempted to strangle the man himself.
“I thought everyone had already headed toward the house, so Horne and I circled back around. Them hogs have been after them acorns of an evening, and I was hoping to get one.” He twisted his hat in both hands, smashing the straw as effectively as if the hogs trampled it themselves. “I’m so sorry, miss.”
Connor eyed Isabella as he and Horne hoisted the hog on a pole between them and headed home. She and Mews walked on ahead, Mews still apologizing for nearly getting them killed.
She patted the older man’s arm. “It’s all right, Mr. Mews. You couldn’t know we’d lingered, searching out trees for the mill.”
Connor tuned out Mews’s response, focusing on Isabella as she walked ahead of him. Had Isabella only stayed behind to talk about trees and hurricanes and such? He’d participated in the conversation, but neither his heart nor his mind had been on it. That’s why, the moment the danger had passed, he’d given in to the temptation to taste her lips.
What had possessed him to kiss her?
Oh, he didn’t have to ask himself that question. He’d been thinking of little else for the last week.
Her lips tasted as sweet as wild honey, her skin soft as rose petals, her hair like black corn silk, and her eyes liquid darkness he could drown in. He shouldn’t have given in to the adrenaline of the moment, the fear that she’d been hurt, the fear that he could have lost her in that instant.
Because now he would dream of the taste of her lips.
A better question would be why he couldn’t stop himself.
He should know better. He did know better.
Nothing good could come of pursuing a relationship with Isabella. She was the master’s daughter, and he’d learned the hard way to stay away from a woman who chose suitors to line their pockets or their lineage. Commoners like him were simply playthings to be discarded when something bigger and better came along.
Things seemed different here in America, for sure. Isabella herself had said so, but he wagered it wasn’t that much different from Ireland when all was said and done. Money and station still ruled everything, regardless of which side of the world they were on.
But might the Bartholomews be an exceptio
n? It hadn’t escaped his notice that there were no slaves at Breeze Hill, only indentured servants and day laborers. What had Isabella said the first day? Something about not dealing in slaves?
Scowling, he hoisted the pole higher on his shoulder. Who was he trying to deceive? He had two good eyes and two good ears. The parade of wealthy planters and their progeny through Breeze Hill had been nonstop since he’d arrived. Anybody with one eye and half sense would know why they were calling.
They stepped into the clearing, Breeze Hill spread out before them. Isabella and Mews were a bowshot ahead. She glanced back, her gaze meeting his; then she looked away, a blush on her cheeks.
Connor groaned. He’d been here only a few months, and he’d already jeopardized his brothers’ passage from Ireland.
With a woman, no less.
A woman who had no clue that she was leading him down a path as dangerous and forbidden to the two of them as the devil’s backbone itself.
Charlotte had known exactly what she was doing. As a matter of fact, he’d been cautioned several times that Charlotte Young was only using him, but he’d ignored the warnings as jealous ramblings from the other stable hands. He’d even beaten a few of his friends to a pulp for daring to besmirch her character.
When rumors of their illicit relationship reached his father’s ears, Da had tried to talk sense into him, had tried to convince Connor to return to the mines. But Connor had refused, insisting that he could make thrice as much working for Mr. Young as he could in the mines.
He’d been so besotted, he thought she really loved him. That in good time, she would tell the world of her true feelings. If her family threw her out, so be it. Their love would see them through. His family would take them in.
He’d been young, he’d been an eejit, and when the time came to pay the piper, she’d laughed in his face.
Isabella was not Charlotte, though. Charlotte had never loved him, and she’d never had any intention of marrying him. The whole year had been a diversion to her, nothing more.
And as he watched Isabella walk along the path ahead of him, doing her best to put an old man’s worries to rest, he knew she wasn’t playing games. But just as surely, he realized she didn’t know where their attraction could lead, that they couldn’t explore this tender, budding passion flaring between them.