Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1)

by Jennie Marsland

  Martin hitched his chair closer to the bed and brushed Chelle’s hair back from her forehead, his eyes full of anger and regret. “I didn’t defend you this time, Chelle. Drew got to you first. When he told me he’d hurt you… I honestly wouldn’t have cared if I’d killed him.”

  His intense gaze suddenly made Chelle very conscious that she was in her nightgown. She pulled the quilt up to her shoulders. “Martin, I don’t remember much of the last few days, but I know you’ve been here. And I remember what you said to me that day at the Westlakes’.” She’d thought of little else since waking this morning. Dreams, memories, fears. Now, with Martin beside her, they vanished, leaving only a calm certainty. An ocean away from the white farmhouse her father had built out of Georgia pine, her heart had come home. “You asked me what I was afraid of. I want to tell you what happened between Rory and me.”

  Martin took her hand. “I don’t need to know.”

  “Yes, you do. I thought we loved each other, but when it came down to it, he couldn’t accept the fact that I was the daughter of a farmer who didn’t believe in slavery. I was too common for him. Then, his parents insisted that I cut all ties with my family as a condition of our marriage, and he agreed.”

  “He was a fool.”

  Chelle squeezed his fingers. “No, he wasn’t. He knew I would never fit in with his family. I was the one who fooled myself.”

  Martin let out an exasperated sigh. “How can you be so dear and so daft at the same time? So you’ve been blaming yourself for his foolishness, and thinking that you might be wrong about me, too.”

  “You and Leah… I love both of you so much. Every time I’ve needed you, you’ve been there. No matter how many times I pushed you away.”

  Martin bent and touched his lips to Chelle’s, a gentle, tender kiss that told her everything she needed to know. “People make mistakes, love. I was determined to turn my back on Leah when she was born, and then I tried to turn my back on you. But I couldn’t. I don’t care that I’m not your first love, Chelle. I just want to be your last.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The rough spring wind greeted Chelle as she stepped out of the forge yard. She tucked her braid into her cloak and pulled up the hood as she followed the cart track onto the hillside. In the past few days, the grass in the pastures had turned green, and the air smelled of new growth. It would soon be a year since she’d arrived in Mallonby.

  It felt like a miracle to be able to move freely again. She’d healed slowly after Drew’s attack. He’d been charged and sentenced for blackmail and assault. Mr. Westlake had escaped charges, but only due to lack of evidence. Maria had written to Chelle, saying that her father was selling his business holdings and retiring, in much-reduced circumstances. He’d sold the mill soon after leaving Mallonby, and the new owner had wasted no time in getting it back into production. A friend of Maria’s fiancé, Mr. Stratton was quickly gaining a name as a fair, if strict employer.

  Chelle walked quickly to warm herself, past Martin’s lane and across the river, until she came to the side path that led to his pasture. As she drew closer, she heard the bleating of new lambs and Gyp’s familiar bark. Martin was there, as she’d expected.

  She crested the low hill between them and watched as Gyp, working with his new partner, Carlo, cut a ewe with newborn twin lambs from the flock. Wearing the same coat he’d worn the first time they’d met, the raw wind ruffling his hair, Martin strode down and caught one of the lambs.

  A warm, tingling sensation spread from Chelle’s heart through her body. Hope. It had come back to her almost imperceptibly, like the green stealing over the drab brown of the dales. It quickened her step as she started down the path toward Martin.

  Still unaware of her presence, he gave the lamb in his arms a quick inspection then caught its twin. When he released it and called off the dogs, they ran to meet Chelle. A slow smile spread across Martin’s face as he followed them. “Mornin’, lass. I wasn’t expecting to see you out here.”

  “It’s a fine morning for a walk, so I thought I’d surprise you. How is Carlo shaping up?” Chelle had given the young dog to Martin for his birthday in February. It looked as if they’d already become a team.

  “First rate. I think Gyp appreciates the help. I meant to drop by the forge this afternoon. Tessa and Neely need shoeing. Will you be home?”

  A different kind of warmth spread through Chelle in response to the light in Martin’s eyes. All winter, while she healed, he’d been there for her, dropping by almost every evening, bringing Leah for visits. He’d gone to the Paxtons and told them to bring their custody suit forward again if they chose, but they’d better be prepared to explain to the magistrate why they’d withdrawn it the first time if they thought him an unfit parent. Chelle’s bargain had actually worked in Martin’s favor. She knew it was a foregone conclusion in the village that they would marry once she was fully recovered, but she and Martin had both been content to take each day as it came while their love blossomed and grew.

  “Yes, I’ll be home. Are you finished here?”

  “Aye. Five lambings overnight, and all right as rain.” They fell into step on the path, with the dogs chasing each other around them. Chelle recalled the day she and Martin had met, the anger and pain she’d seen in him. She knew now what he’d been feeling. She’d felt it all for her mother and Rory over the past year. Now, her grief had shrunk to a small, patient ache that would always be with her. An ache that would deepen joy, rather than destroy it.

  There was something different about this morning. Perhaps it was just the spring. This was Chelle’s first long walk since her injury, and the simple freedom of it stirred her blood. Martin seemed to feel it, too. When she stole a glance at him, what she saw in his eyes made her breath catch.

  He reached for her hand. “Winter’s over, Chelle.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Yes. It’s been a long one.”

  “Long enough. Come here, love.” Martin drew her into his arms. His mouth claimed hers in a passionate kiss. Chelle slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him back with everything in her. When they finally had to stop, she rested her head on his shoulder, relishing his warmth while her heart sang a melody as wild and sweet as any Martin could coax from his fiddle. At Christmas, she’d thought she’d never feel like this again.

  No. She’d never felt like this before. She hadn’t been capable of this kind of joy before she left home. She’d had to learn what heartbreak was first.

  Martin pressed his lips to her hair, then stepped back and tucked a finger under her chin. “Chelle, I’m going to speak to your father this afternoon.”

  Chelle blinked back sudden tears. A part of her would always miss Georgia, but Mallonby was home now, and she couldn’t imagine a better future than loving Martin and Leah. She met his gaze and mustered a stern look. “Don’t you think you should speak to me first?”

  A smug grin. “Why? You just gave me your answer. You’re mine, lass, just as I’m yours. We settled that months ago.”

  She tilted her chin at him, crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “You’re pushing your luck, Mr. Rainnie.” But she couldn’t pull away when Martin drew her back into his embrace.

  “Am I wrong?” His lips brushed hers in a feather-light caress. Hers parted of their own accord, inviting him in. Martin pressed a teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth, then another, until she couldn’t hold back a frustrated moan. He chuckled in triumph, then bent to nip at her lower lip. “I’m not, am I? Marry me, Chelle. Today. Tomorrow.”

  Chelle struggled to speak. With Martin’s mouth teasing hers, her breath just wouldn’t cooperate. “Tomorrow! Aunt Caroline would never forgive me. Give me a month to get a dress made.”

  “A month. I was ready to wait for six.” Martin ran his tongue across the seam of her lips, then gave her the deep, satisfying kiss she wanted. “You aren’t much of a bargainer, love.”

  Chelle wrapped her arms around him, laughed and kisse
d him again. “I’m not trying to be. I’m as impatient to be together as you are. Let’s go. We’ll talk to Dad together.”

  * * *

  They were married on a bright May morning in the old Mallonby church, with only Jessie and the McShannons in attendance. Martin had sent for a dozen white roses for the altar, but otherwise, the only decoration was the spring sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. Tears glistened in Chelle’s father’s eyes as they left the vestry to begin their walk down the aisle. Leah marched ahead of them, stiff with importance, looking over her shoulder every few steps.

  Colin took a deep breath, paused and tucked Chelle’s hand more firmly under his arm. “Be happy, love.”

  Chelle kissed his cheek. “I will be, Dad. I just wish Mother and Trey could be here.”

  She glanced down at her pale-blue organdy dress with its daintily embroidered bodice, ribbon-trimmed sleeves, and skirt that draped simply but gracefully over her hoops. She’d sewn every stitch of the dress herself, always thinking how her mother would have enjoyed helping her. She closed her eyes on a sharp pang of sadness, but it eased as quickly as it had come. Her mother had helped her. Chelle had learned every stitch by watching her. Maman and Trey were here in her heart. Then she and her father reached the doors opening onto the aisle, and she saw Martin waiting for her by the altar, saw love and pride blossom on his face, and she had no room in her thoughts for anyone but him.

  He looked utterly out of place in his best suit and starched white collar. He took Chelle’s hand and mouthed, “You’re beautiful. I love you.”

  She mouthed back, “I love you, too.”

  Leah sat in the front pew beside Jean and watched, wide-eyed, while they said their vows and put their hearts in each other’s keeping. Then, when Martin took his wife in his arms for a heartfelt kiss, Leah escaped Jean’s grasp, slid from her seat and tugged on Chelle’s skirt to be picked up.

  She lifted the little girl and handed her to Martin. Under Reverend Nelson’s indulgent gaze, he enveloped his family in a hug. Then it was back to the forge for a wedding breakfast. While the family laughed and teased and ate, Martin’s eyes kept meeting Chelle’s, every glance making her more eager to be alone with him.

  Finally, he stood and drew her up beside him. “Time to take my wife home. Jessie, come to visit often. I’ll miss you, and so will Leah.”

  Jessie had found a new position on a comfortable farm near Carston, but she’d made it clear that she didn’t intend to let Leah slip out of her ken. Her dry answer made everyone smile. “Aye, I daresay the little lass will miss me.”

  Chelle turned to the high chair beside her, untied the apron that did service as a bib and lifted Leah into her arms. Dressed in white muslin with a broad, green ribbon sash for her walk down the aisle as flower girl, she beamed at everyone. She’d loved being the focus of attention at the church.

  “She certainly will.” Chelle would miss Jessie, too, but at present, all she wanted was to go home with Martin and shut the door on the world.

  Martin slipped out and brought Major to the door. Chelle gave Leah to Jean. “Be good, sweetheart. We’ll see you after church tomorrow.”

  Jean grinned and gave Chelle a little push. “Go on now, and stop fussing. You’ll only be three miles away. I looked after her when she was a wean, remember?”

  “I know. I’m being silly. I’ll see you tomorrow.” After another hug, Chelle tied her cloak and stepped out with her father behind her. He helped her into the pony trap, then shook Martin’s hand.

  “Be good to her, lad, but I know I don’t need to say that.”

  “No, Colin, you don’t. We’ll see you tomorrow.” Then they were on their way home.

  When they reached the farm, Martin lifted Chelle from the trap and carried her over the threshold. The house smelled of lemon, beeswax, and the pickle-jar full of early wildflowers Jessie had left on the table. From the way the place shone, she must have scoured it from top to bottom.

  When Martin set Chelle on her feet, she slipped her arm around him and looked about her with a full heart. “Home. Martin, I loved this house the first time I set foot in it.”

  “That’s because you belong here.” He took her hands in his. “Now come here.”

  One lingering kiss led to another, and another. Lips strayed, hands roamed until Martin scooped Chelle into his arms and carried her upstairs. More wildflowers brightened the dresser in his bedroom. Jessie had made up the bed with a cheerful blue and white quilt and new, crisp linen sheets. Chelle turned them back while Martin shed his suit jacket and tie. Then they came together again in a warm embrace.

  “Love, you have too many clothes on.” His hand slid over her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple through the soft fabric of her gown.

  Chelle shivered and ran her fingers across his broad shoulders. “So do you.”

  Between lazy, tender kisses, Martin worked the buttons on her bodice. He undressed her slowly, giving her time to get used to the intimacy of it, though she hadn’t asked for time. She ached for him to love her, burned to feel his hands on her.

  When she stood in just her shift, he ran his eyes over her with a mixture of desire and pure reverence. “Chelle, love, can you possibly want me as much as I want you?”

  “Oh, yes.” Chelle freed Martin’s shirt from the waistband of his trousers and undid the buttons. Excitement made her clumsy, but finally, she pushed the garment off his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. She felt the wild thrumming of his heart as she explored him lightly with lips and fingertips. Touching him was as arousing as being touched.

  She loved the taste of his skin, his unique flavor. Her hands strayed, discovering the planes and angles of Martin’s big body, undoing his trouser buttons, while he pulled pins from her hair and let it tumble around her shoulders. She dotted his chest with soft kisses while his fingers stroked through her curls. Then he stepped out of his trousers, lifted her shift over her head and gathered her close. “You’re lovely, lass. So beautiful.”

  “So are you.” Chelle ran a finger along the ridged skin on one of Martin’s forearms. His scars only made him dearer to her, reminding her how easily she could have lost him. She loved everything about him, the rusty curls that clustered on his chest and around his rigid, eager sex, his flat, dark nipples, the silky warmth of his skin over layers of hard muscle. “You’re perfect. I can’t wait for you to love me.”

  He did, with a passion that left Chelle astonished and trembling, awash in waves of pleasure. She came back from the clouds with Martin lying in her arms, his back damp with sweat under her fingers, his tousled head on her breast. She held him close, trying to fathom how much she loved him. Heart, soul, and body.

  “Martin… I had no idea…”

  “God, Chelle, you’re glorious.” With a deep sigh, he rolled her onto his chest. “I… It’s been a long time. If I was rough, I’m sorry.”

  Rough? Chelle’s body felt so loose and languid he could have pounded her to jelly, and she wouldn’t have cared. “If you were, I didn’t notice.” She looked up, saw an absolutely sinful grin on Martin’s face, propped herself on an elbow and tweaked his ear. “You’re looking pleased with yourself.”

  His grin widened. “Why not? I haven’t gone to bed at noon with a beautiful woman often enough to make it common.”

  Chelle trailed her fingers across his chest to tease one flat nipple. “Do you intend to keep me here all day?”

  Martin chuckled, a deep, warm sound, and kissed her nose. “Don’t tempt me, you wicked little slip.”

  They did stay in bed until twilight fell and their stomachs protested. Brian had come, done the evening chores and discreetly gone home.

  Chelle slipped into her shift, lit the stove and put the ham and scalloped potatoes Jessie had left for them in the oven to heat, while Martin, wearing only a pair of work trousers, kindled a peat fire in the old fireplace and lit the lamps.

  They ate by the hearth, sharing kisses in between bit
es. Afterward, Martin took down his fiddle. Chelle settled beside him on the sofa. As he played, she heard lovers’ voices, children’s laughter, all the happiness that the years would hold.

  “That’s us, isn’t it, Martin?”

  He put down his bow, looked into her eyes. His smile told her he’d heard all the same things. A lifetime of love. “Aye, Chelle, that’s us.”

  Epilogue

  1865

  Chelle drew the curtains against the cold, rainy evening and turned back to the crib where her son slept, now that he’d outgrown the old Rainnie cradle. Traces of tears glistened on his soft baby cheeks in the lamplight. He hadn’t wanted to be put down before Martin got home from his weekly music session at the pub. At eighteen months, Trey James Rainnie already had a definite mind of his own. With Leah in constant mischief and another little one due in three months’ time, Chelle’s days were full, the more so as she helped Aunt Caroline as a midwife as often as ever.

  She tucked the quilt more closely around her son and ran a hand over his fine curls. With his dark hair and near-black eyes, he was so like her mother and her twin. As it always did, the thought brought mingled joy and sadness.

  Trey had been badly wounded at Antietam in the autumn of ‘62. Chelle’s dreams of him and Rory had proven eerily true. She’d never recall those battlefield visions without a shiver. She’d wanted to name her son James after Martin’s father, but he’d insisted on calling the boy after her brother. “For luck. They’ll meet one day.”

  Trey’s last letter had been written over a year ago, in the summer of ‘64. He’d sounded weary and Chelle’s instinct told her, very troubled, in spite of his assertion that he was well. And then… silence. Even with mail disrupted by the chaos of the war’s ending, she’d expected to hear from him by now if he were all right. Had Trey survived the war, only to lose his life on the dangerous journey west? Slowly, inevitably, she’d begun to think of her brother in the past tense, along with her mother and Rory, part of another place and time.