The Gentle Wind's Caress

by Anne Brear

  His groin tightened at the thought of her. He needed to hold her, kiss and caress her, to fill her body with his. Smothering a moan of want, he threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed. It had been so long since he’d been able to see her that his mind was alive with her image and his body was on fire with yearning.

  On impulsive, he dressed, and then, carrying his boots, he swiftly descended the staircase and headed along the corridor to the back entrance of the house.

  ***

  A tinkering noise woke Isabelle from her fitful slumber. She lay quiet, listening for sounds from her father’s bedroom. Her room was fully dark and she guessed the time to be around three o’clock. The cockerel always started crowing around four, before dawn had even broken.

  The noise came again; a ping against the window. Frowning, she left the bed and moved the threadbare curtain aside. She leapt back as something hit the window right before her face. Heart thumping, she stepped closer and looked down. A dark shape, a figure, moved below, it straightened and raised its arm again. A rain of pebbles tapped against the windowpane.

  Sliding the window up, Isabelle leaned out, her stomach clenching with excitement. ‘Ethan?’

  ‘Let me in.’

  Biting her lip to stop a grin from spreading, she closed the window and ran from the room.

  Downstairs, she hastily lit the candle on the kitchen table and then unbolted the back door. Before she could speak Ethan had her in his arms and was kissing her thoroughly.

  She pulled back. ‘What are you doing here at this hour?’

  He gathered her back into his arms. ‘I’ve missed you more than I can bear,’ he whispered and nuzzled her neck.

  She ran her fingers through his hair to cradle his head and bring his lips back to hers. ‘Oh, my love.’

  He raised his head. ‘Are you well, my sweet? I’ve been so worried.’

  ‘I am well now, yes.’ She kissed him.

  ‘Hamish said you-’

  Isabelle stilled. ‘Hamish? What did he say?’

  He kissed her eyelids. ‘He said you had recovered. I’ve been so worried. Your father wouldn’t let me see you.’

  ‘No.’ She hung her head back and he seared a fire hot trail of kisses down her throat.

  ‘I love you so much, darling girl.’

  She gently pulled at his bottom lip with her teeth and then traced its outline with her tongue. ‘And I you, my love.’

  ‘It’s unbearable being without you, I cannot go on.’

  ‘We must at least for a little while longer.’

  Ethan groaned deep in his chest. ‘I need you, Isabelle. You make me whole.’

  ‘I know, my heart, I know.’

  He backed her into the scullery and closed the door. Pressing her against the cold stonewall, his hot mouth sucked her nipple through her thin cotton nightdress.

  The feeling was so sensual, Isabelle moaned, writhing against him. Her hands fluttered around his crotch, trying to find his trouser fastenings, but his assault on her body sent her mind spinning away from any coherent action.

  His hands cupped her breasts. Urgency came into his movements. Panting slightly, he bunched her nightgown up around her hips. She was naked underneath and his fingers slid over her belly and down, seeking her moist warmth. He explored her inner core with his fingers, softly, slowly, building within her a raging torrent of sensations.

  ‘Ethan…’ She arched against him, desperate for completeness.

  ‘Christ, I must have you, Isabelle.’ His groan was guttural.

  In an instant he had freed himself from his trousers and she opened her legs for him, wanting him more than air at that moment. The cold stone scratching into her back was forgotten as he thrust into her, filling her, expanding her. She grasped his hair, curving herself into him, accepting and yet wanting more of him inside her. His tongue caressed hers as he strained, pulling her onto him as though he couldn’t get enough.

  Her body lifted, her mind separated from reality. Closer and closer she surged. Then, when she thought she couldn’t stand it another moment, he thrust harder, deeper and her whole being exploded into a thousand lights.

  She became dimly aware that he had tensed and shuddered to fulfilment, too. He moved leisurely now, each stroke a small goodbye until next time.

  Ethan kissed her eyes, still inside her, still caressing her breasts, her hips. ‘My love?’

  She wriggled against him and the lingering throb slowly subsided. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘No, my darling.’ She kissed his nose. ‘Never.’

  ‘Forgive me, this is not how I would want to treat you-’

  ‘Shhh…’ She put her fingers to his lips. ‘We are together, that is all that matters.’

  ‘I should go…’ He glanced out the small scullery window. Grey light streaked the sky chasing away the dark.

  Isabelle sighed. ‘How soon can you come back?’

  ‘I don’t know, but before I go, I must to tell you that Clarice is not against the divorce as long as I provide for her, which I would naturally.’

  They pulled apart as reality crept back into their world, which had, for a short time, been filled with only the delights of sensual pleasure.

  Isabelle smoothed down her nightgown. ‘Of course you must provide for her, but it’s not up to her whether we are granted divorces, is it?’

  Ethan sighed, shaking his head as he adjusted his clothes. ‘You are correct. An unknown judge holds our future in his hands and he might not yet even be aware of it.’

  In the cold shadows of the scullery, Isabelle felt a chill enter her heart as she looked into his eyes. ‘And he could refuse you.’

  ‘He may, but it won’t stop me.’ Ethan clasped her arms and held her close, whispering into her hair, ‘nothing will stop us from being together, darling. If the courts deny us, then we’ll leave the country and go somewhere else, where no one knows us.’

  She nodded against his chest, swallowing back the tears clogging her throat for she knew that such a move was beyond them. They had families, responsibilities. Running away sounded so simple, but was, in all honesty impossible.

  ***

  Isabelle tiredly pushed her hair away from her face and leant her hip against the end of her father’s bed. Changing his sheets on her own was an exhausting task, but the boys had gone to the market and wouldn’t be back until later.

  She looked at the man, now clean and shaven again, wasting away before her. His sunken eyes were closed, his skin yellow. She had hardened her heart to him so long ago that it was proving difficult for her to show or even know her true feelings concerning him.

  October had disappeared into a haze of long sleepless nights easing her father’s hurting and grey days of nursing him through each hour. Some days he rallied, and could hold a conversation, chuckle at the boys and their tales, but generally he lay looking out the small window at the sky or dozing between bouts of pain. His gaze would follow her around the room as she tidied or attended the fire. She cared for him because it was her duty to do so, and she left it at that. There was no time in her days to sit and analyse their relationship. They rarely spoke to each other, but at odd times he would catch hold of her hand and squeeze it, letting her know her attentions did not go unnoticed by him. Yet, she still could not, deep in her heart, forgive him for walking out on them.

  Isabelle bent and gathered the dirty washing. Piles of it waited for her in the scullery and a deep sigh broke from her before she could stop it.

  ‘Belle?’ Aaron opened his eyes.

  ‘I’m here. Do you need something? The pot?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Go to sleep. Unless you want a drink?’

  ‘No.’ His eyelashes fluttered. ‘I…I hope my time comes soon, to spare you from all this.’

  ‘Don’t talk such rot.’ She bustled about, holding the washing tighter, her gaze flicking around the room making sure nothing was out of place. ‘Go to sleep now and let me get o
n with it.’

  Aaron’s hand twitched on the bedcover. ‘You will let the boys help you more?’

  ‘Yes. Keeping them busy gets them out from under my feet.’

  ‘You are so like your mother…’

  She sniffed defensively. ‘I’m nothing like mother. Sally was mother’s image not me.’

  ‘Sally had your mother’s softness, but you have her looks. Such a beautiful woman she was. Only you are stronger than she is, have more spirit.’

  ‘Go to sleep now.’ Isabelle headed for the door. She detested it when he spoke of her mother, the woman he said he loved, but abandoned, just as he abandoned his children. And here she was discarded all over again, this time by her no-good husband. It seemed she was a lot like her mother; neither of them could pick good husbands.

  At the door he called her name again and she turned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t listen to Harrington. Don’t let him take you from here. The boys need you, and you’ve made a home here for them both. Farrell will come back.’

  At the mention of Farrell her heart gave a sluggish thud. ‘I don’t need your advice, thank you, and I don’t need or want Farrell back.’

  Aaron swallowed, his gaze not leaving her face. ‘Harrington isn’t your future.’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d become a fortune teller, was it a trick you learnt on your travels?’ With that she left the room, indignant that he should try to tell her how to run her life when he’d made so many mistakes with his own.

  She dumped the washing in the scullery and grabbed her cloak, the need to be away from the house, if only for a moment, was strong. The icy November wind whipped her hair from its bun and slapped her cheeks until they stung.

  Ethan came to mind but his last message, delivered only yesterday, told of his plans to visit London with Hamish MacGregor and meant she’d not be seeing him for a couple of weeks. A spark of irritation surfaced for a second but she squashed it. What use was it to begrudge him his freedom? Men led different lives to women. Even if he hadn’t gone to London, she still wouldn’t have seen him today or even tomorrow or the next day. She was confined to the house, to the sickroom and her father. The stolen hours of pleasure she and Ethan shared in the summer had dried up to mere snatches of conversation at the back door when he called or sent the odd letter.

  With surprise she realised she had walked to the edge of the fields. The woods stood on the other side of the road, the stile before her. She dithered on the spot. Walking in the woods without Ethan held no pleasure. Besides, she should be getting back. As if an unknown voice called to her, she headed back to the farm, hurrying a little more with each step. Something wasn’t right. She could feel it.

  Breaking into a run, she lifted her skirts high, focusing on the farm buildings as they grew closer. At the field gate, she flung it open and didn’t stop to close it again. Her boots clattered across the stone yard and so intent was she on getting into the house she didn’t see the figure who loomed up beside her. She screamed when a hand grabbed her arm. Another hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her next scream.

  ‘Be quiet, Belle!’ Neville Peacock whispered in her ear. ‘I’ll not harm you.’

  Her eyes widened in fear as he dragged her across the yard and into the closest barn. The dimness inside added to the suffocating feeling overwhelming her as Neville’s hand covered both her nose and mouth. She struggled against his hold, frantic to escape, to breathe.

  Neville stumbled over the uneven floor and they crashed against the post at the end of the stalls. ‘Hold still, for God’s sake!’

  Her hands clawed at his, her lungs fit to burst. In one violent movement he flung her down to the straw littered floor inside the stall. She gasped, gulping air, panicking like a stranded fish. Air wasn’t filling her lungs fast enough, she floundered, terrifying herself further until Neville grabbed her shoulders.

  ‘It’s all right, Belle. Stop! Calm down, will you?’ He softened his hold and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Breathe. Steady now.’

  Slowly, unsteadily she relaxed enough to allow her lungs to work properly. She breathed in deeply, pulling at her bodice and corset, wanting them off her body. Edging away from Neville, she huddled near the wall, glancing at him uncertainly. ‘What do you want?’

  Neville sat back, his arms resting on his bent knees. ‘Just to see you, to talk to you.’

  ‘I must go inside. My father is ill, he needs me.’

  ‘I saw your brothers in Heptonstall. I thought that I could spend some time alone with you.’

  ‘No, Neville.’

  ‘You haven’t been back to the market.’

  Astonished, she stared at him. ‘You think I would return there after last time?’

  He frowned. ‘But you have to. You need to earn the money.’

  She shook her head and rose to her knees. ‘I have other ways of earning it.’

  ‘No! You’ll not whore yourself for him any longer!’ He lunged for her and they fell backwards, knocking the breath from her again. Neville lay on top of her and, grabbing her hands he held them above her head. His face was only inches from hers.

  ‘I don’t-’

  He cut her off by enveloping her mouth with his. His wet kisses swarmed over her face, hair and neck. ‘You’re mine, not his.’ He clenched her wrists in one hand and with the other ran it over her eyes down her neck and over her left breast. His breathing grew hot and rapid.

  ‘Neville, let me go!’ She squirmed, trying to wiggle out from under her him, but he pressed down harder, trapping her.

  His knee forced her legs apart and his intentions became horribly clear to her frenzied mind. ‘No, Neville. Let me go.’

  ‘I’ve waited too long,’ he gasped, licking her cheek, sucking the tender skin beneath her ear. ‘I’ve tried to be patient, me darling girl, you know I have.’

  His hand inched up her skirts and then she felt his fingers grabbing the waistband of her drawers, pulling them down. The cold air on her thighs stunned her. She bucked, doubling her efforts to free herself. She screamed again, high and clear, startling him out of his intensity of getting his way with her.

  ‘Quiet!’ His hand left her drawers and slammed onto her mouth. Her teeth bit her lips and the metallic taste of blood coated her tongue. ‘Lay still, Belle. I’ll not hurt you. In fact you’ll enjoy it, I promise.’

  Breathing in short spurts through her nose, she tensed as his hand ventured lower. He was fumbling with his trousers, cursing at his hurried, ineffective attempts when suddenly she raised her knee and in the same movement thrust him off her. Within the blink of an eye she was on top of him. The force of her push had taken him by surprise. He lay flat on his back and his eyes were wide in bewilderment.

  ‘You filthy bastard! How dare you touch me!’ Incensed, she smashed her fist into his face. Her knuckles met his nose and a sharp pain bolted from her hand up her arm.

  Neville howled with a mixture of pain and outrage. He slapped her cheek hard and threw her off. ‘You bitch!’

  Her head snapped back and she landed on her bottom. She had no time to think or react as Neville hit her again. His right fist caught her a glancing blow to the side of head at the same time she sprang for the doorway. Stars exploded before her eyes. Reeling, she put her hands up to ward him off as he punched her again. She fell back, her head banging against a timber post. Dry sobbing, retching, she crawled on her hands and knees, desperate to get away from him. She looked up. He was on his feet now, and her scream echoed around the barn as his boot came at great speed and landed with a teeth chattering thud in her side. The air whoosh out of her lungs and she cried out.

  ‘What the bloody hell is going on!’

  Dazed, Isabelle peered up at the doorway, clutching her side in agony. She couldn’t make out who stood there as the light was behind them, casting the face into shadows.

  ‘Get yerself away from me wife!’

  Farrell.

  The shock rendered her speechless, momentarily sh
utting out her pain. She heard Neville behind her, and closed her eyes waiting for the blow to come. Instead, Farrell lunged for Neville and the two men fell to the floor. Fists flayed, curses and grunts filled the dim barn.

  Isabelle scrambled to her feet, gasping at the pain in her side. Tears blurred her eyes and she felt more than saw her way to the door. The crunch of bone on bone jerked her back to the fighting men.

  Farrell knelt over Neville pummelling his face. A wild, desperate rage brightened Farrell’s eyes and this more than anything made her rush to pull him off the other man.

  ‘Stop it! Enough.’ She tore Farrell away and together they stumbled back, panting. Neville lay unmoving and Isabelle stared at him, horrified that Farrell had killed him.

  ‘He’s not dead.’ Her husband’s disinterested voice rang in her ears. Farrell looked around and spotting a bucket, he picked it up and went outside.

  Shaking, Isabelle stepped closer to Neville to check he breathed, fearful that he would suddenly spring up and grab her leg.

  Farrell entered the barn and lifting the bucket threw the icy contents of it over Neville’s face. Spluttering, gasping, Neville rose on one elbow and wiped the moisture from his rapidly swelling eyes. Blood streamed from his nose and he abruptly spat out a broken tooth.

  ‘Get out and don’t come back.’ Farrell advanced on him and gripped his arm, hauling him to his feet and propelling him to the door. ‘I don’t know who yer are an’ I don’t care, but if I see yer here again, I’ll have yer. Understand?’ With a thrust he sent Neville staggering out into the yard.

  Neville regained his balance and spun back to glare at Isabelle. ‘Don’t think I’m finished with you! I’ll be waiting.’ He looked at Farrell. ‘All I was doing was sampling a bit of what she gives Harrington for free!’

  Rage filled Isabelle. ‘Shut your mouth, Neville!’ She screamed, and ran for him, ready to tear his eyes out, but Farrell grabbed hold of her waist.

  ‘Get off me farm, yer scumbag!’ Farrell yelled.