Touched by Fire

by Gwyneth Atlee

  Hannah felt the blood drain from her face. That meant she would go home so much sooner than she’d planned. To Hampton Falls, eight miles east of Shelton Creek.

  She went to the washstand and splashed cool water on her cheeks. The mirror showed two months had leached the shocking hues of her bruised face to faded browns and yellows. Still, Mrs. Brannon would doubtless argue that she wasn’t ready to be seen in public.

  True. She wasn’t ready, despite her careful planning, despite the necessary distance she had put between herself and the man she dearly loved. But she found her face less troubling than her fears. Fears of prison, pain, and death. Fears of her former husband, Malcolm.

  A single tear plopped into the washbasin, and she cursed it. Would she be forever nothing but a pathetic wreck, or would she take this risk?

  Now was her best chance. She’d never have a better excuse to travel to Sells County. It was as if God or the fates pushed for her return.

  How ironic, Hannah thought, that she would be going about another will. Despite her poverty, Hilda Blackard’s mattered little. The will she truly sought would be the key to her revenge.

  o0o

  Dear Daniel,

  Important family business takes me to Hampton Falls, Pennsylvania. I will not delay, dear, for my home is where you are, where all those are who know me as I truly am, yet still welcome me into their homes and lives.

  I feel so fortunate to have found you, to have survived that fiery cataclysm by your side. Your ceaseless love has seen me through the unbearable, the unthinkable, this winter. The gift of time you have allowed me has given me the strength to begin to heal myself.

  I know our separation has been costly. With all my heart, I am sorry you were hurt. I promise you, when we next meet, there will be no more delays. I will marry you, if you’ll still have me, in whatever place and style you wish. The wedding means less to me than the marriage, and especially your love.

  Daniel, I pray you’ll understand why I have left this letter. If you were to come with me, so close to Shelton Creek, I fear you would find Malcolm. Of all things I have borne, I could least abide your death or imprisonment on account of that vile man.

  I will return as soon as possible. Please, dear, wait for me.

  Hannah’s hands shook as she reread the letter. May God forgive her for the lies and half-truths, the implication that she, too, would stay as far as possible from Malcolm, that she truly intended to return. She added her love and signature, then blew across the ink until the paper dried.

  She had little time left for delay, if she were to deliver it as planned. Bess had told her Daniel and his family were visiting Uncle Phineas for the day.

  Bess had arranged a light sleigh for her use while her own family attended church services. Hannah had explained a bit about the inheritance to her friend and why it was important that Daniel not learn she was leaving on tomorrow’s early train until it was too late for him to come.

  “But Hannah, why don’t you leave me the letter? I could have it delivered to his cabin and save you the drive,” Bess had suggested.

  Hannah shook her head. “I want to do this, Bess. I want to feel wind on my face and have time to think. It’s a fine morning, and I love driving a sleigh. Please do this for me.”

  “Mother will be livid.” Bess smiled. “But then, she usually is.”

  Mrs. Brannon, though she liked John Aldman, hadn’t been prepared for Bess’s engagement to what she termed a “near-pauper.” She hadn’t spoken to her husband for two weeks after the betrothal was announced.

  Hannah bundled up in her heavy coats, scarves, thick gloves, and a blanket for her outing. With the letter tucked in an envelope inside a pocket, she went to the Brannon stable and found Bo harnessing a beautiful white horse.

  The slim, young man looked at her with disapproval etched on his coffee-brown features. “Miss Brannon said to hitch up Blizzard, but he’s mighty frisky. You want me to drive you?”

  “No, thank you. I can handle him. I’ll be back before dark.”

  “You sure you don’t want some help, Miss?”

  Hannah checked the harness carefully, and smoothed a strap that might have pinched the gelding. “I’ll be fine,” she promised. She climbed into the sleigh, arranged her scarves and blankets, and began the long glide over the snowy pathway.

  The cold air felt sharp inside her lungs, and her eyes stung with all the whiteness, so bright it made the horse’s clean hide look yellow-tinged. The Brannon mansion, near Marinette’s outskirts, soon receded as she rushed toward Peshtigo. She felt, like the horse, deliciously alive.

  A slight chuck of the reins encouraged Blizzard to a gallop. She laughed with the simple joys of speed and winter sunshine. As the horse’s hooves kicked up a spray of snow, it seemed possible she would succeed, and that someday she might live to become Daniel’s wife. Here, the risks of her journey to Sells County seemed inconsequential. She must overcome them, for her cause was just.

  o0o

  What in God’s name was that foolish woman doing, Deputy Lemaster asked himself. He couldn’t have been more surprised if Hannah sprouted wings. Though he knew she was unaware of the sheriff’s new plan and the fact that he was watching, Jean Lemaster still couldn’t believe a lone woman would drive a sleigh herself. Particularly, a woman as young and attractive as Miss Shelton. Now, besides watching out for her former husband, he’d have to ward her from errant groups of rowdy loggers or whatever scoundrels might roam the woods on a pretty Sunday afternoon.

  The former shanty boy scratched his jet-black curls and swore in his father’s French. Wishing in vain for a cup of Skinner’s coffee, he nudged his blue roan gelding to an easy lope and hung back, far enough to watch her without being seen.

  o0o

  Sensibly, Hannah checked the horse’s gait. With the frolics out of his system, Blizzard contented himself with a safe and steady trot.

  When Hannah passed through Peshtigo, she could scarcely believe the changes. From the ruin, a small town had emerged. New homes and businesses had sprung up like summer weeds. Smoke spiraled warmly from dozens of fireplaces. Snow blanketed scorched earth with clean, concealing whiteness. In the spring, that melting snow would give rise to new life. She imagined fresh, green grasses growing over the ashen waste, creating rich pasturelands for horses and cattle. In some ways, the autumn fires may have given area ranchers and dairymen a costly boon.

  In another hour, she arrived at the Aldmans’ farm. The cabin stood larger, lovelier than she had expected. Nearby stood a brand new barn, still a shell according to Daniel, but enough to get them started in the spring.

  A dog she didn’t recognize charged out of the barn door and started barking at her horse. Blizzard kicked once at the shaggy, brown-haired creature, then steadfastly ignored its outraged woofs.

  Hannah climbed out from the sleigh. The coyote-sized dog turned toward her and growled.

  “Hello.” Hannah spoke soothingly. “Are you Daniel’s friend? So am I.”

  Slowly, she reached toward it with a hand. The dog wagged its tail and approached her for a pat.

  “You’re quite a guard dog, aren’t you?”

  As if in answer, the dog flopped over on its back and wriggled in the snow.

  Hannah took a moment to rub his chest before she tied the horse.

  Afterward, she walked to the cabin, feeling a little like a thief. As she expected, the door had been left unlocked. She left it open long enough to light a lamp, then closed it.

  She looked around at the sparse furnishings. A simple table and several stools sat in the room’s center. A pair of deerskins lay not far in front of a fire’s glowing coals. Pieces of fabric had been hung to offer some privacy to the two brothers for their “bedrooms.” A ladder led into a loft where Amelia’s bed must be. Another skin was draped over the railing.

  The Aldman’s possessions were few, but neat. The cabin felt welcoming and snug against the freezing winter.

  Hannah reached inside
her coat to take out Daniel’s letter.

  With a bang, the door flew open. Silhouetted against the bright light was the figure of a huge man, an ax in his right hand. The man limped, just like Malcolm.

  Startled, Hannah shrieked and backed up two steps. She shoved the envelope into the pocket of her skirt to hide it.

  The man limped into the room and shut the door behind him. The lamplight lit his face.

  “Oh, dear God, Daniel, you scared me.”

  “What are you doing here?” There was no welcome in his voice.

  “I —I wanted to get out, so I had Bess get me a sleigh.”

  “Why would you come here when you thought I’d be gone?”

  “I started driving, and before I knew it, I was in Peshtigo. I thought I’d come to see the cabin. What happened to your leg?” She hated lying, hated even worse the suspicion in his words.

  “Slipped on the ice last evening. Thought I’d stay today and rest it, but I felt well enough to chop wood behind the barn. Then I heard Sam barking.” Daniel peeled off his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets, then removed his jacket and hung it from a peg. “You came to wait for me, didn’t you? You’re going to break it off for good.”

  “No! Oh, Daniel, never!” The cabin felt uncomfortably warm. She unwound a scarf and slipped off her own coat, then wondered at her vigorous denials. In a sense, wasn’t that exactly what she was she doing?

  “You wouldn’t even see me last week, and then you sneak out here all alone. What else, Hannah? What else?” As she hung her coat beside his, he grasped her wrist and spun her toward him.

  She jerked her arm away and rubbed it. “I have to leave now.” She didn’t want him to see the way her eyes had filled with tears.

  “No, Hannah. Please don’t. I never meant to frighten you. It’s just —you shouldn’t be driving in the snow yourself. I want you to be safe.” He reached toward her, but didn’t touch her. His huge hand, outstretched, trembled like a dried leaf in the wind.

  She stared at that hand, only inches from her shoulder. So tentative, afraid even to touch her. She slid her fingers through his, kissed each one. Stepped closer. “Nothing you could ever do would frighten me. I —I came to say how very sorry —”

  He bowed his head to interrupt her with his own kiss. Soft at first, and gentle, until she closed the narrow gap between them. Hannah felt tension draining from her, from both of them as their kiss deepened. A ripple of pleasure ignited beneath her belly and left her tingling to her lips.

  So hard, so hard to pull away, to remember she was leaving in the morning. Leaving, perhaps never to return to him again.

  His hands moved to frame her face, caressing. Then, at his swift mischief, she felt her hair slide loose to her waist. His lips brushed her ear, and she shivered with heat rather than the chill of early March.

  “I don’t ever want you to be sorry, Hannah,” Daniel whispered. “God knows you had reason to want some time alone. It’s just that after what he did to you, I was so afraid. So afraid you’d never want another man to touch you. When you pushed me away, I didn’t listen to your reasons. I kept thinking those were just excuses to be rid of me.”

  “It would save me a lot of time repinning my hair.” She toyed with the fringe of brown waves at his neck, then gave one curl a playful tug. This time, she sought his mouth for a second taste. Just one more kiss, before she told him. One more kiss, and she would stop.

  Then she felt his hands skim the contour of her waist, felt her body come alive beneath his touch. She knew she shouldn’t let him, yet she pretended not to notice as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of her bodice. Instead, she concentrated on the way his tongue flicked between her lips, how easily her mouth opened to accept it. When his kisses faded to her neck, her knees buckled with unexpected weakness.

  Daniel scooped her into his arms, then laid her on the hides before the fire. He paused to rekindle the flame and put on another log, then turned to gaze at her.

  “I could make you wish you hadn’t come here.” He sat beside her, moved only inches from her face. “You look so beautiful, your skin all pink with the cold. Yet you feel so warm and sweet. If I kiss you again, I don’t know how I’ll ever stop myself.”

  Beautiful. She might call him that as well, with his masculine, broad features, the firelight reflected from his deep brown eyes. If she went through with her plan, she might never see his face again. Might never feel his touch. Could she take that risk? Could she not leave him, too, with this at least?

  With a delicate shrug, she let the bodice of her dress fall open. He didn’t hesitate, but kissed her with increasing passion, leaning closer as she unbuttoned his shirt.

  She did what she had wanted for so long and ran her fingers through the thick tangle that grew across his chest. She tugged at the buckle of his belt and smiled at his gasp.

  “I think I’d like to see you in the firelight,” she whispered.

  He slipped off the shirt, then removed his boots and made a pile of his jeans. Nude, he lay beside her, with all his want exposed before her eyes.

  Hannah let him help her follow his example until she lay naked beside him, naked only inches from his touch.

  She knew what he was thinking, recognized the pulse of anger in his eyes as he gazed over faded bruises and the scars from Malcolm’s teeth. She saw sorrow as well, with the memory of her pain.

  “Are you certain?” he asked as his fingertips grazed her cheek.

  “More certain than I’ve been of anything.” She leaned forward to kiss him, amazed how starved she felt for the taste of his strong mouth.

  He parted her lips without effort, deepening the kiss, then broke off to brush his lips along the hollow just above her collarbone. His hand cupped her breast as gently as he might hold a baby bird.

  Shivers sparked inside her as his thumb and forefinger gently squeezed its tip. Then, she gasped as his lips found her and enveloped her, surrounding her with warmth and want.

  He stopped what he was doing to look into her eyes. “I don’t care what the preacher says. From this moment, I consider you my wife.” His mouth took her once more.

  She lay back, her eyes closing, not caring about tomorrow’s separation, not caring about anything except that he continue. His fingertips caressed her thighs, then moved to stroke the source of moisture deep between them. She moved against him rhythmically, nearly weeping with a need as sharp as pain.

  Grasping his upper arm, she positioned him above her, heard him groan with his desire. But first he looked into her face and kissed her softly. “Do you want this, Hannah? Do you truly want me, too?”

  She stared into his eyes and saw the love there and the depth of his concern. She knew that he would stop if she but asked. Instead, she grasped him tightly, then pulled him onto her, inside. They both moaned with the long-awaited contact; both cried out each other’s names.

  She gave herself up to the power of an ageless cadence. Their bodies moved together, driven by all that they had been through, all they dared to hope. Soon there was nothing but their motion, obscuring all else in her mind. No past, no tomorrow, only the movement and the pleasure, the moist warmth . . .

  Nothing else. Not Hannah, and not Daniel. Something greater came together as they moved. Something glowing, something blinding, something too intense to be contained by flesh.

  She barely recognized her own cry. Barely knew Daniel’s as it followed, one split-second later. He lowered himself beside her, his hair drenched in sweat, his dark eyes staring at her as if she were his universe.

  “Hannah.” Her own name, breathed in firelight, sounded like a prayer. “I love you.”

  She wanted to say how much she loved him, too, but sorrow withered the words like flowers touched by frost. She still meant to leave him, to leave without good-bye. Would he ever understand, much less forgive her, for making love with him today?

  “What’s wrong?” He must have seen some inkling in her features.

  She wanted to e
xplain it, but the truth caught in her throat. Instead, she forced her face into a smiling facade. “What could be wrong, Daniel? Whatever could be wrong?”

  Inside, her heart ached that even now, she had to lie.

  He pulled away from her, looking ill-at-ease.

  Hannah felt sick, imagining he was thinking of the rape, blaming himself for pushing her too soon to intimacy. She opened her mouth to reassure him and then closed it, not knowing what to say.

  Outside, the dog began to bark. When Hannah strained her ears, she could hear the distant sounds of hoof beats.

  Daniel groaned. “Damn it. Let me take a look.”

  He strode naked to the cabin’s single window and peeked out past a muslin shade. “John and Amelia. Of all the . . .”

  Roused by their approach, Hannah grabbed her clothing and fled behind the nearest cloth divider. Though she couldn’t see Daniel, she heard him fumbling, no doubt to do the same.

  “Locks,” he complained. “When we build our house, we’ll have a bedroom with five locks. Hannah, I want to talk about this, later.”

  Within a few scant moments, the door hinges squealed and Amanda’s voice piped like a bird’s. “Papa! I got sick, right inside the church, too. Is Bess here, or is Hannah? We saw the sleigh outside.”

  “Hannah’s here. She’s — she’s resting. You know she hasn’t been well, so she had to take a little nap after she drove here.”

  Hannah smiled at his excuse as she slid into her dress. She gave her hair a practiced twist, but it stubbornly refused to reform in a chignon.

  “I want to see her!” Amelia whined.

  Ten locks, Hannah decided. They’d need ten locks on their bedroom door. She wanted to see Amelia too, but not now.

  She decided to give up on repinning her hair. Instead, she hastily finger-combed her hair and left it loose.

  Perhaps this interruption was all for the best. She wasn’t certain she could have lied to Daniel one more time. Glancing toward the bed, she decided to hide the letter now before she lost her chance. After withdrawing it from her skirt’s pocket, she slid it inside the bottom of the pillowcase she’d embroidered herself.