She sighed and gripped the cloak ever tighter. Nay, there had been a few times she’d thought she’d seen a spark of desire in his eyes, but it disappeared too quickly for her to detect what true emotions lived there. The house grew closer with each step, as did the sensations she’d struggled to stamp from her mind. The soft touch of his calloused hand on her cheek, the way his lips folded against hers—how he’d shared with her the pleasurable, sacred secrets of husband and wife. She had never known such passion could exist, or that it could feel like heaven.
Anna reached the stoop and stared at the latch as the wind pulled harder at her cloak. If only she had kept the emotions within, not allowing them to spill from her mouth in a moment of vulnerability. Though her heart whispered of love, she refused to grant such feelings residence. Not when her husband had such a visible distaste for the word. Thinking would lead to feeling, and feeling would lead to speaking—and speaking such a word would only lead to more pain. Never could she allow it to take root in her spirit. Not until he did.
Gripping the latch, she pushed the door open and pulled it shut against the driving wind.
William straightened from his crouched position by the fire. “Where have you been?”
“Just returning from the Watson’s.” She entered and rested the basket on the table before going to the fire to check on a stew she’d started before leaving for Eliza’s. Stirring, she continued. “And I must leave once more, but I shall not be long.”
She stood and turned to find William resting against the table, his arms crossed.
His eyebrows lifted. “You should have told me where you were going, Anna.” Was that worry she detected in his voice? Hope fluttered behind her stays.
“’Twas only to Eliza’s. You were busy and I—”
His hard expression stopped her words and he cast his gaze to the basket. Nay, not worry but frustration. She cleared her throat to prove the realization didn’t pain her. “The…the weather is too foul for Eliza and the baby to venture out in. I offered to deliver supper to her husband this evening. I do not see how that can be so wrong.”
“The sun will be setting soon.”
“Aye, ’tis true, which is why I must hurry.” The scent of the stew, which at most times would have made her stomach yearn to be filled, instead forced a hand to her mouth as she turned away from the fire. She inhaled a quivering breath, struggling to choke away the bile that inched up her throat.
“Anna?” William stepped near, helping her rise.
“I am well, ’tis only my belly that seems distressed of late.” She stood, both hands on the table, still taking slow breaths to calm the quell of discomfort. “It shall pass in a moment.”
He paused, motionless, but for the gradual descent of his brow before it crumpled between his eyes. “I am right to believe I heard you cast up your accounts this morning, am I not?”
She shot up, meeting his piercing gaze. He had heard? She’d hoped to have been discreet. Looking away, she bit her lip, unable to answer with words. The flutter of worry that bore in her muscles since the first she felt strangely ill days ago urged her to nestle her head against his chest, while the promise of a comforting embrace beckoned in the center of his warm blue eyes.
He closed the space between them, resting a hand at the small of her back. “You are unwell. I cannot allow you to go out in this storm, no matter how benevolent your purpose.”
“Please, William, I must do what I—”
“Nay, Anna. My word is final.” His scowl deepened. “’Tis too much of a risk. I’m sorry.”
Indignation wound its way up her back, edging out the spinning in her belly. “You leave me home alone nearly every day for hours on end while you make your deliveries and do who knows not what for the cause. I cannot see how this is much different.”
“It is different because you are ill.”
“I am not that ill—”
“It is different because you are a woman—”
“My sex makes me less capable?”
He sighed with a tilt of his head. “You misunderstand me. You are a woman with a price on her head. Or do you no longer fear the reach of your father’s hand?”
“It has been weeks, William, weeks!” She strained to keep her voice even and void of the dissonant chords that swirled within her. “I would be foolish indeed to believe my father would cease his search for me, but are we to remain prisoners forever?”
“Anna.” William stepped away and rolled his shoulders to their broadest. “I cannot have you venturing into town or going on errands unless I accompany you. We have discussed this before. I promised I would protect you and I will, but you must do as I say. You will not go tonight. That is final.”
Ghostly memories choked the air in her lungs and she turned back to the fire. Do as I say. Edwin had spoken those very words time and time again until she feared they would be inscribed on her very flesh. Her stomach roiled and she breathed through her mouth to keep back the hurt. “William,” she spoke toward the fire. “Eliza cannot bring Thomas his supper before the meeting tonight without risking the health of the child. This weather is far too cold. I offered to deliver the basket, and I will.”
Turning, she lifted her eyes and met his gaze, emboldened by the bite of freedom that gave nourishment to her spirit, which until coming to America, had been chronically weak.
His eyes rounded. “You will defy the word of your husband?”
Rounding the table, Anna snatched the basket. “I will return within the hour.”
She left just as the winter rains began to fall.
~~~
The rain and cold winds mirrored the mood Paul carried within. Marching into Sandwich, he stepped through the widening puddles instead of rounding them as waves of heat undulated through his chest. Four weeks of recovery in Plymouth and two on a mad hunt for Donaldson that had produced nothing, only to be back in this God-forsaken hamlet. Six weeks wasted!
Walking through the driving rain seemed to flood the shallow memories to the forefront of his brain. ’Twas almost as if Donaldson had known who it was he shot, for the ball had grazed to the bone and infection had left him at the mercy of an idiot doctor and unable to move for near a month.
He’d told the sordid tale to the sheriff that night—a peaceful traveler, attacked and nearly killed by a stranger in the wood as evidenced by the weeping hole in his flesh. He’d implored the man for a hunting party to begin and insisted an immediate pursuit of the assailant was imperative, but his pleas were ignored. Paul growled at the biting recollection. Apparently the knowledge of a dangerous stranger meant little to a town filled with simple-minded Whigs. The heavy drops splashed Paul’s cheeks and trailed down his neck, all but steaming from the anger that burned through his skin.
“I have little time for such things,” the sheriff had said. “You are not dead, therefore I cannot expend my energies on something that might have happened. But if you are determined to find this man, the best I can do is direct you to someone who also seeks a man that matches the description of your attacker.”
The rain descended in sheets now, but Paul made no attempt to find cover as he once again replayed the words in his mind. “There is a gentleman in search of his daughter taken by a tall, muscular blonde. The gentleman left town several weeks past, but he cannot be far. He gave me his name and how to discover him should I find her or any information that would aid in his search.”
Paul had polished this promising intelligence, following the trail of this Warren Fox from Providence to Plymouth and here again. Crumbs of knowledge but nothing to satiate his hunger for revenge. Donaldson slipped ever farther from his grasp, but Paul’s determination multiplied by thousands with every sunrise. He refused to believe his enemy would forever elude him. Not if this Warren could be found. For though the description the sheriff gave was vague indeed, Donaldson matched the look, and desperate as he was, Paul could not ignore the possibility. Somehow, in the depths of him, Paul believed that in this
Warren Fox, his answers would be found.
The rain suddenly fell as if God himself had tipped the very skies on end. What few shoppers remained on the quiet road now scurried to the nearest shops, papers or cloaks shielding their heads as a downpour deluged the streets. Paul continued on, the weight of the rain dragging at both his greatcoat and his spirit.
A hurried footstep from behind made him turn and he stepped aside as another townswoman raced for the shelter of the shops, clutching a basket with one hand and clinging to the hood of her cloak with the other.
That face…He squinted, needing little more than a second before his memory splayed open.
“Miss!” he called, jogging toward her across the road. “Miss Whitehead.”
She looked behind but continued on until she’d reached the protection of the roof in front of the print shop.
“Miss Whitehead!”
“Sir?” She paused, her hand on the door handle, lips pulled in a tight line.
Either the question in her raised brow was a ruse, or she was more a simpleton than he thought.
He bowed slightly. “Miss Whitehead, I fear you do not remember me.”
Her mouth dropped open with a quiet gasp. “Forgive me, I—”
“Please.” He patted the air, a small smile pasted to his lips. So she had forgotten. He calmed the sudden spike in frustration at the sight of her with a slow deep inhale, keeping every other emotion but friendly concern from the edges of his grin. “’Tis I who must seek your forgiveness. I had not heard from you and began to worry for your safety. How selfish of me to ask you to venture out on your own in search of a man you had never met. I do hope you are well.” He stopped, rethinking the forthcoming statement, but it slipped from his tongue before he could chew on it longer. “Finding you here is quite a surprise.”
Quite a surprise indeed.
~~~
Anna’s teeth locked tight. What was this man doing here? Why was he not in uniform? Had he worried over her to such an extent that he came in search of her? She stared, scrambling to find an excuse to escape the forthcoming conversation without answering the pointed questions, but his pleading eyes stabbed through the bewildered exterior she flung to her defense.
“Sir, I thank you for your concern.” She gestured to the door. “I am well, I assure you. But if you will excuse me, I really must be—”
“Of course, I do not wish to detain you.” His smile warmed, melting the prick of ice in his eyes. “But, pray tell me, did you make it to Providence? Have you any word regarding Captain Martin and the man who knew him?”
Samuel.
The rain that before had only chilled her skin now seeped deeper, and the tears that had burned her eyes as she’d stormed from the house now pricked like needles of a hundred buried hurts. Her departed brother she had risked everything for, the search for answers, all but abandoned. She swallowed and looked up at the man before her. Patience hovered in his pale blue eyes. A memory flashed and suddenly the rich blue of William’s gaze arrested her—and the way he’d commanded her as if she were a mere possession, something to be used instead of treasured. Was that his true estimation of her? An admonition whispered from the clouds that lined the sky. He wishes only to protect, nothing more. Her throat ached and her gaze dropped like the rain that continued to cry from the heavens. Did he?
“Miss?” The man’s tender petition lifted her face and he continued. “I hope no ill has befallen you.”
She opened her mouth to answer when a hand from an unseen being clamped around her lips. Do not tell anyone of me. William’s warning blared in her ears and echoed in her heart. But why not tell this man what had brought her to this place? He deserved an explanation, did he not?
“Aye, forgive me. I am well.” She straightened, stepping from the grasp that imprisoned her words. “I had made it nearly half way when the driver of my carriage tried to force me away with him.” A shiver trailed down her back and she snapped her mouth closed. Could this man now be in service of her father? His reaches were like ever-growing vines, forever snaking about to strangle her. If she told more, her identity might be known…
His shoulders pulled back. “How did you escape him?”
“I…” Again, she tried to speak, but the words crowded in her throat as if God refused them utterance. She glanced toward the road as an inky shadow crept like smoke through her spirit. Do not tell anyone of me.
Her breath quickened and the unease that billowed refused to be abated by the unwavering kindness in his eyes. Pulling the basket closer to her middle, she cleared her throat. “A family found me—rescued me in fact—and insisted I join them here. Since I had no other family, I was grateful to them, and accepted their offer.” Not entirely untrue. The Watson’s and Smith’s had welcomed her, and in a way, had insisted she stay, had they not?
“Is that so?” His chin raised slightly as one eyebrow swooped low. “You no longer wish to discover what happened to Captain Martin?”
Anna swallowed and licked her lips. “I shall always wish to find that truth.”
“Then you would still wish to find the man who knew him?”
She squirmed in her stays. “Certainly. But I fear there is little chance of that now.”
“I have not given up hope.” His mouth quirked before he straightened once more and relaxed his stance as if he’d changed his line of thought. “I must say…I mean, I don’t know if you’ve heard. There is a woman who has been kidnapped—forced away from her father by a man of devious character.”
Dear Lord…
Anna’s blood slowed and her knees threatened to buckle. “Oh?” Her voice wobbled, but she prayed he saw only the mock surprise she plastered to her expression.
He shifted his feet with a shrug. “Have you heard of this? I ask only because I should like to assist her father in bringing the woman to safety. As now I am on assignment away from the army, it gives me pleasure to help others as so many have done for me.”
“How kind of you.” The sounds that emerged were thin and flat. She remained frozen, her limbs so cold she could not find the strength to move them.
An easy smile etched across his face. “I shall be in town for a few days. If you hear of anything, would you be so kind as to send word?”
Anna’s strength continued to drain in waves. Her voice no longer worked at all. She nodded, struggling to force a smile at her lips.
He bowed low but his vision remained trained upon her. “I wish you good day.”
As he turned and strode back into the downpour, Anna’s spirit surged to life. She leaned back to rest her shoulders against the wood and closed her eyes. Foolish, foolish girl.
If only she had listened to William. She could only pray this encounter wouldn’t pull the thread that dangled between them, threatening to unravel the life they had built. If William knew what had happened he would surely never allow her to leave the house unaccompanied again. Worse, the admission would prove her foolishness and she couldn’t bear such a weight. ’Twas enough to admit within she had done wrong. No need to explain or worry her husband further.
With a heavy breath, she whirled and entered the printshop, fully knowing she could never keep such a thing within.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
William gripped the side of the building near where he crouched, squinting against the rain that flicked his face. A keg of rage ignited as he captured the image before him. From across the street he could discern Anna’s profile—and that of Paul Stockton’s.
William’s shoulders cramped. This could not possibly be mere chance. He rose from his haunches and whirled back, pressing against the side of the building. How long had Paul been in town? Had they known each other before or was this their first encounter?
Deep in the far corridors of his mind the whispering call of wisdom beckoned. You know her better than to believe she would betray you. She knows not even who you are.
He shook his head to disperse the seductive thought. Nay, never again would he be u
sed by a woman. Not when his very life and the lives of his friends were at risk of being party to the scheme. It would mean death for all of them. Paul would see to that.
Careful to keep well hidden, William peered around the corner and his pulse erupted like a volley of infantry fire. Both Paul and Anna had gone. The street was empty. Doubt collided with fear. What if Paul had taken her in those few moments he’d turned away?
Ignoring the driving need for stealth, William hurled from cover and dashed toward the spot where they had stood, the very sinew in his limbs pulsing hatred. He prayed with every stride his enemy would slink from the shadows, that Paul would show himself so this game could finally be ended. But he halted when Anna emerged from Thomas’s print shop.
He stood in the center of the road, puddles at his feet and rain drenching his clothes, while confusion and hurt drenched his spirit.
Anna clutched her cloak at her neck and bolted into the rain then stopped when she saw him, her mouth open and eyes wide. “William.” The large drops plunked on her red-cold cheeks.
He stared, fists round, struggling to calm the turbulent sea of emotion before he formed a reply. “Did you think I would let you come alone?”
She wriggled and looked away before answering. “I suppose I did. ’Twas wrong of me, forgive me.”
Humility laced her voice as a sheen of relief veiled her expression. What had happened? He expected the same indignant woman that had stormed from the house, but the droop of her shoulders and the peek of her lips read of distress more than deception.
He coiled his scorn around the foolishness she pursued in place of his wisdom, but the thin cords gripped as well as rope around a hill of sand. The recollection of his behavior smacked at his pride while his ever-growing affections for the woman with whom he shared a bed urged him to cease the construction of the redoubt between them. William ground his teeth. Could it be possible her seeming rendezvous was nothing more than an accidental meeting?
So Rare a Gift (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 3) Page 26