“Jesse... ” He couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. He bent down over her hand once more, kissed it fervently. He stood beside her bed for a moment, watching as her eyes fell closed. Then he turned quietly and left her.
He stood before her husband in silence. Adam gestured toward the door.
“Get out of here.” But there was no threat. Alec took one last look at the peaceful sleeping girl and left them.
Adam went back to his wife at once. He touched the fragile hand lying on the quilt and found it cold. He tucked it in and spread another afghan over the bed, but was still not satisfied. Slowly, gently, he wrapped the covers around her and lifted her in his arms. He carried her to the old rocking chair in the living room and sat with her on his lap. She murmured once, then curled in against him. Between his warmth and that of the fire, she’d be safe.
He bent his dark head over her bright one and rocked her back to sleep. Dear God, don’t let there be any more. Let this be the end. Let us deal with this pain and help her recover. Let all of us who know defend her against her fears. Make her well. Make her happy. Keep her warm. Protect her.
Brian watched from the doorway and gave his twin a look full of hope. The big man had had a long, secret talk with Daniel. He knew the woodsman blamed himself for telling Alec, though he’d only given his friend the same clue he’d given everyone else long ago. Brian guessed that there was much more Daniel hadn’t told, but he’d asked for no details, knowing he’d receive none. What his brother knew about Jesse would go to his grave with him. The only person he might confide in was Annie. And Annie can no more hurt anyone than she can fly. I trust them both.
Daniel’s mighty lucky to have her.
Chapter 36
It had become a tradition for the Griffiths to gather at the dairy farm on the one day Owen closed his shop, and Daniel had fallen into the habit of spending Sundays with them. Annie had a cold and was content to curl up on the sofa by the fire with her head on his shoulder. As Evelyn brought her a tisane and peppermint drops, Daniel teased her. “Spoiled rotten, aren’t you?”
Her elfin grin answered him.
“You leave her alone,” Evelyn demanded. “She deserves a little spoiling now and again.”
“Thank you,” Annie said.
“It’s the least I can do.” Evelyn gave her a wink. “After all, you’ll be taking him off our hands soon. Might as well be spoiled now, before the misery begins!”
Daniel laughed at his sister’s retreating back, then bent to kiss Annie’s forehead.
“Soon?” he asked, playing with the ring on her finger.
“Daniel...”
“All right, aroon. I just thought I’d ask.”
“I love you, Daniel,” she whispered.
“I know, my love. And I can wait as long as I have to. But Annie...” He looked deeply into her pale eyes. “I want you.”
She murmured, “I know,” and hid her face against him.
When she’d spoken to her father about marriage, Annie had been satisfied with his answer, but as time went on, she found there was a gap between what her father had said and what she needed to know. She loved Daniel. She loved his kisses, his embrace, the way his fingers played in her hair. The way his deep gruff voice sounded in her ear. The way he pulled her close against him, making no secret of his desire. She loved him, and the fluttering in her heart, in her belly, told her she wanted him, too. But she needed to know what he’d do to her and she was too shy to ask him.
She’d spoken to Evelyn, who rhapsodized about her husband for a full fifteen minutes. Annie was glad that her sister-in-law was so content in her marriage, but the response had included nothing in the way of fact and she was as unsure as ever. She spoke to her father again, who told her not to worry and repeated that Daniel would be gentle. But how will he be gentle? How will he touch me? How will he know if he hurts me? As he took his leave of her that evening, Annie found herself clinging to him. She wanted so much from him, and realized for the first time that she was afraid.
She was trembling when their kiss ended and she whispered his name.
“I love you, Annie,” he murmured, the rough voice low and soft. He took her face between his hands. “I love you, aroon. And I’ll wait.” She sank against his chest, felt his fingers playing in her hair again. “I won't rush you, sweetheart. I know it’s a big step. I want you to be sure.” He brushed his lips against hers once more. “Good night, aroon,” he said. “Take care of yourself.”
“Good night,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
He kissed her one more time. “Thank you, sweetheart. For loving me.”
ANNIE’S COLD WASN’T serious and within days she was feeling fine. But the rain still came, fine and soft, and confinement to the cottage was making her jumpy. Owen was busy filling orders, but there were few customers in the shop for her to wait on.
She woke one morning with the urge to bake. In contrast to the big, airy kitchen at her brother’s dairy farm, her own kitchen was set in a tiny alcove at the back of the cottage, between the back door and the stairs to the loft. Its single window faced north and it would have been dreary but for the cheerful yellow curtains, and the shining copper pans hung from the ceiling.
The floor space was largely taken up by a table and two chairs, so Annie had to plan each step carefully. She made the dough for two loaves of bread and put them on the windowsill to rise, then decided to make some pies. When the first one came out of the oven, she put the second in and kneaded the bread again. As she placed the bread back on the windowsill, she caught a glimpse of Tommy returning to the house next door. She called out to him and was answered by a broad smile. On impulse, she grabbed her cloak and the warm pie and ran out into the misty rain. Tommy was holding the door open for her when she got there.
“Whaddya doin’ out in the rain?” he demanded.
“Bringing you a pie!”
He took it from her, sniffed at the aroma of apples, cinnamon and nutmeg, let out a long sigh as he headed for the kitchen. “You know where t’ hang your coat,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m gettin’ me a knife!”
She hung her cloak on a peg in the hall and followed him through to the kitchen. He’d already put two plates on the table. As she entered, he asked, “Coffee or milk?”
“Milk,” she decided. “Gotta keep my brother in business!”
He laughed with her and handed her a fork, then brought two large glasses of milk to the table. He sat down and cut a quarter of the pie, put it on a plate and offered it to her.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’ll have about a third of that.”
“Don't like your own cookin’, hey?” the smith teased, as he cut her a piece that was just slightly smaller. Without waiting for her answer, he dug in.
“Oh, Annie,” he sighed, “you are some wonderful cook!” He finished his piece quickly and eyed the remaining slices. “Think I might have another,” he said in an undertone.
“The cook would be flattered.”
He helped himself to another quarter. When he finished it, he patted his stomach while he eyed the remaining piece. “Guess I really should save some for Alec.”
“Guess you really should,” she echoed with a twinkle in her eye. “But you could finish this piece.”
“Annie, you’re a wonderful girl. I dunno why Dan’l ain’t married you yet!”
Her blush was just fading when he finished the pie. He studied her face closely.
“I say somethin’ wrong?”
“No. It’s just...”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No,” she said. “Yes.” She blushed again, then turned away. “I don’t know.”
A moment later he was standing at her side, helping her to her feet. “He done somethin’ t’ hurt you?”
“Oh, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s just... I just...”
“You jus’ don't know what you’re gettin’ inta. Is that it?”
She nodded, looked up at him
quickly before she turned her face away once more.
“Let’s go inside an’ set down,” he suggested. She followed without protest. He leaned back in an armchair and patted the hassock at his knee.
She sat, giving him a shy smile. Tommy was more to her than a friend, more than a favorite uncle. His wife, Elena, had taken the place of the mother she’d barely known, and Annie regarded Tommy as a second father.
“Annie, if you’re scared, it’s only natural. Girl,” he said, reaching for her hand, “don’t be ashamed. Don’t ever be ashamed o’ your feelin’s. You’re entitled t’ be scared. Jus’ like you’re entitled t’ be in love with ’im.”
The brightness of her cheeks faded to rose; she blinked back the tears that threatened. Tommy settled into his chair and gazed into the fireplace.
“Women,” he said, “are a lot differnt from men. A man does a lotta things by instinct, sorta by the seat o’ his pants. But a woman likes t’ plan things out, likes t’ know what’s happenin’ every step o’ the way. A woman likes t’ know what she’s gonna get at the end o’ the recipe. A man don’t always care, long as it’s somethin’ he can eat.
“But, Annie, life’s not always gonna run accordin’ t’ plan. An’ love—well, love’s hardly ever what you plan it t’ be. Man has an advantage then, ’cause he can be satisfied with what happens, long as ’e knows ’e’s loved. But a woman wants certain things, an’ sometimes, if they don’t happen jus’ so, she’s afraid it ain’t really love after all.
“Now, you could ask me what’s goin’ t’ happen b’tween you an’ Dan’l. You could ask me how Dan’l’s gonna love you, but there’s jus’ no way for me t’ know. Every man’s differnt. Every man’s got his own way o’ talkin’, o’ walkin’, o’ makin’ love. An’ there’s no one who can tell you what that’s goin’ t’ be. In fact, ’til he does it for the first time, a man don’t rightly know hisself.
“The most important thing for you t’ remember is you don’t hafta let him do anythin’ you don’t want ’im to. A man has no right t’ hurt a woman. Not her body, an’ not her feelin’s. If he does anythin’ you don’t like, you jus’ tell him t’ stop.
“An’, Annie, he will stop if you ask him to. I know he will.” He leaned toward her again. “You unnerstand me?”
“Yes. Tommy...”
“Ump-umm. You have any trouble with thet boy, you jus’ lemme know an’ I’ll beat the livin’ hell outa him!”
“You won't have to,” she said softly. “He’d never hurt me.”
“I know it, an’ you know it. You do. Now all you hafta do is let yourself trust ’im.”
Chapter 37
The weather cleared on Friday and a warm breeze dried the puddles and left the world sparkling. Early Sunday morning, Annie packed a picnic lunch and waited impatiently at the farmhouse for Daniel.
She didn’t care where they went. “Just someplace pretty,” she said. He took the basket and her hand, and they cut across the farm and fields, heading toward the foothills. They walked in silence, but her hand closed tightly on his from time to time and she was supremely content.
They climbed a little hill and at the top of it, he brought them to a stop.
“Oh!” she gasped. Two steps into the field brimming with wildflowers, she sank to her knees. “Ohhh,” she sighed, looking out across the open meadow. It stretched out and down before her for several acres, a whole valley full of flowers, white and gold and purple and red and pink. Her arms reached out as if she could embrace it all.
“Ohhh. How beautiful!” she breathed. “Oh, Daniel, thank you! I... oh, how I needed this!” She stretched herself out, buried her face in the flowers and sighed again.
When she rolled over, his face was right there. She reached for him, locked her arms around his neck and gazed into his dark blue eyes. And there in the warm soft sun of spring, in this field of flowers nodding gently in the breeze, she felt her fears disperse.
She met his kiss with lips that hungered for him. He pulled her close against him and cradled her head in his hands. She reached for his shoulders, then ran her fingers down his back. He pressed her closer and she sighed, then sought his lips again.
“Aroon.” His voice was deeper, rougher than she’d ever heard it. “I want to see you.”
In a moment, she lay naked among the flowers, and the sun and his warm hands were touching her where she’d never been touched before. She knew she’d helped him with the buttons, the laces, yet she felt no shame.
His lips followed his hands now and her breath caught in her throat. She felt herself straining toward him, reaching for his hair, losing her fingers in its softness. He raised his head, looked down at her, and slowly pulled himself away.
“Aroon,” he whispered, his voice ragged with passion. “Annie, stop me. Before it’s too late.”
She gazed up at him through hooded lids and saw the sunlight glinting on the copper-colored hairs showing between the laces of his shirt. She’d wanted for so long to touch them, to see if they were as warm and soft as they appeared. She lifted her hand, tangled her fingers in the laces, brushed them over his chest.
As he moaned, his head tilted back. She could read his desire in the corded muscles of his neck, the labored heaving of his chest. She slipped her other hand up inside his shirt and watched in awe as he surrendered to his need of her. With one smooth motion, he stripped the shirt off and threw it aside, bent to take her face in both his hands. His mouth claimed hers and she felt the longing deep within him. The copper-colored hairs brushed against her and she wrapped her arms around him. She heard his soft moan as he slid her body in beneath his. Her blood took fire from his. He whispered brokenly into her ear.
Love you... want you... need you... want you... Then with a knowledge as ancient as her bloodlines, she shifted under him, listened as his words descended into moans, and knew she echoed every one.
Chapter 38
Annie woke in the shade of the pines, her head pillowed by his shirt. Her dress had been buttoned, but her feet were still bare. She heard the stream babbling close by. There are some who’d say I should be ashamed. But I love him and I know now I can be happy being his wife.
Her lips twitched as she thought of the pain she’d been prepared for and realized that, for others, it might have seemed arduous. But she’d known pain that could bring her to her knees, so swiftly and violently would it strike. Pain that was unremitting for hours or days, that could make her moan through her unconsciousness. It was that pain she’d anticipated. And hadn't found.
She was half asleep again when she felt his hand in her hair. She looked up at him, his deep blue eyes, his mustache, his wide shoulders, and the soft covering of copper-colored hair she loved. She reached for him, found herself cradled in his arms like a baby. With his face in her hair, he whispered her name.
“Aroon, forgive me.”
“Arrah,” she answered, “I love you.”
He thought his heart would burst. He couldn’t catch his breath. It was his word, his language, not hers. Arrah. Beloved. He pulled her close, held her tightly, felt the joy that stung his eyelids. And breathed again into her ear, “I love you, Annie. I love you so much. Marry me, aroon. I need you.”
He sought her lips, a long and tender kiss, then she answered, “Yes.”
“Tell me when.” It was a demand, a plea. He brushed her hair back. “Tell me, aroon. Please.”
“Beltaine." An ancient day, a rite of spring and of fertility. A day when all the world wore green. A day for lovers. A day just ten little days away.
“I love you. Oh, Annie, you are the most beautiful thing in this whole world.” She’ll be mine forever. I will never let her go.
When he looked down at her again, the little smile was still there. She bit her lower lip and reached up for his scarf, tugged at the knot. He groaned in protest, but he couldn’t stop her. He’d seen her, all of her, and wouldn’t deny her the same right.
He looked away, out across the field, and whe
n the scarf slipped off, he closed his eyes.
“Aroon,” he whispered. A delicate touch on the depressed scar, and he groaned again. A single finger stroked it, round and round. “Annie, don’t.”
Arrah, does it hurt you?
Yes.
Tell me.
It’s so ugly.
No, my love. It is beautiful.
No. No, how can it be?
You were afraid.
Yes.
So very much afraid.
Yes.
And yet so brave. Such a brave little boy.
Aroon, no.
Yes. My brave little boy. So silent, so stoic. So brave. It is the badge of your courage. It is beautiful.
Aroon.
Her lips touched it softly and his heart surrendered to her. “I love you, Annie. I am yours forever.”
“No,” she whispered, pulling his lips close to hers. “We are one forever.” The warmth, the sweetness, the purity of her settled in him. And slowly, gently, tenderly, he gave her all the love he had.
Chapter 39
They spent the rest of the day there in the field, laughing and playing like children. At some point they ate, but he couldn’t have said when or what. Afterward, she jumped up and ran from him. He chased her, marveling at her supple grace, encouraged by the teasing look she threw back over her shoulder. When he caught her, he tumbled her over and over again in the flowers, and her hair came free and tangled round him, a silken web against his face, arms, chest.
She looked down at him, saw the fire in his eyes. She came to him again then, her body warm and willing. He swore his love to her forever, pledged his life in defense of hers, and vowed upon his soul that anyone who touched her would die by his hand. Startled by the vehemence of his words, she looked deep into his eyes, found the memory that still haunted him, the rage that still smoldered. And accepted his pledge. She’d impose no limits, no restrictions, but trust in him, in the beauty of his nature and his deep love of all that lived.
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