by Sophia James
All at once she wanted to be anywhere but sitting in the forest beneath Essea’s contemplative gaze, feeling her innards twist with pain both physical and emotional that she longed to escape. There could be no running from it while not alone and with an effort Sophia got to her feet.
‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll return to the cottage now.’
‘Of course.’ Essea rose likewise and stood tall and alert, as at home amid the rustling leaves as Sophia would have been in a parlour. If two women had ever been more different it would be hard to imagine, although the unhappiness of both tied them together somehow as Sophia caught her mother-in-law’s sleeve.
‘I’d thank you not to tell Fell about this. It might grieve him to think he had caused me pain, when in truth his friendship has been the most wonderful gift I’ve received in all my life.’
Another secret I shouldn’t have shared, she thought grimly as she saw a complex expression flit through Ma’s ebony eyes.
But somehow she didn’t seem to have enough energy now to care. All she wanted was to be left in peace with her heartache and to come to terms with the fact Fell was out of her reach for ever, so close and yet so far, and untouchable all the same. With her soul in tatters and her head bowed with the weight of suffering, Sophia turned blindly away—so she didn’t see the confusion in Essea’s face as the Roma woman watched her go.
* * *
Fell saw Sophia enter the yard through the small forge window, pausing with hammer raised and sweat glowing on his forehead. Usually he would cuff it away, but this time he had no attention to spare for anything other than the sight of his wife, her pretty blue gown and burnished hair a match made in heaven for his appreciative eyes.
Now’s the moment. I resolved as much and I can’t break my word even if it’s only to myself.
He’d done as Ma had asked and nobody could say he hadn’t. Ever since she’d come to find him at the clamp with her worries and questions Fell hadn’t been able to think of anything other than the feelings for his wife he burned to tell her, considering them over and over at his mother’s request. If she’d hoped he would come to a different conclusion, however, she would be disappointed—all his thinking had done was convince him the time had come to confess all to his unlikely love and pray she might reward his boldness with more than a kiss.
She knows everything about me now. There’s nothing left to hide behind since I told her the inner workings of my mind and the insecurities I’d tried to outrun for so long. I can only hope she accepts me despite them all.
The intriguing hint Ma had let slip about his father shouldn’t matter a jot. Whatever had happened between them was in the past and nothing that could be applied to Fell’s own situation. The temptation to tell Sophia of his discovery had gnawed at him ceaselessly, but he had fought it back; talk of his father could wait until he’d had the chance to speak of his own heart. Depending on Sophia’s reaction, she might even be able to help him convince Ma to give in and tell the full story once and for all.
The thought of his mother caused Fell’s lips to twist as he crossed to the forge’s open door and ducked beneath the low frame. Frustration at both her timing and refusal to elaborate further curled inside him like a snake, irritation he couldn’t quite escape. She knew how much Sophia meant to him; why had she felt the need to intervene and so damnably vaguely it raised more questions than it answered?
Sophia had drawn closer to the cottage and Fell stood on the forge step and watched her approach with admiration. Her posture was a thing of beauty, each footstep light and quick with the grace of a dancer now her leg was entirely healed. In that moment he could have blessed providence for making her take the injury so close to his home—any other forest and he wouldn’t have been the one to find her, missing out on hopes of a love returned that he cherished so close to his heart.
Courage, man. This moment has been a long time coming. Failure to speak now is not an option.
She was still too good for him. That much would never change. But surely they had found a link between them that couldn’t be denied, a trust built on a solid foundation so different to the sand upon which his love for Charity had teetered. He must be right this time: Sophia could see past his shame and all he lacked and spy the man inside, a man who offered his soul up to her and would hear her reply.
Beneath his singed shirt his heartbeat began to increase its tempo until he could feel its thrum right down to his toes. Each pace Sophia took in his direction, her face downturned and Letty trotting at her heels, strengthened his resolve and helped him gather all his mettle to call out.
‘Back from your walk, I see. Did you happen to almost fall beneath a tree again this time?’
He smiled, sure Sophia’s own lips would lift at his dangerous jest. She was learning to laugh at herself now she didn’t take all teasing as proof of her flaws and that laugh was one he loved above all others.
But her mouth curved the wrong way, downwards instead of up, and with a vicious pang of one skipped beat Fell saw everything had changed.
She paled at the sound of his voice and in the fleeting glance she threw towards the forge he caught something he didn’t recognise dulling the green shine of her eyes, a sight that skewered him with pain that took his breath away. There was no trace of the light or humour he had come to expect in her expression—only a blank void utterly lacking in anything approaching warmth.
He couldn’t help a backwards step, knocked off balance by surprise and agonising dismay. What had happened to her ready smile and the rosy flush of her cheeks? She looked drawn and unhappy and continued into the cottage without a word, for all the world as if she’d rather he hadn’t seen her at all.
He continued to stare at the cottage’s green front door long after it had closed behind her. Now concealed behind thick walls she was out of his grasp physically, but the power of that one long look showed that wasn’t the only way in which she was untouchable.
I don’t understand. What did I do?
The desire to leave the forge and stride after her squeezed him in its grip, but his legs seemed to have turned to stone. There was nothing he could do but linger in the doorway and watch as his dreams came tumbling down around him and he realised the extent to which he had been a fool for a woman—yet again.
I should have seen it before. To have let myself be so blinded by the longing for peace at long last!
Of course Sophia now regretted the sweet words she’d whispered in the seclusion of their bed. What woman wouldn’t curse herself for having humbled herself for a half-Roma blacksmith, and a bastard at that, even if her kindness had been born of pity for his sorry confession? Sophia had been more gentle than Charity, at least, but still in the end it seemed she had decided his affections were something she could do without.
Hardly seeing where he stepped, Fell stumbled back inside and braced himself on the scarred surface of his bench. It was the same one Sophia had sat at the night she’d come to the forge with a proposal he had never expected, neither one of them foreseeing the outcome of their bargain. Pain so sharp it felt like a knife in the gut pierced Fell at the memory of Sophia’s moonlit face, frightened but determined and already more appealing to him than he should have allowed. She’d managed to sway him from his doubts with her kisses and had led him by the hand towards his own destruction, unaware she did so, but condemning him all the same.
And so now I love her, just as I did Charity, and just as before I have no hope of my feelings being returned.
Why had he ever thought differently? He had nothing to offer any woman and certainly not one like Sophia. She was above him in every single, solitary way and he deserved the punishment of heartbreak for getting ideas above his station. Ma had been right to warn him off and he hadn’t wanted to listen; now he would pay the price and had no one to blame but himself.
He couldn’t take it a moment longer. To be so
close to Sophia, knowing she was inside his cottage and yet far beyond his reach was too much to bear when he could no longer touch her, a torture he couldn’t endure for one more second. Even screwing his eyes shut did nothing to shield him: she was imprinted beneath his eyelids, standing with the sun on her hair and bright skirt stirring in the breeze, a laugh on her lips that made his soul sing each time he heard it. She was everywhere and nowhere all at once and in desperation Fell tore the apron from his chest.
‘I need to get out. I must escape this torment.’
Lash stood up from his post at the door as Fell passed him, the dog falling into step with his master as he left the forge and crossed the muddy yard. Together they turned up the lane into Woodford, Fell only pausing for a moment as he saw Ma emerge from Savernake Forest with her basket slung over her arm and unease clouding her tawny face.
I’ve no wish to hear any more of her worries for me now. Not when it turned out she was right all along.
He threw out his chest and carried on walking. The look in her eyes was too like the one she’d worn two evenings previously, when her honesty had brought his dreams crashing down around his ears and left him unable to so much as glance at his wife now for fear she might see his weakness. All he wanted was to escape those thoughts and so he called over his shoulder without giving his mother a chance to speak.
‘I’m going to the tavern. I’ll be back this afternoon.’
Ma’s mouth opened to call after him, but Fell was already gone, moving blindly into the village and not breaking his stride until the Red Lion hove into view and he plunged through the door as though the tavern could offer him salvation.
The landlord looked him up and down as he entered, but Fell’s money was apparently as good as anyone else’s and it didn’t take long for a full mug of ale to slop across the bar in his direction. Fell seized it like a lifeline and made for one of the sticky benches, taking a deep pull on his drink to level the foam and wending his way past the men already on their fourth tankard of the day despite the sun not yet sitting high above the thatched roofs. One or two of them glanced at him, but for the most part nobody paid any mind to the blacksmith who dropped heavily into a corner and cradled his drink between battered hands.
Lash had followed him inside and now sat near Fell’s worn boots, wearing an expression of solemn sympathy, ears twitching forward at his master’s bitter laugh.
‘Never have to tell you when something’s the matter, do I? You can read it in my face.’
He patted the dog’s warm head and took another sip, hardly tasting it with all his attention diverted elsewhere. It might take a couple of tankards to find relief, but find it he would, he swore harshly to himself—anything to help drive away the thoughts of Sophia that had chased him from the forge and pursued him into the village, still circling now despite the ale slipping smoothly down his throat. The Red Lion ought to be a sanctuary from the wife he now sought to avoid both in body and soul; even if she wished to see him—which she had made abundantly clear she did not—she would never set foot in such a low establishment, frequented as it was by the hard drinkers of Woodford whose language would make her blush. Usually he wouldn’t enter either, but all of a sudden the company of men just as desolate as himself had found some curious appeal.
No sooner had he settled to the serious business of solitary suffering, however, than it was interrupted and by one of the last people would have Fell chosen to see.
Turner set his tankard down hard on Fell’s bench, spilling its dregs across the grimy wood. The farmer didn’t seem to notice, however, as he treated Fell to an unpleasant grin and sat down opposite without so much as a word of invitation.
‘Barden. Not often we see you in here. Everything well at home?’
With his back to the small, dirty window, Turner’s profile was lit proudly by the sun struggling through the panes, his recently flattened nose lending it an unusual shape Fell considered for a moment before he replied. The farmer was an irritation he could have done without while bitter agony clamped a hand around his throat; but rising to the implied sneer might mean a barring from the landlord before Fell had sunk enough ale to put Sophia from his mind and that he couldn’t have. The question couldn’t have come at a worse time, all Fell’s hopes for the happiness of his home dashed to pieces upon the floor.
‘Well enough.’
If Turner caught the warning note, he didn’t show it. Instead his ugly smile widened and he leaned forward, hands dangling between his knees and watery eyes holding such gleeful malice Fell was suddenly on his guard.
‘Glad to hear it. It makes me very happy to know there’s no trouble between you and your lady wife. You must be fond of her, I imagine.’
He watched Fell take another mouthful, his spiteful gaze never leaving his face. For his part Fell took his time in swallowing, thinking quickly where Turner could be going with his line of enquiry. It was the most civilised conversation they’d ever had, aside from the undercurrent of malevolence, and he didn’t trust it one bit.
If only you knew, Turner, you would laugh yourself into an early grave and consider it worthwhile. Besotted would be more the word—if I thought you knew what that meant. If you knew the pain inside me now, it would be like all your Christmases come at once.
‘Of course.’
‘Yes. Yes, I could tell you cared from the unfortunately short meeting I had with her that day in your forge. Do you recall?’
Fell inclined his head. Beside him Lash stirred restlessly, eyeing the farmer with distrust that could all too easily descend into flying teeth.
‘I certainly do. You gave me this gift to remember it by.’ Turner pointed to his nose. For a moment his grin flickered, but he hitched it back into place. ‘But no hard feelings, Barden. I think eventually the best man won.’
Laying a steadying hand on Lash’s neck, Fell said nothing. This was Turner as he’d never seen him before, almost cunning in a low kind of way, and it aroused his suspicions no end. Still, there was nothing the man could actually do for all his strangely passive nastiness, surely, and Fell tried to brush off the discomforting feeling of being baited. Perhaps Turner was merely drunk—it wouldn’t be the first time Fell had seen it and would no doubt not be the last.
Turner patted at his pockets. ‘I seem to have forgotten my watch. Do you have the time?’
Fell grunted. Couldn’t the man just leave? The longer he stayed the more Fell could feel his temper fraying at the edges, misery and shame building within him like a storm. ‘A little after eleven.’
‘Is that right? I should be leaving.’ Turner got to his feet, Lash tensing a little as the man swayed slightly too closely. ‘I’m to meet with a cousin of mine at half-past. I can’t be late.’
Fell didn’t reply, only watching the farmer with growing unease that mixed with the despair already in residence. There was still something he couldn’t quite put his finger on; some triumph in Turner’s face that Fell didn’t understand. It made no sense, yet he couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling, instinctive caution making his muscles tense without his command.
Straightening his hat, Turner flashed Fell the grin again, this time compounding its hideousness with a sly wink. He put his hand into his pocket and brought out a coin, dropping it on to Fell’s bench with a conspiratorial nod.
‘Here, have another on me. You should sit and enjoy yourself while you can—you never know when happiness might end. I’d make the most of it if I were you.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The kettle whistled shrilly on the hob, its piping voice breaking Sophia’s blank stare into the hearth where yesterday’s ashes lay as grey and lifeless as her heart. Nausea still gnawed at her and she closed her eyes briefly to force it back as she rose slowly from the kitchen bench and lifted the kettle from the heat. A cup of tea would do nothing to heal the ravaged hollow inside her chest, but it might help tamp down the s
ickness in her belly that wouldn’t leave her alone, its persistence an aggravation she could have done without.
As if I needed anything else to lower my spirits. I don’t know when they’ve ever been more laid out in the dust.
She gave the tea leaves a poke, sighing at the sudden sound of a knock at the front door. Essea would open it, hopefully. Sophia was in no mood for company or for dredging up a smile for whoever waited on the step, although she knew the guest wouldn’t be calling for her. Most likely they would be wanting Fell for smithing or help with a horse, but they’d be out of luck in either case.
Ma had mentioned he’d gone out to the tavern—in order to avoid me, no doubt—and wouldn’t return until the afternoon. It was only half past eleven now, a glance at the clock on the mantel showed, and surely her husband had no reason to hurry home again.
The telltale creak of floorboards signalled Essea had answered Sophia’s plea and she turned her attention back to the kettle. Perhaps a little honey in her tea might settle her stomach, something in its sweetness cutting through the bile that crept up each time she swallowed. There was some in the larder, or had been last time she’d looked, and she was about to look again when raised voices made her pause.
‘I tell you, there’s nobody here by that name. You may not come in!’
‘Stand aside, mistress, or you’ll soon wish you had.’
‘I will not. You can’t—’
There came the sound of scuffling, then a sharp breath of something so close to pain it sent Sophia flying to see what could be happening outside in the hall—but she only took two steps before a figure appeared in the doorway and for one agonising instant her heart ceased to beat.
‘Miss Thruxton. So I’ve found you at last.’
