‘It will be better for you to come to my chambers.You will need careful tending afterwards. I can arrange that for you. I have taken a house for such a purpose.’
‘How soon can you do it?’
‘Tomorrow, if you wish.’
George was silent for full two minutes. The surgeon did not press him. Finally he said clearly, ‘Very well. It is time.’
‘Come in the morning when the light is good.’
Chapter 14
Quinta had made gooseberry cheese with elderflower cordial and honey and she served it on pastry circles that she cut out with the rim of one of her mother’s valued wine glasses.
Patrick leaned back in her father’s old chair, the one she had once offered to Farmer Bilton, and smiled at her. He looked so very handsome in the twilight. His teeth and light eyes contrasted starkly with his sun-darkened skin. She wondered if he took his shirt off in the afternoon heat and guessed that he did as it was hardly soiled. His back must have been sorely scratched by the bundles of reeds and brambles he carried away from the pond.
‘I should show you the gun before the light goes completely. Do you still want me to?’
‘I do.’ In fact, Quinta looked forward to brandishing it at Farmer Bilton. It would surely stop him coming over here and bothering her. Patrick stood up and went to the cowshed, returning to the front door with his rifle. She wondered where he had hidden it for she had looked in there since his father had left and could not see it. She had even moved old straw and tools but still could not find it.
‘Come outside,’ he said, ‘and get used to the weight first.’
She did and almost dropped it, it was so heavy. The barrel was so long it tipped forward, hitting the front step.
‘Careful! Try and stand the butt on the ground. If you hide it near to hand, all you need to do is lift it up, step outside and pull the trigger. Like this.’ He showed her the movement, making it look so easy, and then added,‘Keep it pointing towards the sky. Here, you have a go.’
Her eyes widened. It had seemed a good idea this morning. Now she wasn’t so sure.
‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘It’s not loaded. A shot at this hour would surely bring the gamekeeper round.’
She heaved the cumbersome weapon upwards and placed her finger on the trigger nervously. It clicked harmlessly and she practised several times until she was used to the way it moved.
‘I’ll load it in the morning and leave it in the house when I go to the pond. Remember, if you have to fire it, point it in the air. Oh, and the noise will be very loud and frightening.’
‘Well, that’s the idea, isn’t it?’
‘For Farmer Bilton, not for you,’ he said seriously. ‘I’ll come as fast as I can if I hear it.’
He was a man of his word and she trusted him. ‘Thank you. Will you stay and talk awhile tonight?’ She thought he might, but he hesitated.
‘I want to be up at first light. There is much to do.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Quinta was aware of disappointment but she understood for she was weary herself. She said, ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Yes. Good night then.’ He made no move to leave.
Eventually she responded: ‘Good night, Patrick.’ She did not stir either. The gun was heavy in her hands but she hardly noticed it as she stared at him silently for what seemed like an age.
He gazed back at her but in the gathering gloom she could not see his expression and she wondered if he wanted to stay with her as much as she wanted him to. Then he stretched out a hand towards her and said, ‘I’ll take the gun with me, shall I?’
She lifted the heavy weapon off the ground. He took it from her and said, ‘Bolt and bar the door and you’ll be quite safe tonight.’
As he said it, she realised that she wanted Patrick inside with her. In the house with her, close to her. She felt secure when he was near and it was nothing to do with the gun or Farmer Bilton. It was everything to do with Patrick himself and she could not totally comprehend it, for she had once been quite fearful about his presence.
He turned and walked away with a resolute stride, holding the gun under his arm. She watched him disappear into the cowshed without a backward glance. She stayed outside telling herself she needed the air. She imagined him settling down for the night.
He had made their humble lodging neat and tidy, if not exactly comfortable. He slept on a blanket on the stone flags in one of the cleaned out, wood-lined cow stalls that her father had built. He had banked up old straw to give warmth and comfort for his father, but he had to wash in a bucket of cold water from the stream and cook over an outdoor fire.
She stood outside the kitchen for a long time in the gathering gloom, until eventually she accepted that the cowshed door was firmly shut for the night. How could she sleep now? When her need for him was so acute? She wanted him to come back to her, be beside her, near enough to touch, not across the yard in the cowshed. As she went indoors and locked and bolted the door, she imagined him rolled in his blanket and fast asleep.
Patrick had been shaken by the landlord’s attack on Quinta. Seeing her being attacked by that ogre had made him realise how much he had come to care for her. She was strong and intelligent, but she was vulnerable to a selfish brute like Bilton, who believed he had an absolute right to treat his tenants as he pleased. He remembered landlords like that in Ireland, often Englishmen, who cared only for their profits and nothing for the people trying to scratch a living off their land.
He wanted to look after her, not just through this harvest but for ever. Perhaps his travels were truly over and Top Field was destined to be his future? It was a future he welcomed, but, he admitted, only because Quinta was part of it. For even if he could not save the tenancy for them, he would not be able to walk away from Top Field at the end of the summer unless Quinta came with him. She meant too much to him. As he tossed and turned in his blanket, he realised what his father had seen so clearly but he had not. Until now.
He was attracted to Quinta more than he had been to any woman before; in a way that surprised him. It was not just a physical appeal. He recognised that feeling well enough and knew how easily it was satisfied. But with Quinta it was more. His emotions towards her ran deeper.
Oh, he wanted to bed her, he had no doubt about that, and had acknowledged that from the first time he set eyes on her. But this feeling that had taken him over was more. Was this the love his father spoke of? The passion his father had felt for his mother? He relived the moment when he had clasped her to his body, wanting above anything to protect her from the coarse pawing of her landlord. Her womanly form in his arms had felt so right. This is where he wanted to be. This is where he wanted to stay.
Should he tell her now? He wished his father were here to advise him. He half rose to go outside and see if a candle still burned in the cottage kitchen. But after her ordeal today, a knock at the door in the dead of night would alarm her further and he did not want that. He lay awake, gazing at the vestiges of moonlight pushing through the gaps in the wooden window shutters.
For weeks he thought she had shunned him as a traveller. He wondered what had changed her mind. Her mother’s approval, of course, yet he became uneasy that even now she might not return his affection. But tonight, surely, as they had faced each other in the twilight, she had felt the same desire as he? An urge to be together, to touch, to kiss and - and to love.
The kitchen fire burned low. Quinta leaned over it to light a splint for her candle stub. The cottage was so quiet without her mother. She climbed the stairs to the bedchamber slowly and stood by the window staring at the cowshed outlined by moonlight. She was wide awake. Was Patrick asleep already? She thought so. After showing her the gun he had retreated quickly to his bed. He had toiled hard in the fields and must be tired out and anxious for his rest.
He did it all for them, she thought, for their smallholding, for their future; hers and her mother’s. But what of his own future, she wondered? What did he want for himself? S
he had thought he wished to move on, to find steady work in town, near to the Dispensary for his father. She had thought she wished him to leave, too. But now she realised that she did not. It seemed to her that he belonged here.
She wanted him with her, kissing her, loving her. It did not matter that he was a traveller, her heart yearned to beat with his. How could she go to sleep with this longing for him to hold her to his chest as he had done earlier?
The chamber was hot, stiflingly so, as it was situated over the kitchen. The heat was welcome in winter, but not tonight, when Quinta’s heart was racing and her head was feverish with this new-found desire. She placed her candle on the window ledge and wrestled with the catch to open it and let in some cool night air. But the wood was old and warped and she could not budge it. Hastily she unbuttoned her gown and unlaced her corset, letting them fall to the floor. She shook her chemise free and it fell away from her skin. She wet her hands in the basin on her washstand, spread the cooling water over her face and neck, and wandered back to the window to pick up her candle and place it by the bed. Then she retrieved her gown and as she straightened she saw him.
The moonlight lit up his form. He was standing outside the cowshed shed, still fully clothed, watching the cottage. He must have seen her. She pressed her hands to the glass and he started forward. She did not move as he continued to walk towards the kitchen door. He stopped a few yards away and continued to stare at her.
She did not think about what she did. She just knew instinctively that she must act. That it was meant to be. She turned and hurried downstairs, crossing the flagged floor to remove the bar, undo the bolts and turn the heavy key in its lock. When she swung open the door he was standing there, waiting, and she held out her hands to his.
‘I love you, Quinta.’
‘I love you, too.’
‘I want you to be mine.’
She gave a small tug on his hands and he needed no more invitation than that. He stepped over the threshold and kicked the door shut behind him and wrapped himself around her to kiss her deeply, passionately and lovingly.
Through her chemise she felt the coarseness of his waistcoat. The leather of his boots, chilled by the night air, brushed her shins. His roughened hands roamed her back. And lower, grasping the flesh of her rear, pressing her to him and it was the most wonderful feeling she had ever known.
His mouth moved from hers to her neck and she breathed, ‘I want you to be with me for ever.’
He kissed her hair and murmured, ‘Then I shall.’
She took one of his hands from her rear and turned towards the stairs, drawing him after her. He needed no more encouragement and they were soon in the bedchamber, staring silently at each other. The candle stub spluttered and died and they stood in the darkness. Deftly, Quinta slid her fingers under the buttons of his waistcoat, releasing them one by one and peeling it away from his chest. Suddenly he took over, hastily discarding his boots and trousers himself.
She unlaced her boots, rolled down her stockings and stepped out of her drawers. As she climbed into the bed in her chemise, her anticipation was feverish and when she saw that he had removed all his clothes, she was a little fearful of what was to happen. He walked round the bed through a shaft of moonlight and the sight of his finely muscled body caused an unfamiliar yearning in the very core of her being.
Her desire for him was so strong that, when his naked body slid into the bed beside her, she hardly knew what to do next. He lay on his back and turned his head so his lips brushed her cheek. She felt his growth of beard rasp at her skin and welcomed it. She held her breath, her body alive with anticipation. Then her instincts took over. This was something she did not need to be taught. This was love and her hands moved to caress his body as though it was the most natural thing in the world to her. For to her, at that moment, it was.
He inhaled sharply and shivered as she explored every angle and plane of his form. Now that he was so close to her and his skin was touching hers, his desire flared and he wanted to devour and ravish her without a further word. But her tender exploration and her obvious innocence of the depth of passion aroused by her gentle fingers melted his heart. He loved her so much that he hardly dared respond for fear of overwhelming her with his strength, of hurting her in his eagerness to love her. She must be ready for him, to yearn for their physical union as much as he did.
Tentatively, he moved his hand to stroke her breasts, the softness of her flesh contrasting sharply with the firmness of her nipples. He resisted a strong temptation to kiss and toy with them. Her hands stilled their search of his own desire and he heard her breathe in quickly. He moved to her belly, circling the small firm mound with a single finger. He felt her whole body shudder and heard a soft groan from her throat. Her legs became restless as his fingers continued their slow movements over her body.
She was aware of being helpless, of lying on her back with her hands grasping at the air, of knowing that this strong and handsome man was using the lightest of touches to reduce her to a writhing passion. She was striving, urging her body to attain an unassailable summit, as yet unknown and far beyond her reach. Her breath came out in noisy bursts, groans of ecstasy and ache in equal measure as she climbed. Do not leave me here alone, Patrick! Help me, my love. Help me . . .
When? When? He had not enough experience to know, only that his control was ebbing with each passing second. His love for her consumed him and he wanted to seal that love with a union so magnificent that she would remember it for ever. He loved her too much to let her down in this most intimate of pleasures. Her breathing subsided to shorter snatches at the air; her groans became brief, stifled, whimpering cries. Her back was arched, her knees were raised and he could wait no longer.
The time for gentleness was over and, swiftly, he rolled on top of her, finding her source of ardour quickly and pushing forcibly into her softness. He could not tell whether her brief cry was one of pain or pleasure, only that he might have hurt her, and he stilled himself. As he did he relished the wonder of her tight flesh around his. Then, oh joy of joys, she began a rhythmic movement of her own, of hips, back and forth, rising to meet him, as he increased his thrusting.
His eyes closed in wonder and he prayed that he would last, for he could no longer control himself. He tried to slow, but to no avail. She would not let him. She urged him on with flexions of her own strong back. He opened his eyes to see her beautiful face, eyes and mouth wide open as her body rose to his in one last push that she held, arched and rigid as she cried out. A second later he was overtaken by a rapture of his own, an exquisite release of passion that was all the sweeter for being with her. He loved her. She returned his love. She would be his wife and bear his children and he worshipped her.
Her head and legs fell back on to the bed, sweating in the warm airless chamber. He lay heavily on top of her and she could feel his flesh pulsing inside her. It was the most wonderful feeling and she wanted him to stay there, joined with her, her man, her love, her life. He seemed to have no inclination to move and they lay entwined in silence as they cooled, spent and exhausted. She must have slept, for the next thing she knew there was a hint of dawn light in the sky through the window. He had not shifted. One of her arms was numb and his thick dark hair tickled her cheek. She turned to kiss his head through its springy softness and he stirred, groaned and rolled off her on to his back.
‘My Quinta,’ he murmured sleepily. ‘My woman.’
She smiled adoringly at him. Her arm tingled as its use returned. His Quinta. His woman. How wonderful that sounded! She was his. She was his woman. Truly a woman now. She had grown last night. Yes, she had fallen in love with him, but she was aware of something more, of an awakening she could never have dreamed of. He was her lover and she was his love, too. Soon she would be a wife and then - she caught her breath - perhaps a mother? She would have children, Patrick’s children. Lots of them. She wanted that. She drifted off to sleep again with this vision in her head.
When sh
e woke she was aware of a hairpin scratching at her scalp. She had not unpinned her hair last night, or worn a nightcap over it. She must look a dreadful sight. She turned to look at Patrick and he was smiling at her, resting his chin on his hands. She snuggled closer, drawing a murmur of delight from his throat, and felt his desire for her harden against her flesh. Her eyes widened in surprise and his smile broadened.
‘I am your slave,’ he murmured. ‘You have captivated me with your womanly powers. How shall I ever do any work when we are married?’
‘How indeed?’ She rolled away from him and out of bed. ‘I must light the fire.’ She picked up her corset and added, ‘Look away while I dress.’
‘I shall not. But if you do not make haste I shall insist you come back to bed.’
‘You will go out into the fields and labour, sir,’ she answered good-humouredly as she washed in cold water from the ewer. He did not try and hide his burgeoning need for her and she wondered if he would always want her in the morning as well as at night. She stepped into her drawers and gown, realising she was exceedingly pleased that he wanted her so. She was a little sore and aching from his attentions but she looked forward to more. She sat on the wooden ottoman and pulled on her stockings.
‘You won’t sleep in the cowshed again, will you?’ she asked.
A fire leaped into his eyes that seem to burn right through her and he shook his head slowly.
She pushed her feet into her boots and quickly tightened the laces. ‘Good,’ she said and thought: How will I get through the hours until tonight?
The fire was drawing well when he came downstairs. He came over to the fireplace and kissed her fully on the mouth. Her sooty hands waved helplessly in the air as his mouth lingered on hers and their tongues entwined briefly. She rubbed her reddened cheek with the back of her hand. His chin bristles were worse than last night.
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