by Amy Richie
Would he have found somewhere for us to sleep? Or would we have slept on the ground? Would I have been infatuated by him as I was Marcus, or would he have just annoyed me?
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was pretty confident that Edmund would in no way measure up to Marcus Letrell.
“What are you thinking about that has you so sad, Claudia?” Marcus asked.
“Nothing,” I denied, but quickly added, “the animal that you killed; I was thinking of that poor animal.”
His eyes narrowed immediately. “Nice try,” he teased.
“We women are not like you men,” I reminded him, “we don’t crave blood like you do.”
He stood up abruptly, but when he turned to me, his eyes were lit with amusement. “Some women crave blood.”
“Eww.”
“Are you finished?” He nodded toward my discarded meal.
“Yep.” I slapped my hands against my thighs and stood up. “It was actually not bad.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Maybe.” I smiled up at him, enjoying our easy banter.
He made quick work of the fire before turning back to me. “Miss Sinclair, would you care for a walk this morning?”
“Why, Mr. Letrell,” I brought my hand dramatically to my chest,” I would love to.”
He held his arm out so I could entwine my arm through his as if we were strolling through a garden.
“It is a lovely time of year, is it not?” he continued the charade.
“This is my favorite time of year,” I confided.
“When everything dies?”
“When the trees are all beautiful colors,” I corrected, “and the air turns crisp. It’s like I can finally breathe again after the heat of the summer.”
“At least this morning is not too chilly.”
“What’s your favorite time of year?”
“I enjoy the winter.”
“And all the snow?”
“Especially the snow. Everything about the world that is ugly is covered in a beautiful white blanket.”
“Won’t be long now.”
“Nope.” He recaptured his arm so he could move a large branch from our path.
“Do you need any help?”
“Who do you suggest will help?” he grunted.
“Me.” We both laughed.
It was nice to walk through the woods with Marcus. The terror from the night before was gone, replaced by a carefree laughter. I had never been so at ease with anyone else since I had been a child and still with my parents.
“I think I hear the water,” I announced a short while later. It was easy to make out the sound.
“I think you’re right,” Marcus happily agreed.
It didn’t take us long to reach the edge of the water. Marcus held a low branch aside so I could duck under it and then suddenly, there was the river.
It was much larger than I had expected it to be. Why had I never seen this place? How far out were we?
“I didn’t know there was a river beyond our woods,” I exclaimed.
“We are quite a ways out here. I doubt that you’ll come this far again.”
“I might,” I looked over at him, “now that I know it’s here.” When he still remained silent, I began to doubt myself that I would be able to venture this far. “I could ride.”
“You mustn’t think to come here alone,” he scolded.
“You could come with me,” I suggested hopefully.
He laughed and shook his head. “In two days, you’ll have a husband, I doubt if any husband would let his lovely wife go out alone with such a handsome young man.”
He turned to show me his strong profile. “And to think just yesterday you were an old man climbing an apple tree.”
He ducked his head playfully. “He wouldn’t let you come out here with an old man either.”
“We’ll be going to London anyways.” I looked out over the inviting landscape. I had never been anywhere like this before.
“You’ll like London,” Marcus assured me.
I scrunched my nose up at his words. “How do you know?” Maybe I wouldn’t like London at all. Maybe I would hate the crowded streets and the stuffy gossip filled afternoon teas. There wasn’t much about the city that I was looking forward to.
“How do you even know anything about it when you haven’t ever been there?” he asked.
“I used to have a friend called Savannah Borman. She lived not far from us. When she was twelve, they moved there.” I picked up a small rock and threw it as far as I could. It landed with a small plunk a short distance from where the river actually started. I heard his laugh. “Anyways,” I began walking closer to the water’s edge, “she doesn’t write to me anymore, but she used to.”
“She told you it was awful?”
I hesitated. “Not exactly, but I could read her hidden meaning.”
“Ah,” he nodded slowly.
“Can we sit here?” I pointed to a place near the water.
“Of course,” he smiled as I eagerly sat on the ground. He sat beside me more slowly. “So, which parts of the city are you looking forward to seeing?”
I narrowed my eyes in thought. “The gowns,” I answered easily, “and I would like to go to a show.”
“A show?”
“Yes! The ones where they sing and read lines.”
“Hmm,” he nodded.
“Have you ever been to a show?”
“I have been to a few.”
My eyes lit up. “Were there many fancy gowns there?”
“I didn’t pay much attention to the gowns,” he admitted.
I felt my face fall, but I shrugged, “I know there must have been; long beautiful gowns that I have never even seen. I imagine that those dresses feel wonderful against your skin.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I wouldn’t know.”
His expression made me laugh. “I hope not!”
“One day, you’ll have as many beautiful gowns as you can wear,” he predicted, “Your closet will be littered with color.”
“And Edmund will take me to see a show,” I joined his story telling.
“Has he already promised?”
I bit the inside of my lip. “I have never asked him to.”
“We have a house in London. If he won’t take you, I’ll make Sylvia take you.”
I was disappointed that he hadn‘t offered to take me himself, but I couldn’t tell him that. “Thank you,” I mumbled.
“It wouldn’t be proper for me to escort you.”
“I know,” I laughed. I pulled my boots off my feet and squished my bare toes into the mud.
“You should wash up,” he nodded toward the water. “I can give you some privacy.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have to go anywhere; I’ll just wash my face.”
He nodded. “Alright, you actually do need to wash your face. You have some mud here,” he touched a place under my eye, “and here,” on my chin, “and here.”
“Okay, okay,” I swatted his hand away. “I already know I am a filthy mess!”
I stood up and waded out a few feet into the river. I stopped when the water reached my knees. I didn’t want to remind Marcus of the cut on my leg, but I was hoping the water would clean it.
I scooped up the almost cold water and splashed some on my face. “It’s a bit cold,” I called to him.
“Don’t stay in too long,” he called back.
I splashed my face one more time and quickly rejoined him on the grass. “Brr,” I rubbed my arms briskly.
“The sun will warm you right up,” he winked.
I childishly buried my feet in the mud. “Hopefully soon.”
Chapter Ten
“I have to get you home soon, you know,” he warned with his best serious expression.
“You don’t have to.” I wiggled my bare toes deeper in the mud.
“Yes I do.” He turned his head to stare out into the distance. “I’m af
raid I’ve put you in too much danger already.”
“I would say you’ve saved me from danger.” I widened my eyes so that my eyebrows rose. “Three times now by my count.”
He rose his own eyebrows to match my expression. “We’ll see.”
I turned my face away so I could blush without him seeing. “I still say you can’t take me home yet.”
“Why is that?”
“Everyone will wonder where I have been.”
“They will, regardless of when you go back. The longer you’re gone the harder it will be to explain.”
“What will I tell them then? You seem to have all the answers. What will I tell my aunt and uncle when they ask me why I left my bed last night and didn’t return until the next day?”
“Well,” he smiled tightly, “you could say you went for a walk.”
“In my night clothes?”
“Yes, there is that,” he frowned. He put one finger on his chin as if he were deep in thought. “You could say you got lost in the woods.”
“Why did I go in the woods in the middle of the night?”
“You heard a noise.”
“I would never do that.”
“You did this time. Not a good decision, I might add.”
“Even if I did go out to investigate a mysterious noise in the woods, in my night clothes, and in the middle of the night,” he flinched back, “I have grown up here. I know these woods like the back of my hand.”
“It was dark?” I shook my head. He sighed, but was smiling. “We’ll have to think of something.”
I smiled wider and lay back on the ground; content to stay there all day–and all of the next day for that matter. If I was lucky, Marcus wouldn’t be able to think of a likely excuse and I’d have to stay out here forever: with him. It would be like a fairy story, and I could be the kidnapped princess.
“I’m so glad that you find this amusing,” he commented dryly.
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud. “I like it here, I feel so free.”
“You have to go back.”
I crinkled my nose. “So you’ve been saying.”
“Claudia, we are already running the risk of a forced matrimony from being out here for so long and so alone.”
“I am already going to be married.”
“What do you think your Edmund would say if he could see you now?”
I realized that I wasn’t in the best of possible circumstances. I had my bare feet squished in the mud by the river, my nightgown was dirty and torn at the hem, my hair hung wildly about my face, and I was with a man I had only met yesterday. But I wasn’t letting Marcus ruin my newfound freedom.
“He would understand,” I insisted with a small tilt of my chin.
“He most certainly would not.”
“He isn’t here.”
“Will you tell him where you have been today?”
I brought my arm up to cover my face. “No,” I said without looking at him.
“You mean you’ll keep it a secret?” he asked with feigned shock.
I smacked both hands against the ground and pushed myself up to look at Marcus. “All women have their secrets.”
“Do they, now?” He looked down at me.
“Yup,” I nodded my head solemnly.
“Tell me one of your secrets, Claudia. Tell me a story.”
I ducked my head at his request. “What kind of story? Nothing interesting has ever happened to me.”
“What’s your happiest memory–the one that makes you smile?”
I turned away from his questioning eyes. A happy memory? All the memories of my parents made me smile. I hadn’t thought about them this much in a long time, though.
“There was this one time,” I began softly.
“What happened?” he urged with a tilt of his head.
“We had pigs.” He made a face, but didn’t comment. “One of them had babies.” I took a deep breath as the memory of that day unfolded in my mind.
“It had stormed the day before; the rain hadn’t stopped coming down and everything was muddy. The storm broke down the fence and all the baby pigs escaped.”
I heard his light laughter beside me and I felt the upturn of my own lips in response. “My mother was beside herself with worry, so Father and I set out to catch all those little piggies.”
I was silent for a long while, content just to remember. I had ruined my best white shoes that day.
He laughed loudly; the sound startled me and I jumped where I sat. “It wasn’t that funny,” I grumbled.
“I can just imagine it now,” he chuckled, “a younger version of you covered entirely in mud.” He laughed again.
I shook my head, not allowing myself to laugh as loudly as he did. “What about you?”
“Nope,” he shook his head from side to side, “never chased a pig through a mud hole.”
“No,” I swatted his arm playfully, “tell me a story from your childhood.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My childhood was a long time ago,” he commented.
“You can’t be much older than I am.”
“You would be surprised to know how old I really am.”
“You can’t be more than,” I hesitated, not wanting to guess an age that was too high and offend him, “25?”
“Ah,” he raised both eyebrows, “Are you trying to pay me a compliment?”
“26,” I guessed again.
“No.”
I waited for him to tell me how old he was, but he didn’t elaborate. “Come on, tell me how old you are.”
“I am,” he pretended to count in his head, “a little over 1,000 years old.”
I covered my laugh with my hand. “Well then, I guess you are an old man.”
“I told you I was.”
“Come on,” I nudged his shoulder. “Tell me a story.”
He looked down at me, his eyes so ancient I almost believed he could be 1,000 years old. “Alright,” he sighed.
“I remember once,” he chuckled at a memory I couldn’t see, “my brother and I were trying to catch frogs.”
“Frogs?”
“Yes, frogs.” He grinned widely. “It was a race to see who could catch the most.”
“Who won?”
“I guess you could say it was a tie.” He looked over at me with laughter lighting his eyes. “Neither of us caught anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Not a single frog.”
I laughed out loud. “That’s not a very good story.”
“Have you ever tried to catch a frog? It’s not easy.”
“My father was the best frog catcher.” I giggled at the silliness of the word. “He caught them for me all the time.”
“Big frogs?”
“Only the biggest.” I raised my chin in pride.
“You weren’t afraid to hold onto them?”
“No,” I shook my head.
“You were quite a young lady, Miss Sinclair.” He playfully splashed water up at me. “Climbing trees and catching frogs?”
“I was very young,” I reminded him with a big smile, “you’re allowed to be whatever you want to be when you’re young.”
Sadness crept into the edges of his eyes, but he pushed it away quickly. “I suppose so.”
“Do you miss your brother? Are the two of you close?”
“I do miss him.”
He let the answer drop at that. “I don’t have any siblings, let alone a twin. I always wanted a sister.”
He managed to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I had sisters.”
“I thought you said you had five brothers.”
“I do now, but not when I was growing up.” His voice was as soft as I’d ever heard it, so I didn’t stop him so he could explain what he meant by that. “My parents and two sisters died, and then it was just me and Paris.”
“How did they die?” I asked softly.
“Fire.” His eyes tightened. I wondered what he saw
in his memory. What horrors had he lived through? “Paris joined up with the others first so,” he shrugged, “I did, too.”
“The others?”
“It seemed like a better idea than wondering alone.”
“And now you call them your brothers?”
“They are my brothers, Claudia. You don’t have to be blood related to be brothers.” His voice sounded so harsh.
“I guess not.”
“With the title of brother comes the responsibility of family. I may not always agree with the things they do–but they are still my brothers.”
Was he saying that for my benefit or his own?
“I sometimes don’t agree with all Aunt Dora says, but I still love her,” I offered weakly.
He seemed to come out of the past then and laughed at my statement. It was a slightly strangled sound, but it was a laugh. “That’s exactly what I mean.” He nudged me playfully. “What was the last thing you and your Aunt Dora disagreed on?”
He wasn’t really watching me when he asked, so I was sure he didn’t see the unease creep into my expression. I lowered my eyes. The last thing we had disagreed about was the only time I could remember when our minds clashed so obviously. It had been nearly a month ago now–when Edmund Harris proposed to me. I had not wanted to accept him. In fact, even now I wasn’t sure marrying Edmund was the best idea. But what could I do?
I looked up into a pair of deep blue eyes, radiating nothing but concern. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he spoke gently.
Chapter Eleven
I tucked my hair behind my ears before I could look up at him. “It’s okay,” I said, “I don’t mind.”
“You two argued about whether you should marry Edmund Harris or not?”
“Yeah,” I responded softly–no longer surprised that he knew exactly what I was thinking without my saying anything.
“Was it a bad fight?”
“I told her I didn’t love Edmund, but she thinks I will learn to love him.” I fidgeted self-consciously with the ripped hem of my nightgown. Why was I telling him such intimate things? What was wrong with me? I was sure that he couldn’t possibly care.
“Aunt Dora says that marriage doesn’t need love to work.” I recalled that Marcus had said the same things by the fire the night before. I didn’t agree with them, though. I had always secretly hoped that one day I would marry for love. It hadn’t seemed such a far off thing then.
