Someone neared and strained her fingers from their grasp on the horse’s mane, but they were frozen in their solid grip. “You there,” he yelled, “bring me your knife!”
An unfamiliar moaning grated from her throat as she attempted once again to call for Nathaniel. Sounds around her grew. More talking. More shouting. More hands grabbing at her waist. Was she even in Cambridge, as she hoped? Were these friends or foe?
One slash, then another, and suddenly her hands were free.
“You are safe, miss. Someone has run to fetch Dr. Smith.” The kind stranger gripped her sides and slid her from her mount, lifting her in his arms.
“Thank…you…” The words she produced sounded naught more than a woeful whisper.
As if her body understood what her mind yet did not, the tension, the building terror she’d borne since the moment Ensign’s life was taken, began to drip from her muscles, and she closed her eyes, resting her head against the stranger’s strong shoulder.
The man quickened his pace, his tone a calming stream of warm vibrations. “My name is Henry Donaldson, miss. Dr. Smith shall be here straight away. Jack, clear off that cot. You—bring me some hot water.” The warm stranger rested her on something firm and soft, when his volume suddenly rose. “Someone get me a—”
“Henry, what’s happ—oh dear Lord.”
Praying for strength to raise her eyelids, Hannah groaned with the pain of it. Lord be praised. “Nathaniel.”
“Hannah.”
He knelt in front of her, and she lost the strength to keep her eyes open.
He placed a hand on her shoulder as a shiver consumed her. “What’s happened, dear friend? Why are you here? Henry, I need three heavy blankets and strong coffee.”
A grunt of assent and shuffling sounds filtered through the room as Nathaniel’s hands covered hers. “We shall warm you up quickly. Not to worry.”
If moments or hours passed before a welcome heaviness weighted against her body, she could not tell. The slow, even warmth that started to bring an angry buzz into her fingers and toes was a welcome acknowledgment of a fact she had almost been unwilling to believe. She had made it.
Chapter Five
“There, boy. You did well. As always.” Joseph moved his hands along Anvil’s foreleg and lifted his hoof for inspection. Happy sounds of boyhood laughter brought to mind the boy he’d left behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed several lads jostling for position in muster practice. Some were men, aye, but several were not much older than Jacob. With a quick shake of the head, he turned back to his mount and examined the next leg.
“You miss him too, don’t you.” He stood and patted Anvil’s neck. ’Twas Jacob who had given the horse his name. He’s strong and black like the anvil in your shop, Uncle. So that must be his name, mustn’t it? No other name could have suited him better.
“Joseph! There you are.”
Nathaniel’s tone pulled Joseph up and around like a firm grip on his shoulder. But it was the hard set of his mouth and firm slant of his eyes that made Joseph’s stomach harden with his next intake of breath. “What is it?”
He heaved through his words. “You’ll want to come with me.”
Without pausing to question him, Joseph followed Nathaniel’s frantic pace down the long, staggered row of temporary shelters. “What’s happened?”
Running, Nathaniel stayed quiet until he reached a large tent surrounded by a mumbling crowd of men. He halted and clutched Joseph’s shoulder, that same hard look once again gripping the lines of his face.
Joseph swallowed, his mind coughing against the billowing dust of the unknown. Had Jacob followed him—injured himself on the way? “Out with it!”
Nathaniel peered to the tent before stabbing Joseph with a look that went clear through him. “Something has happened at the foundry.”
“What do you mean?”
At that moment, Henry exited the tent and maneuvered his way through the thick mass of men to where Joseph and Nathaniel stood. He said nothing, only nodded and passed by as if he’d been ordered to keep silent.
“I don’t know the details, only that…” Nathaniel dropped his hand and sighed without once moving his gaze from Joseph.
His blood chilled more than even the air that bit his cheeks. “Tell me.”
Nathaniel pointed to the tent, then dropped his hand to his side. “Ensign is—”
“Is what? Is here?” He strangled the urge to yell. “Speak, man.”
Nathaniel gripped Joseph’s bicep with grinding force. “’Tis not Ensign that is here, Joseph.” He paused, his jaw working. “’Tis Hannah.”
The force of Nathaniel’s words hurled against him, and he stepped back. “Do not jest of such things.”
“I do not jest.”
The strike of his answer hit Joseph firm in the gut.
Nathaniel released his grip, but not his stare. “She arrived moments ago.”
Too many thoughts scrambled through Joseph’s mind for him to find a single word to speak, let alone think. His heart began a rapid thumping, bringing heat back into his lifeless limbs. He looked from Nathaniel to the tent.
“Hannah is in there?”
“She is weak and very chilled from the ride but—”
Joseph didn’t wait for more. He split through the crowd and launched through the canvas door, his pulse thumping hard in his throat.
He stared, blinking, waiting for the truth of what his eyes beheld to match the understanding he tried to unfold in his mind. Shivering on the cot, under a thick mass of blankets, lay the woman he’d known so well. Red cheeks, hair a tangle of honey-gold knots, full lips chapped. Why was she—
“All I could make of her broken words was that something has happened to Ensign.”
Nathaniel’s voice snapped the weak limb Joseph had perched upon, forcing him back to the cold ground where he stood.
“I fear he is dead.”
Joseph jerked his head around. “Dead?”
“I do not know the details. We must warm her. She must drink and gain her strength. Hold her up while I try and get her to take some of this coffee.”
Frozen, Joseph struggled to decipher what his friend had spoken. He didn’t honestly expect him to get any closer than this.
Nathaniel spun, wild questions folding hard across his brow. “Come on, man. She must drink.”
His lungs slowed their pace. He stammered, trying to find a way to get his tongue and lips to work in unison, but their sudden numbness made speaking difficult. “She…she wouldn’t want me to. Why not Henry or someone else?”
Nathaniel shook his head and mumbled under his breath. Stepping to the cot, he pointed with an impatient flick of a finger. “Help me.”
Hannah moved her head against the pillow, a petite moan escaping the small part in her lips.
Never had his legs felt so heavy, the short distance from where he stood to where she lay as dangerous to traverse as a lake of fire.
“Hannah…” Nathaniel lowered to his haunches beside her head, the steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “I should like you to have something warm to drink. We’ll have broth for you to take later as well. Can you sit up?”
Still shivering, a small hum of reply was the only response she could give, and Joseph’s insides turned to liquid. She strained to rise, eyes still closed, but her shaking refused to abate. In a heated rush, all the strength returned to Joseph’s limbs, and he lunged for her. Heedless of the danger to his heart—to his past, which had only just begun to heal—he scooped her legs to the ground and sat beside her, cupping her petite shoulders as he helped her to sit upright. Eyes only half open, she leaned against him, her quivering frame unsettling the dry foundation of his spirit.
A stream of murky questions filled his mind. What had happened? Why was she here? Most, had a harm come to her they did not yet know?
He breathed in slow, deliberate breaths and looked to the canvas ceiling. This closeness was deadly ground. Ten years, and she still felt
the same in his arms, still smelled of honey and sweet cream. How could he not close his eyes and rest his lips on her hair? How could he not brush his fingers against her cheek?
But he must not. He would not.
Her father’s parting words those many rocky memories ago still rang loud in his ears. You’ve damaged her beyond repair. She hates you for what you’ve done.
She shook harder, dislodging him from the grasp of the wicked past, though in truth, reality was not much kinder.
Nathaniel, still kneeling, offered the cup. “Here, Hannah. I shall help you hold it while you take a sip.”
She reached out, her slender fingers so unsteady she couldn’t hold on. Nathaniel wrapped his hands around hers, helping her to bring the cup to her lips as Joseph silently blessed and cursed the tender sight.
I should not be here. Though in truth, he wanted nothing more, a dichotomy that ripped him down the middle.
The tent door flung open, and Henry entered, another steaming mug in his hands. “Strong broth.”
“Excellent.” Nathaniel stood and went to the small table at the opposite side of the tent. He set the coffee down when Henry placed a hand on his arm.
“You are needed elsewhere, Doctor.” He looked to Hannah, then back. “She seems in good enough hands here. You must come.”
Unfathomed panic sprang to life in Joseph’s chest like a sword-wielding beast. He glared across the room, but his unspoken warning of the mortal danger his friend should face if he were left alone with her went unheeded.
“Sit with her until she is able to remain upright. Then assist her with the broth.” He followed Henry to the door. “At the first available chance, see that she gives you a full report of what happened.”
Then, they were alone.
Her shivering increased, and she rested her full weight against him. “Thank you.”
Those two whispered words, so soft and light, floated in the air like a gossamer thread. They all but killed him. If she had known to whom she spoke, he knew she would not have spoken at all.
* * *
Aw the bliss of such warmth. Though her ears and cheeks still pricked, only a slight stammering plagued her muscles, and her eyes could remain open, but she chose to keep them only partly peeled, for the light, however faint, still pained her head.
Unspeaking, the kind soul beside her stood, but not until he was sure she could remain upright. He paced to the other side of the tent and busied himself at the table.
Bracing herself with one hand, she rubbed her eyes with the other when the phantoms of two days past moaned to life from their shallow graves. She grit her teeth to keep the sudden burst of emotion from welling. Dearest Uncle. A clink of tin brought her head up, a blessed distraction from that which pained too deep.
With a shuddered inhale, Hannah blinked—and blinked again, slowing every movement, every thought as she stared at the tall, broad frame across the tent. Nay. Her eyes lied. Gripping the cot with both hands, she squinted, then blinked several times more, shaking her head to clear her fog-laden mind. Lord! She clenched the smooth wood harder, her heart already accepting that which the rest of her refused. It could not be.
The shivering halted, and her heart raced at a speed she could hardly endure. ’Twas him. Ten years could not mar the imprint of him that still lingered so deep within. The impossible breadth of his shoulders, the sunny-blond hue of his hair. ’Twas then he turned and stopped hard, his mouth fixed and blue eyes as question filled as her own.
A sparked silence popped in the frigid air between them. Even as he stared, the reality of what she saw could hardly breach the bulwark of disbelief that rose ever higher. His face had not changed. Matured, aye—grown more handsome even—but naught else. The sharp cut of his jaw ticked, as if he struggled as hard as she to find any fragment of thought in a mind crazed with questions.
She swallowed, and unbidden, his name formed not only on her lips but in her voice. “Joseph?”
Motionless, his gaze pricked deeper. Panic stabbed, and the walls of the tent seemed to press closer. Perhaps ’twas not him. Perhaps her mind played tricks upon her.
Slow and calm, he stepped closer, and her heart pulsed impossibly faster. His gait, his strong hands, the small scar on his cheekbone… Lord in heaven!
He paused several feet in front of where she rested, a steaming mug of something in his grasp. Still gripping the cot like one clinging to the edge of a fathomless pit, Hannah craned her neck to peer up at him, then followed as he stooped down to rest on his haunches, his head now almost level with hers.
Extending the tin mug toward her, a fleeting grin graced his mouth before it disappeared. “Hannah.”
The sound of her name from his lips took her heart and tipped it, streaming out a host of imprisoned memories that both wept and cheered their sudden freedom. Careful to not meet his gaze and to keep her fingers far from his, she took the warm mug.
Her shivering began once more, but she ignored it, sure the sensation would pass and promising herself it had nothing to do with the fact that this man knelt before her.
“Are you all right? Can you drink unassisted?”
The silky depth of his timbre played along her skin and deep into her chest.
She could not speak her answer, only nod. A frown bit hard into her brow as she stared at the tawny liquid, when a burst of realization cut down her spine like a knife through butter. ’Twas he she had leaned against moments ago, his arm that had rested around her shoulder, his warmth she’d relished and kindness she’d praised. Somehow deep within, her soul had known him, had remembered his touch and welcomed it. Traitorous heart.
She popped her chin up, an ounce of her strength returning, and with it the clarity of mind she’d nearly lost. Was this not also the man who’d left her? Was this not the man who’d toyed with her heart only to discard it like an unwanted scrap?
Swallowing, she rubbed her thumb against the warm tin. But that was the past. There was a much greater need now than to linger over a hurt that should have healed long since.
“Have you…” Be strong. She straightened on the cot as best she could. “Where is Nathaniel? I thought—”
“Why are you here, Hannah?”
His firm, somber tone forced her eyes to his. Flashes of memory stole her thoughts, and she lowered her gaze once again to the drink that warmed her freezing hands. Ensign’s cry of pain as he fell, the vow in the soldier’s stare that he would not let her escape… Yet, by the all-powerful hand of God, she had.
Throat a knot of emotion, she spoke without meeting his gaze. “Where is Nathaniel?”
That was the man she’d sought from the moment she fled the barn. Why Joseph was here, she knew not and wished by heaven he would find his way back to wherever it was he came from.
Without looking up, she could sense him turn away before he faced her again. “I know you wish Nathaniel here, and he will return, but he instructed me to discover why you would travel forty miles to a place not befitting a lady.”
The weight of his heavy question rested on her gaze and pressed it farther down until she stared at the muddy grass beneath where he crouched.
“Hannah?”
She glanced up, sorrow and fear churning so hard the truth surged from her mouth to splatter in the frigid air. “Ensign is dead.”
Joseph’s eyebrows plunged. “Dead?”
“Aye.” She took a sip of drink, praying the steaming warmth would clear away the clog of grief in her throat. But it did not. “A handful of soldiers came to the house…” She gripped the mug so hard she could have left her handprints on the tin. “They insisted that the king needed the foundry and that it now belonged to them.”
Clutching the little vessel offered a strand of courage, and she clung to it. “He tried to dissuade them—”
“They took it by force.” Joseph’s stare went hard, the lines at the corners of his eyes lengthening as his scowl deepened.
“’Twas their plan.” Hannah swallowed, pra
ying God would grant her grace enough to speak the rest. “Ensign told me to hide in the kitchen. When they insisted on taking our food, Ensign refused them entrance to try and protect me but…” Her pitch threatened to rise, but she held it even. “He was shot as I ran to the barn. Then when they came for me—”
“Did they hurt you?” Joseph reached for her wrist, the sudden surge of rage in his eyes tampered only by the concern that softened them at the corners. “Did they touch you?”
His words floated past her ears, but she couldn’t quite hear them. She could only see the stain of Ensign’s blood and hear the thrust of the blade into his flesh. She pinched her lips against the cry that stormed behind her teeth. Unable to hold his gaze, her eyes burned. Dear Ensign…
“Did they touch you?”
Joseph’s quiet rumble rustled the stray hairs at her ears, and she looked up.
She blinked, failing to snip the line of his stare. He could not be so genuine, could he? When for ten years he had not so much as—
“Hannah?” Joseph’s stare reached out with firm, familiar tenderness, belying the rage that warred behind their blue depths. “Are you untouched?”
“Aye.” She swallowed away the storm of emotions, praising the Lord once again for His goodness. “I am unharmed.”
His shoulders dropped as a heavy sigh left his lips.
Licking her own, she continued. “Somehow Ensign followed me, despite his wound, and shot one of them, but the other turned and stabbed Ensign where he stood.” Her voice severed, and a searing tear streaked down her cheek. “He gave his life for me.”
Closing his eyes slowly, Joseph bowed his head, then brought it back up in the next breath. He squeezed her wrist gently before releasing his grip and pushing up to his full height. “You were not followed?”
“Nay.”
He nodded and pivoted toward the tent door, his fists working, rippling the muscles in his forearms. He lunged for the door when Nathaniel strode in, another man entering behind him.
So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4) Page 5
