So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4)

by Amber Lynn Perry

  She blinked, tracing her reflection with her gaze. How old she looked. Only eight and twenty, yet… Leaning forward, she touched the shadowed places under her eyes, then sat back in her chair with a sigh. What had happened to her youth? Where had it gone? Did Joseph see her as she saw herself? An old maid—a woman with far too many years behind her to make her appealing to any man? An audible groan left her mouth, and she rested her elbow on the table and her face in her hand. She didn’t care to appeal to anyone. Most certainly not to him.

  Expelling an audible sigh, Hannah looked up as a sunrise of thought stretched its rays heavenward. And like the rising of the sun, the thought would not—could not be stopped—its ascent promising to bathe the earth in light no matter how much she longed for night. He loved me once. Perhaps…

  A knock tapped on the door. “Hannah?”

  She turned in her seat, her heart traitorously picking up its pace at the rich tones of Joseph’s voice. She tried to keep her own even. “Come in.”

  The door opened, and he entered, leaving it ajar. “I thought you might be abed.”

  Hand on the back of the chair where she sat, she shrugged a single shoulder. “I will soon be.”

  He stepped nearer, narrowing the space between them when suddenly the air became so thin she could hardly take a breath. His gentle smile as he spoke did frightful things to her middle. “I shouldn’t have offered your services in the way I did earlier. Forgive me.”

  “Services?” She prayed he couldn’t see the wild thump of her pulse in her neck.

  He continued forward, then stopped halfway, as if an unseen bar restrained him. “To Stockton. For his laundering and meals.”

  “I do not mind. And I believe…” She paused, calculating her response. “I believe ’tis a most fortuitous opportunity. As is yours.”

  A slight grin tempted one side of his mouth. “I thought so as well.” He stared and shuffled a step forward, then halted. After a quick glance over his shoulder toward the door, he lowered his voice. “Hannah, I do not like the way Stockton looks at you.”

  The memory made a worming sensation start in her chest. “You warned me of such.”

  His jaw worked. “Do not allow yourself to be alone with him if it can be avoided. Your safety is paramount.”

  “Mine is not any more important than yours.”

  His chest rounded as he inhaled a long, deep breath. “Give me your word.”

  He stepped forward, and as the distance between them closed, the pace of her heart grew ever quicker. She flashed a brief, assuring smile to her face. “You have it.”

  Joseph took another step, when the sound of horses in the yard stopped him with a jerk. Vigilance chiseled into the slant of his jaw. “Keep your door latched.”

  “I will.”

  He took a step, and Hannah touched his arm. “Wait.” She stood and went to the trunk at the end of her bed. Opening it, she retrieved a large quilt and offered it to him. “’Tis a cold night.”

  He turned, towering over her in silence. His gaze swept across her face before his velvety bass voice caressed her skin. “Thank you.”

  Taking the quilt from her hands, his fingers dusted over hers, and a spark bolted up her arm. Unable to move, Hannah raised her eyes to his and feared perhaps her knees would no longer sustain her. Dearest heaven. That deep, tender longing she’d seen in his eyes when their love had once flourished now swelled, and the armament she’d employed dropped to her feet, exposing her heart in full. His gaze flicked to her lips, making her neck and cheeks burn like a kitchen fire in summer. If he leaned any closer…

  With a blink he stepped back, the longing look in his eyes replaced with mere civility, leaving Hannah suspended over a chasm, grasping for anything to keep her from falling into the gaping pit below.

  Swallowing, he stepped toward the exit and looked back over his shoulder. He gripped the handle, motionless for a moment. “Hannah…” The tenderness in his voice reached across the space between them to cradle the very heart in her chest. “You are a brave woman.”

  With that, he left, securing the door quietly behind him, leaving Hannah alone to gasp through the confusion that beat against her like waves on the sea.

  Hannah let her shoulders slump and her hands drop to her sides. Stunned to near numbness by such an honest admission, she breathed slowly, unable to move her eyes from the place where the floor met the wall. She shut her eyes, bemoaning the fate she faced. How could she abide him day after day? Especially when he was so kind. He had always been kind.

  Shuffling back to her chair, she sat and faced the dressing table, pulling on the round handle until the contents of the drawer smiled up at her. There atop a folded neckerchief rested the white booties. Lifting them in her hands, Hannah marveled—as she did every time—how tiny they were, how delicate and soft. He must not ever know. Not that she wished to keep secrets, but…

  Hannah lowered the booties to the table and stared into the drawer at what now stared back. The small iron nail Joseph had curled and made to fit perfectly around her finger seemed to cry out for her touch. How could she not? Picking up the cold, smooth metal, Hannah’s familiar room melted away, and that night so many years ago lived and breathed around her like a visit to the past. The cool air of the barn, the quiet chirp of the crickets. The scent of earth and hay. The wild pulse of her heart and the knowledge that this night would change her from girl to woman.

  A sound from belowstairs stirred her from the shadows and she gasped, the rising flood of memories having nearly filled her lungs. She dropped the ring back into place and covered it with the knitted treasure she could never bear to relinquish no matter how it pained, knowing that such a thing still lived in the quiet dark, day in and day out.

  Was she brave? Nay. Desperate. Determined to find a way to keep living despite the wailings that still roared behind the thick walls of acceptance.

  She must stay the course. There were far bigger matters now that required her strength and energy.

  If her future was not to include that of husband and child, she must endeavor at least to secure it for Caroline and others like her. She must do it for Ensign—for the vow she made to him. This grand cause of freedom must be championed.

  Glancing toward the ceiling, she imagined God peering down at her, and she smiled. She had sinned, aye. But the years she had spent begging His forgiveness had proved His love. She had what she deserved, what she wished.

  Now all that remained was to go forward in it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Up and dressed before the rising of the sun, Joseph descended the stairs, the alluring aromas of bread and coffee tempting him to the kitchen. ’Twould seem he was not the only one already beginning the day.

  Reprimanding the thought before it shaped in full, he stayed the course. Not allowing himself to linger on the tensions that grew ever stronger between him and Hannah must be his soul’s purpose. However, his mind would not relent. The display of wishes and wants in Hannah’s eyes last evening when he spoke with her in her room were too perplexing to ignore. Was it fear that made her breath hush and cheeks pink, or the forgotten longing of him?

  A self-serving thought. She didn’t feel for him at all. She believed he had abandoned her—used her and thrown her away. Dear Lord, why hadn’t he the strength to tear open the roughly mended parts of him and bare all that wished to be spoken? A swelling pain billowed as it did every time he allowed the winds of thought to blow. ’Twas in the past, and there it should stay.

  Belowstairs the parlor was empty, but the fire blazed. He moved to the kitchen and found Hannah crouched by the embers.

  He paused. Had she not heard him enter? She poked at the fire with a tong, jostling coals around a pot. Hair neatly pinned behind her head, those few rebel strands floated free at her neck and around her ears. The dark morning still clung to the corners of the room, but the umber glow of the fire highlighted her frame, shadowing all the perfect curves of her body and face.

  The
temptation to linger and enjoy the sweet domestic view lured his clouded thoughts, but he cleared his throat. “Good morning.”

  “Oh!” Hannah flung her hand to her chest as a scarlet hue blew over her cheeks. “Joseph, I didn’t hear you come in.” Pushing against her knees, she rose and went to the table, giving him only a slight smile before darting her eyes away, focusing intently on moving a batch of biscuits to a waiting platter. “The others are already gone, I suppose. I haven’t seen or heard them since yesterday.”

  “Hmm.” Joseph glanced around for any sign they’d already been back and gone, but the dim light of the fire and two oil lamps did little to illuminate the space. If they were to be so elusive, perhaps their job of covert activities would be simpler than he thought.

  He turned back to Hannah, her attention still intent upon the spread of bounty. Dishes of all kinds dotted the table. Cakes, bacon, bread, and eggs. How long had she been up?

  Gnawing the inside of his cheek, he rebutted his instinct to tease her. The straightness of her shoulders and back preached of tension and angst. Better to not induce unneeded embarrassment if she weren’t to catch his meaning. Then again…

  She twisted her mouth in thought, and that dimple he loved seemed to wink at him, weakening the last bastion of his resistance.

  Joseph rested his hands on the back of the kitchen chair, unable to keep the dry hint of humor from his tone. “Generous of you to go to so much work for me. I’m touched.”

  Her head popped up, and her ears reddened, almost begging him to continue.

  A genuine half smile found freedom on his lips. “I’m famished to be sure, but I fear you may have overestimated my appetite.”

  Eyes never leaving his, the slight dip of Hannah’s chin and twist of her mouth made the second half of his smile join the first. She bobbed a shoulder, then turned back to the skillet. “I didn’t do it for you.”

  “Did you not?”

  She looked up again, and a slight spark in her eye made his face rise in full before he immediately frowned. “But where are the turnovers? Surely you haven’t forgotten my favorite breakfast? For shame.”

  Her skin flushed, and she batted a curl away from her ear in such a huff he couldn’t tell if she was jostled by his comment or merely attempting to beat him at his own game.

  “If you would like turnovers, you can make them yourself.”

  “Maybe I shall.” Chuckling behind a closed smile, he snatched a cake from the table and went to the door where his greatcoat and hat waited on the hook. He swooped the coat around his shoulders. “I shall get the forges going.”

  “But you haven’t eaten.” Her quiet voice chirped, pulling him back around. “You shall be hungry.”

  The gentle reprimand and the innocent roundness of her eyes stalled him, his arms sliding slowly through his sleeves.

  She placed a hand on her hip. “And after all this trouble I went to make it for you…”

  He froze, unsure whether to speak or leave or…speak. There had been a hint of jest in her tone, hadn’t there?

  Hannah spun and flung a look over her shoulder, a single raised eyebrow making his knees soften. She had teased him right back, and so artfully he’d hardly known it.

  Somehow he couldn’t feel his limbs, his heart pulsing so fast he could hear nothing but the thump of his own blood through his ears.

  Studying the back of her shoulders, the slope of her waist, her dainty ankles at the hem of her skirt as she worked, a twist of longing pulled through Joseph’s chest, the sudden need to linger growing as bright as the coral dawn that swept across the horizon.

  All the protective caution that weighted him motionless scattered like dirt in a dry summer wind. Joseph left his spot by the door and neared her from behind, bending so close he could almost feel the curls around her ear tickling his chin.

  Sure to keep his tone rich, and volume low, he moved his mouth beside her ear. “I shall be back.”

  Snatching a cake from in front of her, he whirled away, his body humming with masculine pride at the way she’d melted a little as she’d gasped a tiny breath.

  Swinging open the door, the cold blasted against his face. The colder the better. For this rising heat would most likely burn him alive.

  * * *

  Hannah’s ear still burned pleasurably where Joseph’s breath had dusted her skin.

  She peered at the cakes, which looked innocently away, as if they hadn’t noticed the gooseflesh on her skin or the way her chest pumped. Hannah shook her head, but the action did nothing to dislodge the well-wedged emotions. And traitorously, her heart was glad of it. She huffed aloud and turned back to the fire, removing the pudding from its scalding bath. Joseph had always been prone to tease.

  Bringing the pudding to the table, she carefully cut the string that held the cloth in place around the mass of cooked and mashed peas. She looked out the window and reprimanded herself for not having tread with caution. In truth, she ought not tread at all. That path was rife with briars that would only bring more wounds like the ones she already suffered and still, at times, bled from.

  The parlor door opened, and she turned, her heart at her feet as Stockton’s voice peeled through the room.

  “Aw, Miss Young.” He stepped into the house, motioning for two others to join him. The last soldier closed the door behind him.

  “Good morning.” Stockton caressed her with his eyes. “You are hard at work, I see. Forgive me for disturbing you.”

  “Not at all.” She wiped her hands on her apron to scrape away the sensation of his gaze. Nodding her head, she curtsied. “Major Stockton.”

  He took a deep breath and stepped farther into the parlor. “I left early to settle a few matters at camp. But I must tell you, I was eager to return, not only for the scents of food that tempted me from miles away but to bask in the warmth of your smile.”

  Hannah sighed away the sudden nausea. “You are too kind.”

  Stockton came forward, one arm outstretched to her, while he motioned to his companions with the other. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Miss Young. Miss Young, Major Pitman and Captain James Higley.”

  Hannah’s throat corded. Breathing in slow and deep, she nodded at the second major before pinning her eyes on Higley. He was the one who had buried Ensign, was he not?

  His handsome features softened in a smile that somehow eased the taut muscles in her neck. Tall and near as broad shouldered as Joseph, his dark-auburn hair was tied behind his head but appeared to despise its captivity, from the way certain waves tugged away from his hairline. His mossy-green eyes studied her, as if he knew more of her than she knew of him.

  She shifted under the strange sensation and looked back to Stockton. “May I offer you men some breakfast?”

  Major Pitman bowed at the waist. “You are most generous, Miss Young, but I fear I must be going.”

  Nodding to his companions, the mysterious officer left without another word, closing the door behind him.

  Stockton scowled at the door, as if his irritation at his peer’s sudden departure could breach the barrier of the wood. A blink, and the look vanished. Lifting his face with a smile to Higley, he then turned to Hannah.

  “I should be glad to partake. I am famished.”

  The stare he next shot to Higley had implied commands welded so thick even Hannah straightened.

  Higley inclined his head, no pretended civility in his manner when he met his superior’s gaze. “I shall see to my assignments in town, sir.”

  The kind stranger rested his gaze on her, and the need to cry out for him to stay bulged in her throat. She didn’t know him, but the worthiness she sensed from his kind eyes made her wish beyond hope he wouldn’t leave her with Stockton.

  But he did. Another rise of his lips and he was gone, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  Stockton neared, stalking more than walking toward her. He glanced past her shoulder toward the kitchen before once again clutching her with his eyes. “You will joi
n me, I hope.”

  “Me?” The word squeaked from her throat. She pressed her hands to her stomach. “I fear I haven’t any appetite.” Nothing had ever been more true.

  “Have you not?” Stockton strode to the kitchen and fingered a piece of bacon. “Higley will be here most days, as will Greene.” He faced her. “If ever you need anything from them, do not hesitate to ask. They are under strict command to be accommodating to you.”

  “How generous indeed.” She rounded the table to fuss with the pudding that waited like a patient child. Moving it aside, she motioned to a mostly cleared spot. “I fear our table is a mite small compared to what you are used to, but I think there is enough room for you to—”

  “This is perfect, my dear. You are perfect.”

  A flare of attraction brightened the gray of his eyes, and a gag lurched at her throat.

  She coughed to ease the discomfort. “Where is Greene this morning? Is he not with you?”

  “He is on assignment, as is Higley.” He rounded his chair but didn’t sit. “A pleasant opportunity for you and me to become more agreeably acquainted.”

  All she could manage in response was a forced grin and tilt of her head. Anything else, and she might have lost what little she had in her stomach. Busying herself with preparing him a plate, she ventured an attempt at trivial conversation.

  “Your men stay very busy.”

  “Aye.” He smiled in gratitude as she rested the laden plate before him.

  She turned to get him something to drink, hoping he would sit, but he did not. “Brave too. I have heard tell of the Patriots doing dreadful things.”

  “They are fools and will soon be made to suffer for their transgressions.”

  Her heart thrashed wildly behind her ribs as she rested the cup of milk beside the plate. What would he do if he knew why she was really here?