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

by Amber Lynn Perry

  He followed her, patient. To pounce on her with his frustrations was not only unkind, ’twas perilous. He wished to gain back her trust, not rip it from its fragile roots.

  She brought the soiled plates to the worktable near the basin of heated water. Joseph did the same, amused by the way she so artfully avoided his gaze.

  “’Tis good Stockton has gone with them.” She said the next almost to herself. “I can hardly breathe with him in the same room.”

  Then why spend so much time with him? Joseph tugged at the words, lest they escape.

  “’Twas a delicious meal, Hannah.” He caught her eye and held it, warmed by the way his compliment seemed to shimmer unwittingly in her expression. The following tease, he couldn’t help. “Higley certainly enjoyed it. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes from you.”

  Joseph had spied the man gazing at her with more than simple friendship. And though he supposed he had nothing to fear from him, the truth remained. Higley knew Joseph’s identity, and yet refused to confess it. Unknowns piled like dry tinder. A single spark could ignite them, turning everything they’d worked for into nothing but ash.

  “Higley hardly noticed me, and good thing.” Hands full, Hannah offered him a wry look before depositing the stack beside the basin. “My only hope is that this evening was successful for our cause.” She scraped the plates clean, forcing the remnants into a bucket. “Pitman seemed no more moved than he was when he first arrived.”

  “If Stockton continues to trust us, I believe we are safe. Pitman is an obstacle, but not an impassable one.” His next words were a gamble as he brought a handful of glasses to the basin. “However…he did not likely miss that your attentions were on me most of the evening.”

  A clank resounded as she almost dropped the plates in her hands and whirled around, her cheeks a charming shade of scarlet. Her hands flew to her hips. “I did my best not to look at you too often. I—” The moment the confession left her mouth, her eyes went wide and her face almost blotchy from embarrassment. Had she meant she wanted to look at him more than she did?

  Smoothing her hands down her skirt, Hannah’s voice was cracked and shallow. “I didn’t mean…I mean…”

  Joseph’s insides swirled, and a shot of masculine satisfaction rose over him. The depth of color in her face, her hurried breath wasn’t for naught—and it thrilled him.

  Despite her obvious upset, he knew her well enough to know he could go further. “Do not blame yourself. I am a man of many charms, and if you didn’t fall prey to them, I should be ashamed.”

  At this, that delightful display of color drained from her face, and she turned away.

  Devil’s spit. He had taken it too far. Idiot.

  Removing the last of the dishes from the table, he stood by her, drying what she’d washed. Silence sat before them, bemused, he imagined, like a wily cherub waiting for either of them to talk. But they didn’t. On and on they went, she scrubbing and he blotting away the rivulets of water on the freshly cleaned glass.

  The longer they worked, the more ease replaced anxiety, until soon it almost seemed the rhythm they found felt familiar, practiced, right. Here, enjoying the peaceful mundane actions of family life, it seemed as if they had been married these ten years, not separated and hardly knowing if the other still thought of their past at all. Is this what their lives might have been like? A rip started deep and continued to tear even deeper. If only…

  He braved a sideways look, instantly regretting the action. She was so close, her arm almost touching his as she rubbed and sloshed in the water, heedless of the drops that splashed on her sleeves. That curl at her ear…it needed tucking.

  She offered another glass, and he took it, grateful he had a useful occupation for his hands.

  He glanced at the clock through the parlor, squinting to make out the time. Stockton had been gone nearly three quarters of an hour already. If Joseph were to ask the questions he wanted to—nay, needed to—before Stockton returned, he had better act quickly.

  Keeping as unaffected a tone as possible, he spoke the words he wished he needn’t. “I didn’t know you were being courted. Is he from Plymouth?”

  Her motion stopped. Resting the plate in the water, she kept her hands at the edge of the basin. Head bowed, she sighed, then tilted her head to him. “No one is courting me, Joseph.” She started up again, scrubbing the helpless plate more vigorously. “I said that in hopes of keeping Stockton at a more reasonable distance.”

  A cool breeze rushed through his muscles, and his shoulders eased. So she was not being courted? Such a thrill should not be entertained, but he allowed it to bask in the pleasant light of revelation a moment longer before moving to the waiting question in line. “Then why accept to be his scribe?” The next came too quickly and too curt. “Being that close to him, Hannah, I do not like it.”

  Her face shot toward him. “He is not a man to be denied, Joseph. Consider, if we are to gain what information we seek, how can I not do it? We must learn where they plan to engage, mustn’t we?” She thrust him the plate. “I must do things I might otherwise prefer not. What does it say about the strength of my convictions if I am not willing to sacrifice for them? I believe in this cause, Joseph. I do it for Ensign, aye. But also, I do it for liberty.”

  Each of her words slashed through him, tiny blades of humility cutting him to his knees. How could he ever have felt anything but admiration? She had not been impetuous, rather wise, selfless. His heart swelled, and had he not a dripping plate in his hands, he might be helpless to pull her against him and twine his arms around her back, rest his cheek atop her hair.

  “You will attend the ball with him then?”

  A pained look tugged at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “How can I not?” Dunking the last plate in the basin, she shook her head slightly. “I will be grateful indeed when these two weeks are past.”

  His gut pinched. Would she be? He breathed away the discomfort. Of course she would, as he would as well. That was understood. He would join his friends and ready himself to face the greatest battle of his life.

  Greatest battle? The irony almost made him laugh aloud. Nay. The greatest battle he fought was here, standing beside him in the kitchen. No weapon but the slant of her smile, no danger but that of her touch, no risk to his life—nay, but to his heart.

  * * *

  Hannah reached for the towel and dried her hands, wishing there were more items to clean. Standing beside Joseph, talking so easy, ’twas a sensation she’d not ever imagined she’d feel. A safeness, a serenity and rightness she’d known only in her dreams. The longing to look up and study his face ached through her neck and shoulders, but somehow she resisted. Did he feel it too? Or was she the only one who suffered this blissful malady?

  Gathering her bravery, she walked to the parlor. His steady footfall followed, and the urge to slow and walk beside him, knit her fingers in his, became so strong she hurried her step lest she act out the fantasies her brain and heart seemed intent on savoring.

  “I…” At the fireplace, she glanced down at her fingers, rubbing the chapped knuckle of her forefinger. “I hadn’t the chance to thank you.”

  Hannah turned her back to the warmth of the fire. Joseph went to the lowboy, pouring himself a drink. Gifting her only a slight look over his shoulder, he questioned her with his eyes.

  She shrugged and swallowed. “For…for helping me the other day.”

  He replaced the cask and came to stand beside her, facing the fire while she faced away. He held his glass as if the mulberry color of the wine fascinated him, though she knew his thoughts went far deeper.

  Body still, ’twas only his face that turned to her. His eyes were rich, his voice tiptoeing across the inches between them to caress her heart. “I would do anything for you.”

  Dearest heaven.

  Longing, the kind that only the fullest love begets, bloomed in his eyes. But with an exhale it vanished, and his attention was once again on his drink. He took a sip. �
�I fear if not for some unearthly intervention, I may have done more than just…” His jaw ticked. “In my estimation they got far less than they deserved. I cannot bear the knowledge that a man has done harm to any woman.”

  Any woman.

  Hannah peered at the toes of her shoes that peeked from beneath her skirt, trying to calm the slight ache at such impersonal words. They should be welcome, for indeed the more intimacies of speech they shared ’twould only lure to light emotions she wished to keep well in the dark.

  Yet it seemed her mouth refused to take any counsel, no matter how well advised. She began speaking, almost as if her mouth were a separate entity and she powerless to stop it. “You were always so strong, Joseph. No one could best you in a fight.”

  ’Twas a few beats of silence before he answered. “I haven’t swung my fist in years.”

  She was ready for the sideways glance he tossed to her, but not for its affect. Hannah’s middle fluttered as his heady timbre curled around her.

  “I would do it a thousand times over if I knew it would keep you from suffering.”

  The tenderness of his words touched her like his very fingers, brushing down Hannah’s skin with a trail of heat. Again she pinned her attention to her shoes. She knew full well Joseph’s sad boyhood. How his older brother Cyprian had baited him, teased him, and bullied to the point of savagery—forcing Joseph to fight boys bigger and older than he, simply for Cyprian’s pleasure. It had forced Joseph to grow stronger, wiser, and quicker. The constant subjection to violence molded his body and muscles more than even his brother had anticipated. Finally, Joseph was not only larger in stature but larger in spirit and character, Cyprian shrinking in the shadow of the one he’d tried so hard to demean.

  Unbidden, the sudden question popped free. “How is your brother?”

  Joseph’s thick chest rounded as he drew in and let out a long, slow breath. “He is dead.”

  “Oh, good heavens.” How had she not known? “Joseph, I’m…I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

  “He and his wife died on the same day, leaving Jacob alone.”

  Hannah’s mind scrambled backward, trampling through the lanky silhouettes of memory. It took no longer than a second to recall the round-faced boy, his bright eyes and happy laugh. She’d met him once. The very night before they had…

  A door slammed against the striding thought, and she hurried to continue where they were.

  She peered at him. “What is he to do?”

  Again, Joseph stared at the liquid in his glass before circling around to place his back to the fire. “He is in my care now.” At that he offered her a fleeting glance. “I shall do everything in my power to give him the life he deserves. Which is why I now do what I do.” He held her gaze. “’Twould seem we both have a motive behind what we risk. Both honorable, both mournful if we should fail.”

  Hannah straightened, figuring the sums in her mind. Her heart hitched, her knees suddenly weak. The boy would now be only slightly older than theirs if he had lived… She gasped for breath and stepped to the nearest chair, resting her hands at the back for balance, should her legs give way. What would Joseph say if he knew?

  To rescue herself from the sudden fall, she clutched to the chair. “Have you left him in Sandwich then? Who shall care for him while you are away?”

  Joseph adjusted his stance, his voice taking on a sorrowful quality that forced her eyes to his. “Nathaniel Smith’s wife is caring for him. He…he lost a leg, from the knee down. Mrs. Smith is skilled with medicine, should he need particular care until I return.” His tone went wistful. “I have promised to take him fishing upon my return from war. He loves the pond.”

  Time slowed. Everything around her blurred until she could see only him. What man was this? The strong, generous one she’d known, aye. But he was more than that now. He had grown, changed somehow. She had changed as well. Did he see that she was more perceptive, more cautious? More real. Or did he only see how her griefs had aged her—no longer the youthful beauty of eighteen but a woman familiar with the heavy cares of the world?

  “He was apprenticing under me.”

  Joseph’s voice brought her surroundings back in full. “He would make a fine blacksmith. An excellent trade for one with such an impediment.”

  Joseph chuckled, his eyes sparkling in the light of the fire. “Aye, had not Nathaniel’s heroics after his accident made the study of medicine more appealing.”

  “Is that so?” His levity made her laugh lightly as well. “Well, I suppose I can understand that. But do you have another apprentice in mind? I assume you still have your shop?”

  The moment the words slipped past her tongue, she rued the taste of them. Familiarity was dangerous. How was she to know he still had a shop? So many years had passed, and after what he’d just revealed, ’twas clear there was much they didn’t know of each other.

  “I, uh…have someone working the shop now, aye. But no apprentice.”

  Her insides went hard as the need to know more—the need to know everything—surged upward, frothing and rolling like an unstoppable sea. How had he fared these years past? Had he stayed only in Sandwich? Was he happy? Did he ever think of her? Did he remember the time she’d left turnovers at his window or that note atop his anvil? Did he recall, as she did, the time he’d first held her hand as they’d walked home from Nathaniel’s that hot summer eve? Or the time by the pond he’d stolen that kiss…

  Saved by the chime of the clock, Hannah nearly chirped in relief. “Good heavens, ’tis getting late. I should retire.” She started for the stairs. “Tomorrow I begin my work with Stockton. There is much to learn, and I fear I must have rest if I am to keep my wits at their sharpest.”

  “Hannah.”

  Roped by his velvety sound, she halted but dared not turn back, replying only with her silence.

  “Are you sure you wish to do this?”

  Craning her neck, she glanced behind. “I am.” A sideways smile warmed her face. “We must discover where they plan to engage. And who better to know than an innocent Tory?”

  Before his answering gaze could immobilize her escape, she turned and started up the stairway.

  “Good night, Hannah.”

  She stopped, aching to say everything that pressed like a boot against her heart. Blessedly, only two small words formed. “Good night.”

  The truth she’d spoken in the kitchen rang stronger with every rise and fall of the sun. She would be grateful when these two weeks were out—when their mission was done. And yet…

  Hannah hurried up the final steps to her room, shutting the door against the thoughts that trailed her. She rested her back against the wood and stared at the darkened ceiling. What pained her more? This time with him now, or knowing she would once again be forced to find a way to live her life without him?

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next morning dawned like an exuberant suitor—cheerful and full of promises. At her usual perch, Hannah pulled a dish of perfectly golden turnovers from the fire and set them on the table, unable to suppress the smile on her lips. Joseph was already in the foundry, hard at work. If he didn’t return soon for breakfast, she would bring him and the others a basketful. She couldn’t help but anticipate the smile such a surprise would produce.

  The door opened, and Hannah’s heart leapt, pulling her from her position at the table to the doorway of the kitchen. She brushed her hands over her skirt and pinched her cheeks, only to have her rising hopes punched down like a fist in dough.

  “Aw, Miss Young. Good morning.” Stockton entered, his cheeks flush from cold, eyes too bright the moment they found her. “Smells marvelous.”

  Hannah bundled all the pleasure her voice could convey and shoved it into her words. “Good day, Major. May I get you some refreshment? Have you had breakfast?”

  He shut the door behind him. “I have—thank you, my dear. But I should like some coffee.” Swinging off his hat and cloak, he went to the fire, rubbing his hands over the flame. �
��Chilly day. The mercury shows five degrees.”

  “That is cold indeed.” Hannah took her time preparing the pot and entered the parlor only after she’d allowed herself a peek through the kitchen window, but there was no sign of Joseph.

  She handed Stockton a full cup. “You must warm yourself, sir. Let me add a log to the fire.”

  “Nay.” He batted her away playfully. “I shall do it.” Cup in one hand, he gripped a log with the other and threw it on the already billowing flames.

  She looked to the door, her lip between her teeth as her mind worried over the thoughts she’d considered last evening. Thoughts she hadn’t been willing to tell Joseph, for she knew his answer. He wouldn’t approve, but she felt she must. How else could she most easily get the information they needed?

  “I…” She ducked her head away, studying her fingers. “I do hope last evening was satisfactory for you, sir.”

  “Satisfactory?” The sincerity in his voice made her almost believe the ploy she was about to undertake was not so dangerous. “’Twas heavenly, Miss Young. A success by every measure of the word.”

  “But you do think, I mean to say, is Major Pitman still unsure of—”

  “Aldor Pitman may be a man of few manners, but he is no fool.”

  Hannah stalled, unsure of his meaning. “Sir?”

  “He was quite smitten, I daresay. With his wife enamored by you, I can safely believe you and your cousin are free to aid the king with no more suspicions leveled at your back.”

  Her tight stays eased around her chest. Inwardly, a cheer broke loose, but all she released was a smile. “I am very pleased.”

  Gaze never leaving her, he took a sip of his drink. “I’ve quite a few messages to send. If you are willing, is now a good time to begin?”