Bound by Love

by Edith Layton

  After a while, he felt a little tug on his arm. “Aren’t you coming back?” she asked in a little voice. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

  “You wanted to see my back,” he said bleakly.

  “Well, not really,” she said, and he recoiled, frantically looking for his shirt, wondering if a moment’s foolishness on her part, taken too seriously by him, would now mean her lifetime avoidance of him.

  “I saw it once, remember? When we were children. It looks much better now, by the way,” she added. “They’re not so red anymore, and since you’ve grown, the scars look smaller.” She didn’t lie, though she elaborated. The lash-marks still marred otherwise perfect skin, but they didn’t mar the strength and power of the man. Lightning had struck here, but he had survived it. If anything, it made him dearer to her; that wasn’t why she’d asked him to remove his shirt.

  “That awful man,” she said indignantly, dismissing his scars as the history they were to her. “I’d kill him if I could. I’m sorry if you think I was too bold,” she said in a smaller voice, her head bowed, her hair covering her face. “All I meant was that it seemed it would be much—nicer if we were both undressed. I didn’t know a man was supposed to keep his shirt on, so if you think it was sluttish of me, I didn’t mean it. Put it back on, by all means. I—I just wanted to hold you the way you were holding me, with nothing between us.”

  He thought something broke within himself then, and he gathered her up and hugged her close so he wouldn’t shatter to pieces.

  “Nothing’s between us,” he vowed, “nothing.”

  It didn’t take long for his body to remember what his suspicious mind had interrupted. Now there was such love that he could think of nothing beyond it, but it didn’t matter—love gentled his desire and turned lust into something sublime. And she encouraged him every step of the way. They paused only once. When she feathered a touch over his ragged back, he shuddered, and she withdrew her hand hastily. “Have I hurt you?” she asked worriedly.

  “No, how could you?” he murmured, distracted by her withdrawal. “They’re only scars; scars don’t hurt when they’re healed,” he said, and then he heard himself and laughed, and he reached for her once more. “And they are healed, my love,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Then there was no time for speech—no breath for it, either. But they didn’t have to speak. When he rose over her again, she smiled at him. When he entered her at last, she hugged him closer despite the discomfort, and there was some, because although she was eager to accept him, she’d never done such a thing before. Lust drove him forward, making him arch over her in ecstasy. Love filled him even as he finally broke against her. And with the loss of himself, he was finally whole.

  She wept with the pleasure and pain and the realization of it all. He was hers—at last, at last. Different pleasure would come later for her—he had promised. But for now, this was almost too much. She was complete.

  He didn’t sleep, as she’d been told men were supposed to do after loving. Instead, he curled his body around her, kissing and caressing her as though he were still courting her.

  “I have always loved you, always,” she confessed.

  “Forgive me. I thought you wanted to see my back in order to despise me,” he admitted.

  “Why should I despise you for your scars?” she asked, stroking his hair. “In a way—in an awful, terrible, selfish way—I’m glad of them. Because just think: if you were unscarred, if you had never been stolen and sold into bondage, how could I ever have met you? You’d be the earl of Alveston, with three children, at least, by now. You wouldn’t have waited forever, like Justin. You’d never have come to Virginia, saved Thomas, and filled my life. Things happen for a reason, Jared. I hate those scars for your sake. But I have to love them, for mine.”

  When he didn’t answer right away, she burrowed her face into his shoulder. “Are you shocked?” she whispered, nudging him with her nose. “It’s true. I’ll never lie to you again. I lived a lie for so long: I hated being your sister. I wanted so much to be—this.”

  He rose on an elbow and took her face in his hand. He stroked back her hair from her eyes, so he could look into them.

  “You are both,” he said. “‘Behold, thou art fair, my love,’” he quoted. “‘Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee. Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse;’” he said, smiling down at her. “‘Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue.… A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse…a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters…’”

  She smiled through tears, and nodded. “I know my Bible—and my husband…my husband,” she said, and sighed with pure pleasure. “‘His mouth is most sweet,’” she quoted in turn, touching his lips with trembling fingers. “‘Yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend…’”

  And then they spoke a different kind of poetry to each other, but one without words.

  Chapter 18

  London

  He slept dreamlessly and awoke refreshed, as he had since the day they’d been married. He woke up desiring her again, too. But there was a morning ritual that came first. He watched her for a long time before he woke her. He lay on his side, propped on an elbow, watching her sleep. Since they’d married, Jared had found this to be one of his greatest secret pleasures. His, he thought, looking at her with pleasure and pride. She slept easy in his bed, and she was his wife. He still couldn’t get used to the wonder of it.

  When he saw first light change to sunlight and begin to stream in the window, he bent his head to kiss the nape of her neck. She stretched and sighed, and burrowed her face back into her pillow. He ran his lips down her neck and ran a hand down the sweetly curving lines of her back, pausing at her nicely rounded bottom. Her breathing changed. He smiled as she turned over and put her arms around his neck.

  “Umm,” she said. “Good morning, husband.”

  “Umm yourself, wife,” Jared said, and kissed her awake.

  Della loved it when he woke her this way, but then he surprised her by grinning ruefully and taking her arms down from his neck.

  “Oh,” she said, getting slightly pink, thinking about it. “Ah—just a moment; I’ll go and wash my face and teeth.”

  “You taste like wine, beloved, even in the morning,” he said. “Maybe because you really didn’t get much sleep last night. Neither of us did, thank you. But that’s not it. Don’t you remember what today is?”

  She frowned, trying to think, but was still befuddled by sleep and kisses. “Well, you said you’d show me the last of the shops on London Bridge. I think it’s terrible that they’re pulling them down. Modernization is very good, but there should be some room for the old ways.… Oh my, I’ve only been here a few months and I sound like an Englishwoman, don’t I? But what’s the hurry?” She smiled at him and wriggled into the plump feather mattress with sensual pleasure. “They won’t all be gone today. There are much better things to do now, I think.”

  “So do I,” he agreed, “but it’s Wednesday, wife. Remember?”

  Her eyes flew open wide. She sat straight up. “Oh, mercy! Wednesday! The ship! What time is it? We can’t be late.”

  His amusement faded, and as he gazed at her in the morning light, his gray eyes grew smoky dark. She’d learned to sleep naked the way he did, and when she sat up so abruptly, the covers pooled around her. It looked as if her slender body were rising from a shining, satin sea. He took her in his arms and drew her back to the pillow.

  “We won’t be late,” he breathed against her ear. “It won’t sail until the first fair tide. That gives us time—if that is, you’ll promise not to take forever getting dressed.”

  “I’ll go without dressing,” she murmured against his mouth.

  * * *

  But in the end, they did have to hurry, because she’d wanted to look her best. She wore her best day gown of apple-blossom pink silk, with green satin panniers.

&nb
sp; “I don’t know why you dressed so carefully,” he told her when their carriage finally stopped at the dockside. “You’ll have to keep your cape closed anyway; the wind’s cutting cold today.”

  “But it’s clear, and that will make for a smoother sail, won’t it?” she asked him with sudden fearfulness.

  “Yes. Don’t worry,” he said. “The hurricane season’s passed, and the great northern storms aren’t due yet. It’s a perfect time to sail, and the bright sky will make even smoky old London look beautiful as the ship puts out to sea. It will be a good sight to remember England by.”

  “Jared,” she said, her eyes searching his, “you’re sure this is what you want?”

  “I have you; that’s all I really want. As for the rest of it, now I’m sure that this is the way things must be. And you?”

  She nodded and gave him her hand, so he could help her from the coach.

  The ship was a splendid, great-masted vessel. There was a tumult of sailors loading livestock and last-minute cargo, and a confusion of passengers being registered and boarded and saying their farewells to a crowd of well-wishers. Jared and Della paused on the dock, looking for a familiar face. The one they found wasn’t the one they were looking for.

  Fiona came running down the plank and past them, her cloak trailing behind her like a sail. The ripping wind had pushed back her hood to show her eyes glittering with tears, and her fair face had two red spots high on her cheeks. Della didn’t think they were caused by the wind. The wind could make a lady look like she was crying, but it didn’t fill her face with disappointment and regret. She was going to say something to Fiona as she rushed past, but stopped when she felt Jared’s hand on her arm.

  “I think it would be best if we let her alone,” he said quietly.

  Della saw Fiona’s father step out of a grand coach that had been waiting by the dockside and take his daughter in his embrace. Then the two disappeared into the coach.

  “Yes,” Della said. “Well, at least we know Justin’s here already and hasn’t changed his mind.”

  She gazed up at Jared as his eyes searched the deck of the great ship. In spite of his earlier comments, he had dressed as elegantly as she had today. The wind made his cloak swirl around him and it ruffled his glowing hair. She thought he had never looked so handsome, but then, so she thought every day. She held up her head, vowing to do him proud, and let him lead her up the gangplank.

  They found Justin almost immediately. Few men were as tall as the two brothers. The wind made hats and wigs a jest today, and even elegant men found powder a waste, so the brothers’ recent habit of going without wigs did not make their natural hair colors seem unusual. Justin’s hair had slipped from his queue. It had grown out, and now it rippled to his shoulders. The wind brought high color to his face, but there was also vivid excitement in his expression when he saw them. Della thought he looked more like Jared today than she’d ever seen him look.

  “Little sister!” Justin said with a broad smile, holding out his arms and enfolding her. “Brother!” he said, loosing her and hugging Jared hard. Jared embraced him in turn.

  Della felt tears come to her eyes as she watched the two men. It was a capricious world, and she found herself wondering if they ever would see each other again. She banished the dangerous thought. When she saw her father beaming at her, she was glad to go straight into his comforting arms.

  “Such a lot of hugging today,” Alfred said, releasing her and running a hand beneath his nose. “Well, well. You look beautiful, my honey. I’m proud of you. You’ve done everything just right. Imagine, going through a wedding all over again here in London, and just for me. Or was it for the uncles? No matter, it was the talk of the town, you did me proud, as you always do.”

  She couldn’t speak right away, she was trying so hard to be grown up and brave. She turned to the two brothers instead of answering, and listened to them saying their farewells as she composed herself.

  “So, brother. I can’t change your mind? There’s still time.”

  “In a pig’s eye, there is.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “We’ve been through this, time and again. I am. It’s best for me, and you, and well you know it.”

  “So be it,” Jared said, turning from his brother, “Della, before God! Get that look off your face! Alfred’s going home, not to the end of the earth.”

  “Aye,” Alfred said vigorously, “and it isn’t as though I’ve lost a daughter either, for you know I’ve gained two sons!”

  “My only hope is that I can be as good a one to you as my brother was,” Justin said sincerely.

  Alfred patted him on the back, “I don’t expect that,” he said, “for he wasn’t like my Thomas at all, you know. But still he was altogether right for Jared, and about as fine a son as any man could ask, at that. I’m a lucky fellow. I know you’ll be absolutely right for me as ‘Justin,’ too. Ah. See? You don’t even flinch when I call you by your Christian name. You’ve gotten used to it already. You’ll do well. Getting used to new things is the hallmark of success for a man in the New World.”

  “I’m used to it because it is my rightful name, now, as always. Jared’s the lordship, and good luck to him,” Justin said merrily. “I’m for a new world and a new life in it. You took my brother in as a boy, and gave us back a redoubtable man. I warn you, Alfred, I expect the same for myself.”

  “You have the same already,” Alfred said with a laugh.

  “So say you,” Justin said, “but I don’t know how to do things as Jared can. I don’t know how to judge a beaver pelt, nor address a chief of the Indians, or even how to hew enough firewood for a really cold night—without cutting my toes off. Nor do I know a cotton boll from a tobacco leaf. And don’t forget the caves you’ve said you’d show me, as well as the civilized delights of Williamsburg; or the men you said you’d introduce me to: from Dr. Franklin’s friends to Hairy Pierre, the trapper. I want to be a trader and a plantation manager and a frontiersman, and good at all those trades, Alfred. So that when my arrogant, spoiled soft nobleman of a brother comes to visit me, with his many children, they can all wish they were like their wild and venturesome Uncle Justin.”

  “Even the girls?” Della said, laughing.

  “Especially the girls,” Justin said, smiling down at her, “if they’re anything like their very wise mama, who always recognized a nobleman, whatever he was disguised as.”

  “Oh,” Della said with a sigh, “how I wish there were two of me!”

  They all laughed, because they could laugh about it now.

  “I mean it, brother,” Justin said. “It is exactly as I told you. You’re a man now; your life made you one. I need to find what sort of man I am. Your New World’s the place to do it, because there’s room for all sorts of men there. Here, I would always and ever be Jared Alveston’s brother. I’m proud of it, but that is all I would be—a man who stands high in the line of succession. I was born so. But there, Alfred assures me I shall have a chance to be Justin, a man who may stand as high as he wishes to, or can. Be glad for me.”

  “Glad?” Jared said. “God, man, when you say it like that, you make me want to push you overboard and take your place!”

  Justin glanced at Della, into eyes blue as the sea he would soon cross, and smiled sadly. “Brother,” he said, “no one could ever take your place, and woe to whoever tried. Because if you didn’t get them, your fierce Della would. See that you take care of her, or you’ll have to answer to me!”

  “And see that you take care of my father!” Della said as a jest, but her voice faltered because she heard the call for visitors ashore.

  “Take care of my brother,” Jared told Alfred, with no jest in his voice.

  “And you, mine,” Justin told Della.

  “I’m the only one who doesn’t have to ask that favor,” Alfred told Jared as he took his hand, “because you’ve already sworn to protect my daughter, and a long time before you stood before that preacher, lad. I remember.
You’ve always been a man of your word, then as now. God keep you, son. You cannot know how happy I am to know you really are that to me now.”

  They all embraced and vowed to write, and then swore to see each other soon again. In the end, they had to be told very politely that visitors must leave the ship or they would sail with it.

  Della and Jared stood on the wharf as the crowd dispersed, and they watched as a fine running wind carried the ship swiftly off into the horizon and away into a new day.

  Only then did they turn to each other again.

  “Have I done the right thing?” Jared asked her.

  “If you wanted to make him happy? Yes. If you wanted to make me happy? Only if you’ve made yourself happy.”

  “You make me happy,” he said, “but happiness isn’t everything.”

  “Then what is?” she demanded, her hands on her hips. “And if you’re going to go on about right and moral and just—well, you know what you’ve done is that, too. But if happiness isn’t everything, I’d like to know what is.”

  He bent to her and whispered in her ear. Her knees grew weak and she put her arms around him and leaned against him.

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, yes—that. But surely that’s a form of happiness?”

  “Let’s go home and discuss it,” he suggested.

  “Yes, please,” she said.

  They left the dockside together, as they had so many years ago in another time and place, on the opposite shore of this ocean. He helped her into a coach so he could carry her home, the way he had all those years before in that other world. She put her arms around his neck and told herself she’d never let him go, the way she had secretly promised herself then—the way she could at last promise him.

  * * *

  For more information about Edith Layton’s life and books, please visit http://www.facebook.com/authoredithlayton.