“They’re probably haring back to Virginia,” Mr Farrell said. “And unless they boarded a ship, they’re on foot. We found their horses.”
That was a relief – a very minor one, but still. She wrapped Mr Farrell’s cloak even tighter around her, trying to stop the shivers that were flying up her legs, her back.
“Oh God,” she said in an undertone to Ian. “Now they’ll be even angrier.”
“Aye, but at least they won’t be up to much for the coming days.” Ian gave her arm a pat.
“Whoopee.” Alex found that no comfort whatsoever.
Chapter 26
Alex was in a hurry to get home. They left at dawn the day after the Burley incident, taking the long turn round town so as to avoid the spectacle of the hanging Indian that still decorated one of the plane trees in the square. All that day, they pushed on, and next day Alex had them in their saddles by daybreak, hoping to cover the remaining miles in one long day. The heat was oppressive, and as the day progressed, the clear skies disappeared behind dark, brooding clouds.
“Thunderstorm,” Ian said, pointing to the east. “We’d best find cover while we can.”
“We ride on,” Alex insisted, “we’re only hours from home.” One night sleeping in the open had been bad enough, with Alex spending most of it wide awake, clutching Ian’s loaded musket. Every time she glanced at the surrounding forest, she expected to see Philip leering at her, or Walter aiming his musket, or… She swallowed and urged her horse on.
They’d only covered a couple of miles when Ian refused to go any further. The clouds had sunk low enough to seem to skim the treetops, and to Alex’s irritation, Ian dismounted and started setting up camp.
“We would have been home by now,” Alex grumbled some time later. She speared a piece of cheese with her knife and glared at her son. She hated the thought of being outside in the coming storm.
“Mayhap – or maybe it would have caught us unawares. Fickle things, storms.”
“Fickle things, storms,” Alex mimicked in an undertone. What would he know? When a magnificent fork of lightning cleaved the sky in two, Alex squeaked, shifting to sit as close as possible to Ian.
“It’s just lightning,” he said.
Easy for him to say; he hadn’t had quite the same close encounter with the potential consequences of lightning as she had, and this had all the makings of spectacular fireworks. She caught an amused look between Betty and Ian, and grabbed hold of Narcissus instead.
The dog was as spooked as she was when the sky exploded. She buried her face against his side, and tried to block out the sounds and the lights, but it didn’t much help. Light zigzagged through the air only feet away, the ground shivered with the impact, and Alex squished her eyes shut and prayed.
Alex wanted Matthew. The air crackled with electricity, the sky was torn apart by dazzling light, and she needed his arms around her, his reassurance that all would be well, that he’d keep her safe. But no Matthew; only a panting, frightened dog that leaned its considerable bulk against her and whined.
The next bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree, and the night was suffused with the scent of scorched wood. The ground shook. Alex whimpered and hugged Narcissus. One of the horses shrieked, the mare beside it joined in, and just like that they took off, hobbles snapped like cotton thread.
More thunder, yet another bolt, and then came the rain, a torrent of water that drenched them in seconds – not that Alex cared, because now the air was light and fresh, and the thunder was moving westwards.
An hour or so later, they huddled together round the small fire Ian had succeeded in lighting.
“How are we to get this home without the mules?” Alex kicked in the direction of the pannier baskets. Stupid animals. With the exception of Narcissus, they’d all taken off, leaving them stranded.
“Tomorrow,” Ian yawned, “we’ll think of something tomorrow, aye?”
Betty was sitting very close to him and, even in the dark, Alex could see they were holding hands. At present, she was too drained to do more than register this interesting little fact, just as she was too tired to worry about the Burleys. With a little grunt, she settled herself to sleep.
*
Alex woke to a dawn that glittered with returning light. She rolled over on her side and regarded the immobile heap beside her. A wild fuzz of brown hair appeared, and Alex closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, peeking from under her eyelashes to watch Betty disentangle herself from Ian and stand up. Betty smiled down at Ian with a smile of such sweetness it made Alex’s stomach contract, and then she ducked in among the trees.
Alex was busy tying her apron into place when Ian rolled onto his front and got to his feet.
“Good night?” She winked, grinning at the red that flew up his face.
“Aye,” Ian mumbled, and all through breakfast, he and Betty maintained a distance. Still, Alex intercepted a number of radiant smiles and covert looks. Betty was glowing from within, and as to Ian… She sneaked him a look. Hazel eyes so like his father’s rested on Betty, eyes that lightened into gold when he smiled at her. She pursed her lips. This whole matter required careful handling, but she decided to leave this for later. Right now, her more immediate concern was to get home before Matthew went frantic with worry.
*
Matthew was restless. Every day he wandered up and down the lane, hoping to see them come riding back even if he knew they wouldn’t, not yet. He disliked being separated from Alex, and even more when it was him left at home while she was riding unprotected through the woods.
He submerged himself in the harvest, working well into the evenings, and still he found the time to take that last hopeful walk up the lane – just in case. Around him, the family drooped. Naomi was struggling to feed two weans, and as such was excused from any other labour except cooking, which left Matthew, Mark, Daniel and Agnes to carry the brunt of the work. Matthew urged them on, worried that the dry weather might break, and as the week progressed, he could feel the heat begin to build, the heavy smell of dry dust permeating the air.
The Indians worried him as well. Twice, he’d seen bands of braves cut across his land, and he hadn’t recognised any of them. Even more worrying, they had been dressed for war, their normally long hair reduced to waving crests. And so, on top of their daily work in the fields, he and his eldest sons shared sentinel duty at night, leaving them cross-eyed with exhaustion. The few hours Matthew slept, he tossed from side to side, his mind invaded by a never-ending list of tasks.
Matthew woke in the middle of the night, and his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, his head aching fit to burst. A thunderstorm…he frowned, resting his hand for an instant on Alex’s pillow. Was she out in this? He was filled with an urge to ride out and find her, but waved the thought away as ridiculous – he had no idea where she might be.
All through the storm he lay awake – it would have been impossible to do otherwise, what with the sheer force and beauty of it. With the rain came a steady drumming on his roof, and he was almost asleep when he heard the sound of horses. Now? He stumbled out of bed and grabbed at his musket.
“It’s our beasts.” Mark yawned and nodded at the closest horse. “Tore itself, I reckon.”
The hobbles were in tatters, but otherwise the three horses and the mules seemed undamaged, if somewhat overexcited.
“I’ll ride to meet them,” Matthew said.
“Now?” Mark asked. “It’s not yet dawn.”
“Now,” Matthew told him, throwing the saddle onto Moses. “How else are they to get home?”
“Walk?” Mark suggested in a dry tone.
“And the panniers? Are they to carry them home on their backs?” He took the mules on a leading rein and urged Moses into a trot.
He found them no more than six miles from home. Alex leapt to her feet at the sight of him and hurried towards him. It made him smile to see her thus, running barefoot in her haste to reach him and throw her arms around his neck. His son hung bac
k, saying something in an intense voice to Betty before coming over to take the mules.
Matthew looked from Betty to Ian, from Ian to Betty. Under his inspection, Betty coloured while Ian paled, splotches of red decorating his cheeks and throat. Matthew chewed his lip and slid a look at his wife for confirmation. Her brows rose, her mouth quirked into a little smile. Matthew sighed. He should put a stop to this, send the lass back to her father immediately.
“Not now,” Alex murmured.
A mere half-hour later, Betty and Ian were gone, double-mounted on Moses and with the mules in tow. Matthew loaded his musket, offered Alex his hand, and set off for home. On the long walk back, Alex told him about her latest encounter with the Burleys. Matthew’s windpipe felt as if coated with ice as did his lungs, making it difficult to inhale. Vivid images of his Alex, nude and helpless under Philip, crowded his brain.
“Too bad they got away, huh?” she sighed.
“Aye,” he said, and the freezing fear was replaced by a red-hot rage. He should have been there to protect her, to finish them off with his bare hands.
“Was he badly hurt?” he asked, hoping that Philip Burley, accursed bastard that he was, would live out his life severely maimed.
Alex hitched her shoulders. “It probably hurt like hell, but, no, unfortunately not.”
*
They were both hot and tired when they reached the turn-off, sometime after noon. David came rushing to meet them, tailed by Samuel and Malcolm, and making up the rear came Adam, with Hugin perched atop of his head.
“The day the bird shits in his hair is the day that bird becomes history,” Alex muttered to Matthew, making him laugh. “Bath?” she suggested, once they’d greeted their children. “I could do with one.”
“Aye, why not?”
By the shore, she shed her clothes, one garment after the other dropping into a pile. He followed suit, dove in first and amused himself by splashing her with water when she complained the river was bloody cold.
“What’s this with Ian and Betty?” he asked as he lathered her hair.
“Well, it’s something, for sure.” She tilted her head back and grinned up at him. “They slept very close together – but at least they were fully clothed.”
“As if that is a hindrance should you want to.” He waded towards the shore.
“You talk to him and I talk to her – or we talk to both of them together.” She threw herself backwards into the water to wash out the last of the soap in her hair, did a slow backwards somersault, and swam to the shore where he stood waiting with towels. “I actually think they’re well suited.”
“She’s his brother’s wife,” Matthew said.
“Not much of a marriage – we both know that. As you said, whatever Jacob was thinking with at the time, it was definitely not his brain.” She opened her stone jar of homemade lavender lotion and applied it all over.
“And what do you think Ian is thinking with?” He took over, motioning for her to turn this way and that. He slowed his hands up her back, dug his fingers into her stiff neck and shoulders, making her groan with pleasure.
“I’m not sure,” Alex said, “and I don’t think he knows either.”
Matthew spread skirts and linens and urged Alex down, thinking she looked lovely, her skin glistening with her oils, her glorious hair unbound. He tugged at her curls, decorating her pale skins with tendrils of hair that shifted all the way from darkest brown, through bronze and a vivid copper, to the odd strand of grey. She was uncharacteristically shy, his wife, lying unresponsive in his arms as he caressed her body. He traced the outline of her nipple and pinched it ever so lightly.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, bending his head to nuzzle her throat.
“I…” She shook her head. “I’m just being silly.”
“What?” He kissed her jawline, disappointed when she didn’t squirm as she normally would.
“I keep on seeing him. You know: Philip.”
It was the equivalent of being doused in a bucket of ice-cold water. Matthew rolled over on his back.
“Is that how you would have reacted?” she asked in a small voice.
“Reacted when?” he asked, even if he already knew what she meant.
“If Philip Burley…” She cleared her throat. “Well, if he’d…”
“…raped you.”
She made an unhappy sound, hiding her face against his chest. Matthew sank his fingers into her hair, forcing her to lift her head to meet his eyes.
“If Philip Burley had tainted you with his body, I would have done my utmost to erase every single memory of that event from your mind.”
“How?” she whispered, her tongue flitting out to wet her lips.
“Like this.” He rolled her over so that her back pressed against the ground. Blue eyes stared up at him, her hands rested on his chest. He kissed her temple; he traced the contours of her beautiful ears, slightly pointed and tight against her skull. Normally, she giggled when he fondled her ears, but today she stretched towards him, offering herself. Her neck, the downy spot just below her hairline at her nape, the rounded shape of her shoulders, the sharp planes of her clavicles. He kissed his way across each and every one of these, and under his mouth and his touch, he felt her relax, those hesitant hands on his chest sliding round to caress his back instead.
He took his time over her breasts, suckling until her nipples stood dark and hard like ripe raspberries.
“Better?” he murmured, moving up her body.
She just nodded, opening her mouth to his. A long kiss, tender at first, but by the time he was done she was writhing below him, her hands where they would normally be when he was loving her: in his hair. With his legs, he nudged her thighs apart, sliding one hand in under her waist to hold her perfectly still when he entered her. There! One thrust and he was so deep inside of her he heard her gasp.
His wife, his woman. Made for him, only for him, and God save the man who ever as much as laid a finger on her. Anger bubbled through him, mixing with his arousal. He dug his toes into the ground for better purchase and pounded into her, grinding his pelvis into hers. She moaned below him, legs coming up around his thighs, his hips. So close, so very, very close.
“Look at me,” he panted. “Look me in the eyes when we come.”
And she did, her eyes a wide open mirror to her soul and her heart.
*
After their long, uninterrupted session by the river, Matthew felt more relaxed than he had done in weeks. Over supper, he exchanged a number of looks with his wife, smiling inwardly when she winked, mouthing “I love you”.
Once the meal was concluded, Matthew invited his eldest son and Betty to join them in the parlour, having to bite his lip not to grin at how flustered Ian seemed.
“I’ve already written to Jacob.” Betty sat on the edge of her stool, keeping her eyes on anything but Ian.
“You have?” Ian gave her a surprised look.
Betty nodded. “I…well, I was never entirely sure.”
“That’s not what you said a year ago,” Matthew reminded her.
“What could I say? I was frightened I might be with child, I had no idea what I wanted or not, and I was so upset with my father for…” Betty broke off.
“And now you’re sure?” Alex said.
Betty raised her chin. “I know I don’t want to remain married to Jacob.”
“And does your father know this?” Matthew asked.
Betty’s eyes flew so abruptly to him he had his answer.
“Ah,” he said, “and why not?”
“Because,” Betty whispered. And it all spilled out: how William kept on listing prospective bridegrooms, and how he kept on nagging at her to dissolve this ‘ridiculous’ marriage with Jacob Graham so that he could see her settled elsewhere.
“…preferably very far away from Providence. None of the men he speaks of live within the colony.”
“You’ve shamed him,” Matthew tried to explain.
“A
nd for that I must pay the rest of my life?”
“I assume it’s Simon you’ve spoken to regarding your marriage contracts, then,” Alex said.
Betty inclined her head, and Matthew rolled his eyes. Wee Simon did best not to rile William Hancock.
“And now you think you love Ian,” Alex stated.
The lass squirmed on her stool, her face so bright Matthew shared a quick smile with his wife. Ian wasn’t smiling: he was staring at Betty like a thirsting man at a miraculous well in the desert.
“I don’t think I do,” Betty breathed. “I know I do.” She fiddled with the edge of her apron, eyes lowered so that only a flash of bright brown was visible under her lashes.
“You’re very young to be saying that,” Matthew said gently. Betty hitched her shoulders. “And you? Do you love her?” Matthew continued, directing himself to his son who was looking at the lass in a way that made any answer redundant.
“I’m not sure,” Ian said, “but I think I might.”
Betty’s eyes met Ian’s. His mouth curved into a slight smile, and her face almost broke in two with the responding grin. Matthew sat back in his chair and regarded them.
“Have you bedded her?” he asked Ian.
“Nay, of course not!” Ian replied, glaring at him.
Matthew held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I had to ask, aye? As I hear it, you were lying very close together this morning.”
Once again, the blush spread like wildfire up Betty’s face, this time reciprocated in Ian’s cheeks.
“That was just for warmth,” Ian said.
Matthew raised a brow, thinking that there was warmth and warmth. He threw a look at Alex; met blue, blue eyes.
“You’ll do nothing improper.” Matthew stood up to tower over them. “I won’t have you bedding before you’re properly wed – if you’re properly wed.” He looked down at Betty and smiled. “One of my sons has treated you badly, and I won’t risk that you be so uncaringly used again. As I recall, you will be eighteen in October a year from now.” Betty nodded. “Well then, if you’re still sure you love Ian a year from now, I’ll do my utmost to see you wed. But until then…” He wagged his finger at them. “You walk a very fine line, aye? Oh,” he added as an afterthought, “and Jacob must be told, by both of you, that you have feelings for each other. My sons won’t end up in enmity over a woman.”
Serpents in the Garden (The Graham Saga) Page 24
