So Rare a Gift (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 3)

by Amber Lynn Perry

And what? Sleep beside him? She clamped her teeth to keep back the laugh that crowded in her throat.

  She pulled the stays away from her chest and hid them under her petticoat, both reveling in and tensing at the sensation of her unencumbered breasts.

  Flinging a look his direction, Anna waited. Aye. This time she was sure he slept.

  Keeping her movements so slow she hardly moved, Anna lifted the covers and slipped her legs into the cold sheets, careful to keep her body a good distance from his. A feat to be sure, when the bed was scarcely large enough for the two of them.

  She rested against the straw tick, surprised at its comfort. Though not the feathers she was accustomed to, ’twas fine in its own way. She settled her head against the pillow. Aye, very fine indeed.

  Sleep tugged at her mind and she succumbed, allowing the luring black of the night to own her mind. She turned, rose up on one elbow and blew out the candle. Black shrouded the room.

  “Good night, Anna.”

  Dear Lord. He was awake.

  Lowering herself back to the pillow, she stared at the ceiling she couldn’t see. “Good night, William.”

  And from that moment, she prayed for morning.

  ~~~

  William woke to a loud clang and sprung from his pillow. Blinking the sleep that held to his eyes, he looked to the bed. Anna was gone. He squinted, looking to the east window. A sliver of orange against the horizon signaled the full rise of the sun was only moments away. He wiped his hands over his face, flung the covers from his legs and walked to the chest at the end of the bed to retrieve a fresh set of clothing. He should have been up long ago. He looked to the bed again then to the door when another clang sounded from the kitchen. Anna must be preparing the morning meal. A clash of metal followed by a faint response sounded through the wall.

  William hurried on with his clothes and pulled a brush over his hair as a fleck of worry niggled his stomach. Was that smoke he smelled or just his imagination?

  This time the voice he heard was louder.

  “Cieli! Cosa ho fatto?” A growl-like huff followed and then another clang.

  It sounded like Anna’s voice, but that certainly wasn’t English she spoke.

  ’Twas then the scent of burned food met his nose, and he rushed from the room to see a cloud of black billowing in the fireplace.

  “Anna?”

  She yelped and jumped to her feet beside the fire. “William!”

  Her face, flecked with flour and red from heat, nudged a chuckle to his throat but he refused its exposure.

  The smell stung again and he scowled in concern. “Is everything all right?”

  She struck her hands back and forth against her apron and looked from him to the fire. A circle of biscuits, as black as the charred wood beside them, rested inside a casket of iron. “Oh, I uh…I’m just preparing your morning meal.” Anna turned back to the embers and wiped her forearm against her head, mumbling something under her breath.

  Now knowing she was well, and that only the food was charred, he allowed his gaze to study her round, worried eyes and the determined set of her mouth. Endearing that she would try so hard and be so obviously concerned with pleasing him. Far too entertaining to seek the moment’s premature end, William stared a moment longer. “May I be of help?”

  Kneeling, she used a folded cloth to remove the skillet from the fire and rested it on the brick beside the embers. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. “Nay, I thank you.” She poked at the food then jumped back, and flicked her finger before sticking it in her mouth. She didn’t look up. “It appears I have burned these, but I will make more.”

  William surveyed the table. Flour everywhere. Egg shells in a bowl next to a thick lump of what looked like batter. “You gathered eggs this morning.”

  “Aye,” she said, still fussing with the black biscuits. “But I could only fetch three before the rooster shooed me away.”

  He pressed his lips between his teeth to bite back the laugh that inched ever higher. She acted as if she’d never done a minute of work in her life. Simply nerves perhaps. He understood that all too well and standing there wouldn’t help matters. He moved to the door. “Allow me to fetch you some more water. I’ll return in a moment.”

  Anna looked up only long enough for him to see a flash of gratitude and distress. She nodded quickly then stood and rested the now empty skillet on the table.

  Plucking the bucket from the floor, William hurried to the back door as another stream of foreign words drifted to his ears, though their whispered tone made him believe she didn’t think he could hear them.

  “Perché hai dovuto bruciare?”

  A soothing melody, the words drifted like a song, despite the frustrating nature of the phrase. Not that he understood it, but her tone was unmistakable. Where had a poor English woman learned Italian? He returned moments later, bucket full, to find smoke once again chasing up the chimney. Anna bunched her apron and removed the pitiful meal from the embers, resting it on the brick. She lowered her head and rested it against her knee.

  “I don’t care for biscuits anyway.”

  She spun and dotted her eyes, but couldn’t mask the red that rimmed them. His heart tipped. She was crying. Strands of black hair frayed from underneath her cap and more flour dotted her nose and forehead. Turning away, she rose to her feet, and went to the table brushing her apron across her face to clean away the white.

  “Forgive me.” She looked behind her. “I have yet to familiarize myself with this fire.”

  How was this fire different from any other?

  The color in her face deepened to an even darker crimson and she avoided his gaze. “But I did boil you a bit of salt pork.”

  Boiled the salt pork? He looked at her then to the pot he’d failed to notice at the back corner of the fireplace. Salt pork must be soaked of course, but boiled? He ignored the thought and neared, hoping his smile would massage the worry from her features. “Aye, of course. Thank you.”

  She released a quiet sigh and motioned to the table. A charger was set out, a mug and a fork. He sent her a quick glance. Anna’s gentle face beamed, her eyes crowned with hope as if she were a child waiting for praise. His heart turned to mush. How desperately she wanted to please him. Why? The reason didn’t matter, only that she did. And the mere thought nourished a seed of joy he hadn’t known was planted.

  He glanced down at the watery mass of grayish-pink already on the plate and kept the words flowing to avoid thinking what knocked at his mind. He took the fork in hand. “I shall be in the garden most of the day.”

  Taking his fork to the meat, he stripped off a piece and put it in his mouth. Instantly his reflexes gagged, forcing him to spit it back onto the plate. He reached for the mug and cleaned his palate of the writhing intensity.

  “Is something wrong?” Anna’s woeful tone forced William to look up. Straightway he regretted what he’d done. Her dainty eyebrows pinched up in the middle as tears gathered in her eyes.

  “Nay.” William braced himself for what he must do. How could he not when her pleading expression slayed every need but to bring a smile to her face. “I should have allowed another moment for it to cool.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, a portion of concern easing away from her eyes—eyes that would not move from him.

  With such an audience, William summoned what pitiful theatrics he could and took another fork-full, putting it to his tongue. Her gaze didn’t waver, but grew more intense when he closed his lips around the fork. The same gag lurched, but he kept his teeth moving, offering a hum of pleasure as he chewed the salty mass. Anna’s shoulder’s relaxed as if she’d been holding her breath, and a look of relief consumed her sweet face.

  “I’m so pleased you like it.”

  After chewing only as much as necessary, William nodded his answer and reached for his mug once more, flooding his throat with liquid.

  He set the mug down and met his wife’s gentle gaze, praying the truth of his words would wipe the te
ars from her eyes. “I appreciate your efforts more than I can say, Anna.”

  She sighed. “I wish there was more for you, but I’ll have something prepared for mid-day. I promise.”

  “The more you become familiar with this house the easier it will be. The same could be said for myself as well.” He pushed up from the table. “We have much with which to grow accustomed.” He scoffed inwardly at the irony of such a statement. A soldier posing as a farmer? He knew nothing of sowing or harvesting. God help them.

  Anna motioned to his plate, her expression nipped with worry. “But you’ve hardly eaten. One bite will not sustain you.”

  He reached for his hat and placed it on his head as he started for the door. “Not to worry.” Offering her a kind smile and bob of the head, he winked. “I’ll be fine.”

  The lines of concern around her eyes didn’t ease as he’d hoped, but her lips bowed at the ends. She didn’t speak but nodded quickly before spinning away.

  He stood in the open doorway, one foot in and one out. Should he say something? Had there been more tears in her eyes or had he imagined it? He shook his head and went out, closing the door behind him. They were both overwhelmed, struggling to find normality in a life so new and foreign.

  After two steps toward the garden he halted, his advance arrested by the mounds of dirt and rows of plants. Tangles of vines and vegetation in various shades and colors taunted him as if they knew he was as unskilled in a garden as Anna apparently was in the kitchen. He looked behind him, allowing that chuckle to finally break free. Kind woman. She’d looked devastated that he hadn’t eaten more, but he couldn’t have forced another bite no matter how hungry he was.

  He looked back at the garden and his own faults washed over him anew. He lowered his head, rubbing his finger and thumb against his eyes. What had he done? Marriage? Had that really been the wisest choice?

  It had seemed so at the time. Without bidding, Anna’s coaxing smile, her courage and determination, rallied what remained of his own. They’d shared a bed. Not for the first time of course, but for the first time alone. The memory of last night consumed him as the rest of the bright world dimmed. Her petite body, so warm and perfectly curved had rested only inches from his. He hadn’t wished for her, not like that—at least not quite like that. Did she expect it perhaps? Was that not what a husband should do?

  He finished the short distance to the garden and lowered to his haunches, fingering the green stalks in his hands to determine what vegetable lurked beneath the soil. Ah. Carrots. Exactly which was a vegetable and which was a weed quickly became apparent, and he went to work, his mind laboring as much as his body.

  If she could marry a stranger, accept life in a new land with no thought of ever going back, then certainly he could do the same. William leaned back against his heels and trailed his gaze over the land. It would not be the same as soldiering. His chest ached at the thought. He was made for firing a musket, for taking orders and issuing them, for determining and executing plans of action. He was made for battle.

  An audible sigh, deep and cleansing, pressed out of his chest and he stared once again at the weeds. He could only hope he’d find farming more simple than he believed, for if breakfast was any indication, he might need to take up cooking as well. Poor, sweet Anna. Anna. Her name became easier to speak with every hour it seemed.

  A grin pulled his mouth upward. If eating plain meals was the darkest of his worries where she was concerned, then he was a lucky man indeed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hands dusted in soil, William leaned back on his knees and used his sleeve to wipe his forehead as he rested between the beans and cabbages. The sun bore down heavy. And he thought the daily drills he’d endured as a soldier were fatiguing. A week of farming, and already he wanted to give up and join the rebels in Boston. He tinkered with the idea for the hundredth time. Though now, as every time before, a dissatisfying pit welled in his middle. It wasn’t right for him. Not now. Why, he didn’t know. But he’d learned never to distrust the whisperings of the Spirit.

  He peered behind him at the house, wondering if Anna was at the fire. Kitty’s kind assistance over the past few days had helped his wife some, but still his belly ached for a hearty meal. With a sigh he turned back to the garden, and gripping hard against a large cabbage, he yanked it free. If he could only care for the garden well enough he might be able to give Anna more help. A laugh escaped his chest. He’d never seen anyone boil bacon—just as she’d done with the salt pork—but she had. As he pondered the possibility of another supper of hard biscuits and bland beans, his stomach gurgled. How had she sustained her previous husband on such meals? As William reached for another cabbage, his mind toyed with the memory of her gentle nature, soft smile, and the way she refused to let something difficult conquer her spirit. It must have been her nature that sustained her first love. And that was likely enough.

  “William!”

  Thomas’s familiar voice called and William turned. The length of his stride and hardness in his eyes brought William to his feet. He brushed his hands against his breeches and rushed to meet his friend.

  “What’s happened?”

  Thomas’s red face and hard mouth made William’s shoulders tighten.

  “Redcoats were spotted three miles south of here.” The way Thomas seethed the message with fire behind his breath, ’twas clear there was more that needed telling. But William feared he already knew.

  “How many?” William’s fingers ached for a weapon.

  Thomas looked behind him then to the house as if to be sure they were alone. “Three hundred.”

  “Three hundred!” An entire regiment? Impossible.

  “That is the report. We will need to see for ourselves if we are to know for certain.”

  “I will come with you.”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly staying out of harm’s way.”

  “I refuse to hide like a coward.” Instinctively William reached for the sword at his side and ground his teeth when he felt nothing. Curse this new identity.

  “I tell you to warn you.” Thomas glanced around again. “Staying safe so you are not wrongly hanged is not cowardice.”

  “I am a soldier, Thomas,” William said. “Now that I am free to fight for the right cause, I will do so with all that is in my power. I am not afraid.”

  A rustle along the path hushed their conversation before Nathaniel appeared. He nodded when he reached them, out of breath as though he’d run all the way. “You’ve told him?”

  Thomas dipped his chin. “He’d like to take a look himself.”

  Nathaniel’s eyes rounded. “Is that so?” A smile widened his face. “I always knew I liked you.”

  “Am I the only one thinking sense?” Frustration latched to Thomas’s expression. “I came here to warn him, just as I remember you did for me once, need I remind you?” His expression narrowed. “You would encourage him to do something that could put him in further danger? Has no one thought of his wife?”

  His wife. William pivoted to look toward the house. He had forgotten. Not about having a wife, but how it might affect her if in fact he was caught. He scowled, putting together a dozen reasons why doing nothing could be equally as dangerous as discovering why such a number of soldiers had gathered so close to town.

  “Your point is well taken, Thomas. However,” William said, “if we do not discover what they aim to do here, we could all be in more danger than if we do nothing.”

  Nathaniel eyed them both, mouth pressed tight, eyes hard. The message in his expression was clear.

  William’s body sparked with energy. “Thomas?”

  Grinning, Thomas started toward the wood, speaking over his shoulder. “Up for a bit of adventure?”

  William followed. “Always.”

  “William?”

  William’s heart lurched and he jerked to a halt at the sound of the lilting voice behind him. He spun to see Anna in the doorway, a towel in her hands. The questio
n in her wide eyes pricked the feelings of duty that grew each day that passed. Should he go? Nay, ’twas not a matter of whether he should go. He had to. Having been on the other side, he knew more than any of them what kind of danger awaited.

  Nathaniel and Thomas touched their hats in greeting to Anna.

  William jogged forward to meet her by the doorway. “Thomas and Nathaniel have some business they wish to discuss in town.” He silently groaned at the ridiculous sound of such an excuse. Business? “I won’t be long.”

  Her delicate throat shifted and her gaze dropped. He reached for her arm, knowing the fears that hovered always near the surface. “Stay to the house and you will be safe.”

  She looked up, and the lack of light in her eyes bit into his conscience. She licked her lips and turned toward the house. “I have plenty to keep me busy here.” One hand on the door, she stopped. “Will you be home for supper?”

  “Long before.”

  Her gaze brushed over him and like a breath of air to aching lungs he savored it, however short it was. And with that, she was inside once again.

  Hastening to his companions, he clapped them both on the back. “The redcoats are waiting.”

  ~~~

  The inlet hummed as soldiers worked like red ants, trudging back and forth along the sand and between the trees. On his stomach, William’s pulse exploded as he spied them through the dry, grassy reeds. He stared at the mumbling crowd as they relieved the small boats of their supplies not fifty feet away.

  “That’s an entire regiment.” He turned to Thomas, also on his stomach, whispering through clenched teeth. “Did your source say anything else—why they are here, how long they will stay?”

  From the other side of William, Nathaniel whispered as he stared forward. “That is all we know.”

  Mind reeling, William combed through the files of his memory. What intelligences had he heard before being cut from the ranks? He bit his cheek. Those two days in shackles he’d heard more about the siege in Boston, but that was all.

  “Well?” Thomas said.

  William shook his head at the puzzle. “They don’t have any cannon, but they’ve plenty of munitions.”