She gripped his arm. “William, I must speak with you. I—”
Joseph peeked around the door then ducked away. “Oh, forgive me.”
“We are just coming.” William turned back to her, his expression a puzzle of thoughts and emotions she couldn’t decipher. “What is it?”
The intensity in his eyes and the way his fingers wrapped her elbow, as if to say he truly wished to know, made her chest pinch. Why must he appear to care so much when he surely did not. Engaging in such perilous activities with the patriots, no matter how valiant their cause, only put their lives in unspeakable danger. Danger he didn’t even plan to warn her of.
She pinched her lips, the heat of scorn searing them shut. If he cared so little, what would speaking of her encounter at the shop accomplish? The cutting answer made her turn away.
“’Tis nothing…I’ve forgotten.”
He dipped his head sideways and hummed low in his throat before placing a hand at her back and leading her to the parlor. He whispered to her ear. “Keep the door latched until I return. I should be home by morning.”
Morning? That was hours away.
A cascade of unnamed frustrations ran down her back as she neared Mr. Wythe. William would so quickly ignore his feelings for her—if indeed he had such regard—and allow this man to escort her home in place of himself?
“Good evening, Mrs. Fredericks.”
Mr. Wythe bowed slightly, his kind features softening her burgeoning frustrations. His height and broad shoulders took away another layer of her concerns. She could be safe with him. Though her traitorous heart wished it were William by her side, the resentments piling in her middle refused even the slightest acknowledgement that perhaps she misjudged him. She continued to refuse his gaze, though she could feel his eyes upon her.
“Good evening, Mr. Wythe.” She passed William as she strode toward the door. “I do appreciate you being willing to see me home safely.”
“’Tis my pleasure.”
William rushed forward and opened the door. He touched her back again as she exited. “I shall be home soon.”
The song of his voice curled around her and she looked up. Suddenly unable to move, captured by the swell of tenderness in his eyes, Anna gripped her skirt to keep from reaching for him. Did he care? Truly?
His mouth opened as if he would speak, but he shut it again, snipping the thread of hope she’d nearly used to mend the rift in her spirit. He looked to Joseph, a kind of warning blazing behind his eyes.
Joseph nodded and gestured for Anna to exit in front of him.
Walking into the chilled air, she gripped her arms and rubbed her hands up and down, trying to stay warm despite the chill that ravaged within. She was safe nowhere. Even here in this little town with a husband and friends beside her, her father’s ever-expanding influence would uncover her hiding place and snatch her from the only happiness she’d ever known. A bitter laugh reached for her throat but she kept it back. Not that she took any pleasure in burning every meal she touched or enjoyed the ache in her back from the endless scrubbing and digging and washing. A grin lifted her face and she glanced to the sky. In truth, she did take pleasure in such things. She loved this new life. All of it.
Lord, look down on me in mercy. Keep me from being discovered.
She glanced up at her escort and he smiled down at her before turning his attentions to the road with a stern set to his jaw.
Her stomach clenched. Had the look William given him been an unspoken command to be sure he kept her safe? Perhaps she was too harsh in her judgments. With a sigh that cleared the darkness from her spirit, Anna straightened her posture and resolved to rise above her childish sensibilities. William would no doubt be famished when he returned. Well then, he would return home to a feast.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A strange perfume rested on the air. Dew-kissed autumn leaves, sea mist, and the promise of rain. William trudged across the path from the creek and up to the house. Fatigue cramped his weary muscles. Numerous times in the past he’d stood watch for many intense and dangerous hours. But these last six were more charged than he’d ever endured.
The sun’s glow peeped at the edge of the trees, asking how he’d spent his night. His lips stretched in response. Tense as it had been, his body still buzzed with that excited energy he craved.
He’d all but forced Nathaniel to allow him to ride with him to Plymouth. The man had nearly burst a vein in his head, but he’d allowed it. And good thing. The ride there had been easy enough and the meeting with Willis Plains, the leader of the Plymouth patriots, had gone as planned. ’Twas the ride back that still had his pulse racing. He grinned again, recalling the speeds at which they’d ridden to escape the lone rider who followed. Then, like Joseph, the three hours they’d spent lying in the reeds, praying God would shield them. And he prayed God would continue to shelter him with His all-knowing hand. For now, the bulk of the responsibility rested on William to exchange the goods or deposit them, whatever the case might be. At least, until they could discover what else could be done.
Trudging forward, a dusting of orange sunlight rested upon a company of pink flowers, their petals so delicate William stopped to marvel God’s creation. Lowering to his haunches, he brushed his fingers against the silken blooms, their yellow centers and circle of slender petals all but beseeching him to carry them away that they might bask in the brightness of Anna’s smile. How could he resist? Plucking a handful of the delicate flowers, their lovely hue tempting a grin, William rose and continued on.
He rounded the small bend in the path and stopped when his house came into view. A light flickered in the kitchen window and a thread of smoke drifted from the chimney. Anna must be preparing breakfast. The image of her wounded expression when she’d left with Joseph still pained. Staring down, he questioned his reasoning for the hundredth time. Aye, Eliza and Kitty were both aware of the dangerous task they’d undertaken, but Anna carried fears of which the other two women still did not know. The burden of discovery weighed upon her heavily. If Anna were to have added worries over his safety…. He shook his head. ’Twas better to keep her ignorant, though he despised himself for the secrecy all the same.
Nearing the door, he stopped, a flash of color snatching his attention. Peering through the glass, he paused, a grin at his mouth as he watched the familiar morning scene repeating itself. Hands at her hips, Anna faced the fire then bent and swung around, plunking the skillet on the table. She blew upward at the strand of hair that draped her brow when suddenly she stomped and straightened her arms at her sides. “Mi rifiuto di rinunciare!”
A ripple of affection dashed through him. Whatever it was she said, she said it with passion. A grin etched into his face and he relaxed his stance, leaning his shoulder against the door to stay hidden but continue his pleasurable view. He’d seen this side of her only a few times, but now it seemed deeper, more real. This passion, this tenacity, was at the center of the woman he’d married. Though her courage had always been evident, this vibrant personality she unknowingly revealed sang to him, and he had to fight the powerful urge to rush in and embrace her.
With a quick shake of his head, he dispersed the outrageous idea from his mind. He pushed from the door and started for the barn. Though the flowers in his hand begged otherwise, he continued on, sure that the chickens might have eggs Anna could use, if she hadn’t already gathered them. The task would give him ample time to be sure his heart wouldn’t replace the entangling feelings from which he’d just freed himself.
A scream pierced the air and he whirled toward the house. The frightful sound came again and he bolted for the door. He gripped the handle and pushed, but the latch was in place.
“Anna! What’s wrong? Let me in.”
“William! Help me!”
She screamed again, but this time her voice snapped with horror.
Moving back, William kicked the heel of his boot beside the handle. The latch cracked and the door swung open. He rushed in a
nd his chest seized.
Anna writhed on the floor, her skirts aflame.
He lunged for the cloak on the peg and raced forward, beating the flames. His pulse exploded. He pounded again and again until the orange ribbons vanished, leaving only the smoldering black of their handiwork.
Hands at her face, Anna dropped her head back against the floor and sobbed.
William dropped to his knees at her side, his pulse refusing to quit its erratic pace. He trailed her body, examining her lower legs. His throat went hard. A strip of red flesh surrounded by charred fabric stole his breath.
Careful not to touch her wound, he pried at the still-hot petticoat and searched for signs of any other injury. When he could find none, he turned his attentions back to her.
“Come,” he said, sweeping his arms beneath her shoulders and knees. “Your burns need dressing. I’ll take you to Doctor Smith.”
“Nay!” She resisted with her words but her quivering body gave him the real answer he sought.
Starting for the door, he stopped when she almost jumped from his arms.
“Nay, William, I do not need a doctor.”
Still holding her, he stared, his face almost cramping from the scowl. “Of course you do—”
“Please.” Tears tumbled over her cheeks and she looked away. Her voice cracked. “Please put me down.”
The scowl hardened, but from questions, naught else. She didn’t know what she wanted. She’d gone mad with the knowledge she could have met a fiery death. That was all he could surmise. Turning, he rested her on the kitchen table, and crouched at her feet, once more examining where the heat of the flames had nibbled her flesh. Red and swollen, but not black, thank the Lord.
He looked up, a hand on her knee, trying to slay the rising concern that drove up in his chest at the sight of her tear-filled eyes. “If you do not wish to leave, then I will go fetch him and bring him here—”
“Do not leave me again!” Her face crumpled and she covered her mouth, though her weeping gaze refused to leave him. “I cannot bear to be alone.”
He stood and cradled her head against his chest. “Then you shall not be alone.”
Her hot tears bled through his shirt, as if to seep through his skin and coat his heart. He’d seen her upset, aye, but never so distressed.
With a gasp she pulled away and gripped his shoulders. Her chest pumped and her expression drooped. “I wasn’t going to tell you—I should say, I planned to tell you in the beginning—then I decided against it when I feared perhaps it wouldn’t make any difference, but I’m so afraid, and I tried to be brave, I tried to tell myself all would be well and that I should focus my attentions on being a good wife, but—”
“Anna, calm yourself.” He would have chuckled at her endless stream of words if the lingering panic in her eyes didn’t caution him otherwise. After he’d held her gaze and a measure of the anxiety in her muscles eased, he spoke again, low and loving. “Tell me.”
She swallowed. “I saw him.”
“Who do you mean?”
Her chin quivered but her voice stayed calm. “The man who attacked me. He was in town yesterday morning with the sheriff searching for me.” More tears pooled. “I tried to tell you, but Eliza had her baby then you went to help the men.” Now her voice quivered and she turned to look behind her. “I knew you would be hungry when you returned, so I tried to make you a good meal and take my mind away from my troubles, but I’ve failed again. On both counts.” A sob shook her shoulders and she dropped her face into her hands.
That old familiar warning, the one that cautioned against succumbing to a woman’s tears blared like a war-cry, but William smacked it away. She could not have fabricated such a story. The grief in her face and the fear in her eyes testified of that. And to think she’d had to keep such a burden to herself for so many hours.
Gathering her close, the weapons in his protective arsenal primed, ready for battle. What kind of demon was this man? That he would refuse to give up his search for her when it was clear she had no intention of ever going with him.
When her tears were spent, he eased her back. “Did you hear anything else? Anything that could be helpful in knowing if they are still in town?”
She shook her head, dabbing at her nose with her apron. “I did not. ’Tis a miracle I wasn’t seen.”
A miracle indeed. He swept a tear-sopped strand from her cheek and lowered his chin to meet her misdirected stare. “I will keep you safe, Anna.”
“Will you?”
He brushed his fingers against her cheek. “I promise.”
“I can hardly keep my mind on anything else.” Her voice wobbled, matching the quivering of her body. “I cannot release this fear that he will find me and return me to England…” She covered her mouth and looked down, attempting to hide the sob that scrunched her face.
William smoothed his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, holding her tight above the elbows. “Anna, listen to me.” He increased the gentle pressure of his grip, putting as much depth, as much strength into his voice as he could. “I give you my word that you will never return to England.”
Anna lifted her eyes, those long, lacy lashes flecked with tears. She searched him, her clear blue gaze twining with his. Something tugged within him, tightening the strings that mended the shredded bits of his spirit he believed would remain forever torn. Such trust in her eyes. Such unwavering faith. What would she think…if she knew the truth of me—knew that I am Henry and not William?
He released his hold, fighting against the demons that pricked from behind. ’Twas right to keep the truth from her. She was safer not knowing. The reasons for his silence were clear.
Speaking to supplant the inner battle, he took half a step back. “If you ever see him again you are to tell me immediately.”
She nodded. “I intended to, but couldn’t find you at home, so I went to the Watson’s—”
“You are sure you were not seen?”
Her brow crinkled. “I believe so…I hope so.”
So she wasn’t sure.
“From this time forward our vigilance must be paramount.” His mind ground at the facts like a gristmill. They knew her adversary was near—or had been. But the question remained. Where was his? He moved forward, closing the small distance between them. “Speak to no strangers. Go to town only if you must, and never leave the house without telling me.”
Swallowing, her head bobbed shallow and quick. “I understand.”
He smoothed a hand around her waist. “Can you walk?”
Her slight arm gripped around his back. “Aye.” She flung him a quick look as he helped her off the table. “Where are we going?”
“To the Watson’s.”
She shook her head, pushing away. “I don’t need care, William, please. I wish only to—”
“Anna.” The finality in his tone stopped her mouth, and he held her before him with his stare. “I must speak to Thomas on some pressing business and I will not leave you here alone.”
Her face slackened and she glanced to the kitchen fire, her mind clearly warring against some unspoken ill. “I see.”
The way her eyes saddened and her lips pressed together made William’s muscles flex with the need to draw her close, hold her against his chest and reassure her that all would be well, that he would be her protector always.
But the truth battered his redoubt of courage.
Until Paul found William—and William defeated him—he would continue the facade of refuge. Forever, if he must.
~~~
The little town reeked of patriotism. Paul sat taller on his mount and doffed his hat at a woman and child as they passed, pressing the anger to his core, away from the fringes of his exterior. He must, to fully embrace this new identity, though the vile stench of their felonious actions against the crown pricked his skin like a shower of arrows. Several stores had notices in the windows proclaiming their disdain for English goods, vowing to sell only that which was proudly produ
ced by the colonies. He smiled to hide the sneer that lurked beneath. Nothing in these sorry provinces could match the quality of goods from the mother country.
He stopped and dismounted, tethering his animal to a post outside the cobbler at the edge of town. He eyed the townsfolk that mingled in and out of shops and down the streets. How this place had any significance to anyone he couldn’t begin to tell. A flash of crimson in the corner of his eye brought his shoulders back and he slowed his pace, feigning interest in the goods of the shop window, when in truth, he studied the reflection of who waited on the other side of the street. Two soldiers. Who, he couldn’t tell from such a distance. His pulse rose and he continued on, hoping his look of an overmountain man would make him unrecognizable to any who might know him. Passing another shop window, he glanced again at the reflection and his ride-weary muscles flexed beneath his heavy coat.
They followed.
His fears were realized then. Father intended to find him. He continued walking, keeping his pace neutral despite the rapid charge of his pulse. As he passed an open shop door he turned in, instantly spinning out of view. He peered from the corner of the window beside the door. The two soldiers continued on, speaking back and forth as if they discussed only the weather, not once glancing his direction.
“May I be of service?”
Paul turned, relaxing his shoulders, a grin on his mouth. The man behind the large printing press, tall and well-muscled, looked genuine with a spark of reserve in the back of his expression. Paul’s gut soured. He knew that look well.
Patriot.
“Good day, sir.” Paul stepped forward, easy charm and warmth at the ready. “I was hoping you could tell me which is the best inn in town.”
The man’s eyes narrowed before a quick smile flashed across his face. “Fessenden Tavern across the way is popular. You heading to Boston?”
Paul fought the urge to answer the man’s question with a question. Instead he smiled. “Aye. Plan to lend my hand to Washington.”
At that, the man’s face beamed. “Then Fessenden is the place for you.”
So Rare a Gift (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 3) Page 20
