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

by Amber Lynn Perry

  A report I had given.

  William bowed his head and stroked his thumb against the back of her hand. Agony impaled his conscience. He could give her more, quell the questions these revealed truths had unearthed, but they would only injure her further. Knowing her brother had abused and threatened to the point of death might slay her tender sensibilities too deep. Would God condone his silence when done to keep the woman he loved from such pain? Either way, he deceived. Either way, she would suffer.

  He peered beside him to where she sat. Tears still streamed from her red-rimmed eyes.

  “Samuel was never that kind of person—not cruel and unkind,” she said, the next words spoken to herself. “Not when I knew him.”

  William’s response flowed even before he could weigh their veracity. “It matters not what he was, only how you remember him.”

  A bitter laugh breathed from her nose. “It does matter. When I first came to New York, I was determined to discover what had happened.” She lowered her eyes and studied her fingers in her lap. “I was determined that no one should know who I was or why I sought after him, believing that indeed I may have been followed.” She dropped her gaze to her hands. “But I was. And ’tis as you said, God has granted the wishes of my heart even though I had believed them abandoned.” She sighed. “Perhaps if I had delivered that note, if I had found the man who knew Samuel so well I could have…but nay, I have all the knowledge I need now, I suppose.”

  “Note?”

  Anna glanced to him then away again. “I was to deliver a note to a man who would assist the soldier and I in locating the one who had known him.”

  All sound faded. “You and this soldier were looking for the same man?”

  Had he missed something? Had she said this before? But no, she’d said the man she sought was Henderson. “What happened to the note?”

  She looked to the bedchamber then to him. “I…I think I still have it.”

  His heart thrashed against the prison of his ribs. “In your Bible?”

  Not waiting for more than a slight nod, William raced to the room and snatched the book, flipping through the pages as he returned. At the back, the note and a likeness slipped from the cover.

  Samuel. William stilled. ’Twas her brother’s face then that she’d looked at those many times. William glanced up, his pulse running once more. Their fates whirled too fast and too close for him to find safety. She had sought the truth of her brother, and now she’d found it. God’s doing. She had sought the only man who’d known him…

  Without asking permission he unfolded the letter and the words yawned before him like a menacing cavern.

  Find Captain Henry Donaldson and a large reward will be yours. Bring him to me. Alive.

  P.S.

  William raised his eyes, staring to the farthest, darkest corner. Dear Lord…I should have known, should have seen this long ago. He could feel the disgust contorting his expression. Breathing out, he forced the emotion from his face though his mind was not yet ready to release it. Only Paul would assist himself under the guise of assisting another.

  “I am a fool.” Her voice grew heavy. “I should have known that there was nowhere I could go where he would not follow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Anna shook her head. “I believed coming here, immersing myself in the search for Samuel, I would escape my past—but I have only brought it closer to me.” She swallowed. “That man I saw in the street, even he knows that there are those who search for me. ’Tis proof that I can never escape. Somehow my father will always find me. I am a fool.”

  “You are not.” William released the articles on the table and once again took the seat beside her. Cupping his hands around hers, he inclined his head to meet her gaze. “Your past will not touch you here. I will not let it.”

  The words had not the reaction he had hoped. Anna pulled her hands from his and stood, stepping toward the fire, her back to him. The small distance between them stretched like miles of battered wilderness.

  The fire spit and popped, casting warm shadows across her straight nose and long lashes. She stared, motionless, as if willing the undulating ribbons of flame to pull the fitful thoughts from her mind and turn them to ash.

  He rose and stood beside her, dusting his fingers along the curls that draped her neck. “I give you my word, Anna, nothing will happen. To either of us.”

  Such a lie. So easily spoken, so easily broken. He bit his lip to fight off the edge of anguish that cut through his chest. Tomorrow he would at last execute the plan he’d set in motion. The only way he knew of to end this mad hunt. To end the demon that haunted him.

  ’Twas then she glanced up, her eyes oceans of pleading. He ground his teeth, battling the need to grant her what she’d given him. Her trust, her future. Her very life. Would he not grant her the same when she had offered him so rare a gift? Torn, he pulled her to him, cupping her head against his chest.

  In his arms, the tension in Anna’s muscles eased as her breath timed with his. “You say such lovely things.” She sighed and pulled from his embrace. “And never have I been given cause to disbelieve you.”

  “As you should not.”

  “I do not.” Turning her back to him she stared at the dark wood at her feet. “I have expounded to you everything—almost from the start, though not as quickly as I should have, I suppose.”

  “Do not think yourself less because it took some time to trust.”

  At that, she faced him, scanning his eyes with furrowed brow. “Do you?”

  He reached forward, curling a hair around her ear. “Do I what?”

  “Trust.”

  Lowering his hand, he stilled. The spear of her words plunged through his crumbling shield. “Of course I trust you. Do you believe that I—”

  “You know all of me, William. Yet I know nothing of you.” Anna’s dainty features scrunched with hurt. “What of your family—where are you from? Why do you refuse to share with me the way I have shared with you?”

  He turned to face the fire, more able to clear his thoughts away from the pained stare in her ever-faithful eyes. “William.” The yearning in her voice toyed with the neglected parts of him that cried out. “I would know all of you. As you now know all of me.”

  A quiet sigh escaped him before all the years of grief spilled from him like wine from a severed cask.

  Turning his head, he caught and held her gaze. “My family…I told you before we were all taken with the pox.” He motioned to his face. “I still bear the scars.”

  She neared and brushed her warm fingers against his cheek, examining the remnants of the battle he’d nearly lost. “How old were you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Lowering her hand, Anna’s gentle voice coated the boyhood sorrows that had never left.

  Again, he kept his attention at the fire. “I took over Father’s smithy. Though I was young, I was strong and worked harder than I ever had to keep food in our bellies.” The memories loomed, some shadowed from time, some clear as present day. “Mother, Julia, and Jane brought in extra by laundering when they had the strength and mending when they did not.”

  When she appeared in his mind, the bitter palate he’d tried to forget began to singe his tongue. “’Twas four years later when I met Anna Muhr.”

  Anna’s dainty eyebrows peaked.

  “Aye, she carried your given name.” Exhaling the memories in a heavy sigh, William continued. “I imagined myself in love from the moment I saw her. She was from far too wealthy a family to ever be courted by one of my station, but somehow she made me believe such things meant little to her and that only her father refused our union.” Flowered memories turned brown and brittle. “She carried my heart for three years until the day she came to me weeping, claiming her father had died, leaving her with his debts she had never known of and saying if there was no way to pay them, she would be forced to leave England forever.”

  As clear as the moment itself,
her deception burned and his chest grew tight. “She begged me through her tears to help and in my innocence I believed she wished my assistance so we could finally be wed now her father was gone.”

  The pain of his regrets stabbed and ran a hand over his mouth. “Of course my mother and sisters knew of her, they knew how much I loved her and how I would have given anything to make her my wife. When I explained to them her need, not even considering that what few pounds we had could never make a difference, they insisted I take our savings and give it to her. They believed, as I did, that it would assure our future together.”

  Darkness lurked in the corners of his soul. “When I offered all I had, she took it with hardly a word of gratitude and left. No mention of where she was going or when she might return. But in my youthful ignorance I believed she would come to me within a few days at least, and report that our painful wait was over and that at last she was free to follow her heart and be my wife. But she did not.”

  “She did not?” The sweet shock in her face tightened the binding of her soul to his.

  “Nay.” He moved away from the fire and rested his back against the space between the mantel and bedchamber door. “I searched for her for three months, frantic that something had happened. I knew she would never simply leave without telling me, unless something dreadful had befallen her.” He stalled, the cold rain of that misty October day drawing him away from the warm kitchen fire, to the dank London street. “But then I saw her in town, leaving the market, clinging to the arm of another man.”

  “No…”

  The memory, so thick, chilled his skin. “I rushed forward and questioned her, fearing perhaps she had been taken against her will, but the smile on her face spoke otherwise.” He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “She smiled as if she hardly knew me and introduced me to her husband of two months—a man who stared at me as if I were unworthy to shoe his horse.” The rage and shame he’d wrestled still thumped in his pulse. “She said nothing of the money I had given, spoke nothing of the grief she had caused. Only offered my mother and sisters her best.” He pressed a hard laugh from his nose. “I had never been so ashamed.”

  “But how were you to know? ’Tis she who must be ashamed for doing such a wretched thing.”

  “’Tis I who am to blame. I should have known. I should never have fallen for her charms.” He ground his teeth. “Of course mother and my sisters were grieved for my sorrows, but they could never know how deeply I felt it. My deepest regrets were not over a lost love, but for what they had sacrificed for me. I had taken our money—their money—and given it to a woman who cared only for herself. The medicines they needed to ease their discomforts were…” The ache in his throat thickened. “We could hardly earn enough to pay for them as it was, and now with everything gone, I knew I must do something. My skills as a blacksmith were poor at best, despite my efforts, and the shame I felt every time I saw their pains—their suffering from what I had done—I could bear it no longer. Knowing I could regain my honor and provide more for those I loved by going abroad, I joined—”

  Every bit of him stopped, his tongue still waiting at the back of his teeth to finish the words he’d started. Slowly, William closed his mouth, berating himself for what he had nearly revealed. He closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow when the shadows are past…

  “My love?” Anna craned her neck to view him from her spot at his side.

  William blinked, grasping for an answer that would save him from the edge of the cliff he clung to. “I joined with those coming to the colonies in search of fortune. I sent my family everything I earned…” His mind lost hold and he fell backward into the cold, haunting dreams he’d tried so hard to forget. “’Twas last March I learned of their passing. My efforts had not been enough to save them.”

  Anna rushed to him, filling the space between them, her innocent, pleading eyes darting back and forth between his. “You must not think that, my love. What a terrible burden you place on yourself.”

  “I would have forever labored under the belief that the desire for the things of this world were at the root of a woman’s heart, but for you.” He kissed her forehead, needing to free himself from the pain of the pity that pooled in her eyes. “For that, I will praise God all my days and pray that with the passing of years the grief of my actions will not haunt me as they have.”

  She took his hand in hers, holding him motionless with the sudden strength that owned her soft features. “And for those years I will be with you. I—” She lurched and flung one hand to her mouth, the other to her stomach.

  William reached for the nearest pot and she yanked it forward, retching the meager contents of her stomach.

  “Forgive me,” she said, panting. “This nausea comes in waves…”

  Worry gripped as William helped her to sit. Relieving her of the pot, he crouched in front of her. “Give me your word that you will see Nathaniel tomorrow. If something is truly wrong—”

  “I am well, William.”

  “Nay, you are not. This has gone on far too long.”

  She nodded, her shoulders slumping. “I shall visit Nathaniel in the morning.”

  He helped her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her as he walked with her to the bedchamber.

  She patted his arm as she sat on the bed. “Tomorrow everything will be well. Nathaniel will tell me everything is well, I am sure of it.”

  He bent and kissed the top of her hair. Aye, tomorrow. Tomorrow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Anna pressed a hand to her stomach, the constant rolling of the past weeks replaced by a nervous tumbling. She stared at the panels of the Smith’s back door, the chilled air biting her ears. If not for William’s prodding last night and again this morning, she would not have come. ’Twas nothing. Just a small irritation, soon to be recovered from, surely. Anna swallowed, a low throbbing of anxiety pulsing in her chest. Her mother had not been much older when her fateful illness began. And ’twas only two years later it finally closed her eyes forever. She clutched the cloak at her throat. I could not bear such news, Lord.

  Somehow, as if without her bidding, she reached forward and knocked against the wood. Her arms and legs quivered, but not from fear, she promised herself. When the door didn’t open immediately she breathed out a white-cold breath and prepared to leave just as the door opened. “Anna?”

  Nathaniel’s kind tone reached out to stop her.

  Anna smiled, her cheeks hot. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  His face softened in a welcome smile, his manner as warm and inviting as the air from the house. “Never a disruption. Come in.”

  She hesitated, but the thoughtful way he gestured into the house eased the tightening in her shoulders, if only a little.

  When she entered, he spoke, closing the door behind her. “If you’ve come to see Kitty, I’m afraid you may have to wait. She’s gone to town, but I don’t believe she’ll be long.”

  “Nay, I…I, thank you, but…” She glanced around the study before dropping her gaze to her fingers. “I came to see you.”

  When he didn’t answer, Anna looked up. Her rising pulse stilled at the understanding slant of his brow and the way his mouth lifted at one end. “Of course. Please sit down.”

  Anna sat on the edge of the seat he offered by the fire while he rested against the table.

  “I’m so pleased at the news you and Kitty shared last evening before dinner,” Anna started, delaying the reason for her coming. She smiled. “She is radiant with joy. I could not be more happy for you both.”

  “Thank you, Anna. I am a blessed man, indeed.” Nathaniel’s eyes beamed and he glanced somewhere past her, his mind carrying him away. “She is a remarkable woman. I hardly deserve her.” With a quick shake of the head, he lowered his chin. “But I must assume you didn’t come to speak to me about that.”

  His pointed gaze and the somber strain in his tone made Anna grip her hands tighter in her lap.

  She licked he
r lips and flung him a fleeting smile, but the words refused to leave the safety of her mouth.

  Nathaniel tilted his head in question. “Please know that I will not share what you tell, if you do not wish me to.”

  A mite of her disquiet drifted from her shoulders. “I…I uh…” She shrugged, allowing a quiet laugh to take with it more of the tension in her chest. “Forgive me, I don’t often speak of…I don’t quite know how to—”

  “Of course, I understand. It is often difficult to share troubles of a private nature.” His eyes squinted in polite concern. “What troubles you?”

  “I don’t exactly know.” She sat rigid to keep from squirming in her seat. “William insisted I come because…I have not been able to eat much and he was concerned.”

  He nodded with a quiet hum. “I’m pleased you heeded his wisdom. Any good husband would be concerned if his wife could not eat. Do you feel pangs of hunger or simply do not wish to eat?”

  “’Tis difficult to say—I know that sounds strange.” She looked down to her hands. “I can only eat small portions and when I do my stomach rebels.”

  “I see. You suffer from nausea?”

  “Nausea, aye.”

  “How often do you feel that way?”

  She almost laughed. “Nearly all the time.”

  Nathaniel took the chair opposite her. “You are vomiting?”

  She nodded. “Aye.”

  “How often?”

  She raised a shoulder, slanting her head. “I don’t quite know…one to three times a day sometimes.”

  He straightened, his eyes rounding. “Anna, that is concerning indeed. Are you able to keep any food in your belly?”

  She nodded. “Enough.”

  “Have you any fever?”

  “Nay, nothing like that.”

  “Flux?”

  She shook her head.

  “Fatigue?”

  “Aye.” She relaxed her knotted fingers, grateful she could finally look at him while she spoke. “I find I must lie down mid-day or I cannot finish my chores come supper. That’s never happened to me before.”