“Now see here,” William started.
Richard merely lifted a brow. The old man was wise enough to end his challenge and, with a grumble, headed for the hallway. Marina, on the other hand, didn’t move an inch. Nor did she blink an eye. The cool defiance in her eyes made him wonder if she’d ever accepted authority, from her father or anyone else. He doubted it. From the time she’d been a small child she’d most likely defied everyone, doing only what she wanted, when she wanted. He hoped Grace would be like that. Strong. Proud. Self-righteous. Her mother certainly hadn’t been. Sarah had been meek and mild and had accepted every order or rule her father laid down with a mind that held no rebelliousness or questions.
That was the main thing he remembered about her. She’d accepted their union so willingly because her father had ordered it. Richard had known that before now, but while meeting the blue eyes narrowed upon him, he wondered why he’d also agreed so readily. He’d always preferred his women seductive and eager and a bit rebellious.
“What will you do if John awakens?” she asked. “If he grows feverish or—”
“I’ll awake you,” he interrupted smugly. It wasn’t the answer she’d expected, and she responded just as he’d surmised. With a soft smile and a gentle nod. She was indeed the perfect woman. Proud, strong, yet gentle and caring.
“Go to bed, Marina,” he said. “I’ll call if I need you.” Regret struck him as soon as the words crossed his lips. Need already had his loins on fire. He stepped away to blow out the candle on the table near the window and scanned the hedge across the road while closing the hinged window. Specks of white were still visible behind the leaves.
“Good night.”
Richard didn’t turn around. There was no need. She hadn’t taken a step. He lowered the curtain to fully cover the glass while wishing her a good night, hoping by the time he turned around she’d be well on her way up the stairs.
She was, and disappointment once again rested upon him. He clamped his jaw against the lure of following her. Instead, he checked the lock on the front door and then moved down the hallway to check the back. Fate had never been his friend upon land. At sea, his destiny was set. Success flowed through him as easily as his vessel crossed the water. Yet it seemed as if every time he set foot on land, he was plagued with one malady after another.
The back door was securely latched, and after checking the window, he walked around the table. The hearth was on the inside wall in order to share the same chimney as the fireplace in the front room, and though the stones were still warm, the ashes were cool. He scooped some into the ash bucket so he’d be sure to have them when needed tomorrow night. The house was shrouded in darkness, but his eyes had adjusted. After a final glance around, he headed back down the hallway. The creaking of the stairway had him folding his arms and waiting until Marina—for there was no doubt it was anyone else—stepped off the last stair.
“What are you doing?” he asked at that precise moment.
Startled, she tripped and he reached out to grab her, to keep her from falling. He ended up with a handful of something soft that wasn’t human. Quickly recognizing it as a blanket, he tossed it aside and reached for Marina again. She’d already thudded against the steps and his actions had him falling forward. He stretched out his arms, hoping to break his fall before he landed on her.
At least that worked. His arms were on either side of her shoulders, his knees between hers, trapping her skirt on the floor. The tips of their noses almost touched when his fall ended.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked.
Without a moment of hesitation, he answered, “So I could do this.” Her lips were warm, soft and as ready as his.
Richard allowed the kiss to grow, encompassing him completely before checking his senses. Restraint weighed heavy, leaving him feeling like a plank close to snapping. He’d love to go on kissing her, take what she offered, but there within was the problem. Marina didn’t know what she was offering.
Even if she did, he couldn’t take it. William might not survive too many more years, and Marina would then be alone. She’d still be beautiful and bold, and could easily attract a husband worthy of her. Not a sea captain who’d visit her but once a year. That was what would happen if he acted upon the desires boiling inside him. He’d have to marry her, and that would not happen a second time.
Richard broke the kiss, but his attempt to rise was interrupted. He’d rarely, if ever, met a man who dared stare him down, yet she’d been doing it since his arrival. Her gaze didn’t falter this time, either, even as a slow smile graced her lips.
“I brought down a blanket and pillow,” she said softly.
“For me?”
“Of course you. Who else?”
He leaned back on his haunches and then bounded to his feet. Reaching down, he took her hands and assisted her to her feet. She made his blood flow like no other, and that alone was treacherous. “I can take care of myself,” he said, more sternly than intended. “Have been for a very long time.”
“You’re a guest in my house. I’m being hospitable.”
“Hospitable?”
* * *
Marina nodded. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was she wanted from Richard but was well aware of the desires driving her actions. Was it because she knew their time together would soon end? It would, no doubt, and that was breaking away chunks of her heart. She’d never thought it would be whole again, but it was—she was—when his arms were around her. Maybe that was why she wanted him so badly, because it was her last chance to ever feel human again. To experience the pleasures that would never present themselves again.
To feel loved.
Stepping aside, he retrieved the pillow and blanket from the floor. “You’ve been more than accommodating. Run on up to bed now.”
Run on up to bed? Did he truly believe he could dismiss her like a child? He would not get rid of her that easily. “I’ll make you a pallet first.”
He grasped her arm before she took a step. “No, Marina. Go to bed.”
His eyes held a hint of something she’d never seen before. It wasn’t the dark anger she’d witnessed yesterday or the whimsical sparkle that had shone so often today. It was more like danger, but not of an outside force. “I’ll—”
“You’ll go to bed,” he said firmly. “Now.”
“Don’t—” His actions stalled her protest, all except a startled screech.
He’d grabbed her waist and hoisted her into the air high enough to flip her over his shoulder. Her head hung down his back, and he held the backs of her knees tight to his chest. His arms, so solid they were like a band of steel, prevented her from moving a muscle.
“Put me down.”
“Shut up before you wake the house.” He’d already started up the stairs and, hanging upside down, the movement left her disoriented.
His strides were quick. Pounding her fists against the backs of his thighs didn’t slow him down. When he bent forward and pulled, she swiftly catapulted backward. Landing on the bed, she muffled a scream, not wanting to wake Grace. She also lay still for a moment, gathering her senses and listening for signs the girl may have been awakened by the bouncing of the bed.
“Do not leave this room until morning,” Richard snapped.
The anger that exploded inside her was shocking, although it shouldn’t have been—he was acting like a bully.
“I don’t make idle threats, Marina, and I’m not making one now. Leave this room and you’ll regret it.” He slammed the door then, loud enough that Grace whimpered.
Marina flipped around and found the child in the dark. “Hush,” she said softly. “Everything is fine.” The thundering of heels marching down the stairs echoed in the house. “It’s just the wind,” she told the child. “Just the wind.”
When Grace was sleeping again, Marina rose. Her first instinct was to march downstairs and tell Richard he was acting like a beast. A miserable, hateful beast. An odd detachment happened then, as if her body an
d mind were disconnected. Faraway thoughts told her to stay put, to follow Richard’s orders. He already had enough to worry about and certainly didn’t need her to blame him for the things happening inside her. Things she didn’t even understand.
She dressed for bed then, taking her own advice. It wasn’t easy or pleasant, for she had plenty of arguments to make against her better judgment. That had to be the witch inside her again. Never before had she squabbled with herself. Others, yes. Herself, no. She’d never experienced such wicked pleasures, either. There was no other way to describe the things that happened when Richard touched her. It was no longer just heat pooling in her stomach or her heart beating faster. Those things still happened, but now a spiraling heat had formed between her legs and in her breasts and everything grew hotter when Richard kissed her. The most fearful part was that she enjoyed it. Not just his kisses but how they made her body react.
No God-fearing woman would ever respond so immorally. It had to be sinful.
“And therein lies the problem,” she whispered. “I’m no longer a God-fearing woman. I was cast out of heaven and sent back to earth as a witch.”
Chapter Fifteen
Marina wasn’t certain she’d slept, but was ready to crawl out of bed when the sun rose. She dressed quickly, remembering her cap, and, after assuring herself that Gracie slept on, left the room. The house was quiet, and she walked softly, pausing when a board creaked beneath her feet. John was on the pallet, and she knelt down beside him. His forehead was warm but not overly hot. Or at least she hoped that was the case. It was hard to tell—her hands were chilly despite the warmth of the summer month.
Of course they were. Witches were cold-blooded.
Snores still came from Uncle William’s room, and though she pretended not to be looking for Richard, she was concerned when he wasn’t in the kitchen. The back door was unlatched, and she pulled it open, to see him drawing water from the well.
She closed the door and her eyes briefly, attempting to eliminate or, at least, ignore the reactions taking place inside her. It was inevitable that she’d eventually become aware of the changes about her. Dreams and visions had been easy compared to the things happening now. She had to wonder what other changes would come about. Other than her sinful regard toward Richard, she felt no evilness, desired no pact with the devil or felt any revulsion for the church.
Or did she? Was her inability to understand the Puritan ways proof? Reverend Hickman stated witches were sinful, immoral and impulsive, yet he never really defined their acts. He claimed once a pact was made, a witch received supernatural powers she could then use against all God-trusting souls. This was written in the letters he’d had delivered to all the households in the area, telling everyone to be on the lookout for those demonstrating demonic behavior. Besides other things, the letters described telltale signs such as people hosting unexplainable injuries or suddenly becoming deaf, mute or blind.
None of those things had happened to her, but her heart skipped a beat at the thought of John losing his sight permanently.
The doorknob rattled and she hurried across the room to the hearth. There, she focused on building a fire. She was in enough turmoil without looking upon Richard again. The dream she’d had last night was about as sinful and immoral as one could get.
“Good morning.”
She replied in kind without looking his way.
“I’ve brought in water and eggs,” he said. “I’ll go see to the milking.”
“Thank you,” she replied, adding a log to the kindling that had already taken a flame.
“Did you sleep well?”
She drew a breath to quell her nerves. It would be much better if he was grumpy and short this morning. Feeling anger toward someone being so courteous was difficult. Especially when her dream wouldn’t die.
“Marina?”
“I slept fine,” she said, gathering a kettle from the shelf. “I need to make some tea for John.”
“He had a restless night.”
“There’s little I can do for him.” Stating that aloud shattered some of her more selfish thoughts. “He needs a physician.”
“We’ll have him seen by one as soon as we arrive in Boston.”
All the will in the world couldn’t keep her from reacting to the warmth of the hand on her shoulder. She did, however, stop herself from turning toward him and laying her head upon his chest as the powers inside her suggested she should.
“John’s going to be fine,” he said.
Although John was still sleeping and she rarely shucked chores onto someone else, she couldn’t stand this close to Richard. Stepping aside, she said, “I have to get the tea made. Thank you for milking.” She’d much rather accompany him to the barn as she had yesterday morning. With two of them, the chores had been completed in half the time. Of course, that had also been the first time he’d kissed her. Her evil mind had to point out that little detail.
“Would you like me to accompany you to the outhouse first?”
Water slopped over the side of the kettle because of her shaking hands. She told herself not to turn around, not to look at him. And once again she wished he wasn’t being so nice. “No, thank you.”
“I won’t be long. Stay in the house.”
She clamped her lips tight and sighed aloud when the door closed behind him. After brewing tea for John, whose eyes were watering, which she didn’t know was bad or good, she insisted he remain on the pallet and fixed more cold compresses for his eyes.
There were eggs boiling and a pot of porridge bubbling, and William and Grace were both awake and in the kitchen when Richard returned. They welcomed him as one would the sun after several cloudy days, which had Marina pinching her lips together. She couldn’t decipher exactly why she was so upset with him. It wasn’t necessarily anger, more like disappointment, and that was directly associated with the longing inside her. The ones made worse by her dream.
All that left her in a sour mood she chose not to remedy. Keeping her distance seemed the best alternative—in several ways. Her silence and briskness brought curious gazes from Richard and William. Ignoring them was her best choice, too. She showered Gracie with the same attention as always, and once breakfast was complete, she had to smile while assuring the child she could again wash dishes.
“We’ll need to get things packed today,” Richard said, still sitting at the table. “But keep the load light. We’ll be traveling swiftly.”
“Marina and I can say good riddance to most everything here,” William said. “My pouch of gold coins will buy us whatever we need elsewhere.”
Marina was aware that Richard’s gaze was on her back and fought the compelling urge to turn from where she stood preparing the wash water. A single look into those dark eyes could shatter her resolve. She didn’t comment, either. She’d arrived here with little more than a bag of clothes and her Bible. There hadn’t been much to bring from Maine. The Indians had destroyed what they hadn’t stolen. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t leaving with the rest of them tonight and wouldn’t need anything where she was going.
While the men discussed the length of the trip, she settled Grace on a chair near the dish tub and then went to see to John. The swelling on his face may have gone down slightly, but his ankle was worse. He was still on the pallet but attempting to fit a boot over the swollen foot.
“You’ll make it worse,” she said, removing the boot from his hand.
“I have to help Richard.”
“I’ll help with whatever needs to be done. You need to rest so you are up to the trip tonight.”
He slapped the blanket beside him. “I’ve never felt so useless. Never.”
Her own agony increased. She might never learn what would become of John and whether his eyes and leg healed. That was true of Uncle William and Gracie, too. As well as Richard.
“You aren’t useless,” she told John. “It will be your wagon that hauls everyone out of here.”
“I have to show him wher
e it is,” he said.
“Oscar Pullman will help me retrieve the wagon.”
Marina closed her eyes at the sound of Richard’s voice. Her insides quaked and her lips went dry. Nothing had changed. She still had to right her wrong. Still had to go before the council and see that the innocent were released from prison, but the desire to do so wasn’t burning as hot as it used to. All the fire inside her was now focused on Richard.
“Oscar knows where everything is,” John said. “He’s borrowed the wagon several times.”
“That’s what he told me,” Richard answered.
Marina’s eyes snapped open. She was about to ask when he’d spoken to Oscar when Richard took a hold of her arm.
“I need your assistance.”
She rose but didn’t risk glancing his way. She concentrated on her footsteps, too, rather than the heat penetrating the sleeve of her dress from his hand. His touch left more than her skin in turmoil, and breathing through that took determination.
He led her into the kitchen, where Uncle William stood beside Gracie, helping wash the heavier kettles. Richard didn’t stop until they were at the back door, upon which he said, “We’ll be in shortly.”
Marina dug her heels into the floor, but her opposition was no contest for his strength.
“It’s safe,” he said, once they were on the back stoop and the door firmly closed behind them.
He was referring to Hickman’s men, but they were not who she feared at this moment. Neither was he. It was her traitorous self that concerned her. Her insides were flooding with sensations brought on by his closeness. The idea of never seeing him again was tearing her apart. She twisted her arm from his hold and moved forward. “What is it you need?”
He chuckled, then asked, “Still mad I didn’t take what you offered last night?”
Pretending she had no idea what he meant, she marched forward. “You took what I offered. A pillow and blanket.”
Once they crossed the threshold of the barn, he grasped her elbow and spun her about.
Saving Marina Page 18
