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THOMAS’S BODY, SNUG atop Elizabeth’s, fired a heady, limb spreading heat into her chest.
Her stomach pitched and whirled like a playful spring breeze. A strange lightness flooded her head. She could not find her breath, and she cared not.
His right hand gentled the top of her head. The other cradled her cheek.
He lowered his lips to hers. He tasted of sunshine and peppermint.
Her lips parted of their own. His mouth slid over hers, this way and that, up and down. Her sighs seemed to ratchet up a need in him to drive harder and deeper. To what, however, was unclear to her.
He pulled back. “I should nae be doing this,” he rasped.
Elizabeth grabbed his vest and drew him back to her. His mouth locked on hers again. She cared not if he drowned her, all she knew was that she did not wish him to stop.
“No!” His palms plowed the ground either side of her head. He pushed himself upward. “I am sorry, Elizabeth. ‘Tis nae my place. Ye are nae mine for the taking.”
The tears reared to her eyes. “Is it because I think with my heart?”
“Nae, Lass. Thomas McQueen loves ye for thinking with your heart.”
“Then why are you not free to love me? Is it because you leave next week?”
He pushed himself to her side. “Lass, if there was any other way.” He lowered his rear to his ankles.
“Tomas, there is always another way.”
“Nae, not this time.” His lungs heaved for air. “Too many lives are stake.”
“And you will still not tell me what you go to do?”
He stood. He reached his hand forward to help her up, but she shoved it away. She had no wish for his touch to further fire her when he was not free to eventually consume her.
She rolled to her knees and hands. Thomas grabbed her waist and lifted her to her feet.
She adjusted her cap. She pressed her skirt flat around her, not because she was modest and neat, but because she was desperate to steel enough strength in her legs to make it back up the rise.
Had her grandparents not sounded a warning to her about her passions even as a child? Was she not English as well as Acadian? And that despite the fact she wished to be neither?
She repositioned her scarf just at the top edge of the green gown. She made sure the rood still lay safely tucked in her chemise.
Thomas was suddenly in front of her. “Please understand.”
“There is nothing to understand. I let my emotions get away from me.”
“No, Elizabeth. ‘Tis not that.”
So, emotions were bad when she needed to fight, but alright when a man wished to love her? Or not love as the case may be?
It all made her head hurt, even as she craved to throw herself at him again. She was almost certain he would not turn her away, and where did that leave her?
She stepped around him and started up the rise. Perhaps she would pack before dinner. Would Alex West care if she came this afternoon?
“Elizabeth? The flowers?”
She flittered her hand to the side and picked up her pace. Thomas could gather them, or they could dry in the sun. She cared not if they graced the table. ‘Twas more important she get away from him.
“Elizabeth. Please.” He reached her side.
“I need to be alone, Tomas.” The freshet dawning on the cusp of her lids would not be denied, and she had no wish to explain it to him or anyone else.
Mercy, but she hated the tears.
“Ye dinna understand,” he pleaded.
“Oh, I think I understand quite fine.”
“Not that.” He pointed at the rise. “What ye go up to.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt. “Hannah is at the rise waiting.”
Hannah?
Elizabeth looked up.
Sure enough, she was there. But how long? Had she seen them kissing?
Elizabeth’s face caught fire. How could she have been so careless?
She lifted her skirt and quickened her pace. Hannah’s eyes narrowed into Thomas.
Elizabeth sped past her and dodged beneath the shade of the trees, desperate for the coolness to parch her festered brow and heated cheeks.
Behind her, the woman cried, “Thomas! What did you do?”
“Not now, Hannah!”
Feet scrambled in the dirt. He called after Elizabeth.
She lifted her skirt and broke into a run.
I cannot let him catch me, or I will never be able to pull myself free.
She cleared the trees. She burst past the tents.
“Surprise!”
She froze.
Sarah sat on a bench. Issy jumped up and down. The others, minus Hannah, stood in a crowd. Food and presents filled the table.
“’Twas what I was trying to tell ye, Lass,” he whispered. “’Tis a party they have planned.”
The tears spilled downward. At least this time she would not have to explain the drenching.
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THE ROASTED PIG TASTED like sawdust.
The sweets puckered her mouth. The gifts, after a time, blurred from one to another.
Thomas refilled her cup with apple cider. He whisked one present to her to open while placing the others in a pile behind. Elizabeth had not been lavished with so much attention since her childhood.
And never had she felt more alone.
By the time she sat on the bed for a rest, her nerves had splintered into jagged, raw edges.
“What is going on, Elizabeth?” Hannah flung herself to Elizabeth’s side. “In the meadow, you and Thomas could hardly keep your lips apart.”
So, she had seen.
Elizabeth could find no air. ‘Twas bad enough she could not understand why the man had kissed her if he then wished he had not. To now have others know of it?
“Now, you will not even look at each other.”
“Hannah,” Sarah cried. She sat to Elizabeth’s side. “Why were you watching such a thing anyway?”
“Pfft! They were hardly being discreet.” She flitted her fingers through the air. “And worry not. I will not speak of it to anyone.”
That did little to calm Elizabeth’s nerves. At home, her reputation would be ruined. ‘Twas worse because she had wished the kiss and whatever was to come along of it.
“Frankly,” Hannah went on, “I do not understand how the man held out this long. He certainly has more self-discipline than he needs.”
“He has needed it to survive.” Sarah eyed the woman.
Hannah leaned across Elizabeth. “And ‘tis obvious from the moment he returned that he had feelings for Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth pressed the women back. “It matters not what he feels. I will be working and waiting on my father, and Thomas is leaving.”
“Kisses change minds all the time,” Hannah crooned.
“Not Thomas McQueen’s mind.” Not when he had some kind of death wish in the Indian camps.
Sarah’s gentle fingers lit on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I am certain he cares for you, but I must confess none of it makes sense to me.”
Nor did it to Elizabeth either.
Sarah’s fingers fell away. “No one else understands it either.”
And the man was not free with his mind when asked.
She managed to keep the tears at bay the rest of the afternoon. She helped clean up after the meal. She expressed her gratitude for the gifts and friendship.
More than once, Thomas insisted they talk. She would insist they not.
She stepped out of the tent the following morning, after a night of no sleep, to find him standing before her and with a small cart the color of worn summer hydrangeas.
Rocks lodged in her throat. “I can take myself to The East and West. I have only one bag. The rest William can bring later.”
He yanked the bag from her shoulder and tossed it into the wagon. He then tramped into the tent. He came out with her box. He set it in the wagon beside another. “Mama sent food along of ye.” He traipsed back inside. He came out with her last box and the plaid. He tossed the box inside and then turned to her.
He opened his mouth. He shifted his feet. Surely, he was not having trouble finding his words.
He thrust the plaid forward. “Keep this.”
She reared backward.
“I meant to give it to ye yesterday, but there never seemed to be a good time, and then ye refused to speak with me.”
“I will not take it.”
“If ye dinna do so, I will see that it is left in the cottage.”
Good heavens! The man was stubborn.
“Please, Lass.”
“I will consider it a loan. Your mother or William should pick it up before they return to the farm.”
He nodded grimly. “Fine.”
Thomas hoisted her to the wagon and then pulled himself to her side. He grabbed the reins.
“Why did you kiss me yesterday?” The words were out before she could stop them.
His mouth curdled. His elbows crashed to his knees.
“And how could you do so and then send me away?”
“I am not sending ye away, Lass. Ye are staying. I am the one leaving.”
“You used me.”
He whirled around to face her. “I dinna such a thing.” A dismal chuckle pinched from his throat. “A kiss is hardly enough satisfaction for such.” His eyes drilled her. “And really, Elizabeth, what exactly is it that ye want?”
“What do you mean?”
“I admit I have not been honest with myself these past weeks. I have ignored my plans and allowed my heart to get away from me where ye are concerned. But ye have no exactly been honest with yourself either.”
Her gut wrenched sideways.
“Ye have spoken of your father needing ye. Ye have spoken of going home. And yet, ye sought my lips yesterday with as much hunger as I sought yours.”
Her face fired hot. The tears reared to her eyes.
“So do not rebuke me for my actions and lack of honesty when ye have been little better than me in that regard. At least I wished to speak of it yesterday.”
He was right. She had not been honest with herself. She did wish to see her father.
She wished more to be with Thomas.
And he may have wished to speak, but he had been clear he could not stay in Maryland. Speaking would have changed nothing.
She stiffened her face. She sucked in a quick breath.
She lowered a wall of granite before the tears.
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THOMAS STOOD IN THE caretaker’s cottage at The East and West. Streams of light from two windows either side of the building collided before the yawning, empty fireplace. Elizabeth’s bags and boxes littered the table, with the plaid nestled on top. In the kitchen behind them, through the open windows, pots and pans clattered, voices rose and fell, and greasy, burning bacon pinched his nose.
And yet, all Elizabeth could manage to do was stare at the blue apron tied around Alex West’s waist. ‘Twas funny, but not enough to have tied the lass’ tongue.
‘Twas probably Thomas’ harsh words on the wagon. The minute they escaped his lips the regret washed over him. When she had stiffened her face against the tears and turned, he had nearly thrown the reins aside, pulled her against him, and apologized.
Why have I never asked if she would stay if I did as well?
Ach! It mattered not. To stay here with him would be her death sentence. Or worse, a capture.
And his family?
“You are right, Thomas.” West scanned her from head to toe. “She does not look particularly French. And she is quite pretty.”
Her face reddened.
“After the wedding, I may move you to working my herb garden and helping with illnesses. Midwife Baine and her price gouging will be the bane of my existence.” He chuckled at his own pun.
All Thomas could muster in return was a smile.
West cleared his throat.
“Master West.” Mistress Swain stepped forward. “Why is she not staying upstairs of the kitchen with the other indentured servants?”
West cleared his throat. “She is not an indenture but a hire.”
The woman lifted her nose and pinned the lass with a long look.
She does not like her.
“And now, Mistress Swain.” West smiled. “Since Miss Johns will be here this morning, I will delight myself by giving her this beautiful blue apron.” He untied the strings in front of his belly. “I go to pack.” He swept the apron from his person and held it outward.
Elizabeth took it from him.
“And Miss Hannah?” Charlotte asked. “Will she be working the tables this morning?”
“No.” West frowned. “Hannah and I are going on a quick trip to Annapolis. If you are short on workers, Mistress Swain, then you should be picking up the slack.”
“But Mr. West, I do not work the tables.”
“Neither do I, but I have been. So today, you will take your turn.” He smiled. He patted her shoulder. “And I am sure you will do just fine.” He turned back to Elizabeth. “Take a moment, and then you can report to the kitchen.”
“Thank you again, Alex.” Thomas nodded.
“Oh.” He waved his hand in the air. “I should be thanking you, Thomas. And you, Miss Johns.” He winked conspiratorially. “The aprons will look a sight better on you than me.” Another chuckle twittered his chest. He turned and left.
Mistress Swain followed without so much as a glance backward.
Elizabeth held the apron before her waist.
Thomas stepped forward. “Let me help.”
“Non.” She jerked back. “You have done quite enough.”
This was not at all how he had planned to say goodbye. But then, how had he expected to soften such a blow? Overstepping his bounds yesterday and his caustic words earlier had nae helped.
She lay the apron to the front of her dress. She pulled the ties around the back. She wedged her elbows and squirmed till she managed to pull the long ends back to her belly. She tied them.
Where was the brightness he had seen in her eyes this past week as she had healed. The light that had ignited in the meadow as she lay pressed beneath him?
“Ye asked me earlier why I kissed ye.”
Her hands froze on the apron strings.
“I have wanted to for a very long time now.”
“It matters not what you wanted, Monsieur McQueen.”
His stomach sickened at the formality.
“I should not have allowed such a weakness to overcome my thinking. ‘Tis what you warned me about.” She shrugged. “My grandparents often did as well.”
“I know not what your grandparents meant.” His brows furrowed. “But I told you to work at keeping your emotions in check when in a difficult situation.”
She lifted her head. Cold steel leached from her eyes. “Well, I assure you I am working on it now.”
His heart caved inward.
What have I done to her?
She fled through the door.
He was all alone.
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CHARLOTTE SWAIN REFUSED to wait the tables as West instructed. Instead, she turned the whole of the tavern over to Elizabeth and another.
Silly Thompson had blond hair the color of sunshine, eyes as blue as the lupines in the McQueen’s field, and she told jokes faster than a flea desperate to escape a hot griddle. Lithe and slim, she moved nearly as quick.
Still, two servers were hardly adequate for the crowd that morning, although, between Silly’s popularity with the men and their interest in Elizabeth, the delays were taken in stride. By the time the women shelved the last of the washed and dried plates for the afternoon rush, Elizabeth’s feet smarted, her back ached, and a throb had beset the back of her eyes.
“You will get used to it.” Silly lifted her brows. “Although, truth be told, ‘twould not have been near so rushed if The High and Mighty Swan—” she rounded her mouth as she drew out the word “—had done as she was told.”
A giggle erupted from Elizabeth’s chest. She lifted the last plate on the upward wave of the welcome giddiness. ‘Twas a sweet release after being with Thomas that morning and the rush of the work after that.
“Why, Elizabeth Johns. There you are.”
Matthew Hardwin? She whirled around. The plate slipped through her fingers and crashed to the floor.
Mistress Swain slithered around Matthew. She stared at the floor. She eased a cold gaze upward to Elizabeth. “Well. Not only are you French, but you are clumsy as well.”
The calm, evenly measured words strained Elizabeth’s nerves. She threw herself to her knees. “Je regrette.” She reached for a broken chunk.
“Please, Mistress Swain,” Matthew said. “Do not lay such to Miss Johns’ account. I startled her.” He lowered to her side.
“This is a tavern, Master Hardwin. There are noises that can startle a person.”
His fine fingers, pinching like a lobster, picked up shards.
“And you, Miss Johns.” The woman’s shadow crept over Elizabeth. “The loss of the plate will come out of your first wages.”
Monsieur Hardwin grabbed Elizabeth’s elbow and lifted her to her feet. He cupped his hands outward. “Put your shards in here with mine.”
She did as he bade. He turned in a circle, spied a trash bin by the door, and dumped his load. He then pulled out a shiny red damask wallet. He opened it and plucked out several bills. “This should more than cover the cost of the dish, Mistress Swain.”
“Monsieur Hardwin.” It took everything Elizabeth had to look him in the eye. “I cannot allow you to do such a thing.”
A smile oiled onto his face. “I do not mind doing so for a maiden as fair as you.”
Her skin crawled.
Mistress Swain took the money.
“And I missed breakfast this morning, Mistress Swain.” He winked at Elizabeth.
She nearly wretched.
“I was wondering if ‘twas possible to find some leftovers? I could wait in the front room at my table, and Elizabeth could serve me.” He forked over another wad of bills. “For your trouble.”
Behind the woman, Silly’s blue eyes widened like morning glories after a good night’s sleep. The rest of the kitchen help, five in number, were no less surprised.
“’Tis no trouble at all, Master Hardwin.” Mistress Swain snatched the money. She thrust it deep into a pocket of her apron and not the one where she had deposited the money for the plate. She twisted a slow, dangerous look at the crowd. Only Cook Smith dared to stare at the woman. The others turned back to their tasks.
Matthew grabbed Elizabeth’s hand, lifted it upward, and pressed wet lips to her knuckles. “I shall be waiting.” He stepped outside and turned right for the tavern.
“Master Hardwin is one of our most valued customers. See that he is pleased with your company.”
“But I do not wish to sit with him at all.”
The woman’s eyes darkened.
Elizabeth’s stomach fell to her feet. She stepped back.
Mistress Swain slid toward her. “And you used the French earlier.”
Had she? “’Twas a slip. It will not happen again.”
The woman’s hand lifted. Her fingers stretched. Her face tightened.
The world slowed.
I must move.
But she could not.
Mistress Swain’s palm slammed into her cheek. She stumbled sideways. She swallowed the cry of pain down her throat. She grabbed for the table. Fingers of fire shot into her jaw and circled her head.
Mistress Swain eased forward. The smell of lavender and kitchen grease sickened Elizabeth’s stomach.
“While here, you will work as you are told.”
Water flooded the back of Elizabeth’s eyes. She tried to throw up the same stone wall she had earlier with Thomas, but her pain and dread were too great.
The woman turned with the lethargy of an old snail, then crawled from the kitchen. Elizabeth sat to a bench. She stretched her mouth open. The tears swelled and spilled.
“Tsk. Tsk.” Cook Smith threw herself to her side. The bench rocked beneath the woman’s weight. “Shu canna spick to her so.”
“No, Elizabeth.” Silly sat to her other side. She crooked her finger beneath Elizabeth’s chin and lifted. “She hits hard. ‘Tis already swelling.”
Elizabeth gasped. “If she does these sorts of things, why do you not tell Monsieur West?”
The two women shared a long look.
Silly lowered her hand to the table. “Most of the time we work and she leaves us be. And she will not be here forever.”
Cook Smith stood and turned. “And I vish to be hare when she goes.” She shrugged. “In the meantime, ve vait for the woman to do hareself in.”
“But Elizabeth,” Silly said. “You must not anger her anymore. And what could be so bad about sitting with a nice gentleman?”
Shivers cased down Elizabeth’s spine. She could not begin to explain to them the real Matthew Hardwin. The one that bribes a person’s friends while trying to force an unwilling partner into a marriage.
The cook slid a plate of the last of the ham, bacon, and grits from breakfast in front of Elizabeth. “For gentleman.”
Elizabeth turned to Silly. “Have you eaten yet?”
Silly pointed to two plates still left at the end of the table. “Cook took a bit from yours and mine for the man.”
Elizabeth stood. She reached down the table. She grabbed one of the plates and upended everything onto the other. “That is for you. I will have something later.” She stood, grabbed the plate for Monsieur Hardwin, and made her way to the door.
He was not happy to see her bruising cheek. She assured him she was fine. She assured him she would pay attention to doorframes from now on.
He then took his time eating, and for some reason, the man could not remember the time for lunch or supper either, so that she was forced to sit with him yet again after the meals were served and the tavern empty. Cook Smith was not happy, but she said nothing in Elizabeth’s defense.
‘Twas well into dark by the time she entered the cottage. Shadows crawled about the room. The plaid lay atop her bed. Thomas must have set it out before he left.
Oh? And was that her doll?
She wrapped the plaid around her shoulders.
My father claimed as long as he wore it he feared nothing.
She grabbed the doll and pressed it against her chest. She crawled to the bed and lay on her side. She pulled the plaid tight to her neck.
She would have to eventually give it back. It did not belong to her, but another.
Tonight, though, she would pull what little bravery she could from the aging fibers, for tomorrow would be much like today, and regardless of how many people surrounded her in the tavern, or how many hours she was forced to spend with Monsieur Hardwin, she was very much alone.
The tears came. They stung her bruised cheek.
She bothered not to wall them in. After all, the shadow people, the only ones to keep her company that night, well knew of her fears. Had they not mocked her enough? Had they not twisted and spun about when she was most afraid?
And were they not glad that she was now, and finally, alone?