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THOMAS STEPPED INSIDE the herb house at The East and West. He closed the door behind him. He crossed to the working table at the back wall. He hung the lantern on a hook and pulled the doll from his waistcoat.
The grotesqueness of it nearly rent his mind in half.
Now, whether he married her or left her, she faced a death sentence at best, an ending of the life she knew at worst.
At eye level to his right, a stack of burlap bags tumbled against the wall. Thomas grabbed one and shoved the doll inside. He turned. Near the door was a pile of small rocks. Thomas dropped several into the bag, then turned back to the table and grabbed a piece of string. He tied the opening closed.
He shoved the bag inside his shirt and pulled his cloak around him. He made his way outside and turned for the creek. Fingal followed. Trees dripped water onto his head and neck. The ground squished beneath his feet.
He reached the creek and clipped a good ways east to a deeper and a more isolated bend on the edge of town. He looked around him. Satisfied no one was about, he pulled the bag out and slid it into the water.
It sank immediately.
Fingal’s ears lifted. His eyes focused on the water.
“Well, old man,” Thomas whispered. “That is one problem solved.”
It left, however, a dozen others to manage.
Fingal stiffened. He growled.
Thomas’ blood cooled. He lifted the lantern. He had been fairly certain he had not been seen leaving the herb house. He lowered the light and studied the darkness.
Ach! ‘Twas not in his power to retrieve the doll, and he had been too quick to pull it from his cloak and push it into the water for anyone to see.
Still, it would behoove him to appear as unflustered as possible, despite his need to get to Elizabeth. He strolled along the creek. He gazed at the water. He looked skyward as if determining if more rain was to come.
Fingal lifted his tail more than once. He sniffed the air. But, like Thomas, he could never decide if spies lurked in the shadows.
Thomas finally made his way back to West’s house.
His maither met him on the porch. Tired, worn lines ringed her eyes. Her cheeks were puffy.
“How is Sarah?” he asked.
“She seems fine. Elizabeth did a remarkable job. The baby came with little effort after the cutting. Even Sarah’s pain was not as great as we had feared, although she did lose a goodly lot of blood.”
“And the babe?”
Colina smiled. “’Tis a boy. He seems as healthy as any I have seen.”
“Where is Elizabeth?”
“’Twas why I was looking for ye.” She frowned. “She will nae leave Sarah’s side. She needs her hand tended. It pains her every time she moves.”
His heart tensed. Thunder rumbled overhead. “I will see to her. Ye go to bed.”
He left Fingal on the porch, then clipped down the hall and up the stairs. He entered the first room to his right. Mac walked in and out of candlelight, the babe snug against his chest, his long fingers dwarfing the child’s head. He turned sideways so Thomas could see the lad.
“Aw, Mac. He is a beautiful sight.”
The man sighed contentedly. “Fatherhood is the greatest thing in the world.”
The pain pinched Thomas’ heart.
“Aw, Tom. I am sorry.”
“Dinna be. Ye speak true. And I am happy for ye.”
“And I hope ye are here for Miss Johns?” Mac pointed through the green curtains weighing down the poster bed.
Elizabeth sat in a chair. Her head lay in arms twisted akimbo atop the green coverlet and at Sarah’s side.
“None of us can get her to leave,” Mac whispered. “But I dinna understand why? We have all agreed on which shifts to take for the next few days.”
“We are nae the only ones with great fears and hard pasts.” He crept around the bed. He reached beneath her knees and around her shoulders and lifted her against his chest.
She stirred. “Non.”
“Wheest, Lass.”
Her eyes flew open. “Tomas. Je ne peux pas la laisser.”
“Yes, ye can leave her.”
“Je ne veux pas.”
She may not wish to, but even now her lashes fluttered heavy with sleep.
Outside, his lungs drowned in the smell of more coming rain. He sliced his way across the yard, Fingal close on his heels. The thunder rumbled after them in a chase. He reached the cottage just as the first drops plummeted from the sky. He lay Elizabeth to the bed. He lit three candles from the embers in the fireplace. One he placed on the mantel. Another he set to the work table. The last he put to the stand by her bed. ‘Twould be poor for tending her hand, but ‘twas the best he could do.
He poured water in a bowl. He stirred the fire to life and set water to warming in a kettle for a poultice and a tea. He grabbed a chair and pulled it to the lass’ bedside.
“Ach,” he whispered. “I need some rags.”
The lass’ fingers lit as light as a butterfly on his arm. “Strip the bottom of my petticoat.”
He lifted her skirt. He tore a strip, being careful to ignore the lass’ stockings and her knees. He had nae time for such weaknesses at the moment. He pulled her skirt down and reached for her burned hand.
She shifted. She studied him with eyes deep and dark as an old, spent well. ‘Twas more unnerving than her arguing.
Finally, the last of the binding fell away. The air hit the palm. She flinched.
In the hours since he had last seen it, the burn had turned frightening. One large blister had burst leaving behind a raw, reddened patch across the center of her palm.
He pressed the hand in and out of the water. He rubbed it free of dirt. He pulled a knife from his pocket and set to work cutting away the dead flesh of the blister. She cringed and shifted. Her good hand gripped the quilt beneath her.
When done, he warmed another poultice, set it to her palm, and wound the rag tight around the hand. He then spread the plaid and pulled it up to her waist.
My, she was bonnie! Hair dark as midnight. Eyes as wide and innocent as a doe’s.
“Dinna worry. I will get ye another petticoat.”
“’Tis not necessary. I can buy a new one. I am working now.”
But she would not be for long, not now that she had been targeted by Iron Gun’s warriors.
He grabbed the bowl and stood. Outside, the rain poured at a steady rate. He set the bowl on the work table for emptying, set the tea to steeping, then turned back to her.
She had rolled to the side and pulled the plaid to her neck. Thomas eased onto the mattress beside her.
“Tomas? I wish to go to Holy Mass in the morning, but I fear I will not be able to get up.”
“I think God will understand this one time.”
“But everyone I have ever truly loved, or almost all of them, has left me. God is the only constant I have. I could not bear it if He left me, too.”
He braced his arms on either side of her hips. “Is there nothing that would cause ye to lose yer faith?”
She shrugged. “I suppose everyone has a breaking point.”
“And ye have no reached yers?”
“No,” she whispered lazily. “But I have come awfully close in the last six months.” She barely finished the sentence before her eyes closed.
He pulled a dark wisp of hair from her forehead. He cradled her cheek.
When had he fallen in love with her? When had he shifted from not wanting her to touch him, nor him her, to craving deep and constant contact with her flesh? The kind of joining that rendered a man helpless and brave all at the same time?
And what in the name of God was he to do now?
“Tomas? Would you do one more thing?”
“I will do anything you ask.” He nearly choked on the words.
“I have been unable to find the doll Issy made for me.”
His stomach crashed to the floor.
“Would you mind looking under the bed? I have not yet looked
there.”
His throat filled with rocks. He lowered to the floor. He stayed a moment, then came back up. “I see it not.”
Her eyes filled with sadness. “It is surely somewhere nearby.”
A knot of horror unraveled in his gut. “Did ye take it out of the cottage?”
“No. I had no reason to. And ‘twas on my pillow yesterday morning. I cannot imagine where it has gone to.”
And Thomas could not imagine who had taken it. They would have to have entered the cottage to do so.
“Do not tell Issy I have lost it,” she whispered. “‘Twould upset her greatly.”
He had no intention of telling his little sister.
He forced himself to his feet. He turned to the door.
No lock.
Ach! Whoever took the doll could come back. If ‘twas Red Bear, he was not above hiring someone to kidnap the lass even here in town. The white renegade had resources that boggled the mind. Even his personal band of warriors was capable of slipping into and out of town unnoticed.
On the other hand, ‘twould nae look good for Thomas to be found in here with her. Such actions damaged reputations.
Fingal, at his feet, lifted his ears and whined.
Thomas glanced at the dark window. Surely, he would do no harm if he stayed here until just before daybreak. He could then slip outside but keep a watch on the cottage until she awoke.
He grabbed a chair and set it before the fireplace. He sat down, pulled his feet from his shoes, and stretched his legs outward. He crossed his left ankle over his right. He wove his fingers together at his waist and leaned his head back.
Fingal, ever the rogue, jumped to the lass’ bed and curled at her back. Thomas had never been so jealous of a dog before in his life.
The next thing he knew, the lass gently nudged him. Judging by the tight crick in his neck and the pain smarting his lower back, he had slept for several hours. A dusty stream of light, casing through the windows, confirmed his sleep.
He turned to see Elizabeth kneeling beside his chair. She had freshed her face and combed her hair. She was still tired, but the debilitating fatigue was gone.
“I am awake, and I go to Mass this morning.”
“Lass, we went over this last night.”
“I know, but Holy Mass always brings me peace.” She shrugged. “And besides, I need to check on Meggie and Philippe.”
He stretched his eyes open. He leaned forward in the chair. “Verra well. Give me five minutes to clean up and I will take ye.”
She stood. “I was not asking you to take me. I was simply telling you where I was to be. I did not wish you to awake and find me gone, and I thought perhaps you would like to move to my bed.”
He certainly would. ‘Twould be even better if she was in it.
Ach! He could not even crawl in her bed with her gone. Doing so would raise too many suspicions.
He could, however, find a bed inside the tavern.
He looked at her. He thought of the raid on camp and the doll.
Nae. She was not going alone.
––––––––
ELIZABETH SHOULD HAVE argued with him and insisted he sleep, but she was so hoping he would continue their conversation from the night before in regards to their future.
And yet, as they shuffled up Calvert Street, he spoke of nothing at all.
Had she misunderstood him? Other than the fact he was still here on the morning he had planned to leave, she was not sure anything had changed.
And why, if he could not stay before, could he do so now?
She saw neither Meggie nor Philippe during Holy Mass. Nonetheless, she tried to concentrate on the prayers, but her mind wandered to not only them but to Sarah as well.
And to Thomas.
Finally, the last amen was said, Father Bergier exited through the side door. Thomas led her outside. Matthew stood at the bottom of the steps as green from head to toe as a fir tree after a forest rain. Surely, he had more suits than King George himself.
Meggie stood at his side. Elizabeth’s nerves frazzled loose.
She rushed down the steps. “Did you keep her from Holy Mass?”
“Good Day, Elizabeth.” He swept the tricorn from his head and bowed deeply. “And she wished to spend the morning with me.”
Meggie’s lips pinched tight. Elizabeth rushed a gaze downward. The girl’s hands were swollen. Elizabeth could not see the ankles, but surely they were too large as well. ‘Twas it the work yesterday? Or something more? Why was she not now in bed?
And why did she miss Mass?
Hardwin smiled broadly. “We may turn her into a Protestant yet.”
“Meggie,” she gasped. “Is this true?”
The girl may as well have been carved from stone.
“And Elizabeth,” Hardwin’s voice tinkled on, “I detect a hint of peakedness around your eyes? Perhaps you need some rest? I would be glad to come sit outside your door while you did so to be sure you are not disturbed.”
Dread leached into her spine.
“And you, Thomas.” Hardwin turned to him. “I would have thought you had more pressing matters to attend to this morning than to be here.”
“Sarah and the baby rest well,” he said.
“Sarah?” Hardwin’s eyes widened. “I was not aware of the birth, but you will give the parents my congratulations. I was, of course, speaking of other matters.” Hardwin’s laugh filled the yard.
People turned their way.
The confusion tore at Thomas’ face.
Elizabeth grabbed Meggie’s arm. She fired the words in French. “Did he force you to work yesterday?”
She nodded.
“And Philippe?”
Hardwin’s smile vanished. “Come, Meggie. We have matters to tend.” He wound a vise-like grip around the girl’s arm. “We will speak at another time, Elizabeth.” He tugged Meggie from Elizabeth’s fingers. Meggie stumbled. She turned to Elizabeth.
Matthew hauled her around.
Elizabeth shot forward.
Thomas grabbed her arm. “What are ye doing?” he hissed.
“He is hurting her. And he is doing it to get back at me. He even forced her to work for me yesterday even when she did not wish to.”
His jaw locked forward.
“She feels unwell. I fear for the babe, and she is afraid of him.”
Thomas flashed a smile at a passing gentleman. He lifted his tricorn. He pressed the words through his teeth. “We canna verra well do something here and now.” The smile vanished. He grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her toward the street.
“Then when?”
His grip tightened.
“And what did Matthew mean by you had better things to do today than to be here?”
“Enough, Elizabeth,” he hissed. “I have a number of dangers to deal with at the moment. I canna now add Meggie and Philippe to my list of worries.”
“Forgive me for bothering you.” She jerked her hand free. “I will handle it myself then.”
“Elizabeth,” he groaned. “What can ye do?”
“My cottage is big enough. I will ask Monsieur West if they can stay with me. They can work.”
His eyes blazed into live coals. “He does nae wish to house more Neutrals. Ye got hired because ye can pass for English.”
“Then you could ask around.”
“If nae one would hire ye, they will most assuredly not hire them.”
The angst coiled round and round her.
“And I thought ye cared not for Meggie?”
“Well, I did not.” The girl had still not told the truth about Josué. “But neither can I watch her suffer at Hardwin’s hands when he is doing so to get to me.”
“How can ye be so sure he does so?”
The words stuck in her throat.
His jaw shot forward. “Elizabeth? What did ye do?”
“Philippe needed some peppermint to help with his cough. Matthew found some for him.”
“Aw, Lass.”
“I never agreed to do anything in return, but he is now holding such and more over my head.”
“Why did ye not ask me for help?”
“Again, Thomas, you were not here!” The fire blazed to her head. “But you are now. You said last night you were not leaving.”
“But I do not know that I can help. And I do not know how long I will be here.”
I canna leave ye here tomorrow.
She had assumed he meant to stay.
Her stomach sickened.
Apparently, that was not what he meant at all.
Were they words uttered in the moment of a kiss? Were they not to be taken literally?
Her face heated.
Why had she kissed him? Why had she thought for one minute he was staying because of her?
“Elizabeth? I dinna like that look.”
“Then ‘tis no reason for you to look upon it.” She spun around. Her lips trembled. Her eyes filled with water.
She blinked them dry.
She reached the gate to the outdoor dining area of The East and West. She stalked into the yard. The gate slammed behind her. And then it did so again.
Thomas was in front of her.
He grabbed her head. “I will see to them I promise. But first I must take care of other matters.”
Meggie’s swollen hands and belly rose before her eyes. She twisted her head free. “By then, ‘twill be too late.” She turned toward the cottage.
She was the one who had made the deal with this devil. She was the only one who could see it undone.