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THOMAS WAS GLAD TO see Father Bergier, especially if he had done Thomas’ bidding.
Hardwin, he had nae wish to ever see again.
Today, the boy wore the same navy suit Thomas had seen before. ‘Twas the first time Thomas could remember not seeing him in something new.
“Uncle thinks it is best if I go live with my mother for a time.” The boy’s girly lips tightened into a bow “She is ill and needs care. I will be leaving at the end of the week.”
Thomas foisted a cold look on the boy. Should he ask? Did he even want to know?
“Matthew,” Father Bergier whispered. “The rest.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “I was responsible for the doll.”
Thomas’ gut balled tight.
Behind the boy, Elizabeth’s eyes flooded with a lost look. Was the mention of the doll taking her back to a place neither of them wished to return?
And what of her quiet the past few days? She had seemed happy enough until then. His mother was at a loss. Sarah was unable to explain it either.
The lass herself had insisted she was fine.
Thomas knew better.
He turned back to Hardwin. “How did ye get it?”
“From her room when she was not there. I painted the mouth, tore off the scalp, and roughed up the dress. Then, I placed it in camp. I had no idea it would be attacked that night. I just thought the doll would appear to be more mischief.”
“And after I drowned it?”
He shrugged. “I fished it out, dried it, and planted it with the quilts. I was hoping to scare Elizabeth into staying with me.”
“Matthew,” Elizabeth said. “You cannot frighten someone into loving you.”
“I know that.” His hand flew up. “And believe me, I will be serving a penance in going home.”
How could being with one’s mother offer punishment?
The boy turned to the priest. “You can tell my uncle that I have done as he asked.” He mounted his horse and clacked the beast around the cemetery and toward the road. Only when he was out of sight did Father Bergier turn to Elizabeth.
“I need to speak with Thomas alone. I will then come visit with you.”
She frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He laughed. “I always speak with the bride and groom separately before the marriage.”
Thomas reached for her arm.
She jumped as if startled.
His gut tightened. “Ye look tired. Please try to rest. There are enough people working up a storm. We will be ready for Tuesday.”
“I might just do so.” She turned to the priest. “I will see you in a bit.” She made her way down the hill. Just past the cemetery, she stopped before Eaton. They spoke. Elizabeth shook her head. Eaton lifted his palms upward as if begging her to do something.
The best healing I can offer her is in my arms every night.
Ach! He should have thrown her on his horse and taken her to Doughoregan Manor and married her there. They neither one needed the busyness of the past few weeks after what they had endured in the wilderness. This last week, so close to the wedding and so near to having her as his own, had nearly torn him apart.
She apparently was faring little better.
The lass left Eaton behind. He lifted his head, saw Thomas, and came his way.
The priest cleared his throat. “’Tis said on the frontier that a beautiful French maiden and Black Fox have a God that does their bidding.”
Thomas turned to the priest. “Already the tales start?”
Father smiled.
But Thomas had no time for tales, for Eaton was nearly to them.
He stepped toward the priest and stretched out his hand. “Do ye have my wedding gift for Elizabeth?”
“Aye, Tomas. I surely do.”
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ELIZABETH SAT ON THE last bench in the log chapel with Thomas.
“I can hardly believe we are to be married here in just a few days.” Her heart ached. Her father’s letter burned hard in her pocket.
Eaton had asked her earlier when she had left Thomas alone with Father Bergier if she had read it. He had not been happy to find out she had not.
Thomas reached for her hand. Something rolled between their palms. “There is nothing we canna handle as long as this holds us together.” He lifted his hand upward.
She gasped.
Wound in her palm was a garnet rosary. Oval stones were sectioned with silver filigreed spheres and the whole was rounded to a silver crucifix.
“’Tis my wedding gift, Lass.”
She lifted it upward. The red shimmered in the sunlight of the window. The weight was pleasing to her fingers. She kissed the Christ. The tears warmed her eyes.
“I promised ye a new one if we ever got home. It is the first of several promises I have to fulfill.” He cradled her chin. He pressed his lips to her cheek. This time, there was no promise of more. No heat generated between them.
But the kiss warmed her all the same.
He brushed his fingers down her arm and wove his hand into hers. “Why have ye no read your father’s letter?”
She clutched at the rosary. “Tomas, I do not wish to speak of this.”
“’Tis been two weeks.”
“I know how long it has been.”
“Elizabeth, if there is anything I have learned the past two years, it is that ye canna push the pain away.”
“I am not pushing it away.”
“Have ye read the letter?”
She wanted to run from him. He was going to force her to think of and feel the sorrow when all she wanted was to grasp the happiness that seemed just out of her reach. Why did it dangle before her and shift a little farther away every time she drew near to it?
Thomas swung around to her and straddled the bench. He grabbed her waist and pulled her between his legs.
She had nae wish to be there, but neither could she find the strength to leave.
“Your maither died and your little sisters. Your grandparents
died and ye buried them at sea. Josué died and ye buried him. But ye did bury all of them. Ye saw them go. Ye grieved.”
“And I near lost myself in doing so.”
“But ye did no.” He sighed. “And now there is this letter, and ye need to read it.”
“I have tried, Tomas, but I cannot. My heart seizes tight when I think of doing so for they are his last words to me.” She turned to him. “He will be truly gone then.”
“’Tis just it, Elizabeth. He is already gone.” He cupped her cheek. “All that is left is for ye to feel the hurt.”
She curled inward.
“I have pushed back against pain, Elizabeth. I shut people out. My family. You.”
“But I would not push you away.”
“Have ye not already? The spark has left your eyes the past week. Your brows furrow. Your cheeks pinch tight. Ye hardly speak.”
She closed her eyes.
“The pain will paralyze ye if ye do no deal with, and we canna go into a marriage with that between us.” He reached for her hand with the rosary. “Let us pray here today rather than at home this evening. Then I will sit while ye read. Ye have nae need to share it with me, and ye know I will care no about your tears or grief. Ye can cry and blither as long as ye need to here and for as many days afterward.”
“I am not ready.”
He grabbed her cheeks. His eyes bore into hers. “No one ever is, but ye are the bravest lass I know. Ye can face this pain. And then your heart will have room for me and only me.”
He let go. He knelt to the ground. He pulled his worn, wooden rosary from his pocket. Elizabeth lowered beside him. She gripped the blood-red beads.
Twenty minutes later they eased upward and back to the bench. Elizabeth slipped her hand inside her pocket. She pulled out the letter. The paper rattled in her hand. Her stomach tightened with what was to come.
Thomas scooted toward her. His shoulder brushed hers.
She gathered his strength into her heart, peeled back the wax, and unfolded her father’s last thoughts.
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THOMAS STOPPED AT THE edge of the bonfire’s light. Elizabeth had asked for a few moments to herself in the cemetery, and
he had complied.
After all, they had played the roles of dutiful hosts, from the Run for the Bottle that morning to Holy Mass and the wedding in the new chapel, to dancing and visiting all afternoon. They had been cordial to people who had little regard for them a mere three months past. They had listened and smiled indulgently to the growing tales of their capture and escape.
But Thomas’ patience was wearing thin. He needed to be alone with her. He needed to see how she fared.
He needed to make her his wife.
He made his way up the hill. Fingal walked at his side. The summer heat was beginning to ease with the night. His brow no longer festered with sweat. His new shirt and waistcoat nae longer stuck to him.
He stepped through the gate. A waxing full moon toyed with the deep greenness of the trees and dappled the ground with rounds of dancing light. Thomas closed the gate against the bonfire, the dancing and singing, and the rest of the world. He turned to his right. Elizabeth stood before Josué’s grave, her new dress shining as wet as a fresh emerald. She turned and smiled.
His heart nearly stopped.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I did not mean to be so long.”
“Ye have no been. ‘Tis my fault. I missed ye.”
She lowered her head shyly. She focused on Josué’s grave. “I have told him about Papa,” she whispered. “I even read him the letter.” She sighed. “I know it sounds silly.”
“Not at all, Lass. Ye need to grieve in yer ain way. Ye say not only good-byes to your father but your way of life.”
“Mon père, oui. Ma maison? Non. I feared I would never go back home. And besides.” She turned to him. “I have met a man here who has offered me a new life which I am very much eager to begin.”
He cocked his head and winked. “And has this man promised to take ye to his cabin and never stop kissing ye?”
“He has.” She dipped her chin playfully.
He grabbed her waist. He kissed her cheek and then her mouth. Fingal sighed contentedly.
Thomas reached for her hand. No sense staying here.
He pulled her outside the fencing. He closed the gate. They started down the hill. And then, she slipped her fingers free and laughed and dashed to the cabin.
He raced after her. Fingal came alongside them both. They neared the porch. Thomas caught her waist. Another laugh lifted
from her throat. ‘Twas strong and pure.
She twisted and slipped free again. She threw him an impish grin and raced inside the cabin. He chased after her.
She stood in the center of the main room. Moonlight eased into the windows. A line of candles atop the fireplace mantel glowed a shallow arc around the room. Fingal slid to a stop and barked.
“Not this time, old man.” He looked at the dog and pointed to the door.
“No,” Elizabeth cried. “Please do not.”
Thomas frowned.
“Fingal, go to the rug.” She pointed to the fireplace. The dog sprinted forward, twirled in circles back and forth, this way and that, then rooted himself to the rug and flattened to his belly.
“See?” She laughed. “He will be no bother.”
Thomas had nae time for the dog. He sank his arms around Elizabeth’s back and tugged her waist against his. He lifted the crisp, white cap from her head. Her hair, after such a long day and their chase, broke free and cascaded to her shoulders. He was nae use to its shortness, but ‘twas beautiful nonetheless.
He could hardly breathe. “The last time I found ye in a cabin, ye would nae leave.”
“The last time you found me in a cabin, you thought I was a boy.”
The heat rumbled in his veins. “Ye, Elizabeth Johns.”
“Elizabeth McQueen.”
He chuckled. “Ye, Elizabeth McQueen.” He could nae help but stare at her. “Ye are nae boy.”
She was beautiful. How he had gotten so lucky as to have a chance with her he knew not. “Ye also refused to share a room with me.”
She chewed her lip. “I can guarantee I will not refuse to do so this time.” Her lashes fluttered shyly. She twisted her head to the side.
“The red quilt,” she cried. “Oh, I had quite forgotten it.” She pulled free and rushed to the bed. “And the plaid.” She fingered the green and yellow stripes folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
Thomas cut the space between them. One arm dove under her knees. The other cradled her back. He lifted her to his chest, stepped around the bed, and lay her to the red quilt. He eased atop her.
Her arms grabbed at his back. Her fingers clutched at his hair. She smelled of lavender and fresh water. His lips took hers. He drained the air from both of their lungs.
He pulled free only because he needed air.
“Tomas,” she cried breathlessly. “You promised you would not stop.”
“Just getting my wind, Lass.”
“Well, do hurry.”
“Never fear,” he laughed. “Thomas McQueen keeps his promises.” The smile fled. He pressed his thumb to her swollen lips. “And I will make good on this one this night. And all day tomorrow. And the next and the next.”
Her cheeks quivered. Her eyes filled with him.
Her arms wrapped around his neck. She pulled his lips toward hers. Their breaths stirred.
“And now that I am free to love ye,” he whispered, “I am never letting ye go.”