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CATHERINE WAS UNPREPARED for the exhilaration that filled her when Phyrahawque lifted her up and onto the back of his huge white stallion. He flung himself up behind her and, without a word, slipped one strong arm around her midsection, his other hand expertly grasping the reins. As his heel spurred the mighty steed into action, Catherine aimed a glance at Lanneika, who stood smiling in the shadows in front of the large domed house.
Skirting through the trees just beyond the village, the night smells of the forest hung on the air like rich perfume. From her perch high above the forest floor, Catherine drank in the heady sensation. Behind her, Phyrahawque ducked on occasion to avoid colliding with a low-hanging branch. His muscled chest grazing her back sent tingles of pleasure coursing through her, a feeling that in a sad way reminded her of the first time Noah had kissed her. How odd that being near Phyrahawque could arouse the same feeling of longing within her. Even before they reached the mouth of the cave, her body beneath his strong forearm burned with fire. Though she fought it, her breath began to grow short and her heart to pound like the Indian drum she could still hear in the distance. Because the darkness inside the cave was so very dark, she wondered that Phyrahawque could see where he was going.
“I . . . can’t see a thing,” she finally said, tilting her head to look up at him.
“Nothing to see,” he replied, his response in flawless English.
Catherine chuckled at his humor, which caused her stomach muscles to tighten. His arm tightened about her middle.
“No want lose you.”
She didn’t want to lose him either. She reached to lay a hand on his arm, then just as quickly, jerked it away.
“No move hand,” he said, his warm breath ruffling her hair. “Feel nice.”
Catherine slowly replaced it. Beneath her fingertips, the Indian man’s skin felt warm, smooth, and hairless. She fought an urge to snuggle closer to him. Dear God, what was happening to her?
Emerging from the other side of the cave, the horse cantered briskly along a narrow trail lit by the moon and a splay of twinkling stars overhead. When the trail ran out, Phyrahawque slowed the steed’s pace, letting the horse pick its own way through the trees and underbrush. Night sounds filled the stillness. In the distance, an owl hooted. Small animals rustled through the tall grass.
Catherine chewed fretfully on her lower lip, all too aware that she was alone in the forest with a mighty Indian warrior, a warrior even her husband feared.
“You much safe with me,” he said softly, as if reading her thoughts.
She relaxed as best she could, considering the manner in which his nearness was affecting her. “I am not afraid of you, Phyrahawque. It’s just that I-I’m a married woman . . . and I . . . I . . . ” her voice trailed off.
After a pause, he said, “Cat-e-wren spirit not in harmony with trader-man.”
Catherine flinched. Though Phyrahawque and Lanneika’s English was broken, what they lacked in words, they easily made up for in perception.
She felt compelled to reply. “I haven’t a clue what grievance you have against my husband, but please accept my apology for whatever he had done to offend you.”
“Crenepo cannot say sorry words for man.”
It was true. Regardless of what Noah had done, she knew she could not apologize for him. “Well, then, please know I am truly sorry for his misdeeds.”
“You not one at fault.”
They both fell silent before Catherine again spoke. “Lanneika told me you learned English words as a boy.”
She felt his head nod. “Half sister teach me many moons ago. She go often to white-man camp.”
Catherine started. The only Indian woman she knew who’d frequently visited the Jamestown settlement was Pocahontas. “Are you saying your half sister was . . . Pocahontas?”
Again, he nodded. “She your friend.”
“Yes, she was my friend.” His admission stunned her. But then, Powhatan was rumored to have had as many as a hundred wives. If they each gave him only one child, then the children could each have nearly a hundred half brothers and sisters. “Is Lanneika also half sister to Pocahontas?”
“No. Matoaka and I have same father. My mother, Lanneika’s mother, same. We no have same father.”
Catherine shook her head to clear it. How did they ever keep up with who was related to whom?
“If you are related to Pocahontas, then why are you not part of the Powhatan tribe?”
“Mother much-favored wife of Powhatan. He make her weroansqua of own tribe.”
“So, your mother is the leader of your tribe?”
“No. Mother not warrior. I leader now.”
Phyrahawque’s place in the tribe was as Catherine suspected. He was the werowance.
Too soon they reached the edge of the forest. Phyrahawque reined in his horse a few paces before they entered the moonlit clearing. Regret filled Catherine as she realized her wonderful day with the Indians had drawn to a close. Dropping the reins, he slid off his horse then reached up for her. Their eyes locked as she placed both hands on his strong shoulders. He caught her about the waist and swung her easily to the ground. When it seemed his hands lingered a few seconds longer than necessary about her waist, Catherine’s breath lodged in her throat. Catching sight of the wistful longing in his black gaze, she lowered hers.
“Thank you for bringing me home, Phyrahawque.” She moved away from him, one hand smoothing the wrinkles of her skirt into place.
“Per-haps . . . ”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Per-haps I see you in forest.”
She nodded. “Perhaps.” Ducking her head, she darted away from him, nervously aware of the small, secret smile on her own face.
* * * *
CATHERINE LAY AWAKE a long time that night, thinking over the events of the day. The peaceful life the Indians led in the forest, their serenity and easy laughter amongst their family members, was exactly the sort of life she yearned for. Was exactly the sort of life she’d come to the New World to find, complete with a loving husband, home and children. It was not wrong of her to want such a life; it had just astonished her to learn that Noah did not want the same thing when all along she’d thought he did. Phyrahawque was right when he said her spirit was not in harmony with Noah’s.
Oh, how she wished now that she hadn’t clung so stubbornly to her childish notion that she and Noah loved one another, that she’d opened her eyes once she came here and been able to see him as he truly was. Now, she realized, she had only been in love with the memories of Noah she knew as a boy. She did not know Noah the man at all. And, she had to admit, albeit sadly, she did not love him any more than he loved her. Indeed, there was no harmony between their spirits, and she doubted now there ever could be.
For two long, lonely days, Catherine found her thoughts drifting again and again to the pleasurable hours she’d spent with the Indians. She thought about Lanneika’s smiling face and her sweet nature and, of course, about Phyrahawque . . . his kind, gentle nature; the loving way he spoke to his sister and his mother. But she also thought about how his muscles rippled in the firelight as he danced, how her insides burned when his arm was clasped about her middle. How . . . something made her want to kiss him. Always, her vivid imaginings ended in waves of longing for . . . oh! how wanton her thoughts had become! Clearly, she was powerfully attracted to the handsome Indian warrior. But . . . she shouldn’t be! It was wrong. True, she no longer loved Noah, but she was still married to him; she was still his wife. She worked to push all thoughts of the handsome Indian warrior from mind.
But . . . it was no use.
Even now, two days later, the thought of being with him set her heart pounding with desire. She’d been drawn to him from the moment she laid eyes on him, the afternoon he came for Lanneika and she’d found his piercing black eyes looking straight at her. And then again the day he walked into her house looking for Lanneika, or perhaps, for her? Though Phyrahawque knew she was married to the hated trader-man, he had always been kind to her. He had danced with her, said he did not want to lose her and that perhaps he would see her in the forest. As the days passed, Catherine near swooned every time she recalled the look of longing on his handsome face when he’d said those words.
Every day since she’d visited his village, she fought the urge to run into the woods and search for him. With Noah still in Henricus, she reasoned, there was no one to stop her, or question her whereabouts once she returned home. Perhaps if she saw Phyrahawque again, just once, in the bright light of day, she wouldn’t feel the same way about him. Perhaps the strong pull she’d felt towards him that night in the village was the result of the sensuous beat of the drums, or even the moonlight. Perhaps, taken altogether, the strange, overpowering yearning she now felt was the result of some sort of magical spell the Indians’ music had cast upon her.
Surely, that was it. Or . . . perhaps . . . it was not.
Perhaps she was drawn to the magnificent warrior because of his strength, his virile manliness, and then, of course, there was his handsome face, which drew her like no man she’d ever met before. Not even Noah. Or, perhaps it was his honor. For, indeed, he was honorable. He had been alone in the dark of night with a white woman, one he thought “beautiful” . . . for Lanneika had said her brother thought her beautiful . . . and yet, he had behaved in a respectful, trustworthy manner. He had not accosted her. He had not been the least bit forward or inappropriate. He had been a perfect gentleman. One she longed with all her heart to see again.
On the third afternoon since the day Catherine visited Lanneika’s village, she could no longer resist the urge to run into the woods. Soon after she and Lydia finished their midday meal, she scooped up a basket and announced she was off to pick berries, though she knew full well she might not return with a single one.
She had just reached the strawberry patch where Phyrahawque had killed the snake when, from somewhere behind her, she heard the soft neigh of a horse. Breathless with anticipation, she whirled around. Was he here?
Yes! Yes, he was here!
She spotted his enormous white steed nibbling grass amongst the trees only a few paces from her. Phyrahawque hovered near the horse, his smoldering black gaze intent upon her, his bare chest heaving with the same pent-up desire pulsating through Catherine. Compelled by a force she did not understand, she flung her basket aside and ran towards the magnificent Indian brave whose arms opened at once to receive her.
“Phyrahawque!”
She melted into his embrace, every inch of her longing for him, her body already aching to take him inside her. His lips found hers, and as the kiss lengthened and deepened, Catherine forgot all else and gave herself up to the intoxicating desire that consumed her.
In moments, Phyrahawque scooped her up into his strong arms and carried her to a secluded place where he had already prepared a bed of soft skins. His black eyes never left hers as he gently laid her down. Bracing himself beside her on one elbow, he gazed deeply into her eyes, then slowly reached to untie the strings of her blouse and gently pushed it aside. His dark gaze slid lower to rest upon the sight of her bare breasts.
“Beau-ti-ful. White.”
Smiling, Catherine reached up to caress his tawny cheek, her slim fingers tracing the smooth planes and angles of his face. One fingertip slowly outlined the sensuous curve of his mouth.
“I want you,” she murmured, her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath she drew.
“I want you,” he mouthed.
Again and again he kissed her. With one long tapered finger, he traced a fiery path from her neck to her breasts and back again, sending tingles of pleasure through her.
She arched her back, her fingers splayed across the strong, hairless mounds of his chest, then inching down, down, down toward the roll of leather holding his breechcloth in place. A low moan escaped him when her hand brushed against the bulge already visible beneath his breechcloth. He was every bit as aroused as she.
She reached to unbutton her skirt and, with his help, slithered out of it. She tossed off her shoes and rolled down her stockings, then lay back, naked to the waist, only her pantalets covering her lower body. She saw the puzzlement on his face when his eyes raked over the odd garment.
“I can take them off.”
“No.”
One brown hand moved slowly across her flat belly covered only by the thin white cloth. He moved to caress the curve of her hip. Slowly, tantalizing her as he did so, his hand moved down, down, down the swell of her thigh to the knee, then back up the inside of one leg. Catherine’s eyes fluttered shut as she relished the tingling sensations his touch inspired within her. And he’d not yet touched her bare flesh there. His hand teased her lower belly, coming nearer and nearer to her soft, feminine center.
“Please . . . touch me,” she gasped.
“Soon.”
He lowered his head to kiss her again, one arm pulling her body against his, the other caressing her back and buttocks, gently molding her to him. Catherine draped one leg over his back, both arms twined about his neck. He rolled her on top of him; then pushed the last remaining article of clothing from her. Naked, she lay atop him, each of them drinking in one another’s essence from a long, deep kiss.
Without interrupting the kiss, he rolled her beneath him while one hand gently massaged the soft, moist place between her legs.
“Phyrahawque,” she gasped, feeling his fingers stroke her silky wetness. Her arms around his shoulders tugged him closer. Beneath him, her body writhed with desire.
Soon, she felt the velvety end of his manhood gently probe her hot, pulsating center. The hard length of him teased her, the tip kissing her, pulling away, then thrusting, but not yet entering her.
“Take me, take me,” she gasped, feeling she would die from sheer longing.
“When I certain you want me.”
“Oh, Phyrahawque,” she moaned. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I first saw you.”
He covered her mouth with his again, and finally, with a low groan, he entered her, the hard length of him pushing up, up, up, igniting the most exquisite tremors of pleasure she’d ever known. As his thrusts drove deeper inside her, low moans of ecstasy escaped her.
As they both gasped for breath, he broke the kiss, and, lifting his head, his eyes closed and his strong chest heaved as he gulped for air. In moments, Catherine became aware of a place deep, deep inside her. A white-hot flame like nothing she’d ever known began to build and grow stronger and stronger and stronger until she thought she would explode inside. Phyrahawque’s thrusts drove deeper and deeper, until, as one, they reached the pinnacle of their passion together. Wave after wave of tremors washed over Catherine. She had never felt anything like this before.
A growl escaped Phyrahawque’s throat, then with a shudder, he fell limp on top of her, his breath hot against her cheek. Catherine’s body also began to relax as weeks and weeks of pent-up tension drained from her. Her eyes fluttered shut as she lay beneath him, vitally aware of his shaft of hardness still buried deep within her.
Opening his eyes, he smiled down at her, then, placing a hand at her back, he rolled her toward him as he lay on his side. Gathering her closer, he pulled her against his chest and began to drop feather kisses on her forehead, her nose, and both cheeks. When his lips again covered hers, his tongue explored the soft cavity of her mouth, tracing her teeth, caressing and sucking on her tongue. Catherine again felt the tingle of response in her belly. Within her body, she became aware of his manhood growing hard, this time inside her.
He began to move, slowly at first, in and out with long languid strokes, pulling nearly all the way out, then thrusting deeply into her. Her breath again grew ragged with desire. Draping a leg over his back, as she rocked along with him, his thrusts grew more insistent. As before, she marveled when once again he found that place deep inside her that brought her senses to a near fever pitch. In seconds, her longing matched his. Then together, in one dizzying burst of raw pleasure, their desire exploded. When simultaneous moans of ecstasy escaped both of them, Phyrahawque hugged her so close she thought he might smother her.
She became aware of their bodies, moist with perspiration. Damp tendrils of her hair clung to her forehead and shoulders. Her breasts pressed tightly against his moist chest. Locked in one another’s arms, they may have drifted off to sleep; Catherine couldn’t say for certain. In what seemed like a long, long time, he at last drew out of her and sat up. Catherine’s eyes fluttered open as she rolled onto her back, one hand reaching to caress the strong muscles of his arm, now clasped about a drawn-up knee. Gazing at her over one shoulder, he reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“Wash now.”
Catherine did not question what he meant. She simply did as he did, bent to gather up strewn garments. He scooped up the mat of skins they’d been lying upon. His white stallion followed behind them as Phyrahawque led her, naked except for the clothing she held before her, through the dense trees to her own Secret Place and the pool of clear, cool water.
“Oh!” She smiled up at him with delight. “I’ve been here before.”
He nodded, the mischievous grin on his face reminding her of Lanneika.
Hand in hand, they slipped into the water, Catherine’s smiling eyes never leaving his. Once they’d gained the gurgling center of the pool, his head disappeared beneath the surface. Catherine relished the feel of the gentle waves. Stretching her body out, she swam a few strokes, luxuriating in the feel of the water lapping over her bare body. She laid her head back, letting the cool water soak through her hair. Suddenly, Phyrahawque’s dark head popped up only inches away, his silky black hair mingling with her flaming tresses.
His eyes smiled as he reached for her arm and drew her into the circle of his. She saw that he carried a handful of sea moss. He laid her on her back and as she floated before him, he rubbed the moss over her chest and belly and down her arms, then rolling her over, he rubbed her back, down her legs, and up between them. Turning her head slightly, she watched him dive to the bottom and come back up with another handful of moss, which he used on himself. She relished the clean, fresh feel of her skin as she watched him wash his own body. Once clean, he again reached for her and drew her to him, the water lapping between them as he sensuously molded her soft nude form to his lean muscular one. The feel of his naked hardness against her belly instantly aroused her.
From sheer happiness, Catherine flung both arms up and lay back on the surface of the water, her torso laid bare before him. He licked her from neck to navel, trailing his tongue lower and lower, and lower still. Catherine shuddered with a longing more intense than any she’d ever felt before. Would she never get enough of him?
As his lips sought and found hers, she wrapped her arms around his neck and slid down the length of him. Twining her legs around his back, she felt his hardness slip inside her. Locked together, he twirled her around and around in the water as she rode him, one of his arms supporting her rump, the other treading water at his side.
As his thrusts deepened, she again felt his hardness awaken that special place deep within her, and with one final thrust, they both flung their heads back and cried out their pleasure as they climbed that intoxicating crescendo together, then welcomed the blessed release that shuddered through them.
* * * *
WHEN THE HOURS OF PLEASURE with Phyrahawque drew to a close, Catherine at last made her way home. Being with Phyrahawque that day had changed her forever. Never, not in all her life, had she known such joy could exist between a man and a woman. Never had she imagined her body could feel such exquisite pleasure, such magical sensations. Surely this magnificent Indian warrior had cast a spell over her, one she hoped she’d never, ever, awaken from.
The next afternoon, she again raced into the forest and found him waiting for her, this time in her Secret Place. They again made love in the water, then lay together on the mossy bank, their arms and legs intertwined as they murmured soft words of affection to one another. Phyrahawque had brought along a basket of wild berries and rye bread, and after their lovemaking, they enjoyed the simple repast.
Catherine laughed when he squeezed a berry and dribbled the pink juice over her bare breasts, only to sensuously lick it from her with long languid strokes of his tongue.
Another day that same week, they climbed partway up a tree, and, when both were comfortably seated in the crook of a sturdy limb, his arms holding her securely about her waist, her legs draped over his, they talked and talked. Catherine asked him about Pocahontas and his boyhood in Werowocomoco. Though his English was broken, and he confessed to having forgotten many words his half sister taught him, he managed to tell her much about the early days when Captain John Smith first came to their shores, and Pocahontas made frequent visits to the settlement.
He told her about the day the Tassentasses arrived and how curious all the Indians were about the light-skins and their floating island, which he later learned was a huge ship. He told of their astonishment at the exploding fire-sticks the Tassentasses carried and their huge cannons that snorted fire and smoke.
He said he was a few years older than Pocahontas, but, because she was their father’s favorite child, her pleas to accompany the older, more experienced warriors to the settlement to study the light-skins was granted. Then when she began to return with knowledge of their language, he said he was the most anxious of all the braves to learn the new words and she gladly taught him.
He told Catherine about the night the light-skins’ storehouse burned, and Pocahontas and her warrior-escorts had come running back to Powhatan’s village to report the loss. Then, the next day they carried bushels of corn and dried venison back to the fort so the settlers wouldn’t starve. He said when the light-skins came, it appeared they did not know how to grow their own food, or how to hunt, or even take fish from the river and that the Indians tried to teach them.
“Lanneika taught me how to plant my corn,” Catherine said. “And when to do so,” she added with a laugh.
She told Phyrahawque the reason the early settlers did not know how to farm or hunt was because most of them were high-ranking gentlemen who, in England, did not farm. “They had servants who did the work for them. It has only been in later years,” she added, “that the Virginia Company has sent farmers and laborers to these shores.”
“You high-ranking woman?” he asked.
Catherine shrugged, choosing not to answer the question. His status amongst his people was far and away higher than hers amongst the English.
Phyrahawque told her the Tassentasses had given Powhatan their word that they would not be staying, that they would leave once they’d learned more about the area and had drawn their maps.
“I expect you wish the English had made good on their word and left you in peace,” she said softly, feeling sad for the Indians over her countrymen’s deception.
“I not wish you to leave.” He hugged her to him and tenderly kissed her.
Their talks were often interrupted by intimate kisses and soft caresses. Catherine reveled in his touch. With Phyrahawque, she felt safe and protected. He seemed to care how she felt and whether or not she was happy and comfortable. Always, he seemed to be thinking of her, and it filled her with a joy she’d never known before.
One day that week, he took her on horseback to his village and, once there, told Lanneika to find again the doeskin dress Catherine had worn the night she visited. When she’d put it on, he lifted her onto his white stallion, and they rode off into the woods, Catherine straddling the horse behind him this time, her arms wrapped about his middle, her bare legs hugging the horse.
She found riding horseback in such a fashion exhilarating! The wind on her face and in her hair felt glorious! Never had she felt so free! The wind sweeping past them cooled the bare skin of her legs and whipped her red-gold hair into a scarlet banner that flew straight out behind her. Her heart thundered in her ears as Phyrahawque urged his steed faster and faster. The speed at which they skimmed past trees and brush and once flew over a small gully thrilled Catherine to her core. Throwing her head back, she relished each and every sensation, giving free reign to the laughter and joy that bubbled up within her. She’d never felt so glorious in all her life!
When Sabbath day came that week, Catherine toyed with the idea of not going to services and instead running into the woods, but she decided she’d best go to church since she didn’t want Noah, when he came home, to question why she hadn’t attended services.
The sermon that day included prayers for the many settlers who’d succumbed to swamp fever the past week and for those unfortunate ones who were still suffering. Catherine squirmed when the reverend issued yet another heartfelt plea for those who had room in their homes to take in as many settlers as they could. Many still did not have permanent lodgings. When the sermon concluded and everyone streamed onto the sunny greensward, Adam and Abby approached Catherine and insisted she come home with them.
“Who knows when Noah will be gone again,” Abby said. “We’ll have a nice meal. Nancy would love to see you. She’s as big as a cow these days.”
Catherine smiled. She’d dearly love to visit with Nancy, but the pull of the forest and Phyrahawque was far stronger. Eventually, however, she acquiesced, sending Lydia home alone and walking with her brother, Abby, and the Morgans to Adam’s dugout on the riverbank.
Though she didn’t really expect to see Phyrahawque as they floated up the James, she couldn’t help scanning the woods beyond the shoreline for a sign of him on his magnificent white horse.
“You seen distracted, Cat,” Adam said. “Are you feeling well?”
“Indeed, I am quite recovered.”
“You look wonderful,” Abby put in. “Your loveliness has returned tenfold. You are positively glowing!”
Catherine ducked her head. Was her newfound joy so very evident on her face?
Once they’d arrived at Harvest Hill, the Morgans went to their own home while Catherine enjoyed the delicious meal Abby and her brother’s servants had prepared in their absence. Catherine played with little Eli, hugging his small squirming body and laughing with Abby as they tried to make sense of his coos and gurgles. Then Abby walked with her to Nancy and Jack’s snug little cottage not far from the main house.
“Look who I’ve brought to see you!” Abby called when they caught sight of Nancy and Jack outside their tidy little wattle-and-daub home.
Nancy squealed her delight, and the two girls embraced, Catherine exclaiming on Nancy’s girth when she drew back.
“I declare I am carrying twins! Runs in my family, it does.”
“Oh, my!”
“She’ll have her work cut out for her if that’s the case,” Abby said. She told Catherine Adam would take her back to Jamestown when she was ready to leave.
Nancy proudly showed Catherine around her modest home, then took her out to the flourishing kitchen garden where row after row of corn and all manner of vegetables grew.
“Jack stays busy all day in the fields, so I am often here alone, although Margaret and Abby have taken to stopping by regularly. I think they fear I may explode one day with no one here to assist!”
Both girls laughed. Catherine was near bursting to tell Nancy of her adventures the past week, though she didn’t dare whilst Jack was present.
“Do you feel up for a short walk, Nan?”
“Indeed. I’ll show you the orchard. We have apples and pears. The peaches are ripe now.”
The orchard beyond Nancy’s home was beautiful and, more importantly, secluded. They wandered amongst the trees, Catherine enjoying the cool breeze wafting off the river and the pungent smell of the ripe fruit. They both picked a peach and bit into it. Finally, Catherine could keep still no longer.
“Something has happened, Nan, something terrible and wonder . . .”
“I am so sorry for your loss, Catherine. I wept when Abby told me ye’d lost yer babe.”
“No. No, it’s not that.”
Nancy studied her friend. “You are smiling. What could have happened so ‘terrible’ it makes you smile?”
“Oh, Nancy.” Catherine hugged herself and twirled around and around. “I’ve never been so happy!” She stopped abruptly. “I’ve met a wonderful man.”
“Oh, my!” Nancy sucked in her breath. “What have you done?”
“Everything!” Catherine laughed gaily. “I couldn’t help myself. I’ve never felt this way before. Oh, Nancy, I only thought I loved Noah. I didn’t love him at all, not the way I love . . .”
“Who?” Nancy’s eyes widened. “Who do you love? I know of no man in Jamestown more charming than Noah Colton . . . unless it be one of the new settlers just come off the ship.”
Taking hold of Nancy’s hands, Catherine gazed deeply into her eyes. “If I tell you, I must have your word you’ll never say a word to anyone, not ever! Not even if you are tortured!”
“Tortured!” Nancy frowned. “I’m not sure I want to know. Perhaps it’s best kept a secret. I’m certain ye’ll not let it get out of hand. Think of the scandal. Ye’d have no choice but to leave Jamestown. Ye don’t plan to leave, do you?”
“No, of course not.” Catherine bit her lip to keep from saying more. She’d said too much already. She’d never meant to tell Nancy his name. She was just so giddy in love, her joy showed on her face, it spilled from her eyes, and . . . apparently from her mouth. “I’m being silly. It’s only my imagination. We’ve hardly even talked.” True. They spent far more time making love. “Forget everything I’ve said.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re feelin’ better.”
“I feel wonder . . . yes; yes, I do feel better, Nancy. Much better, thank you.”
When Catherine returned home that evening, she found Lydia curled up in bed, her entire body burning with fever.