Elizabeth Meyette (5 page)

“Will you peruse me all day and deny me your comforting embrace?” he asked.

“I want to be sure I am not going to add to your discomfort,” Emily teased, just out of arm’s reach.

“Have mercy, woman, I am in need of your ministrations!” he laughed, and she was in his arms.

Jonathon kissed her, deep and full, and then drew his head back to look at her. Her eyes held his in unspoken joy, awareness that they might never have been reunited flooding her mind. Slowly, Jonathon lowered his face to hers, his lips moving against hers, tasting, exploring. Emily moved against him, enkindling a fiery passion both had been denied. Their bodies strained toward each other, their lips pressed, hands searching. Emily finally pulled away as Jonathon protested. Slipping out of bed, Emily stood before him, eyes smoldering. Smiling seductively she reached along the side of her gown and began to loosen the stays that accommodated her growing abdomen. She allowed the dress to slip forward revealing the swell of her breasts, round and full with her pregnancy. As the dress slipped to the floor, she teased, bending forward to free herself from it.

“You torture me more severely than the British,” he groaned.

“But there is a reward with this torture, my love,” Emily whispered.

Pulling the shift off of her shoulders, she let it slip to her waist, her breasts now unbound, bobbing with her movements. She slid it to the floor, bending again to step out of it. Slowly she walked to the bed and stood before him; Jonathon reached up and cupped her breasts, full and ripe. She leaned forward so he could kiss them, taste them, tease them. Emily gasped, and she held her breath surrendering to the utter pleasure of his lips. Alive with yearning, she felt her desire mount unbearably, her legs shaking. In order to keep her balance, she straightened and then sat beside him on the bed.

Reaching down, she untied his linen shirt and slipped it over his head. Her breath caught again, but this time in response to the evidence of the violent beatings he had endured at the hands of the British. Ugly scars were forming where the cat-o’-nine-tails had scourged his chest; raised welts were still tender. She looked back at his eyes, soft and loving. Leaning forward, she gently kissed each scar, running her lips along the length of them, her tears falling on his skin. He brought her face to his, smiling gently, and their lips met. Passion reignited, replacing her sadness. They strained toward each other, as Emily ran her hand along his shoulder, his chest, his thigh. His response made it obvious that his wounds would not deter his desire, and she helped him remove his breeches, tossed them on the floor, and climbed into the bed and into his arms.

“I see that even torture at the hands of the British cannot daunt your passion,” she said, stroking him gently.

“Their cruelty is no match for your love,” he said against her lips.

Thirsty for the feel of her skin, Jonathon pulled Emily close, stroking her, burying his face in her neck. Still weak from his maltreatment, he allowed her to move against him. She rose above him enticingly dangling her breasts in front of him. He buried his face in them kissing them, tracing their curves. Emily could bear it no more, and she guided him, gasping as he thrust against her. They moved together, clinging to one another, reeling in lovers’ rhythm to the peak of their passion.

Emily fell against Jonathon, both spent in their lovemaking, breathing against each other, clinging to the moment of ecstasy. Jonathon’s arms held her close; her head nestled on his shoulder. They lay in the afterglow, content, fulfilled, silent in the awe of their union. Gradually they fell asleep.

As Emily stirred, the sun still battled the overcast sky as it sloped toward the west. Jonathon’s regular breathing signaled that he still slept soundly, so she gently slipped from his embrace and slid off the bed. Quickly donning her clothing lest her brother return and find her naked, she raked her fingers through her tawny hair to tame it and conceal its evidence of their passion.

Rummaging through the rucksack, she found that Dora did not disappoint. Spreading a cloth on the nearby table, she laid out cold ham, cheeses, biscuits and candied fruit. She opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, sipping from one of them. She pondered the predicament they were in, and wondered what solution could possibly free Jonathon and allow him to return to Brentwood Manor. Living without him, knowing he was so close, was becoming impossible, as was the ability to keep this arrangement secret. Andrew, Randy and Mr. Gates had obviously been tending to him, but Jonathon would soon be more mobile and would be chafing at his seclusion. If he must move, it might be to a location farther away from her, and Emily knew she would be unable to bear that. Also, their child would be born in a few months, and he must be present for that!

Sensing eyes upon her, Emily looked over at the bed. Jonathon lay on his side, arm tucked beneath his head, his eyes glowing with love for her.

“You were concentrating very hard on something, Love. Would you care to share these musings with your husband?” he asked.

Emily looked at him, still weak, still recovering. He did not need to worry about anything but healing right now, certainly not her fears. Not wanting to share her thoughts with him for fear of adding to his distress, she searched for some other topic to discuss.

“Em, you know you can be honest with me. Whatever you are thinking, please trust me with it.”

She looked at him; he had been her rock, had protected her in dangerous times, but he needed to regain that strength before she could burden him. But had they not always been honest with each other? This was not the time to be less than honest. This was the time for trust.

“Jonathon, is it safe for you to be here for this length of time? What if someone discovers you? Will you have to move farther away from me? What about the birth of our child?” she asked, her fear and confusion evident on her face.

Jonathon held out his arms to her and she went to him. Lying in his arms again, she felt anything was possible. She felt his strength as if it were passing from him to her, his determination, his courage, his spirit.

“This place will be safe for a while longer. Gates has scouts tracking the British, and they have not yet finished scouring the southeastern coast for me. When they turn back this way, I will probably have to move, and it may be a farther distance. But I swear to you, I will be present at our child’s birth,” he finished resolutely. He kissed the top of her head.

“I believe you, Jonathon. I love you so,” Emily whispered.

“Now, love, you have sapped me of all strength, and I believe I spy Dora’s hand at work on the table yonder. Please be merciful and provide some sustenance to this weakened lover.”

Emily laughed and rose from the bed. She prepared a plate for him and brought it with a glass of wine to where he lay propped against the pillows.

“What, no brandy?” he teased.

“I didn’t think you could tolerate it in your weakened condition,” Emily laughed as she joined him on the bed.

Sitting side by side, they enjoyed Dora’s feast, talking softly, shoulders touching.

• • •

Deidre had followed the carriage as it wound its way along the road until it turned off into a denser part of the woods. She sensed that Shadow knew this route, for he seemed to know where to turn before she guided him. On into the woods she rode, following at a distance to remain undetected. Even from this distance, she could see that Andrew did all of the talking, and Emily appeared anxious. As they drew into a clearing, she slowed her pace to increase the gap between them. Dismounting, she tethered Shadow to a sturdy oak tree and continued on foot through the woods. Thick trees and underbrush allowed easy concealment as she inched forward. Ahead she spotted a small cabin in the clearing; stacked split logs, a water barrel and fresh tracks were evidence that someone was living there. It was not difficult to guess who it was.

Deidre had found Jonathon.

The breeze blew from the south bringing warm moist air, foreshadowing a humid summer. The gardens were a medley of color, tulips, geraniums, and daffodils vying for attention. Today they bobbed their heads in rhythm with the gentle wind and welcomed the attention of bees as they pollenated. Cotton clouds scudded across the azure sky, and sparrows soared and dipped on the draughts.

Joanna hurried out to the veranda where Emily relaxed with a cool glass of apple cider. Putting down her book, Emily turned at her sister-in-law’s greeting.

“You are absolutely glowing! Why, your eyes are the color of the sky today, and your cheeks are absolutely rosy!” Joanna cried, and then lowered her voice. “Could it be that an outing in the country should lend such a glow to your countenance?”

A blush appeared above the neckline of Emily’s dress and spread up her throat to her face.

“Hush, Joanna, you make me feel flushed!” Emily scolded, fighting a smile.

Joanna squeezed her hand in camaraderie, and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“I have news, Emily! David’s brother Edward has inquired about the possibility of sending his daughter Jennifer to stay with us at Brentwood Manor for a while. His brother is concerned for her safety in Boston with the rebellion at such high intensity there. Of course, we ask your permission as mistress of Brentwood Manor — ”

“Joanna, you do not need
my
permission; Brentwood Manor is your home!”

“Yes, Emily, however — ”

“Joanna, of course David’s niece can stay here, for as long as is necessary. Have I met her?” Emily recalled the galas that had been held in her honor since arriving at Brentwood Manor, one for her birthday and the other when she and Jonathon married. Meeting so many people at once had made it virtually impossible for her to recall who was in attendance.

“No, they have been unable to travel to Virginia because of the increasing danger. In fact, we have not seen Jenny since she was quite young. I will tell David that the plan has met your approval. Thank you, Emily.” Joanna smiled and squeezed her hand. Turning to leave, she paused, and then knelt beside Emily’s chair. “How is Jonathon?” she whispered looking into Emily’s eyes. Emily glanced away remembering the scars that covered his body. She returned her gaze to Joanna.

“He continues to improve, but he was beaten severely, Joanna.” Emily’s eyes burned with tears. “The scars are extensive and he was without nourishment for a long time, so he is still quite weak.” She quickly smiled, then blushed and looked down at her hands. “Well, he is regaining his strength I am happy to report.” The women laughed together. “But it will be some time before he builds up his strength enough to be left on his own. Randy, Mr. Gates and Andrew are tending to him, and he is past any serious health concern. Their effort now is bringing him back to full health.”

“Thank you, Em, for being so honest with me.”

Joanna left the veranda in search of David leaving Emily to her musings.

• • •

Deidre entered the parlor dressed in her riding habit and stood before the women. Emily noted how the sage green outfit intensified her hazel eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes. The fitted waistcoat outlined her curvaceous figure and the skirt accented her tiny waist. Her golden hair was swept up beneath the felt cap angled jauntily on her head. Emily was struck by her beauty and instinctively ran a hand over her enlarging abdomen. Emily knew that when she entered a room, Deidre’s beauty intimidated many women, but Emily felt no apprehension.

“Emily, may I ride Shadow today?” Deidre asked.

Surprise flickered across Emily’s face. Shadow was her horse, and though she had not been riding him as often lately, her fondness brought her to the stables with apples for him quite often. A bond had grown between them as so often happens with rider and horse. But Shadow needed exercise, and this selfish feeling on her part was foolish. Shrugging away the feeling, she smiled at Deidre.

“Of course, Deidre. I am sure Shadow would love a ride on such a beautiful day,” Emily said.

Joanna peered at Deidre as she turned to leave. She had noticed her riding Shadow before but did not recall that Deidre had ever asked permission, nor had she explained where her long absences were spent.

“Where does adventure take you today, Deidre?” Joanna asked.

Deidre stopped, and then turned back to look at the women. For a moment, she didn’t speak. Clearing her voice, she looked down at her gloved hands and clasped them together.

“I plan to ride over to my home,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “I know Manning Estate is no longer mine, but I miss it so; I just want to see it and ride on the property. Even though the British seized it from me, I believe it is abandoned, so they will not be aware of my visit. Somehow the need to be on that land is so intense that I cannot resist.”

Emily rose from her chair and went to the woman, wrapping her arms around her. Recalling the grief she had felt on leaving her home in London, her heart went out to Deidre.

“Oh, Deidre, dear, yes take Shadow. I understand your sadness at losing your home, for I felt the same when I left my home in London. I felt my heart was wrenched from my breast.” She looked at Joanna and smiled. “Of course, all ended well as I found my home here with Jonathon.”

Unobserved, Deidre blanched at that. Her eyes hardened, but she resumed her tearful expression and wiped her eyes as Emily released her. Smiling with gratitude, she squeezed Emily’s hand.

“You are kindness itself, Emily. Thank you,” Deidre said, and then turning, she swiftly left the room.

• • •

Jonathon stirred in his sleep, disturbed by a noise. He slowly rose to consciousness noticing the sun high in the sky. Randy was not due back until evening, but he heard the unmistakable sound of hoof beats slowly approaching. Every muscle tensed in his body, for he knew the British would eventually discover they had been combing the southeast coast in vain. Surely they would return to Brentwood land and thoroughly search for him. Jonathon knew the precarious position he was in as well as the danger his friends were in as a result of concealing him. From the sound of it, the rider was alone, but if he were a scout, one shot from a pistol would bring the whole company here. Reaching beneath his mattress, he grabbed his revolver and pointed it at the door. Footsteps grew closer and he watched as the latch slowly lifted; he cocked the gun. The door swung open and in stepped Deidre.