Love's Reckoning (23 page)

 22 

And then comes a mist and a weeping rain, and life is never the same again.

George MacDonald

Lightning rent the sky, followed by thunder loud as cannon fire. Wincing, Eden prayed as she saddled Sparrow in the narrow stall. The little mare stood patiently beneath her unsteady hands, though Eden knew she would turn skittish, perhaps dangerously so, once they left the barn. The dismay she'd felt at Silas's forgetfulness still lingered. Checking the old oak after he'd ridden away, she'd gasped to see the supplies she'd packed so carefully were untouched.

Time was against her, she knew. Silas was a far better rider than she—unafraid of the elements—and had gained an hour's time before she'd composed herself enough to leave her room. Traces of tears still wet her cheeks, but it hardly mattered. Though she wore a bonnet, the wind soon dashed the rain in her face, washing it clean.

All she knew was his direction—west. He'd taken the road
over the hill with nary a look back. She'd watched him from her window, a frightful ache in her chest. Past the church and out of sight he'd ridden, though she knew his direction by heart. First he'd bypass Elkhannah before coming to the tavern on the outskirts of York, then ride on past the store and mill before spacious farms gave way to vast wilderness.

Her heart galloped harder than the mare's frantic hooves. Every inch of her, sore from falling down the garret stair, begged her to stop. Though midday, it was dusky dark, the mud already turning the hue and heft of molasses. A few miles more and she was flung into unfamiliar territory. The woods were closing in on her now, and the wide road had shrunk to a rocky ribbon.

No one knew where she was. She'd simply left without a by-your-leave for the first time in her submissive life. As the terrain grew more unfamiliar, she slowly realized her error. She should have stopped at the tavern to see if Silas was waiting out the storm. Highwaymen—thieves—frequented this road, small bands hiding in the woods to waylay travelers, no matter how poor. And she a lone woman . . .

Lord, be my shepherd. Take care of me, Your lamb.

The rain was soaking her cloak; it lay like a second skin over her linen dress, bulky and overwarm, so at odds with the icy finger trailing down her spine. Someone was following her—riding hard and fast, as much as the mud and weather would allow. She veered off the trail, the abrupt motion nearly spilling her from the saddle. Thunder rumbled, and she sensed Sparrow's panic before her frantic neighing began. Another boom and Sparrow bolted, straight into the path of a man. He turned his horse sideways and cut them off.

Silas!

The sudden stop unseated her from her horse, and she fell to the ground in an ungracious heap. But she didn't care. She
was crying in sheer relief, thankful when he reached down and pulled her to her feet.

“Eden, are you hurt?” A wealth of emotion shook his voice. Surprise. Chagrin. Unchecked happiness. Taking hold of Sparrow's reins, he led them beneath a sheltering elm till a flash of lightning sent them scurrying toward a rock overhang that looked to be the start of a cave. There they stood, dripping wet and speechless.

This close, she could see shadows beneath his eyes, the scruffy beginnings of a beard, the firm set of his features beneath the brim of a new felt hat.

His chest heaved beneath his sodden greatcoat. “Why in heaven's name have you come?”

“Your supplies—” Her own chest rose and fell from her frenzied ride. “You left them.”

The light faded from his eyes. “You came all this way through the storm—for that?”

“Why else would I come?”

He ran a hand over his bristled jaw and glanced at the surly sky. “Because you miss me, mayhap. Because you have something to tell me. Because you want to go west.”

All shyness fell away and she looked hard at him in surprise. “With a man who thinks of me as a sister?”

“Och, Eden.” A flash of exasperation rode his handsome features, and he came nearer, his eyes a soul-searching green. “A sister? Nae.” His fingers skimmed her bruised chin. “You're more than that to me . . . far more.”

“More?”

In answer he began slowly untying the chin ribbons of her bonnet, knotting the ends so that it dangled down her back. She waited expectantly—breathlessly—as he removed his own wet hat, setting it atop a lichen-edged rock jutting from the cave wall. Despite her cumbersome cloak, the touch of his
hands on her shoulders sent a delicious shiver clear to her bones. He pulled her nearer, and she was enveloped in the heady scent of wet leather and her own soft soap. His mouth found hers at last, feather-light then firm.

Her first kiss.

She felt a breathless bewilderment that she didn't know what to do—where to put her hands, how to tilt her head. But he did. As he deepened each kiss, she nearly swayed. This was so . . . exquisite. So unexpected. Instinctively, her arms circled his neck as he held her tighter, nearly lifting her off the ground. She grew so weak with longing she gave a little cry when he released her.

Leaning back against the rock wall, crushing her bonnet, she felt naught like the Eden of old but some wild, untamed creature. He'd stirred to life every feeling she had and a few she never knew existed, and she had no wish to tuck such feelings away. She'd been brought to the brink of something new, something glorious, and felt suddenly and achingly unfinished.

She reached for him again. “Silas, please . . .”

He leaned into the ledge beside her, eyes dark with desire, his breathing a bit ragged. “Nae, Eden. I'll not love you here, but somewhere safe, sound—and rightly wed. As you deserve.”

Was that what was missing, then? The Lord's blessing? Her eyes roamed his handsome features, seeing him in a new light. The self-contained Silas of old was gone, and in his place was a man who loved her—wanted her—and was about to leave her. Though she bit her lip till it nearly bled, anguished sobs tumbled out of her and she was back in his arms, not wanting his comfort so much as his kisses.

“I have your heart, and you have mine,” he whispered. “'Tis enough, aye? For now?”

But she couldn't answer because it wasn't enough, not nearly enough. How could it be with a wilderness between them?

He held her, smoothing her damp hair back from her face, whispering things she'd never thought to hear. And then, in silent agony, she watched as he went back into the rain and rounded up their horses. They'd ride out into the storm because it was no longer safe for them to stay here alone and in each other's arms.

He helped her into the saddle, and she was conscious that there was no more thunder or lightning, just a warm, streaming rain. “I'll ride with you home and then be on my way again.”

Numb, she tied her bonnet tighter and followed him out of the trees. They were riding fast, but her heart rebelled at every step. She was dully aware of the clean scent of rain giving way to something thick and hazy, but it wasn't till they crested the hill by the church that she realized its significance. The meadow and the pond were shrouded with smoke, the smell stinging her senses and filling her mouth when she opened it to breathe.

The barn, the smithy . . . on fire?

Frantic figures ran to and from the well like people possessed. Mama? Papa? Behind the barn's thick timbers, the cries of trapped animals rent her heart. With a little cry, she started down the hill, but Silas gave a rough tug to her bridle.

“Nae, Eden—go for help at Hope Rising!”

They parted, horses bolting in opposite directions. For the first time in her life, her heart pulled her toward home instead.

By the time Silas rode in, the Lee barn was near collapse. Some brave soul had dashed inside and let the animals out, and he breathed a heartfelt bethankit, mindful of Eden. Cows, horses, goats, and pigs milled about in a sort of smoke-poisoned stupor, mired in mud, their distress adding to the
confusion all around them. He dismounted, grabbed some empty burlap bags by the woodshed, and ran for the house.

Flames were licking the arbor connecting the kitchen to the smithy, and he smothered them, senses burning, the fabric blackening beneath his hands. Memories began to pelt him like hail, and he struggled to stay atop them. He was here . . . then Scotland . . . then back in York, his dire surroundings a reminder. Mrs. Lee and Elspeth were drawing water at the well while Liege made use of a rain barrel to replenish his bucket. His gout acted like a shackle, slowing him, hastening the fire eating away at the smithy wall nearest the barn. Though the rain was again drenching them, the barn's fire, stoked to an inferno by the haymow within, was beyond saving. At least the house, solid stone, would be spared.

“The forge!” Liege shouted.

Silas was doing all he could, though the smithy's rear wall was now a seething red, the corner posts charred to matchsticks. Smoke clogged his senses, and his muscles burned from heaving water. He was vaguely aware of a few neighbors—farmers—appearing in the smoke and heat, and then Mrs. Lee standing beside him.

“Where is she? My Eden?” Her soot-streaked face was wet from the rain, but he saw only her tears. “I thought you'd taken her with you. And then the fire started and I feared she was trapped in the barn.”

“Trapped?”

“The doors were barred from the inside—Liege had to take an ax to break in and let the animals out. I thought—”

“I sent her to Hope Rising for help.” The dark implications of what she said began to cloud his mind. He'd assumed—hoped—it was but a stray spark from the forge that had ignited the blaze. “Where are Thomas and Jon?”

“In the springhouse.”

She moved away, disappearing through the smoke, as he worked to save a place he loathed and was well on his way to leaving but a few hours before.
Is this Your will then, Lord? Am I to stay?
His spirit rebelled, though he felt a staggering relief he'd not leave Eden.

Lord, help us through the next hours, whate'er they may bring.

Shadow-quiet, Eden paused outside the rear wall of the ash-laden smithy the next morning. She'd not meant to eavesdrop, but the sight before her begged pause. There was her father, seated, head bent, the burnt remains of his livelihood all around him. He made a pitiful sight, one she never thought she'd witness, and it tethered her to the spot.