My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) (24 page)

“There now.” Anne-Marie drew Creed back to the present when she patted the bandage into place. “All finished.”

He smiled, resting his hand upon hers. “Your touch is gentle.”

Turning aside, she asked, “Would you like to see some pictures I found this morning?”

“Pictures?”

“Yes, I found them in one of the chambers earlier.” She left the kitchen, returning shortly carrying two large canvas paintings.

Propping the canvas against the wall, she considered them for a moment. “Admittedly the pictures are unusual in content, but the artist’s efforts were not in vain. What do you think?”

Creed assessed the two canvases with a critical eye. “I’m not an art connoisseur, but the color’s richness and clean, broad strokes are evident.” One painting portrayed a dilapidated house, the other an eroded field. “Odd.”

“Aren’t they, though? I suppose a sister—or a monk—must have painted them in their spare time.” She broke into a grin. “Let’s play a game.”

She could practically hear his mental groan, but there was little else to do. The dishes were washed, Quincy was off hunting, and it was a long time yet until the noon meal needed to be prepared. She and her sisters had often played the game she had in mind to while away the hours.

“What kind of a game?” he asked, skepticism lacing his voice.

“We’ll each make up a story about the pictures. Whoever makes up the best story wins.”

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “And the prize?”

She thought for a moment and then smiled. “Whoever loses cooks the evening meal.”

Leaning forward, he whispered, “I don’t want to play games. I’d rather just look at you.” Resting his hand across hers, he met her gaze.

She dropped hers, blushing under his eyes.

His fingers curled under hers. “I find you most charming—a little stubborn and rebellious, but nevertheless feminine and… ” He paused. “Men are not so frightening. Honorable men.” His fingers moved to gently tilt her face, forcing her to look at him. “I frighten you?”

“It’s just that… you are promised to another and I know—and I agree that you should honor your word.” Sighing, she gazed back at him and then, as if sanity returned, she sprang to her feet.

“Don’t run from me, Anne-Marie,” he whispered softly when she bolted for the door. How could he explain that his feelings were every bit as tormented as hers?

The thick double sanctuary doors were open. He found her kneeling before the lighted candles. With head bowed and hands clasped tightly together, she appeared to him as a saintly picture of contrition.

A shaft of sunlight slanted through the narrow window above Anne-Marie. It caught the lustrous glint of her hair, bathing her in radiance. The scene before him took on an ethereal quality. She looked so small, so vulnerable, so much in need of being protected, cared for, and loved. He wanted to be the one to do all those things for her.

The knowledge shocked him almost as much as the desire that she caused in him. Desire he’d felt for no other woman.

Her soft voice came to him in the quietness. “Why do your feelings for me frighten you so?”

A voice drifted to her from the back of the room. “Why do your feelings for me frighten
you
?”

Tensing, Anne-Marie clamped her eyes shut tighter. “Because I don’t want to love you,” she whispered brokenly. “Love hurts.”

Her admission echoed hollowly in the chapel. Creed took a few quiet steps toward her. “Love should not frighten you. I feel this power between us,” he confessed.

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Love does not frighten me. Commitment is my enemy. When a man gives his word there is little that he can do but keep it.”

Moving up to the altar beside her, he knelt, grimacing when his leg touched cold stone. “Don’t look at me or dare touch me,” she begged. “A mere touch would undo my most sincere effort to preserve your integrity.”

“Speak to me of your fears, Anne-Marie.”

“I’m not afraid to love. I just don’t want to love
you
—” She broke off, her words catching in her throat as the tears welled up in her eyes.

The planes of his face remained impassive. “I understand, but often love doesn’t ask why.”

“Until you came along, I was happy.”

He sighed. “And I have made you unhappy.”

“No, you haven’t made me unhappy. Considering the agony I’ve put you through, I fear it is I who has made you miserable, but you’ve taken away my contentment and my freedom, whether you meant to or not. I want the carefree life I had, when all I wanted or needed was Abigail and Amelia.”

“I have caused you this despair? This was not my intent.”

She turned to face him, tears rolling from the corners of her eyes. “You love another woman.”

Pain crossed his features.

“Isn’t that so?”

“Love? I belong to another, but I am not in love with her.”

“And yet you would marry her? How can you sit here and ask me why I can’t let myself love you when you can’t return the sentiment?” Her words tumbled out in a rush.

“Anne-Marie.” He took her hand. He knew that his eyes spoke of his great love for her, but she refused to acknowledge it. “It is my honor and principle that binds me.”

She stood up. “I assumed if a man loved a woman he would go to the ends of the earth to claim her.” She stood up. “I’m glad we’ve had this conversation. It has not only cleared the air between us, but it has cleared my foolish head where you are concerned. I would share a cup of cornmeal with another woman, but never the man I loved.”

And most certainly, she would never share Creed Walker. What difference did it make if he revered her? He planned to marry another. “It’s time to choose, Creed Walker. You either love me or another.”

She fled the chapel, slamming the doors on her way out.

Fifteen

M
ission supplies dwindled to a critical low. Creed and Quincy knew it, but neither seemed inclined to do anything about it. As promised, Bold Eagle had kept fresh meat on the doorstep, but Anne-Marie needed flour and cornmeal—something that would stick to a man’s ribs. She had to deal with the problem daily, while the men seemed content to eat the thin gruel she prepared each morning, noon, and night without complaint. Rhubarb wasn’t in yet, so that left only chokecherries and wild turnips as staples.

“Don’t wander away,” Creed warned on various occasions, and at first Anne-Marie obeyed. Now she was seriously considering going against his wishes. Creed and Quincy wouldn’t do anything about seeing that they were fed, and she was tired of being hungry. Besides, Creed’s wound would heal faster if he ate properly. But she’d need money for supplies, and she knew of none except the gold hidden in the mission cellar. One single coin wouldn’t be missed. And besides, she and Creed were going out of their way to keep from talking. So what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Any gold she took would be for a worthy cause. They had to
keep up their strength. The gold would never reach the commander’s hands unless they delivered it, and they couldn’t deliver it if they were emaciated and half-starved.

The decision made, she planned to start off early the next morning—right after she dressed Creed’s wound. She was confident he wouldn’t miss her.

Creed silently handed her his empty plate after breakfast. He touched her a lot lately, always spontaneously, but with enough feeling to heighten her awareness of the strong pull between them.

Guilt brought her cheeks to a rosy red. She should tell him something about her brief absence. What if he came looking for her? “I thought I might look for mushrooms today.”

“You are to stay close by,” he warned.

“How far could I go?” The paths surrounding the mission were overgrown with weeds. It would be all she could do to find her way out.

On the way here they had passed the small community of Brittlebranch. The town wasn’t more than an hour’s ride away, so if she left now, she’d be back well before dinnertime. Oh, Creed would be angry when he discovered she had disobeyed him, but his anger would fade once he enjoyed a pan of cornbread tonight. There would be plenty of money left and she would give it to him, so he couldn’t scold her too much.

The plan was simple, and she could pull it off with her eyes shut. She would be in and out of Brittlebranch before a cat could give itself a bath.

“Well.” Quincy got up from the table to hand her his empty plate. “I’m going fishing this morning.”

She dunked the plate in a pan of hot water. “Fishing?”

“Yes, I spotted a little stream about a mile up the road. I thought I’d try my luck at getting us a fish for our supper tonight. ’Course,” he
added wistfully, “a nice fat catfish is going to be mighty tasty, but there won’t be any cornbread or fried potatoes to go with it.”

Don’t be so sure about that
, she thought. There just might be a big pan of cornbread, some nice creamy butter, and a huge pan of fried potatoes waiting when he got back with his catch. But she played right along. “And with what do you plan to catch a fish? You don’t have a fishing pole, a string, or even a hook.”

“Why, ma’am.” Quincy held up both hands. “I have two of the finest fishing poles the good Lord ever created.” Grinning, he walked out of the kitchen, merrily whistling as he struck off for the stream.

Rinsing the last plate, Anne-Marie laid it on the countertop and then wiped her hands on her skirt. She silently stepped around Creed and reached for her coat.

The moment she was out of sight, she raced out of the kitchen and down the cellar stairway. Sliding the heavy bolt aside, she lit the candle stub, took a deep breath, and entered the dank chamber. Then taking one gold coin from the bag nearest the door, she slipped it into her pocket, turned, closed the heavy door, slid the bolt back into place, and raced back up the stairway.

Blowing out the candle, she laid the stub on the first step and firmly shut the door. Leaning against the wooden frame, she paused for a moment to catch her breath. So far, so good. Giving a hurried glance to the back of the mission, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Creed was already engrossed in chopping wood.

Now all she had to do was get to town and back by suppertime.

Sunshine warmed Anne-Marie’s back as she straddled the horse. Hitching the buggy would make too much noise and Creed would hear her, so she took the mare. It was a beautiful morning and Anne-Marie was tempted to dawdle. But she had to complete the errand and return to the mission as quickly as possible.