Shining Threads (77 page)

‘Will,’ she said, laying her head against his chest.

‘Aye, who else?’

They were there when she awoke, two anxious faces which both cleared, ready to smile as her eyes opened. The boy had his right arm splinted to his body and there was a swelling above his ear
which gave him a somewhat lopsided look but he leaned forward, putting his face close to hers. She could feel his breath fan her cheek and smell its childlike sweetness and knew he was safe, whole
and sound. Slightly damaged perhaps, but in the way of children whose recuperative powers are quite amazing, he was ready to engage in whatever she herself was capable of.

‘Oh, there you are, Aunt Tess,’ he said, just as though she had been out to tea and him waiting impatiently for her return. ‘We got you back just as soon as we could but the
doctor said we were not to wake you.’ He raised his wounded arm a fraction, important and proud of himself for surviving what had, naturally, been an event of great magnitude.
‘I’ve been up all day,’ he continued accusingly, ‘and waiting here with Mr Broadbent for you to wake. None of the others could come in, of course, though Jane wept and
begged to be allowed to look after you but the doctor said you were to sleep.’

Her eyes moved beyond his still pale but excited face to the one which had waited enduringly for as long as she could remember. But there was a hint of impatience in it now which its owner made
no attempt to conceal.

‘Darling,’ she murmured drowsily and both the boy and the man knew the endearment was meant for him.

‘How long has it been?’

‘Too bloody long.’

The boy stared at Mr Broadbent, evidently much impressed with this sign of his superiority, then turned back to the bed.

‘Is your shoulder better now, Aunt Tess?’ he continued anxiously, for she was dear to him but a dislocated shoulder could not compare with a broken arm.

The man fidgeted and began to scowl.

‘Yes, darling, now give me a kiss and . . . well, I have a word or two to say to Mr Broadbent so perhaps, now that you are satisfied yourself that I am recovered, you could go and tell the
others.’

The door had barely closed behind him when Will drew her carefully into his arms but she had done with care and steadiness, with self-control and sobriety.

‘Kiss me properly, for God’s sake,’ she demanded huskily against his mouth, which strove to be gentle, and when he did they were both unsteady with the joy of it.

‘Damnation, woman, I don’t want to hurt you.’ He was ready, should she show signs of weakness to place her, reluctantly, back amongst her nest of pillows, but, his expression
said, he was even more ready to join her there.

‘Hurt me, Will, I beg you, since I have felt nothing, nothing, for years.’ And but for the sound of the household beyond the bedroom door he was ready to make love to her right then
and there.

‘Soon, dear God, soon . . .’

‘When we are married, you are saying?’ she laughed breathlessly against the hollow of his strong throat.

‘And before that, my lass, for I’ll not wait. I’ll make sure of you this time.’

Again they fell into the sweetness both had denied themselves so often in the decade since they had first met, their flesh melting into that ecstasy which they had found only with one another.
Then:

‘You will not object to a ready-made family, Will?’ She felt a moment of wariness since surely . . . ?

‘I mean to add to it,’ he said gruffly.

‘And the . . . ?’

‘Aye, Tessa Harrison, the bloody mills an’ all.’

‘You would have no objection to . . . ?’

‘We’ll work side by side, lass, you know that.’

The words put the last mending stitch in the torn fabric of their love, returning it to its durable and everlasting strength, a strength which both of them knew could never be damaged again.