Authors: Traitorous Hearts
Now there was Jonathan.
"Well." Cad slapped his hands on his thighs and stood
up, a signal to the others to rise also. "I guess you're right. No reason
to be sitting around hashing it out in the middle of the night when there are
perfectly good beds upstairs. Jon, I'll show you a room over to the Eel you can
stay in."
"The Eel?" Jon said in a strangled voice. He looked at
Beth, and she could see the yearning in his eyes, his reluctance to leave her,
and even a little disbelief that he had to, and she had to work to stifle her
laughter. "You want me to sleep in the tavern?"
"Of course," Cad said jovially. "That's where my
boys sleep. You'll be perfectly comfortable, I promise. And Isaac doesn't really
snore all that loudly."
Cad had Jonathan halfway out the door by this time. Jonathan
planted his feet, bracing his hands against the door frame, and turned to look
back at Beth. "Beth?" he asked plaintively.
She knew her amusement showed in her voice. "I'll see you in
the morning, Jonathan."
"Yes." Mary tucked an invisible hair back beneath her
cap. "It will be a busy day tomorrow. We'll have to start planning the
wedding. If we get right to work, I'm certain we could have it in no more than
a month."
Jon's shoulders sagged. "Beth," he begged. She smiled at
him innocently.
"Now then," Mary was going on, "I believe I saw
just the fabric for a wedding dress over at Rupert's store. Beth, do you want
to go see it tomorrow? A month will be plenty of time to make something truly
stun—"
"A week," Jon said sternly.
"What?" Distracted from her plans, Mary focused on her
prospective son-in-law. "We can't possibly be ready in a week. I've waited
for so long—"
"A week," Jon repeated, his jaw set.
Cad looked Jon up and down once before shoving him out the door.
"I'll tell you one thing, Mary my love," he called as he left.
"What grandchildren these two are going to give us!"
***
Jonathan and Beth were married a week later in the First
Congregational Church of New Wexford, the church where her grandfather had
presided for so many years and where Cadwallader had first laid eyes on the
prettiest, most feminine bit of woman he'd ever seen. It was the church where
her parents were married, and where four of her brothers had wed.
Since the young minister who'd replaced Mary's father had gone off
to do his duty to country as well as God, they'd had to fetch the elderly
reverend from Middleton to perform the ceremony. In Mary's opinion, he'd
managed things adequately, if not exceptionally well.
There'd been no new dress after all. Jon had spent most of the
week in Cambridge, giving his report to General Washington, but he'd stayed
around long enough to decree that Beth should wear the forest green dress he
liked so much. And Mary, who'd spent a lifetime moving large, immovable people,
found she'd finally run into one she couldn't budge. Amazingly, she seemed to
like him even more for it. Or perhaps it was just that her daughter was finally
getting married. She was willing to yield the battle, for she'd already won the
war.
Cad and Mary had taken the news that their second son had deserted
with surprising equanimity. Cad, although shamed, had also declared he'd always
known the boy hadn't the stomach for war. Mary had paled and turned in on
herself, saying little. Bennie suspected her mother had always realized she'd
lose Brendan someday and also thought Mary was perhaps a bit relieved to have
at least one of her children out of harm's way. Sometimes, when Mary went very
quiet, Bennie wondered if her mother knew more about Brendan's disappearance
than Jon had told her.
Now, after every scrap of food her mother and all her brother's
wives had spent each and every minute of the past week preparing had been
devoured, after her father's private stock had been seriously depleted, and
after they'd finally been able to roust the last of the guests from the tavern,
the house, and the yard between, she sat on the bed in the room she'd had as a
child, waiting for her husband.
She smoothed the fine lawn of the nightgown Hannah, Adam's wife,
had given her, fingering the delicate white lace her sister-in-law was famous
for tatting, and wondered if a bride had ever been less nervous on her wedding
night.
There was no room for trepidation when she was so completely
overwhelmed with anticipation. She'd spent the week docilely doing whatever her
mother told her to do, lost in dreams of what it was going to be like to have
Jonathan beside her the whole night long. When her mother had, with calm
detachment and absolute precision that was belied by the dreamy gleam in her
dark eyes, informed Elizabeth what to expect on her wedding night, it had been
all Bennie could do not to burst out giggling—and she
never
giggled.
And when they'd stood in the front of the church, Jon had looked
down at her and quoted his vows in a voice that fairly vibrated with strength
and commitment. If she had never before known that he loved her, she would have
believed it absolutely at that moment. Sunlight had streamed through the high
stained glass window, painting him with jeweled tones of sapphire and emerald
and ruby light that glowed and sparkled like gems too precious to be real. But
his eyes had shone even brighter, gleaming with satisfaction and exultation and
love, emotions that reverberated in her own heart like the purest note she'd
ever imagined.
So where was he? She bounced off the bed and began to pace the
room impatiently, the hem of her new gown whispering around her ankles. There
was sensual pleasure in the feel of the fine cloth against her naked skin, and
she realized her skin was primed, anticipating a touch of another sort.
The door slammed open and Jon rushed in. He shoved the door closed
and weakly leaned against, his eyes brimming with light and humor.
"God, Beth, why didn't you warn me?"
She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a mock frown.
"Where have you been?"
"I've been getting lectures. From your father, from that
pipsqueak of a little brother of yours, and from that old storekeeper. Not to
mention your mother, bless her dainty little steel-edged soul, as well as all
the ones I got from your other brothers when I was in Cambridge." He
loosened his collar, exposing a wedge of smooth tawny skin. "Why didn't
you tell me what I was getting into?"
"I thought you didn't want me to rescue you anymore."
He grinned and threw his arms wide. "Come here and rescue me,
Beth. I have a most desperate need to hold you."
She flowed against him with a sigh of pleasure, fitting her curves
automatically to his planes. His arms came around her securely, and beneath her
ear she heard his heartbeat quicken. His hands began to roam, sweeping her
back, and she discovered the thin cloth of her nightdress was little barrier to
his warmth.
"God, Beth, it's been too long."
She leaned back to look up at him and gave a teasing smile.
"You could have tried a bit harder, you know."
"Are you serious?" He looked aghast. "Your mother
is a regular Tartar when she puts her mind to something. There was no
possibility I was putting my hands anywhere near her precious, innocent,
defenseless Elizabeth before the vows were spoken."
"Well, thank God you already had."
He slid one hand around to caress her belly, massaging her softly
through the wispy fabric. "You never got in touch with me after I'd left.
Should I take that to mean we're not expecting?"
She nodded.
"Damn!" He grinned roguishly. "Well, I guess we'll
have to get to work on that."
"I imagine so." She leaned against him, letting her
breasts press against the solid wall of his chest, watching with satisfaction
as his features began to sharpen. "My father's quite looking forward to
the grandsons we're going to give him."
"I rather like the idea of daughters myself." He closed
his eyes as she slipped her hand inside the opening of his shirt and began to
explore. "Damn, Beth, you'd better stop that."
"Why?" She found a place that intrigued her, right where
the bulge of his pectorals segued into the ripple of his ribs, and traced it
with her fingertips.
"Because your parents are right next door, that's why."
"So?"
"So you're noisy."
"What? I am not," she protested. "As if you're
quiet!"
"I'm the soul of discretion." He swooped, lifting her in
his arms, and tossed her onto the bed. The rope frame creaked and she laughed
loudly, "See what I mean? Noisy."
He grabbed her ankle and sent his fingers wandering up her calf,
slowly stroking the back of her knee until her eyes began to darken.
"Remember, after you were hurt, and I brought you back to the Eel, and I
checked your ankle before I left?"
She nodded mutely, unable to think clearly enough to form words
when his hands worked their magic on her skin.
"I got so hard I was terrified one of your brothers was going
to notice and I would never get out of there alive. I had a hell of a time
sidling out of the place sideways," he said, and she felt a tiny catch in
her heart at the thought that she could affect him so much.
Grinning, he lay himself down on the bed, settling his big body on
hers comfortably, and all amusement vanished.
His gaze traced her face slowly, lingering on each feature as if
he were trying to imprint it in his mind. He lifted a lock of her hair,
watching in apparent fascination as it curled around his finger. The light blue
of his eyes was vivid, shining, like the color of the sky on a brilliant winter
day reflecting off pure, gleaming, fresh snow.
"God, Beth," he whispered, his voice vibrating with
emotion. "I do love you."
His kiss was slow, gentle, a meeting of lips and breath and souls,
almost delicate in its reverence. But Beth could feel the low, impending rumble
of thunder.
The first time he'd touched her, she'd called him Jon. The second,
he'd been Jonathan.
This time, he was simply her husband.
***
A single tallow candle guttered on the nightstand next to Beth's
bed. The mellow, dancing light played over the angles and hollows of her face.
The thick golden-brown crescent of her lashes lay against the creamy skin under
her eyes.
Jon tightened his arms around his wife and watched her sleep.
Outside, the sky was beginning to pearl into the gray just before dawn, but he
had yet to close his own eyes.
He couldn't bring himself to waste a moment in sleep.
She sighed and shifted closer to him, as if seeking his warmth,
and he found himself unaccountably proud that even in her sleep she turned to
him. One naked thigh, curved, soft, womanly, but hiding, he knew, exceptional
strength—much like Beth herself—slipped between his own, and he felt himself
begin to harden yet again.
Again! He feared he'd exhausted her completely before he'd finally
allowed her to drift off to sleep, well into the depths of the night. He was
disgracefully grateful that his bride wasn't a virgin on their wedding night,
or he would have felt extremely guilty about demanding his husbandly rights
three times.
Of course, in all honesty, Beth had really been the demanding one.
Her cheek rubbed against his arm, the curly strands of her hair
tickling him. He couldn't resist sliding his fingers through the soft, golden
strands, combing through the entire, heavy length. Her eyelids fluttered open;
she looked up at him and smiled. A sleepy, content, womanly smile, a flirty
little grin that rushed through his veins and went to his head faster than even
Cad's most potent brew.
"Hello," she said softly. "You're awake."
"I haven't slept yet."
"No?" She stretched, all suppleness and skin, sliding
over him in a way that made him groan out loud. "I'm ashamed. And here I'd
thought I'd tired you out thoroughly."
He ran his forefinger down the narrow slope of her nose and
dropped a kiss at the corner of her eye. "I wasn't going to waste a single
moment of the first time I finally get the chance to hold you all night long.
God, Beth, do you know how many times I've dreamed of this?"
"No more than I have." Contentment. Happiness.
Satisfaction. Love. How had she ever thought she'd known the meanings of those
words? Now she knew that her understanding of them had had everything to do
with the surface and almost nothing to do with those deep, swelling feelings
that started way down inside.
She studied him in the darkness. Most of his face was hidden in
shadow, but his pale eyes shone, gleaming light and bright in the darkness. Why
hadn't she been able to read them before? How difficult it must have been for
him to shield all his emotions from the world with those clear eyes that went
all the way to his soul. There was burgeoning passion and open happiness, total
approval and unshakable love. And, behind them all, almost hidden, there were
deep, swirling shadows of... disquiet. Disquiet?
"No!" she said sharply, pushing herself out of his
embrace and sitting up in bed. "You're not going back, Jonathan."