Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (19 page)

Jocelyn felt her cheeks flood with color.
She turned to the wall and studied the distance between their shadows, pretending to fumble with the sleeves on her dress. “No, you shouldn’t have troubled yourself so,” she said, uncomfortably aware that her voice trembled. “I believe I don’t deserve such a—such an effort. I would as lief sleep on the floor like the others, in a blanket like on the ship—”

She heard him place the lamp on the table, then his shadow loomed closer until it swallowed hers completely.
“You deserve this, and more, Jocelyn Colman,” he said, his voice low and tense; the voice of conviction, finality, faith. “If you are set upon being my wife, as God is my judge and witness, I will treat you with the respect and honor you deserve.”

She felt his hands on her shoulders, and the pressure of his touch ran down through her arms and prickled her skin.
“You are kind, and I appreciate your efforts on my behalf,” she said, abandoning the useless pretense of fussing with her clothing. She turned to face him, and his hands fell to her elbows, but still he held her.

“
You are kind,” she began again, but she made the mistake of looking up. His dark eyes moved into hers, and then she could feel nothing but his hands on her arms, hear nothing but the rush of his breath that came quickly now, and more raggedly than when he had been laboring in the hot sun.

“
Jocelyn, I must know,” he said, drawing her so near that she could hear the pounding of his heart, “Are you willingly my wife? Does it truly please you to remain with me?”

“
Yes,” she answered, her common sense skittering into the shadows of the room as she lifted her head to look at him again. “You please me, Thomas Colman.”

She felt her heart skip as his lips met hers, and she could feel the giveaway heat in her face as an unexpected tremor of
pleasure shook her. He kissed her, again and again, and Jocelyn let herself go where he led her, lost somewhere between disbelief and enchantment.

Seventeen

A
howling wind outside brushed the last webs of sleep from Jocelyn’s mind, and she awoke to see dawn brightening through the bed curtains. Beside her, Thomas’ place was empty, and she shivered, unaccustomed to the thought of a man sharing her bed.

She sat up and hugged her knees.
The night she had dreaded had come and gone, and never would she think of marriage in the same light. No wonder Eleanor twittered with delight when talking about her husband! But, she sternly reminded herself, Thomas had done all out of gratitude, not love. Even last night as she lay in his arms near sleep, he had turned to her and whispered, “I give you thanks, Jocelyn Colman.” The gift of the bed, the surprise, and his gentle attention had been a demonstration of gratitude, payment for the work she would do and the role she would play as the minister’s wife.
But
, a sly inner voice mocked her,
such gifts could make life vastly rewarding . . .

Last night, after Thomas had fallen asleep, she had relit the lamp and sat up, hugging her knees, to ponder her thoughts.
Her husband stirred in sleep, and when his arm moved in her direction Jocelyn had to fight her modest impulse to pull away lest he touch her. She was his wife, he was her husband, and they had a right to each other.

What did the Word of God say?
Words she had often read but never before fully understood came to her mind: “The wife is not master of her own body, but the husband: and likewise the husband is not master of his own body, but the wife.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Mayhap her father, God rest his soul, would be momentarily shocked to see her in this man’s bed, but she knew he would approve of Thomas Colman. And though she had few memories of her father and mother together, she knew their love contained the elements she and Thomas had just shared.

She was just about to put out the light when a word from her husband stopped her.

“
Jocelyn.” She froze, arm outstretched, and waited.

“
Did you call?” She whispered the words.

He grunted as if only half hearing, and with a sigh of relief, she realized he still slept.
Yet he had called her name, perchance he dreamed of her.

Intrigued with the idea, she held the lamp high and studied his face for a sign of what he might be dreaming.
Seen in the dim lamplight, his dark good looks captivated her totally. He was so unlike her father’s young students who had flirted outrageously with her. His was the face of a serious and dedicated man. Even in sleep, intelligence and hard-bitten strength were etched into every feature. She had always thought him thin, but his shoulders were broad, the skin around his neck faintly reddened where his collar had lain open in the summer sun.

She put out a finger and gingerly lifted a lock of his glossy dark hair from his forehead, and smiled when it fell back into place.
“I love you, Thomas Colman,” she whispered, watching his face for a response. He did not move, and, after tenderly placing a kiss on his ear, she had blown out the light.

The sound of footsteps outside the house brought her out of her reverie, and Jocelyn sprang up and closed the bed curtains behind her.
After a discreet knock at the door, Audrey came into the house. “Good morning, Miss,” the maid said, lifting an eloquent eyebrow at the sight of the new bed in the room. “I hope you’ll not be telling me I’ve come too early.”

“
No,” Jocelyn said, slipping into the blue skirt and bodice she’d worn the day before. “Thomas—I mean, Reverend Colman, has already gone. I’ll be out of your way in a moment, Audrey.”

She ignored the sly grin on her maid
’s face as she fastened the buttons on her bodice. “Mayhap you have seen my husband this morning.”

“
No, miss,” Audrey answered, taking a seat on the stool by the cold hearth. What a silly grin the girl wore!

“
Well, I’ll be right to work, should anyone ask where I am,” Jocelyn said, searching for her bonnet. “I just want to have a word with Thomas—”

Still smiling, Audrey retrieved her bonnet from the floor and held it up with a flourish.
“‘Tis a bit strange, don’t you think, that the bride should be asking about the bridegroom?” Audrey asked as Jocelyn took the bonnet and tied it under her chin. “Lost him so soon, have ye?”

“
He was up and out early this morning,” Jocelyn answered, stepping into her slippers. She paused at the door and turned to her maid. “I’ll be working in the maize field again today, Audrey, so I’d be pleased if you’d join me there later.”

“
Yes, miss.” Audrey looked as though she would burst out laughing at any moment, and Jocelyn hurried out of the house and slammed the door behind her. ‘Twas bad enough she had to face her maid after her first night alone with her husband, but how could she modestly explain Thomas’ handcrafted bed?

“
Would that this island were not so small,” Jocelyn muttered, heading toward the beach where Thomas was likely to be working. “A man and his wife must needs have their privacy.”

She found her husband in a brigade line moving casks of supplies from the shallop to the fort.
He wore dark work breeches and the same white shirt, open in the heat, and moved with masculine power and ease as he worked. Jocelyn thought him more handsome and appealing than ever, and she felt like a silly schoolgirl as she hid behind a tree and whispered, “Thomas!”

One of the seamen heard her, spied her hiding place, and came forward to gallantly take Thomas
’ place in line. “There’s a pretty wench that wants to speak with you, Reverend,” the seaman said, winking as the other men roared in laughter. “Hiding in the trees, she is.”

Thomas
’ smile faded slightly as he came toward her, but she took his hand and led him deeper into the woods, out of sight and away from the others. He moved stiffly now, reluctantly, and for a moment she wondered if she had made a mistake.

She stopped in a clearing and whirled to face him.
“You left this morning without saying goodbye,” she said, struggling to contain her emotions. Was he not glad to see her? With all they had shared in the past hours . . .

“
I am your husband, I will return tonight.” His dark eyes swept her face. “Is it necessary for me to bid you farewell every time I leave my house?”

“
No,” she whispered, turning away.
Dear God, will I never stop making mistakes? The man does not love me, not in the least, but how is it possible that he could be one man by night and another by day?

“
Do you have something else to say?” he asked, his eyes searching her face like a lantern. His voice was cool, distant.

“
Nothing of importance,” she answered, her heart sinking.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, and for a moment she caught tiny twin reflections of herself in his dark eyes:
a wide-eyed girl in work dress and bonnet with silvery tears upon her cheeks.

“
Yes,” he said, nodding grimly at the sight of her tears. “Now you are sorry that you married me.”

Bewildered at the change in his attitude, she could not answer.
Last night he had been strong and sure,
he had felt something for her, she knew it
, but now he stood locked away from her, his heart imprisoned in some glacial palace where she was not allowed.

“
I am sorry for yesternight, Jocelyn,” he whispered gruffly, his hand lifting her face to his. Suddenly the veil behind his eyes lifted, and she saw compassion—as if he had failed her somehow, had done her a great injustice . . .

He had not.

“
I am not sorry,” she said, mustering all her pride. She lifted her chin and clenched her fists at her side. “I regret nothing but the sins that I have done and marrying you was no sin, Thomas Colman.”

His lips parted in a reluctant smile, and before she knew what had happened, he slipped his arm about her waist.
Her heart fluttered as his breath whispered on her cheek. “You
are
a delightful girl,” he said, crushing her to him as she trembled in his arms. “That God should see fit to bring you to me—”

She interrupted him with a bold kiss and he returned it, knocking her bonnet from her head in his ardor.
Laughing, she pulled away and bent to retrieve her bonnet, and he knelt beside her in the grass, pulling her into his arms again. Smiling against her mouth, he kissed her slowly as insects buzzed in the trees and birds twittered in the bush, and Jocelyn’s mind idly drifted to thoughts of the first man and woman who celebrated their life and love in a similar garden . . .

“
Reverend Colman!”

The horrified trumpeting of disapproval poured like ice
water over Jocelyn’s soul. Thomas must have felt the same sensation, for he tensed and stared toward the interloper with fire in his eyes.

Not knowing whether to blush or giggle, Jocelyn turned around.
Beth Glane stood behind a screen of leafy shrubbery, a pillar of black from her boots to the bonnet tied securely under her condemning chin. Behind Beth stood Ananias Dare and the doctor, John Jones.

Thomas
stood without a word while the trio of visitors came forward. Beth Glane shook her head in shock and dismay.

Jocelyn quickly replaced her bonnet.

“
I wouldn’t fault a man for sporting with his own wife, Reverend,” Ananias said quietly, “but we have need of you. The boy William Wythers has stolen an apple from the storeroom, and Governor White has called for you. The Council must convene and decide what must be done.”

“
An apple?” Jocelyn felt the words slip from her tongue before she could stop them. The council found it necessary to convene over a stolen apple?

“
There is more,” Beth Glane said, pressing her lips together in a thin line. “Joyce Archard’s son Thomas is ill and prayers must be said. But you, Reverend Colman . . .”

Her words died away, but
‘twas clear from her tone that Beth Glane didn’t believe the prayers of a man who kissed in public would avail to much.

“
I’ll come at once,” Thomas said, moving away from Jocelyn. The mask had again settled over his dark features, and Jocelyn felt her hope slip away as her husband moved toward the invading trio.

“
Sirrah, I must have a word with you before we go,” John Jones spoke up. The doctor pulled back his shoulders and lifted his heavy jaw. “Know you not the scriptures which command the clergy to remain sober, temperate, and to exercise self-control at all times? You have forgotten that Scripture today, sir. And this young girl here—” the finger he pointed at Jocelyn shook with anger, “—this girl is of an age to be your
daughter
, albeit she’s the second wife you’ve taken.”