The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

Sarah shivered in the candlelight, her body tense beneath the bedcovers as she read the shocking entry in the journal. She longed to reach back through time and put her arms around the young May, who'd somehow taken on the strength of the
auld
healer she'd known and loved.

Sarah leaned back against the full feather pillows and twined a piece of her hair around her finger as Deborah Zook's words from that afternoon came back to her
.... I am no
Grossmuder
May.... Perhaps she was refined by pain and somehow became stronger because of it . . . perhaps Edward is my refining fire, though in no way is he cruel as Elias was....

“What are you reading?”

Sarah jumped at the husky sound of her husband's voice. She glanced over to see him lounging in the doorway, suspenders loose about his lean waist, his shirt undone, with one arm raised against the wood so that the lamplight caught on the golden thatch at the juncture of his underarm. She quickly closed the journal.

“An
auld
book, that's all. How was the meeting?”

He half smiled. “If you're asking whether I'm shunned, the answer is
nee
, though it was by sheer will of the
gut
bishop that it didn't happen.... Are you disappointed, my sweet?”

“What?
Nee
, of course not.” She frowned, confused by his question and by the provoking guilt it aroused inside her.
Of course I didn't want to see him shunned, but maybe if someone would speak to him about his behavior, then
. . . She drew rein on the thought
. Then what? Then I wouldn't have to try to manage him?

She watched as he moved from the doorway with lazy ease, his eye patch very black against the sun-streaked blond of his overly long hair. She moistened her lips as she recalled his burning kiss in the woods and wondered what he was about.... Up until now he'd slept before the fire embers, but tonight he seemed moody and purposeful.

She set the journal on her bedside table and lay her hands on the light summer quilt that was drawn over her lap. He rounded the bed and sat down, his back to her. Then he took his shirt off.

“Edward, what are you doing?” She knew that her voice came out a bit high, but she had only to stretch out a hand and she would be able to touch the whipcord strength of his back.

He sighed aloud. “Undressing.”

“Why?” she squeaked, and he turned to toss her a grin over his shoulder.

“Nervous?”

“
N—ee
,” she stuttered.

He laughed softly. “Don't worry, Sarah King, I already tasted your responsiveness earlier in the woods. I could have had you then, standing up, against that old oak.” He rose and slid off his black pants, and she averted her gaze, longing for a place to hide from both his words and his actions. “Not that standing would have been the most comfortable position for a virgin's delicacy . . .” He slid under the quilt and top sheet, and his big body immediately radiated a warmth of its own, coming to her like a blatant caress. He propped himself up on one elbow and faced her, reaching to play with a strand of her hair, while she sat as still as a baby hare.

“
Nee
,” he said softly. “Not standing up the first time. When I take you, I want you to
kumme
willingly, to beg me to—”

“Stop!” Childlike, she flung her hands over her ears, unable to tolerate his words or the suggestive images he conjured up. She felt the heat of her cheeks beneath the bottom of the palms of her hands and only reluctantly let her hands drop when he gave her right arm a pull.

He smiled at her wolfishly. “Go to sleep,
boppli
. I mean what I say, and despite the fact that I broke my word earlier about touching you, I now give you my pledge that I will not . . . make love to you . . . until you . . . ask me to.”

“Which will never happen,” she burst out, half in relief, half in turmoil.

He arched a dark brow at her over his blue tiger's eye. “Never is a very long time....
Gut nacht.”

And then he rolled over on his side, leaving only the thin quilt tangled on his hip, and she turned out the lamp when she caught a glimpse of the tight, rounded curve of his buttock. She shuffled beneath her half of the quilt and turned on her side, gripping the edge of the bed so as not to touch him in any way, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

Edward gently closed the glass lid on the cold frame after sowing a
gut
handful of carrots and some salad greens. The early morning air brought proof that fall was near as yellowed leaves spun like dancers to settle upon the ground at his feet. He emptied a packet of radish seed into the palm of his hand and was moving on to the next frame when the morning air was cut by the whinnied scream of a horse.

Edward looked up and saw Ben Kauffman and Joseph trying to gain control of a big black gelding. Neither man was apparently having any luck. He pocketed the seed, then hurried as quickly as his eye would allow down the hill to the main track.

The horse reared as he approached, but Edward caught the reins easily, stepping without concern between the slashing front hooves. Immediately, the beast calmed, sensing the lack of fear, and Joseph blew out a harsh breath.

“Edward,” he gasped. “You always did have a way with animals.”

“
Ach
, and he's a big fine lad. Where's he from?” Edward asked softly, then blew just as gently into the flaring nostrils of the horse.

Ben Kauffman pulled out a red hankie and wiped his brow. “Auction, gosh darn it! I paid for him at auction down Lancaster way and had him brought up here . . . thought he would be a
gut
buggy and sleigh horse for the missus, but as soon as I tried to hitch him up, he went wild.
Narrisch
horse!”

Edward ran an admiring hand down the corded strength of the animal's fine neck. “What are you going to do with him?”

“Why, sell him back or shoot him,” Ben growled in frustration.

Edward thought fast, then spoke. “Suppose you let me train him to the buggy for a short time and then we'll see?”

Ben rubbed a meaty hand across the back of his neck in thought. “Well, what'll you charge?”

“Nothing.” Edward smiled. “But you pay for his feed. What's his name?”

Ben scowled. “Sunny.”

Edward hid another smile and Ben nodded wearily. “You've got yourself a deal. I'll have the
buwes
bring over his tack and feed. Let me know when you need more.”

Edward shook Ben's hand, then watched as the older man stomped away.

“Are you
narrisch
yourself?” Joseph asked when Ben was out of earshot.

“What?” Edward asked, raising a brow.

“What's Sarah going to say about having this brute in the barn with
auld
Mollie? That mare won't put up with any baloney.”

“This horse is as gentle as a kitten,” Edward praised, running his fingers down the black shock of Sunny's mane.

Joseph raised a tentative hand to do the same and the horse began to prance away; he let his hand drop back to his side. “Right. A kitten.”

But Edward laughed out loud, feeling right as rain for the first time in a long while.

 

 

Sarah awoke to find herself alone in the bed, then glanced at the windup alarm clock and sat bolt upright. Eight
A.M.
She'd never slept so late in her life, and years of long training drove her to frantically jump from the bed and run into the kitchen, appalled that Edward would have had to get his own breakfast.
Not that it would hurt him one bit . . .
But when she looked around, there was no sign of any cooking or any fresh dishes in the drain. Then she heard an exultant whoop from outside the window and peered out in time to see Edward thunder past the cabin on the back of a big black horse, a welter of colorful leaves flying in the animal's wake.

Sarah felt a clutch of fear in her heart. She didn't recognize the horse, but she knew recklessness when she saw it, and she realized that she couldn't stand the thought of Edward's big, beautiful body lying broken at the bottom of the hill. She ran outdoors, careless of her nightdress and bare feet, and tried to chase after her
narrisch
husband, flailing her arms in their wide billowing sleeves.

She gave up after stubbing her toe and watched him tear around the cabin again to bring the horse to a breakneck stop beside her, frightening her with the proximity of the huge gelding.

“Gut
morning, sweet.” Edward laughed, leaning down to pat the lathered side of the horse.

“What are you doing?” she yelled, hopping on one foot, nursing her sore toe.

He grinned, a flash of white teeth, and slid down from the saddle. “Are you all right, Sarah?”

“
Jah
,” she snapped, stopping her hopping and trying to look dignified, despite her wind-whipped hair.

He held the bridle of the horse easily and she started to fume at his scaring her so.

“Edward King, I asked what are you doing?”

“With your permission, my sweet, allow me to introduce the latest temporary member of the family—Sunny. Ben Kauffman came round this morning and gave me a chance at training him to a buggy, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to work with such fine horseflesh.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You do not have my permission and . . .” She broke off when she saw that Edward's gaze had dropped lower on her person, and she realized that she was standing in the sunlight with nothing but her nightgown on. “Oooh, you,” she exclaimed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He gave her a wicked laugh, then reached out and caught her about the waist, pulling her inexorably toward him. She felt a quiver of fear go through her at the nearness of the huge horse and winced away from its inquisitive nose as it nudged at her hair.

“See, Sunny likes you,” Edward said, bending to nuzzle at her neck with a too-comfortable air. She tried to pull back but sensed that her stiff movements agitated the horse. She stood still instead, unable to ignore the enticing scent of Edward's skin: part sunshine, part sweat, and all male.

“Please, Sarah . . . say yes to the horse,” he murmured, moving his mouth to the curve of her ear. “When I'm riding, I forget about my eye.”

The words she might have spoken froze on her lips. He'd just confessed a vulnerability, and the acknowledgment almost shocked her.

“You—never talk about your eye,” she whispered.

He shrugged against her, and she longed to slip her arms around him, but the horse kept her still.

“All right,” she said after a moment. “Keep him for a time.”

She felt rather than heard his sigh of relief, but when he lifted his head, his blue eye glinted with passion and power, and she wondered if she'd imagined the crack in his proverbial armor.

“
Danki
, Sarah.”

She nodded, glad when he slid his arm from around her waist, but the horse suddenly pranced and Edward loosened his hold on the reins, making soothing sounds from the back of his throat. Sarah stepped backward and cried out with abrupt pain. The horse tossed its head and Edward glanced down at her.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

Sarah hobbled to the grass and plopped her bottom down on the side of the path. She turned her foot over and grimaced.

“It's a cocklebur,” she muttered and began to try to pull the rounded burr from her foot.

“Wait here,” Edward said, and she had the vague sense of him moving away with the horse.

He was back in a few moments and she gritted her teeth, working over the two remaining needlelike burrs.

Edward knelt down in front of her and gently took her foot into his big hands. “Let me,” he said.

She would have protested, but the briars hurt and she fell back on her elbows, closing her eyes against the glare of the sun. Then she heard the click of a pocketknife and her eyes flew open. “What are you doing? I've got tweezers up at the cabin.”

“Do you really think I'd hurt you?” he soothed. “Just relax. I'm going to use the back of the blade and catch the briar between my thumb and the knife.”

“Well, then, you'll hurt yourself.” She wriggled in objection but stilled as she felt his hands moving with both care and competence.

She felt the relief after a brief time and glanced down to see her husband putting away his knife. She made to rise, but he forestalled any movement on her part by turning her foot and pressing his lips against the inner curve of her ankle.