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If that woman couldn’t find Barrik, so be it. The man didn’t have his soul invested in the hu
nt like Paul did.
Donaldson was his alone to find, and his to bring to justice.
~~~
The occasional pop of a log burning in the fireplace was the only sound. Anna sat at the kitchen table on one side, William at the other, his elbows on his knees as he polished the grip of his pistol. The clock had long ago struck ten o’clock and the sky was draped in black, yet sleep was miles from her mind.
She twisted the ring on her finger over and over, staring at the fire and straining against the deafening silence. They’d managed to stay an easy distance from one another during the day, but after finishing the supper Kitty and Nathaniel had dropped by as a warming present for their new home, they’d had nothing else to do but be near one another and talk. And avoid the topic that Anna could only assume consumed both their minds, but which neither wished to discuss.
The marriage bed.
Should she say something? Casting a quick look to him, she endeavored to surmise the distant look on his stoic face. Was he waiting for her to announce she was ready to retire? If she did, would he assume she meant more than simply sleeping?
Nay. Silly notion.
Thick tendrils of reality wound around her neck. Then again, she had been married before—though not, she supposed, the kind of marriage William believed it had been—and perhaps thought she expected?
Her palms began to sweat, and she rubbed them against her stomach both to erase the wetness and calm the rise of butterflies. The fire popped again and her nerves popped with it. They’d shared a bed at the Watson’s and though the awkwardness had thrived, their new arrangement launched her disquiet to unchartered seas.
The droning tick of the clock grew louder with each minute that passed. She spied in his direction, hoping she could skirt her eyes away before being seen, but it was too late. Their eyes met and she turned away, scrambling to gather her emotions that scattered like a set of children’s marbles.
He sat back, placing his pistol on the table beside him. “I suppose we ought to retire.” William’s rich timbre spilled through the air and brought a warm prickle to her skin.
Anna gripped the arms of the chair and pushed to her feet, praying her legs would perform their duty. Once sure of her stability, she reached for her bag that rested on the table. “Aye, of course.” Her voice came out high and pinched.
William stood as well and motioned to the bedchamber door at the side of the fireplace. She tried to remember how to walk. Oh, that was it—a simple left right, left right. So why did the elementary task take outrageous amounts of concentration?
At the door, William stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “Anna.” His eyes were pointed and his tone deep.
She answered only with a tight smile to let him know she listened.
“I would have you know that I do not expect anything from you.”
She tilted her head. Did he mean what she thought he did?
Either she uttered the question aloud, or her expression spoke for her, for he answered immediately. “Since we are still not more than strangers, though we’ve spoken vows, we need not…we don’t…” He stopped and cleared his throat.
Relief flooded and Anna’s once-liquid knees found their strength. She gripped her fingers around the top of her bag and squeezed, releasing the anxieties into the fabric. She offered a smile, unsure quite how to respond. “That sounds…fine.”
“Though, I fear this is the only bed.” He paused, his brow twitching ever so slight. “You are comfortable sharing, are you not?”
No. Yes.
Her mind bounced back and forth between her emotions. Nothing could be less comfortable. Being so close to him—someone so deathly handsome and gallant—she would hardly sleep. No different from the previous nights. Yet, for those same reasons—and because he was brave and genuine and kind—nothing could be more natural in the world than sharing a bed with such a man, when such a man was her husband.
She swallowed and nodded. “I am.”
He made a slow bob of the head, his gaze seeming to gauge whether she spoke true. After a quick blink he pushed open the door and Anna entered. The lovely, vibrant quilt draped over the bed, two large pillows propped at the headboard. Other than the bed, a small chest of drawers, and a writing table the room was bare. No art on the walls, nor paper or paint.
“What do you think of it?” William entered behind her, bringing the light of the candle.
Once illuminated, the room cheered, and so did Anna, though pride brought to mind her bedchamber in England. The large feather bed and perfectly soft bed sheets, the large curtained windows and armoire for her gowns. She flicked away the memory and grounded herself in the present. What this simple home lacked in opulence, it made up for in things that mattered.
A folded paper at the head of the bed caught her attention and she went to retrieve it as William placed the candle on the writing table at the side of the bed.
She cracked the seal and read silently at first. “Oh, ’tis from the Watsons.” She read aloud. “May this quilt be with you throughout your many years together. Thomas and Eliza.”
