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Eliza rested both hands against the table and lowered her head. After a few deep breaths, she put a hand on her head then her stomach. “Forgive me, ladies, but I fear I must sit down. I think I’ve been standing too long.”
Kitty hurried to Eliza’s side. “Are you having pains?”
“A few. But not consistent.”
Kitty shot Anna a look, her eyes large and lips tight. The expression disappeared when she turned back to her sister. “Well, your time will be here any day, we’ve known that for some time.” She took Eliza’s arm. “I’ll set you in your bedchamber and help you put your feet up.” At the door, she turned to Anna. “You’ll be all right for a moment?”
Nodding, Anna brushed the air in front of her. “Take your time making her comfortable. And should you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Eliza glanced over her shoulder, thanking her with a nod, and for the first time Anna noticed the perspiration that lined Eliza’s forehead. She shifted her feet, her stomach dropping. How selfish she’d been not to notice Eliza was unwell. Sending up a silent prayer for her friend, Anna turned to the onion.
She breathed in deep, releasing the air through her nose. Now, this was something she could do. A harmless vegetable. No scales, no menacing eye to stare at her.
With the crinkly outer layers removed, Anna sliced it in half and instantly the scent bit her nose. Not an unpleasant scent, but powerful indeed. She sliced again and again, marveling at the way the circular layers hugged so perfectly. She sniffed and her eyes began to burn. Blinking, she sliced once more and suddenly her eyes stung with such force, she was powerless to keep them open.
Sniffing more, she put down the knife and pressed her wrists into her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks. What had happened? The stinging worsened and she pressed her apron against her face. Come mai? She blotted her eyes, a growl in her throat. What a fool I am. What have I done wrong? At least Eliza and Kitty were not here to see her dreadful display.
Not to mention William.
CHAPTER TWELVE
William knocked on the Watson’s door then tapped the dust from his boots against the step while he waited. When no one answered, he knocked again, this time following after Nathaniel’s bold habit of opening the door.
“Hello?”
The parlor was empty. Only a few sounds shuffled out from the kitchen.
“Mrs. Watson?” Still no answer.
He followed the sound of muffled sniffles to the kitchen and halted in the doorway. Anna stood by the table alone, her face in her apron.
“Anna?” He strode forward, hand outstretched. “What’s happened?”
With a gasp, she jerked her hands down then turned away to dab at her eyes. “Aye, I am…I am well.”
Well? Nay. He reached for her, tugging at her elbow and asked again. “What’s happened? Tell me.” When she refused to look up, worry knit up his back. Was she hurt, sick perhaps?
More tender this time, he reached in front and took her other arm, turning her to face him. “Why are you crying?”
The tears on her soft cheeks and the red rimming her crystal-colored eyes pricked his memory. A protective shield shot up, guarding from incoming fire. The former Anna had done this. Used her tears to get her way, and he’d met every pleading request. His neck tensed. Do not give in, Henry. You know nothing about her. But he cut down the advancing fears before they could scar him with their sabers. There was something too real about this woman he had married—something far too innocent for him to equate her with the Anna of his past. At least, not completely.
She glanced up, dabbing at her cheeks. “Forgive me, I don’t know why I’m crying.” Sniffing, she pointed at the partially chopped onion on the table. “I was cutting and—”
“You hurt yourself.” He took her hands and turned them over, prepared to find a gash in her flesh, her fingers dripping red. But they were not, thank the Lord. Nay, they were not hurt, but they were…soft…and slender and warm. His thoughts slowed as he stared at her dainty hands in his. He gripped slightly stronger, moving his thumb against the silken skin between her knuckles. His heartbeat roared in his ears.
Looking up, his gaze twined with hers then slid to her parted mouth.
He cleared his throat and released his grip, attempting to clear the husky sound from his voice. But he failed. “You are not hurt then?”
Anna blinked, her own sweet voice almost a whisper. “Nay.”
She stilled, her misty eyes staring at him. Those same eyes that had begged him nearer the night before. He wiped his hand against his leg, hoping to brush away the tingling in his fingers.
“If you didn’t cut yourself, what happened?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged and pointed to the half-chopped onion. “I was simply cutting when suddenly my eyes started to burn and I couldn’t stop crying.”
William thrust his head forward. He gauged her expression and looked from her to the onion and back again. Could she be serious? He choked a laugh that worked its way up his chest.
