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Chapter 23
Sam didn’t get a wink of sleep that night. She lay there turning the wedding band on her hand this way and that.My Angel, it read. How could John be so tender and gentle one moment and so callous the next? She put the ring back on her finger and puffed an indignant breath.
How could he have turned her away after the passionate night they spent together? Was he ever going to let her spend the night with him? She was hurt by his callousness, but at the same time, something in his deep hurt eyes told her that it was more complicated than she made it out to be.
She needed to talk with him about it. She had been sure they’d reached some sort of accord last night, she had been certain they could work out whatever the trouble was with him not wanting to spend the night with her. But she’d been wrong.
She was broken out of her reverie by a soft knock on the adjoining room door, and before she could answer, John stalked into the room. She looked at him, then at the window, and was surprised to see a faint light streaming through the curtains. It was already morning, and she hadn’t even noticed.
“Good, you are awake,” he said quickly, coming closer to the side of her bed. He was dressed in his riding clothes, holding a crop in one hand, and a hat in another. “Do you need your maid to help you dress?”
Sam was looking at him like he was mad, trying to figure out what he was talking about. Apparently, he read her mind, because one side of his mouth kicked up in a smile.
“The morning ride. You asked if you could join me last night. Or have you forgotten?”
She was still angry with him for the way he’d kicked her out of his room last night, but she hadn’t slept all night, and she didn’t want to waste her energy arguing about it.
“I don’t need Gina to dress, but I need a cup of chocolate before we go,” she said and swung her legs out of the bed. He looked at her bare ankles, then slowly raised his gaze, looking his fill.
“Did I ever tell you that you have beautiful calves?” He raised an eyebrow.
Sam took a pillow and threw it at him. John chuckled, placed the pillow back on the bed, and kissed her on her cheek.
“I’ll make you some chocolate and leave a cup in the kitchen. When you are done, come down to the stables. I’ll ready the horses and wait for you there.”
He folded his body and gave her a quick peck on the lips. Before she knew what was happening, he was already gone.
Sam dressed in record time that morning, performed her morning ablutions, and came downstairs. She wore her most comfortable pale green riding habit, brown jacket, and matching brown hat and gloves. She saw a steaming cup of chocolate on the table in the kitchen and smiled. She had prepared lunches for him, had made him tea and warm milk in the evenings while waiting for him to come home. Now, he was finally doing things for her.
Regardless of how their encounter last night had ended, he’d come to wake her in the morning to take her riding as she’d asked. He’d made her chocolate and was waiting for her in the stables. A warm, fuzzy feeling dissolved the bitterness that had nestled in her chest all through the night. Contrary to her thoughts on what had happened last night, he cared about her and wanted to please her.
After indulging in sips of warm chocolate, she went to the stables to join her husband on a morning ride.
They rode in silence for a while, enjoying the light breeze, and the quietness of an early morning. They cantered, then galloped for about an hour, before John finally slowed his horse to a trot. They were riding through the woods, carefully ducking under branches and avoiding cobwebs. The birds were singing and chirping from tree to tree, the sun was streaming through the leaves. It felt like they were in an enchanted forest in one of the fairytales her mother used to read her when Sam was a little girl. She was so absorbed by this fairytale magic that she was startled when John finally spoke.
“I have nightmares,” he said in an even tone.
She glanced at him, bewildered, but he was looking straight ahead.
“They are violent nightmares. I scream at night, toss and turn. Sometimes I wake up strangling a pillow in my hands.” He paused for a beat before adding. “I cannot recall a single night since returning that I have not dreamed of war.”
She still didn’t speak. She was not sure what she was supposed to say to that, or if there even was something she could say. Fortunately, he continued his monologue.
“It’s ugly, Sam. It’s so horrible, you cannot even imagine, and I pray you will never have to. The blood, the destruction, faces of people I killed cursing me into hell, faces of my dying comrades begging me for help. Little children…” He shook his head, unable to continue. “It is something I can never get rid of. I wish I could guard you from it. That’s why you have to know. I can never sleep in the same bed with you. It is too dangerous for you. These dreams, they never go away.”
She was silent for a moment. “It can’t be forever, there must be some cure,” she finally said.
“If there is, I don’t know it.” He took a breath and let it out before continuing. “It isn’t just that. Even if I didn’t have nightmares, I can’t seem to sleep in a bed anymore. When I was at war, I would dream of a feather mattress, and a pillow… But it’s too soft and the walls suffocate me. I sleep on the floor next to the balcony doors, so I can wake up looking outside. Otherwise, I can’t breathe, and this panic tries to strangle me, as if I am trapped.”
Sam was trying to digest everything she’d just heard. Falling asleep and waking up in John’s arms was something she wished for with all her heart. And she didn’t believe for a second that he would hurt her, asleep or otherwise. All she had to do was prove that to him.How? She didn’t know just yet, but she was certain she would find the answer. She would make her marriage into a romantic fairytale yet, no matter what obstacles were thrown her way.
* * *
John wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked ahead. He saw Linda, Christopher’s wife, walking toward them with her daughter. It must have been luncheon time. They had been working on the east side of the manor and he was hoping to finish with it today, but they hadn’t progressed a lot thus far. Christopher’s little girl ran excitedly toward the working men, and John saw Chris’s face light up in a smile the moment he noticed his family. He hopped off the ledge he’d been working on and hurried to meet them.
John studied the scene with a wistful expression on his face. Christopher grabbed his daughter, put her on his shoulders, then walked on and kissed his wife gently on the lips. All the workers erupted in cheers and low whistles. Christopher waved a silencing hand at them, and his wife turned beetroot red. Public displays of affection might be considered bourgeois from the standpoint of polite society, but common folk relished in emotional ties. These people were bourgeois, and they were proud of it.
“Do you think I’ll ever find a girl like that?” a low voice said by his side. John turned to see a sandy-haired young man standing by his shoulder, still looking at Christopher and his family. John recognized one of the new tenants who had just arrived several days ago. Malcolm something. He and Christopher were close in age, and their cottages bordered, so they had become fast friends.
