“Let me see.”
With a sigh, John angled his elbow upward. A purpling bruise already discolored his skin, but it was no worse than those he’d procured from climbing trees along the creek back home.
“I think that’s one you can be proud of.”
“Did you kill him?” The same question. As if John hoped he had.
“No.”
“Why?”
“They call him Tookey in the nearby village. I remember him from boyhood. He has not all his mind and steals most of what he eats. I sent him back into the woods and will inform the constable in the morning.”
“Him ate all the pasties.” Mercy sighed her disappointment. “Now we have nothing.”
“We shall get more tomorrow, but tonight”—he swept her to the pile of quilts—“you must rest. You too, John.”
“I don’t want to sleep. I want to have the gun again. In case he comes back.”
“He will not come back.”
“Please?”
Simon lifted John and settled him next to Mercy. He pulled the quilt over them both. “Sleep.”
“Sir?”
“Hmm?”
The shadows were deep across John’s face, the hearth light just faint enough that it illuminated his small dimple and furrowed chin. “I didn’t run this time. I helped the lady.”
Emotions simmered through him. Pride for the courage inside one so young. Fear that it could have injured him. Heartbreak that he need fight at all. “You did good, John.” He bent over his child and kissed the salty tears on his cheek. “Mama would be proud.”
She had not the strength to bear a night with him.
Not here—where the forest was black and enclosing, the air soundless, the world she knew too far away from her. She could not breathe when she was close to him.
She could not breathe now.
Pain stung both of her ears, and though she’d dabbed the blood with her sleeve countless times, they were still cold and wet and throbbing.Calm.She hugged her arms. An owl’s disconcertingwhek-whek-whekechoed throughout the trees, mimicking the panic straining her chest.God, give me calm.
The door opened before she was prepared.
She’d known he would come.
Of course he would. Had he ever been anything but kind to her?
And gentle to her? Even in his indifference?
With slow movements, he stepped near enough that if she swayed half a step to the right, she would touch him. He stared at her. She wondered how much he could see—if he knew her terror, if he realized that she had almost failed him.
“Come inside and rest.”
She shook her head because she did not trust her voice.
He nodded as if he understood. “I will remain out here. No one will get in again.”
Her fear was not an assailant. Her fear was him. Didn’t he know that? No, he never knew. He never suspected anything. Even on the carriage rides, all those years ago, he had been as clueless as he was right now.
