The Bride Price

Chapter Eighteen

The strike of a boot landing on the floor, followed less than a minute later by another. Emily opened her eyes at the sound, but her vision—dimmed by several hours of fitful sleep—failed to focus on anything in particular. She had forgotten to bank the fire before sliding beneath the covers and so the darkness was weakened only by the light from the window, a pale glow from a rising half moon.

The bed frame creaked as William sat down on the edge of the mattress. A rustle met her ears, and then there was a scrape before a flame flickered to life between his hands. She watched the light tremble as it touched the wick of the candle, the flame nearly disappearing into a small, blue orb before it flared back to life and banished the shadows from her husband's side of the bed.

She watched as he continued to undress, as he pulled his shirt out from the waistband of his pantaloons, as he undid his falls and stood up long enough to shuck the entire garment to the floor. When he sat down again, he rested his elbows on his knees, his shoulders rounded forward until the linen was stretched taut across his back.

She said nothing, only reached out with her left arm and touched him. A light brush at first, only her fingertips against the worn fabric of his shirt, but she shifted slightly beneath the covers so she could press the flat of her palm over the warmth that emanated from him, in contrast to the chill that pervaded the fireless room.

A heavy breath escaped him, his shoulders only sinking further as her fingers glided upwards, tracing the curve of his spine.

"William?"

He turned his head so that she saw his profile, backlit by the flickering candle. The tousled ends of his hair glowed gold in the light, his curls more disheveled than usual. "I did not see Lord Marbley," he said, forestalling the question that fought for dominance in her thoughts. "I made no attempt to call on him. I merely... walked. Along the fences that still need mended, the edges of the fields that have been left fallow for too long. Of course, they're his fields now." A slight shake of his head, and she watched as his teeth sought out the corner of his mouth. "If there was ever a time when they were truly ours."

The covers slid away from her as she sat up, curling herself around him so that her right arm wrapped around his shoulders and she touched his jaw with the fingers of her left hand. "What now, do you think?"

He looked at her. The combined illumination from the moon and the candle picked out the brightest striations of blue in his eyes. "We could begin again. Find a new place, a new home. I have some money still. Not much, but I can work, and we can save..."

To begin again, when they had hardly been given an opportunity to begin the first time. Why did fate continue to strew so many difficulties in their path? She laid her head against William's shoulder and closed her eyes. Such an easy thing it would be, to drift away from her present worries and lose herself in the memories of her childhood; of life before her mother had been taken from her, when—from the viewpoint of a stranger—everything had seemed so easy, so shrouded in comfort and security.

But it had all been an illusion. Her father's debts had lingered over every aspect of their lives, no one wishing to fully acknowledge the truth as more and more of the furniture, of the silver, of her mother's jewels and finer gowns were sold in order to postpone the moment when the very roof over their heads would be stripped away from them.

To begin again...

Would it be nothing more than running away? And should they encounter another impediment, what then? Another move? More turmoil until they finally found a place where the rest of the world could no longer touch them?

She drew in a breath, inhaling the scent of him that clung to his shirt. His soap, his skin, mingled with the lingering aromas that found their way onto the fabric as it dried on the clothesline beneath a clear, blue sky.