Slade sent a missive to Bullfinch updating him on the mission and requested that he do everything he could to ensure Ross’s body either wasn’t found or couldn’t be traced back to the Movement. Over the next two weeks Phoebe’s color returned, and during the following three months her leg slowly healed. They celebrated Hogmanay together, quietly in their marriage chamber. It was the best Hogmanay Slade could recall.
At the end of the three months, after the surgeon pronounced her healed and left, Slade sat next to her on the edge of the bed and took Phoebe’s hand in his. He was too close to her, he couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t reason rationally with her by his side, he loved her too much, and she consumed him with passion, light, happiness, and all that was good in this world. His love for her was like being perpetually drunk on alcohol. He needed distance, he needed time to think objectively without her love and loveliness distracting him. He needed to come up with a plan to safeguard her on missions. He needed time apart to think. A perfect time to finish his own mission.
“I must leave you for Sutton Coldfield. I’ve been putting it off for three months, but I can put it off no longer,” he said, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his belly. He’d received word from Bullfinch that Bolingbroke was still sanctioning illegal raids in remote Scottish farming villages to not only eliminate rebel threats and instill intimidation and fear among Scots, but to exert English dominance and control.
Her gaze dropped, but not before he saw the tender worry in them. “Of course, you must have business to take care of. I’ve proven to be a distraction these past few months, haven’t I.”
He placed a finger beneath her chin gently lifting her face until her eyes landed on his. “You are my wife. And while your loveliness is indeed a most welcomed and tantalizing distraction, I do have to go.”
He finished the sentence by crushing his mouth to hers. He devoured her lips and tongue with his own, inhaling his wife like a dying man gasped for air, knowing this kiss would have to last him a long time.
After he pulled away, breathing hard yet ignoring the urgent throbbing need in his body, his eyes registered the solemn smile lifting her delectably ravished mouth.
“You will be careful.”
“And we must discuss our future, and the Movement. I will not stand by and watch you put yourself in danger again, as you did this last time with Ross. If your injuries had been irreversible, or if he had taken your life, I … I …” Slade broke off when the jab of pain to his chest became too much to breathe or even speak.
“But Ross is dead.”
“There are plenty of men like Ross still out there.”
He saw her throat working, before she spoke, a glint of something in her eyes. “It is the burden we must bear for the work. Even now, you will be riding into danger on a mission. And I will have no rest or peace of mind until you return safely.”
“Yes, but you are my wife. It’s my responsibility and my honor to keep you safe.”
“No more than I want to keep you safe.”
“But as a husband, I am the one who must bear this burden.”
The glint in her eyes was now clearly visible as indignation, and from her flared nostrils and heightening color, it was going into full blown anger. “Are you now to tell me, husband, that it’s your duty to control my work, my comings and goings under the guise of keeping me safe?”
Slade let out an anguished breath, but it did nothing to calm the heat rising in the pit of his stomach or the tension growing in his body. “No, that is not what I am saying.”
He was trying to tell Phoebe he wanted to keep her safe because he loved her. He was her husband, and it was his privilege and duty to protect her. His life would be dark, desolate and less than nothing without her. But he was bungling it. And from the look on her face, he was fast realizing this was a conversation they had to have when he wasn’t about to leave on a mission.
“I must leave now, but we have to continue this conversation. We must discuss our marriage.” He kissed her forehead, trying to ignore the stiffness in her body, before he turned and left.
CHAPTER 66
The day after Slade’s departure, Phoebe visited the Edwardes. She’d told herself she was being sociable, and they were so warm and comforting to be around, she desperately needed some of that since Slade had left. But there’d been another reason. Ever since accidentally catching Sylvia’s perfect oval doll-face, flawless skin, and stunning brown eyes years ago, Phoebe had wished she was prettier. And now, after disappointing Slade, as was evident by his manner when he’d left for Sutten, Coldfield, Phoebe wondered if Slade also wished he’d had a different sort of wife. Someone who was not only prettier but more traditional, more controllable and appropriate.
Phoebe turned at the sound of footsteps. Margaret walked towards the chair she occupied near the fireplace inside Margaret and Raghnall’s cozy manse with an amiable expression, carrying tea service.
“I’m so happy you can join me for afternoon tea, my dear. I am only sorry Raghnall is not here. It’s his day for making house calls.”
Phoebe smiled. “I am sorry to show up unannounced, but with Slade being in Sutton Coldfield I was feeling a bit out of sorts.”
Margaret placed the tray on a piecrust-shaped tea table next to the oak desk where Phoebe sat.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am not only for your company but also for your donation to the orphanage. It will be used for much needed supplies for the children,” Margaret said.
Phoebe hadn’t told anyone she’d donated her entire first month’s stipend from the MacLeans. She’d wanted to do something good, inspired by the Edwardes and all the good they were doing at the church.
She took a slice of fruitcake off the white porcelain plate offered by Margaret. An idea started to take shape. “I am happy to help. You mentioned earlier you were in the process of collecting donated quilts from the villagers for the orphanage. Have you many remaining to collect?”
Margaret shook her head as she poured tea. The pleasant malty scent of the steaming dark brew filled the air.
“No, I have all the quilts, in fact, just the last one is left to be collected,” Margaret said.
