She lowered herself to a log and closed her eyes, allowing her mind to roam where it had never been before. She braced herself for the pain of childbed ... the possible fall of this very fort ... traveling from New York to Virginia...
What would Rhys’s reaction be?
She’d sensed a change about him lately. A tenseness, even a terseness. While still gentle and considerate of her, he seemed increasingly preoccupied. He didn’t confide in her like the other officers did their wives. Did he want to shield her from the worst of the conflict? The ugliness and brutality of the fight?
“Maebel Bohannon Harlow.”
She startled, though the beloved voice was rich with mirth and affection. She opened her eyes. Rhys stood a stone’s throw away, his shirt and leggings besmeared with mud, his battered hat missing the cockade she’d made, a telling bruise beneath his right eye.
A thrill of relief coursed through her. “You look like you had a tussle with the wilderness—and lost.”
He sat down beside her as a grouse flushed from hiding and careened overhead. “Is that all the welcome I get?”
Smiling, she scooted a bit farther away. “Till you bathe, it is.”
He removed his hat and flung it into the water that pooled below them. His moccasins followed, then all the rest of his tattered garments. He pulled himself to his feet and waded into the creek, water frothing about him in its musical rush to the river below.
Long minutes later he emerged, his wet skin glistening, his dark hair plastered to his tanned neck and shoulders. Half drunk with delight and wonder, she watched him as she would a captivating sunset or sunrise.
“You’ll need clean clothes,” she called, getting up and forgetting her apron full of mint. It spilled to the bank in a green torrent, but she left it, hurrying up the nearest trail hugging the hillside.
When she returned, he sat behind the screen of a sprawling laurel bush. Once dried and dressed, he began helping with her mint, picking up what she’d dropped in her haste to help him.
“I don’t recall you being overfond of mint.”
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and lowered herself to the log again as wooziness got the upper hand. She’d not eaten yet, nor had he, she guessed. Toast and coffee, eggs and bacon were what he needed. She even had a few potatoes to fry. But the very thought of cooking...
His eyes roamed over her as if he’d been gone a month. Their eyes held, his so sharp they felt cutting. And somehow she sensed he knew what she was about to say.
?????
Rhys studied her, finding her somewhat different—more beautiful than she’d ever been, as abloom as a wild rose. Her skin reminded him of the fine porcelain cup Bronwyn treasured. Only a few faint pockmarks remained. Simply put, Mae glowed. As he stared at her, a hitch of concern dented his awe.
Women looked that way for a reason.
“I’d thought to tell you this in Virginia once we were settled, not here in the wilds of New York. Naive of me.” She took a breath, her eyes entreating. “I’m—we’re—”
“With child,” he finished for her.
She looked surprised and relieved all at once.
Father. Soldier.The two words seemed contrary. For a trice a soaring elation got the upper hand, then it came crashing down. He wanted to hear “Father” with all that was in him. Just not now.
His throat tightened as he swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say we’ll manage this together.” Her eyes glittered. “I have to believe that whatever happens, for whatever reason, this is meant to be now and not later.”
“We’ll more than manage, Mae.” He knelt before her and took her hands in his. “There’s no better news.”
“I know, but I never thought...”
“You thought all our lovemaking would come to naught?” He regarded her with an amused tenderness.
Color pinked her cheeks. “Say nothing to anyone. Not Jon nor James.”
“Why?”
“’Tis too soon.”
