“Because I cannot touch you this way.”
His hold upon her eased. Her fingers trembled as she rubbed her knuckles against his cheek, then arched high against him, winding her arms about him as she found his lips with her own. She hungered for his kiss, playing with his tongue, bringing it deeper and deeper into her mouth, as if she drew upon other sexual parts of his body, intimating all that she would do. A dry, hoarse sound tore from him, and he returned the kiss aggressively, his lips caressing and consuming hers, his tongue demanding hers hotly within his mouth, his hands feverishly upon her face and within her hair. Then he tore away from her, casting aside his cape and his boots. He all but tore his frock coat away, and stumbled from his breeches to descend heavily upon her again, his hands feverish as they immediately set upon her calves and then her naked thighs, shoving the gown up high on her. She laughed, delighted at his eagerness, but when his lips touched hers again, she was determined to arouse him even as he stirred the most frantic and glorious yearnings within her. She stroked the magnificent muscled breadth of his back, and she brought her hands low against his ribs, and over the tightness of his buttocks. She teased his abdomen with the stroke of her fingers, and then she closed her fingers around his shaft, trembling with sweet pleasure at his cry and mammoth shudder at her evocative touch. She stroked and teased, gently caressed, and brought about a rougher rhythm, and then caressed with the greatest tenderness again. But then she found her fingers entwined with his and the length of his body was thrust between her thighs. His mouth formed over her breast, and all of the heat and hardness was thrust within her, and ecstasy seemed to flourish and grow and to boundless heights.
Snow fell outside; the wind was bitter, and its cry was harsh upon the winter’s night. But none of it mattered to her that night. He rose high above her, his face contorted with his passion, his eyes a deep blazing blue upon hers. She did not allow her lashes to flutter, but as the sensations swept through her with chaotic abandon, she moistened her lips and dared to whisper to him again.
“I love you, Eric. I love you.”
He fell against her, cradling her head, his fingers and palms upon her hair, her cheeks. His lips found hers and whispered above them, “Say it again.”
“I love you.” Tears stung her eyes. “I love you, I swear it, with all of my heart, I love you.”
He groaned, and he whispered again that he loved her. And when everything exploded between them, he whispered it again, and then he held her in his arms and they both watched the fire, and she told him that she had loved him for a very long time—even when she had hated him—and he laughed, and they made love again, and she didn’t think that anything, ever, had been as good.
It was very late when she finally slept.
Somewhere, in the middle of the night, she awoke. Puzzled, she wondered why. The fire still burned. Their door lay slightly ajar, and the outer room appeared to be empty, despite the shadows. Some noise had disturbed her, she thought. She didn’t move. They slept naked and entwined. Her husband’s broad shoulders were slightly bared, and she drew the blanket more tightly about him. Then she slept again.
Later, much, much later, she awoke. She had been dreaming, she realized, and she had been soundly asleep. It was late, for the sun was out and almost brightly so, especially for winter. She had slept the morning away, she thought, and she had awakened now only because someone was frantically calling her name.
“Amanda! Amanda, for the love of God, wake up!”
Her eyes focused at last. It was Geneva, her beautiful eyes wide and frightened, her hair tumbling down about her shoulders. “Amanda, come on, wake up. You must come with me right away. Eric has been hurt.”
“What!”
Stunned, stricken, Amanda sat up. The covers began to fall and she caught them to hide her nakedness.
“Eric has been hurt. He went out with a foraging party and he was hit by mistake. I think that his leg is broken. Damien is arranging for a conveyance to bring him back. But he wants you. Now. Oh, Amanda, come on!”
“Oh, dear God!” Terrified, Amanda sprang from the bed and hurriedly searched for her clothing. Her trembling caused her trouble as she tried to pull on her hose, but at last she managed. She forced herself to be calm enough to dress. She ignored her hair, letting it fall down her back in tangles.
Hurt…hurt. He had been wounded. Men died when they were wounded. Men died when they were wounded because infection and disease spread so rapidly. No! No, God, please, no, after all of their years together they had finally come to really love one another, to trust one another, to need one another. She could not lose him now. He had fought in endless battles, and always with courage, and always so selflessly. He could not die.
“Geneva, how bad is he?” she asked anxiously, reaching for her cloak.
“I don’t know yet. I just know that he wants you. Come on now, hurry!”
They ran out to the snow. Two horses were waiting. “Where’s Damien?” Amanda asked anxiously.
“Getting a wagon. Amanda, let’s go. Before it’s too—”
“Oh!” Amanda cried out. She wondered if Washington knew, or Frederick, or any other of his close friends or fellow officers. They wouldn’t let him die if they knew. They would not let him die, she was certain!
“Geneva, perhaps I should get someone else!”
“Damien is doing that! Amanda, there is no one else about now. We have to hurry!”
“Oh, God, yes!”
She leapt upon the scrawny horse Geneva had brought for her even as Geneva gracefully catapulted upon her own mount. In seconds they were racing through the camp.
“Hey!” someone called. “Wait! Where—”
“We haven’t time!” Geneva responded.
She whipped her horse into a mad gallop. Amanda followed suit, and they were quickly beyond the gates and frantically plowing through the snow. Geneva managed to find something of a trail that had been trampled down, and the floundering horses found their footing again. Amanda was glad, for it seemed that they raced forever. The wind whipped her cheeks and the cold was so bitter that she could no longer feel her fingers about the reins, or her toes in the stirrups. Her heart thundered with fear.
Away from the camp, they slowed for a while. “We need to hurry!” Amanda cried then.
