Arms of Love (15 page)

“I owe you an apology,” he said after a moment. “I was . . . I was cold in my telling of my feelings the other night.”

She took another step away as if casting about for something to do. “It is of no matter,” she said in a cool tone.

Her distance provoked rather than dissuaded him, and her dismissive words were a prick to his ego that forced a wry smile from him. “I thought it a great matter.”

She had turned her back to him, so that all he could see was an escaped tendril of her golden hair at the gentle bend of her neck and shoulder.

“I must go on, Adam, despite your words . . . your decisions. I have the
kinner
to think of.” She drew a deep breath. “I will love again, if the Lord wills.”

Her words struck him with brutal force, and again thoughts of Isaac came rushing into his mind. He wondered if something could dissuade her from any future idea of marrying his
bruder
. His mind was working out consequences even while his words came unbidden. “Are you so sure of that?”

She whirled to face him, her blue eyes snapping fire, her chin tilted upward, so that the fine line of her neck was exposed to his gaze.

“
Ya
, Adam Wyse. I am very, very sure.”

He stared at her, the day in the barn following his whipping flashing with sudden clarity across his mind. “And yet a certain
mawd
told me once that a ‘first kiss is forever.’ ”

He watched the delicate flush mount in her cheeks and longed to press his mouth to that gentle heat, but then her eyes filled with tears.

“You would turn a young girl’s dreams against me . . . and you mock me yet, as we have never even had a first kiss.”

He swallowed hard, remembering her mother’s question. In truth, he had never given Lena that first kiss, and now she would have it from another. He knew he was wrong . . . knew it even before he stepped closer to her, but a sudden hunger pulsed through his veins, and he did not care to consider the outcome.

“I would never mock you, Lena,” he said hoarsely.

“Then why would you remind me of all I hoped for?”

He reached an unsteady hand to thumb a tear from her cheek, and she didn’t draw away. “Because I am wrong, most of the time in my life. Because I cannot be near you and think clearly. Because you are . . . were . . . all that I hoped for . . .” He bent his head, his words a hoarse whisper. “Let me, Lena, please . . . one kiss . . . just one . . . for remembrance, though I do not deserve it.”

She sniffed. “No, you do not deserve it, Adam.”

It was enough of a response for him, enough of an invitation, and he lowered his mouth to catch the dampness of her cheek. She let him, and he felt a stirring in his soul, like the wind before a storm. He let his eyes drift closed; he wanted to be gentle, wanted her to remember with tenderness and not regret . . .

Lena knew she should not allow what was happening, knew it in the very core of her being. She would only hurt more later, only compare his kiss with that of any other man in the future. Yet she couldn’t stop, did not want to stop. His mouth moved on hers. Tentatively she returned his kiss, breathing in the scent she knew to be Adam, and she heard him make a small sound of approval that sent shivers down her spine. She was, at once, both lost and found—the war, her
mamm’s
death, everything seemed to drift to a fuzzy haloed background as she touched him with her lips, her fingers caught in the linen of his shirt.

When he pulled gently away, she felt bereft. She looked up to find his gaze shuttered, unreadable.

“What is it?” she asked, realizing she sounded like a little girl who’d had her sweet taken away.

“Lena,” he said. “I cannot . . . You yield, and I am lost. Remember your anger toward me, for it will keep you safe.
Danki
for the kiss—our last in truth, for I cannot trespass upon your honor further.”

“You lie,” she said. She crossed her arms in front of her. “You do not care about honor, not mine, nor even your own. You used me now, and I will not allow it again, to be sure. I know you, Adam. I know that you desire me as much as . . .”

“As you desire me?
Ach
, Lena. You make me forget myself, forget everything that is noble and good.”

He swooped like some careening hawk, and part of her melted with the familiarity, the feel of him, until she realized that she was returning his savage kiss with all of the mixed-up passion in her young soul. But then, it was as if he remembered that his lips had touched hers only moments before with tenderness, and his mouth gentled. She felt his frantic intake of breath drop to a low hum of satisfaction as he pressed his mouth against hers, and she was swept away into some simmering place of sensation and yearning and . . . peace.

She drew back at her traitorous thoughts, and he let her go so fast that she nearly stumbled. He steadied her arm, and her hand slashed out with instinct, slapping his cheek hard. She drew a sobbing breath at her action, knowing she’d never before struck a living soul.

He lifted his hand to touch the spot where she’d slapped him, looking puzzled, searching, as if he saw right through her. Surely her blow, for all its fury, did not hurt him to such an extent that he should appear dazed.

“Adam.” She reached to touch his sleeve. “Adam . . . I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

He shifted his weight from one long leg to the other and stared down at her.

“All right,” he murmured. “It will be all right.” He swayed a bit from side to side, almost as though he sought to soothe himself.

Tears welled in her eyes. “Adam, I’m sorry for striking you. Please forgive me.”

He smiled then, an odd, intense look, and she felt an eerie disquiet.

“
Ya
, forget it—forget something . . .” He trailed off and rubbed at his cheek and then at his temple as if his head ached.

“Adam,
sei se gut
. . .” She frowned in frustration, wanting to break the strange moment. “Adam, come. Let us go to town quickly . . . for my father’s sake.” She reached for his hand, her palm still stinging from her attack. His fingers closed on hers in almost a desperate grip. He thumbed the soft contours of her palm, rubbing again and again at the still sensitive spot. She took an instinctive step backward as a wash of sensation flowed from her hand to her mind. He held her hand—only her hand, but it was as though he were touching her everywhere.

“Please, Adam. I think that you aren’t well. Let us go from here.”

And then he was back. She knew it by the way he straightened up and by the mocking glint that fired his former vacant gaze. “And go from here so that I can feel your every touch as we ride together, making me want and you want and we both . . .”

She felt herself flush at his insinuation and spun without a word to march back to Tim. Adam caught her hand, and she tried to pull away, but he held her with a grip as strong as steel, as soft as velvet. She turned back to face him, sparked with defiance.

He smiled down at her. “I thank you, Lena Yoder, for your concern. But I do want to urge that you gather your passions before you meet again with any other man. You seem to . . . forget yourself, and hence, I find myself caught in love’s talons.” He let his long fingers play over the hand that had struck him, the one he now held with so much care. “Even talons as beautiful as these.” He bent his head and brushed his lips across her hand.

Then he let her go and turned, walking away in silence, while she caught her breath and began to pray with fervor, his words licking like flames within the recesses of her mind.

She watched numbly as he moved to check the horse’s saddle girth before swinging himself up. Then he reached his hand down to her.

“Come, your
fater’s
fate awaits.”

Lena felt color suffuse her cheeks once more that she should so be reminded of why they traveled in the first place. She placed her hand in his, pushing aside the feeling of warmth against her chilled fingers, and mounted the horse. She longed not to have to touch his body again, but there was no help for it, and she put her hand to his side.

Then he half turned, surprising her with his rough tone. “Do not think, Lena Yoder, that there is a day that goes by that I will not remember what we were.”

Her throat burned, but she maintained her composure. “Well,” she said, “do not think that there is a day that goes by that I will not remember to forget, Adam Wyse.”

He turned Tim toward town with a mirthless laugh, and she wondered how she could ever be true to her own words.

Chapter 12

J
oseph Wyse frowned. His day was not going well. First he’d lost the sale of the mare when the pompous buyer had refused to pay the reasonable sum he was asking, and now a fellow deacon brought disturbing news.

“A meetinghouse, you say?” Joseph sipped from the coffee that his wife had provided before she’d slipped from the kitchen to allow the men private discussion.

“
Ya
.” Abel Glick nodded, so that the tip of his beard nearly brushed the tabletop. “Many of the families have relationships that go back to the time of the sea voyages here. And they say they’d feel safer in a meetinghouse, what with the danger from the local army and the British themselves.”

“We swore an oath to Britain,” Joseph said, thinking aloud. “It would be double-minded of us to swear another to a government not even won. General Washington himself has written letters since the beginning of the war requesting that negative actions taken against the
freeda
-keeping sects be halted.”

“A lot of good that has done in the past,” Abel said. “I had no
glaws
left in my windows when we were down in Philadelphia once the Sons of Liberty passed through and I hadn’t shown my support by having a candle lit and glowing.”

“That is the past, Abel. We must forgive and move on.” Joseph stroked his dark beard.

“And how do you suggest we move past the fine government of this state that no longer seems interested in William Penn’s vision of religious freedom for all? You know the government has called upon all to ‘associate’ with the revolutionary cause via military companies. If we do not, then we are labeled Non-Associators—or worse yet, Tories! Imagine a boy of fifteen, still on the farm or newly married, called upon to learn the art of military, with no regard for his family or—”

“Peace, Abel. Peace. We must look and keep to our own. And there can be no meetinghouse built. We are not of the other peace-seeking peoples. We must keep to meeting in our homes, or part of why we came here, to this place and for this time, will be lost.”

Abel had subsided back into his chair and took on an even glummer expression. “
Ach
, I fear we are lost at times already, Joseph. My own daughter just left us to marry a German Mennonite.”