She pressed to his side now, her eyes absent the tempest they so often showed but luminous. “We had better hurry home.”
He nodded and then nodded again at his parents, waiting behind Gwyneth for him to lead the way from the pew.
Already the streets outside were teeming. Families in their Sunday best spilled from every direction, all in a rush. The men Thad knew to be designated couriers tore by on horseback. And from somewhere in the distance, the drums took up their cadence, calling the men to arms.
His blood pulsed in time to each beat. By the time they reached home, it seemed the world must pulse with it too. Each footfall, each galloping horse. The creak of each of his floorboards, the click of their bedroom door.
Until Gwyneth’s arms came around him. Then the noise faded, and there was only her. “Oh, sweet.” He held her close, closer still, until he could be sure that his nose would remember her scent even when gun smoke burned it. Until he could be sure his ears would remember the sound of her breathing even when deafened by cannon fire. Until he could be sure her vision would fill his eyes even when horror rose before him. “I love you.”
“I love you.” Her fingers trailed up his cheek, into his hair, urging down his head.
How many times had he kissed her now, in their three weeks of marriage? Too many to count, but not nearly enough. Never enough. Yet none of them had felt like this. Filled not so much with passion as with prayer. Not so much with desperation as with dedication. Their lips touched, held, caressed, and filled him with a strange sort of peace when she lowered back down from her toes. A kind that made him wonder how he would have had the strength to go to his rendezvous point for his rations and ammunition if she were not there, were not his wife, had not given him that very kiss.
“Gwyn—”
“Hush.” Her eyes were still closed, her arm still resting against his chest. “I am giving you over to the hands of our Father.”
“Ah, well. I certainly do not want to interrupt that.”
She moved her lips in silent words. Then she fixed her gaze on him and rubbed a hand over his heart. “He will bring you home, safe and well. I know it.”
He had no desire to argue, especially now, with the peace eclipsing the dread that had filled him for days. Reaching for her hand, he nodded. “I had better change into my uniform.”
“I know.” She moved aside to let him, watched him draw out the dark blue jacket he so carefully brushed clean every night, the brilliant white straps that would crisscross his chest, the matching breeches and tall black boots she herself had polished twelve hours before. He heard the whoosh of the down-filled mattress as she sat upon it. “Darling?”
“Hmm?” He shrugged out of his best jacket, the one he had worn for their wedding.
“I think I am with child.”
He paused with one foot raised to remove his shoe and then hopped around so he might look at her. He told the bubble of joy threatening to burst through him to be reasonable. “You cannot possibly know that so soon.”
Her grin said otherwise. “I know I cannot be certain, but there is logical hope for it, and more besides. I had a dream last night that I was.”
The bubble nearly choked him. It made him want to laugh and shout. He lowered his foot before he fell. “We both know dreams are most often only—”
“I choose to believe, Thaddeus.” Her smile was sure, bright, and her eyes sparkling with mischief. Daring him to argue.
As if he wanted to. He strode unevenly to the bed and scooped her up, spinning her around. “Then I choose to believe with you.”
Laughing, she slapped him on the shoulder—after, that is, a longer, more exuberant kiss. “Put me down before you trip and finish getting dressed.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” He planted her back onto the bed with another kiss and made quick work of changing. “Promise me you and my parents will do exactly as we planned. You will stay here and keep the house locked tight. If by chance you must evacuate, we will meet up at the inn in Randallstown.”
“I know. We will. And you…” She hesitated and then sighed. “You have sent the information to the congressman about my uncle?”
He nodded, flexing the hand that had cramped after so much writing. “He will see it reaches the authorities it needs to. No matter the outcome of this battle, sweet, justice will find him. Thanks to your father.”
“And to you.”
He shrugged and put his hat atop his head. Part of him had wanted to keep the evidence against Gates to himself, to see firsthand that justice would be done. But that whisper in his spirit had chastised him for his pride, and he had handed it over to Arnaud to deliver to Tallmadge yesterday.
From the street below he heard a familiar shout. “Jack and Alain are here. I believe we have a few apples left yet, which ought to help you keep the little rapscallion in good spirits.”