Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Next harvest, this field could be waist high with wheat.

And what of him? Could he leave behind his muddy past and turn to the future? He certainly wanted to. Needed to, if he wanted to be fair to Cat. She was right; he should set her free if he couldn’t learn to forgive her. Lingering resentment was no life for her, for him, for their family.

He sighed and looked over the fields. Late morning mist rose above the muddy acres and tangled in the trees. Birds chattered and argued and sang for the pure joy of singing. It was an undeniably British scene.

Like a breath of wind that blows over the meadow and finds the exposed places on one’s skin, it caught up to him, all in a rush.

He loved this land. He loved the roll of the hills to the west. The meadowlarks in the fields. Even the fish in the pond. These were his creatures. Not by some sense of entitlement or ownership, but by history. By the love engendered by a youth spent out of doors exploring these green miles.

He had watched the sun rise over the snow of the Alps, blaze across the shining expanse of the desert, and set through the thick canopy of the jungle. But the beauty had not stirred his heart, not like this.

This was his home. His soil. He was born of this earth and would be buried within it.

A rider at the far edge of the field caught his attention. Cat, riding alone, regal as a queen. He was ridiculously glad to see her. Lifting a muddy hand, he waved. A wide arc of his arm that she couldn’t fail to see.

She was part of his home, too.

But she did not stop. Just rode on ahead in the direction of the village. Still avoiding him, then.

All at once, he wanted to see her. To try to change. To try to forgive her and move toward their future together.

“Can you finish up here?” he called to Mr. Bourne. He’d need to hurry to the house to dress in clean clothes first.

“Of course, sir.”

Jamie smiled into the morning, and went after his wife.





CAT KEPT HER GAZE AHEAD and pretended not to see her husband. It was a bit ridiculous, considering how he waved and waved as if calling in a ship from sea. But she hardly wished to speak with him this morning. She felt entirely too…unsettled by his return. Vulnerable.

Last night had been a wild challenge. Her desire for him was a force she could not control. Did not wish to control, truth be told.

But she needed to keep her distance from him until she felt more certain of her future. She was not surprised he had declined an annulment—that had been a rather far-fetched idea. But neither did she wish to be the womb he required.

In truth, the idea terrified her.

For now, she would focus on what was hers to control. She would put her attention on her village project.

She turned her mount onto the wagon path, and from there entered Abbey Lane.

Mayhem awaited her.

Or, more correctly, a number of the families awaited her by the cottages. Mrs. Harthorn was trying to keep her young boys out of the flower gardens while another gaggle of children played tag in the street. The women clustered around each other chatting.

They all stopped and waved as she approached.

“It looks wonderful, Lady Forster.”

“I cannot believe me eyes.”

“Are you sure you want to let us live here?”

Cat halted her horse and slid onto the mounting block, then stepped down to the earth. She smiled at the small crowd. Truly, she was as grateful to them as they were to her. They had saved her from a life of uselessness. A future of idle nothingness.

Looking around at their hopeful faces, her joy was a tangible thing, taking wing in her heart. “I cannot wait to show you everything. What an adventure we shall have together.”

She tethered her horse in the shade, then peeked into the empty carts on the side of the road. The vehicles had collected the families at their temporary lodgings in Nottingham that morning and would return them later that afternoon. Finally, Cat found what she wanted—the bushel of apples she had requested.

“But first, come here, children,” she called. “Who is my apple monster today?”

The brood of straggly, patchwork children surrounded her. They looked hardly better than street urchins. They were clean, however. And smiling.

Cat handed the basket to an older girl, who dispersed the apples to anxious fingers. “Let’s start in the gardens while you eat, shall we?”

She led the noisy group around back of the cottages to a series of gardens. “We have vegetable gardens and herb gardens already planted. I am told the carrots, cabbage, onions and—” she waved her hand at the other mysterious green plants “—a variety of vegetables will be ready for harvest this fall.”

The women ooh-ed and aah-ed. Cat felt wonderful, knowing these families would no longer be hungry. They would be independent, in control of their future happiness beyond the whims of men. They would not be thrown off course by—

A tall figure rounded the side of the Warners’ cottage.