“I feel angry when you and Victor make your little remarks about God, and those who believe. Like just before, you told me you do not believe in hell or the devil. Or now.” He nodded toward the altar. “I don’t like jokes like that.”
“We don’t mean it,” Angelika protested. “We don’t really care who thinks what.”
“I think I wake up here so often because it is a repressed urge that I cannot express in your home.”
“There’s a church in the village. You can go there.”
“A stranger suddenly appearing will only fuel gossip. They will all want to know who I am.”
Angelika could imagine the stir he would make amongst the young unmarried ladies, and their mothers. She very nearly offered to accompany him—it would be an occasion to wear extravagant outfits and hats, and to hold his muscled arm—but the offer died in her throat when she imagined her brother’s mocking. “They can mind their own business.”
“That’s not how it works in small villages. I thought you would be furious about this. We cannot tell Victor.”
“Mary is a Christian, and she lives with us. Lived,” Angelika corrected awkwardly. “She lived with us for so many years, and we let her keep her beliefs.”
“You let her. Because she emptied your chamber pots and you did not wish to do it yourself. And she was like family. I am neither family nor servant. You surprised yourself earlier, tasking me with the apple harvest. I do not blame you. I feel like I live in a crack between worlds, and sometimes I feel like I might die inside it.” He sighed, and added softly, “But when you are with me, I go quiet inside.”
“You’re family. I promise you.” She flexed her fingers on his arm. “I was telling Christopher how I feel about you. I feel like you and I are connected. Do you agree?”
The sun was setting behind them, and shadows were sliding in like the tide. With his devout eyes trained on the cross, he replied, “Yes.”
“When I made you, I imparted a lifetime of wishes into the very fibers of your being.” Angelika picked up his hand and entwined their fingers. “Your emotions pluck at a violin string inside me, and it vibrates and resonates until I feel what you feel, too. We are connected at a blood level.”
“It feels the same to me. And it scares me sometimes.” Will continued to stare up at the cross. “Because what would I do without you?”
“You won’t be without me.”
He paused, then asked haltingly, “And what would you do without me?”
“I’m a Frankenstein. I’d most likely die. Now we know what book you were searching for. I will give you my mother’s Bible.”
“That is most generous. I’d like to pray now. Would that be all right?”
“Of course.”
Angelika knew she should be looking straight ahead, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Will as he leaned, clasped his hands together, and exhaled like he was falling asleep. His lashes on his cheek pierced her heart. What sort of things did he wish for right now? If they were this connected, surely she could feel what he wanted so badly that his knuckles were white?
Angelika closed her eyes, too. On her lap, she held her own hand.
At first there was nothing; just the sound of leaves outside, a creak of wood, and an uncomfortable strain in her hip joint. There was the piglet’s faint snuffling. But when she concentrated harder, on the sound of her companion’s breathing, her own voice rang in her head.
Dear God.
The unfamiliar words startled her. Her eyes flew open, and then she tried to resettle. Will’s steady presence gave her the courage to try again.
Dear God. Please put warmth into Will’s hands and warmth into Sarah’s bedroom. Help everyone who lives here. Give the apples sweetness. Give my nature some sweetness. I know I have done such terrible things, and I should pay for them.
She had tears on her cheeks.
Help Will back to himself. I love him enough to let him go, back to his old life, if it would mean he is free of suffering.
And dear God, most of all, please bring Mary back to me safely. I need to look after her as she grows feeble, just as she did for me, when I was a spoiled little girl.
I’m trying to grow up.
Amen.
When she opened her eyes, Will was looking at her. “We are connected, because I could feel the goodness in your heart. I’m proud of you.”
He put his arm around her, and before she could ask if kissing was allowed in a chapel, it was happening. His hand was on her jaw, she smelled the woodsy musk of his skin, and now they were tasting each other.
Was this the kind of kiss he would give her at the altar, after the forever words were said? She could only dream. He was reading her mind, because his mouth smiled on hers, and she felt the soft touch of his tongue. He was safety and kindness; like a husband.
A husband who knew how to deepen a kiss, demanding more of her attention and heartbeat, reminding what he could do for her later.
He increased the intensity, until she only thought of what she would do for him.
A dark shadow fell across them, but when she lifted her lashes, the only thing she saw was gold light. She sighed, closed her eyes, and sank back into languid fantasies. In the simplicity of his cottage, she would strip down to her skin, and he could kiss her just like this, all over her body. The lick of his tongue now caused a powerful squeeze, deep between her thighs.
It happened again: everything dimmed, then turned back to gold. Maybe it was the price she would always pay for being with him, and she should take these golden moments when she could. She savored him until he shivered, and she was ready to leave the world behind for him.
The pew gave a passionate groan when they turned toward each other a little more, making them both laugh.
He said, “I think we should go home, before I do something sinful. Would you like to have dinner with me, in my cottage?”
“I would love to. I’ve been waiting for my invitation.”
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? You’ve been waiting? Poor girl.” He saw how she searched his expression now. “What is it?”
“I’m just waiting for the little bit of pain that always follows a kiss.” She closed her eyes when he put his palm to her cheek. “You’re not about to tell me that you’ve made a mistake, or that you will never be mine, or that you’re quite sure you have a family of ten children to return to?”
“No, my love.”
“Just tell me that we shall never go to Larkspur, and I can complete my scheduled wince.”
“I have been inconsiderate so many times. Forgive me.” He smiled when she rubbed her cheek further into his hand. “What would you like for dinner?”
“The cook is making vegetable pies. I’ll bring some up once I—” She stumbled on her words now. She didn’t know if she would receive scolding or praise for the deliveries she was making to Victor’s friend. The atmosphere was too delicate for her to risk, and she loved his smiling eyes so much. “Once I go home to change.”
“Oh, please, yes. I will expect a fine gown for dinner in my cottage. You recall I do not have a table? We’ll be sitting on stools at the windowsill.” He stood and offered her his hand. “You’re tired. I’ll carry you home for a while. Unless you would like to unfold your wings.”
“Lizzie’s so silly.” Angelika couldn’t hold back her smile. “But I love being her fairy queen.”
“I hope you are also mine. Here, climb on.”
She balked when he stopped at the bottom stair. “I think it would use your energy. Your life force,” she amended softly when he looked over his shoulder at her. “I would like you to explain it to me, so I won’t have this dark pit in my stomach.”
Here came that feeling that could only be delayed for so long.
He turned, composed himself, and looked at her with utter regret. “I don’t know how I can explain it, in a way that won’t make you panic.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I can handle it.”
Her attention was abruptly split, because Victor’s man was visible to her. He was against a yew tree in a shockingly effective camouflage, and his eerie yellow stare was on her face. “But don’t tell me if it’s private,” she amended to Will with the barest stutter. “Tell me later.”
“I suppose you deserve to know,” Will said as he toed gently at some moss on the stair she stood on. “And of course you can handle it. You will always be able to handle whatever comes in this life.”
“I hope so,” she said, swallowing. The hidden man’s eyes were changing, and he was beginning to look angry. He was probably starving, and she was dawdling. “But you are right, I am tired. Could we talk more once I have completed my errands, and we are inside, by the fire?”
“I feel it,” Will said to her, searching her face now. “You’re so frightened of what I am about to tell you. But I don’t want you to be scared. You should know the truth.”