William stared, his eyes lost as if he were still in the wood. “Not in this life it would seem.”
A rolling sensation tumbled down her middle. Vengeance was God’s. Somehow they must take comfort in that. She sent William a sidelong glance. The light of the flames cast angled shadows along his profile, and not for the first time, he reminded her of Bernini’s David—the creased forehead, the determined lines in his jaw.
She looked away before he could feel the weight of her stare. “You did all you could—”
“Did I?”
Anna turned only her head to him. “Will you keep up this dangerous pursuit?”
He questioned her with a look.
She swiveled toward him. “That innocent boy was killed because he was smuggling. The same could happen to you.”
William’s eyes narrowed. “We have discussed this matter before.”
“Aye, but not since a young child was murdered.” She stood and turned away from the light of the flame. “If you were to die and if I were forced to return to England—”
“I have already given you my word. Is that not enough for you?” The chair scraped along the floor, indicating he stood. “I will not abandon the fight simply because you choose to cling to your fears.”
“Choose to?” She spun around. “Do not I have a right to be afraid?”
“When we married I made a vow to provide and protect, which I have done and will do. Always.”
She spun to the fire once again, praying he didn’t see the moisture in her eyes. “I do not wish to argue.”
The logs popped, their tiny sparks singeing the swollen places of her heart. This marriage was meant to protect her, not leave her a widow in a strange land. Yet the strains that played in her chest were not from that threat alone. She knew from whence they came, but she refused to believe it was true.
You love him, do not try to deny it. She’d even spoken as much aloud. Closing her eyes, Anna yearned to crumple the memory from her mind and watch it curl to ash in the fire. The moment the words had left her mouth, he’d changed. No longer near and warm, but distant, like the sun on a winter’s morn—present, but ever so far away.
She shook her head and continued on. “’Tis true that my concerns of being discovered are never far from my mind.” Anna braved a look behind and caught his gaze. “But you must know I fear for your safety, William. For no other reason than my desire for you to be well.”
William looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb against his forefinger. “There is more at risk than simply my welfare and yours, Anna,” he said, looking up. “People yet to be born will thrive in this liberty we now hazard to give. ’Tis a freedom we have never known.”
Anna turned the ring against her finger, studying how the orange flames turned the brown log to black. She looked to her husband, praying he detected the concern with which she laced her words. “You would give your life for such a thing? Something you cannot even be sure will be realized?” She scowled, staring at the ground. “That boy is dead. His future is no more. His parents will learn of his passing and grief will become their companion for the rest of their days. Will they believe his death was worth the pain once they realize this war is waged for a lost cause?”
William sat back against the chair, not looking to her as he spoke. “You believe the cause is lost? I tell you, it is not.” ’Twas then he turned to her. “Liberty will be the victor.”
Deep within, a swelling began. ’Twas so foreign, Anna stopped breathing to detect its origin. “So you will keep on? You all will keep on, though one of you may be killed?”
“I will keep on at any cost, Anna. I am driven, as all patriots are, by the image of our children—”
Anna froze, his words gripping her motionless. A cutting silence slashed between them. She dared not look at him for the tears that burned behind her eyes. Seeking refuge in the dark of their room, she darted for the door.
William reached out, gripping her arm with firm but tender fingers. “Anna, forgive me. I didn’t mean to pain you.”
“Nay, ’tis I who am to blame.” She lowered her tone, hoping the hollow resonance would dispel the hurt from her voice. “Had I told you before we took our vows, then you would have been able to choose a different wife and have the joy of a posterity to fight for.”
She felt the warmth of his stare upon her, but still she hadn’t the strength to look up. Her middle pinched with grief and her knees threatened to buckle. “I am tired.”
She turned to leave but the grip on her arm tightened and William’s voice warmed her like the fire in front of them. “I cannot let you go. Not until you are assured I meant no harm.”
Of course he had not. But her bare womb would haunt her, and therefore him, until the day they left this world for the next. She’d endured the pain of this curse since her youth, but he had only just learned that he would never father a child.
Her courage began to lose its grip on the cliff of her grief, the weight of pain pulling harder, but she clung tighter, finding the strength to lift her eyes and meet his gaze. When she did, the pity she prepared to find was not there at all, but something she couldn’t name. Compassion? Tenderness? Whatever it was seemed to reach from his fathomless blue eyes and twine around her wounded spirit, bandaging it with the kind of caring she’d never known.
Releasing his fingers from her arm, he reached to her cheek but pulled his hand back before his skin brushed hers. “When I accepted you, I accepted everything—the known and the unknown. I must be prepared for anything must I not?” The last of his words lacked warmth, as if the coals of his charity were extinguished before he’d finished speaking.
Truth, but still it pained, for his words said more than the mere syllables he’d spoken.