Page 59 of The Winter Husband
“There’s nothing I want more.”
“I would have done anything you asked. Even put you on a ship, if that’s what it took to make you happy.”
“I’m happy withyou.”
“You’re my heart, Anentaks. I’ve known this for so long but didn’t want to scare you away.”
Her mind went bright. She touched his face to make sure she wasn’t a foolish girl dreaming.
“Say it,” she whispered.
“I love you.” He squeezed her close. “Now marry me.”
She laughed. “Wearemarried.”
“Then promise you’ll be my forever wife.”
“I do.”
His kiss tasted of maple. Those kisses multiplied and deepened until her senses fled. He stopped only to rest his forehead against hers. Laughter bubbled up between them. His was low and rumbling, she’d never heard it so free.
She kissed him again, with deeper intent. Above the sound of her own breathlessness, she thought she heard a faint explosion, like a cork popping off a bottle of fermenting apple cider. A shattering of glass and a thud followed, but she was so lost in Lucas, she wondered if she imagined it all. In her mind, fireworks were bursting into colors, like the ones she’d once seen against the night sky as a girl, when Louis XIV had returned to Paris from his castle in Versailles.
Then the pop, crash, and thud happened again. This time accompanied by a blazing heat as a lead ball whistled through her hair.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The crack of a rifle kicked Lucas to high alert. He shoved Marie to the floor and blocked her.
“Lucas!”
He pressed a finger against her mouth. Over his shoulder, he eyed the shattered corner of the window and then searched the walls until he saw a charred chip in the stone, still smoking with spent saltpeter. The shooter had aimed from the northeast side of the cabin. A padded muffle of running footsteps outside confirmed his suspicions. More than one shooter, he thought, listening. More than two.
Three men were in a killing mood.
Keep Marie alive.
He nudged her under the table, positioning his body between the woman he loved and any new shot of lead. Reaching up, he patted the tablecloth in search of a knife, found it, and brought it down to show it to her.
“Take it,” he whispered. “Crawl to that wall and keep crawling beneath the windows until you reach the bedroom. Bolt the door and hide between the bed and the wall—”
“Lucas, no—”
“I don’t know who’s out there.” Light gleamed on the steel blade. “But if one of them gets past me, don’t hesitate to use this.”
She shrank back, went pale.
“Aim for the eyes, throat, groin.” He pressed his lips into her hair. “You’re strong, Anentaks. Stay calm.”
She took the knife from his hand. He released her and rolled free so she could scramble to her knees. Tucking her skirts into her belt, she kept low and crawled toward the bedroom. Her hand slipped on the handle twice before she managed to open the door and crawl in. His heart went with her.
Only then did he surrender to his soldier’s instincts. The first shot had not been a warning. Whoever was out there wanted them both dead.
On his belly, he scooted over to seize his rifle, powder horn, and bag of shot. He slid again through shattered glass to position himself beside the ripped oilskin of the broken window. Checking the barrel of the gun, he loaded it, pulled the ramrod, and drove the powder and ball in tight. Outside, a porch floorboard creaked. He knew exactly which floorboard. He aimed the loaded gun in the space between window and shade, nudging the oilskin with the bore to see what was coming. In the twilight, he glimpsed a crouched silhouette. He raised his head to get a keener look at the enemy and paused.
“Put down the weapon and identify yourself.” He peered down the length of the iron bore to aim. “Don’t make me shoot you.”
The crouching enemy swung up his flintlock. Lucas cursed and squeezed the trigger of his own. More window glass shattered. Shrapnel scored his forehead. Outside, porch boards groaned as a weight tumbled off.
