Page 68 of An Agreement with the Soldier (Necessary Arrangements 2)

Chapter 20

John came home tired and aching from a long, hard day. He’d washed himself in the stream after work, so he sauntered into the manor with his clothing clinging to his body, his hair wet and still dripping slightly from the ends. He walked up the stairs and was about to go to his room and change for supper when he spotted the light coming from the library. John paused in indecision.

He knew that the library had become Sam’s favorite room, and she was probably sitting there, reading a book or writing letters. The image appeared in his mind’s eye, the dream he’d had since he received her letters during the war, of a blazing hearth and a loving wife reading to him. His heart constricted at the image.

Would Sam want him invading her privacy? Would she be glad for his company? He’d seen her just a few hours ago, and he’d missed her intensely, but he wasn’t certain whether she felt the same.

Having lost the battle with himself, he ventured into the room and peeked inside.

Sam was sitting curled up in a chair by the hearth, a book on her lap, her feet tucked under her skirts. John couldn’t help but smile at the vision she presented. Her hair glowed from the firelight, and her eyes danced with humor. He wondered what she was reading. He stood there silently, watching her, drinking her in, feeding off of her innocence and the peace that surrounded her in this cozy room.

After a few moments, she must have noticed him, because she raised her head and smiled up at him. Her face lit up so brightly, and she looked so genuinely happy to see him, that a deep yearning appeared somewhere in the region of his heart.

“Have you had supper already?” she asked, closing the book and keeping one finger in place, so as not to lose her page.

“No, I’m not really that hungry,” he lied. He was starving, but he didn’t want to leave her to have his supper alone.

A little frown appeared between her brows. “But you’ve worked so hard. You have to eat.”

“What are you reading?” he asked, hoping to distract her, and wandered farther into the room. She looked down at her lap as if checking the name of the book she’d been reading a moment ago.

“It’s a collection of poetry, actually,” she finally said. “I haven’t read this one before. As vast as the library at Gage House is, I still find books here I’ve never heard of before. And there’s still room on the shelves, so I can order more.”

She was speaking enthusiastically about renovating the library, and he loved the sound of that. She was settling in and feeling comfortable at his estate.

“I’m certain you are tired but… Would you like me to read it to you?” She was chewing on her lower lip, and her eyes still held that vulnerable light, as if she was afraid he’d refuse.Not in a million years.“I’ll start from the beginning, for you, I haven’t gone far yet,” she continued in a rush.

“I’d love that,” he said and settled comfortably on the floor next to her chair.

She got up, carefully stepped around him, and tugged on the bell. “First, I’ll order us some sandwiches and warm milk. No matter what you say, you have to eat.”

The warmth unruffled from his heart and traveled along his limbs. He felt a pleasant glow cover his body. Was this what it felt like to be cared for?

Sam settled back into the chair and started reading from the beginning. Her husky voice wafted around him, surrounding him with an atmosphere of peace. He sat, toasting by the hearth, his back propped against her chair, his head dangerously close to her skirts, her warmth and scent lulling him to sleep.

Shouts came from every corner. A man lunged at him and John was able to duck and throw him over his shoulder. He took the knife and plunged it into the man’s chest.

“Look out!” Ramsey yelled to him from the right. He was fighting two soldiers himself, laughing as he did so.

John turned, blocked the attack, and punched his attacker in the face. As soon as he hit the ground, John sank the knife into his heart. The blood rushed through the wound. John lifted his eyes from the knife and to the man’s face. Only the next moment, the person in his arms turned into Sam. Her eyes, full of hurt and betrayal, regarded him in horror.

John’s heart constricted in agony. He wanted to scream, but no sound would come out of his mouth. He clasped Sam’s lifeless body close to his heart, clutching at her cold limbs.

He was jerked awake when the maid entered with the tray of food, and only then did he realize that he’d dozed off. His breathing was labored, his eyes frantically searched the room for his wife. Sam stirred beside him and stood from her chair. John expelled a long breath of relief.

Sam took the tray and put it on the floor next to him. Then she collected her skirts and sat by his side, propping her back against the same chair she’d been occupying a moment earlier. John couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was just a nightmare. His Angel was with him. Safe.

She sat so close to him that her shoulder brushed against his and her skirts were tucked against his knee. The small brushes, her warmth giving him comfort. He looked at her, mesmerized by her beauty, kindness, and spirit, wondering whether this was truly his life. How had he gotten so lucky?

She smiled at him and tilted her chin toward the plate. “Eat, I’ll keep reading here.”

He proceeded to do just that, nestled in the feeling of joy and peace. It was as if all his dreams about a peaceful life had finally materialized. And the nightmares? As long as he ignored them, they were bound to disappear.

* * *

The next few days proceeded in much the same way. John would come home to find his wife nestled in her chair, waiting for him with sandwiches, a glass of warm milk, and a book. She wasn’t picky, so she read poetry, romance, gothic books, and even scientific encyclopedias. He didn’t care what she was reading as long as she was the one reading to him. He loved her voice. It was sweet and husky, full of wonder.

He loved looking at her too. Sometimes she curled up on her favorite chair, tucking her feet under her skirts, leaning against the back of the chair with a book in her lap. Other times she sat with him on the floor, leaning against him. He preferred the latter most of the time. But sometimes he enjoyed seeing her across from him, her hair glowing in the light of the fireplace. That way, he could see her entire face, the way her eyes glowed with humor when she read something funny, the way her throat rippled on a swallow, and her lips parted softly when she read something that disturbed her. He loved everything about those evenings, and he tried to spend as many with her as he could, even if he was too tired and lacked sleep.

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