Gift Of The Heart. Miranda Jarrett

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СКАЧАТЬ her ears. She could understand that. There were days—too many days, and nights—when she believed she wasn’t much of anything, either. “I suppose I believed you were a Friend because I wanted you to be. It made you easier to help if you didn’t belong to either side. Not that it matters now, of course.”

      He shrugged his uninjured shoulder, volunteering nothing more. Though she could understand his reticence, she wasn’t used to it in men, especially not after William, and it made her uncomfortable.

      “My grandmother was turned out of her Meeting,” she said, determined to fill in the silence. “For marrying a man who wasn’t a Friend. It was quite a scandal at the time, mostly because she wasn’t the least bit contrite.”

      “If she was anything like you, then I’m not surprised she was turned out of her Meeting.”

      Rachel looked up sharply, so ready to defend herself that Jamie very nearly laughed.

      “I didn’t intend that as an insult, either,” he said softly. And he didn’t. He remembered the girls in Meeting as dutifully demure, shrouded in sober gowns with their eyes downcast beneath their bonnets. This one, with her vivid coloring and green eyes and swinging black hair, would have shone like an irresistible beacon in their midst, and he would have followed. He’d always had a fondness—a weakness, according to his father—for worldly women; it had brought him no end of trouble when he’d been younger, before the war, and he didn’t want to consider what could happen now if he wasn’t careful.

      “I didn’t take your words as an insult,” she said quickly.

      “No?”

      “No.” She shook her head again for extra emphasis, loose strands of her black hair drifting about her face. “How could I? My grandmother was a very fine, gracious woman.”

      “Then I’m honored that you imagined I’d be like her,” he said with the perfect degree of bland politeness.

      “I did?” she asked, baffled. This man with the rifle cradled beside him on the bed had precious little in common with her peaceable, silver-haired grandmother.

      “Aye, me. If you imagined I was a Friend, and the only one of the lot you seem to know well was your paragon of a grandmother, then it stands to reason that you believed that I was a paragon, too. At least, you did until I opened my eyes and my mouth.” It had been a long, long time since he’d teased anyone like this, especially a girl this pretty, and he surprised himself by doing it now. “Mightily flattering, that.”

      “I suppose it is,” said Rachel faintly, not quite sure what had just happened. She’d rather thought he was flattering her, not the other way around, and the extra spark in those blue eyes wasn’t at all reassuring.

      Jamie took another bite of the stew while he collected his wayward thoughts. What the devil was he doing, anyway? Was it some lingering fever from his wound, or the warm food in his belly, or the hot flush on her cheeks? He was endlessly grateful she couldn’t read his mind, or she’d realize how wrong she’d been to judge him safe simply because of that grandmother of hers. Himself, he’d been born a Friend, but hardly a saint.

      He fiddled with the spoon between his fingers. “Though you flatter me, aye, you keep the advantage. You know my name, but you haven’t told me yours.”

      Rachel’s cheeks grew hot. “It’s Rachel. Rachel Sparhawk Lindsey.”

      He liked to see her blush, especially over something as foolish as her name, and though he knew he’d no right to do it, he held his silence a moment longer to savor her discomfiture. Strange how she clung to her maiden name, and stranger still that her husband permitted such a thing.

      “Well, then, Mistress Lindsey,” he said at last, “a fine good morning to you, and pleased I am to make your acquaintance.”

      Her cheeks grew warmer still. He might not say much, but what he did say seemed to disconcert her more than all of William’s grand speeches put together. Not that she intended to let him get the better of her. She couldn’t afford to do that, not for her sake or for Billy’s.

      “If you wish no titles for yourself, Jamie Ryder,” she said with determined composure, “then I can live without being called ‘Mistress.’”

      “As you please, Rachel Lindsey.” He liked the sound of the name on his tongue, just as he’d liked hearing his on her lips. He had guessed she’d be called something more elegant, more exotic, the way she was herself, but now he’d never imagine her as anything other than Rachel. Rachel, Rachel Lindsey. Rachel Sparhawk Lindsey. Lord, when was the last time he’d gone moony over a woman’s name?

      “Rachel Lindsey, Rachel Lindsey,” he said again as he let his bemusement slide drowsily across his face. “You wanted to trust me when I was dead to the world. But do you trust me now, I wonder?”

      She didn’t hesitate at all. “Not in the least.”

      “Good lass,” he murmured. “Not only beautiful, but wise you are, too, Rachel Lindsey. Don’t you ever trust me, not for a moment.”

      Then he smiled, his whole face lightening, and the sudden, devastating warmth of it was enough to steal Rachel’s breath away and her wits, as well. Oh, she was right not to trust him, and it had nothing to do with wars or Tories or long-barreled rifles. If he could do this to her when he was weak and ill, what havoc could he bring when he’d recovered?

      Swiftly she stood and reached to take the empty bowl from him, being sure that their fingers didn’t touch.

      “You will understand, then,” she said as she briskly carried the bowl back to the table and away from the tempting power of that smile, “that while you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to recover, I also expect you to leave when you’re well. If Alec guesses you were here, he may be back, and I daresay others will come, too, once they’ve heard of the reward. Hard money’s scarce in this county, especially twenty dollars.”

      She swallowed hard, longing for him to say something in return. “I have to think of Billy,” she said, hoping she sounded firm, not strident. “With William away, life is difficult enough for us as it is. Surely you must understand that.”

      Still he didn’t answer. Impatiently she wiped her palms on her apron and turned to face him again. “Surely you must see my—”

      But he wasn’t going to see anything. His eyes were closed, and he was fast asleep, the hint of his smile still lingering on his lips.

      With an exasperated sigh, Rachel collected his powder horn and bullet pouch where he’d left them beside the window and set them beside the bed. Gingerly she eased the rifle away from him and laid it, too, on the floorboards. Perhaps letting him keep the gun was not the wisest thing she’d done, but still she sensed it was in her favor. She would put off changing the dressing until morning. Sleep now would be the best thing for him. At last she drew the coverlet over his shoulders, tucking it protectively around him the same way she had when he’d been so sick.

      The same, yet different, the way everything between them had changed in little more than an hour’s time. There wasn’t any “same” left now, and the Lord only knew what would happen next.

      “Oh, Mama, is he asleep again?” asked Billy mournfully as he leaned over the edge of the loft.

      “Rest’s the one thing now that СКАЧАТЬ