“And?” murmured Ben.

“Mother and child both safe. A girl. Small but I think strong enough to survive.”

He reached for her. “You know, I think I could manage another girl,” and she rolled away, or tried to.

“Behave yourself.” She laughed and wiggled away.

“But why would I do that?”

“We’re not the newlyweds,” she said.

“Oh, but I feel like one. And so do you.”

He had her on her back and soon enough she was kissing him, long, deep slow kisses. In the dark she could make out only the shape of him, but her hands told her the rest.

“Come,” he whispered at her ear. “Come to me now and you’ll sleep all the better for it after.”

It was what he always said, even when she needed no coaxing. And he was right, she couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t deny him, or her own need. It blossomed with the touch of his mouth on her neck and the gentle bite at the curve where shoulder and throat came together.

She made a sound and he closed the space between them.

“Now let’s see,” he said. “Let’s see if I can remind you what you felt like as a bride.”

Under a setting moon two shapes swam in the lake under the falls high on Hidden Wolf. Slender and lithe in their youth and strength, they played together like otters and then disappeared behind the curtain of falling water.

In a fine bed made with linens that smelled of lavender, Callie Wilde started awake, her heart thudding.

An oil lamp cast a soft circle of light over the bed. Why had she gone to bed by lantern light? And what was this room? A carved mantelpiece with a mirror above it, a garderobe, a table covered with a white cloth on which sat a brace of good beeswax candles, a chaise longue.

And a man asleep on it. Ethan Middleton.

He was breathing deeply, shoulders rising and falling, and his face turned to the wall.

A solid, dependable man, who kept his promises. Who had married her for no reason she could see but his kindness and generosity and friendship. Because he was lonely, and had seen the same in her.

He had presented her to his family, as was right and proper, and they had welcomed her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her new husband had no brothers or sisters, but he had cousins. Cousins who loved him and would love her for his sake. They treated her as if she had always belonged, and could never belong anywhere else.

From across the room he had smiled at her, and she smiled back while the children fussed over her, bringing her dolls and toys to admire, the littlest ones climbing into her lap. Telling her stories about their games and adventures. They asked about her apple trees, and she told those few stories she had.

She had not told Ethan about the Bleeding Heart. Out of superstition. Out of fear.

The adults brought her tea and refilled her plate and asked her questions about things that interested her. Everyone took pains to make her feel wanted and welcome. Everyone except Martha, who had once been her only family and was now just one of many.

Martha sat on the other side of the room and was surrounded, just as Callie was surrounded, by children and adults. The only difference, as far as Callie could tell, was that Martha had a puppy on her lap. In fact, the children seemed more interested in the puppy than anything else.

When it came time to say good night, she and Ethan had left the horses in the stable and walked the path through the woods, down the hillside, to his house. To her new home. Just as Martha had gone with Daniel to his house in the strawberry fields.

Callie slept in a fine bed by herself. Her husband had gone to his own narrow bed cheerfully, without complaint, and fell straight away to sleep.

What had she been dreaming about, to wake in such panic? Her whole body was damp with sweat and her heart still raced, and how silly that was. She was safe and well fed and comfortable and tomorrow she would be the same, and the days after that, for the rest of her life.

She wondered if Martha disliked sharing a bed, and how well she slept in it.

Chapter XLIV

Force of habit woke Daniel at first light. Sunlight filtered through the joints of the closed shutters along with the vaguest hint of a breeze; a perfect May morning.

What came next he didn’t need to think about; every school morning looked like the last. Get up and dressed, eat whatever there was to eat in the larder, wash and scrape the bristle from his face, rinse his mouth with salt water, and head out for the schoolhouse at a trot, using that time to work through the day’s lesson plans.

In the normal course of things he would have been impatient to get back into the classroom after the long break forced on him by the flood and its aftermath. But normal had shifted on its axis, and Daniel wondered how he could best shift himself to suit.

Beside him Martha slept deeply, curled on her side away from him so that he could count the knobs of her spine. Next to her his own skin seemed so dark, and the contrast still took him by surprise. So many things about her surprised him.

There was a small whimpering and then the puppy wiggled out from under the sheet to look at him sheepishly.

“How did you get up here?”

The tiny tail thumped twice in response.

“Lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas,” Daniel reminded him. “You’ve got a basket to sleep in. Best get used to it.”

The puppy yawned and tucked himself up against Martha, unconcerned with Daniel’s tone, and clearly very pleased with himself.

He could let Martha sleep on. Write a note and go off to teach. Tomorrow would be soon enough for her to start with the younger students, he’d tell her. But it would mean leaving her alone and that went against every instinct he had, given the situation with Jemima. Short of locking her in the cellar, sooner or later Martha would come face-to-face with her mother, and the best he could do was to make sure that when it did, he was right there.