Spring Blossom (25 page)

He had not been unaffected by the intimacy
of what he had just done and now he smoothed her nightdress with
one hand, caressing her slowly from shoulder to wrist as he twisted
his upper body and lowered his head. “I’m glad you’re here, little
one,” he murmured before his lips lightly touched hers. He lingered
over the kiss as he felt her body tense beneath his chest.

But the kiss was sweet and tender, and
Margaret found her eyelids fluttering, her mind drifting from fear
into confusion as he softly teased her lips, then he kissed the
scar below her cheek. He seemed to be in the habit already of
touching her at his whim, but this was a more intimate moment than
any other in the past and, this time, she felt an intense warmth as
his body enveloped her and it was not entirely unpleasant. For a
moment, just one moment, he made her forget that she hadn’t wanted
to come here, that she hadn’t wanted to be a wife. For just one
moment…

Hunter propped himself up on one elbow. “Do
you like the house?” he asked, his hand resting lightly on her
arm.

“It’s a nice house,” she admitted
truthfully.

“Tomorrow I’ll take you out and show you the
rest of the place,” he added as his fingertips began to lightly
stroke her inner wrist. “I have a little mare I’d like you to see,
also. I’m thinking of breeding her with Pride.”

Margaret nodded dumbly, all too aware of the
slow methodical motion of his fingers. The strangest sensations
were traveling the length of her arm and she found the feeling
distracting, to say the least.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, looking
briefly at the delicate spot he was caressing. “Do you like that?”
he asked.

Startled by the question, Margaret’s eyes
dropped away from his and she took up careful study of his
shoulder. The muscles there, and along his arms, were well defined
and contoured, reminding her of hills and valleys, rolling
strengths and gentle recesses. He was strongly built and yet he
could be so gentle.

“I think you like that,” Hunter said softly,
confidently, as he watched her eyes roam across his shoulders,
chest and arms. He was greatly encouraged that, in the moment, she
appeared just a little curious. But he also knew that, without a
good deal of encouragement, she would be too timid to do anything
except look. “A touch can mean so many things, when you think about
it,” he added softly. “There’s a touch of comfort from a loved one,
a touch of encouragement from a mentor, a touch of admiration from
a husband and the touch of passion from a lover. Husband and wife
can be all of these things to one another, Maggie. I like to be
touched, too.”

Margaret raised a hesitant hand and when she
could not bring herself to touch him, he smiled as he reached for
her hand and lightly pressed it to his chest. “Your skin is soft,”
he encouraged. “How would you describe mine?”

He did not have a lot of hair on his chest,
which surprised her. His skin was warm and taunt over muscles that
had obviously developed over years of hard work. She remember the
palms of his hands as somewhat roughened but here the skin was
smooth and warm as she dared to touch him. Margaret felt more of a
sense of wonder in the differences between them as opposed to her
previous gut-wrenching fear. She would wonder later if that was a
good thing.

Margaret’s palm was soft and warm, her touch
stimulating by its very hesitancy. As she moved her hand slowly
down his arm, Hunter dropped his head, closing his eyes as he
rested his cheek next to hers. “Your touch is good,” he
breathed.

Margaret tore her hand away as if she had
been scalded, rolling onto her back before dropping her arm across
her waist. “I’d like to sleep now, Hunter,” she said firmly as she
closed her eyes and turned her head away, drowning in confusion as
her conscious mind shrieked against her softer unconscious
longings.

Hunter raised his head and smiled as she
turned away from him. He was not displeased. One brief touch could
lead to many others. His fondest hope was that he could lead her
out of her fears one step at a time until her curiosity, if nothing
else, urged her on to greater intimacies.

He supposed it was just as well, although
disappointing, that Margaret had withdrawn when she had for it did
not take much for him to become aroused by her. A mere look at her
could cause a reaction in him; a simple touch from her was far more
stimulating. He dropped a light kiss on her temple, murmured a
softly spoken, “good night, little one,” and then lay back,
silently laughing at himself. He had set himself a huge task, it
would seem; clearly he would be hard-pressed to continue with his
‘step-by-step’ plan. If she only knew how many times he had been
forced to turn away from her so as not to frighten her with the
tight fit of his britches, Margaret would run screaming back to
Treemont.

Smiling into the darkness that surrounded
them, Hunter placed his hand over the much smaller one that rested
on the bed near her hip.

CHAPTER 18

Margaret awoke the following morning to find
the other half of the bed empty, with only a rumpled pillow as
evidence that there had been another occupant during the night.
Somehow not seeing him beside her when she awoke was
disappointing.

She quickly turned her mind from that
thought, however, noting that the sun was high and she had much to
do in addition to becoming acquainted with her new home. She washed
quickly and dressed in a plain high-necked white cotton blouse and
dark blue skirt. Braiding her hair into a single thick plait as she
went, Margaret hurried down the steps and into the kitchen,
following the enticing aromas and the sound of someone humming off
key. Pushing open the swinging door, she entered the
sunshine-brightened room

“Good Morning!” Marie-Louise called
brightly, greeting her with a warm smile. She had suspended a board
on the backs of two straight-backed chairs and was ironing snowy
white sheets.

“Good Morning,” Margaret replied as she
stepped further into the room. “Thank you for your beautiful gift
and the wonderful supper you let for us last night. That was very
kind.”

If Marie-Louise took notice of how stiff and
formal Margaret appeared to be, she ignored the fact. “Ah, it was
nothing,” she replied. “I just wanted to welcome you, and I’d made
another pie for Jason and Jeffrey and me.” She twisted behind her
toward the stove and exchanged the cooling flatiron for a hot one.
“There’s coffee here, and I kept a plate for you in the warming
oven. Cups in the cupboard,” as added as she pointed to the first
door in the bank of cupboards on her left.

“You’ve eaten?” Maggie asked, collecting a
cup and looking about for utensils.

“On the table,” Marie-Louise advised with
insight. “We ate ages ago. We always get an early start around
here.”

“I’m not usually so slow starting the day
myself,” Margaret said without thinking.

The other woman hooted with laughter.
“They’ll whack you out every time,” she crowed. “Leave it to a new
bridegroom.”

Margaret blushed at the suggestion even
though she knew what Marie-Louise was thinking had never happened.
She wondered how the young woman could speak so bluntly about the
very things that caused her so much discomfort. Ducking behind
Marie-Louise, Margaret removed the earthen-ware plate from the
warming oven with the aid of a folded towel.

“Jeffrey and I have been married for nearly
seven months now, and most mornings I wish I could be slower in
starting the day. Not that I’m complaining,” she added with a wink
of her eye.

Shocked, Margaret almost dropped her plate.
She quickly sank into a chair at the table with a stunned
expression on her face, aghast to think that this behavior on the
part of men could continue with any frequency over such a long
period of time.

Marie-Louise mistook Margaret’s shock and
said, “Well, if we can’t tease each other about things like that…I
mean, sometimes women need to confide in other women, don’t you
think?”

“I don’t know…I…”

“I can talk to Jeffrey about anything,” she
went on with hardly a breath. “But it’s not the same as talking to
another woman. You’d better eat those eggs before they get cold.”
So saying, Marie-Louise set the newly heated flatiron down on the
next sheet. “And as soon as you’ve got your strength up,” she
teased, “we’ll go upstairs and unpack your things.”

Blushing yet again, Margaret bowed her head
and devoted her attention to her breakfast.

*

It took the two women a couple of hours to
organize Margaret’s belonging and tidy up the master bedroom.
During that time Margaret thought she would die if Marie-Louise
dared to say one teasing word about the rumpled bed. There was none
of that, however, as the other girl sensed Margaret’s shyness about
her new circumstances, and they got on famously.

Margaret then found herself caught up in a
whirlwind created by Marie-Louise as she prepared lunch for three
hardworking men. “The men like lots of cold lemonade and some
sandwiches when it’s hot outside, but I’ve got some soup here that
I made yesterday, and that will disappear, too,” she said as
Margaret buttered slice after slice of bread to be crowned with
layers of cheese and lettuce picked fresh from the kitchen
garden.

The soup was just steaming warm when the
thunder of booted feet announced the arrival of the three men on
the porch outside the kitchen door. Marie-Louise immediately began
to fill three large bowls with rich broth, beef and vegetables.
“Would you take them those towels?” she asked, nodding to three
folded flannels near the door. “They bring their own water up for
washing.”

Margaret was a bit dumbfounded by all the
bustle, but she took the towels and moved to the door, where she
hesitated, realizing she would have to face Hunter for the first
time that day. Taking a deep breath, she found her courage, meager
as it was, and stepped out onto the porch.

The men were all shirtless, a daunting sight
for a straitlaced young woman, and were bent over three identical
enameled basins of water that had been lined up on a low bench
against the outer wall of the house.

Marie-Louise walked to the screen door and
looked out as Margaret stood hesitantly away from the men, waiting
shyly. It was true, Margaret had seen many a naked chest around
Treemont, but she had always kept her distance. And it was not the
sight of all that flesh truly concerned her. It was her husband’s
reaction to her, in view of last night. She had wondered all
morning if he would be angry because she had turned him away. She
had lain awake for hours during the night, sorting through her
thoughts and resolving little. She had, however, managed to
acknowledge that she had liked the feel of his hands.

Hunter was the first to finish washing,
water dripping from his face and neck, running in rivulets down the
wide expanse of his chest. He turned and saw her look of
apprehension and smiled as he reached out to take the towel she
offered.

“Good morning, slugabed,” he teased and took
a couple of steps around Jeffrey, startling her by dropping a
chaste kiss on her cheek.

“Dinner is ready,” she mumbled
inadequately.

Hunter laughed as she blushed over a simple
kiss in front of others.

Jason and Jeffrey caught her attention then,
greeting her for the first time that day and thanking her for the
towels.

The meal was a noisy, hasty affair with the
men catching Hunter up on the events that had taken place during
his absence. The state was still recovering from the ravages of a
war that had taken place less than twenty years pervious, but
slowly, with patience and sacrifice, they were gaining ground. And
this farm and these people seemed to be faring well, Margaret
decided.

“Feddler fell off his roof and broke a lot
bones,” Jeffrey was saying, taking time to smile up at his wife as
Marie-Louise offered a second bowl of soup. “Jason and me have been
going over there and helping out in the afternoons. His wife’s
about due, too, and he’s hollering from his bed in fits of temper
most of the time. Marie-Louise goes over with us and gets the
supper to give poor Janie a minute off her feet.”

Hunter nodded, taking a bite of his
sandwich. “We’ll all go over for a bit today, then. The more hands,
the more we get done.”

Margaret wasn’t certain she was ready to be
thrust into local society, but she could hardly beg off when a
family was in need.

“Janie has a toddler and one on the way any
day,” Marie-Louise explained as she returned to her chair. “And her
husband is an old boss.”

Jeffrey’s spoon clattered against his bowl
and he turned his head sharply in her direction, “Marie,” he
snapped.

“Well, he is,” she insisted. “He works her
to death.”

Jason chuckled at their bickering, and
Hunter said quietly, “We’ll help her all we can.”

“You could shoot the old bugger,”
Marie-Louise returned with force.

Jeffrey dropped his spoon. “Woman,” he
bellowed.

Hunter raised both hands. “Peace, you two,”
he commanded, and they both looked his way. “We can’t change
Janie’s circumstances, Marie-Louise,” he said quietly but firmly.
“We can only lend a hand. Janie knows who her friends are if she
finds herself in dire need of help. But we have to leave that
decision to her.”

“You can’t change what she doesn’t want
changed,” Jeffrey added firmly while Marie-Louise glared at
him.

Margaret had remained silent through all of
this, astonished by the heated argument between the newly-weds.
Hunter took note of her frown and briefly squeezed her hand. “They
go on a bit, these two,” he said lightly. “I think it must be good
for them.” Amidst grumbles from Marie-Louise and laughter from the
others, everyone returned their attention to their meal.