A Wild Yearning (35 page)

A weak smile trembled on Delia's lips as her eyes drifted closed. Ty turned around to Meg, who hovered in the doorway,
a
wide-eyed Tildy clinging to her hand. "Does your father have any rum or brandy in the house?"

Meg's head jerked. "Y-you mean the big bottle of medicine?"

"Yes. That's probably it... Bring a mug, too. And put some water on to boil."

Meg came back with a brandy bottle and a noggin. "Take Tildy and wait out in the keeping room. Shut the door." Ty held a nogginful of brandy up to Delia's lips. "I'm going to make you good and drunk, Delia-girl."

Her mouth curled into another smile. "You wouldn't be tryin' t' take advantage of me, would ye, Tyler Savitch?"

Ty's throat closed up. He couldn't answer her; he couldn't even smile.

In spite of her protests, he relentlessly poured the brandy down her throat until she was close to passing out. He cleaned the gash thoroughly before sewing it up with a bone needle and a piece of the sheep gut that he carried in his physician's bag for such a purpose. She whimpered only a little as he did it, although she was still conscious. He spoke to her while he worked, telling her she was the gutsiest wench he'd ever known.

With Meg's help, he found Nat's hoard of pigtails—the small, twisted ropes of tobacco used for smoking and chewing. He opened the twists, picking apart the tobacco leaves. These, combined with some puffball fungus he had in his bag, would act as an astringent. He packed it all around the cut, then wrapped her thigh with a bandage made from an old torn sheet. When he was finished he stood above her, looking down with an unconscious scowl on his face.

Her golden eyes glittered brightly back at him, glazed from a combination of the brandy and the pain. "Don' ye start shoutin' a' me, Ty," she slurred.

"We'll discuss your carelessness later," he said sternly.

"'Twasna my fault... Shouldn't ye be wi' Hannah?"

"She had the baby an hour ago. It's a girl."

"Oh, tha's nice. I wish I could have a baby." She added something that sounded like "your baby," but he couldn't be sure, she had slurred the words so.

He eased down carefully beside her on the bed, positioning her so that she leaned against his chest, her hair spread over him like a black lace fan. He wrapped one arm around her waist, his hand resting on her stomach. He felt her sigh.

She peeled his hand off her stomach and held it out, matching her slender white fingers to his long, dark ones. Suddenly she erupted into a drunken little giggle. "Ye have magic hands, Ty. Since the first, I felt those magic hands an' I fell right in love wi' ye, wooden-headed fool tha' I am."

Uncomfortable with her words, with the frightening feelings they evoked within him, Ty's fingers closed around hers. He brought their clasped hands back to her lap and changed the subject. "Your leg's going to hurt like hell for a few days. You'll have to stay off it. Maybe I'd better send someone to fetch Nat back."

She stiffened in his arms, twisting her head around. "N-no, Ty. Don' do tha'. Don' send for Nat. Pleassse."

Ty felt cold with sudden dread. She could expect Nat to give her what-for over her carelessness, but fear of a scolding didn't provoke that sort of panic in a wife. Unconsciously, his arm tightened around her and he brought her closer against him. "Delia, why are you so afraid of Nat? Does he beat you?"

She slung her head from side to side, bouncing against his chest. "No, no... Da used his fists on me alla time. Not Nat. He never so mush as touches me." Her ragged laughter ended on a hiccup. "Nat don' touch me a-tall."

He stared into her face. Her tawny eyes impaled him, piercing his heart.

"Nat don' love me, Ty. He still loves his wife. An' ye don't love me. Nobody loves me."

He could feel her heart trembling beneath his hand. His own chest rose and fell, rose and fell. The movement fluttered the ruby-faceted strands of her hair. Her skin was so pale it was almost transparent. Her lips... her lips... Ty's head dipped; he had to taste those lips...

"Why don' ye love me, Ty?"

His mouth hovered, but didn't fall. He was so afraid, so goddamn afraid. "Ah God, Delia, I—"

...
do love you.

The words, although they caught in his throat, resounded in his heart.

Delia opened the door onto Ty's dark and scowling face. He stood before her, looking incredibly handsome and overpoweringly masculine in his fringed hunting shirt, open almost to the waist, and his tight buckskin breeches and knee-length boots.

"What the hell are you doing up?" he demanded.

As always the color leaped to her face at the first sight of him; there wasn't a thing she could do about it. To cover her consternation, she wet her lips with her tongue, drawing his eyes to her mouth. "Oh, Ty. I couldn't stay in that bed another minute. And, besides, Nat's due home this evening and I'm way behind with my chores."

His eyes remained fixed on her mouth. Then his jaw clamped tightly shut, his brows lowered, and his scowl deepened. With no warning, he swung her into his arms and headed for the bedroom. It always felt so wonderful being held, being touched by him. For the briefest second she let her cheek fall against his broad chest. The rough linen of his hunting shirt was warm and smelled like him.

Damn the man.

"Ty, put me down!" she cried.

"In a minute."

She suspected from the stiff way he held her that he might have wanted to dump her on the bed like a sack of turnips, but he laid her down gently. He pressed his hand against her forehead. "Damn it, Delia, you've got a fever."

"I'm only hot because it's so muggy today." She pushed herself up on her elbows. "Ty, I've got a million things—"

He pressed her back down. "Nat won't be home this evening. There's a bad storm brewing, a nor'easter by the looks of it. The sloop won't have set out with weather like this on the way."

Delia looked out the window. It was true that black, ominous clouds were piling up overhead, their low bellies snagging on the distant hills. The air smelled salty and damp, of the sea and rain. The wind whipped through the trees in intermittent gusts, making a low moaning sound that drowned out the sifting noise coming from the barn where the girls were winnowing the grain their father had threshed four days before.

Ty cupped her chin in his hand and turned her head. "I want your word you'll stay off that leg again today."

"But—"

He put his fingers against her lips. His touch was warm and soft. Delia stopped herself just in time from pursing her lips and kissing them. "Your word, Delia."

She nodded slowly.

His hand fell, leaving her lips feeling naked. "Now tell me what chores you have to do and I'll do them."

Her eyes rounded in disbelief. "You'd do women's work?"

His mouth slanted crookedly. "For you, I would. Only don't tell anybody or I'll never live it down."

She lay in bed while he did her work, drifting in and out of sleep, lulled by the sound of his voice speaking to the girls. She'd never had this luxury before, having Ty in the same house with her. Once, he brought her a cup of mint tea. He sat beside her on the bed, drinking with her, and they talked. Not about anything earth-shattering, but Delia knew she'd never been happier.

A storm struck with violent fury late that afternoon.

It had grown dark and the wind began to blow harder and steadier. It made a mournful wailing sound as it whistled through the eaves. Suddenly the rain poured down and the wind caught it, flinging it like buckets of water against the house.

Delia got out of bed, limping over to the window to pull the shutters closed. As she did she saw Ty coming back from putting the mares in the barn, running across the yard in his long-legged stride. The rain slashed down in sheets of black water, instantly turning the clearing into mud.

She hurried through the keeping room, hitching her stride to favor her wounded leg. Delicious smells wafted from the direction of the hearth and she cast a passing smile at the girls, who were setting the table with Mary's fine pewterware.

She met Ty at the front door as he was cleaning his boots on the scraper. The rain had plastered his shirt against his body, detailing the contours of his muscles. Water fell in rivulets down his face from the soaked tendrils of his dark hair. His eyes glinted silver-blue in the weird half light.

"You're soaked!" she exclaimed, laughing and repressing the urge to brush the wet hair from his eyes.

The creases beside his mouth deepened with his grin. "That wind out there is strong enough to lean on," he said, panting.

He slouched against the porch wall to pull his boots off so he wouldn't leave muddy pools on the floor that he had cleaned and sanded for her. She couldn't help noticing how his wet buckskins clung slickly to his slender hips and long, lean thighs, seductively revealing... everything.

"Take that shirt off before you catch a chill," she said, pretending to scold to cover the thudding of her heart. "I'll dry it by the fire while we eat supper. You are staying for supper, aren't you?"

He tossed another grin at her. "Damn right. Since I fixed it."

"Hunh. From the way I heard it, you had poor Meg and Tildy doing most of the work."

He peeled off his wet shirt as he padded in his stocking fee into the keeping room. Her eyes fastened onto the sight of his broad, smooth back, tapering to a narrow waist and tight buttocks, and her insides felt warm and melting. "Oh Lord above us..." she prayed on a sigh.

Normally supper was the lightest meal of the day, but Ty and the girls had prepared a feast. Roast turkey, succotash, bake kettle biscuits, and for dessert a blackberry pie. He sat opposite her at the table, with a blanket draped around his shoulders. The firelight bronzed his bare chest and struck golden lights off his rich brown hair.

She watched him as he speared a piece of the turkey with the point of a knife. "I'm sorry we don't have one of those newfangled eating tools like they have up at the Bishops'."

His lips curled up as he chewed and his eyes smiled. "Don't you like my cooking?" he asked when he noticed she wasn't eating.

"Oh, no, it's delicious, Ty."

"I made the biscuits!" Tildy proclaimed.

"You did not," Meg countered. "
I
made them. You only stirred the batter a few times."

Delia put a biscuit smeared with molasses into her mouth. "Mm-mm," she crooned, rolling her eyes. The children laughed. Ty laughed, too, and a warmth uncurled deep within her stomach at the rich, throaty sound.

But she was too excited to eat. She had dreamed of such a moment hundreds of times—sitting across the table from Ty of an evening, sharing a meal and talking of the day's events, with the chatter of children to interrupt them.

"Did you hear that it's official, Ty—Anne Bishop's going to be Merrymeeting's schoolmaster," she said.

"Thanks to you." He gave her such a warm smile that she blushed. "Bringing you here to Merrymeeting was the smartest thing I ever did."

Delia's cheeks pinkened even more with pleasure. "Anne's really the one who's doing it all. She's starting the lessons up after the harvest. In her library."

Ty's eyes danced. "I also heard that Sara Kemble promised to write the authorities in Boston and inform them that our new schoolmaster is really a
mistress.

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes. Whereupon Obadiah threatened to take a switch to her if he so much as caught her looking at paper and quill." They all laughed at the picture of the diminutive Obadiah going after the huge Mrs. Kemble with a switch.

Ty wouldn't let Delia clear away the dirty dishes, ensconcing her instead on the settle with her leg propped on a cushioned stool. With the girls' help, he soon had the keeping room set to rights and they all joined Delia around the fire.

Tildy crawled into Ty's lap. "Tell us a story about Goosecup."

"Goosecup?" Delia asked, smiling.

"Glooscap,"
Ty said, correcting the mispronunciation. "He's the giant who came down from the sky in a stone canoe to people the land on the edge of the sunrise with men and animals."

"Go on with you!" Delia scoffed.

"Oh, but it's true," Ty said, looking as if he truly believed it. "Once, in the days before the light of the sun first touched the earth..."

Under the guise of listening to the story, Delia openly watched the animated face of this man she loved so much. She let his soothing voice wash over her as he spoke of the giant Glooscap, who with his magic belt of wampum could change himself into any form; of the great battle he fought to save the
I
Abenaki people from the rule of his evil brother Malsum, another giant with the head of a wolf; and other strange spirits: Keskum, the frost giant; and Wokwotoonok, the north wind giant, who was even now unleashing his fury on the world outside their snug little clapboard house. She watched him and she thought: when he marries and has children of his own, this is how he'll be. Oh, how she envied the woman who would come to know the joy of living with such a man.

She realized with a start that Ty's voice had slowed and faded. "And there," he said, low and soft, his eyes locking with hers,
"kespeadooksit...
our tale ends."