Jonah's Bride Page 2

  A groan of wood. A whisper of the leather hinges. Something was opening the door. In the flickering lantern light she could see a tall shadow, a big hand nudging the door wider.

  "Grandfather?" she whispered.

  "Not in your wildest dreams." Jonah Hunter strode into the stable, dressed in a large black coat that fell to the top of his fine leather boots.

  "You." Her step faltered. "You have no right to step foot near me, Jonah Hunter."

  "After saving your life, I have every right. You owe me, Tessa Bradford. And I require payment. Now."

  "Payment?" Fear fluttered in her chest. What did he want?

  "Yes, payment." He stalked closer, all darkness and might.

  "Now? I have no money."

  "I do not require money." Still he approached.

  She shrank into the shadows. He didn't want any money? "Then what do you want?"

  "You, Tessa Bradford." His voice shivered over her like candlelight, brief but caressing. "I want you."

  Heavens, he wanted her virginity. Tessa froze. Air caught in her chest. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't speak. Did he think he could just walk in here and demand her virtue?

  "Where is your cloak?"

  He towered over her, enormous in the shadows. Tongues of weak light caressed half his face. Standing partly in the light and shadowed by the dark, he seemed more beast than man.

  Tessa's hand flew to her throat. Every instinct clenched tight in her gut. It was sensible to be afraid. Rumors of Jonah's imminent return to Baybrooke had grown to legends. Major Hunter, who had killed Indians, saved mothers and helpless babes from scalping, fought bravely for the Crown and the colonies.

  No man with eyes so dark could be trusted.

  "My cloak is wet." Her throat choked out the words, "R-ruined. F-from the wolf."

  Jonah shrugged off his cloak and swung the fine length of cloth around her shoulders. "Here, this will keep you warm. The night is cold and we have a far way to go."

  "Go? But I have my chores here." Tessa lifted her chin.

  "Then they will wait until you return." His fingers curled around the back of her neck, hot and possessive.

  The thought of touching him made panic squeeze tight in her chest She dropped her bucket, the lye water spilling into the straw at her feet. She swallowed, time slowing as her gaze focused on the wide column of his neck. A strong pulse beat beneath his dark skin. Jonah Hunter was a vital man, with a man's appetites.

  "Please." Fear beat at her heart.

  The strength of his fingers cupped the base of her skull and nudged her head back. Her gaze collided with his.

  "I need you tonight, Tessa." A flicker of light hopped across his face, and she saw a steadiness in his bold eyes. A trueness that made the uncertainty drain from her chest.

  " 'Tis not right for me to be out in the night with you, Jonah Hunter," she argued quietly. "Regardless of what you need."

  In the webby darkness, his face changed. "Then we'll make a bargain tonight. A pact between you and me."

  Outrageous. "Only the devil makes bargains."

  "Is that what you think I am?" His laughter knelled deep and rich as rum. Amusement glittered in his eyes and he did not seem so dangerous. He seemed… human.

  Tessa relaxed, felt the heat of his fingers biting into the back of her neck, smelled the horse and night scent of him.

  "Trust me. I am nothing more than a flawed man."

  She considered that. Considered him standing before her as brash as the night. "A very flawed man."

  "Deeply so." Jonah's hand settled on her shoulder. Solid. Unyielding. "Will you come?"

  The heat of his skin burned through the thin layers of wool and flannel. She would be dead if not for his steady aim. Tessa closed her eyes. Her heart stopped at the memory of him kneeling in the moonlight looking as solid as a legendary hero, musket aimed and then firing.

  He'd saved her life with those two shots. Still, Tessa was not like her mother. "I will not go with you. I will not trade my innocence for my life."

  "Innocence?" Jonah shook his head, scattering his long black locks over the stunning breadth of his shoulders. Then merry laughter filled the air. "Let me understand this. You think I want to bed you?"

  " 'Tis no laughing matter." Tessa curled her fists, ready to fight for her honor. "I will never give you that. My innocence belongs to the man who will be my husband one day."

  He only laughed harder.

  What was so funny? What could possibly be-

  Then she knew. Jonah Hunter hadn't wanted her maidenhood. The very thought made him howl with laughter. Why, he must think her ugly, like every other man in this horrible village. Shame jammed against her heart and she spun away, walking fast, blinking hard.

  "Tessa." She heard his step, felt the thud of the earth as he approached.

  She kept walking. Pain wedged in her throat. Who did he think he was? He might be one of the richest men this side of Boston but did that give him the right to hurt her feelings? Make her think a man so fine would want her?

  Well, she wasn't worthless. What she lacked in looks, she made up in heart, in loyalty. She was too good for the likes of him, fine cloak or no.

  Anger bubbled in her chest. "I am no longer a schoolgirl, Hunter, and you have no right to hurt my feelings just as you did years ago when you were a wretchedly behaved schoolboy."

  "Tessa, I know. I'm sorry." Jonah choked down his last amused chuckle. His voice came light, not teasing, but not serious either. "You are right. I was a wretched little boy."

  "And a wretched man." She paused at the well, curling both hands around the handle. Aye, she might be skinny and disagreeable and probably ugly, but she still had feelings. No man-no matter how fine the cut of his jacket-seemed able to understand that.

  A big hand covered hers. Male-hot. Possessive.

  "I am truly sorry, Tessa." Sincerity lined his hard cut face, at odds with the devil's light in his eyes. "I did not mean to hurt you. I only meant-" He sighed. "I require other services from you tonight Grab your herbs or whatever concoctions you use. My father is ill."

  Anger drained from her chest. So, he didn't want her intimately. There was no surprise in that. The old pain of not being wanted clutched at her heart. She knew that pain would show in her eyes, and she thanked the night for hiding it from Jonah's sharp gaze. How could she have been so foolish? There wasn't one man alive who'd ever shown a romantic, even a practical interest in her.

  Jonah caught the collar of his cloak and rested it on her shoulders. He stood so tall, felt so big.

  "Tessa. Will you help me?"

  "Yes." She would help anyone who was ill. How could she do less? "But Grandfather will not permit me to go until morning."

  "Damn Ely. You are coming with me now."

  "Jonah, we both know I cannot. 'Tis not proper. People will think-"

  "I don't give a damn what people think. Come with me now, and I vow to remain quiet about finding you in the forest tonight. That is our deal, our pact. Decide now, or I will wake your grandfather."

  Oh, she hated him. She truly did. Beneath the layers of tailored wool and finely woven cloth Jonah was no better of a man than her grandfather, than others who'd had power over her and used it. "Let me get my basket."

  She stormed away, fists curled in anger. Life would be different if she'd been able to marry, if she'd been free to be courted like the other girls. All her school friends were married and mothers of children.

  Foolish to feel sorry for herself. She'd not been free to marry, not with Mother so ill. No amount of sadness could change the past. Tessa snatched her basket of herbs from her own corner of the stable.

  Jonah Hunter rose above her, dark as the night, mounted high on his fine stepping horse. Even in the shadows, the animal's coat shone.

  "Hand me your basket," he called.

  She lifted it. Their fingers met. Dazzling heat popped along her skin at his touch. Such foolishness, she scolded herself. Jonah Hunter had lau
ghed at her. He would never care for a woman so plain.

  "Hurry. My father's illness cannot wait." He set the basket on his firmly muscled thigh.

  And what a thigh it was. Tessa blushed, shocked at herself for noticing.

  "Am I to walk?" she demanded.

  "No." A naughty grin tugged at his beautiful mouth. "You shall ride on the horse… behind me."

  A mistake. Even an hour later with dawn's light pink in the east, Jonah could still feel the entire length of his back tingle where Tessa had leaned shyly against him during the long ride home.

  True, she'd refused such a proposition at first, but when he would not dismount and offer her the horse and after a quarter mile walk, she'd relented. Even now, his blood felt thick from the way her slim body had rocked against his, so soft and feminine.

  Hell, he'd had enough women to know none of them should affect a man so. What the hell was wrong with him? Jonah rubbed his hands over his face, exhausted, half sick with hunger and worry. Too much on his mind, too many responsibilities, and too much guilt. He thought of the frail, sick man upstairs and his chest squeezed tight. Why hadn't one of his errant brothers written of Father's condition?

  What the hell was taking so long? He'd been twice to his father's cold bedchamber to see Tessa sitting at the old man's side, an oddly comforting presence.

  Tessa Bradford had stood for no nonsense back in dame school when he'd pulled her braids, and to no one's surprise she'd grown up into a woman no different.

  Yet he'd stood in the hallway, entranced by the lure in her soothing voice. Why, 'twas a different woman. Gentle lamplight had made her stern face kind, brushing at the softness of her cheeks and the shape of her Cupid's-bow mouth. Jet-black curls fell untamed from her cap, shimmering in the flickering light. Only angels looked so unabashedly unselfish. How could this unearthly creature be Tessa Bradford?

  She bent to her work, unaware of his presence in the shadowy hallway. Worry pinched her soft face as she smeared a pungent paste of some sort on Father's bare chest. A tart, unpleasant smell filled the room, hurting his nostrils. But Hell's teeth, he could not tear his gaze from the sight of her.

  How long had it been since he'd witnessed such gentleness? Jonah's eyes teared at the memory. It had been his mother, the gentle woman she'd been before illness claimed her. He'd been a mere boy, but he remembered the love in her hands whenever she would brush the curls from his eyes. Whenever she baked tarts small and tasty for a little boy's sweet tooth.

  The old man stirred, and Tessa Bradford brushed a gentle hand over Father's forehead. Such a caring gesture that it made Jonah's heart rend. Aye, the old man was desperately ill. They all knew it.

  "Good thing you thought to blackmail me into coming." Gentleness lived in her voice, and that surprised him too.

  "I did not think Father should go until daylight without treatment." Jonah shifted, stepped into the pool of light spilling from the room.

  "I am no medical doctor, but you're right." She stood from the bed, a rustle of homespun skirts and grace. "Your father is very ill. I have applied a poultice to his chest to help clear his lungs. I shall leave a mixture. Someone will need to tend him, clean his chest in two hours, and apply more."

  She had to tilt her face to meet his gaze. Why, 'twas a shame how fatigue rimmed those solemn blue eyes like bruises. As Tessa stepped closer, he wondered how hard her grandfather worked her and how many nights she crept alone into the forest.

  Then his gaze landed on her woven basket packed with tiny sacks and crocks and the work-reddened hands gripping the handle. Tessa Bradford, despite her disagreeable personality, worked too hard for her living.

  "Would you stay and see to it?" Jonah rubbed his brow and winced as his hand found a small bump at his temple "I have not slept the past two nights."

  Neither had she. Tessa gripped the worn handle more tightly, uncertain how to handle this man. Bigger than legend, he was, and twice as handsome. How he could turn a sensible woman's head with that pleading lift of his single dark brow.

  "Grandfather will not allow me to stay," she said now. "I have chores to tend to before meeting."

  "I will speak to your grandfather."

  "Nay. You are this man's son. You are able and strong and healthy." Her gaze roamed over the breadth of his shoulders, down the magnificent plane of his chest. My, how she remembered the feel of that chest when he'd held her. "You tend him."

  Jonah's mouth curved into a lopsided grin "I will pay you twice what you deserve."

  "You cannot buy me, Hunter." Tessa fought the urge to smile back at him. Aye, it was doubly hard fighting off his charm. "Besides, I charge nothing for my services."

  Nor was it right to charge the infirm and dying, trading pence for her knowledge of herbs and roots. But a man like Jonah Hunter, who would buy the whole town five times over, would never understand. To a man such as he, money was everything.

  "And what will your grandfather say when he learns you have all but spent the night in my home, above stairs in a bedchamber?" Wicked eyes teased her. Eyes of a man so dashing, he could take her breath away if she let him.

  "Try to charm me all you want, Hunter. It will not work."

  "And if I should try harder?"

  "Aye, go ahead. I know what you are about, you scoundrel. You are just trying to charm me into doing what you will not." Tessa lifted her chin and her basket, wondering how on earth she was to leave if his big, solid body blocked the threshold. "Your poor father, left with such a son."

  She'd only meant to tease him in return. But the light faded from his eyes and the grin from his jaunty mouth. His shoulders squared, and she regretted her words. She had not meant to be unkind.

  "I shall see you home, Mistress Tessa," he said now, formally, turning heel with military precision, all wickedness gone from his face.

  Sadness crept down her spine. She felt as if she had caught a glimpse of the legendary Jonah Hunter no one in this town knew.

  He walked away, his footsteps knelling in the cold stairway, and a lump formed in her throat.

  Disappointment Well she knew the weight of that label, had worn it around her neck for as long as she could remember. The disappointing daughter, the disappointing relation with a hand out, always needing charity. Whose work in one relative's household after another was never good enough, never fast enough, never satisfactory.

  Amazing. She and Jonah Hunter with his fine clapboard house and worldly possessions had this in common.

  As her foot lighted on the last step and the warm heat from the parlor's hearth rushed at her face, she saw him stride across the room toward her. He held something dark in hand.

  "Since you do not accept payment, then let me offer this." He held out the dark gray wool, folded precisely, the fabric so fine she took a step back. "Yours was ruined by the wolf."

  "A cloak." Tessa spoke the words with wonder, but she would not reach out. She longed to touch that fine wool. But it was wrong. " 'Tis beautiful."

  "This was my mother's." The bleak note that lowered his voice made her look up, forced her to see the emptiness in his eyes. "Not my stepmother, you remember her. But my real mother. She died when I was very young."

  "You should keep such a fine remembrance."Tessa's throat tightened. "Such a thing is far too fine for the likes of me."

  "Nonsense." Jonah shook out the folds of wool.

  Why, she had never seen a cloak so beautiful. There was a pattern of checks to the wool, so dark and carefully woven. To own such a thing would be marvelous.

  And what would her grandfather say? What would everyone else say? Wouldn't they laugh and wonder if poor spinster Tessa Bradford was holding out hopes for the man who had given her something so exquisite?

  She had heard enough taunting and cruel remarks over the years. Her grandfather would probably take the garment from her anyway.

  "You saved my life. That was payment enough." Tessa tried to smile, yet felt her chin wobble. She was no good at lying. And probabl
y no good at hiding the liking she felt for that cloak.

  "I will come by later today to check on your father," she said stiffly, forcing herself to move away from tempting Jonah Hunter and the beautiful cloak he held. "Keep him home from meeting and make sure he is warm. He must not take a chill."

  "Tessa, I warrant the cloak is old." Jonah looked pained. Even disappointed.

  Then she knew he meant only kindness in offering her such a gift, a payment for risking her grandfather's wrath and for tending his father. But she could not accept it.

  "The cloak is precious and I would love it more than anything, but it is not meant for me, Jonah. 'Tis something you should save for the wife everyone is saying you have come home to choose."

  He blushed. The wicked, outrageous rogue of a man turned pink from his collar to his ears. Aye, he was human after all. Tessa bit back a chuckle, knowing any friendliness between them was foolish. He would marry one of the pretty young girls from the village, but not her. Never her.

  Her gaze strayed to the window where daylight shone through a scattering of pewter clouds. Her heart squeezed. "The sooner I am home, the better. Grandfather is…" she paused. "Strict"

  Jonah winced and began carefully folding the beloved cloak. "I shall take you home."

  "I have no need of an escort"

  "Aye, but perhaps you will come across another wolf and need rescuing." A small light teased his eyes, but there was so much sadness there.

  Tessa looked away, refusing to see the man inside. "Do not try to fool me, Jonah Hunter. You are the wolf, and I shall do my best to avoid you."

  He barely managed a nod. There was no smile and no wicked laughter in his eyes as he continued folding the cloak. Carefully, the way a loving son might.

  "Besides, once Grandfather sees I have disobeyed him, there will be no man on this earth able to rescue me. Good day to you, Jonah Hunter."

  She turned to the door, refusing to think of the man greater than myth, the man who'd fought for the colonies, saved lives and farms with honor and courage. Everyone knew the stories, for Colonel Hunter, Jonah's father, spoke of it often enough that the boys around town lived on the stories.