His heart thrashed against the prison of his ribs. “In your Bible?”
Not waiting for more than a slight nod, William raced to the room and snatched the book, flipping through the pages as he returned. At the back, the note and a likeness slipped from the cover.
Samuel. William stilled. ’Twas her brother’s face then that she’d looked at those many times. William glanced up, his pulse running once more. Their fates whirled too fast and too close for him to find safety. She had sought the truth of her brother, and now she’d found it. God’s doing. She had sought the only man who’d known him…
Without asking permission he unfolded the letter and the words yawned before him like a menacing cavern.
Find Captain Henry Donaldson and a large reward will be yours. Bring him to me. Alive.
P.S.
William raised his eyes, staring to the farthest, darkest corner. Dear Lord…I should have known, should have seen this long ago. He could feel the disgust contorting his expression. Breathing out, he forced the emotion from his face though his mind was not yet ready to release it. Only Paul would assist himself under the guise of assisting another.
“I am a fool.” Her voice grew heavy. “I should have known that there was nowhere I could go where he would not follow.”
“What do you mean?”
Anna shook her head. “I believed coming here, immersing myself in the search for Samuel, I would escape my past—but I have only brought it closer to me.” She swallowed. “That man I saw in the street, even he knows that there are those who search for me. ’Tis proof that I can never escape. Somehow my father will always find me. I am a fool.”
“You are not.” William released the articles on the table and once again took the seat beside her. Cupping his hands around hers, he inclined his head to meet her gaze. “Your past will not touch you here. I will not let it.”
The words had not the reaction he had hoped. Anna pulled her hands from his and stood, stepping toward the fire, her back to him. The small distance between them stretched like miles of battered wilderness.
The fire spit and popped, casting warm shadows across her straight nose and long lashes. She stared, motionless, as if willing the undulating ribbons of flame to pull the fitful thoughts from her mind and turn them to ash.
He rose and stood beside her, dusting his fingers along the curls that draped her neck. “I give you my word, Anna, nothing will happen. To either of us.”
Such a lie. So easily spoken, so easily broken. He bit his lip to fight off the edge of anguish that cut through his chest. Tomorrow he would at last execute the plan he’d set in motion. The only way he knew of to end this mad hunt. To end the demon that haunted him.
’Twas then she glanced up, her eyes oceans of pleading. He ground his teeth, battling the need to grant her what she’d given him. Her trust, her future. Her very life. Would he not grant her the same when she had offered him so rare a gift? Torn, he pulled her to him, cupping her head against his chest.
In his arms, the tension in Anna’s muscles eased as her breath timed with his. “You say such lovely things.” She sighed and pulled from his embrace. “And never have I been given cause to disbelieve you.”
“As you should not.”
“I do not.” Turning her back to him she stared at the dark wood at her feet. “I have expounded to you everything—almost from the start, though not as quickly as I should have, I suppose.”
“Do not think yourself less because it took some time to trust.”
At that, she faced him, scanning his eyes with furrowed brow. “Do you?”
He reached forward, curling a hair around her ear. “Do I what?”
“Trust.”
Lowering his hand, he stilled. The spear of her words plunged through his crumbling shield. “Of course I trust you. Do you believe that I—”
“You know all of me, William. Yet I know nothing of you.” Anna’s dainty features scrunched with hurt. “What of your family—where are you from? Why do you refuse to share with me the way I have shared with you?”
He turned to face the fire, more able to clear his thoughts away from the pained stare in her ever-faithful eyes. “William.” The yearning in her voice toyed with the neglected parts of him that cried out. “I would know all of you. As you now know all of me.”
A quiet sigh escaped him before all the years of grief spilled from him like wine from a severed cask.
Turning his head, he caught and held her gaze. “My family…I told you before we were all taken with the pox.” He motioned to his face. “I still bear the scars.”
She neared and brushed her warm fingers against his cheek, examining the remnants of the battle he’d nearly lost. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”