Chapter 20
Peter had returned from his morning preparations for the day’s activities expecting to find Ana in her bedchambers, but he was surprised by its vacancy.
Instead, she was taking her breakfast at the well-worn table in the kitchen with Elena and Mrs. Thompson.
Perhaps it was not seemly or traditional, but it brought her happiness.
Peter would never correct her after hearing her laughter light the place as she visited with her friends.
“Mrs. Thompson, Elena, may I be permitted to steal my wife away from you?”
“I suppose,” Elena whispered, her pronunciation crisp and rounded and her eyes twinkling with amusement. She rose and helped Mrs. Thompson clear away the dishes as Peter led Ana from the room. Their hands joined as they climbed the stairs together, approaching his bedchamber.
Her new, fruity scent still perfumed the air around her, much as it had yesterday. He breathed deeply. Had she always smelled so enticing?
“Ana? What is that smell?”
She cocked her head and placed a hand on her cheek. “What smell you speak of? The breakfast?”
“No . . . your smell.”
“Oh!” Ana blushed, her fingers brushing along her wrist as if feeling the remnants of the perfume. “It is a perfume of Elena’s. She had some from Espana that her abuela made especial for her. You like it?”
Peter chuckled and nodded vehemently. “It smells quite welcoming indeed. What is it made of? I’ve never encountered such a perfume before.”
“La granada de Espana. It is a fruit como this size.” She cupped her palms together in a shape that was considerably larger than an apple.
Peter shook his head and shrugged as he helped her take a seat on the chaise across from his bed.
“It is red and has the delicious, juicy seeds inside.” Her lips were quirked to one side, and her nose was scrunched in concentration. Peter nearly kissed that nose. His wife was entirely adorable. Even if she was hard to understand.
“Let me think back to the fruit I ate in Spain. It was all quite delectable, of course.” Peter tapped a finger to his chin. What fruit had large, juicy seeds? It could not be mango or papaya . . . “Ah! Pomegranate!”
“Sí, eso! Pom-e-gran-ate,” Ana sounded out, her face beaming. “Me gusta mucho. It is so nice and reminds me of my country. I am so happy Elena was so kind to give it to me.”
“I happen to have a few more things that may remind you of your beloved Spain,” Peter said, unable to school the grin that spread across his face.
“De verdad?”
“Sí. Just wait one moment and I’ll go fetch them.”
He stepped into his dressing room and grabbed his knapsack, pulling from it a large fabric package. “The one victory that I did manage in London was recovering a few things left in Spain. I thought I recognized a few of your belongings . . . and your father’s.”
Tears instantly filled Ana’s eyes, causing their near-black depths to sparkle in the light.
“Darling, don’t cry. You haven’t even seen what I brought you yet. For all you know, it could be a broken shoelace.”
“I do not care what you bring me. I only care that you feel it was so important to remind me of my country precioso..”
Peter held out the knapsack, expecting her to grasp at it with eager hands, but she pushed it aside, instead reaching for him. Her short arms wrapped around him as she touched her chin to his chest, tilting her face up to him as tears trickled down her cheeks.
“Gracias, Pedro. Muchísimas gracias.”
She then rose on her tiptoes, puckering her lips, their rosy bow and curve enticing him.
Peter more than happily obliged, lowering his lips to hers in a quick, innocent kiss .
. . which turned into a number of quick, innocent kisses.
And although they were brief, they still sent sparks coursing down Peter’s spine.
The flush that rose on Ana’s cheeks and neck indicated that she had enjoyed them as well.
His wife was beautiful. But she was downright irresistible when she was freshly kissed.
He helped Ana to settle onto the sofa once again and joined her as they sorted through the knapsack.
Her clothing hadn’t been recovered, and neither had her father’s, but he’d managed to gather a number of items that he thought would be valuable: A collection of maps and journals in various languages, tied with a strip of thin leather, a quill still pressed between some of the pages.
A well-worn Bible, its Spanish wording long-faded from the front.
A length of black Spanish lace pinned with a single pearl earring, carefully preserved from the dusty, day-to-day life of a siege.
Perhaps they had been her mother’s? Her father’s pistol, dented and empty but still preserved with intricate carvings of Spanish flair.
His war medals that had been attached to his formal uniform.
It seemed the jacket itself had been confiscated, but the medals had been sent along in hopes of finding his remaining family with the rest of the items. Lastly, he had recovered a miniature of Ana and her mother—a rather outdated one.
Ana had still been a child. He wondered why she would insist upon carrying such an old painting with her.
When he’d been questioned regarding his claim to the items, he insisted that he had connections to their family members and would ensure that the treasured items reached them.
It had seemed believable enough, apparently.
And Ana was certainly mighty pleased. She had pressed each of them to her heart, if not her lips.
She touched the Bible reverently, tears welling in her eyes.
The lingering, wordless looks that she sent Peter throughout the process would be seared in his memory forever.
It was not just gratitude that shone in her eyes but peace. Healing.
Peter reached for the Bible that still lay on her lap.
“I was particularly eager to recover this one. I know it may not have been your father’s, but I thought that we might take up our studies of the holy word together. It would help bring us some peace, I hope. And perhaps it would even prove an aid to my sorry Spanish.”
“I love this idea so much,” Ana said, “What a privilege it be to study with you.”
“Well then, it is settled. I have made a habit of reading in the mornings. Unless another time would please you?”
“Está bien, if I still take my siesta later,” Ana said with a smile, humor shining in her eyes.
“Of course, I wouldn’t deny you of your precious siesta. You are doing a hard work, carrying and growing this little child.” Peter nodded at her growing form. “Now, I hoped that today we might celebrate some of the traditions that we missed while I was gone in London.”
At his words, Ana leapt to her feet and hurried to the door that adjoined their rooms.
“Do wait, before it starts—I as well have something for you. A gift of la Navidad even if it may be un poco tarde.”
“Ana, you needn’t gift me anything, really.”
“But you have given me so much.” Her voice cracked, and her still-wet eyes filled with tears again.
“You have given me todo. I don’t know how to thank you for how you save me.
But I can give you sorpresas . . . surprises and presents.
” She giggled and sniffed hard at her tears.
Her roundness bumped into the door’s edge and she laughed harder now, the sound echoing in her rooms. Clearly she was not used to her growing shape.
Peter felt a rush of pride filling him like a deep breath after a long training exercise.
It took his breath away. She took his breath away—even if he had to remind himself time after time that he was not properly the father of the babe growing inside her.
Just when he thought Ana could not look any more stunning, she started to show lovely signs of becoming a mother.
He would have to be careful, as her rounded, growing figure was one that he found to be most alluring.
Perhaps they would be having many more children than he had intended.
Peter chuckled wryly. It was shocking how comfortable he felt with the notion of becoming a father, even repeatedly, when he had discounted the possibility from his future for so many years.
He would simply have to avoid pondering what he and Ana would have to do to ensure that more children were born into their family.
He pulled at his waistcoat, all the layers he was wearing suddenly feeling quite restrictive and much too warm.
A moment later, Ana returned, her eyes bright, and her hands hidden behind her back, revealing her rounded middle in a most advantageous manner.
“This regalo is not only for you.”
“Ah, did you buy a present for us both?” Peter smiled more widely, his imagination already expanding as wide as the sky.
“Para mí, no. It is for you and for our child also.”
“Children,” Peter added, feeling strangely bold as he settled his hands on her waist.
“Sí, children. Hijos.” A reddish blush raced up her neck and cheeks, begging him to kiss the flushed surfaces. She squeezed his hands and then raised them up in front of him, palms upward.
“I am even more excited to receive it than before.”
“Cierra tus ojos.”
Peter obliged, shutting his eyes. Pressed into his hands were a number of oddly shaped objects that felt strangely familiar. “Are these . . .” He couldn’t keep his eyes closed any longer.
Knuckle bones and dice. One of his favorite childhood games.
“How . . . how did you know?”
“Mrs. Thompson. She tell me how you and Matthew love so much to play this game como ninos.” Ana’s eyes shone with pure contentment.
“I truly don’t remember the last time I played. It’s been ages.”
“I also have some wooden toy solderos, and a ball-and-cup. Se dice así?”
“Yes, that is precisely what it’s called.” Peter shook his head, boyish excitement coursing through him. “I haven’t the slightest idea how Mrs. Thompson remembered.”
“She remembers this because she loves you, Pedro.”
Peter suddenly found himself with a most annoying lump in his throat, blocking his even breathing and causing tears to rise to his eyes.
He blinked hard before they could fall down his cheeks.
He knew Mrs. Thompson cared for him, as did the rest of the staff.
But this was physical proof of the fact, reminding him, once again, that he could find happiness here.
That he did belong in Abbeygate. He rubbed a finger over the smoothed wood of the knuckle bones and imagined playing and laughing with his own children much as he had with Matthew so many years ago.
“This is the first Christmas present I have received in more years than I can remember. And I couldn’t have asked for a more meaningful one. Thank you, Ana. I so look forward to introducing these games to our little ones.”
“De nada, querido.”
Peter rested a hand on Ana’s cheek, his thumb stroking against her lovely, defined cheekbones.
Her eyelids fluttered in response as her gaze lowered to his lips.
He closed the distance between them in an instant, covering her lips with his.
The sweetness of her lips was a taste Peter would never tire of.
Each time, he found it increasingly difficult to pull away and slow the desire that was being stoked to a raging fire within him.
But for now, he kissed her slowly, patiently, hoping that he could thoroughly convey his thanks.
The curl of her smile beneath his indicated that he did.
He trailed kisses down her cheek, in search of that sensitive spot behind her ear that he had recently discovered made her giggle.
But then she pulled away, quirking her mouth to one side and blinking rapidly as she often did when she was thinking hard on a matter.
“What is it?”
“You never celebrate la Navidad in la armada? You never receive any regalos?”
Peter huffed out a laugh. “If you consider the festivities common among the soldiers to be appropriately celebratory. Mother always sent money, expecting me to outfit myself with new clothing and necessities.”
“Then why celebrate now?”
“Perhaps because I have something—and someone—worth celebrating.”
Ana’s face was painted with the most becoming blush at his words.
Clearly she understood what he referred to.
He ran a hand over the flushed curve of her cheek, having half made up his mind to forgo his plans for the evening and spend the rest of the winter here in his room kissing his wife.
But he knew how she had looked forward to this day while he was away.
No, he would go forward with their plans and enjoy it immensely.
He may not spend the evening kissing Ana, but he would drink in her laugh and smile, which was a very close second.
“It also helps a great deal to have a wife that won’t allow you to forget the important days of the year . . . including your Día de los Inocentes. You seem to have transformed me into a much more tradition-honoring person than I ever was before. I am a changed man.”
“The being un esposo—a husband—it suits you, querido. That is what change, not you.”