Chapter 28 #2
“We’re playin’ ‘Squads and Sentinels’,” Ian announced. “Tam taught me. Ye stand in a circle and pass the ball, and if ye drop it, ye’re taken prisoner by the enemy.”
“That sounds entirely unreasonable,” Tristan said, arriving with Henry at his shoulder.
“It sounds delightful,” Sophia said, already rising.
James flung the ball down and clapped. “Prisoners!”
“We shall keep the rules modest,” Lavinia said. “I am not being dragged to any imaginary gaols.”
Charlotte pushed herself up, her skirts gathered in one hand. The grass was soft. The hill sloped gently downward toward the stream, which glimmered between reeds.
“Very well,” Henry said. “We circle here. No one near the bank.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “I know where the water is, Sappherton.”
“And you will remain well away from it,” Henry replied.
They formed a rough circle on the flattest portion of the meadow. Ian took command at once, assigning roles with great seriousness.
“James is the messenger. He carries the ball. Sophia and Lavinia are sentinels. Tristan an’ Henry are captains.” He pointed at Charlotte. “Ye’re the keeper.”
“What does the keeper do?” Charlotte asked.
“Ye save folk,” Ian said. “If they drop the ball, ye run in an’ pull them out before the enemy gets them.”
“An admirable occupation,” Henry murmured.
She ignored the way the words brushed her skin.
Keeper. I am already that. For Ian. Perhaps for Henry.
The game began. James toddled from person to person, handing over the ball with solemn care. Each adult tossed it lightly to the next. Ian shouted instructions. Sophia laughed. Tristan pretended to misjudge and nearly dropped it, just to make James shriek.
Charlotte moved with the circle, her eyes on the children. The grass grew more uneven as they edged toward the lower part of the field. Henry shifted to keep the line from straying too near the stream, but excitement had taken hold.
“Throw it to Charlotte!” Ian cried. “She’s the keeper!”
James obliged, hurling the ball in her direction with more enthusiasm than skill. It veered, skidding across the grass toward the bank.
“I’ll get it!” Ian shouted, already in motion.
“Wait,” Henry called.
Ian did not wait. He ran fast, drawn by the gleam of water and the sudden appearance of a mother duck shepherding her ducklings along the shallows. James tore after him, laughing.
Charlotte’s heart lurched.
They will fall. The bank is muddy. Ian will not see it until too late.
She gathered her skirts and ran.
“Ian, stop!” she cried.
He did not. He had dropped the sword and was crouching, hands on his knees, talking to the duck as if she were an old acquaintance. James hopped at his side, trying to mimic him.
Charlotte reached the bank. The ground beneath the grass was softer than it looked. Her boot slid. Mud slicked away, and her foot slipped toward the water.
She felt herself tipping.
I am going to fall into the stream in full view of everyone.
A hand closed firmly around her waist.
She stopped, breath catching hard in her chest. Strong fingers steadied her. She felt the solid line of Henry’s arm behind her, his body a barrier between her and the stream.
“Careful,” he said quietly.
Charlotte stared at the water, then at her boot half-buried in mud.
I did not hear him come near. He followed me. He was watching.
“I had it entirely under control,” she said, though her pulse was racing.
“Of course you did,” Henry replied. His hand did not move. He pulled her gently back onto firmer ground, keeping his grip sure around her waist until her feet held.
She swallowed.
His arm is still there. His coat against my back. His breath near my neck. I am not thinking clearly.
Ian straightened and looked at them. “We werenae going in,” he said. “We were talkin’ to the ducks.”
“So I see,” Henry said. “You may continue speaking to the ducks from a safer distance.”
James pointed at the ducklings. “Babies.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said faintly. “They are very dear.”
Ian glanced at her, then at Henry. “Ye got her,” he observed.
“Yes,” Henry said. “I did.”
Ian nodded, satisfied, and turned back to the ducks.
The boys moved a step away from the edge, absorbed in their own world. Charlotte was suddenly very aware that Henry had not yet let go.
Her hand rested lightly on his forearm, fingers curling there for balance.
This is foolish. I should step away. I should thank him and return to the blanket. Instead I am standing here, held in place, unable to move.
He seemed reluctant to release her. His fingers flexed once at her waist before easing.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Charlotte took stock. Her boot was muddy. Her skirts bore evidence of her poor judgment. Her heart was in disarray. “No,” she said. “Perfectly intact. Only my dignity is bruised.”
“You had me worried for a moment.”
She huffed a small laugh. “You ought to save your worry for Ian and James. They are the ones intent on joining the ducks.”
“They are mobile,” Henry said. “You nearly went headlong into the stream.”
“I would have made a very dramatic splash,” she replied. “Sophia would have enjoyed it.”
“She would have screamed,” Henry said.
Charlotte turned her head slightly. His face was extremely near.
I should step back. I should say something light and move away. Why is it suddenly hard to think?
“You came after us,” she said. “I did not realize.”
“I watched you run.” His gaze held hers. “I knew the ground was treacherous. I did not intend to allow you to discover it in the worst way.”
“That sounds very dutiful,” she said.
“It was not duty,” he replied.
Her breath caught.
Not duty. Then what?
He reached up and brushed a loose curl from her face. His fingers grazed her temple. She could feel the warmth of his skin against her cheek.
Charlotte went very still. Her heart beat hard.
He is touching me in full daylight. By a stream. With Tristan and Lavinia somewhere behind us. I should move.
“Henry,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
“You are staring,” she managed.
“I am aware,” he answered.
Her lips parted. She could not seem to find a jest to deflect him.
The boys had darted a few yards away, chasing a dragonfly. Their laughter drifted across the grass. For a brief moment, the world narrowed to Henry’s arm, his hand at her face, and the small space between them.
He leaned closer.
Charlotte did not move. She felt the slight change in distance, the new weight of his presence. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve.
This is madness. We are married and yet this feels like stepping off a cliff. Please let it be real. Not duty. Not convenience. Something else.
His mouth brushed hers.
The kiss was almost nothing. A soft, careful touch. He seemed to pause, as if giving her a chance to pull away. She did not. Her eyes fell closed. The world tilted.
Heat swept through her in a wave.
Oh. So this is what it feels like when he stops guarding himself.
His hand at her waist tightened, drawing her a fraction nearer. Her free hand found the front of his coat, gripping there, because her knees did not feel entirely trustworthy.
“Charlotte!” Ian’s shout cut across the field.
She jerked back and Henry let her go at once. They stepped apart, not quite coordinated, the space between them suddenly wide and awkward.
Ian was waving a wooden sword. “Are ye seein’ this?” he cried. “The ducks are marchin’ like soldiers!”
“Yes,” Charlotte said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “I see them.”
James ran in circles around Ian, chanting something about the ducklings.
Henry adjusted his coat. “We should return to the blanket,” he said.
“Of course,” Charlotte replied.
Charlotte’s feet felt oddly uncertain on the grass, as if the ground were tilting even as she walked.
What is the matter with me?