Riverbreeze: Part 2 (58 page)

He let go of himself and clutched a handful of sheet instead, allowing the pain of his burned palm to chase away the pleasure. He took deep breaths, willing his pounding heart to slow and waited for the rush of feeling to subside. In truth, he was shocked, shocked that he had dreamt of Makki. He was married to Elizabeth now and should only dream of her.

But then he told himself that he wouldn’t forget the happy times he had spent with Makki so easily and he would probably continue to have a dream or two about her every once in a while. He couldn’t control what he dreamed, just like after Kathleen had died and he had wanted very much to control his dreams. Dreams of his first wife had haunted him for months and months, and then he would run to Makki for comfort and to forget like a lost, little boy.

But he didn’t have to run anymore, that part of his life was over now. He had a lovely, new wife; a wife who had a sweet face and who was lively, loving, and perceptive, and who had obviously let him sleep late again.

Where was she now? The house was absolutely quiet. He heard not a crackle from the fireplace nor a sound from downstairs. He missed her. She had been so attentive these past three days, staying by his bedside, fussing over him, feeding him like he was an invalid. What a baby he had been.

But maybe it was best that she was not here this morning considering the dream he just had, although if she had been beside him, he could have grabbed her and made love to her. Her week was up, plus a couple of days—he had been counting the days like an obsessed man—and his body responded again despite his injured state, just thinking about her. He groaned, rubbing his face and eyes with his fingertips, (his hands were still bandaged), cursing his carnal thoughts.

Bemoaning Elizabeth’s absence, he squinted at the light seeping in around the shutters and tried to determine what time of day it was. He couldn’t even make a guess so he decided he wouldn’t even try. He started to stretch, but quickly stopped when his stitches pulled. Letting out a sharp cry of pain, he pressed his hand to the bandages covering his wound. Breathing shallowly, he waited for the pain to subside.

But then another pain started in his intestines along with some grumbling and he let out a nice fart, relieving the pressure. He chuckled to himself. Ever since Elizabeth had come to share his bed, he had tried to be very careful about these things, although it wasn’t beyond her to let out a little toot every once in a while.

It wasn’t long before he felt more pressure, but this time it wasn’t gas. Moaning again, he knew he would have to make a quick run to the privy. (All those damned stewed apples he had been forced to eat yesterday!) He had never used the chamber pot for this kind of business and never would.

Cleaning up shit was never a fun activity; digging privies, cleaning up babies, cleaning up after animals; if he could avoid one little job that required him to clean up more shit, he would gladly get up to run to the privy!

But it wasn’t so easy. Gingerly he sat up, holding his side, and threw the covers off. He shivered in the cold room. Then, as quickly as his wound and bandaged hands would let him, he doffed his nightshirt, pulled on his buckskin trousers, shirt and pushed his bare feet into his moccasins. After returning from the privy he would take the time to wash and dress properly.

He staggered downstairs, his legs a bit wobbly from lying in bed for so many days, listening for any activity in the house. Strange…all was quiet. He wondered where everyone could be, but it wasn’t important. Getting to the privy was important. He went straight out the back door without bothering to look for anyone in either the kitchen or the parlor.

The cold air struck him in the face, clearing his head, and the bright sun nearly blinded him. He shaded his eyes, looking around the yard and still didn’t see anyone. He saw that the women had done some laundry; sheets and clothing were hanging on the clothesline, but he didn’t see them anywhere. Perhaps they were taking a break. And then he heard chopping in the distance and guessed that Jamie had sent the servants to that tree that he had pointed out to his brother, what was it, three, four days ago now? And possibly even Jamie was with them. It sounded like there might be three separate sets of axe blows. Thank you, Jamie, he thought to himself as he quickly made his way to the privy, opened the door and stepped in to do his business.

Ah…now he felt better as he exited, although his wound was still tender. Even so, he wanted to find Elizabeth. Thoughts of her and making love to her came back full force. He was in the mood to sample her garden delights! He didn’t care that it was the middle of the morning or that his side was still sore and slightly inflamed and that maybe she still wasn’t feeling her best because of that cold. He couldn’t wait any longer!

He decided that he would start looking for her in the kitchen. Even though it had been quiet in the house, she could be there, although if Robin had been with her, he wouldn’t have been so quiet. On the other hand, maybe Abigail was watching Robin, maybe she had taken him down to the river so they could look for those tiny shells he loved to collect. Anyway, wherever she was, he would find her eventually.

He returned to the house, but suddenly stopped at the back door. Was he presentable? Did he stink at all? He hadn’t washed his body since the morning of the duel although Elizabeth had sponge bathed his face and neck every morning along with cleansing and treating his wound and changing the bandage. He hadn’t cleaned his teeth yet this morning or brushed his hair. It probably looked like a rat’s nest! He thought that Elizabeth might be more receptive if he, at the very least, washed the cobwebs off his face.

So he turned around and hurried to the well where he laboriously drew up a bucket of water. He removed the bandages from his hands, splashed his face, sputtering at the freezing cold water, rinsed out his mouth, then carefully raked his fingers through his hair. That should be good enough.

Back to the house.

Quietly he opened the door and stepped in, closing it softly behind him. He walked silently through the hall and stopped at the doorway to the kitchen.

And there she was, a comely vision of domesticity, standing with her back towards him, working in front of the fireplace. She was washing handkerchiefs, (she and Evelyn had most likely used them all up) boiling them in one pot over the fire, then dipping each one out with a wooden spoon and dropping it in another large pot of, he assumed, cooler water so that she could then fish it out with her hands, wring it out and hang it on the drying rack. Already there were about seven handkerchiefs on the rack and other toweling, which he cared not to think about. How much more did she have to do? He wondered. He could see her hands, red and raw, and he wanted to use some of that cream to soothe her chapped skin and then use more of it to ease his way into her body.

But even as he was overcome with lust, and heat settled into his loins, gentler feelings spread throughout his body, warmth, affection and concern. Seeing all those used handkerchiefs reminded him that she was still suffering from that cold although it was at the tail-end now, and perhaps he should just leave her alone, or if he really wanted to be a good husband, he should offer to help.

But no, she was fine. He was sure of it. Last night she had been fine when they had enjoyed their supper together, alone in their bedchamber. This morning she was probably all better and blooming with health.

Yes, she was fine, fine enough to join him in bed.

Just as that decision was made, another thought came to his mind. He still hadn’t seen her face. He remembered how much Maureen from behind could look like her sister, his late wife, and they hadn’t even been twins. Could she be Evelyn? Was there a chance that he could be mistaken?

He hesitated. He shouldn’t act too hastily. To be honest, there was doubt in his mind, and the thought of mistaking Evelyn for Elizabeth scared him to death. He remembered Roger’s admonishing words:
Be careful you take the correct wife to bed
. Roger had been joking, but it would be no joke if he did take the wrong wife to bed.

So he stood silently for a minute, observing her. She wore the same navy skirt and blue bodice that Elizabeth had worn the other day. Her hair flowed down her back in a loose tail, just like she usually wore it, and she was humming to herself as she was wont to do, a song he had never heard before and in a range lower that she normally sang in. Her voice was not as beautiful as when she sang in the higher range, but it was still beautiful to his untrained ears. And maybe her voice was a little husky due to the after effects of her cold.

He wished he could see her neck, but he couldn’t from this angle.

Finally he decided to call her name, “Lily?” But his voice was too low for her to hear.

She didn’t turn around.

“Lily?” He called again, this time a little louder.

She turned around then. “Oh, Robert! You startled me!” She exclaimed, caught holding the wooden spoon in one hand, a dripping handkerchief in the other.

She sounded just like Elizabeth, in fact, Elizabeth had said those exact words to him once before. That was enough to convince him that she was Elizabeth.

“I’m sorry for that.” He said, coming forward, warmth in his eyes.

“I didn’t know you were up.” She said, not moving, carefully watching him. That should have warned him, but he had already made up his mind and was beyond noticing any differences.

His smile was intimate as he skirted the table and stopped in front of her. “I’m up…” He said quietly, “and so is Jeffrey.” He added suggestively.

Her eyes widened. “Jeffrey? Whatever do you me--?” She let out a shriek when Robert suddenly threw his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. She felt as light as a feather to him.

“It’s been over a week, Lily. I’m ravenous.” He buried his nose in her hair—she smelled of lavender this morning—it didn’t register that Elizabeth always wore the almond and apricot cream--and started to kiss her neck.

“No, Robert!” She cried, dropping the spoon and handkerchief so she could push at his shoulders. Her struggles were useless against his strength, even though he wasn’t at his strongest. “I’m not L….” She was cut off again when Robert kissed her firmly on her mouth.

She tasted so good to him; her soft lips molded against his. He couldn’t resist; he forcibly insinuated his tongue into her mouth and kissed her thoroughly.

When he ended the kiss, they were both breathless. Without warning and without giving her a chance to catch her breath, he swept her off her feet and held her like a baby, grunting when his stitches pulled. She let out another shriek and grabbed at his shoulders which he mistook as excitement, and ignoring the pain in his side, he kissed her again and quickly started for the stairs.

Somehow he managed to climb the steps, kissing her repeatedly. One kiss after another, he hardly gave her time to breathe let alone say anything. She tried though, but he was oblivious to her pleas. “Please…”

Kiss.

“Wait, Robert!”

Kiss.

“Listen to me!”

Kiss.

“I’m not…”

He cut her off again. “Not ready?” He said at the doorway to his bedchamber.

“No!” She cried out.

“I’ll make you ready.” He said, kissing her again, his lips and tongue hungry on her mouth.

She continued to struggle and squirm, and tried without success, to twist her head aside from his insistent mouth, but he was too strong for her. Her muffled cries and squeals were ignored.

He carried her into the bedchamber and in no time had her on the bed. He kissed her again, holding her head with one hand while the other caressed and kneaded her breasts. She started to beat at his shoulders with her fists; she twisted her body and kicked her feet, trying to knock him off of her. He didn’t understand her actions.

He ended that kiss, chuckling. Her hair was wild around her head and she looked scrumptious. “You’re awfully feisty today. Do you want to be on top again?”

“No!” She cried, her voice breaking. Tears spilled from her eyes.

The tears did it. He finally looked at her. Her face was blotchy, her lips and mouth red and slightly swollen.

“What’s wrong? I thought…”

“I’m Evelyn, not Elizabeth!” She yelled.

“What?” He looked dumbly at her.

“I am Evelyn, not Elizabeth.” She said very clearly.

A look of horror came over his face. He frantically pushed her hair aside and searched for the mole that should be on her neck. It wasn’t there!

Oh God, oh dear God, he was in trouble now, big, big,
big
trouble. He had failed; he had made the biggest mistake of his marriage; he had mistaken Evelyn for Elizabeth. He was filled with shame and humiliation.

From the doorway a deceptively calm voice said, “What are you doing?”

He froze. He closed his eyes. How would he explain himself?

Evelyn pushed at his shoulder and when he finally moved enough to give her room to maneuver, she scrambled out from under him and jumped off the bed in a hurry as if she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. He didn’t blame her.

She scurried to Elizabeth’s side. “I promise I tried to tell him.” She averred.

“I believe you.” Elizabeth whispered, smiling gently at her sister and reaching out to squeeze her hand.