Spring Blossom (28 page)

Margaret could see her friend was annoyed.
“You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. I thought someone must be
hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

A slow knowing grin began to spread across
Marie-Louise’s face. “Well, Lord love a duck,” she crowed. “We’d
best get a move on.”

Maggie snatched up a cloth and began to wipe
up the gravy from the floor while Marie-Louise planned coming
events. “We’ll start cooking supper, and then you’ll need a bath.
You’re dripping wet from all that running.” She clamped a lid on
the iron pot on the stove. “This stew will do for Jeffrey and Jason
and me.” She giggled then. “Jason will hate sleeping in the barn
another night.”

Margaret stood up, frowning. “Oh, no, he
doesn’t have to.”

“Yes, he does, my friend. He prefers the
barn to sharing the cottage with Jeff and me and you need this
whole evening with your husband…alone.” She stopped picking
potatoes out of a wooden bin and turned with a small frown. “You do
want him, don’t you, Maggie? I mean…that’s what this is all
about?”

“I do want him. I just don’t know how to get
him.”

“Maggie,” her friend drawled, “All you have
to do is tell him.” And then she threw back her head and laughed.
“I love this,” she crowed again. “Let’s get started.”

*

There was a bit of confusion when the men
came up to supper that evening. Hunter had already bent over his
basin of water and was washing vigorously, but Jason and Jeffrey
were interrupted in the act of stripping off their shirts.

“Never mind that,” Marie-Louise said to
Jeffrey as she plopped a pie into Jason’s hand. “You’ll take this
to the cottage for me, won’t you, Jason?” she asked before ducking
back into the kitchen.

Hunter straightened, dripping water down his
chest and frowned at the other men. “What’s going on?”

Jeffrey shrugged, staring curiously at the
kitchen door. “Appears she’s got a bee…” He stopped talking as
Marie-Louise came toward him with a large iron pot still steaming
from the stove. “Watch your fingers, Jeffrey,” she ordered as she
held the stew out to him. “Grab onto the cloths.”

“Marie-Louise, what the devil…?”

“I just want you to carry this to the
cottage,” she said sweetly, smiling over her shoulder at Margaret,
who had come to stand in the open doorway.

Jason’s mind took hold of the situation as
he was being ushered down the porch steps. “Guess it’s the barn for
me again,” he grumbled.

Hunter frowned at his three friends' backs
for a moment before turning to his wife. “What’s going on?” he
asked again.

Margaret, suddenly questioning her intent,
lowered her eyes. “They’re going to eat at the cottage tonight,”
she said quietly.

Hunter continued to study her face as he
took the towel she offered. “Now, why would they be eating down at
the cottage and not here with us?” He was cautiously trying to keep
his mind blank of all thoughts in case it ran off in the wrong
direction. Something was afoot, but it might not be what he was
hoping.

“Don’t you want to finish washing?” she
asked.

“No, I want to know why our friends aren’t
eating supper with us tonight.”

Margaret took a deep breath and dared to
look directly into his eyes. “I asked Marie-Louise to arrange for
us to be alone.”

Hunter ran the towel over his face, almost
afraid to ask his next question. “Why would you do that,
Maggie?”

Her heart began to race in earnest and,
fearing she would lose her courage, Margaret looked away but said
quickly, “I want us to have a special supper together. Just the two
of us.”

He could not help it; his mind shifted, the
knot of fear left his stomach, and his heart began to pound with
hope. He stepped closer to her, placed his forefinger beneath her
chin and gently forced her face upward. “Look at me,” he commanded
gently.

“I cooked for you!” she blurted and watched
his frown turn to something that was not quite a smile but was
infinitely tender.

“Did you, now?” He looked down at the pale
blue dress she was wearing. The collar was high on her slim neck,
and the bodice was lacy. The tubular sleeves were made of the same
lace, while the satin skirt hugged her slim waist and fell softly
to the floor. His eyes roamed upward again; she had freed her hair
of the braid and brushed it back softly from her face. His Maggie
had taken pains with her appearance it seemed. And she had plotted
with Marie-Louise to be alone with her husband. Hunter smiled down
at her. “I’ll just finish washing up,” he said simply and turned
back toward the bench.

Margaret’s heart had been thundering in her
chest, the sound of it hammering in her ears, all through his long
scrutiny of her, and now she didn’t know what to say. As
Marie-Louise had said earlier in the afternoon, she was as nervous
as a hen around a hatchet.

And what had her most worried in this
instant was the fear that her supper would not be edible. She
dashed into the kitchen and peeked under the lids of several
steaming pots as Hunter seemed to prolong his washing up.

He was, in fact, being extremely thorough,
his mind running wild while he tried to persuade himself to settle
down. He did not want to jump to any wrong conclusions and frighten
her. Perhaps she merely wanted to talk alone with him. But she
could talk alone with him in the privacy of their bedroom, he
reasoned. No, there was more on her mind than just talk. He became,
again, a hopeful man.

As he dried his face, he noticed a clean
white shirt hanging on a wall peg to his left. He smiled as he
reached for it, knowing Maggie was the one to have left it there.
He set the towel aside, pulled the shirt on over his head, and was
tucking it into his trousers as he walked into the kitchen to join
his wife.

Maggie was bustling from stove to table and
back again but managed a timid smile when she saw him enter.
“Supper is ready,” she said, taking the last of the serving dishes
to the table. She stood anxiously beside her place, watching as
Hunter came to stand beside her. His eyes fell to the table
setting, noting the freshly cut flowers in the center. The
earthenware pitcher that usually held the utensils had been
removed, and knives and forks had been set beside each plate. Next
to his place at the table, she had left a tall bottle and crystal
wine glasses accompanied their settings. She’d set out enough food
for an army, he noticed, as he inspected a steaming platter of
steak accompanied by rich gravy, buttered carrots, and tiny onions
in white sauce.

He turned his head then and looked at
her.

“The popovers almost burned,” she said
lamely.

“It looks wonderful, Maggie,” he returned.
“You did all this?”

“Well, Marie-Louise helped a lot.”

“There’s only one thing missing,” he said,
and her eyes darted around the table in alarm. “No, Love,” he said,
reaching for her. “Everything is perfect.” He took a small step
closer, his hand going to her shoulders. “The one thing that is
missing is my thanks,” he said and pulled her into his arms, just
to hold her for a moment.

“You’d best not thank me yet,” she said
anxiously.

But Hunter was not thinking of the meal she
had prepared.

And neither was Margaret.

After a time he kissed her lightly on the
cheek, pulled away from her, and held back her chair while she sat
down.

“We should enjoy this before everything gets
cold,” he said and took his own place.

Margaret placed the platter of steak for him
to serve. Beef was a rarity for them, but just the previous day,
Feddler had repaid Hunter by slaughtering one of his animals and
giving them the choicest cuts.

Hunter took ample of all she had prepared
and poured them each a glass of wine while Margaret spooned some
onions onto her own plate. But before she could take a bite, she
felt his eyes on her and looked up to see him holding his glass
aloft. Silently he toasted her, then raised the glass to his lips
and sipped a small amount before setting it down beside his
plate.

He propped his forearms on the table edge,
staring down at his place for a heartbeat before he asked quietly,
“Will you tell me why you’ve done this, Maggie?”

The silence grew until he glanced up to see
her looking at him with concern and something else he could not
identify. “I want to be a real wife to you, Hunter,” she said in a
rush, praying once again that she was not too late in reaching out
to him. If he no longer wanted her… “I’ve been miserable for weeks
and I didn’t understand why. And…I didn’t know how to tell you. So
I asked Marie-Louise to help me,” she finished lamely.

Hunter finally allowed himself to breathe
again, raising his shoulders in relief as he reached out and gently
squeezed her hand. “You simply had to say the words, little one.
I’ve been waiting to hear them.”

“That’s what Marie-Louise said.” As soon as
the words were out of her mouth, Margaret wanted to snatch them
back, but it was too late, of course.

He laughed at the dismayed expression in her
eyes.

“You two must have had quite a talk today,”
he said, as he cut into his steak. His hunger for her was far
greater than his hunger for food, but Hunter could see how nervous
she was and schooled himself to follow her lead. His Maggie was
taking a very big step this day and he was determined not to do
anything that would make this more difficult for her.

“We…chatted,” she admitted as her eyes
followed the path of the meat to his mouth. Leaning forward a bit
in her chair, she awaited his reaction; and he gave it. The steak
was wonderful, and the look he turned upon her told her so.
Margaret sagged back in her chair in relief.

Seeing her shoulders droop, Hunter realized
just how important this meal was to her. She was trying her best to
make a statement and did not have the words at hand. It was
necessary that this evening move along at her pace…a lot must have
happened within the space of one afternoon and he could not help
but wonder what thoughts she must have agonized over before
arriving at this moment. He did not doubt she was continuing to
fear what would eventually happen between them and he silently
congratulated her for having the courage to face those fears head
on.

And the words he had held protectively
within himself would no longer be withheld.

She was smiling now, relieved that her meal
was a success. Even though her wine remained untouched, Hunter
passed his glass to her, and she sipped before returning it to his
hand.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked and she
nodded her head; she did. “You’ve made me a happy man tonight,
Maggie,” he said softly, “and I want you to be happy, too. There
are a lot of things left unsaid between us but that will be
remedied in time. For now, just know that I do love you and there
is no reason for you to be afraid of that.”

“I’m not,” she returned, although with some
hesitancy.

“And I understand that you can’t say the
same to me, at least not yet. I’m sure you’re not totally
comfortable with your feelings but it’s enough for now that you
want to be my wife. I can’t imagine the soul-searching you must
have done to come to this point, but I’m very glad that you have.
You see, I do care for you and it will never be my intent to cause
you harm or hurt.”

“I do care for you,” was all she could say
in reply.

He smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand
again.

It was enough for now.

The entire meal was a tribute to the
teaching abilities of Marie-Louise, and while Margaret found she
could only poke at her food, Hunter did her efforts justice. They
enjoyed some open, frank discussion and moved on to some lighter
topics as, late in the evening, they cleared the table and shared
the washing up.

Hunter took a portion of brandy with him as
he followed her up the stairs to their room, wondering what she had
thought about this aspect of their evening during her busy day.

He did not have to wait long.

He entered the large bedroom a few paces
behind her and found Margaret turning to watch him nervously again.
He assumed that, just as she had needed his approval of her efforts
with supper, she would need his approval in this, too. His eyes
went instantly to the bed, as she hurried to light the lamp, the
bed had been turned down invitingly and the snowy white sheets
boasted not one wrinkle. A vase of freshly cut flowers had been
placed on the bedside table beside the lamp.

He turned to her and smiled again as she
clasped her hands tightly in front her, worrying a bit at her
bottom lip before she said, “I’m not certain I’ll be as good at
this as I am at cooking.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Did you
cohort instruct you to say that?” he teased.

“I mean it, Hunter.”

He nodded his head, reaching for her hand.
“I know you do, little one, and you have nothing to worry about on
that score.” He tipped her head back and stared down at her. “You
please me, woman,” he breathed. “And you don’t even have to lift a
finger to try,” he added before lowering his head and gently
slanting his lips across hers.

Margaret found this kiss intoxicating. They
enjoyed the slight taste of wine on each other’s lips, and she
found herself growing breathless as the kiss depended. All notion
of time disappeared.

When Hunter pulled away, watching her as his
hands dropped and spanned her narrow waist, her arms remained
around his neck for a moment before she took her cue and started
tugging his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers. But his
hands went to hers to still them. “Let me do that tonight,” he said
gently. “I want you to be at ease, Maggie,” he said softly. As much
as he could; anything to help her find something approximating that
state. “Be at ease,” he breathed as he turned her around and
unbuttoned the back of her gown.