Free Before the Scarlet Dawn by RITA GERLACH

“Stay here until I return. I will not be long.” He checked the coins in his pocket, and then handed her a few. “Here, keep these with you.”
    She drew in a breath. “You are leaving me?”
    “I must unload my horse.”
    She smiled. “Yes, of course.”
    “And then I must purchase a gentle mare. Fiona can ride her. You will ride with me. You do not expect us to walk to River Run, do you?”
    He strode off, and she kept her eyes fixed upon him as he disappeared into the bustling crowd. Fiona placed her hand over Eliza’s.
    “Not to worry, my girl. He will be back soon.”
    Eliza sighed. “What if he has come to regret me, Fiona?”
    “Why would Mr. Hayward do that?” Fiona craned her head and looked through the throng.
    “It is foolish of me to doubt him, I suppose.”
    “Has he done something to cause you to feel this way?”
    “It is what he has not done.”
    “I should not ask what.”
    “I thought he would have confessed his love by now. You know life better than I, having lived so long and . . .”
    Fiona huffed. “I am hardly in my grave.”
    “That is not what I meant. What I am asking is what must a new bride expect?”
    “Expect nothing and that way you shan’t be disappointed.”
    “Perhaps that is true, but what about love?”
    “Love was a one-way street in my situation, my girl. You know that.”
    “Yes . . . He sleeps beside me, but never speaks of love . . . Oh, what have I done wrong?”
    Fiona shook her head. “Just give him time and be a dutiful wife.”
    A lump grew in Eliza’s throat. “I am trying to be.”
    “Perhaps Mr. Hayward is fighting falling in love with you,” said Fiona. “Some men are that way. They are afraid of love. Or they think speaking of it is a sign of weakness. But not to fear. Soon he will come around.”
    They waited for an hour in the same spot. Though a warm breeze blew that morning, Eliza drew her cloak closer about her until she saw Hayward pass through the tide of people back toward her.
    “Look, Fiona, by the fruit merchant’s cart. It is Hayward.”
    She watched him speak to the merchant. The man handed over a sack, and Hayward paid him. His horse pranced restlessly, having been kept in a stall for so long, and was anxious to run. The brown mare beside him snorted and shook her shaggy mane.
    Once he reached Eliza, he handed her the sack. Opening it, she looked inside. “Apples. How wonderful!”
    Hayward checked the pillion behind his saddle. “You need them after having shipboard food.”
    She reached out and stroked the mare’s nose. “Oh, and she is lovely.”
    “She is yours,” he said. “I got her for a good price. The seller said her name is Nell. Very plain, I would say, so if you want to change it . . .”
    “No.” Eliza set her gloved hand over the mare’s broad neck. “I like Nell.”
    The breeze coming in from the bay blew tepid, momentarily abating the heat of the day. It moved the lapels of Hayward’s coat back, enough for her to see the pistol he had tucked inside the band of his breeches. To protect her, she had no doubt. She felt safe with him, assured of a pleasant journey toward her new home.
    Soon Annapolis lay behind them. Shade from the thick canopy of trees stretched over the narrow road. The sun showered silvery dust through the breaks. Within the woodlands, birdsongs echoed clear and sweet, and honeybees hummed over the heads of Queen Anne’s lace.
    As the sun rose even higher, so did the heat. Eliza, grateful for the shade, dropped her cloak from off her shoulders and gathered her hair to one side of her neck. Mid-afternoon brought the cicadas out of hiding, and they trilled in the trees. So unlike the quiet, windy countryside where she grew up, the many sounds of birds and insects seemed almost deafening. It all delighted her.
    “How far is River Run?” The breeze blew her hair back from her shoulder, and she inhaled the sweet scent of wildflowers blooming along the dusty path.
    “At the most, ninety