Free A Midsummer's Sin by Natasha Blackthorne Page A

The chair beside him creaked. She touched his shoulders. “We must pray, Thomas, we must pray very hard.”
    “And if God doesn’t answer our prayers?”
    “Then he must have a very good reason.” Her voice choked on the words.
    He shook with anger. He wanted to shove her away. To tell her to take her words with her to the devil.
    Softly, she pulled on his shoulder, urging him closer.
    He let her. He didn’t even understand why. But he let her.
    She brought his head down. Cradled him to the softness of her breasts. Her heart beat strong beneath his ear. She caressed his cheek. Giving him her warm, earthy love.
    “If I lose her, I shall have nothing. I may as well die with her.” The words tumbled out.
    “No, don’t say that. It’s not true. You shall have me, Thomas, you shall have me no matter.”
    She was gently sobbing. Barely audible. Her lips touched his forehead. The wetness of her tears fell on him. “You shall have me as long as you desire. Even if you don’t want me, I shall be yours in my heart.”
    Her voice faded to a whisper.
    He clung to those words. He clung to her body even harder.
     
    * * * *
     
    The deep rumble of a masculine cough startled him. Much time must have passed. Perhaps they had slept.
    Rosalind released him. He pulled up to a sitting position and ran a smoothing hand over his hair, focusing with difficulty on Reverend Shepard.
    The damned man’s face was always so placid. It was impossible to read. Thomas’ heart thudded hollowly. Rosalind wrapped her hand about his. He squeezed it back and in doing so found his voice again. “Is she… How is she?”
    “The fever has broken. The symptoms have slowed.” A slight smile brightened the Reverend’s appearance. “I believe she may very well survive.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Hours later, having left Hannah sleeping peacefully, Thomas walked into the barn, looking for Rosalind.
    She sat on the stool, milking the cow. Her red hair was tied back by a ribbon, falling like a flaming spill against her dark brown dress. She was so lovely. Exhilaration surged through him, wiping away his exhaustion.
    It should have been hard to face her after having broken down in front of her. He had never shown his full face of emotion to anyone. Not even Patience. Well, she would never have tolerated it. Could never have coped with it.
    He had resented Patience. Yes, he had, it must be admitted. He did resent how she had held him guilty before trial. She wouldn’t let him show her how love between them could be. She had lain beneath him still and unreasoning, refusing to allow the least bit of wooing on his part. He had lost interest in bedding her and yet could not have another. He’d been a young man trapped in a cold marriage with a woman he loved ardently yet whom he couldn’t touch.
    Couldn’t reach.
    But Rosalind was strong enough to bear anything. She was so accessible. She gave everything inside herself to him. He was free to show all his feelings to her.
    He felt no discomfort as she looked up and met his eyes. His mind was full of all the things he needed to say to her, yet in that moment everything flew away.
    He needed to be near her. To touch her. Now.
    He wanted to merge with her deeply. To share his overwhelming sense of joy. To celebrate life in the most basic, satisfying way possible with the woman he loved.
    He walked to her and held his hands out.
    She stopped milking the cow, took his hands and let him pull her to her feet. She glanced at the barn door then back at him, her eyes warm and sparkling, mirroring his elation and desire. He led her to an empty horse stall, then pulled her into his embrace, holding her tight to his body, his hands fierce on her back. Their mouths met, open and hungry, and he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. He pressed his growing erection against her.
    She dropped to her knees, looked up at him and placed her hands on the fastenings of his breeches.
    “No,” he said, “not that.”
    “Why