Beneath the Apple Leaves(104)

She covered her mouth with her hand, wrestled between crying and laughter, fumbled for words. “I—I don’t know what to say?”

“Say yes.”

A choked gasp sprinted from her throat and she wrapped her arms around his neck as if she were drowning. “Yes.”





CHAPTER 52

The hour was late, well past Will and Edgar’s bedtime, but no one could sleep—no one would sleep. The house was wired from each body, lightning rods that summoned and waited for the electrical charge.

Andrew presided at the head of the old wooden table, Wilhelm’s old seat, without intimidation. He had earned this place. His legs were strong; his arm and chest held the muscles of hard work and perseverance. No weakness bent his posture as he looked around the table at the eyes that searched for guidance. He grounded this home now, his home. Reassurance and power remained steadfast in his jaws and the lines of his strong neck. This was his family and he would protect and care for them as a warrior between battle lines. Take care of your family. Always.

Lily sat to his right, Claire beside her. He reached for Lily’s hand, felt it quiver under his touch, the fear constant.

“It’s important that no one knows Lily and Claire are here,” he started quietly, firmly. “There are things that need to be settled first. So, we’re depending on you all to keep this within the house.”

“Is it ’cause of the war?” Edgar asked. “’Cause of our name?”

“Shhhh . . .” Will hushed.

“It’s all right, Will.” He smiled at the two boys, would not give them reason to doubt their security. “No, it’s not because of the war. I’ll explain more, but for right now we have to keep Claire and Lily safe and that means nobody can know they’re here.”

Eveline gazed at her boys. “You understand what Andrew is saying?”

They nodded. Eveline rose and put a hand on each small shoulder. “Claire, let’s get you settled in a room upstairs. Will and Edgar can bunk up tonight until we clear a room for you tomorrow.”

When the four were out of earshot, Andrew turned to Lily, her face drawn and pale. “You all right?” he asked gently.

“I’m scared.”

“I know.”

She shook her head and her chin crumpled. He pulled her to him, traced her spine with his fingertips. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he promised.

“I know.” She held on to his waist, gripped his leather belt. “But it’s not right bringing this to your family. Making you hide us like fugitives. Making the boys lie.”

He held her closer, smiled into the hair. “We’re family now. All of us. We take care of each other. You’d do the same for us.”

He slid a finger under her jaw and kissed the soft mouth, bright pink and open. He fell into her lips. He slid his hand down her body, rested it upon the small bump of her belly, let the warmth of her closeness heat his palm and send it back through the skin to the budding life inside.

Her kiss grew longer and she did not break it as she moved from her chair to his lap. Her hand found his neck, her fingers stroking the smooth, tan skin. She unbuttoned the top of his shirt.

The smell of her hair, of all things fresh and of sun, dizzied and made the room fade. He moved his touch to her breast, swollen and round beneath the dress. She sighed, placed her hand upon his and squeezed it gently, then harder, till his fingers cupped the breast fully. She rolled her head, kissed under his chin and up to his ear. “I want to share your bed,” she whispered, her words breathless.

Andrew swiveled her hips so she straddled his thighs and pressed his pelvis against the opening of her skirt. He rose, kept his arm firmly under her body, her legs gripping tightly. Even pregnant, Lily was nearly as weightless as a barn cat, and he carried her up the steps blind as she feverishly kissed his lips and neck, fumbled with his buttons.

He brought her to his room, kicked the door closed with his foot. He laid her on the bed, cradling her golden hair as it spilled across the pillow. Andrew arched above her upper body to find her lips again. She unbuttoned his shirt, one urgent pull at a time. She stared at the open chest revealed between the edges of the shirt, the strength and expanse of the muscles. He watched her, watched the way the green eyes slid across his skin and then met his and locked. Tenderly, she touched her palm to his breastbone, let the pulse beat between her fingers and align to her heart’s vibration and cadence.

Lily fell into Andrew’s gaze, innocent in its restraint and hesitation. She moved her hand to his beautiful face, to the soul-numbing features, the perfection of him nearly stopping her heart.

She slowly moved his shirt from his right shoulder and he tensed. His face angled away. Assuredly, she removed his arm from the sleeve, rubbed her fingertips down the balled shoulder and biceps, the hairs along the tight forearm, raising the gooseflesh in a trail. With a feathered, calm touch, she moved her fingers back up his arm, across the base of his neck along the collarbone to the other shoulder. She held his eyes, their breathing matched with uncertainty. She nudged the material tentatively from the severed shoulder.

“Don’t,” he murmured. He closed his eyes and grimaced.

She moved the shirt, let it fall to his hips and rest on the quilt. His nostrils flared and he turned his head farther away, his forehead creasing and his eyes squeezed shut. The scars, white and bold against the tan skin, shirked from the air, seemed to breathe like lungs, haltingly. Lily traced the scars lightly with her fingertips, found the network of lines no different from the chiseled structure of his face and figure.