place, and it wasn’t as a tradesman, no matter the amount of talent he possessed.
His greatest ease came with a knife and piece of wood in his hands. As a youth, it had helped curtail the rage he’d felt inside, hearing men rut and groan in his mother’s room. He’d chip away at anything organic, with the wood being the most forgiving. By the age of twelve, he’d made his first carving, an eagle in flight purchased by a wealthy man in San Antonio. At fifteen, he was making furniture for his mother. Working wood was his outlet, his escape, and he wasn’t willing to put it out into the world for public scrutiny. He’d been laughed at for many things; not knowing his father’s name; not knowing how to read as a youngster. He wouldn’t be laughed at for his carvings.
He shifted in his seat. “Can we please discuss something else?”
Her shoulders sagged and she glanced around the carriage. “So, where did you garner your love of Shakespeare?”
He chuckled hesitantly. “I’m…a little embarrassed to admit this, but I’d never even heard of Shakespeare until four years ago. Once I discovered him, though, I devoured everything he’d ever written.”
She smiled. “Who turned you onto him?”
“I was on a job trying to find this man who was a pretty nasty cur. He did some horrible things…things too cruel for your ears. Everyone called him Shakespeare. Course I’d expected that was his name, but when I found out he was really Chris Boon, I was all sorts of confused. Then, I found out they called him Shakespeare because he’d leave notes with every one of the people he killed, quoting lines from Shakespeare.”
“What happened to him, in the end?”
Dalton peered out of the window, seeing old memories. “He’s the only one who got away.”
The silence that fell was thick until Marlena kicked him lightly in the shin. He looked askance and she laughed.
“You mimicked the behavior of a murderer with me?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
He laughed along. “I thought I owed it to the bard to see his words used for good and not ill.”
They chuckled until the carriage rolled to a stop and he glanced out at her residence before meeting her gaze again. “I’ll see you soon.”
“You will?”
“Of course,” he answered. “You didn’t think this was goodbye, did you? Have you no desire to see more of your cousin before he departs for the west? For he has a desire to see more of you.”
She said nothing, only grinned mischievously. He hopped out of the carriage and held a hand out to assist her. Once her feet touched the ground, he brought her knuckles to his lips, letting them linger over her ungloved skin. The rise and fall of her chest began to quicken.
“Good night, Little Miss .”
“Grrrrrrr,” she growled with a laugh, before scampering off. He waited until she was safely up the tree, studying her limbs as she climbed, remembering their sleek lines in white hosen and her shapely derriere. It brought a smirk to his lips and he made his way back to the inn, all the while wondering what the hell he was getting himself into.
Chapter 8
Marlena attacked her lesson with vigor, but even the intensity couldn’t steal the smile from her face. Each time she remembered seeing Dalton’s shocked expression in the mirror the night before, she wanted to laugh, and she still could not believe she’d been bold enough to admit her childhood infatuation aloud. But what was likely most responsible for her silly grin was his parting words and the promise of meeting again. He hadn’t said when, but she knew he hadn’t much time left in Boston.
Sadness crept through her at the reminder he’d soon be gone, but she refused to yield to it. His presence was a balm on her painful longing for home and she would saturate herself in it as often as he allowed. It ceased to bother her that he’d mistaken her for a loose woman and had sought her out for a brief affair under that assumption. He was an old
His greatest ease came with a knife and piece of wood in his hands. As a youth, it had helped curtail the rage he’d felt inside, hearing men rut and groan in his mother’s room. He’d chip away at anything organic, with the wood being the most forgiving. By the age of twelve, he’d made his first carving, an eagle in flight purchased by a wealthy man in San Antonio. At fifteen, he was making furniture for his mother. Working wood was his outlet, his escape, and he wasn’t willing to put it out into the world for public scrutiny. He’d been laughed at for many things; not knowing his father’s name; not knowing how to read as a youngster. He wouldn’t be laughed at for his carvings.
He shifted in his seat. “Can we please discuss something else?”
Her shoulders sagged and she glanced around the carriage. “So, where did you garner your love of Shakespeare?”
He chuckled hesitantly. “I’m…a little embarrassed to admit this, but I’d never even heard of Shakespeare until four years ago. Once I discovered him, though, I devoured everything he’d ever written.”
She smiled. “Who turned you onto him?”
“I was on a job trying to find this man who was a pretty nasty cur. He did some horrible things…things too cruel for your ears. Everyone called him Shakespeare. Course I’d expected that was his name, but when I found out he was really Chris Boon, I was all sorts of confused. Then, I found out they called him Shakespeare because he’d leave notes with every one of the people he killed, quoting lines from Shakespeare.”
“What happened to him, in the end?”
Dalton peered out of the window, seeing old memories. “He’s the only one who got away.”
The silence that fell was thick until Marlena kicked him lightly in the shin. He looked askance and she laughed.
“You mimicked the behavior of a murderer with me?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
He laughed along. “I thought I owed it to the bard to see his words used for good and not ill.”
They chuckled until the carriage rolled to a stop and he glanced out at her residence before meeting her gaze again. “I’ll see you soon.”
“You will?”
“Of course,” he answered. “You didn’t think this was goodbye, did you? Have you no desire to see more of your cousin before he departs for the west? For he has a desire to see more of you.”
She said nothing, only grinned mischievously. He hopped out of the carriage and held a hand out to assist her. Once her feet touched the ground, he brought her knuckles to his lips, letting them linger over her ungloved skin. The rise and fall of her chest began to quicken.
“Good night, Little Miss .”
“Grrrrrrr,” she growled with a laugh, before scampering off. He waited until she was safely up the tree, studying her limbs as she climbed, remembering their sleek lines in white hosen and her shapely derriere. It brought a smirk to his lips and he made his way back to the inn, all the while wondering what the hell he was getting himself into.
Chapter 8
Marlena attacked her lesson with vigor, but even the intensity couldn’t steal the smile from her face. Each time she remembered seeing Dalton’s shocked expression in the mirror the night before, she wanted to laugh, and she still could not believe she’d been bold enough to admit her childhood infatuation aloud. But what was likely most responsible for her silly grin was his parting words and the promise of meeting again. He hadn’t said when, but she knew he hadn’t much time left in Boston.
Sadness crept through her at the reminder he’d soon be gone, but she refused to yield to it. His presence was a balm on her painful longing for home and she would saturate herself in it as often as he allowed. It ceased to bother her that he’d mistaken her for a loose woman and had sought her out for a brief affair under that assumption. He was an old
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