Deeply Devoted by Maggie Brendan

sleep.
    Colorful tulips and lush meadows became a pleasant dream as Catharine walked in her garden, breathing in the cool night air . . . waiting for him—again. In the distance she heard the baby crying. She hurried back to the house and flung open the door. In the dim light she made out the outline of him holding the baby at arm’s length, and then all was quiet . . .
    Catharine awoke suddenly from her sleep, sobbing, as Peter gently touched her head. “Shush, sweet one . . . you’ve had a bad dream,” he said. He continued to stroke her arms until she turned around, her tears wetting her cheeks. “It’ll be okay.”
    Catharine didn’t remember falling asleep and certainly didn’t remember Peter climbing into bed. She sat up, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Peter. I must’ve fallen asleep.” She flung the covers off, unsure of what else to say or do, and walked to the window. She pulled back the curtain to gaze at the twinkling stars against the black sky. “I must’ve slept for a long time too. Forgive me.” She looked over her shoulder at him.
    “You were tired, my dear. Do you want to tell me about your dream?” Peter, looking sleepy-eyed, got out of bed, padding to her in his bare feet and nightshirt. Catharine smiled weakly, then realized she was clad in only her nightgown. She suddenly felt very shy and awkward, not to mention her embarrassment at having red, swollen eyes. What a sight she must look!
    “I’d rather not. It was just a dream.” How could she tell him what that dream meant? She couldn’t . . . she simply couldn’t. She shuddered and folded her arms across her chest.
    Peter pulled her to him. “You’re shivering. Let me warm you up.”
    She breathed in his manly smell, a mix of soap and aftershave lotion. He had bathed for her before coming back to the house. She wondered where. Outside? In a creek?
    He kissed the curve of her neck and nuzzled her ear, and she returned his kisses. He pulled her gently in the direction of their bed, and she lay back down as he removed his nightshirt. His chest was lean and tanned—she supposed from working outdoors—but bare of chest hair. He looked down at her with hungry eyes, and she allowed him to untie her gown. She kept her eyes on his face as he caressed her with his eyes.
    “You’re more beautiful than I have words for, I’m afraid,” he said in a husky voice that made her tremble. “Your skin is like silk to the touch.”
    She smiled back at him. “Mmm . . . thank you,” she murmured.
    He lay down next to her, lovingly stroking her back, whispering sweet things in her ear until she’d almost forgotten about the bad dream . . . almost. Nestled in his arms was where she wanted to be, wasn’t it? His touch was comforting, but why wasn’t her heart racing the way his was?

 
    Peter was glad to be doing chores the next morning and away from the house so he could ponder his thoughts. He’d left the womenfolk after a breakfast of oatmeal, bacon, and coffee. Certainly not their usual fare—he could tell by the way their stared at their dishes. He could cook well enough to keep from starving, but fancy he was not. He’d hoped that between Catharine and Greta, one of them would turn out to be a fair, if not good, cook.
    When he finished milking the cow and putting the horses out to pasture, he turned to mucking out the stalls. He loved working with his hands and liked the sense of accomplishment he felt when he’d completed his work at the end of a long day or after a successful harvest.
    While he’d admired Catharine from the first time he’d clapped eyes on her, something had seemed amiss last night. Memories of her in his arms last night brought renewed pounding in his veins, and he sighed heavily. Though she’d been willing, it seemed she was holding back something from him—something important. But then he was no expert where women were concerned. He only knew that something hadn’t