Fire Along the Sky
Page 86
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“And my sister!”
“And your sister,” he agreed, more seriously now. “And no one would begrudge you those tears, for it's the saddest tale I've heard in a very long time. But it seems to me that all these tears are less for your poor sister than that ignorant fool Wilde—”
She drew away in her outrage, or tried to, sputtering and fumbling for something to say that would make sense and put him in his place all at once. “I am so sorry to have inconvenienced you with my little problems—”
“—and now you want to run off before I've said my piece.”
“Oh.” She stopped struggling. “What is it you wanted to say?”
He straightened and sat away and looked at her, as though she were a horse he might buy, if the price were right. That thought made Lily want to stand up again and run away, but he pressed her hand with his own and she settled, uneasily.
“He's a fool, is your Nicholas Wilde—”
She started to pull away but his grip was firm on her, unrelenting, distinctly comforting.
“—for he might have come here to claim you and take you home and instead he let himself be seduced by this harridan Jemima Southern.”
“Jemima Kuick,” Lily said sullenly.
“Jemima Wilde,” he corrected her in turn.
Lily flared up at him. “You don't know him. You can't know him—”
And neither do I, for he married Jemima Kuick. The thought robbed her of the urge to defend Nicholas and, oddly enough, made her even angrier at Simon.
“I know a man by his actions, and so do you,” he said, undaunted. “You are your father's daughter, after all.”
She could not deny this truth, and so she ducked her head and swallowed the words that came to mind, the stories she might have told of Nicholas Wilde's kindness and generosity and tenderness. His intelligence, his dreams for the future, the love and skill that made his apple trees flourish and produce such wonderful fruit.
The man who married Jemima Kuick.
“So you were mistaken in him. And so what I have to say is this: it's a good thing he married another, for you deserve better, Lily Bonner.”
“Like you, you mean.”
“Aye,” said Simon Ballentyne, meeting her gaze without flinching. “I'd be a far better husband to you than Nicholas Wilde ever could be.”
Lily was suddenly very weary, her head aching with it. “You know that for a fact,” she said bitterly.
“And so do you, lass, if you'd only admit it to yourself. For where did you turn in your time of need, but to me?”
She could not meet his eyes, but he solved this problem by catching her chin in his fingers and raising her face to his.
“Where did you turn, Lily Bonner?”
Her mouth worked, but nothing came out.
“I can see ye need some reminding.”
He kissed her, his mouth trailing along her tear-swollen cheek to her mouth. And this was why she had come, of course. Because she wanted Simon Ballentyne to put his arms around her and comfort her and kiss her as he was kissing her now, with such purpose and warmth and sincerity.
When he broke the kiss he was breathing hard. Gooseflesh had run down her back and arms and all over her body, leaving little pools of warmth.
“Where did you come?” he whispered and then kissed her again, openmouthed and warm and deep, before she could even think of answering. He pulled her into his lap and cradled her there and kissed her until Lily thought her skin must surely be on fire, and then when he lifted his head she nodded, weakly.
“To you,” she said.
“Aye,” said Simon. “And why is that?”
The question took her by surprise, and this time she really didn't have an answer, at least not a clear one. “Because you're—” She hesitated.
“Aye?”
“My friend.”
He drew in a breath then and put his forehead against hers. “And that's all there is to it?”
“No,” said Lily. “I came because I thought you might—I hoped you might—” And her courage failed her after all.
“What? What do you want of me?” His arms were tense around her, and she realized with some part of her mind that he was frightened; Simon Ballentyne was frightened of what she might say.
“I want you to take me home.” And then, quickly: “To Paradise. Home to Lake in the Clouds.”
He held her away from him. She could see the thoughts rushing behind his eyes as he calculated and came to some conclusion.
“You want me to take you home. Why not your friend Mr. Bump?”
Lily shifted uncomfortably on his lap. “I don't like to ask him—”
“Because he would say no.”
She shrugged. “He came to Canada to find someone, and he won't leave until he's done that.”
“And you won't wait for your brother to come back from Québec because he'd say no too. What makes you think I'll do what Luke will not?”
Now the whole thing sounded so very childish that she was embarrassed and ashamed, and more than that, she saw in Simon's face that she had offended him.
She said, “I hoped you might understand.”
He studied her for the length of a dozen heartbeats and then he tipped her off his lap and back onto the bench, stood abruptly, pushed his hands through his hair and walked away from her, across the room in a few strides, to turn and glare.
“And your sister,” he agreed, more seriously now. “And no one would begrudge you those tears, for it's the saddest tale I've heard in a very long time. But it seems to me that all these tears are less for your poor sister than that ignorant fool Wilde—”
She drew away in her outrage, or tried to, sputtering and fumbling for something to say that would make sense and put him in his place all at once. “I am so sorry to have inconvenienced you with my little problems—”
“—and now you want to run off before I've said my piece.”
“Oh.” She stopped struggling. “What is it you wanted to say?”
He straightened and sat away and looked at her, as though she were a horse he might buy, if the price were right. That thought made Lily want to stand up again and run away, but he pressed her hand with his own and she settled, uneasily.
“He's a fool, is your Nicholas Wilde—”
She started to pull away but his grip was firm on her, unrelenting, distinctly comforting.
“—for he might have come here to claim you and take you home and instead he let himself be seduced by this harridan Jemima Southern.”
“Jemima Kuick,” Lily said sullenly.
“Jemima Wilde,” he corrected her in turn.
Lily flared up at him. “You don't know him. You can't know him—”
And neither do I, for he married Jemima Kuick. The thought robbed her of the urge to defend Nicholas and, oddly enough, made her even angrier at Simon.
“I know a man by his actions, and so do you,” he said, undaunted. “You are your father's daughter, after all.”
She could not deny this truth, and so she ducked her head and swallowed the words that came to mind, the stories she might have told of Nicholas Wilde's kindness and generosity and tenderness. His intelligence, his dreams for the future, the love and skill that made his apple trees flourish and produce such wonderful fruit.
The man who married Jemima Kuick.
“So you were mistaken in him. And so what I have to say is this: it's a good thing he married another, for you deserve better, Lily Bonner.”
“Like you, you mean.”
“Aye,” said Simon Ballentyne, meeting her gaze without flinching. “I'd be a far better husband to you than Nicholas Wilde ever could be.”
Lily was suddenly very weary, her head aching with it. “You know that for a fact,” she said bitterly.
“And so do you, lass, if you'd only admit it to yourself. For where did you turn in your time of need, but to me?”
She could not meet his eyes, but he solved this problem by catching her chin in his fingers and raising her face to his.
“Where did you turn, Lily Bonner?”
Her mouth worked, but nothing came out.
“I can see ye need some reminding.”
He kissed her, his mouth trailing along her tear-swollen cheek to her mouth. And this was why she had come, of course. Because she wanted Simon Ballentyne to put his arms around her and comfort her and kiss her as he was kissing her now, with such purpose and warmth and sincerity.
When he broke the kiss he was breathing hard. Gooseflesh had run down her back and arms and all over her body, leaving little pools of warmth.
“Where did you come?” he whispered and then kissed her again, openmouthed and warm and deep, before she could even think of answering. He pulled her into his lap and cradled her there and kissed her until Lily thought her skin must surely be on fire, and then when he lifted his head she nodded, weakly.
“To you,” she said.
“Aye,” said Simon. “And why is that?”
The question took her by surprise, and this time she really didn't have an answer, at least not a clear one. “Because you're—” She hesitated.
“Aye?”
“My friend.”
He drew in a breath then and put his forehead against hers. “And that's all there is to it?”
“No,” said Lily. “I came because I thought you might—I hoped you might—” And her courage failed her after all.
“What? What do you want of me?” His arms were tense around her, and she realized with some part of her mind that he was frightened; Simon Ballentyne was frightened of what she might say.
“I want you to take me home.” And then, quickly: “To Paradise. Home to Lake in the Clouds.”
He held her away from him. She could see the thoughts rushing behind his eyes as he calculated and came to some conclusion.
“You want me to take you home. Why not your friend Mr. Bump?”
Lily shifted uncomfortably on his lap. “I don't like to ask him—”
“Because he would say no.”
She shrugged. “He came to Canada to find someone, and he won't leave until he's done that.”
“And you won't wait for your brother to come back from Québec because he'd say no too. What makes you think I'll do what Luke will not?”
Now the whole thing sounded so very childish that she was embarrassed and ashamed, and more than that, she saw in Simon's face that she had offended him.
She said, “I hoped you might understand.”
He studied her for the length of a dozen heartbeats and then he tipped her off his lap and back onto the bench, stood abruptly, pushed his hands through his hair and walked away from her, across the room in a few strides, to turn and glare.
