concoctions you use. My father is ill.'
Anger drained from her chest. So, he didn't want her intimately. There was no surprise in that. The old pain of not being wanted clutched at her heart. She knew that pain would show in her eyes, and she thanked the night for hiding it from Jonah's sharp gaze. How could she have been so foolish? There wasn't one man alive who'd ever shown a romantic, even a practical interest in her.
Jonah caught the collar of his cloak and rested it on her shoulders. He stood so tall, felt so big.
'Tessa. Will you help me?'
'Yes.' She would help anyone who was ill. How could she do less? 'But Grandfather will not permit me to go until morning.'
'Damn Ely. You are coming with me now.'
'Jonah, we both know I cannot. 'Tis not proper. People will think-'
'I don't give a damn what people think. Come with me now, and I vow to remain quiet about finding you in the forest tonight. That is our deal, our pact. Decide now, or I will wake your grandfather.'
Oh, she hated him. She truly did. Beneath the layers of tailored wool and finely woven cloth Jonah was no better of a man than her grandfather, than others who'd had power over her and used it. 'Let me get my basket.'
She stormed away, fists curled in anger. Life would be different if she'd been able to marry, if she'd been free to be courted like the other girls. All her school friends were married and mothers of children.
Foolish to feel sorry for herself. She'd not been free to marry, not with Mother so ill. No amount of sadness could change the past. Tessa snatched her basket of herbs from her own corner of the stable.
Jonah Hunter rose above her, dark as the night, mounted high on his fine stepping horse. Even in the shadows, the animal's coat shone.
'Hand me your basket,' he called.
She lifted it. Their fingers met. Dazzling heat popped along her skin at his touch. Such foolishness, she scolded herself. Jonah Hunter had laughed at her. He would never care for a woman so plain.
'Hurry. My father's illness cannot wait.' He set the basket on his firmly muscled thigh.
And what a thigh it was. Tessa blushed, shocked at herself for noticing.
'Am I to walk?' she demanded.
'No.' A naughty grin tugged at his beautiful mouth. 'You shall ride on the horse… behind me.'
A mistake. Even an hour later with dawn's light pink in the east, Jonah could still feel the entire length of his back tingle where Tessa had leaned shyly against him during the long ride home.
True, she'd refused such a proposition at first, but when he would not dismount and offer her the horse and after a quarter mile walk, she'd relented. Even now, his blood felt thick from the way her slim body had rocked against his, so soft and feminine.
Hell, he'd had enough women to know none of them should affect a man so. What the hell was wrong with him? Jonah rubbed his hands over his face, exhausted, half sick with hunger and worry. Too much on his mind, too many responsibilities, and too much guilt. He thought of the frail, sick man upstairs and his chest squeezed tight. Why hadn't one of his errant brothers written of Father's condition?
What the hell was taking so long? He'd been twice to his father's cold bedchamber to see Tessa sitting at the old man's side, an oddly comforting presence.
Tessa Bradford had stood for no nonsense back in dame school when he'd pulled her braids, and to no one's surprise she'd grown up into a woman no different.
Yet he'd stood in the hallway, entranced by the lure in her soothing voice. Why, 'twas a different woman. Gentle lamplight had made her stern face kind, brushing at the softness of her cheeks and the shape of her Cupid's-bow mouth. Jet-black curls fell untamed from her cap, shimmering in the flickering light. Only angels looked so unabashedly unselfish. How could this unearthly creature be Tessa Bradford?
She bent to her work, unaware of his presence in the shadowy hallway. Worry pinched her soft face as she smeared a pungent paste of some sort on Father's bare chest. A tart, unpleasant smell filled the room, hurting his nostrils. But Hell's teeth, he could not tear his gaze from the sight of her.
How long had it been since he'd witnessed such gentleness? Jonah's eyes teared at the memory. It had been his mother, the gentle woman she'd been before illness claimed her. He'd been a mere boy, but he remembered the love in her hands whenever she would brush the curls from his eyes. Whenever she baked tarts small and tasty for a little boy's sweet tooth.
The old man stirred, and Tessa Bradford brushed a gentle hand over Father's forehead. Such a caring gesture that it made Jonah's heart rend. Aye, the old man was desperately ill. They all knew it.
'Good thing you thought to blackmail me into coming.' Gentleness lived in her voice, and that surprised him too.
'I did not think Father should go until daylight without treatment.' Jonah shifted, stepped into the pool of light spilling from the room.
'I am no medical doctor, but you're right.' She stood from the bed, a rustle of homespun skirts and grace. 'Your father is very ill. I have applied a poultice to his chest to help clear his lungs. I shall leave a mixture. Someone will need to tend him, clean his chest in two hours, and apply more.'
She had to tilt her face to meet his gaze. Why, 'twas a shame how fatigue rimmed those solemn blue eyes like bruises. As Tessa stepped closer, he wondered how hard her grandfather worked her and how many nights she crept alone into the forest.
Then his gaze landed on her woven basket packed with tiny sacks and crocks and the work-reddened hands gripping the handle. Tessa Bradford, despite her disagreeable personality, worked too hard for her living.
'Would you stay and see to it?' Jonah rubbed his brow and winced as his hand found a small bump at his temple 'I have not slept the past two nights.'
Neither had she. Tessa gripped the worn handle more tightly, uncertain how to handle this man. Bigger than legend, he was, and twice as handsome. How he could turn a sensible woman's head with that pleading lift of his single dark brow.
'Grandfather will not allow me to stay,' she said now. 'I have chores to tend to before meeting.'
'I will speak to your grandfather.'
'Nay. You are this man's son. You are able and strong and healthy.' Her gaze roamed over the breadth of his shoulders, down the magnificent plane of his chest. My, how she remembered the feel of that chest when he'd held her. 'You tend him.'
Jonah's mouth curved into a lopsided grin 'I will pay you twice what you deserve.'
'You cannot buy me, Hunter.' Tessa fought the urge to smile back at him. Aye, it was doubly hard fighting off his charm. 'Besides, I charge nothing for my services.'
Nor was it right to charge the infirm and dying, trading pence for her knowledge of herbs and roots. But a man like Jonah Hunter, who would buy the whole town five times over, would never understand. To a man such as he, money was everything.
'And what will your grandfather say when he learns you have all but spent the night in my home, above stairs in a bedchamber?' Wicked eyes teased her. Eyes of a man so dashing, he could take her breath away if she let him.
'Try to charm me all you want, Hunter. It will not work.'
'And if I should try harder?'
'Aye, go ahead. I know what you are about, you scoundrel. You are just trying to charm me into doing what you will not.' Tessa lifted her chin and her basket, wondering how on earth she was to leave if his big, solid body blocked the threshold. 'Your poor father, left with such a son.'
She'd only meant to tease him in return. But the light faded from his eyes and the grin from his jaunty mouth. His shoulders squared, and she regretted her words. She had not meant to be unkind.
'I shall see you home, Mistress Tessa,' he said now, formally, turning heel with military precision, all wickedness gone from his face.
Sadness crept down her spine. She felt as if she had caught a glimpse of the legendary Jonah Hunter no one in this town knew.
He walked away, his footsteps knelling in the cold stairway, and a lump formed in her throat.
