Blood Brothers. Josephine Cox
ONE
GENTLY CRADLING THE injured bird, he stood on the high ground, his quiet gaze drawn to the field below.
Up there, in the windswept heights, he cut a fine figure of a man. He was not broad of shoulder, nor thick with muscle, but there was something about him, a certain strength and solitude, and the tall, proud manner in which he stood.
He was a man of integrity. He knew when to speak his mind and when to keep his silence. He also knew when to walk away.
A year ago, he had done exactly that, yet against his better instincts, he had answered his brother’s letter and made his way back. Even now he felt uneasy in this familiar place, with his family less than a mile away, and Alice just a few steps from where he now stood.
It seemed he had been away forever. A year ago he left this haven to travel far and wide to search for a quietness of heart that might allow him to build a new life and move on. Yet all he ever found was loneliness.
Out here, in the wide open skies and with only the wild creatures for company, he was at home.
When he was away, this was what he missed. This…and a woman who was not his, and never could be.
Now that he was so close to home, he still wasn’t sure he had done the right thing. ‘It might have been better if I’d stayed away…’
Deep down he had always known it would not be easy, seeing her again. Yet now, here he was and she was just a heartbeat away. Thankfully, she had not yet seen him.
He whispered her name, ‘Alice.’ Her name was oddly comforting on his lips, ‘Alice.’
After a while he moved into the spinney where he kept watch, secure in the knowledge that she could not see him.
Discreetly, he continued to watch her through the branches of the ancient trees. He shared her joy as she raced across the field, her green skirt billowing in the breeze, her long chestnut-coloured hair playing over her shoulders. Behind her the lambs followed like children, calling and skipping as she led them, like a pied piper, down to the water’s edge.
His thoughtful brown eyes followed her every step. She was the reason he had turned his back on friends and family, and yet it was not her fault, for she had done nothing wrong.
While he was away he had come to realise that whatever he did, wherever he went, she would be there; like the blood that coursed through his veins.
He saw her now; small, strappy shoes clutched in one hand, her skirt held high as she paddled barefoot through the cool-running stream. He blinked at the sun in the skies; he felt the warmth on his face, and for one magic moment the world stood still.
Oblivious to his presence, she rested herself on a boulder, her two arms stretched out and her head back, as she raised her face to the heavens. She made no move to collect the hem of her skirt as it dipped into the water. Instead she stretched out her bare legs to let the cool, frothing water trickle over her skin.
When a stray lamb drew close enough to nuzzle her neck, she tenderly reached out to caress its tiny face.
In this green and glorious landscape, wrapped in silence and surrounded by nature’s beauty, she seemed at one with all creation.
For a fleeting moment, when she seemed to lift her gaze his way, he feared she had seen him, yet he made no move. In truth, he could not tear himself away. He had to see her, to fill his senses with her simple beauty. Little more than a year ago she had unknowingly opened his heart and crept inside, and now she was etched there for all time.
It pained him to realise that soon he must turn away and be gone from here. This time, never to return.
For now though, the moment, and the woman, were his. Up here, above the hubbub and maelstrom of ordinary life, time did not exist. It was just the two of them, and that was how it should be. She belonged only to him.
Content, he closed his eyes and let the feelings flow through him. He wished the world might stand still for this one, precious moment. Or maybe even forever.
The guilt was never far away: for his was a love both forbidden and wicked.
He spent every waking moment wanting her. She was the last thought on his mind when he went to sleep, and the first thought on his mind when he woke.
She had caused him such turmoil.
That was what she did to him.
Fearful, the injured bird fluttered in his arms, desperate to escape. ‘Ssh!’ He looked down into those piercing dark eyes that twinkled up at him. ‘She’s much like you,’ he whispered. ‘Wild as the wind; part of the earth itself.’
Acutely aware of the need to tend the bird’s injury, he was loath to tear himself away. So he lingered awhile, watching as she waded ankle-deep through the water and on to the far bank. Behind her, the lambs continued to graze on the moist grass.
‘She’s away to the farmhouse!’ Drawing the small creature nearer to his chest, he carefully folded its damaged wing into the palm of his hand. ‘We’d best make our way there too.’ He stroked its feathers with the tip of his thumb, ‘Let’s hope we can get you flying again.’
Carrying the bird gently he took the shortest route: down the hill and across the stream, carefully negotiating the stones and boulders as he went.
Soon he caught sight of Alice, running through the long grass, her voice lifted in song. It made him smile.
He continued on, to the farmhouse; the place where he grew up.
The place where he first met Alice.
The anger was like a fist inside him, ‘…yearning after a woman who’s already promised to your brother is a dangerous thing,’ he murmured.
Though what he felt for Alice was more than a yearning. It was a raging fire that, try as he might, he could not put out.
With the farmhouse in sight, he grew anxious; remembering why he was here. He was sobered by the knowledge that in just a few short days he would stand at the altar, where Alice and his brother would be pronounced man and wife.
It was a prospect he would rather not dwell on.
‘I wonder if he’s on his way?’
Bustling about in the cosy farmhouse kitchen, Nancy Arnold walked over to the window. A small, round woman of fifty years and more, she had the cheekiest, chubbiest face, pretty dark eyes wrinkled with laughter-lines, and a long thick plait of dark brown hair, lightly peppered with grey.
She was a woman of high standards; a woman who stood no nonsense and took no prisoners. Yet she was the kindest, most understanding woman on earth. When the neighbours suffered ill-health or encountered trouble she was the first to lend a helping hand. And when attending a merry occasion, she could outsing and outdance any man or woman; her manner and laughter was so infectious her husband Tom claimed she was shaking the ground with her terrible screeching! Her laughter filled his heart, and he loved her more with every passing year.
‘Stop wittering, woman!’ he grumbled at her now. ‘Sit yer busy backside down an’ give us a bit o’ quiet!’ Peering over his newspaper, he firmly chided. ‘Your son will be ‘ere when he gets ‘ere, and all yer fussing and fretting won’t get him here any the sooner!’ Having lived in the countryside all his life, Tom had learned to take things as they came.
‘Aw, Tom, I’m that worried.’
She turned to look at him. ‘We should have had word by now. The wedding’s on Saturday. It’s Monday already; less than a week to go, and we’ve heard not a whisper from him. What if he can’t get ‘ere? What if he’s had an accident on the way…oh dearie me!’
‘Hey!’ Crumpling the newspaper to his knee, Tom wagged a finger at her. ‘We’ll have none o’ that kind of talk! Why don’t yer make us a nice cup of tea, eh? Happen it’ll calm yer nerves.’
‘The