The Preacher's Bride Read Online Free Page B

magistrate.”
    “Agreed.”
    “Only until summer’s end.”
    “Summer’s end. I promise.”
    * * *
    Breathless, Elizabeth stood on St. Cuthbert’s Street before the Costin cottage. She had hoped to arrive before Lucy. From the sound of Thomas’s hungry cries, she guessed she had achieved her goal. She prayed Lucy would be faithful to wet-nursing or be lured back by the prospect of more money.
    Elizabeth shifted the warm bread loaves under her arm and knocked.
    She heard nothing but the babe crying. Was Brother Costin gone? Could he not hear her knock above the baby’s cries?
    After another long moment, she pounded the door with her palm. “Brother Costin?” She listened, then pummeled harder. “Brother Costin? Are you home?”
    At the sudden sound of crashing and a grunt of pain, she shoved the door open.
    In near darkness, lying on the floor, tangled under an overturned trestle was Brother Costin. Platters and mugs littered the ground around him, along with the bones of last night’s meal.
    “Brother Costin, are you hurt?”
    He grunted.
    She crossed the room and bent over him.
    Blood ran from his nose across his mustache and dripped from his chin.
    “You’re bleeding.”
    Brother Costin touched the blood.
    Elizabeth grabbed the nearest rag from the floor and shoved it against his nose.
    “Ouch!” He squirmed.
    “You must be still.”
    “And you must stop pressing so hard.”
    “Forgive me.” Elizabeth loosened her grip.
    He held his head still.
    She couldn’t keep from scanning the weary outline of his face. Even sprawled on the ground, his shoulders dwarfed hers, and the magnitude of his presence tugged at her long-held awe of him.
    “My nose. It’s broken.” His voice was low. “Though ’twould not be the first time.”
    In all of the years she’d known Brother Costin, she’d never had reason to speak to him or seek him out. He had joined their Independent Congregation five years prior. At that time, she’d been a girl of only twelve, and he’d seemed so much older, someone she respected, like Vicar Burton.
    But she wasn’t a girl of twelve anymore, and he suddenly didn’t seem so old. Rather, he was very much a young, vibrant man. At that moment she was in a closer proximity to him than she’d ever been with any man—he was at her fingertips, with the heat of his breath brushing her wrist.
    The impropriety of their predicament slapped her in the face.
    She jerked her hand away and stumbled backward. Her legs bumped against the trestle, and the force of her body pressed it down onto Brother Costin.
    He groaned.
    She scrambled to get off, but her feet tangled in her petticoat, putting the bulk of her weight on the bench and on him.
    “I think you’re killing me now,” he said through clenched teeth.
    With a jerk of her petticoat, she fell off the trestle and landed in an ungracious heap.
    He lifted the bench. Then with a wince he got to his feet and rubbed his side. “Methinks you would have been satisfied breaking my nose. It would have been most kind of you to leave my ribs alone.”
    She cringed. How was it she’d only just arrived and was already failing to make a good impression?
    He wavered then braced his hands on the table.
    “Shall I send for the physician?” she asked, pushing herself up.
    “I’m tired, is all. It was a long night. And I must have finally fallen asleep at the table.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “The beating on the door startled me.”
    Elizabeth struggled to her feet and smoothed down her petticoat and apron.
    He combed his fingers through his disheveled hair, but it only stuck up more. “You’re here too early.”
    Thomas’s pitiful cries drew her attention. “It seems to me I’m late.”
    “We won’t be departing for St. John’s until midday.”
    “But you’ll need me before then.” In a dark corner of the room, Elizabeth spotted the cradle.
    “I won’t have need of anyone. And I’d prefer to be left alone. Come back later when