Read Online Soul of a Crow by Abbie Williams - Free Book Online Page A

woman,” he murmured. His strong, supple hands moved to my waist and drew me closer as I tried to recall how to breathe, heat flowing freely from his skin to mine. He studied my eyes, his own somber, before bending to one knee. Reaching into the leather bag tied to his trousers, the small one in which he kept coins, he extracted something that he held between his index finger and thumb. His eyes were steadfast upon mine as he procured the fingertips of my left hand, kissed my knuckles, and then slipped a ring upon my third finger.
    With quiet satisfaction he said, “I knew it would fit.” His joyous eyes lifted to mine, alight with anticipation and joy. “I bought it while you were bathing. I wanted you to have a betrothal ring and this one was so delicate and lovely, just like you. I know it is not fancy—”
    â€œI could not love it more,” I whispered, bringing my hand near to examine the ring in the lantern light. It was a smooth golden band, detailed with engravings of roses, and it fit snugly at the base of my finger. I knelt as well, so that I could get my arms about him. We had come so close to losing one another forever, and I held him as hard as I could. I whispered against his warm skin, “Thank you.”
    He whispered, “You are so very welcome.” He kissed the side of my forehead and said, “I looked for a journal, but there were none to be found. I would that you were able to write your thoughts. I know well the comfort of that, as I wrote to my parents often during the War.”
    These letters were kept treasured in a small leather trunk bearing his surname; when we had been forced from each other in Missouri, I took from this trunk several of the letters written in his hand, and his picture, the framed tintype made just days before he left Suttonville as a soldier, back in 1862.
    Although he already knew it, I whispered, “I read those letters nearly to pieces. I felt I had a part of you still with me, and not just in my memory.”
    â€œLorie,” he whispered. “It hurt so unbearably to be apart from you.”
    â€œI would have kept your picture for always,” I said. “I would have cradled it to my heart, every night.”
    â€œWe will never be apart again,” he promised.
    I drew back enough to see his eyes, and said, “I wish I could have known your family.”
    Sawyer’s voice was tender with remembrance as he said, “They watch over us, as does your kin, and they understand that you are my family now. My mama always wanted a daughter. She would have taken one look at you and known you for mine. Daddy would have kissed your hands and entertained you with stories, and my brothers…” Here he laughed a little, before he explained, “Jere would have blushed and been too tongue-tied to speak to you, for days no doubt, but Ethan would have shoved me to the side and flirted for all he was worth,” and I smiled at this description of the twins.
    Outside, Boyd was still fiddling the soft, sweet waltz.
    Sawyer whispered, “They would have loved you so,” and the air between us subtly shifted, a potent beat of desire taking up an insistent rhythm as our gazes held; there came now the necessity of removing our clothes. Low and husky, he whispered, “May I?” and indicated the buttons of my blouse.
    I nodded and his fingers moved to the fastenings that ran in an evenly-spaced length between my breasts, slowly unbuttoning each. Once undone, he drew the material carefully down my waist, leaving only my shift. Though one had been purchased this afternoon, I wore no inhibiting corset, and Sawyer’s eyes were so intense that I began to tremble, my blood a hectic springtime stream, bound to overflow its banks.
    â€œNow you,” I whispered, and I reached to slide the suspenders over his wide shoulders, then tugged free the shirt from his trousers; as his skin was subsequently slowly bared, heat