Deep in the Heart
Anabelle managed to get a dazed Ichabod onto his
bed before running down to the kitchen to fetch a strong glass of
wine. He was relatively incoherent...she didn't even know if he knew
who she was. He kept muttering her name over and over.
"I'm
here," she told him, sitting him up against the headboard,
holding the glass of wine to his lips. "I'm here. Drink
this."
He managed to swallow, but his still did not look
fully conscious. Then she thought about what he had told her...about
fainting in Sleepy Hollow. Something must have terrified him
completely. Anxiously she searched his face, hoping for some
indication, as she held on tightly to both of his hands.
"It's
all right, Ichabod. I'm here."
"Anabelle?" Ichabod asked for what seemed the thousandth time. This time, however, his voice was stronger and he seemed to be able to focus on the features of the woman before him. "Anabelle?!" He blinked at her, uncomprehendingly. "But...but the Horseman... I saw you, and your head was..." He shuddered out of control and tried to pull away from her to go to the window, but she was holding him back. "No... Someone is down there... Somebody...hurt." His sentences were choppy as if he was too rushed, too scared, to bother forming proper English.
"Ichabod, please. Slow down and tell me what has gotten into you," Anabelle fought against him as he tried to get up. "I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with me," she insisted trying to assuage his trembling, hoping for coherent answers. She searched his eyes, failing to ignore how deep of brown they were or how they drew her in until she felt herself drowning into them. She shook her head. Now was not the time to dwell on such emotions. In fact, she shouldn't be having these thoughts or feelings at all. She felt her hands relax their grip on him as she mentally chided herself for her wandering mind.
Feeling
her grip slacken, Ichabod wrenched himself away and scurried to the
window, looking down. Night had fallen for the most part on New York,
and he could just barely make out the forms of around six officers
standing around something on the ground that Ichabod could not see.
Even so, he knew what it was: The body of some young lady, murdered,
and innocent.
He turned back to Anabelle, his mouth working
furiously, but making no sounds.
"There," he whispered.
"Down there... The Horseman." Ichabod's legs shook
violently and he was forced to lean on the desk next to him to keep
from simply toppling over. "Right in front of the house,
Anabelle... They will think...think..." He trailed off,
wincing.
Her
heart pounded in her chest so hard she thought it would break her
ribcage. She struggled to stay in control, to remain calm, but failed
miserably. She sat on the bed, staring at the imprint left by
Ichabod's body, her lips parted, but no breath was coming out.
Mechanically she rose to her feet and joined him at the window,
glancing down into the shadowy streets. There, in the street, just in
front of the house, a small crowd gathered...the Horseman's latest
victim.
Anabelle felt her composure slipping as she crumbled to
the ground. Her arms rested on her knees as she buried her head in
her arms, her fingers raking through her dark tresses as she started
shaking.
Ichabod's words rang ominously in her head, repeating and
repeating:
"Right
in front of the house, Anabelle... They will think...think..."
--------------------------------------------
They would think
it was her.
--------------------------------------------
Suddenly
she stood, she had to get out of there. She was putting Ichabod in
too much danger. Turning her head to him, she tried to meet his eyes
one last time, but he was glued to the window. She bit down on her
lip. He would never know. Feeling panic well up inside her, she
darted out of the room.
Ichabod
heard the footfalls as Anabelle fled, but it took him a moment to
respond at all. When realization did hit and he looked around, it was
too late. She was gone.
"Anabelle!" he shouted, staring
at the doorway she had, moments before, fled through. "No,
Anabelle! It's too dangerous!" Forgetting his previous fears and
terror, he bolted after. He tore down the stairs, fearing where she
would go, or what she would do.
Anabelle
knew going through the front door was not an option. She just allowed
her feet to lead her blindly in whatever direction they deemed right.
She could hear Ichobad's footsteps thundering down the stairs as she
reached the kitchen. He shouldn't bother with her; all she brought
him was trouble.
Just as she reached the door, she realized it
was locked. Scrambling frantically she searched for the key, finally
finding it on the table amidst the preparations for dinner. Shaking,
she placed it in the lock and was about to open the door and leave
Ichabod in peace when a hand reached out and held the door closed.
She could feel warm breathing against her temple.
Wide eyed, she
froze, unable to move at all.
Ichabod's
hands gently pulled Anabelle away from the door by her arms.
"Please,
don't go, Anabelle. You will not last a day out there." He
pulled her close to him, the only thoughts in his head at the moment
to keep her safely inside. Nothing else was important, and not even
thoughts of his deceased fiancé penetrated the fore of his
mind now. Holding her arms gently against him, his breath drifting
past her ears and hair.
"Either by Horseman, or law, you will
not survive if you leave now. I will not let you be executed, or
found in some alley with your head severed from your body. I will
not!"
She
closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She was shaking violently and she
knew he could feel it from the way he held her arms. His breath
drifted past her ear, stirring her dark hair, making her shiver
again. Heavens, she should not be thinking of the surges his touch
sent through her! It was all just so overwhelming.
"I cannot
stay here with you," Anabelle heard herself say with
surprisingly more calm than she expected. She sounded defeated.
"There is no need for you to risk your life to save me. It would
seem I am marked."
Anabelle turned to face Ichabod, not able
to meet his eyes. "I cannot ask you to put yourself in any more
danger, Ichabod. This," she indicated to her head and neck,
"This is just not worth it."
She closed her eyes again
as two tears fell from black lashes slowly coursing down her pale
cheeks.
Silent
for a moment, Ichabod thought over the situation. Then he did
something that surprised even himself. He wrapped his arms about
Anabelle's shoulders and pulled her to him, his lips resting
momentarily on the top of her head.
"Every human being is
worth it, Anabelle. As for you... you are worth so much more as well.
And I am marked also." He pulled away, but kept a tight grip on
her arm. "Now, come. The magistrate will be here soon, and you
haven't any dinner ready. If you wipe your tears, and calm yourself,
he will suspect nothing. We can maybe just convince him that we have
seen nothing yet." He paused, searching the chocolate eyes.
"Well, what say you?"
Anabelle
searched his eyes, wondering how he could be so calm. It was then she
realized he was doing it for her. A blush rose to her cheeks as she
gave him a small nod, lifting her hand to dry her eyes.
"All
right," she answered, her eyes falling on half-finished dinner
preparations. "Thank you, Ichabod," she added, lightly
grasping his free hand with hers, gently applying pressure.
Turning
her attention back to dinner, she remembered something.
"If
you see a small boy with a green bag, do send him to me,"
Anabelle told Ichabod. "I asked him to bring me some things from
home...just in case."
"Of
coarse I will," Ichabod said with a little nod. "I'll wait
for him by the side of the house and tell him to come to the kitchen
door. It may not be wise to have him enter to the front what with...
Well, he may be frightened away, or not permitted through."
Giving her one last confident smile, he strode from the
room.
Outside, he leaned against a wall; eyes shut, and took a
long, deep breath. What a strange week this was turning out to be...
Anabelle
smoothed the skirts of her dress once more as she turned in the
mirror. She was dreading dinner with the magistrate. Willing her
fidgety hands to be still she took one more glance at herself, making
sure her appearance was decent.
As soon as Ichabod had brought the
boy inside, she paid him for his troubles, finished up what she was
doing and rushed upstairs. The magistrate already didn't seem to have
a favorable opinion towards her, and, though sometimes it sounded
irrational even to her, she did not want him to see her in the same
clothes as the day before.
This particular dress was dark, the
deepest shade of green possible. It contrasted wonderfully with her
pale skin and dark eyes. She quickly swept her hair out of her face
and headed towards when she stopped and paused. Turning she walked
over to the bag the boy had brought and fished out two objects. With
tandem "pings" they dropped into her pocket. With a sigh,
she made her way downstairs to make sure nothing had burned in her
absence...and to avoid the magistrate as long as possible.
----------------------------------------------------------
When
the constable arrived, Ichabod was sitting at the kitchen table,
fiddling aimlessly with a few of his contraptions, and pretending,
even to himself, that he was not watching Anabelle out of the corner
of his eye. There was a knock on the door, making Ichabod jump. He
had had his gaze transfixed on Anabelle's...backside features as she
bent over to check the food in the oven. She looked gorgeous in the
dress and he just could not help himself. Blushing, he looked away
and stood to answer the door.
"Sir!" he exclaimed,
opening the door, over-boisterously. The magistrate blinked, then
shook his head.
"This better be important, Crane. And maybe
you can explain why a young girl has been decapitated right in front
of you house?"
"Young...girl?" Ichabod repeated.
Though his expression was questioning, sweat was starting to pour
down the back of his neck and he twisted his hands nervously behind
his back. "What—"
"You didn't notice the murder
take place right in front of your house about one hour ago?" the
magistrate asked skeptically.
"I was fixing a few of my
inventions," Ichabod said. "And Anabelle was cooking, so it
was louder than usual in the h-"
"Anabelle? That girl is
still here?"
"Yes," Ichabod replied a little
defiantly. "She's been helping me. She is what I wanted to talk
to you about tonight."
Anabelle
heard the magistrate's references to her. Her lips curled in disgust
and she paused in her preparations, wondering idly if Ichobad would
mind terribly if she poisoned his boss's dinner. The thought amused
her, and even though she knew she wouldn't act on such a thought, it
made her smile.
If
he provokes me too much, I can always get him with dessert...she
mused.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught Ichabod's gaze.
She smiled a faint smile and took a deep breath, concentrating on the
rise and fall of her chest and the tightening of her corset. This eve
would be a trial of patience for her...and patience was not a virtue
she possessed. Ichobad held her gaze, glancing away for a moment
before meeting her eyes again.
I
trust you...she
thought, hoping things would turn out well.
Nodding
slightly, Ichabod led the magistrate to his seat at the table then
turned to Anabelle.
"When do you think dinner will be read-"
he stumbled slightly on an upturned corner of the rug and had to
catch himself on the table as his eyes glued to Anabelle's slightly
disheveled look. A few strands of hair hung into her face as she
cooked and her hands had a few smudges on them. The magistrate
cleared his throat loudly, sounding impatient. Ichabod blinked around
at him then straightened up. "Ahem... When will supper be set,
Anabelle?"
"Right
now," Anabelle didn't look up from her preparations as she
balanced three plates piled high with food. "I wasn't sure what
you wanted, so I made a bit of everything," she paused realizing
she'd already said that phrase once today. "You never did
get around to telling me what sorts of food you prefer, Ichabod,"
she chided lightly. She smiled as she walked past him, setting down
the plate in front of the magistrate.
Criticize
my cooking and it's the last thing you will say,
she thought, masking her dislike with a sweet smile. Surely Ichabod,
with all his contraptions and inventing, surely he had toxic
chemicals around here somewhere. If not, she knew where to find
others. Just in case.
But, for Ichabod's sake, she would behave
herself as long as she could.
Ichabod
smiled as Anabelle took the seat in front of him, but before taking a
bite, he gazed at the magistrate. His boss had already taken two
bites and was chewing rather loudly and grossly, making Ichabod gag.
Carefully, he opened his mouth to speak, clearing his throat
first.
"Sir... Anabelle here is my dear Katrina's cousin. I
have good reason to believe...that she is in grave danger of the
Horseman." The magistrate gazed at his Constable, but continued
chewing. His face was rather expressionless.
"Now, sir, I
have a proposition to keep Anabelle safe. This may seem rather
unorthodox and uncalled for, but the Horseman is difficult to evade,
and this is the only way I can fool him." Still, the magistrate
sat and chewed silently, waiting. "We need... well. We need to
make people thank that Anabelle is Katrina. That she is my wife and
that Katrina was the cousin..." Ichabod took a deep breath as
his boss stopped chewing. "We...we, of course, at home would
just be friends, and she would be Anabelle, but in public...the only
people that know who she really is are herself, you, and I..."
He bit his lip, unsure of how the magistrate would react.
Anabelle
watched Ichabod as he explained, holding her breath as her heart
raced once he again mentioned she'd have to play his wife. She
quickly began taking deep, silent breaths, along with a sip of wine
to keep from fainting again.
Ichabod's eyes were glued to the
magistrate as they awaited his comments. Anabelle watched in disgust
as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth, chewing loudly. All of
a sudden, she wished she had burnt the food, undercooked the
vegetables, and watered the wine...anything was better than hearing
him chew like a cow.
Finally,
the old man swallowed, bits of food clinging to his with
beard.
"Alright, Crane... If you can pull this off, fine.
For the sake of this young...," he glanced at Anabelle, "woman.
However, I'm warning you. You make one false move, anything against
the law, or policy, or manners, and there will be no promotion for
you and you," he glared at Anabelle," you will
be tried for murder."
Over
your lard-encrusted dead body,
Anabelle thought to herself as she merely smiled at the magistrate,
before turning her eyes back to her meal. She picked listlessly at
it, unable to eat much with the magistrate's disgusting chewing
noises. She pushed her food around, occasionally taking a bite of
something, but as for a meal, she would not eat this one, regardless
of how long it took her to make.
There was still some items she
had made that hadn't appeared on the table. She would eat those
instead, once the magistrate was gone and things were back to
normal.
Normal.
Now there was an interesting thought. Nothing about her life had been
normal since she saw Katrina the day before. And now she was sitting
at a dinner table, about to start pretending to be her cousin,
Ichabod's wife, and if she misbehaved the police would execute her
for murder...if some mad Horseman didn't get her first. There was
nothing normal about it at all.
She refilled the magistrate's wine
glass as he drained the first one. On the pretense of getting another
brand of wine, she made her way to the kitchen were she drew a deep
sigh of relief. As loud as his chewing was, the sickening noise
didn't reach the kitchen. But, she couldn't leave Ichabod out there
alone for long. Grabbing the coffee, she took a deep breath and went
back into the dinning room.
"Coffee, sir?" she asked,
with a fake smile plastered on her lips. Judging by the look on
Ichobad's face, he knew it was fake as well.
"No,
no!" the magistrate blubbered, waving a hand at her. "No
coffee. I do not drink that. Do you have any brandy?" Ichabod
froze, looking at Anabelle, his eyes wide. Brandy? Yes, he had
brandy, and sherry, always for guests, but was it wise to give the
magistrate some? After a moment's thought, he nodded, standing
up.
"One moment, sir. I will fetch you some." The
magistrate nodded, fixing Anabelle and Ichabod with an unpleasant,
unimpressed gaze.
"Then
I'll just take this back," Anabelle said, watching Ichabod
disappear into the kitchen. She hurried after him, setting the coffee
pot down on the stove.
"You're not really going to give him
brandy, are you?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise at the
idea. "He's probably got quite a store-room's worth in him
already."
Ichabod
shook his head.
"No, he's sober, surprisingly," he
whispered, leading her further from the door to insure the other man
was out of earshot. "And yes, I'm afraid I must give him brandy.
Otherwise, he will not be pleased. Nothing will happen, I promise
you. Don't worry." He grabbed two bottles of brandy from the
shelves and handed them to her before grabbing a bottle of sherry as
will and a set of glass tumblers.
Anabelle
glanced at him hesitantly before exiting into the room where the
magistrate was noisily licking his fingers. She forced a smile on her
lips, setting down the brandy in the center of the table. Then she
began gathering the dinner dishes, noticing how little Ichobad ate as
well.
They would have a proper meal once the magistrate left, she
decided as she headed back into the kitchen.
She wasn't much for
the common conceptions of women, particularly the idea that they
belonged in kitchens and nurseries and should be seen and not heard.
However, under present circumstances, she thought being silent was
her best course of action. She would give this disturbingly grotesque
gentleman no ammunition and she would not interfere with Ichabod's
plan. Setting the dishes in the sink, she rubbed her temples and
poked her head out. She caught Ichabod's attention and motioned for
him to join her back in the kitchen.
"Should I stay here?"
she whispered, although she was sure the magistrate was thoroughly
enjoying his brandy or sherry...probably both together. "Or
would you prefer me to join you?"
"Yes,
stay, please. Don't leave me alone with him." Ichabod winced,
realizing how childish that sounded. "I'm sorry. If you don't
want to stay, you may do whatever you wish, but..." He glanced
back at the doorway and winced as he heard the shattering of glass as
the magistrate dropped a tumbler. Sighing, Ichabod ran his fingers
through his black hair. "I'm not going to make you stay, but do
decide quickly. I hope he doesn't stay for long. This is appalling."
Just then, there came the gurgling voice of Ichabod's superior from
the sitting room where they had moved to with the spirits.
"Do
join me fer a glhiccupass, Crane! hiccup Very fine sherry you
have here!"
Anabelle glanced out towards the dinning room before glancing back at Ichabod. "I will stay with you," she answered in a hushed tone. "I just was unsure of typical protocol with regards to women, men, and alcohol. I haven't any family anymore and, well, I just didn't know," she confessed. "But I won't leave you alone with him."
"Thank
you," Ichabod breathed, before returning to his chair in the
sitting room. "I won't join you in drinking, sir. I don't much
like the stuff mys-"
"Nonsense!" the man cried in a
jovial manner not usual to him. "Here, have some of the strong
stuff! You will love it!"
"I really-"
"Drink!"
It was more of a command now than an offer. Ichabod glanced at
Anabelle briefly before taking the tumbler the magistrate handed him.
He hesitated, looking like he might be ill, then swung his head back
and drank it in one gulp. His head swirled violently and he cringed
as the strong liquid burned his throat, but he swallowed
successfully. He looked up, through watering eyes at the magistrate,
who was grinning broadly.
"Good man! Here's another!" He
filled the glass again, then added, "And you may want to drink
this one a little slower."
Anabelle
stared at Ichabod as he tossed back the first glass. She remembered
him telling her he didn't drink anything but wine since he was
fifteen.
Now that she was out of the menacing eye of the
magistrate, she relaxed in a nearby chair, picking up a nearby book
and pretending to read as she secretly kept an eye on Ichobad.
Once
or twice he caught her gaze. She arched a questioning glance as he
was poured another glass of the "good stuff" as the
magistrate called it.
Oh
Ichobad, I hope you know what you're doing.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Forty-five
minutes passed and Ichabod was sitting, leaning forward and thumping
his boss heartily on the back as they both laughed at what was
apparently a hilarious joke. In reality, it hadn't been, but the two
drunken men of law found it quite exceedingly amusing. Finally,
Ichabod leaned back in his chair, finishing off his ninth tumbler
full of spirit, and the magistrate stood up, looking very
relaxed.
"Sadly, m'boy, I must be off! Lots of work t'be
done, 'n' with all this...this...Horsemen, parading abot the villig."
He was very drunk, but so was Ichabod, for from his seat, the
Constable nodded and waved off the superior at the door, leaning
heavily on the doorframe and relying on it for his support. Then he
turned to Anabelle who was still sitting a reading, and squinted at
her.
Anabelle sighed in relief as the magistrate left. She closed her book and looked over at Ichabod. She shook her head. He was clinging to the doorframe, drunk. Well, at least this time, she could keep him away from carriages and from breaking his arm again.
Ichabod
was stepping slowly towards Anabelle and the chaise on which she sat,
looking thoughtful. At long last, he reached the chaise and sat down
on the far end, smiling stupidly.
"How was your e'ening so
far, then?" he muttered, listing towards her slightly.
"Well, the magistrate said he'd play along, I could barely eat a thing for his revolting display of table manners, you were a nervous wreck, and now, Ichabod, dear, I think you're drunk," Anabelle reached out to tenderly brush back a stray lock of black hair from his forehead. "But I won't allow you near any carriages, don't worry," she smiled.
Ichabod
hadn't seemed to have heard a single word she had said, or it was as
if she was speaking a completely foreign language. Taking her hand as
it passed by his face, he intertwined his fingers with her and peered
at her hand, tickling the fingers of his other hand down her wrist
and forearm. As though by accident, he planted a soft kiss on the
back of her hand, then another, and another.
"'M not drunk,"
he mumbled between kisses as he worked his way across the back of her
hand and up her wrist slowly.
Anabelle
let out a soft gasp as Ichabod's lips pressed against her skin, but
she couldn't pull away. Actually she wasn't sure if she could or if
she simply didn't want to do so. She could only stare at him for a
moment before she found her voice.
"You must be drunk,"
her voice faltered as he pressed his lips again to her wrist. "I'm
Anabelle, remember?"
"Mh-hm, Anabelle. I know," he whispered, lifting his face to look at her. "And I am not drunk... I haven't been drunk since I was fifteen." He scooted closer to her on the chaise, taking her hands in his and pulling her closer to him. Without another word, he leaned into her and pressed his lips gently to hers, begging her to accept him. His hands found their way about her waist, holding her against him as he pressed kisses to her lips again and again.
Anabelle let out a shuddering breath, unintentionally parting her lips as she did so. Her hands tangled in Ichabod's black locks, even though her mind was screaming at her to pull away, to run upstairs, to not let him kiss her this way. However, the touch of his lips as they pressed softly into hers rendered all rational thought impossible. When being kissed with such tenderness, who wanted to think rationally?
Immediately, Ichabod took advantage of her parted lips, sinking into a fervent exploration of her mouth. His arms wrapped further around her waist and he lifted her up, off the chaise, standing up himself. He left one knee on the chaise to keep himself up straight and pulled away from his lips just enough to whisper, "Upstairs." He smashed his lips to hers again, wanting to turn every millimeter of her mouth.
Anabelle heard herself murmur an ascent before his lips reclaimed hers. She was shuddering again in his arms, and the voice in her head that told her to pull away was being drowned out by the thundering of her heart in her chest...or was that his? Blindly following his lead, she tripped up the stairs, completely wrapped up in the passionate kisses he pressed to her lips.
Finally,
Ichabod had pulled Anabelle with him to the master bedroom. Gently,
he lowered her onto the bed, one hand sliding over the corset he wore
and quickly untying the stays.
"Anabelle," he murmured,
running his lips down her jawline and to her earlobe. He kissed her
earlobe for a moment, then her neck, down to her shoulder, which he
had pulled the dress sleeve from.
Anabelle's
eyes flew open as Ichabod began to draw in her skin, leaving behind a
perfectly formed purple mark. His hands drifted over her frame,
resting finally on her ribcage.
The little nagging voice inside
her head was back, and much louder this time. They had to stop.
Ichabod had too much brandy and Anabelle was certainly drunk off of
his kiss. This wasn't how she wanted things to be and she was fairly
certain he wouldn't want it this way either.
Finally finding her
voice, she murmured his name only to have his lips return to hers,
once again silencing her reluctance as she sank further into the
mattress.
Ichabod
had already removed the green corset from her body and had started on
her chemise by the time the hesitation in her kiss was realized by
him. He could feel her body beneath him go from utterly relaxed to
tense, as though it could not decide. He pushed himself up slightly
and looked down at her, frowning and his lips slightly red.
"You
alright, Anabelle?" he asked, and despite his drunken state, his
voice was tender.
She
smiled a small, wistful smile up at him, staring deep into his eyes.
Reaching up, she touched his swollen lips with her fingers, running
her thumb gently over the lower as he parted them. Tilting her chin
up, she touched her lips to his before laying back to meet his eyes
again. Anabelle placed her hands on his face, her thumb running
across his cheekbone.
"Ichabod," she began, surprised
that her voice was faltering. "Could...could you just hold me
close for a while?"
Ichabod
furrowed his eyebrows momentarily, but nodded. He rolled off of her
slowly, bouncing a bit on the bed as he landed on his side and pulled
her over to him again. One arm wrapped securely about her waist,
while the other wound under her arms, hugging her tightly.
"Wha's
wrong?" he asked, his speech slurred. "Why didn't you want
to...?"
Anabelle
nudged herself closer into his arms, one hand pillowing her head as
she ran her fingers through his hair. Again she brushed her lips
against his.
"Please don't be angry with me, Ichabod,"
she whispered, tilting her head so that it rested beneath his chin.
She could feel the heat from his body warming her.
Then she had
an idea.
Lifting her head back to meet his eyes, she moved one
finger slowly up and down the bridge of his nose, not stopping the
motion as she watched his eyelids start to droop. His breathing
leveled off slightly, becoming more rhythmic. Still Anabelle did not
stop trailing her finger up and down his nose.
Ichabod's arm relaxed around her, though they remained wrapped there. His eyes closed completely and his head lolled forward slightly off the pillow. He had fallen into a sweet, dreamless sleep, helping of course by the liquor and constant massage on his nose. His forehead had rested on hers, so that she could feel every breath from him.
Anabelle
had no idea how much time had passed when her eyelids fluttered open.
She didn't even remember falling asleep, but smiled when she realized
that Ichabod's arms were still holding her close. She lay in his arms
listening to his heartbeat. Suddenly another sound caught her ears.
Hooves on cobblestone...
...At this late
hour...
Anabelle jumped out of bed, grabbing a stick of chalk
form her bag. She ran to the door of the master bedroom and began to
draw upon the doorframe. She had to be quick, yet one mistake could
cost them both dearly. She checked her work--nothing amiss.
Hastily
returning to the bedroom, her eyes fell upon Ichabod still sleeping.
Her hand reached into her pocket. This was not how she had hoped to
do this, but his safety was too valuable to wait.
Her fingers
closed around the larger of the two bands. She pulled it out and
quickly slipped it on his left ring finger. Immediately she jammed
the smaller band onto her finger as a warm surge flooded through her
veins.
She lay back down beside him, watching him sleep. Leaning
forward, she placed a kiss on his forehead as she felt him move his
arm back to its original resting place about her waist, pulling her
body flat against his once more. His other hand wound back under her
arm. The sound of his breath and the warmth of being in his arms
helped her to relax. Anabelle rested her hand on his bicep. Finally
she was lulled to sleep.
