23
The coffin maker had been away from his wife for far too long. His chest ached with the thought of her, with the worry he imagined must be settling on her shoulders. He'd never wanted so desperately to talk to her.
He knew there was very little chance that she was still at home, waiting for him to return, and he feared what sort of peril might have found her in her search for him.
His eyes swept the group of bandits that had been holding him hostage.
He'd been a fool, arrogant and reckless. He knew he shouldn't have been boasting of his wife's masterful designs, the clever pockets only he could find concealed in coffins, but he'd been blinded by his admiration of her genius, and in a state of love-struck stupor, had spoken about it to the wrong person.
His delivery had meant to be a simple one—there and back—though he'd had one other point of business to attend to before he returned to his loving wife.
Instead he'd been kidnapped, forced by the violent gang to aid them as they desecrated the dead. He loathed himself for his involvement in it.
He wondered just how many graves these villains would sack, how long they would hold him hostage. He wondered if he'd ever see his beloved again.
The men were drunk, congratulating themselves on another grave defiled. Edward kept himself as much away from the group as was possible, for he feared if he spoke too much, the scoundrels would kill him for all the ill things he had to say about them.
The sound of their laughter was loud, bawdy, but over it, Edward could hear the soft hooting of an owl, far off in the trees. He longed to slip into the forest, to escape these villains, but he feared that they would simply hunt him down, and heaven forbid they followed him home to his wife.
The coffin maker's wife was a strong woman, but he would never forgive himself for bringing such violence into their home.
"Oi!" a man shouted from the fire. "Coffin maker!"
Edward's eyes shut, willing the men to ignore him and go back to their drinking.
"Ever put anyone"—here he hiccupped so heartily, it made him stagger on his seat—"in tha groun' near Kirkland?"
Edward didn't want to answer, but he could feel the eyes of every man on him, and his brain raced to come up with a clever answer. Kirkland was at least three days' ride from here, a far larger village than the ones they'd been robbing, and much wealthier. Edward had done some dealing in Kirkland, but it was nothing riding all the way out there for.
Still, if he could drive the men on a long journey toward a bigger city with constables…
"Oi! You dumb?" another man shouted.
The coffin maker blinked. "Yes, I've done business in Kirkland," he said slowly, regrettably.
The men turned toward one another, elbows jostling into each other's sides. Edward could hear them hatching a plan, and he turned back to his meager meal, miserable.
Oh how he longed to see the face of his beloved once more, even if only to tell her…
Edward's thoughts drifted, for there in the woods, he could have sworn he saw her. Bella.
His heart leapt in his throat, his food falling to the earth as he climbed to his feet. Before the bandits could shout at him, there was a tremendous sound, and then men were streaming in from the forest, pitchforks and swords glinting in the moonlight as they descended on the thieves.
The burglars sprang to their feet, but they were slow and stupid from ale and food, and their practiced hands were clumsy as they reached for their weapons.
Edward found his chance, slipping out of the fray and edging the woods, dodging as more and more men poured into the small clearing. If the men of the villages were here, that must mean…
There was a loud bark, right before a body collided with his, and small strong arms wrapped so fiercely around his chest, he could not breathe.
He smelled her lavender scent and nearly fell to his knees.
"Bella," he sobbed, his body shaking as his arms encircled her. She was trembling in his grasp, her face pressed so deep into his chest, it felt as if she were trying to peer into his heart.
"Edward," she cried. "My Edward."
No sweeter words had the coffin maker ever heard.