Silver Moon by Monica Barrie Page B

partly so she would not have a free minute to think of anything but the work. It was a blessing to return home at night with barely the strength to eat and bathe. What her hard work could not do, was stop the images of the handsome man who fed the passions smoldering within her, making her give birth to desires she’d had no preparation to repel.
    The weeks passed quickly in this manner, helping Elyse to pretend that everything was as it should be. Nevertheless, she knew, in those exhausted moments between awareness and sleep, everything was far from all right.
    Brace treated her with a cool courtesy, never coming close enough so that they might accidentally touch, never speaking of anything other than the work they were watching or doing.
    Only when they were completely engrossed within their work did the tension swirling constantly between them diminish. All the same, Elyse was thankful for Brace’s knowledge, and for his willingness to share it.
    By the end of the last week of harvesting, the weather turned extremely hot, and as Elyse rode from the fields to the plant, rivulets of perspiration rolled down her chest, soaking her top and making it stick to her body.
    When she reached the plant, she reined in her horse and stared, puzzled, at the knot of workers sitting under the shade of nearby palm trees. She knew something had to be very wrong for the workers to be idle. If the cane went unprocessed for too long, it would not produce the quality of sugar they needed. Glancing about, she did not see Brace’s horse. She rode over to one of the workers, Isaac, who was in charge of the processing when Brace was not there.
    “What happened?”
    “There be no water. Something be blocking the aqueduct,” he said. “Brace be fixing it now.”
    “Where?”
    Isaac shrugged. “Could be anywhere. An old section break. A tree be damming the channel.”
    Elyse turned Thistle and rode to the now-dry aqueduct, which brought water to all the fields for irrigation, and followed it toward the mountains.
    She rode for half an hour, guided by the stone and wood channel, which was the very lifeblood of Devonairre, without spotting Brace.
    When she reached the first slope of the mountains, a hillside leading upward, she urged her horse along this steeper incline, continuing in the direction of the aqueduct. Nearing the top of this first slope, she heard the sounds of hammering.
    She reached a plateau-like section a few minutes later, and saw the aqueduct set above ground, held aloft by a wooden trestle. This part of the water channel was made entirely of wood, and resembled a long trough. The legs of the trestle were spaced ten feet apart.
    She traced the direction of the trestle with her eyes until it disappeared into a stand of red birches. It was from there that the hammering came.
    She rode to the copse of trees and the hammering grew louder. When she entered the shaded area, she saw Brace working on a leg of the trestle, trying to position it beneath the broken aqueduct. As he worked, the water from the overhead trough cascaded on him like a miniature waterfall. Lying on the ground near him, in an ever-spreading pool of water, was a dead birch tree that, Elyse realized, had fallen into the aqueduct and broken it at a seam.
    As Brace hammered the wooden stilt, she saw the rippling play of the muscles on his back, and the power in his arms.
    For what seemed like an eternity, Elyse watched him work. Emotions sped through her, making her again aware of his effect on her simply by looking at him. Why does he hate me? It doesn’t matter, she told herself, sure that her feelings for Brace were hers alone.
    After dismounting, she walked to him while he struggled to shift the v-shaped water channel and make it join its severed end, his feet slipping about and making the job more difficult.
    *****
    Brace ignored the water falling on his face as he fought to connect the two ends of the aqueduct. He was working as quickly as he could,