Читать книгу The Negotiated Marriage - Christina Rich - Страница 10
ОглавлениеHer scream punched Duncan in the gut as the smell of gunpowder wafted around him. He twisted his upper body around to search for her. A plethora of green and brown clouded his vision as he fought against his spinning and throbbing head. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, hoping to gain his bearings, but no one object came into focus. “Miss? Miss!”
Nothing. Inhaling a deep breath, he wrapped his free leg around the one caught in the trap and spread his arms out wide until his swinging, upside-down body slowed. Careful not to start the movement all over again, he craned his neck until he spied the spot where she’d been standing.
She was gone.
He muttered beneath his breath as the mound of yellow fabric bobbed downstream and around the bend. The report must have startled her, causing her to lose her footing and fall back into the river. He should have insisted she move away from the edge. He should have pulled her out of the water and held on to her until her feet were on firmer ground.
Why wasn’t she hollering for help?
Unless she couldn’t.
He jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out his penknife. Swinging his body upward, he tried to grab hold of the rope above his foot and ended up renewing the back-and-forth motion. He tried again, and again. The sky, declaring war on his situation, began pouring buckets of rain, stinging his eyes. The rope bit into his ankle. If he were a praying man, he’d ask for a bit of mercy, but he’d discovered long ago that God, mercy and Duncan Murray had nothing to do with each other.
Perhaps the good Lord would listen for the lady. “God, if you’re willing to bend your ear to a black-hearted Murray like me, not for me, for her.” The line attached to his leg jerked him upward, and then dropping, he started swinging again. “That woman needs some h—”
The trap released from its mooring without him even making a jab at the rope. Like a wounded bird falling from the sky, Duncan fell, hitting the ground with a hard thud. His breath rushed out of him and he laid there stunned.
A toothless, gray-bearded Hamish, in an oversize patched coat, hunched over him. Had the old man come to bash him in the head again?
“Ye messed that one up, ye did.” Hamish squinted as he glanced toward the river. “Best go get her, as I ain’t none too good at swimmin’.”
“You have some answering to do, my friend,” Duncan said as he rolled to his feet and ran down the path. He dove into the river, icy water engulfing him. He pushed through the water several paces until the current began to quicken and swirl around his legs, seeking to drag him under the surface. Unless she knew how to swim, it would be impossible for her to navigate the waters with her small stature, especially with yards of sodden fabric weighing her down. He dove beneath the murky water and swam toward the last place he’d seen her yellow dress.
The current thrust him around the bend where the banks of the creek widened near the place he’d crossed with Hamish on his ferry only the day before. Spying a heap of yellow lying on the wooden raft, Duncan cut through the water. He grabbed hold of a corner post to keep from being sent farther downriver. Resting his forehead against the hewn wood, he drew in a few calming breaths, and then he glanced at the lady.
She lay on her back, her hand across her midsection. If it weren’t for the rapid rise and fall of her chest, he’d assume she enjoyed resting on her perch much like the water turtles who gathered on rocks to sunbathe. However, the sun remained hidden far behind the clouds and the heavy rain.
Duncan swiped the water from his eyes and pushed himself onto the anchored ferry. The back of his head pounded with the fierce clang of a hammer hitting a rail tie. Leaning on his elbows, he circled his neck, stretching the tense muscles, trying to relieve the thundering in his skull. However, if he was to be honest with himself, which he made a point to do—after all, if a man couldn’t tell himself the truth, he wasn’t worth a fleck of dust—he hoped to settle the fright right out of his bones. He’d known the woman less than a quarter of an hour, and already she’d torn more emotion out of him than any lady of his acquaintance since he’d left Scotland, ten years ago at the young age of seventeen. She’d made him care about her well-being and play the knight.
He could hear her laughter in his mind before he’d even completed the thought. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d still be standing on the bank, hands on hips, commanding him to halt. Her ability to navigate the creek, in a gown no less, and pull herself to safety, impressed him. He should have listened to her. Then he wouldn’t have dropped the rifle.
“I suppose I owe you an apology.”
The sound of the creek rushing around the bend roared in her silence. The tap of each raindrop smacking the surfaces around him increased in intensity. Her lack of sarcasm unnerved him. An uneasiness pricked the base of his neck.
“Miss?” He glanced over his shoulder and noticed her spectacles no longer rested on the bridge of her nose. He turned more toward her and took note of how her hair had come completely loose from its knot. His thoughts jumbled into a knotted ball of yarn. Before he could halt himself, he reached out to tap her shoulder and found his fingers brushing against her hair. Not one, but all of his fingers became captivated by the drenched ringlets. He could almost imagine spending his days like this, with her lounging on a crude, rickety raft in a muddy creek instead of spending his days being wooed by men with ideas bigger than their bank accounts, stiff collars and musky cigars.
A stone settled in the pit of his stomach and he jerked his hand back, his fingers snagging in her hair. He was surprised that she didn’t cry out like he’d expect ladies to do when having their hair pulled.
He turned onto his knees and grabbed hold of her shoulders and began to shake her. Warm, sticky residue seeped through her gown, oozing against his hand. He eased his hand back, knowing what he’d find. That stone in his stomach began to mull around like boulders tumbling from a mountaintop. Blood spread from her shoulder and down the sleeve of her gown.
“Duncan Murray, you’re as black-hearted as they come and you’ve done a lot of rotten things, but ye never shot a lassie afore,” he told himself. He’d never shot anyone outside of the war.
He glanced around the small cove to see if Hamish had followed by land, but only drab gray trees waiting for their spring coats to sprout lined the river banks. The old man was nowhere to be seen. Rusa Valley lay east half an hour’s ride by horseback. A well-worn path to the west would take him back toward Hamish and the hopes of shelter.
Duncan stood to his feet, the ferry rocking beneath them. Scooping her into his arms, he settled her against his chest, her head resting in the crook of his arm. The warmth of her breath filtered through the cotton strands of his soaked shirt, singeing his skin.
He stepped over the ledge, onto the bank and then readjusted her. Her arms snaked around his neck, causing his pulse to thunder. The clanging of bells, much like the ones alerting a town to a fire, roared in his ears, warning him he trod dangerous territory. He should just lay her right down on the muddy bank, forget about Hamish’s offer and hightail it back to Topeka. Perhaps leave Kansas altogether, especially given the certainty the feel of her in his arms would never leave his memory.
This woman had managed to steal his wits. One touch of her left him rattled, ready to jump in his father’s wastrel footsteps. In his father’s case, married to one woman, his mind on another. Several others.
He ducked beneath the limb of a tree and came face-to-face with the end of a revolver and the barrel of a rifle. The revolver clicked as the mechanism slid back. He eyed the two women pulling a bead on him, and he nearly dropped the woman in his arms. The piercing dark eyes and matching scowls told him all he needed to know. These women were all sisters.
“How many more of you are there?” he asked.
The shorter one narrowed her eyes. “You railroad men have tried all sorts of things to get our land, mister.”
“Kidnapping isn’t one of them,” the taller one added.
“Railroad man? Kidnapping?”
What did the railroad have to do with these women? Weston had briefed him on the latest plans to build the iron road through the county only days ago through the middle of Rusa Valley, and this bit of land was far from it. Before asking what they meant, the shorter one let out a high-pitched scream as she removed her finger from the trigger. “You shot Camy!” She whipped her head around and faced the taller sister. “He shot Camy.”
He glanced down at the woman in his arms. Almond-shaped eyes rested in a sun-kissed, heart-shaped face. Her bow-shaped lips were slightly parted. Her dark curls formed a pillow for her head against his arm, and he couldn’t help imagining gazing upon her beauty every day for the rest of his life and calling the name that suited her.
“Cam—Cameron Sims?” Dread curled in his stomach, pounding like wild horses in his head, and he nearly dropped her. So much for her not being Hamish’s relation. So much for her not being the woman Hamish wanted him to marry. Everything in him told him to get away from her as fast as he could.
Her lashes fluttered and then opened. A pool of warm cocoa with flecks of gold blinked up at him, laced with pain. She blinked again. “You rescued me.”
“Not exactly,” he snapped, ashamed of his actions causing her need to be rescued.
Her eyes grew wide at his terse response, and at the moment he wasn’t apologetic. He’d been a fool to follow Hamish out here with the promise of a home worthy of Scotland only to be swindled into marriage by a conniving old man. The woman in his arms was far from homely.
Her mouth opened and closed as if she wanted to say something. Instead she raised her head and looked from one sister to the other and back to him. She started to push against his shoulders and groaned in pain. Eyelids falling, her head fell and dangled over his arm. His protective instinct had him rolling her closer into him. The curve of her cheek resting against his chest.
The sisters lowered their weapons and rushed toward them.
The taller of the two sisters probed Camy’s wound. “Is this her only injury?”
Duncan shrugged. “It’s the only one I see. However, she was washed down the river.”
“You shot her. And you tried to drown her just like the last prospector promised to do,” the younger sister accused as she jammed a fist on her hip.
Duncan’s pulse skipped a beat. Someone had threatened her? A man claiming to work for the railroad? A man Duncan’s money helped pay wages to? No wonder she’d been adamant about him leaving. Now wasn’t the time to be interrogated by this younger sister, nor was it the time for him to ask questions. Camy needed medical attention, and quickly. “If I meant to drown her I wouldn’t be carrying her, now, would I?”
The sister inspecting Camy for injuries glanced at the shorter one. “You best get Dr. Northrop.”
“I don’t like it, Ellie.” The shorter one looked over Duncan from head to toe and back again, before resting on her injured sister. “If any further harm happens to either one of my sisters, you’ll regret it, mister.”
“Ye need not worry, Mara Jean.” Hamish stepped from the shadows and over a log. “He’ll not be causing harm to his future bride.”
Obviously Hamish sought Duncan’s protection for his family, but that didn’t mean hot anger didn’t boil in Duncan’s blood at being manipulated. If Hamish had been truthful about his intention of Duncan marrying Camy from the start, Duncan never would have left Topeka, and she wouldn’t now be suffering from a wound in her shoulder.
The sisters spun around, their faces white as snow.
“What have you done, Hamish?” Ellie held up her hand. “Never mind. We’ll hear the tale soon enough. Come along, let’s get Camy home.”
“Northrop won’t be too happy when he finds out about this.” The younger sister giggled.
Camy flinched and curled tighter against him. Her eyes once again opened, pooling with tears. Tears caused by the wound in her shoulder, when she hadn’t cried before? Had she heard Hamish’s revelation? Or was it the mention of the doctor that caused her to seek his protection, a stranger? Either way, he didn’t like the lines of distress creasing her forehead and mouth. Somehow he couldn’t help wanting to play the knight in shining armor to this damsel in distress. After all, he owed her that much after shooting her. No matter how loud the warning bells clanged in his head, he wouldn’t leave her side until he was assured she was well, and then he’d be gone without a second glance. Before Hamish and his daughter convinced him a marriage of convenience held appeal.
* * *
“I won’t leave you.” She closed her eyes as the huskiness of Duncan Murray’s voice, colored with his accent, vibrated through her and curled her toes. “Unless you ask me to.”
She gave her head a slight shake and then wrapped her arms around his neck as he followed Ellie up the path. Her behavior toward him had been monstrous to say the least, and yet he continued to offer her help. She’d almost be willing to slave over the fireplace and make him a month’s worth of dinners.
The wall of his broad chest and his brawny arms reminded her of the days when her da had held her tight during a frightful storm, or when he’d taken her riding. Those days had been forever ago, before her mother had died, before he’d left her and her sisters with Hamish. She hadn’t felt safe or protected since. She wanted to soak it in, and yet she did not. She opened her eyes.
“You may put me d-down now,” she stuttered, releasing her arms from around his neck and pushing at his shoulders. He tightened his grip. She smacked his shoulder and grimaced at the fire burning in her arm. “Oaf!”
Ellie halted her steps. “Something wrong?”
“I’m not a child, Ellie. I can walk.” She released a puff of air. She didn’t want to trust that he had good intentions. There had been too many men of recent months travelling through Rusa Valley seeking land along the river, and some unsavory fellows vying for Sims Creek. However, she didn’t wish to be overly rude, given that he seemed intent on helping her. “He’s injured and has no business b-bearing my burden.”
“Cameron is as stubborn as my Millie.” Hamish’s thick, gravelly accent warmed her heart, even if she took offense at being compared to his mule. He’d inform Mr. Murray that the Simses’ land was not for sale, because Hamish promised it to her when she turned of age on her next birthday, and perhaps he’d help Ellie see reason as to why they shouldn’t give up their home and allow bounders to take over their home.
“I’ve noticed,” Duncan mumbled as he released Camy’s legs. “Far from biddable.”
His fingers anchored around her waist, leaving her light-headed and breathless. Her swim in the river had taken more of her strength than she’d like to admit. The pulsating, searing pain in her arm churned in her stomach.
Peeling his fingers from her sides, she shuddered at the loss of his warmth and wobbled. Duncan’s palm, branding the curve of her back, offered support and propelled her away from him and the delight of his protectiveness. She wouldn’t covet something she could never have. Not from him. He was too handsome by far, and she was too plain. Too unladylike.
She lifted her foot over an exposed root, and a wave of dizziness spun around in her head. Reaching her hand out to steady herself against the tree, she missed and lurched forward. Before she hit the ground, she found herself swept back into the arms of Duncan Murray.
The rumble of his laughter shook through her. “I’m afraid she’ll find I’m just as stubborn.”
Ellie and Hamish laughed too, and if Camy hadn’t been so offended at their jests over her stubbornness, she would have released the tears of pain and frustration begging to spill from her eyes. Ellie rarely smiled anymore, and she hadn’t laughed since she returned home.
Camy crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. “I’m glad to amuse you, but can we go home now?”
The sooner they were home, the sooner she’d be out of his arms, and the sooner they could correct him about purchasing their home. Then he could be on his way. But then one of the Northrops would soon arrive, and no doubt, Miller Northrop would hear of her mishap. She could handle Duncan Murray and the emotions he elicited, but she couldn’t handle Miller’s persistent pursuit. The last time almost cost her her freedom, in more ways than one. Camy shivered at the idea of being shackled to that boy. Only a year older than her twenty, Miller had gone from a polite young man to acting like a petulant child over the last year.
“Are you cold?” Duncan’s slight accent rolled over her, somehow setting her nerves on edge, yet giving her a great deal of comfort as it reminded her of her parents.
“I’m fine.”
He snorted, as if she’d tell an untruth, and then pulled her closer. If word caught on that a man carried Camy, no matter the reason, Mrs. Smith would call for a wedding. This man confused her, and she’d no more wish to marry the yellow-bellied oaf of a Scotsman than Miller.
A life with Miller would be worse than tea with Mrs. Smith and her daughters. The socialite had taken it upon herself to mother the Sims sisters, as they had no mother, and Camy always walked away from her teas with a stiff neck from sitting all prim and proper like. Not to mention her nose nearly took on a permanent wrinkled disposition. It was no small chore containing a sneeze, especially when Mrs. Smith insisted on waving her fan, stirring up every imaginable fragrance she’d doused her person with moments before the appointed time of tea. Third Tuesday, every month, weather permitting. A necessary evil, according to Ellie. After all, Mrs. Smith knew all the going-ons within three counties, which kept the Sims sisters ahead of the railroad. Most of the time. All they had to do was smile, nod and sip tea while they listened to drivel about the latest fashions and how a woman should glide and not amble in the presence of polite company. If Mrs. Smith had known about Duncan Murray, she certainly failed to mention it. The old goose needed to step up her game if she intended to continue tea parties in her parlor room. Unless, of course, she had intended to keep him a secret. But then, only men with fat wallets perked Mrs. Smith’s ears.
“Do you always talk to yourself?”
Camy wrinkled her brow. Her gaze shifted to his. The sharp retort clinging to the tip of her tongue halted when she caught sight of his moss-colored eyes. She jerked her gaze from his and pushed her finger up the side of her nose. The wire rim that should be there was gone. No wonder everything but Duncan Murray seemed to blur before her.
“What’s that, you say?”
“My spectacles.”
Duncan flexed his arms around Camy as he stepped over another large limb that had fallen during the last winter storm a month back. He’d probably handle the oxen as if they were no more than small babes from their mother’s womb.
“I didn’t see them. You must have lost them when you fell in the river.”
“Most likely.” Even though Camy knew every inch of their land with her eyes closed, Ellie would insist on Camy staying in the house until they could be replaced. Mara wouldn’t be too happy about trading chores with Camy and giving up the cooking, although their stomachs would be a mite grateful for the change. Mara’s attempt at potatoes still soured Camy’s gullet. Dr. Northrop would grumble about her being a simpleminded female who needed a husband, one like Miller.
“Can you see at all?” he asked.
“I’m not blind,” Camy snapped, and then sighed. “I can see you. That’s about it. My sisters treat me like I’m daft.”
“We do not.” Ellie’s voice floated toward her. “The last time you lost your spectacles you stepped in a hole and twisted your foot. You hobbled around for weeks. The time before that you nearly shot Hamish thinking he was a wildcat.”
Duncan chuckled. “Hamish resembles a lot of things, but a wildcat?”
Camy shrugged. It was odd Duncan seemed to know her uncle well. “I knew it was him. I missed him on purpose.”
“So the lass says,” Hamish responded. “Too close for my liking.”
“Too close? You have a hole in your hat,” Ellie added. “We’re almost to the path. Can you manage her up the hill?”
“Yes.”
His accent curled her toes. “I can walk if it’s too much for your head.”
“We’ll manage just as we are, Camy.”
She liked the way he said her name. Not as a curse or as if she’d once again displeased her sisters. Her name almost sounded pleasant, even if it meant crooked nose. A name her da had given her because he felt all out of sorts at his wife producing another girl.
Camy’s mind darted in all directions as Duncan maneuvered the path leading to her home. She didn’t want to like him. She didn’t want to like any man, given that they seemed to be as flighty as birds during the first fall of leaves. Her da always moving place to place looking for that one thing to fill the void her mother had left when she passed from this earth. Hamish leaving for months at a time.
Duncan Murray was handsome, and somewhat gruff, but somehow she’d found a bit of courage when he challenged her instead of constantly stuttering like a timid wallflower hiding behind a book during Mrs. Smith’s social gatherings. Beneath the layers he seemed to be caring and kind. He hadn’t left her in the river, he’d come after her. She was tempted to giggle and become woolly-headed like Mara did whenever she talked about a gentleman, carriage rides and arm-in-arm walks beneath the light of the moon. Camy’s younger sister didn’t understand what it was like to have a man abandon them; she’d been too young to recall. Ellie knew, but she hadn’t been the one to chase Da’s coattails everywhere he’d gone. She hadn’t been the one sitting beneath the stoop waiting for his return.
Camy promised herself she’d never do it again. She’d never allow her heart to be owned by anyone other than her sisters. She had the land Hamish promised to give her. That was all she needed.
“Mr. Murray, what is the truth as to why you’re here?”
He halted his steps, his hold on her slackening. She could tell by the lighting that they’d reached the top of the path, and she could tell by his reaction that he hadn’t expected what was before him.
“He’s come to marry you, lass,” Hamish said as he stepped past them.
