Lonesome Bride

by Megan Hart

  For an instant, she saw cunning replace the easy charm on Hammond's face. Only for an instant, however, for quickly the smile was back upon his full mouth. He pretended to pout, the expression perfectly suited to his ample, lascivious lips.

  "Come now, Caitleen my dear, is that any way to treat an old friend?"

  "You are no friend of mine, old or otherwise,” she replied. “What do you want?"

  Hammond smiled again, his fleshy lips parting in a way that made Caite imagine them pressed against her. She could not suppress the shudder this time, especially since she suspected Hammond was imagining the same thing, but with a far different outlook.

  "I merely want what is mine by law.” Hammond swung down from his dirty white horse and tossed the reins casually around the fence post. “I want to take you home to East Frankton, Caitleen, and marry you."

  "Impossible, Mr. Hammond."

  "Why is that, Caitleen?” Hammond had been so bold as to step up onto the porch. Caite did not back away as much as she would have liked to. She did not wish him to see he could intimidate her.

  "Because I am...” She faltered because he had stepped even closer to her. He was close enough now to kiss her, should he have so chosen, and Caite prayed he did not.

  "Your letter to Gerda stated you had not yet wed Mr. Peters,” Hammond said softly. His breath, scented of whiskey overlaid with mint, wafted over her. She wrinkled her nose. “If that has not changed, then I have come to claim what is mine by right."

  "By right?” Caite cried. “Just because my father is a poor card player?"

  "You are not yet of age, I believe,” Hammond commented. “And therefore, still your father's ward to do with as he so pleases. While I know it did not please him to see his only daughter wed to me, he did agree to it."

  "I shall be of age in less than a year,” Caite replied angrily. “Besides, I do not think any court would uphold this matter."

  "You must've thought so, else you would not have run so far, so fast,” Hammond told her. “I spent many a frantic week wondering where my lovely bride-to-be had taken herself, Caitleen. Until, that is, you were so kind as to write that old, fat maid of yours. It was easy enough to get the truth out of her."

  Caite gasped. “What did you do to Gerda, you pig?"

  Hammond frowned again. “My darling! Such language!"

  "You have not heard any language yet,” Caite promised fiercely, “if I find you have hurt Gerda..."

  Hammond touched her arm lightly and laughed. “I did no such thing, Caitleen! Indeed, I'm wounded you would accuse me of such base behavior. Do you believe I am so terrible a man as to harm an innocent woman, just to get some information from her? I merely explained the force of my feelings for you. When she heard how much I longed for you to be my bride, she gave in and told me where you had gone."

  Caite, who doubted that was true, scowled. “Gerda would not have betrayed me."

  "You might be surprised at how a coin or two can sway even the most stubborn people,” Hammond stated calmly.

  Caite frowned. “You are too late, anyway, Hammond. I shall never marry you."

  The dandy's eyes glittered. “So you have already married Mr. Peters?"

  "I will be marrying Mr. Peters very shortly,” Caite said, proudly. Too late, she realized she should have lied. But I have nothing to fear from this man, she thought, lifting her chin. It is not as though he could take her by force, after all.

  "Ah, so you have not yet been to the marriage bed,” Hammond said. Then, in a voice so low she nearly could not hear him, he said, “The breaching will mine, after all."

  Caite stepped away briskly, out of Hammond's reach. “Mr. Hammond, I am going to ask you to leave."

  Hammond sighed. “I've come a very long way, Caitleen. The least you could do is offer me a drink."

  Her eyes narrowed. “I owe you no courtesies, Mr. Hammond."

  "Please call me Drake,” he offered. “You break my heart with your harsh words, Caitleen. How can you say you owe me no courtesy, after all the years I've known you? Watched you grow from a gangly, scabby-kneed urchin into the delightful young lady you've become?"

  "After all the years of watching you steal Serenity from my father piece by piece is what you really mean,” Caite retorted.

  "Everything your father lost was from his own lack of skill at the gaming table,” Hammond responded. “I stole nothing."

  He was right Caite knew, but that did not make her like him any better. She found herself with nothing to say. Hammond jumped upon her lack of retort. Smiling his charming smile again, he spread his hands innocently.

  "Am I to assume, then, you don't wish to come back with me and become my bride?"

  "You have assumed correctly,” Caite answered.

  To her surprise, Hammond sighed sadly. “Again, you break my heart, Caitleen. I know you have heard stories about me ... stories I cannot deny have a grain of truth to them. But let me assure you that my motives in asking for your hand were of pure intent. I lost my heart to you long ago, Caitleen."

  Caite snorted. “I've heard stories about you, Mr. Hammond, and I'm certain they hold more than just a grain of truth."

  He looked at her from wounded eyes. “Perhaps. But that does not change the fact that I love you."

  "Love!” Caite scoffed. “What do you know about love?"

  Were those tears shining in his muddy brown eyes? Caite looked at Hammond suspiciously. His engaging smile had faded, his full mouth turned down at the corners. Despite the besmirched white buckskin and bedraggled feather in his hat, or perhaps because of those things, he looked younger and somehow boyish.

  "Even a man such as myself can learn how to love,” he said with quiet dignity. He touched the brim of his hat cordially. “Miss O'Neal, Mr. Peters is an incredibly lucky man to have found you for his bride. I wish you both luck and happiness."

  With a sigh, he turned and began descending the short flight of porch steps. Caite's heart twisted. She knew Drake Hammond was a scoundrel, but his speech had sounded so sincere. And those had been tears in his eyes, she was certain of it.

  "Mr. Hammond!” she called, knowing even as she did so she had most likely fallen prey to his scheming nature.

  Hammond turned, the hangdog look still upon his face. “Yes?"

  "It is an awfully long ride back to Lonesome,” Caite said reluctantly. “Perhaps you would like to partake of some liquid refreshment before you go?"

  "You are a goddess,” Hammond said, coming back onto the porch and capturing her hand for a kiss.

  Caite extracted her hand uncomfortably. “Come inside, Mr. Hammond."

  Drake Hammond smiled. “Thank you kindly, Miss O'Neal."

  * * * *

  Jed stepped back to survey the results of his hard efforts. He had built the squat chicken house from the pile of lumber behind the cabin. The pile had been left over from when he had built the small abode, so most of the pieces were mismatched, warped or otherwise flawed. Still, he had managed to put them together into a fine little coop. The chickens wouldn't care if the walls tilted in opposite directions. It would keep the rain off and the wind out, and that was all that mattered.

  Now if he only could get them to nest inside the blasted thing. He watched in amused exasperation as the feather-brained birds pecked and scratched all around the building, but did not venture inside. It was his own fault, he guessed, for having left them so long without a home. He had brought them as little peeps from Heatherfield, never expecting them to flourish on their own. Yet every time he had stopped on his way to or from Lonesome, the flock had been there, waiting for him.

  "You're some mighty tough, little birds,” he called to them, and scattered another handful of grain onto the ground.

  The chickens went wild over the rich food falling from the sky. The little bandy rooster cackled and scolded, but the fierce little hens paid him no mind. One, in fact, pecked the male bird when he came too close to the patch of ground she was defending.

&nb
sp; The little hen reminds me of Caite, Jed thought before he could stop himself. Always pecking and scratching at a man. As he thought that, the rooster tried once more to eat from the little hen's grain. This time, she let him without a cackle. Just like Caite, he thought.

  He really did want to see if Calhoun and a bunch of his friends would come out here and help him with the barn, and he really did want to get started right away. But how much of his desire was fueled with the knowledge that by heading back to Staghorn, he was very likely to stop and see Caitleen?

  "Idiot,” Jed muttered, kicking at the dirt.

  It would be best if he stayed her for a few more days, gave himself a chance to cool down. Her, too. Heck, maybe by the time he did see her again, she'd be missing him.

  "She can't miss you if you don't go away,” Jed told the bandy rooster, who was still pestering the little hen. And how true that was.

  So, he would stay here a few more days, or until the longing to see her got so bad he couldn't resist, whichever came first. He could go hunting tomorrow, bring in some game to smoke and see him through the winter. Maybe stop and catch a few fish to dry. It had been awhile since he'd stayed out under the stars with only the night for company. It might be just what he needed—some time to get his head on straight.

  Tomorrow, then, he'd set off.

  * * * *

  Caite made the round of introductions self-consciously, well aware of the scrutiny her adopted family was giving Hammond. The dandy, however, did not seem to mind. He shook the hands of all the men, and kissed the hands of all the ladies, bowing low over them and smiling roguishly.

  "I have told Mr. Hammond I will not be returning with him to Pennsylvania,” Caite said, when Hammond had finished flirting.

  Hammond pressed his hands over his heart and looked fondly at Caitleen. “I have accepted that my dear Caitleen has given her heart to another. I fear I'll never get over the blow, but my only wish is to see her happy."

  Caite rolled her eyes behind the man's back, catching Sally's eye. The petite brunette smiled merrily at Caite's obvious annoyance with Hammond. Shorty, however, was not so charmed.

  "Miss Caite says you won her in poker,” he growled. “I don't think that's right."

  Hammond chuckled. “That may be what Desmond told her, but the truth is far simpler. He owed me quite a substantial amount of money, and I agreed to obliterate his debt to me if I could only have the honor of marrying his beautiful Caitleen.” Again, he looked fondly at Caite. “I've been in love with her for quite some time now."

  Caite coughed uncomfortably, aware everyone was staring at her. She could not blame them really. First, she had surprised them with her tale of nearly being forced into marriage to a scoundrel. Hammond was instead proving to be a charming, educated, handsome suitor who obviously held her in the highest esteem.

  "I've invited Mr. Hammond to stay for some refreshment before he returns to Lonesome,” Caite said quickly.

  "That's so typical of the lovely Caitleen,” Hammond commented fondly. “So thoughtful and considerate of others."

  Caite's smile was strained. “Mr. Hammond, you exaggerate."

  Hammond wagged his finger at her. “Now, my dear, don't be modest. Besides, I'm sure all these good people here know how wonderful you are."

  "Yes, we do,” Sally interjected. “We're very happy Caite is going to marry our Jed."

  Hammond sighed. “I wish I could share your happiness, Mrs. Peters. I'm afraid, though, I can only be respectful of dear Caitleen's wishes. I am far too broken-hearted for anything else."

  This is getting ridiculous, Caite thought. If he spread on the charm any thicker, the room would start to smell like candy from the sweetness. She took her place at the table, hoping to prompt the others to do the same.

  To her continued dismay, Hammond kept up his winning antics throughout the meal he'd charmed Lorna into offering. He even got Shorty to stop bristling like a cornered porcupine and agree to a friendly hand of poker after lunch. Hammond thoroughly charmed Lorna and Sally by regaling them with bits of news and gossip from Philadelphia and New York, and descriptions of the latest in women's fashions.

  "I pride myself on knowing what makes women happy,” he boasted, wiping his mouth free of Albert's delicious chicken stew. “Baubles and trinkets are nice, I suppose, but nothing is better than diamonds in a woman's hair."

  Caite sighed. She had seen Hammond at work before, but never with quite so many people at once. She even found herself beginning to warm to him as he told a story about helping one of the widow women back home keep her house by giving her the money he had won at poker from the gentlemen who held her mortgage. Caite was no fool, of course. She knew Hammond was just as weasly as he had always been. She never would have married him under any circumstances.

  Yet he did not seem inclined to attempt to sway her opinion. He had accepted her refusal to return with him with the grace and charm with which he did everything. Perhaps he was not the villain she had always thought him to be.

  Before she knew it, the afternoon and evening had passed with Hammond entertaining them all. He lost gracefully to Shorty, Buck and Albert at poker, denying vehemently he had thrown the game.

  "It must be the distraction of so many lovely ladies,” he had said by way of explanation, earning a blush from Sally and a surprised giggle from Lorna.

  Buck even invited Hammond to stay for the night in Jed's old room.

  "It would be senseless for you to start back tonight,” Buck interrupted when Hammond began to protest. “You can get a good night's rest and an early start in the morning."

  "I guess it's true what they say about western hospitality,” Hammond said. “I thank you, Mr. Peters."

  When Caite rose to say goodnight, Hammond rose with her. He clasped her hand, kissing it gallantly. “Thank you for granting me the privilege of spending this last evening in your company, my dear,” he said. “If you cannot be my wife, I shall at least always have the memory of these times."

  Blushing, Caite extricated her hand and headed off to bed. Hammond still repulsed her, but she had to admit he did know how to beguile a woman. If Jed had only had a little of Hammond's ease, she thought, then stopped herself. Jed may not be Drake Hammond, but that was what she loved about him.

  She woke in the dark, ears straining to hear the noise that had dragged her from slumber. Nothing. The house was quiet with not even the sound of the wind to keep her awake. She must have been dreaming.

  Caite settled back against the pillows, her eyes already heavy. She had been dreaming about the baby, she realized as she began to drift back into sleep. In her dream, the infant in her arms was gurgling and kicking its tiny legs. She had felt a rush of love so intense it brought tears to her eyes to think of it.

  She closed her eyes, her limbs relaxing against the soft comfort of the bed. In the next moment, she felt the coolness of metal pressed to her throat, and a hand across her mouth. Her eyes flew open wildly, but a weight was holding her down, and she could not move.

  "Wake up, sweetheart,” Hammond breathed into her ear. “It's time to go."

  She made a strangled sound against his fingers, and he chuckled. “Shh, my lovely. If you should scream, that would wake the rest of the house. We wouldn't want that, would we? Not when I have this knife pressed so close to your pretty white throat."

  Caite lay stiff with fear. Hammond had tricked them all! She thought of the baby nestled in her womb and her heart pounded. Please, she prayed. Don't let him hurt the baby.

  "At least your throat is still lovely,” Hammond continued. “Your face, I'm sad to say, has been quite marred by your exposure to the sun. Did you never learn to keep your hat on, Caitleen?"

  She could not answer him, of course, but Hammond seemed to need no reply. “No matter. It will heal, I think. Your body is still as luscious as I remember. I shall enjoy using it, even if I must mask your face for a while."

  Caite grunted against the hand covering her mouth. Hammond tap
ped the blade against her throat in reprimand. She immediately went still.

  "That's better, my dear. Now I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth, but not my knife. If you so much as breathe too loudly, I'll slit your throat. Understand?"

  Caite nodded. Hammond seemed satisfied. He slipped his fingers away from her mouth, only to press his thick lips against hers. Caite gagged at the intrusion of his tongue and tried to squirm away as Hammond used his free hand to squeeze her breast.

  "I should've thought rape beneath you, Hammond,” she gasped when he had pulled away.

  "Rape?” Hammond laughed. “Oh, my dear Caitleen. I'm not going to rape you."

  Surprised, she looked at him. In the dim moonlight, his teeth glinted cruelly when he smiled.

  "Oh, no. Once a man and a woman are wed, no matter how much force the husband uses against his wife, the courts will never rule it as rape."

  A terrible thought began to form in Caite's mind.

  "So, you see my dear—” Hammond grinned, the blade of the knife still chill against her skin. “—I'm not going to rape you at all. I'm just going to kidnap you."

  CHAPTER 19

  Caite's emerald eyes widened, then narrowed in cold fury. “You'll never get away with this."

  Hammond chuckled. Caite noticed he had changed from his fancy white buckskin outfit to a more practical pair of denims and a rough shirt. The plain clothes looked out of place on him.

  "Now, my dear, you sound like a penny-dreadful. Of course I shall get away with it."

  "I will not come with you."

  Again, the low, nasty laugh. “You will if you value your life, and that of your unborn bastard."

  Her eyes widened again, this time in shock. How could Hammond have known? Surely no one had told him...

  "Don't look so surprised, sweetheart,” Hammond remarked. He grabbed Caite's arm and began to pull her from the bed. To prevent the knife from breaking the tender flesh of her throat, she had to follow. “I know that healthy, pregnant glow when I see it. Lord knows I've had enough wailing “widows” come knocking on my door claiming their condition to be my fault."