by Deeanne Gist
“You have two minutes.”
Nodding, Drew propelled her into the cottage. Once inside, he held his finger over his lips and indicated she go to the corner of the cottage furthest from the door and window. She barely noted Sally’s napping form before turning back to him. “I have a proposition for you,” she whispered.
“By my faith, get on with it.”
“Do you want to marry me?”
“I want to keep my tobacco farm and I want not for my family to be banished,” he answered.
“Good. Here is what I propose. You provide me with the protection of your name until my father can be notified. I, in turn, will help you around the farm. Of course, I would...” She diverted her eyes.
He frowned. “Explain yourself.”
Fingering the sleeve of her gown, she moistened her lips. “Well...what I mean to say is we’d be married in name, but we wouldn‘t, we needn’t--” She took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is, well, we would forgo...“ She twirled her hand in the air, indicating one corner of the room.
He turned toward the corner, espying the bed. His cheeks filled with color. “Marriage is not taken lightly here in the colonies. When a ceremony is performed, it is meant as a covenant with God until our deaths.”
She reinforced the folds at her gown’s waist. “Well, yes, of course. But, surely, under certain conditions, the marriage can be reputed?”
“O’Connor!” Hopkin yelled. “Your time is up!”
Drew rubbed his eyes.
She grabbed his sleeve. “Do you agree?”
His eyes found hers. There was no shielding of his expression this time. His eyes were filled with reluctance, determination, and unmistakable frustration.
“Go in after him!” Emmett screeched.
Drew turned and stalked out of the cottage. Picking up her skirts, she followed.
“Open your Bible, Morden,” Drew said.
She surveyed the formidable group of men. Mary stood apart from them, head bowed. Forsooth. It appeared that like it or not, she would be married this day. Still, exacting a promise of abstinence from Drew before the ceremony was much more likely than after.
She pinched his arm. “Answer my question.”
He scowled.
“Give me your word, Mr. O’Connor,” she whispered. “I’ve forced my papa to cancel five marriage contracts so far. If you wish to avoid a scene, I suggest you agree to my terms.”
His shocked expression spoke volumes. Of course, five contracts was a bit of an exaggeration. She must pray for forgiveness immediately after the ceremony.
Tightening his lips, he nodded.
“Josh,” Morden said gently, “go and collect your mother’s wedding band. We have need of it.”
Josh hesitated only a moment before doing as asked.
Morden moved his attention to Drew. “She must be married in her hair. Please loosen it.”
Her mouth went dry. After a long, tense moment, Drew cupped her chin and turned her toward him. Clearly, he was distressed. Whether from the thought of loosening her hair or from placing his mother’s ring on her finger or from the very act of wedding her, she knew not.
He tugged the strings of her cap and slid the covering from her head. Her braid tumbled down her back, its end brushing against her waist. She felt her heart thump loudly against her breast.
Josh returned to the glade and Drew handed him her head cloth. Drew’s eyes, however, never left hers. He stood as such for an inestimable amount of time.
“You must finish it, son,” Morden prompted, his voice low and kind. “You know it is to hang completely free.”
Still he made no move. He simply waited. Waited, she realized, for her permission. The heart that had near jumped from her chest before now slowed in gratitude. He, of course, knew this marriage was not a real one. And to loosen her hair in such a manner should be the privilege of her future mate. So he waited.
She felt her face relax a bit. She had no desire to see him and his family banished simply because the preacher was going to insist her hair be worn in the manner it should for such an occasion.
She pulled her braid across her shoulder, letting her hand run the length of its tight coil before allowing it to hang free.
His gaze followed the path of her hand. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Lifting the tail of her braid from her hip, he took a tentative step toward her, then began to unravel her hair. His knuckles inadvertently brushed against her. She jumped. He froze, then much more carefully continued with his task.
As he neared the top, she tucked her chin to better accommodate him. When all was in readiness, he spread his fingers wide and ran them through her tresses, draping them across her shoulders and breasts.
She raised her chin. His blue eyes had darkened by several degrees. Her breathing grew labored.
Morden cleared his throat. She and Drew centered their attention on him.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the presence of these witnesses, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony....”
She looked about the clearing. Even if it was temporary, she wanted to take special note of her wedding day. She almost gasped aloud when she caught sight of a doe, with a spotted fawn at her heels, well beyond the clearing. The doe, stretching her neck and perking her ears, stood transfixed.
“...was ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication; that such persons as have not the gift of continency might marry, and keep themselves undefiled members of Christ’s body...”
As the deer and her fawn loped out of sight, Constance turned back to the pastor. His words had captured her attention.
“The ring.”
He held his Bible out in front of Josh. Josh placed the gold band upon the Book and the preacher delivered it to Drew. Taking her left hand, Drew slid the warm metal onto her fourth finger, retaining hold of her hand even after the task was complete.
“Wilt thou, Andrew Joseph O’Connor, have thee...uh...oh my. Pardon me, dear, but what was your proper name again?”
She stiffened. Drew entwined his fingers with hers.
She took a deep breath. “Lady Constance Caroline Morrow, daughter to the Right Honorable the Earl of Greyhame, My Lord Randall Christian Morrow.”
Morden balked for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Well, now. That’s quite a name. For these proceedings, I will make use of your forename and surname.”
“As you wish,” she replied.
Morden pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Wilt thou, Andrew Joseph O’Connor, have thee, Constance Caroline Morrow, to thy wedded wife? To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, to comfort, honor, and keep, as long as ye both shall live?”
Drew’s serious blue eyes turned to her. “I will.”
She swallowed. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Wilt thou, Constance Caroline Morrow, have thee, Andrew Joseph O’Connor, to thy wedded husband? Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honor, and keep him, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
Her throat swelled. What was she doing? It had sounded so simple in the cottage. Oh, Lord. She looked from Drew to the preacher to the governor and back to Drew.
Easing into a smile, Drew covered their clasped hands with his free one and turned her toward him. “It’s all right, Constance. The Lord says, 'Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’”
She stared at him in wonder. What manner of man was this Andrew Joseph O’Connor?
“I will.” The words were out before she even realized she’d said them. He rubbed his thumb lightly across her knuckles.
Morden started. “Yes. Uh, very good. Uh, forasmuch as Andrew Joseph O’Connor and Constance Caroline Morrow have pledged their troth either to other, I pronounce that they be man and wife together.” He closed his Bible. “Those whom G
od hath joined together let no man put asunder. Amen.”
This was wrong. It was wrong to declare such vows when she had no intention of keeping them. It was wrong to trick these men who, in their own disillusioned minds, merely thought they were protecting her virtue.
She searched Drew’s features for a clue as to what his thoughts were, but to no avail. He’d certainly surprised her with his words and gentleness. Was it genuine? Yes. She believed so. She hoped so.
Her throat ached. It was all so unfair, for both of them. And what would happen to him when the council found out about their subterfuge? Would his arms be broken? His tongue bored through with an awl? Would he lose his farm anyway? Whatever happened, it would be all her fault. Her eyes pooled.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...”
Drew’s rich baritone voice joined in with the others assembled. She moved her lips to the prayer, yet no sound came forth. Cradling one side of her face, his thumb swiped at the tears now trickling down her cheek.
“...And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”
A warm breeze caressed her, swirling a tendril of hair. He hooked the tendril with his finger and pulled it from her face.
“You may kiss thy bride.”
She widened her eyes. That too? They must do that too? Time stood suspended, then he cupped her face with both hands and slowly lowered his lips to hers. She slid her eyes closed.
The softness of his mouth barely registered before a peculiar heat spread from their kiss, down her neck to her shoulders and throughout her body. Her lips parted in surprise.
Oh, sweet saints that be. She’d not been hugged or held for so very, very long. But this, this was so much more and so absolutely heavenly.
His hands moved to her back, pulling her closer. She brought her hands up to his arms, crinkling his sleeves within her grasp.
“Drew.”
The voice came from far away.
“Drew!”
She clung to him as she felt him tense and pull back. He placed his hands about her arms and gently disengaged himself. When her vision cleared, it was to find him holding her at arm’s length, his face bright with color.
Mortified, her gaze traveled over an entire group of flush-faced men. Mary showed a hint of a grin. Stepping back, Constance felt her own face heat, then turned as Josh grazed her sleeve.
He touched his cheek to hers. “Welcome to the family, Mistress O’Connor.”
“Thank you.”
“What about Miss Robins?” Emmett inquired petulantly.
Hopkin took a deep breath. “Drew will clarify the particulars on her, Emmett.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “He can send word with the captain.”
“The captain of the Randolph?” Emmett cried. “He’ll not bother ‘imself with that.”
“I’ll pay him for his troubles,” Drew said.
“I just bet you will,” Emmett sneered. “If the price is right, the captain’ll do anything. Including lie and report whatever you pay him to report. No, the captain is out of the question.”
“Now you’re willing to admit the captain is a liar?” Drew asked. “Where were these objections a few moments ago when my wife’s claim of nobility was questioned?”
“I admitted the captain would lie about the lady’s status,” Emmett retorted. “He might know full well she’s a maid yet claim she’s a lady just to line his pockets.”
“He might also have kidnapped her and claimed she was seized according to his orders,” Drew snapped.
“Enough!” Hopkin exclaimed. “Either way, Emmett has the right of it. The captain is not trustworthy. I recommend Joshua go abroad and investigate the matter.”
“Josh!” Drew exclaimed. “Absolutely not. I am about to expand my farm into a plantation. I’ve ten indentured men awaiting me at the wharf as we speak. The harvest is due to be cut before the month is out. I need Josh here.”
Hopkin squared his shoulders. “I have wasted enough of my time and the council’s time this morning. Joshua will either investigate the marital status of Miss Robins or he will marry her.”
“This is outrageous!”
“Hopkin,” Tucker interjected, “you are being unreasonable.”
Hopkin whipped off his hat. “And I am done with your constant interference. Joshua and Miss Robins are both young, healthy persons. Confining them on this farm for the next eight months is more temptation than I am willing to afford them.”
“I’ll marry ’er,” Emmett chirped.
“She’s not for sale,” Drew growled. “I need her here to cook.”
“You have your wife,” Emmett snarled.
Drew took one step forward. “If you refer to my wife in that tone again I will lay you out flat.”
“I’ll leave on the Randolph,” Josh stated.
Drew whirled around. “A fie upon it, Josh, what are you saying?” He appeared at a loss for words before determination settled into his expression. “Have you forgotten there’s a civil war raging in England?”
“I’ve not forgotten,” he said. “I’ve also not forgotten the woman I’m pledged to.”
“We can appeal this,” Drew countered. “I am married and a suitable chaperon. They cannot force you to marry as well.”
“Appeal to whom?” Josh asked. “The whole blasted council is standing right here. Besides, think. While I am investigating the whereabouts of Mary’s husband, I can also notify the earl about Constance’s kidnapping. He’s bound to be frantic.”
Drew combed his fingers through his hair. “But it’s already late June and the Randolph is empty with nothing here to load. Josh, she’ll be sailing up and down the coast and maybe even to the West Indies before she’s full. Add that to the months needed for locating Greyhame and Robins, and you are sure to be tardy. What then? What if you return too late to factor our tobacco harvest? With no broker for our tobacco, the whole year will be lost and our plans for a plantation with it.”
“I’ll be back come spring,” Josh said. “In plenty of time to transport and sell our tobacco.”
“But the war!”
“I’ll be back.”
Hopkin tapped his hat down on his head. “So be it. Councilmen, our business here is concluded. Let us away.”
Drew’s lips thinned with visible anger.
Colonel Tucker extended his hand to Drew’s. “I’m sorry. I’m as unhappy about this as you are.”
Heaving a sigh, Drew accepted Tucker’s hand. “You did what you could and I thank you for that.”
Tucker nodded and turned to join the other men. Constance watched them follow Hopkin like a flock of crows. The king would hear of this as soon as she returned home.
Home. She glanced at the man who had pledged his life to hers. His brother wouldn’t be back until spring? Sweet saints above, would she ever return home? Surely there was a regular schedule with ships arriving every third week or so.
She furrowed her brows. If they were all slavers, though, she had no desire to risk boarding another without protection. And she certainly had no desire to go to the West Indies.
Straightening, she pushed back the bothersome curls surrounding her face. She would return to England. She must. For Uncle Skelly. For the women of Europe. For herself.
Drew rubbed the back of his neck. His rugged muscular body shifted beneath his shirt. She swallowed. Dear Lord, please let Josh return before spring.
CHAPTER SIX
“You my gamma now?” Sally asked.
Constance continued to slice her carrots. Ah, how to explain this? “No, dear. I’m...well...your sister, I suppose.”
Sally’s violet eyes widened. “I used to have sister. She got real sick. She went to heaven.”
Constance paused. “I’m sorry.”
“Mama and Papa live there too.”
“I see.” Constance laid down her knife. “What was your sister’s name?”
“Sister.”
C
onstance blinked. “Oh. I have a sister too.”
“She live in heaven?”
“No, she lives in a place called England. It’s not quite as wonderful as heaven, but almost.”
“She call you 'Sister’ or 'My Lady?’”
Constance bit her lip. “She calls me 'C.C.’”
“Sissy” Sally’s eyes lit up. “I call you Sissy too?”
Placing her hand on top of Sally’s, she gave it a gentle squeeze. “That would be lovely.”
An enchanting smile spread across the child’s face. With it came two charming dimples.
Constance picked up the knife and glanced at Mary, who bustled around the fire. Due to the council’s visit, they were late in preparing the midday meal and Mary had not stopped moving since Drew and Josh left to retrieve the indentured men.
“Knives are very dang‘russ.”
“Yes,” Constance agreed. “Don’t ever touch one.”
“Or I might hurt me? Like you did?”
Constance nodded, glancing at two of her fingers, now wrapped with strips of cotton. It wasn’t that cutting vegetables was so difficult; it was just that the gold band on her fourth finger kept drawing her attention away from the knife. The ring’s presence not only startled her every time she noticed it, but it also reminded her of the man who had placed it there.
The knife slipped yet again, barely missing her finger.
Sally gasped. “You better let Miss Mary cut the yun-yuns.”
“You mean onions.”
“Yes. Yun-yuns.”
Constance swiped her face across her shoulder, trying to shove back the curls blocking her view, and concentrated on her task. “Well, I’ll strive to be more careful. Otherwise I might run out of chemise.”
Sally eyed the old chemise crumpled upon the bed. “You gonna run out of fingers.”
Mary scurried over to collect the carrots, waiting while Constance scooped up her slices and dropped them into the iron pot. “I’ll set these over the fire, then show you how to cut them 'yun-yuns.’” She turned and winked at Sally. “After the noon meal, we’ll boil that chemise, we will. I have a feeling she’ll be needing it again, and the smell of it hurts my nose.”
Sally giggled as Mary struggled with the pot of carrots in one hand while pinching her nose with the other.