“Come, Grace,” Richard said
“Come with me, Grace,” McGowan said, echoing Richard’s king’s English. “Let me show you what a real man can do with a pretty thing like you.”
“He’s a good one,” the bawd cheerfully endorsed. “Kept it up all night till I thought it wouldn’t come down. I’m aching all the way through.” She hunched over to demonstrate what she meant and the crowd couldn’t help but laugh.
Richard started to step around McGowan but the fighter again blocked his path. He shoved Richard’s shoulder, making him take a step back. The humor had left McGowan’s face. “You’ve never fought before in your life, have you, mate?” he said. “You are running because you are afraid.”
“The lady is not a prize,” Richard repeated, his voice tight but controlled.
But Grace knew the cost of this confrontation. It was his rounds with Lord Stone all over again. It was what he’d fought against.
“Oh, she is a prize,” McGowan corrected him. “I imagine she is a right, tight poke.”
Richard’s fingers curled into fists.
Grace was certain their audience couldn’t overhear all of what was being said, but they knew Richard was being baited and they judged him less for not rising to defend her.
He would judge himself less as well.
“We’ll accept your offer,” she heard herself say. “My man will fight you for double the purse. And we’ll share it with that couple over there.” She nodded to the pregnant woman and her man, who couldn’t afford to fight.
McGowan’s tiny eyes gleamed with triumph. “You are my prize if he loses.”
“I am.”
“Grace, what are you doing?” Richard demanded.
She looked to the manager. “We are here at three?”
“Aye, missus, be waiting under that tree yonder.” The manager nodded to a chestnut on the other side of the caravan.
“Tell the vicar at St. Nicholas to put his money on my man,” Grace instructed him, raising her voice for all to hear.
“And what is the name of your man?” the manager asked.
Grace thought fast. Richard wasn’t going to answer. He stared at her as if she’d gone mad. She was certain they didn’t want to use his real name, especially since there was an order for his hanging under it.
Inspiration struck. “Why, John Bull,” she said. “A bold, proud Englishman who is going to teach this Scottish pig some lessons.”
Her declaration was met by a chorus of catcalls and derisive comments.
“Englishman versus Scot,” the manager said, quick to capitalize on the rivalry. “We’ll see you at three, John Bull.”
McGowan lingered, insultingly letting his eyes rove over her person, until Richard grabbed him by the chin and turned his head away. The Scot laughed and meandered off one way.
Richard stomped off in the other.
Grace hurried after him.
“What did you do?” Richard demanded in a furious under voice once she’d caught up with him.
Conscious that eyes were upon them, Grace took his arm and led him down one of the roads leading to the market. “What we have to do. Richard, you can beat him.”
“I want to murder him.” Richard’s stride grew longer, faster. She had to hurry to keep up with him. “But I would never, never put you up as the prize.”
“I know,” Grace said. “That’s why I had to do it myself.”
He stopped so abruptly she almost ran into him. They stood on a side street, not far from St. Nicholas Church. He faced her. “I must not do this fight.”
“Why?”
“Because what if I lose?” he asked as if the reason was clear.
“You told me you would not lose.”
His brows came together. “Is that what this is? An opportunity to throw my words back at me? Didn’t I say I wasn’t willing to risk you?”
“I know, and that’s why I risked myself—”
“There’s no risk involved. You threw yourself away. You told a field full of people that you were worth nothing.”
The accusation stung like a swarm of hornets. “I told a field full of people that I believe in you.”
“You don’t know that I’m going to win, Grace,” he countered, the light in his eyes livid. “If I fail, do you think this is the price I want to pay? It’s one thing to take a beating. Another to let you go off with that disgusting pig of a man.”
“You aren’t going to lose,” she told him. “I know you won’t.”
“And I’m not so certain,” he shot back. He turned and began walking away from her.
“Where are you going?”
“To think,” he threw over his shoulder. He turned a corner and he was out of sight.
Grace waited a moment, willing him to return. She took a few steps after him and then stopped.
He would come back. She knew he would. His pride would make him fight.
But the question was, would he come back to her?
She started walking after him.
Richard walked as far as he could without leaving the village. Grace didn’t understand. She’d decided that he would be her rescuer in spite of his proving he couldn’t rescue anyone.
He had looked forward to the challenge. He’d wanted the fight—until Grace had become involved. Now his confidence waivered. He couldn’t bear to think of the consequences if he failed her…
With a shake of his head he tried to erase all the vivid images in his mind. Of course right now, he didn’t just want to knock McGowan out, he wanted to rip out his throat.
And he didn’t know what he wanted to do with Grace. Witnessing her put herself in danger on his account made him crazed.
She’d been raised well. He didn’t understand why she continued to toss herself away—and twice she’d done it for him.
Twice.
Richard sank down on a rough-hewn mounting block, startled, humbled, and frightened by her sacrifice.
No one had paid attention to him. He’d worked for both father and uncle and had received little notice for what he’d done for their business. He’d been an outstanding student in school, excelled at all his studies, and yet people discounted his brain because of his size…or, at least, that is what he’d told himself.
But a part of him feared it was true.
“Before McGowan made his challenge, you believed you could beat him,” he heard Grace’s voice say from behind him. “You asked me to believe in you, Richard. I do.”
“You know the times I’ve failed.” He refused to look at her.
“I know only the number of times you’ve thrown your heart and soul into something you believe in. I know you aren’t afraid to do what is right. I know I trust you with my life.”
“You are trusting me with more than your life,” he told her.
“I’m trusting you because I love you.”
He couldn’t have heard her correctly. He went still, hoping she’d repeat herself. Hoping it wasn’t a trick.
“I know I’m not the sort of woman a man like you loves,” she said, her voice tight as she held back tears. “I didn’t want to love you. You were my enemy and yet, everything you did, I admired. You are like no other man I’ve ever met. And I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with you—”
Any other words she was going to say were cut off by his whirling around, coming to his feet, and sweeping her up in his arms.
Richard kissed her. He kissed her the way he’d dreamed of kissing her. Fully, completely, possessively. She loved him.
He didn’t hold back. He couldn’t. He loved her, too. Passionately.
And the wonder of the kiss was that Grace kissed him back.
They breathed the same air. He wrapped his arms around her. He’d never let her go. Never.
He tasted the salt of her tears. He kissed them. Kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her nose.
She held him as tightly as he held her. Her fingers curled into his hair. “Does this mean you care for me? Please,
Richard, even a little?”
“I worship the ground you walk on. You are more important to me than my own life.”
Her gaze met his. “Then you’d best last three minutes with McGowan.”
He leaned his head near hers. “Ah, Grace, you know how to put pressure on a man.”
She started laughing and he found himself laughing with her. He, the man who never laughed. He’d done more living, more laughing during his days with Grace MacEachin than in all his life before.
But what was truly amazing was that he was no longer alone. They stood side by side, two against the world.
The miracle of this moment sent shock waves through him. The March wind blew around them and yet nothing could touch them, not when they were in each other’s arms.
“You won’t let McGowan win,” she said. “Your pride won’t let you, not once you step in to fight him.”
“You have such faith in me?”
She nodded, and then she said something that changed his life. “There isn’t anything I believe you can’t do.”
“Is it almost three?” he asked.
“It may be.”
“Then come along, lass. I have a fight to win.” He took her hand and together they marched to the clearing.
The crowd had quadrupled in size while they’d been gone. The boys who’d been handing out the bills now collected twenty pence a person to watch the fights. The atmosphere was one of a fair, with women carrying trays of pies and jugs of cider and ale for sale.
Everyone seemed to know who Richard was. They cleared a path for him and Grace to the caravan, where McGowan stalked his turf like a wildcat. When he saw Grace, he stopped, a toothless grin spreading across his face.
Richard would never let him touch her. He placed her cape around her shoulders, a silent warning to McGowan to take his eyes off her.
The betting was against Richard. He could hear the wagers being called from all around him. Even grandmotherly old ladies had come for the fight and had bet he’d lose.
The manager came to McGowan’s side. Under the tree next to the caravan stood the other men who had signed up to win the purse.
“I want her up here,” McGowan shouted, pointing his finger at Grace. “Bring her here.”
Richard tucked Grace’s hand in the crook of his arm and led her to the wagon, where a dais has been hastily constructed. A chair was placed beside it for her to sit so that all would see her.
“You go join the others,” the manager instructed Richard.
“No, I’ll stay right here,” Richard answered.
The manager started to protest and then nodded to Oscar. “Keep an eye on him.”
Oscar took a position next to Richard.
A group of men had been selected to join hands in a very large circle to keep the crowd a distance from the fighters. Richard removed his jacket, boots, and socks as the others had done. Some had even taken off their shirts. He removed his neck cloth but kept the shirt on. That’s what McGowan did and that is what he would do.
The manager started the contest. Richard had anticipated the dozen other fighters would take up at least an hour or so before he and McGowan fought. He was hoping the first matches would wear down the fighter.
He was wrong.
McGowan dispatched the other contestants in less than eighteen minutes. After watching the first two challengers get knocked unconscious, the next three men walked off without fighting. The remainder dashed out of the ring within seconds of facing the champion. The manager attempted to prove true to his word and force the fellows back, to the hearty amusement of the crowd.
Richard knew the passage of time because the manager gleefully announced it.
Not one of the other contestants had any boxing form. Richard had watched them with a critical eye, just as he watched McGowan. Of course, he hardly had the opportunity to see the Scot in action because most of his opponents vanquished themselves.
Grace sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. He placed his hand on her shoulder.
At last, all eyes turned to him. He was the last contestant and this was the match they’d all gathered for.
McGowan crooked a finger at him, ordering him to step into the ring of men.
Richard kissed Grace. “For luck,” he whispered.
Her face was pale, her brow worried, but she smiled.
“I know what I’m doing,” he promised her and walked into the ring. He put up his fists, taking his stance.
However, the manager handled this bout differently from the others. “Take it easy, man,” he ordered. “There will be plenty of time to raise your fists. But first, let me give you a proper sendoff.” He strutted past the boxers to address the crowd. With a flourish, he announced, “This fight is between Royce McGowan—”
The crowd cheered.
“And John Bull.”
Catcalls and boos met Richard’s name. He raised his fist in a salute anyway, proud to be representing his country against this hooligan McGowan, and noticing the betting was against him.
“It’s bare knuckles,” the manager announced, “no rules, and let the best man win the wager. Shake hands, lads.”
He stepped out of their way as Richard turned to shake his opponent’s hand—but McGowan wasn’t in the mood for shake.
Instead, he took advantage of Richard’s lack of protection and brought a big meaty fist the size of a small anvil barreling into the side of Richard’s head so hard his neck snapped back.
Darkness blinded Richard and with a will of its own, his body went down.
His knees. He had to stay on his knees…
Chapter Sixteen
Shocked silence met McGowan’s unfair punch. Grace watched Richard go to his knees, his eyes losing their focus. She rose from her chair and came down from the dais, moving as close as she could to him. “Richard, please, Richard.”
He didn’t respond but stayed on his knees.
This was exactly what she had feared in the beginning. A fight in a Scottish field was a far cry from two gentlemen sparring in a fancy boxing saloon.
The crowd recovered their voice. The bidding had been against John Bull and many saw their wager was about to be won. They let out a cheer, shouting McGowan’s name as the manager began the thirty-second count.
“This isn’t fair,” Grace protested to the manager. He laughed and kept counting.
The crowd started counting with him. “Eleven…twelve…”
Grace panicked, not for herself but for Richard. “Richard, you must fight this unfairness.” Such a task would have set him to work in the past. She prayed he heard her.
For his part, McGowan was pleased with his handiwork. He adored the crowd’s cheering and then his attention turned to Grace.
“Come here, my pretty, pretty. Let me show you what a real man has—”
Any other suggestions he had were cut off in surprise as his feet came off the ground.
McGowan had been so interested in her, he’d not paid attention to the count and had failed to notice his opponent was back in action.
Richard lifted the Scot and tossed him as if he were a caber, a huge log thrown for sport. He made it look effortless. McGowan landed hard on the ground.
The crowd caught its collective breath and while some began shouting for McGowan to rise from the dirt and start fighting, another group started calling to place a wager on the Englishman.
Again, Richard put up his fists in proper style. Grace thought he should have jumped on McGowan while he was down and pummeled him silly…but then that wasn’t her man. He would fight fairly, and he would win. Her faith would not waver again.
McGowan raised his fists and moved forward. He had the longer arms but in a matter of seconds and three short jabs, Richard proved he had speed and agility his opponent lacked. He was also better than the Scot at protecting his head.
Grace found herself clenching her own fists and had to fight the urge to punch the air like so many of the men around her in the crowd we
re doing.
Richard was nothing short of brilliant. He really could fight, even she could see that. And now that he knew McGowan used dirty tricks, he seemed to thwart every one of them before they started.
At one point the Scot threw all his weight into a punch and as Richard blocked it, McGowan rammed his other punch below the belt. But Richard was a canny one. He’d obviously been expecting such a trick because he turned at the last minute and McGowan’s blow bounced off his hip.
Richard now had the hearts of the crowd. Scots had a passion for a good fight.
Three times McGowan went down on one knee, holding it just long enough during the thirty-second count to recover and come up fighting.
But it didn’t do him any good.
Richard moved like a man possessed. He dictated the fight, hitting McGowan at will, keeping him off balance so his longer arms were not effective weapons.
McGowan grew desperate. The smile was no longer on his face.
Nor was the crowd behind him. He did not fight well and had started doing more running then punching. The times he tried to step out of the ring, the onlookers shoved him back in with admonishments to “own up,” meaning they wanted him to be a man and take his punishment like a dozen other fighters had before this bout.
And then it came, the deciding blow. Richard’s fist struck McGowan right below the chin.
The fighter reeled back. He balanced on one foot, and then went down with a crash.
Richard stared at him, his fists up as if expecting him to rise again. Grace shouted to the manager, “Start your count.”
The man gave her a dazed stare as if he couldn’t believe his man was out.
Grace counted for him. “One,” she shouted. “Two.”
The crowd took up the count. Richard still waited, ready for anything.
And when the crowd finally reached “Thirty!” Grace ran into the ring and threw her arms around her champion. “I knew you could do it.”
His arms came down over her and he stumbled backward. Laughing with happiness, she almost fell with him but he caught them both.
The Marriage Ring Page 18