Cachet

by Shannah Biondine

  * * *

  "Ow, that hurts!" Rachel surfaced to searing pain in her right shoulder. Strong arms tightened around her upper body.

  "Stay still, Rachel." She knew that voice. The pain was white hot. She cracked her eyelids, but couldn't see for the tears blurring her vision. Too much pain to stop them.

  "Morgan? You're all right?" The words were sobs of fear mingled with relief.

  "Aye, love. We're both all right. Bastard cut you with my razor, though. Sailmaker's stitching your shoulder. May be painful, but the cut's not deep."

  "God, I'm so sorry! I never thought it could be him at the door. Thompson swore he'd kill you if I said anything."

  "Shh, stay here. I'll be right back." She discovered she was nude on her stomach in the bunk, the bedclothes pulled up to her waist. Morgan closed the curtains and bolted the door after the sailmaker finished. "Lucky your sewing kit was out, or he'd have used his sailmaking gut."

  "God, the sewing kit! My scissors! I never noticed it. I was looking for a weapon of some kind. Thompson grabbed the razor before I could."

  "Jesus, Rachel! You and your ill-conceived notions of wielding weapons against these curs. Smartest thing you could have done was get out and try to summon help." He sat down on the edge of the bunk and wrapped her in his arms, mindful of her sore shoulder.

  "Captain's chained the pair in the holds. You should have shouted for me when you sensed danger, Rachel. Regardless of their threats to harm me. I'm along to assure your safety, not the other way 'round. Christ, a moment's weakness, and you're bleeding from a razor cut!"

  "I truly am foolhardy," she sniffed.

  "Nay, just a heartier pioneer than I thought. Don't know another female who would have kept her head facing such danger." His features hardened. "But you are never again to risk your life in defense of mine. Do you understand me?"

  She nodded, blinking back tears. "You never got your bath."

  "I sent for more hot water." He supervised the refilling of the tub and slipped out of the pants he'd hastily donned after the fracas. "Come in with me. Hot water's the best thing for jangled nerves."

  "Yes, and I need to wash the stink from my skin."

  He flushed at her comment. "I'd forgotten one foul cretin actually put his hands on your flesh."

  She dipped a toe into the water and let him guide her down to perch atop his folded thighs in the narrow oval tub. Morgan wrapped an arm around her middle as though they were once more on Phantom's back.

  Rachel's voice was hard with emotion. "I hated him touching me."

  "Don't think about it. It's not going to happen ever again." His hand slid up to cup her breast and she relaxed as his damp fingers smoothed over her skin in a light caress. It wasn't overtly sensual, yet she marveled again at how her nipple puckered immediately at his merest touch. How she felt so at ease totally naked in his embrace.

  "Rachel," Morgan murmured, "It distresses me that you think I would beat you. No matter how angry I might become, I'd never raise my arm to you. We argue, aye. We always have. Was furious with you more than once back in Crowshaven, but never hurt you. You believe I had more regard for a clerk than I would my wedded wife?"

  "You had no right to physically punish me when I was your clerk."

  "Cletus beat you, didn't he? More than once."

  "I don't want to talk about him."

  "And you didn't choose to wed him. You tried to dissuade your father, but he wouldn't listen. Your instincts were correct then." His voice softened. "But you're letting old fears cloud your judgment now. You weren't afraid of me before we took vows, even at my arrogant worst. Don't fear me now." He began gently lathering her skin.

  "Do you think I have good instincts?"

  "You should have been more cautious at the door this afternoon, but on the whole, aye, I do."

  She thought about Cletus. "But who listens to the instincts of a young girl? I was barely sixteen. I didn't want to marry so young." She flinched as he moved close to the stitched area. "I thought when I was older, I'd marry my steady beau, Jonas Nelson. But Cletus approached my father at the factory and impressed him with big talk of our future on the frontier."

  Morgan absently scrubbed at his exposed kneecap. "I see."

  "I don't think you do. Cletus never cared for me, he wanted free land. The government gave land away to men who agreed to settle in Oregon and farm it. A man who took a wife by the end of 1851 received a double parcel. I suppose he sought me out because I was the boss' daughter."

  "The hell you say!" Morgan dropped the soap. "Your father gave you to a man with no genuine affection for you? Wasted a lovely virgin on a shiftless bounder?"

  Rachel didn't like the way he made her father sound. "I'd like to finish my bath alone." She stood up to let him climb out.

  He wrapped a towel around his hips and sat at the table to shave. Then he dressed and announced he had to speak to Haversham, but would return to take her to the dining room for supper. "You must be starving," Rachel replied, seizing a towel. She followed him to the door, bolting it securely behind him.

  She was drying her hair when he knocked. She let him in and turned her attention to choosing a skirt and blouse. "Are you always so slow, woman?"

  She was ready with a rebuke, but the words died on her lips when she saw fresh blood on his knuckles. "Morgan, you didn't! You went down to the holds and beat those two men? Men in chains?"

  "Aye, I beat them! What should I have done, thanked them? They meant to rape you under my very nose. They're fortunate I didn't take a galley knife to their ballocks! You were terrified this afternoon. The pair earned what they got and worse. If other crewmen have similar notions about laying their hands on you, let them ponder the same fate."

  She didn't speak during the meal. Morgan was disinclined to eat very much, and suggested they leave the dining room for a walk on deck. She gazed up at him as they stood alone by the rail. She kept her voice soft. "Morgan, who's Annaliese? I never met anyone by that name in the village. Is she one of the girls from your travels?" Her gaze didn't waiver as she asked the question she feared most. "Do you still have feelings for her?"

  His head immediately jerked around. "Who told you about her?"

  "You did," she answered. "You had a nightmare while you were ill. You spoke to Annaliese and said you loved her."

  "Anna was my sister."

  Rachel thought about the day they'd gone riding. He said he'd been eighteen when he took over the inn, shortly after his sister's death. Anna had been gone a long time for the mere mention of her name to visibly upset him.

  He led her back to the cabin and took out a brandy bottle. The chair was still by the stove where Rachel had left it. "Come and sit with me, wife." He took the chair and pulled her onto his lap. "Boyd's the only one who knows about Anna. He'd never tell you."

  "You don't have to, either."

  "Anna was three years my senior. When our father took ill and died, she seemed to take it as a personal failure, mayhap because she'd nursed him. I wasn't home much, out working every day even then. I wasn't home when my father drew his last breath and gave Anna the signet to pass on to me. Wasn't there when she needed someone to talk, someone to share her grief."

  Rachel saw the gray eyes were moist. It was clearly hard for Morgan to talk about what happened. The story was uncannily close to her own present situation. It pained her to think about her father and what lay ahead for her. Suddenly she didn't want to know any more about Anna and their father's death. "You don't have your full strength back. We can talk another time."

  He paused and swallowed a drink of brandy. "Anna met a man who took her away with him. I was on my first business excursion. Boyd and I tracked the couple to a derelict townhouse in London. I planned to talk sense into her and fetch her home. I've a history of following young ladies to London, begging them to return with me."

  She caught the note of irony. "She wouldn't leave him?"

  He focused on the flames in the coal stove. "The bloke
was married. Had been all along. Never intended to do right by Anna. She found herself pregnant and couldn't face the shame. Couldn't face me, according to the note she left. I cut her down from a beam in the attic."

  "Oh my God. How awful for you."

  "I should have been home with her."

  "I was home with Cletus. I couldn't stop him from drinking himself to death." She gestured at his bottle. "No more than I can stop you. Anna might have refused to listen if you'd tried to stop her from running away. She believed the man loved her."

  Sarcastic laughter welled from deep in his throat. "What difference does that make? I love you, but you would have left me."

  "I'm not Anna."

  "Nay, you're not. She was very like you, though. Stubborn, bright, determined to argue over the slightest point. We bickered constantly. She was older, but I was the male and saw it as my place to protect her. Still, I didn't when it mattered most. Like today, with you. You'll have a scar the rest of your life."

  She caressed his taut cheek muscle with her palm. "You couldn't help food poisoning. No one's truly perfect, Morgan."

  "My father was, right up until the day he died. Could do no wrong in Anna's mind. There was a void in her life after his death. I couldn't...I didn't know how to fill it. I've speculated she secretly longed to join him."

  "Loved ones sometimes do feel that way. You did for a time, remember? The night we went to the pub, you spoke about your own grief and tried to lessen mine."

  "You asked back in London if I'd abandoned my family when they needed me. Now you know." Rachel cringed at his bitter tone.

  "I had to make this voyage with you, Rachel." Now his eyes met hers. "I couldn't lose someone I cared about again. You were going to spurn my proposal, and I know why."

  Her voice caught in her throat. It was a croak when she finally managed to squeeze out sounds. "How could you? We've never talked about Carson City or what happened before I came to England. I meant to tell you—"

  He silenced her with his lips over hers. His kiss was intense, matching his mood. She wrapped an arm around his neck and returned his kiss with all the longing in her heart, praying he wouldn't turn away from her.

  He finally broke the kiss, inhaling deeply before he spoke in a husky whisper. "I don't care that you can't conceive, Rachel."

  "What? Wherever did you get that idea? I'm can conceive, I've just been unlucky during my pregnancies. Medical care's practically nonexistent in the West. Things might have been different if I'd had a doctor or midwife."

  "Damn it, Rachel!" He came to his feet, pushing her off his lap. "You asked about children and didn't like my answer. Your talk of disappointing me, the comment about never bouncing a baby on your knee. Married for years, but still childless. What was I supposed to think? If that wasn't your reason for refusing me, what the bloody hell was?"

  Rachel hesitated. Would he continue to protect her if he learned the real reason, or move to the crew's quarters and leave her to fend for herself? What if he believed her guilty as charged? She glanced again at Morgan's knuckles. He was in an unforgiving mood. It definitely wasn't time for her deep, dark confession. She grasped at straws.

  "I wasn't anxious to remarry. I thought you'd be like Cletus."

  He gave her a look of pure disgust. "Only a coward strikes a woman. I may not have proven it this particular afternoon, but I do possess a modicum of intestinal fortitude. I'm nothing like that foul wretch you wed the first time."

  "I'm beginning to understand, though I didn't know before. Or about...lovemaking."

  Morgan snarled, interrupting what she would have explained. "Oh, aye. Don't lets forget that and every husband's excessive male lust. Well, you've suffered enough at the hands of barbarians today. I won't expect you to perform 'wifely duties' until you're recovered from your shoulder injury and desire to be a loving wife to me." He took another long swallow of brandy and turned away from her. "If indeed such a day ever comes."

  Chapter 15

  Morgan avoided Rachel as much as possible the next several days. He stayed away from the cabin until it was time to escort her to the ship's dining room or he was forced to return to the bunk to sleep. He lay beside her each night, but made no move to touch her, as though someone had erected an invisible wall between them. She debated with herself about volunteering the truth, but he remained aloof. She held her tongue, waiting for signs of a receptive mood.

  They shared breakfast with the crew one balmy morning. Morgan set aside his plate and cleared his throat. "I've been thinking. It might be best if I sent you ahead alone to see your father. I need to arrange several meetings in New York."

  "Every day I become more convinced my father will be gone before I reach him. I'm never going to see him alive again."

  "You don't know that."

  "I feel it," she sighed, abandoning her piece of toast. "You don't want to come with me to Philadelphia?"

  "I never stopped to consider your family situation when I arranged our hasty marriage. You shouldn't arrive in the midst of a family crisis with an unexpected bridegroom in tow. I'll make my way to Philadelphia after I conclude my trade activities. Unless you prefer I sail home to England."

  She started to reply, but all that came out was a harsh sob. She couldn't stem the tears, and numbly let Morgan lead her back to their cabin when he realized the remaining crew members in the galley were all staring at her.

  He locked the cabin door and offered her a handkerchief from his large trunk. "You should have time to explain that you've remarried, if you choose to maintain our relationship. Or you may decide to file for annulment. I won't contest it. I know you're worried about your father. I didn't want you fretting over our—over us. I need to speak to Haversham about the cargo." He turned and left.

  He doesn't love me. The thought wouldn't leave her head. He'd married her believing she was barren. And in the face of that consideration, he'd steadfastly argued against annulling their marriage. Now, knowing she might give him children, he was willing to give her up. He no longer sought intimacy. She'd lost him.

  By late afternoon Morgan hadn't returned. She'd missed the midday rations, but when she finally opened the cabin door to search for her husband, she saw at once why he hadn't returned. The vessel was headed into a solid bank of immense black clouds. The temperature had noticeably dropped and all around the apprehensive men were lashing down kegs and barrels or checking sails and rigging. She asked a deckhand to fetch her husband. Morgan returned to the cabin and immediately began securing their belongings.

  "It's going to be bad, isn't it?"

  He nodded without glancing up. "Rough seas ahead, aye. Go sit in the chair by the stove. I'll get our trunks stowed and be there in a moment." She watched him latch their trunks and wedge them against one another to keep them from shifting. "We'll be all right, Rachel."

  She waited beside the stove and eagerly curled onto his lap when he took the chair. "Thank you," she sighed. "You know I can't take bad weather. And I'm very glad you're here. I'd have gone crazy facing this alone. I know it may be too late, but—" She abruptly abandoned the attempt to talk and instead gave him an ardent kiss. "I've missed you so much!" she murmured afterward, burying her face against his shoulder. "You seem to have forgotten how much I enjoy your arms and your kiss. I don't want you to go back to England without me."

  "Ah, Rachel." He slanted his mouth across hers. His arms tightened around her until she could barely breathe. They were still locked in a passionate embrace when seawater sloshed under the cabin door.

  She scrambled off his lap. "Morgan, the door! The ship must be sinking!"

  He crossed to the window in two strides. "No, it's not. The waves are just so high, they're breaking over her bow." He dragged the bathtub out and set her trunk inside it. He wedged his large trunk between the foot of the bunk and the end wall of the cabin, then set his smaller trunk on top. "There. At least your things will stay dry, no matter what."

  The puddle of seawater spread towa
rd the stove. Morgan tossed several lumps of coal inside. "We can anticipate a damned chilly night. Banking the fire should help dry out the flooring. Hopefully there won't be much more water coming across the decks, but we'll stay driest in the bunk."

  She hesitated. "I'll need my trunk to get my nightdress."

  "You don't need one," he told her, thinking he'd only peel it off her, anyway. He'd been waiting for a sign from her. Her claim that she'd missed his attentions and her kiss were enough to have him randy and ready. He watched her disrobe and slip into bed. He turned down the lamp, leaving the cabin dark but for the glow from the stove. He stripped quickly and climbed into the bunk to envelop her in his arms.

  "Please do what you did at the cottage that day. Kiss me and make me forget about the storm," Rachel whispered, shivering.

  "Aha! So your sudden passion has more to do with the evil weather than with me."

  "Not completely. I have missed you. It just took a storm and thunder to make me brave enough to curl up with you despite your reluctance."

  "Consider it dissolved. Were you always so terrified of thunderstorms?" She was still trembling, but not quaking as violently as before he'd wrapped his body around hers. Morgan concentrated on her answer rather than the feel of her flesh.

  "No, something happened one night in Oregon during a storm. I can't forget it, and now storms just seem to bring the whole horrible episode to mind."

  "One of those beatings from Cletus"

  She shook her head. "He wasn't there. I was all alone and it had been pouring rain in buckets the whole day." Morgan wondered if she realized tears were trickling from her eyes. She seemed almost in a trance. "It was dark when my labor started. I tried walking to the neighboring farmstead, but the mud was so deep, I just sank in it to my knees. The pains were too bad. I called out for help, but no one could hear me over the rain and thunder. I made it back into the house and stripped off my muddy clothes, tried to build up the fire...If I'd had someone, help...My daughter was born late that night. Dead."