Richelle thought she imagined tears glistening in his pale eyes, but it might have been a trick of the light. Or the dampness in her own.
"I had a talk with the Almighty, beloved wife. We struck a bargain between us. I've put up the use of my leg against your welfare and the child's. I had a long talk with Him. He knows I'm a man of my word. I know full well the power of His."
Richelle gasped, but not from the pain of childbirth. "You asked God to leave you crippled?"
The resolve on his face hit harder than any contraction yet. "Aye, if that's the price of your dream, Richelle."
Epilogue
Richelle sat ramrod straight in the crowded pew as her gaze swept the church. Every row was filled. Morgan was seated immediately to her left, mustache neatly groomed, the thong gone from his hair. His mane had been shorn to just grazing the top of his starched collar. Lorella was on Richelle's right, holding tight to Malcolm's hand. She would be back in a month to wed Malcolm and move into the Entwistle's farmhouse.
The vicar called Morgan and his wife forward. Morgan flashed Richelle a look he hoped conveyed the mingled uncertainty and solemn pride in his soul and rose to his feet. He waited as Lorella transferred the chubby bundle from her lap into Richelle's arms. Silently Morgan laid his cane across the wooden pew behind him. He heard several audible gasps. He ignored them, moving stiffly to join his wife and David Entwistle in the nave. The vicar asked David a question.
"Regan Hardwick Tremayne," came the resonant answer.
Richelle barely heard the words. She saw Morgan standing tall with nothing in either hand. Balancing Regan in the crook of her arm, she reached for Morgan's right hand with the fingers of her left. Their twin signets came together in one soft, burnished glow. Morgan had insisted upon naming their son Regan—half Rachel, half Morgan. It was a good name, she reflected as the baby loudly voiced his complaint at the rush of water over his brow. A strong name for the son of a strong man.
They stepped into the crisp spring air. Chrissandra tugged at Richelle's sleeve and whispered something in her ear. Richelle smiled broadly and nodded in the direction of her husband and Dr. Rowe. The women moved to where the men stood talking. The doctor cautioned Morgan about pushing himself and the leg too hard.
Richelle drew her husband aside. "He's right, Morgan. You're not overtired, are you? You haven't been without the cane for so long before."
"I'm fine, love."
She gave him her warmest smile. "We'll be attending another christening before long. Your partner's going to be a father, if Dr. Rowe confirms what Chrissy suspects."
Morgan glanced at Chrissandra, then at Lorella holding hands with Malcolm. He shook his head in exasperation. "You've managed to hasten the demise of our bachelor population, Richelle Tremayne," he scolded in mock severity. "We allow one little Colonial widow into our midst, and look what comes of it."
Thomas and Emily stepped up beside them. "Aye! Little American's the best thing ever befell this village," Thomas declared. "Told Emily for years Swanson was cheating on the ale shipments. Rachel finally got the figures to prove it. Won't cheat me again, now that I own the bloody place!"
"Want to thank you again for your help with the banker, Mr. Tremayne. I'll have the last of your funds to you next week. We're honored you offered the place to us, rather than selling to strangers. Know it wasn't easy for you to part with the inn. We'll take good care for you, and in Andrew's memory. You're welcome to drinks on us any time, sir. In moderation," Thomas winked.
Morgan frowned. "What's this 'sir' and 'Mr. Tremayne' business? When did I stop being Morgan?"
Emily went red in the face now. "It's not that we're not fond of you as ever, Morgan, but you're the mayor now! I mean sir, eh...Your Honor," she stammered. She held up an elegant silver and ebony walking stick. "And you forgot your cane, Your Honor, sir."
"Yes, he did," Richelle answered, reaching for it. "Thank you, Emily."
Morgan signaled for their carriage. Richelle waved good-bye to Chrissy as Regan yanked on the filigreed silver handle of the cane. He pulled it in close to his face, infant eyes wide and intent. He was soon happily gnawing on the handle, gurgling softly.
Morgan reached for his son. "Richelle, our son is slobbering all over my best cane."
"I know. But seeing you have no need of it any longer, I didn't think you'd mind, Your Honor."
His scowl deepened as gray eyes locked on hers. "Are you deliberately trying to provoke me, madam?"
She let her hips sway as she stepped up into the carriage and turned to smile over her shoulder at him. Her wicked, sultriest smile. "Indeed, sir. Oh yes, indeed."
THE END
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 5
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Cachet Page 28