The Negotiated Marriage

by Christina Rich

  Camy flinched and curled tighter against him. Her eyes once again opened, pooling with tears. Tears caused by the wound in her shoulder, when she hadn’t cried before? Had she heard Hamish’s revelation? Or was it the mention of the doctor that caused her to seek his protection, a stranger? Either way, he didn’t like the lines of distress creasing her forehead and mouth. Somehow he couldn’t help wanting to play the knight in shining armor to this damsel in distress. After all, he owed her that much after shooting her. No matter how loud the warning bells clanged in his head, he wouldn’t leave her side until he was assured she was well, and then he’d be gone without a second glance. Before Hamish and his daughter convinced him a marriage of convenience held appeal.

  * * *

  “I won’t leave you.” She closed her eyes as the huskiness of Duncan Murray’s voice, colored with his accent, vibrated through her and curled her toes. “Unless you ask me to.”

  She gave her head a slight shake and then wrapped her arms around his neck as he followed Ellie up the path. Her behavior toward him had been monstrous to say the least, and yet he continued to offer her help. She’d almost be willing to slave over the fireplace and make him a month’s worth of dinners.

  The wall of his broad chest and his brawny arms reminded her of the days when her da had held her tight during a frightful storm, or when he’d taken her riding. Those days had been forever ago, before her mother had died, before he’d left her and her sisters with Hamish. She hadn’t felt safe or protected since. She wanted to soak it in, and yet she did not. She opened her eyes.

  “You may put me d-down now,” she stuttered, releasing her arms from around his neck and pushing at his shoulders. He tightened his grip. She smacked his shoulder and grimaced at the fire burning in her arm. “Oaf!”

  Ellie halted her steps. “Something wrong?”

  “I’m not a child, Ellie. I can walk.” She released a puff of air. She didn’t want to trust that he had good intentions. There had been too many men of recent months travelling through Rusa Valley seeking land along the river, and some unsavory fellows vying for Sims Creek. However, she didn’t wish to be overly rude, given that he seemed intent on helping her. “He’s injured and has no business b-bearing my burden.”

  “Cameron is as stubborn as my Millie.” Hamish’s thick, gravelly accent warmed her heart, even if she took offense at being compared to his mule. He’d inform Mr. Murray that the Simses’ land was not for sale, because Hamish promised it to her when she turned of age on her next birthday, and perhaps he’d help Ellie see reason as to why they shouldn’t give up their home and allow bounders to take over their home.

  “I’ve noticed,” Duncan mumbled as he released Camy’s legs. “Far from biddable.”

  His fingers anchored around her waist, leaving her light-headed and breathless. Her swim in the river had taken more of her strength than she’d like to admit. The pulsating, searing pain in her arm churned in her stomach.

  Peeling his fingers from her sides, she shuddered at the loss of his warmth and wobbled. Duncan’s palm, branding the curve of her back, offered support and propelled her away from him and the delight of his protectiveness. She wouldn’t covet something she could never have. Not from him. He was too handsome by far, and she was too plain. Too unladylike.

  She lifted her foot over an exposed root, and a wave of dizziness spun around in her head. Reaching her hand out to steady herself against the tree, she missed and lurched forward. Before she hit the ground, she found herself swept back into the arms of Duncan Murray.

  The rumble of his laughter shook through her. “I’m afraid she’ll find I’m just as stubborn.”

  Ellie and Hamish laughed too, and if Camy hadn’t been so offended at their jests over her stubbornness, she would have released the tears of pain and frustration begging to spill from her eyes. Ellie rarely smiled anymore, and she hadn’t laughed since she returned home.

  Camy crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. “I’m glad to amuse you, but can we go home now?”

  The sooner they were home, the sooner she’d be out of his arms, and the sooner they could correct him about purchasing their home. Then he could be on his way. But then one of the Northrops would soon arrive, and no doubt, Miller Northrop would hear of her mishap. She could handle Duncan Murray and the emotions he elicited, but she couldn’t handle Miller’s persistent pursuit. The last time almost cost her her freedom, in more ways than one. Camy shivered at the idea of being shackled to that boy. Only a year older than her twenty, Miller had gone from a polite young man to acting like a petulant child over the last year.

  “Are you cold?” Duncan’s slight accent rolled over her, somehow setting her nerves on edge, yet giving her a great deal of comfort as it reminded her of her parents.

  “I’m fine.”

  He snorted, as if she’d tell an untruth, and then pulled her closer. If word caught on that a man carried Camy, no matter the reason, Mrs. Smith would call for a wedding. This man confused her, and she’d no more wish to marry the yellow-bellied oaf of a Scotsman than Miller.

  A life with Miller would be worse than tea with Mrs. Smith and her daughters. The socialite had taken it upon herself to mother the Sims sisters, as they had no mother, and Camy always walked away from her teas with a stiff neck from sitting all prim and proper like. Not to mention her nose nearly took on a permanent wrinkled disposition. It was no small chore containing a sneeze, especially when Mrs. Smith insisted on waving her fan, stirring up every imaginable fragrance she’d doused her person with moments before the appointed time of tea. Third Tuesday, every month, weather permitting. A necessary evil, according to Ellie. After all, Mrs. Smith knew all the going-ons within three counties, which kept the Sims sisters ahead of the railroad. Most of the time. All they had to do was smile, nod and sip tea while they listened to drivel about the latest fashions and how a woman should glide and not amble in the presence of polite company. If Mrs. Smith had known about Duncan Murray, she certainly failed to mention it. The old goose needed to step up her game if she intended to continue tea parties in her parlor room. Unless, of course, she had intended to keep him a secret. But then, only men with fat wallets perked Mrs. Smith’s ears.

  “Do you always talk to yourself?”

  Camy wrinkled her brow. Her gaze shifted to his. The sharp retort clinging to the tip of her tongue halted when she caught sight of his moss-colored eyes. She jerked her gaze from his and pushed her finger up the side of her nose. The wire rim that should be there was gone. No wonder everything but Duncan Murray seemed to blur before her.

  “What’s that, you say?”

  “My spectacles.”

  Duncan flexed his arms around Camy as he stepped over another large limb that had fallen during the last winter storm a month back. He’d probably handle the oxen as if they were no more than small babes from their mother’s womb.

  “I didn’t see them. You must have lost them when you fell in the river.”

  “Most likely.” Even though Camy knew every inch of their land with her eyes closed, Ellie would insist on Camy staying in the house until they could be replaced. Mara wouldn’t be too happy about trading chores with Camy and giving up the cooking, although their stomachs would be a mite grateful for the change. Mara’s attempt at potatoes still soured Camy’s gullet. Dr. Northrop would grumble about her being a simpleminded female who needed a husband, one like Miller.

  “Can you see at all?” he asked.

  “I’m not blind,” Camy snapped, and then sighed. “I can see you. That’s about it. My sisters treat me like I’m daft.”

  “We do not.” Ellie’s voice floated toward her. “The last time you lost your spectacles you stepped in a hole and twisted your foot. You hobbled around for weeks. The time before that you nearly shot Hamish thinking he was a wildcat.”

  Duncan chuckled. “Hamish resembles
a lot of things, but a wildcat?”

  Camy shrugged. It was odd Duncan seemed to know her uncle well. “I knew it was him. I missed him on purpose.”

  “So the lass says,” Hamish responded. “Too close for my liking.”

  “Too close? You have a hole in your hat,” Ellie added. “We’re almost to the path. Can you manage her up the hill?”

  “Yes.”

  His accent curled her toes. “I can walk if it’s too much for your head.”

  “We’ll manage just as we are, Camy.”

  She liked the way he said her name. Not as a curse or as if she’d once again displeased her sisters. Her name almost sounded pleasant, even if it meant crooked nose. A name her da had given her because he felt all out of sorts at his wife producing another girl.

  Camy’s mind darted in all directions as Duncan maneuvered the path leading to her home. She didn’t want to like him. She didn’t want to like any man, given that they seemed to be as flighty as birds during the first fall of leaves. Her da always moving place to place looking for that one thing to fill the void her mother had left when she passed from this earth. Hamish leaving for months at a time.

  Duncan Murray was handsome, and somewhat gruff, but somehow she’d found a bit of courage when he challenged her instead of constantly stuttering like a timid wallflower hiding behind a book during Mrs. Smith’s social gatherings. Beneath the layers he seemed to be caring and kind. He hadn’t left her in the river, he’d come after her. She was tempted to giggle and become woolly-headed like Mara did whenever she talked about a gentleman, carriage rides and arm-in-arm walks beneath the light of the moon. Camy’s younger sister didn’t understand what it was like to have a man abandon them; she’d been too young to recall. Ellie knew, but she hadn’t been the one to chase Da’s coattails everywhere he’d gone. She hadn’t been the one sitting beneath the stoop waiting for his return.

  Camy promised herself she’d never do it again. She’d never allow her heart to be owned by anyone other than her sisters. She had the land Hamish promised to give her. That was all she needed.

  “Mr. Murray, what is the truth as to why you’re here?”

  He halted his steps, his hold on her slackening. She could tell by the lighting that they’d reached the top of the path, and she could tell by his reaction that he hadn’t expected what was before him.

  “He’s come to marry you, lass,” Hamish said as he stepped past them.

  Chapter Three

  “No! I have no need for a husband,” Camy said as she propelled out of Duncan’s arms.

  Although he felt a tad shaky on his own feet, Duncan grabbed hold of her arm and steadied her. He’d been both shocked and unsurprised at Hamish’s revelation, and he didn’t know which irritated him more, the fact that his friend hadn’t been completely truthful about the acquisition of the land until last night, or that the Lady Hamish intended him to marry hadn’t been told about the bargain. Either way, he wouldn’t wed an unwilling bride. “It seems we are in agreement. I have no need for a wife.”

  “Excellent. Wh-why are you here?”

  Duncan looked about him. Although the spring had yet to produce buds on the trees and the green of the grass had yet to sprout from the muddied land, the sight before him was more than he could have hoped for. In this Hamish had not exaggerated. A flat valley for planting gave way to gentle-rolling hills. Hens pecked around the yard. Several goats stood on top of a small wooden shed. A pair of oxen huddled beneath a lean-to. A hound as ugly as any he’d ever seen poked his head from around the door of a large barn before lying back down.

  “This.” Duncan motioned to the land stretched out before them.

  “Is mine.” Camy glared at Hamish. “You promised.”

  “You expected Hamish to keep his word?” Ellie crossed her arms.

  “My shoulder’s been shot, not my head, Ellie.” She turned toward Hamish. “You gave your word. A Sims always keeps his word, right, Hamish?”

  “Cameron, ye know I would if I could.” The old man glanced at his feet. “The river is thawing.”

  A look passed between the sisters. Eyes narrowed, Camy turned toward the small cabin and wobbled. Duncan swept her into his arms. Her limbs turned to stone. “We can discuss the situation after the doctor tends to your shoulder.”

  “I agree.” Ellie motioned for him to follow her into the small cabin.

  Ellie went directly to the fire and poked at the logs in the fireplace, stoking the embers to life. She placed a pot on a hook over the flames. “Sit her on the bed, if you will.”

  Camy’s cheeks took on a rosy hue. “I’ll sit on the chair.”

  Ellie glanced over her shoulder. Her brow furrowed; she seemed unware of the awkwardness. After a moment, she gave a quick nod. “Do as you please. However, Northrop will have you moved to the bed before he examines you.”

  Camy shivered. “All the more reason I will insist on sitting in the chair. I will not be perceived as a weak-kneed ninny. Besides, I could use dry clothes.”

  She had threatened him with a gun, demanded his obedience, received a bullet in her shoulder without so much as a bat of an eyelash and taken a dunk in the river. She was the furthest thing from a ninny, and his chest welled with pride at her courage. A shame he couldn’t marry her. Unlike many of the ladies who’d vied for his attention in order to appease their vanity, she wouldn’t demand his every waking hour, leaving him free to do as he wished. However, he feared her lack of dependence on him for her emotional well-being would only draw him nearer as she did now, intriguing him to get to know her even better. Realizing he was a little more reluctant than he should be about relinquishing her, he plopped her onto the nearest spindle-back chair.

  “Ow.” Camy teetered toward the table but caught herself with her good hand. She scooted toward the edge of the chair with her chin held high and her back straight as a plank. “If I was such a b-burden, you could have let me walk.”

  “My apologies.” Duncan’s cheeks flamed. “I should have been more careful.”

  Of course, he would do well not to touch her again. He wouldn’t wish to be caught in her womanly charm. He scrubbed his palm over his face and winced as he brushed his hand over his eye. The cabin grew a few shades darker and the air closed in. Duncan needed to think about how he could seal the purchase without her as part of the negotiation. He turned for the door. Swinging it open, he stepped into the mud outside.

  “Mr. Murray,” Camy called.

  His hand on the door. “Yes?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To gather your belongings from the river.” He needed air. He needed to get away from her to regain his wits about him. He’d found many ladies attractive over the years, but none as interesting as Camy Sims. The very lilt of her speech tempted him with a desire to sit and chat about nonessentials, a temptation he hadn’t experienced in many years, since before his mother fell ill and lost the will to speak. He could imagine himself sitting across the table with her, sipping tea and eating biscuits, while she regaled him with some tale or another. All he had to do was agree to Hamish’s terms. And gain Camy’s acceptance to be his wife. Absolutely not.

  “It is raining. You have no shoes.”

  “Rain has never stopped me from enjoying the outdoors.” Glancing down, he held his arms out. “A little more won’t hurt me.” As much as he would enjoy a warm fire to dry his bones, he needed to walk, to think. Why had Hamish brought him out here to no more than a shack housing three sisters? To play on his charitable nature? The old man would find his charity didn’t extend to marrying a brown-eyed lass with tumbling locks as wild as his beloved Highlands. He had to find Hamish and be done with his business so he could remove himself from Camy’s presence.

  “You’ll catch your death if you’re not careful.”

  If he was not carefu
l he’d catch something much worse than death, like her for a wife. He’d much rather marry one of the simpering young ladies who cared more for proper social graces than was necessary, as it would be easier to maintain his distance. Besides, he felt at home with his bare toes in the cool grass—a little mud would not make a difference.

  “I assure you I will be fine, Miss Sims. Besides, I wish to look for your father.”

  Deep lines creased her forehead. “My father? You’ll have a time of that. He’s not been seen ’round here in years. He left us with Uncle Hamish when Mara Jean was a tot.”

  “You cannot blame our father, Camy.” Ellie dropped a pile of clean cloths into the boiling water and stirred it around. “He had no means to care for three little girls.”

  Camy scowled. “Either did Hamish.”

  “Hamish had Naomi,” Ellie countered.

  “Even so, Da dinnae even try.” Camy’s voice wobbled.

  The soft lilt of her accent ignited the black heart confined behind the brick and mortar of his chest. Her words pummeled him like a battering ram. Her words were similar to those he’d said to his own mother after his father left them with a leaky roof, no wood for the winter and no food for their bellies. Even in her illness and after all his father’s abuses, his mother had continued to defend him, but Duncan knew the truth: his father hadn’t even tried. Duncan had done what he could, but there weren’t many folks willing to help the son and wife of a scoundrel like Ewan Murray.

  The pain of old wounds sliced through him like an ax splitting wood. To make matters worse, the sisters’ raw emotions filled the room. Duncan understood the rejection and the loneliness all too well and he did not wish to recall the depth of pain he’d felt when his father abandoned him and his mother. However, he could not stop his heartstrings from pulling taut and drawing him closer into their midst, closer to Camy. The sheen of her brown eyes dulled, beckoning him to shield her from all the hurts of this life. If he stayed, as he’d promised, he wouldn’t have the strength to resist his need to protect her. He reminded himself that he was no better than his father, no better than Camy’s. No matter how much he wished it otherwise.