Ellie loved to sew. She loved the challenge of making new things from old, mostly curtains and dresses for Mara. Her stitches were tight and perfect, where Camy’s were loose and sloppy. Camy would rather milk the goats, or plant seeds.
“Isn’t this exciting?” Mara said, dancing into the cabin. “Camy will be stunning in Mama’s dress.”
Camy shook her head. “What? Ellie, no. It’s to be yours.”
The morning light and Duncan’s departure had brought an uncertainty that Duncan would even return as he’d promised, even with the contract written between them. He hadn’t returned yet. Of course, he’d left only hours ago, shortly after the rooster crowed. And although their farewell had lingered several long, breathless minutes, last night she couldn’t help fearing he’d turn yellow-bellied and run. Especially since he acted like a man who wanted more than a marriage in name only. Which he most definitely didn’t.
“Don’t be a goose.” Ellie opened the trunk and sifted through the contents. “It’ll be threadbare with age by the time I’m ready to wear it. Besides,” she said, glancing up at her. “You favor Mama and you’ll make the dress look stunning.”
Camy’s cheeks heated. Ellie had Mama’s straight, lighter brown hair that glinted beneath the sun. Mara had her brown eyes. Ellie was tall and graceful, just as she’d remembered her mother to be, and although Mara was short, she had Mama’s curves. Camy looked down the front of herself and grimaced. She was neither short, nor tall. She was plain and far from desirable. Her hair, always in wild disarray, couldn’t be contained like Ellie’s. And her eyes were drab, lifeless, the color of dirt.
“That she does.” Hamish’s voice cracked with emotion. “You do your parents proud, lass.” He slapped his thigh, drawing attention away from his misted eyes. “If ye need me I’ll be napping in the barn.”
“I don’t believe it,” Mara said. “Uncle Hamish, a caring, sappy old cuss.”
“Mara Jean! Of course he cares,” Ellie responded as she pulled out several paper-wrapped packages. “He wouldn’t have brought Duncan out here to marry Camy if he didn’t.”
“You mean manipulated.” Camy spun from her sisters and the excitement of digging through their mother’s belongings. She plopped in the chair and resumed her darning. The words spewed out of her mouth without thought, and even though she’d known from the beginning Duncan’s reasoning behind their marriage, it hurt.
What had changed? She knew the answer immediately. Their second kiss. Last night’s kiss had been filled with promises she knew would never come. Duncan had said as much. Yet there had been that one moment where their heartbeats fell into unison; she’d felt it beneath her palm. The memory of it had played in her mind through the night as she tried to find sleep, and it continued even now.
“You are sorely mistaken if you believe Duncan is a man to be so easily manipulated.”
Camy rolled her eyes. Of course he wasn’t. There wasn’t one imperfect thing about him. Excepting that he made her long for more in their marriage than a signed document. “He desires Sims Creek.”
“Why?” Mara sat on the edge of the bed and pulled a brush she’d found among Mama’s things through her hair. “He could have any piece of land he wanted. According to Old Dr. Northrop he could buy all of Rusa Valley and not bat a lash. He has several properties in Topeka.”
“He’s rich?” And handsome? Everything Mara fancied in a husband. Camy’s head spun. She realized she didn’t know much about Duncan. He knew almost all there was to know about her. Her tendency toward accidents, her stammering tongue and her freckles. Her fear of rejection, the pain caused by her father, and still he agreed to a marriage between them. Why, when he could purchase any property along the river? And why, if the gossip was true, would he want to live like a pauper in the country? “I don’t believe it, Mara. He doesn’t have the arrogant air of a rich man.”
He behaved nothing like Miller Northrop and some of the other men Mrs. Smith had introduced to her and her sisters. Perhaps that was because he hadn’t grown up with money, having lived in a home worse than the old cabin. Duncan was kind, played the violin, longed for a home like the one he’d left in Scotland and after seeing all the improvements he’d made to the farm in the last week, he worked hard.
“Money shouldn’t bother you, Camy. It would make life easier,” Ellie argued.
If easier meant Mrs. Smith’s household, she didn’t want it.
Mara folded her hands in her lap and looked dreamily at the ceiling. “To think, we could have a real stove.”
Not that a real stove would improve Camy’s sister’s cooking any, but it would be nice.
“A roof, and walls without holes,” Ellie chimed.
No more pots and buckets to trip over would make life easier. “A well. I love sitting by the river, but I dislike carrying the water bucket up that hill several times a day.”
“See, Ellie?” Mara giggled. “She does dream a little.”
“Even so, I’d rather marry a man who is kind, caring and works hard than a man who has none of the above and money.” She pulled the needle through the fabric and poked her finger. “Ow.”
“No bleeding fingers. You wouldn’t want to soil Mama’s gown before your party, would you?” Mara hopped off the bed and dropped the brush into the trunk. She stepped to the window and pulled back the curtain. “When do you think he’ll return?”
“He only left this morning.”
“I know, but the party is in a few days.” Mara glanced over her shoulder. “Besides, it is fun watching him watching you and you watching him.”
“Whatever do you mean, little sister?”
“Here it is!” Ellie jumped to her feet, hugging the brown-papered package to her chest, before laying it on the bed. All three of them stood, shoulder to shoulder, with Ellie in the middle, staring at the brown paper as if waiting for the package to unwrap itself. Ellie glanced at Mara and then at her. “Well, are you ready?”
Clapping her hands together, Mara squealed. Camy reluctantly nodded. Ellie pulled the string and gently pulled back the paper. They gasped at the rose-colored silk with brown velvet bows on the sleeves. Camy drew her finger along the edge of the scooped neckline.
Ellie nudged her with her elbow. “Are you ready to try it on?”
Feeling a bit like Cinderella, Camy swallowed the lump in her throat. If it didn’t fit, would she miss the party, or go in one of her working dresses? She meant to keep the promise she’d made to Duncan and wouldn’t shame him by behaving improperly, not with infidelity, and most certainly not looking the pauper. If the rumors were true and he was as rich as Mara believed... Camy prayed the gown would fit.
Without asking her, Ellie removed the sling and Mara helped remove Camy’s work dress. They unhooked the pearl buttons running down the back of the bodice of their mother’s gown and held the garment open for her to step in. She brushed her palms over the silk as they buttoned the back. It fit! And it was prettier than she recalled. Ellie and Mara moved in front of her. Ellie grabbed hold of Camy’s right hand and held it out to the side.
Mara swiped a tear from her cheek and then removed the pins of Camy’s hair. “You are stunning, Camy.”
Camy tried to pull her hand from her sister’s and shrink into the shadows, but Ellie tightened her grip.
Ellie’s lashes battled against the tears filling her eyes. “Oh, I wish Mama was here. She’d be happier than even I am at this moment.”
“Ellie.” She drew in her bottom lip, not wanting to douse her sisters’ joy with the truth, but Camy couldn’t sing, dance and twitter around as if this was to be a happy occasion when it wouldn’t. “My marriage to Duncan will be as real as the Fountain of Youth, and nothing to get all misty-eyed over.”
The cabin door opened. Ellie dropped her hand. Mara stepped to the side. Duncan’s eyes locked with hers. She
sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of his freshly shaven face and the fierce ticking of his jaw. She felt like a rabbit trapped in the eyes of a predator. She trembled, not afraid that he’d devour her like a coyote might his prey, but she did fear the shambles he’d leave her heart in after their vows were said.
“I think you’re sorely mistaken, sister.” Ellie glanced at Duncan. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned. We’ll give you a moment.” She pulled Mara out of the cabin.
“I made it as far as Rusa,” he said, his brow furrowing. Although he wore the same dark rough-hewn trousers and threadbare shirt, she could sense the money, could see him decked in fancy suits and rubbing elbows with the hobnobbers. “Here, I brought you some sweets from the mercantile.” He handed her a paper bag.
“Th-thank you.” She blinked and tucked her chin to her chest.
He closed the distance between them. Crooking his finger beneath her chin, he lifted her face to his and kissed her.
* * *
He kissed her. For the third time in less than twenty-four hours, he kissed her. He would blame all three on his determination to prove to her she was a treasure to be held and cherished, not a guttersnipe to be tossed away. The truth of the matter, though, was that he was insane, purely insane. Sure, he wanted her to know he wasn’t rejecting her. That he wasn’t her father. That she was everything he could hope for in a wife. His perfect helpmate created by God for him. Too bad he couldn’t say the same about himself for her.
He was mad to think he could have her and yet not have her. Each kiss sweeter, and more binding. He should have known once he gave in to the temptation of kissing her by the river that he’d become his father. Except...he couldn’t imagine kissing any other woman. Ever. Only her.
“Hello.” He leaned his forehead against hers and blew out a ragged breath to calm his pulse. If he didn’t stop seeking her out every chance he got, their marriage would become more than what they had negotiated for.
“H-hi,” she whispered. “You’re back.”
“Yes.” He laughed. Molding her to his chest, he rested his chin atop her head. Lord, help me. He couldn’t even leave the area knowing she was here, knowing he’d be gone for days, unable to lay eyes on her. Unable to know she was safe from scoundrels who set homes on fire. Unable to reassure her that their marriage was a good partnership, even if he didn’t fully believe it himself. He only wished he could offer her more than his name. “I sent someone in my place.”
She pulled back and looked up at him, her brow creased. “Who?”
“Benjamin.”
“Northrop?”
He released her and paced to the window. “Yes. He was going to Topeka for supplies.”
“Do you tr-trust him?”
Leaning against the windowpane, he jammed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? Besides, I’d rather risk trusting him than having you worry as to whether or not I was coming back.” He laughed. A half-truth wasn’t exactly a mistruth, was it? He didn’t want to tell her how much he’d worry over her or else she might get the wrong idea and think he cared a little more than he should given their situation.
“I set it far from my mind.”
He glanced at her and smiled. Her hands folded in front of her as if she were a young girl being chastised. “I don’t believe you.”
She shoved her spectacles up her nose. “You don’t have to, Mr. Murray.”
Unable to help himself, he closed the distance between them. “If we’re to be married, I prefer you called me by my Christian name. It’s Duncan. You’ve said it many times, haven’t you?”
Her lips set into a stubborn line and his competitive instinct roared. She could be stubborn, but he rarely backed down from a challenge, and he wasn’t about to this time.
“Here.” He touched his fingers to her temple.
“M-Mr. Murray,” she said.
“Here.” He laid his palm above her thundering heart.
Her eyelids slid closed as she shook her head.
“And here.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, knowing the game was dangerous to his sanity. He should have her uncle commit him to an asylum after their vows were spoken.
She drew in a sharp breath. “Murray.”
He kissed the other side.
“Dun—”
He grasped her arms and yanked her to him, capturing his name and her lips with his. She tasted of hot cocoa, something he had failed to notice with their earlier kiss.
“Duncan!” Mara burst through the door. He gave himself a mental shake and jumped away from his bride-to-be. Camy’s cheeks flamed as did her younger sister’s.
“Hamish needs you. Now!” Mara said as she grabbed a rifle and flew out the door.
Duncan snagged another rifle.
“Duncan.” Camy’s hand rested on his arm, worry filling her eyes.
He smiled. Wisdom told him not to demand that she stay in the cabin, protected. “Yes?”
“Be careful.”
He rushed out of the cabin and spied Hamish flat against the side of the barn peeking around the corner. Mara leaned around her uncle’s shoulder. A loud commotion echoed in the distance. Duncan strode across the yard.
“What is going on?” He spoke just loud enough to be heard over Hound’s deep barking growls from inside the barn and his paws scratching furiously at the door.
Hamish jerked his head toward the field. “Them no-gooders is tearing up the field with their horses.”
Duncan peered around the corner. Three riders tore up and down the south part of the field. Not doing any real harm, since they hadn’t planted yet, but the bullying was enough to make him mad as a disturbed rattlesnake. “Where’s Ellie?”
“She’s in the loft ready to draw a bead if they come any closer,” Mara said.
“Go to the cabin and keep your sister company.”
She propped a hand on her hip. “Camy can handle herself.”
“I didn’t imply otherwise, but I would prefer there to be no accidents to keep us from our wedding. Now go!”
She clenched her jaw, reminding him of Camy, and then she stomped toward the cabin.
“What’s yer plan?” Hamish spat.
“I’m not sure yet.” He rested the rifle against his shoulder and sighted the distance. “They probably aren’t expecting us. Where’s your mule?”
“Right next to yer prized mare.”
“No insult intended, my friend. What do you think about riding up on them?”
“That’s a right fine idea. Ellie girl will cover us.”
Duncan explained to Ellie what they were doing while Hamish coaxed Millie out of her stall, which was fruitless even with the offer of an apple and Duncan didn’t have time for her stubbornness.
Duncan tossed his derby to the ground and jumped on Heather Glenn’s bare back. Charging out of the barn, Duncan released a war cry like a banshee as he swung an ax over his head. The horses reared. The men fought to keep their seats. A shot, then two and three, rent the air from behind him. The riders, white as sheets, tapped their heels into their mounts and tore away from the farm. Duncan chased them off the property with a high-pitched scream he’d learned from a Cherokee man he’d met in Oklahoma during the war, and then he rode Heather Glenn over the torn-up fields, thankful they had yet to plant one seed.
An object glinted off the sun, catching his eye. Duncan dismounted and walked the length of field until he found it again. Kneeling, he stared at the gold pocket watch as familiar to him as his own name. Etched in the gold in Gaelic was We are Murray and the clan motto Quite Ready. Nestled in the center of the script was their crest, an image of a mermaid gazing into a mirror. His father had given it to him on his thirteenth birthday as a reminder never to forget whence he came. He was Murray, through and through. No matter the s
candals, no matter the whispers of treason, and they were always ready to face the consequences of their deeds, right or wrong, good or bad.
How had it come to be here when he’d left it tucked in his tartan buried in the bottom of his trunk in the room he kept at the boardinghouse in Topeka? It couldn’t have been Benjamin Northrop’s doing, since he hadn’t even the time to make it to Topeka, let alone there and back again. He cradled the watch in his palm and swiveled around on his heel, checking for anything else out of the ordinary. A wisp of smoke rose from the ground.
Duncan stood and strode toward the spiraling stream of smoke. A freshly lit cigarette lay next to an entire roll of smokes. The foil packaging had an intricate design of flowers and a lady dancing with a man-sized rabbit dressed in military garb, complete with a sword crinkled in his fist. He clenched his jaw. He knew of only one man who smoked this brand.
He tucked the watch into his pants pocket and mounted his horse. Tobacco leached from the foil wrapping as he clenched his fist, spilling down his leg and onto the ground as he rode back to the barn. Now that he had an idea as to who was behind the threats, he could deal with the culprits. Camy and her sisters would be safe, and he wouldn’t need to marry her. Hamish could simply sign the farm over to Camy when she turned twenty-one and there’d be no more worry. But what about the next mongrel who decided to prey on the unmarried women? Besides, he wanted to marry her. Now more than ever. He’d already settled it in his mind and had even spoken with Pastor Hammond while he was in Rusa Valley.
Seeing these men threaten the woman he lo—cared for made him realize he wanted to marry her more than anything. Or maybe it had been the prospect of leaving her this morning and not seeing her for days. It was by the grace of God he’d heeded his instinct and come home, instead of traveling to Topeka. He’d hate to think about what would have happened had he not been here.
He clenched his jaw. Only the lowest of lowest of all bounders would terrorize women, and why? What was so special about this piece of land that a man would go to such lengths to steal from them? That was one conversation he intended to have with Hamish and the sisters. Before he confronted his partner. After all, the watch burning in his pocket was his, his to own. He was a Murray, a fact he’d despised since he was a boy, but now a sense of pride welled up in his chest. Even through all his father’s scandals and the stigma of treason committed by his clan against England during the Jacobite uprising, there had been a sense of knowing that he was a better man than the legacy left to him, and he’d pull on the tales of victory and triumph. He was a Murray, and a Murray was always quite ready. In all circumstances, no matter the consequences, even if it meant tearing down the walls of his father’s past and relinquishing his heart to Camy.
The Negotiated Marriage Page 15