The Negotiated Marriage

by Christina Rich

“Of course. Would you men like some coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” Benjamin hung his coat on a peg and pulled a chair next to his brother.

  She poured them each a cup and then stirred herself a cup of chocolate.

  “Are you two ready for tonight?” Benjamin asked, the small talk, no doubt, a distraction as he prepared himself to tend to his brother. “Mrs. Smith is over-the-moon that one of her protégés is finally getting married.”

  Camy choked, hot chocolate sputtering from her mouth. Duncan patted her on the back.

  “Don’t let it distress you,” Benjamin said. “I believe she means well enough, but I don’t relish the day she sets her sights on Bella.”

  “At least Bella will have Mara Jean by her side. Let’s hope Jamie Muster finds a wife before the girls become of age.”

  Duncan had met the young man a few days ago at the mercantile when he bought sweets for Camy. The banker’s son had nearly knocked over the displays tripping over his feet as he tried to get out of the way of a pretty maid. Duncan couldn’t imagine him holding court with bold and mischievous Mara, but perhaps Duncan needed to make it a point to start chaperoning his future sister.

  “Let’s hope. Perhaps Levina will grow fond of the young man.” Benjamin’s hands shook as he sifted through his bag.

  The lighthearted chatter seemed to be an attempt to keep Benjamin from looking at his brother. Duncan could only imagine how he felt, having not grown up with siblings. It was torment when Camy lay in the exact same spot with only one minor wound.

  “He isn’t rich enough for her tastes,” Camy said.

  “I don’t know that King Solomon would have been rich enough for Levina’s tastes,” Benjamin replied, his voice quivering as his eyes watered.

  “Camy, may I speak with you a moment?” Duncan asked.

  She pulled a shawl around her shoulders and followed him onto the porch. He closed the door behind them and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I believe Benjamin needed a moment alone with his brother. He seemed nervous to even look upon him.”

  She gazed at him through her spectacles, her lashes brushing against her cheeks. The steam from her hot chocolate swirled between them. She shivered in the morning air, so he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. Her head rested against his shoulder.

  He could become used to this, the two of them in the quiet morning with nothing but the cluck of hens, bleating goats resonating in the air, Hound brushing between their legs and Uncle Tommy pecking at his boots. The feel of her softness snuggled against him, the smell of warm chocolate and rosewater.

  “Is that all you wanted to speak to me about?” She blew on her chocolate.

  He moistened his lips and then faced her, his hands on her arms. “We’ve negotiated and signed the agreement, but I have yet to ask you proper.”

  He dug the velvet bag out of his pocket. Untying the ribbon, he poured the ring into his palm and dropped to one knee. He took her hand in his and gazed up at her. “Camy, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  * * *

  Camy stared at the gold knotted band. The purple stone glinting in his hand. She had fancied this moment since she was a girl, but as she had become older she’d lost hope and here it was, better than she could ever have hoped for even if it was a farce. Why did it have to feel so real?

  His tenderness and kindhearted caring pulled her close like the river on a hot summer’s day. It was so natural between them, and right. At least for her. She’d forgotten her resolve to distance herself from him and gave in to the moment. The bond they had, the friendship. The sweetest of kisses. She couldn’t bear the thought of Duncan fighting for his life, potentially losing it because she wanted to keep her home. His life was worth more than a piece of land. And without the land, there was no bargain. No business. No deal. No marriage.

  The ring winked at her, mocking her heart. If she said no, he’d know she intended to break their agreement, and she didn’t want that to happen until after the land was sold. She prayed Hamish would see to reason and help her. If she said yes, it’d be a lie. “I—it’s beautiful, Duncan.”

  “It was my mother’s, passed down from mother to daughter-in-law for five generations.” He slipped it on her left ring finger as if Pastor Hammond was here requesting the action, and without her consent as if confident of her yes. Duncan drew up alongside her. She leaned in, clinging to his shirt, wanting to hold on to the love burning in her soul for him, but it was that very love which propelled her to let him go. Her heart crumbled.

  She pulled away and held her hand out as far in front of her as she could without slipping it from the sling, branding the image in her mind to hold her for a lifetime. The aged gold shone in the morning light; the purple gem sparkled. The weight of it on her finger was foreign. It made her feel like she was a part of something, of someone. Of him.

  “We can have it adjusted to your size after we’re married if it’s too big.”

  The woman who’d birthed this wonderful man had worn this ring. Five generations of women had worn this ring and she wondered how many of them were marriages in name only. How many had loved their husbands before they said their vows? And how many of them had intended to leave their future husband waiting at the altar because of that love? “Thank you, Duncan, for honoring me with such a gift. I only pray I’m worthy of it.”

  The words came out before she could take them back. Odd how she’d spent most of her life fearing rejection and yet here she was, about to reject this man’s proposal. His protection.

  “I could have captured the moon and the stars for you, Camy, and you would be worthy of such a gift.”

  “Ohhh,” she sighed. Her knees wobbled. Her toes curled. Her insides churned and swirled, ebbed and flowed, like the frothy river rushing out of its banks. It was quickly doused by heavy guilt pricking her conscience. She slipped the ring off, handed it to Duncan and grasped hold of the post holding the porch for support. How many times had she listened to her sisters giggling, trying to outdo each other with their romantic tales of chivalrous men? And here she was, experiencing a real romance that would bury theirs far from their memories. If only she could share it, keeping it with her forever. “Will you hold on to this until this evening? I would hate to lose it.”

  Especially since she never intended to marry him. He needed to save it for a real wife, one who would have more than just his name. A wife who wouldn’t ask him to risk his life to save her home.

  “Of course,” he said, tucking it back into the velvet bag. “I would like to leave a little sooner than we’d discussed. I have business to tend to before the party.”

  Early suited her. Perhaps Mr. Weston would arrive at Mrs. Smith’s early. “That is fine. I’m certain Mrs. Smith will wish to fuss over my hair before her guests arrive.”

  “They should be your guests.” Duncan laughed. “I’ve asked Hamish to stand beside me and be a witness. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No. This is all his doing. It’s only right he be in attendance.”

  “Shall we check on Benjamin and Miller? He was elated to hear Miller was even alive after thinking he’d drowned in the river, but he was obviously unprepared for Miller’s injuries even though I tried to explain them to him.” Camy listened to him as he told her all that had transpired, including the elder Northrop’s apoplexy.

  “I’m sorry for it, I am, but he has been a thorn in our side since I can remember.”

  “Camy,” he said, his eyebrows dipping. “Do you know why Northrop wants this land?”

  “I never asked. Hamish would know, though. Why?”

  “I was just thinking, wondering if he might have had something to do with the attacks.”

  “Don’t be silly. He can barely get around. His sons often carry him from place to place.”

  “He could have h
ired someone.”

  “No, although Hamish might agree with you, and even though the doctor has been a prickly thorn, he wouldn’t cause or threaten harm to anyone, especially his own son.”

  “I didn’t get the impression he was that kind of man. Besides Miller, Benjamin and Julius seem to be of good character. Even now Julius is caring for their father. I guess that leaves your railroad theory.”

  “It’s not a theory when the man who came calling claimed to be with the railroad,” Camy said. “I know you think he might be an imposter, but why do you think it’s not any of them?”

  “I’ve told you, I know some of the financiers and some of the men on the committee.”

  “You know them well enough?” She knew Miller, had known him for years, but after last night and Duncan’s questions, she did wonder if he might be involved in trying to take her land.

  “Some.”

  “So it’s possible?”

  He shifted his weight. “Yes.”

  “I should have listened to my sisters and convinced Hamish to sell the land before it came this far. Poor Miller will be scarred for life, bearing the mark that should have been meant for me.”

  “Don’t say that, Camy. You don’t know that for certain. Miller’s attack may not even be related to what’s been going on here.”

  “Then why was he here?”

  “I’ve wondered that myself, but I think Miller is the only one who can answer that question.”

  She had wondered why Miller had been here. And maybe Duncan was right, maybe Miller’s attack had nothing to do with Sims Creek, but something told her otherwise. At first, she’d thought the rotters hurt him to gain her cooperation. Perhaps, thinking they were to be married instead of her and Duncan. But now she wondered, Miller had coveted this land and had tried all sorts of tactics to gain her hand in marriage to get it. Surely he wouldn’t have hired ruffians to leave him for dead, would he? There were too many questions to ask Miller when he woke up.

  “Why do you think Miller asked you to forgive him?” she said.

  Duncan massaged the back of his neck. He shifted his eyes to the fields. “His words were nothing more than mumbles. It’s possible he didn’t know he was talking to me.”

  “What aren’t you t-telling me, Mr. Murray?”

  He grumbled. “When will you stop calling me that?”

  “When you s-start acting like a husband.” She held her hand to stop him from moving closer. “My sisters and I have been on our own for quite some time. We’ve been dealing with men who think we are incapable of gathering eggs long before you came along, so please do not insult me by treating me like an imbecile, and do not, I beg you, try to distract me from the matter at hand. I am a grown woman. I can handle hard truths. What aren’t you telling me?”

  He adjusted his hat lower on his brow. “I don’t have all the facts, Camy. I don’t want to accuse an innocent man of something he’s not guilty of. I’ve experienced such things and it wasn’t pleasant having a man accuse me of compromising his daughter when I had never seen her before.”

  She sighed inwardly, frustrated that she wanted to know everything, but also knowing Duncan’s honor would keep him from accusing an innocent man of wrongdoing. “What facts do you have?”

  “That’s it, I don’t, only a suspicion that Miller was one of the men tearing up the field yesterday.”

  After spending the last two nights pondering Miller’s actions, she had expected this truth, but it still fired her veins. She flew across the porch. Duncan grabbed hold of her before she could open the door.

  “Camy, this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. There are too many possibilities. He’s young. He and his friends may not have been involved with the fires. He could have been reacting with a scorned heart, nothing more.”

  She searched his eyes. “Do you believe that?”

  “I honestly don’t know, sweetheart. I honestly don’t know.”

  She wanted to know. Needed to know. If Miller had been the one behind the attacks, there was no need to visit with Mr. Weston. “I choose to believe he wasn’t involved. What about his face, his arm? His fingers? Duncan, what sorts of friends do that to a man?”

  “The kind who aren’t friends. Maybe the kind who believe he owed them something.” Removing his hat, he thrust his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, Camy. I could be wrong.”

  She hoped he was wrong, but couldn’t help wondering if Duncan was right. Miller had become obsessed with gaining her hand in marriage over the last year. She hoped they found out the truth before the engagement party, as there was a possibility Mr. Weston wouldn’t be in attendance. And if she couldn’t convince Hamish to tear up the contract between him and Duncan and sell to another, she’d end up standing in front of Pastor Hammond, next to Duncan. She didn’t want Duncan to marry her needlessly. And she didn’t want to marry a man only to bury him. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to pray.”

  He held her hand and bowed his head. She listened to the prayer, but all she could think about was the prayer dominating her heart, a prayer of hope, one with a happy ending. One without her standing over fresh dirt and a grave marker.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After dinner, Camy and her sisters packed up the buckboard with the gowns they’d chosen to wear for the wedding, along with several pies for the reception afterward. Other than carrying one of the trunks, Duncan’s attempts at helping were waved off. He stood in amazement watching the three of them in constant motion, even stopping on the occasion to check on Benjamin and his brother. Although Miller’s condition seemed to be improving, he had yet to wake, causing Benjamin and Ellie to wonder if there were unseen injuries to his head.

  Leaning his elbows against the side rail of the buckboard, Duncan waited for the trio to return, which gave him time to think about their future. He must learn to control the impulse to seek her out without warrant. Seemed his mind continually came up with excuses to be in her presence. Like now, did she need help donning her coat? Was that why she hadn’t appeared as quickly as she should?

  He heard Hamish’s uneven gait come from behind him. “I thought ye might be needin’ this,” he said, tucking the violin case beside the trunk holding Camy’s gown.

  “I appreciate the concern, my friend.” Duncan pushed his derby up with the tip of his finger, no longer shielding his eyes. “But I think I’ll be occupied keeping watch over your niece.”

  “Ach, ye best be doin’ more than that.” Hamish squinted. “Something’s not right. She’s got her mind set on something, and it ain’t marrying.”

  The hard kick in Duncan’s gut confirmed the niggling that had prickled at the base of his neck ever since she handed him back the ring. A hollow determination had overtaken the glimmering gaze, and indifference had cloaked her like quills on a porcupine. She’d tried to act like an excited bride, and he’d even thought for a moment she might be reacting to nerves, but he’d seen the far-off stares as if she were in deep thought, calculating her next move. “What do you think she plans?”

  “Considering she asked me how much I’d sell the land fer,” Hamish said around a piece of hay stuck between his teeth, “she’s lookin’ fer a way outta yer bargain, and here I thought you courted her proper. Fer the record, Sims Creek is yers.”

  The land didn’t matter. There were other tracts he could purchase, houses in town he could buy, but none of them had her. Only Sims Creek. He meant what he’d said, he’d fight for her, fight for them.

  “And fer another record, Camy girl will cut off her own foot if she thought it’d save a man. She might not like Miller none too much, but what happened to him shook all them girls up.”

  Before Duncan could ponder Hamish’s words, Benjamin shouldered his way through the door of the cabin, bearing yet another trunk. The ladi
es piled out behind him and onto the porch in a cacophony of animated chatter. Their dresses, varying shades of spring, looked like a bouquet of flowers in front of the ash-colored log cabin. Camy’s, the shade of a heather field in full bloom, caused her sisters’ to pale in comparison.

  “Ain’t they pretty?” Hamish shuffled away from the buckboard. “Mind my words, keep her by yer side. No tellin’ what she’s got cookin’ in that brain of hers.”

  Duncan’s meeting with Deputy Cooper posed a problem. He wanted to hear what Nate had discovered before he told Camy anything more about Miller’s involvement. Jumping into the driver’s seat, Duncan pulled the buckboard alongside the bottom step. Benjamin deposited the trunk into the back, then helped Ellie and Mara settle on the trunks. Duncan assisted Camy onto the bench seat, then climbed up beside her.

  “Thank you for riding out to the house and telling Julius about Miller,” Benjamin said, handing him a rifle.

  “I wish I could have done more. We can only hope Julius can get through to your father,” Duncan said as he rested the rifle next to his leg.

  Tilting her head, Camy peered at him from beneath the rim of her white-lace cap. “Are we expecting trouble?”

  Duncan flipped the reins, propelling the old swayback mare into motion. “Were we expecting trouble the other day?”

  Her mouth firmed into a straight line as she stared straight ahead. Her pert button nose lifted a notch.

  “You don’t act like a lady about to become a bride.”

  Her eyes darted toward him, then back to the worn tracks ahead of them. “M-most brides have grander notions of love.”

  “And you don’t?”

  Her fingers knotted into the folds of her skirt, the only hint besides the occasional stutter she wasn’t confident in their current predicament. “We have an agreement, a business deal. As I recall, love is not a requirement, nor was it mentioned.”

  His fingers itched to take her hand, to reassure her all would be well between them. If her sling hadn’t been in the way, keeping her shielded from him, he wouldn’t have just held her hand. No, he would have wrapped his arm around her shoulders and glued her to his side. The prospect of her trying to weasel out of their deal soured his stomach, made him want to ensure that there was no way around it. Made him want to take her straightway to Pastor Hammond’s home and demand they marry immediately. He leaned close enough to whisper near her ear. “As I recall, neither were kisses.”