Her cheeks turned a pretty rosy hue, causing his breath to catch. Conspiring giggles drifted from the back, the sisters’ heads bent together. Duncan wondered if they were conspiring against him or for him. As long as Miss Sims became Mrs. Murray before the evening was out, he didn’t care.
Hamish rode up beside them on Millie. “Gonna check things out up ahead. Keep outta the ruts. Don’t need ye stuck in the mud before ye’re hitched.” Whistling a jaunty tune, Hamish bounced ahead of them. The old man’s earlier warning remained with him like a festering splinter.
“What are your plans?”
She paled. “T-tonight?”
“Yes, Miss Sims, tonight.” Would she outright lie to him, skirt the truth or avoid the topic altogether?
“You’re to drop us at Mrs. Smith’s so we can get ready for the party.”
Skirting the truth as he suspected she would. Camy wasn’t one to lie, he knew that, but he was discovering that when she got her mind set on something, she was as stubborn as Hamish’s mule and would find a way to carry out her plans, unless he did something drastic. She turned from him and stared out across the greening hillside while he contemplated their course of action when they entered town. It seemed Pastor Hammond’s would be their first stop, whether she and her sisters agreed or not. The sooner she became his bride, the sooner he could set her aside and focus on the other pressing issue. Calvin Weston and Miller Northrop.
* * *
Camy hadn’t heard her sisters chatter with such excitement since before the attacks began, since before Benjamin broke off his engagement with Ellie. Perhaps Mara would one day find love and a romance to rival the fairy tales dancing in her head. Their whispers carried to Camy’s ears like a chick’s call to its mother, stirring guilt deep in the pit of her stomach. They couldn’t wait to dress Camy in their mother’s gown and watch her become Mrs. Duncan Murray. Her poor sisters would be sorely disappointed if there wasn’t a wedding.
As Duncan pulled up on the reins, halting the nag, she realized they weren’t at Mrs. Smith’s house but rather parked in front of Pastor Hammond’s home. Her sisters’ hushed conversation about Camy’s upcoming nuptials came to an immediate quiet. Cheery tweets and whistles from birds perched in a nearby bush mocked her inner turmoil. The sucking and plopping of Millie’s hooves as Hamish ambled beside them.
Setting the brake, Duncan dropped the reins to the floorboard and jumped to the ground. With her jaw slack, she watched him lift her sisters out of the wagon, keeping their feet from touching the mud, then strode to her side of the buckboard. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” He held his hand out to her.
“For?” She purred like the barn cats begging for goat’s milk and batted her lashes. Once. Twice. Exact intervals as Mrs. Smith had suggested, as it was a sure way to distract a man if he was about mischief, and it was clear Mr. Duncan Murray was about mischief. Without waiting for her response, he scooped her from her seat, cradling her against his broad chest. Her palm rested against the thundering of his heartbeat. The air in her lungs conveniently chose that moment to catch, leaving her breathless and thoroughly distracted from all thoughts.
“To become my bride.”
She squirmed. If she had a rifle she’d shoot him good. It’d be better for him to suffer from a lead ball than wind up like Miller. The dratted man didn’t know what was good for him. How was she supposed to contact Mr. Weston about the land, if she was here? Marrying Duncan. “We were to marry at the party. What about my friends?”
“As I recall, you despise parties, and I’m guessing it’s because you don’t like many of the people who attend Mrs. Smith’s social gatherings.”
“Ye got that right, son.” Hamish snickered.
She glared at Duncan, despising how well he knew her. She looked at Ellie for help, but her sister quickly pretended to pick at a speck of dirt from Mara’s dress. And it was obvious Mara would be of no help with her eyes all dreamylike as if her head were in the clouds. Duncan climbed the three steps to Hammond’s front door and rapped his knuckles against the thick wood. He didn’t even have the gentlemanly decency to set her on her feet.
Pastor Hammond swept open his door with a toothy grin.
“My gown?”
“Will be fine.” Adjusting her in his arms, he held out a hand to the Pastor Hammond, whose shock of blond hair hung over his eyes. “Hello, something’s come up and I’m anxious to marry my bride.” Duncan set her on her feet, his palm spread over the small of her back like a yoke.
“What about your meeting with your friend?” She squirmed.
“That can wait.”
“I’m not ready.”
Determination set in his eyes as his gaze roamed over her face. His fingers swept a lock of hair behind her ear and down her back. He leaned in, his mouth capturing hers. The gentle, lingering kiss demanded that she yield, accepting his proposition, demanded that her mind give way to her heart and risk all he had to offer, even if he promised no words of love, even if it meant he’d end up like Miller or worse.
“Oh my!” Mrs. Hammond’s shocked voice pulled Duncan’s lips away, but his gaze remained locked with hers.
“I’d say ye’re more’n ready, Camy girl.” Hamish chuckled.
Her face burning, the misty haze filling her vision cleared. Her focus dead center on Duncan. She narrowed her gaze as she could almost hear the word tumbling in Mr. Murray’s head, checkmate.
She might not have fancied herself becoming the wife of such a handsome man with an obstinate streak as wide as Rusa River, but here she stood with Duncan’s arm anchoring her to his side. Her mother’s beautiful gown, which Ellie had spent numerous hours altering while keeping watch over Miller, lay tucked in her mother’s trunk in the back of the buckboard, all the while she wore a mud-speckled lavender gown, much too big for her frame. At least it would match the ring he intended to brand her with as he put it on her finger.
Even though she’d discarded her sisters’ romantic tales as foolish wastes of time, she mourned the inability to feel like a princess on her wedding day. And all because Duncan Murray had somehow seen right through her plans, had known she sought a way out of their deal. He didn’t need to say a word; she knew he knew, she felt it in the anger vibrating in his muscles, saw it in his eyes. They were here, in Mrs. Hammond’s living room instead of Mrs. Smith’s parlor, two hours before the set time, all because he wanted to secure their bargain. To secure the land reminding him of his childhood, a home he’d tried to forget. “I—I need to freshen up.”
“Of course you do, dear,” Mrs. Hammond said with her hand resting on top of her belly swollen with child, her soft motherly voice and support easing Camy’s nerves. As the pastor’s wife pulled Camy down a narrow hallway, she gave in to the urge to glance over her shoulder at the man, then quickened her steps as if running from a rabid dog. “My apologies it’s not more private, but there’s a mirror and a washbasin in the corner. Would you like me to help, or send one of your sisters in?”
Chewing on her bottom lip, she shook her head.
“All right, then, I’ll leave you.” Her soft honeyed ringlets bounced around her shoulders. “By the way, dear, you look ravishing. It’s no wonder Mr. Murray is anxious to marry you.”
Dipping her head to hide her embarrassment, Camy waited for Mrs. Hammond to pull the door closed behind her, then stole a glance at her reflection in the floor-length mirror, a luxury they’d never had. The woman staring back at her with familiar dark eyes seemed foreign, unknown to her. Gone was the thin-faced little girl with prominent brown spots speckling her cheeks like a raccoon’s. Her freckles remained visible, but they weren’t the dominant feature of her face. She tugged the bonnet from her head and gasped as her hair tumbled in wild disarray around her shoulders and down her back, no longer the drab color of dirt, strands glinted like copper and gold. She was almost...pretty.
Falling into an upholstered armchair, Camy looked at the ceiling. An image of Miller pressed into her thoughts. His swollen eyes had left him unrecognizable. The cut on his cheek would leave a scar, reminding him every day of his connection with her and Sims Creek, not to mention the possible loss of his fingers if infection took over. If Miller hadn’t been involved, and her heart told her he hadn’t, then someone meant to send her a personal message. Sitting up, she buried her face into her hand. How could she speak vows to Duncan, till death do us part, knowing full well he could die tomorrow, or even tonight?
There had to be a way out of this mess. As if an answer to her dilemma, Mrs. Hammond’s sheer yellow curtains rippled with the breeze coming through the open window. Springing out of the chair, she skirted around the bed and shoved the window open farther. She sat on the edge, preparing to swing her legs outside, when a light knock tapped on the door. Camy slipped out of the window and directly into a pair of strong arms.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Heart pounding, she waited for him to say something more, to do something. “You left Pastor Hammond waiting.”
“I know.”
“You left your family waiting.”
“I know.”
Leaning back, he gazed into her eyes. The look lassoed around her heart and squeezed. “You left me waiting.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her body trembling.
“Don’t,” he said, touching a finger to her bottom lip. “If I thought we didn’t suit each other, I’d let you go, but we both know better. You know better.”
She did, and she wanted to be his wife. A wife with more than his name. A wife who would own his heart, not a gravestone.
“Do you trust me?”
“I do.” She did trust him. She trusted him more than she trusted anyone, including her own sisters.
“I suggest you freshen yourself as you implied to Mrs. Hammond and you meet me in the parlor. Promptly.”
He helped her back into Mrs. Hammond’s bedroom. As her feet touched the hardwood floor, she wiped her palm along the front of her skirt.
“Camy,” he said, his deep timbre causing her to jump.
She glanced at him over her shoulder wondering if he was going to watch her until she left the room. “I trust you won’t test me. I don’t want to chase you down, but I will.”
He disappeared, leaving nothing but an open field framed by the white window frame, draped with the yellow curtains. Shoulders sagging, she blew out a ragged breath. “Lord, why does the man have to be so stubborn?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ellie’s soft voice filtered from the doorway, frightening Camy. “You didn’t answer. I was worried and came in. Why are you all of a sudden resistant to the marriage you agreed upon? It’s not like you to go against your word.”
Camy straightened her spine, her skirts swishing as she strode toward the washbasin. Pouring water into her hands, she splashed her face to cool her heated cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We were to be married at Mrs. Smith’s in two hours.”
Ellie’s reflection appeared beside hers. “Here. There. Now. Later. What difference does it make? The sooner, the less likely anything will occur to keep you from saying your vows. But I have a feeling that is what you were hoping for. Why, Camy, when it’s obvious you love him?”
Tears brimming on her lashes, for both Ellie’s loss and her own, she turned toward her sister. “Enough to want him safe.”
“Oh, sister,” Ellie said, pulling her into a hug. “You cannot control the actions of others. What happened to Miller was not your fault.” She leaned back and swiped the tears from Camy’s cheeks. “If you haven’t noticed, your groom is quite brawny and more than capable of taking care of himself, and he’s done a right fine job caring for you and the farm.”
Sighing, she said, “He has.”
“For better or worse, that man is committing himself to you and expecting you to hold to the promise you made when you signed the agreement to do the same. And I’m guessing, by the sound of Pastor and Mrs. Hammond’s squeaking floorboards and the forlorn glances he kept darting toward the hallway, he would give Sims Creek away if it meant making you happy.” Ellie ran her hand over Camy’s hair. “He’s been running from shadows so long he’s ready to stand and fight, not because he’s tired, but because he’s found something worth fighting for, dear sister. You’ve just got to give him time for his mind to catch up with his heart.”
He said he’d fight for her, for them. Because he kept his word? Because he had a misguided sense of loyalty? Because he had strong affections for her? Did it matter as long as she bore his name, became his wife? Was his determination enough?
“Now, let’s get your cheeks scrubbed rosy before your groom tears down the door and drags you to the altar.”
Chapter Nineteen
Duncan rolled his neck, releasing the built-up tension, when he heard the door open and close, but he didn’t release the breath he’d been holding until the hem of her lavender gown appeared from the hallway.
“Thought I was gonna have to fetch one of the docs, son.” Hamish’s gravelly whisper forced a laugh from Pastor Hammond.
“One of the prettiest brides ever.” Mrs. Hammond blotted her eyes with a handkerchief.
Even with her red-rimmed eyes she was the prettiest bride. None of the ladies who’d vied for his attention back in Topeka, hoping for access to his bank account, came close to the one walking toward him. She had no flowers in her hand, no veil covering her face, and he silently prayed she didn’t mind. Perhaps he should have waited, to give her time to change into the rose-colored gown, but something in his gut, along with Hamish’s warning in his head, cautioned him.
Coming up beside him, she took her sling off her neck and handed it to Ellie. Trembling fingers reached for his, intertwining them. The gesture set his mind at ease, gave him peace. Even though she was scared, she trusted him, and that was all he’d asked of her. “Are you all right?”
The corners of her mouth turned upward, her dark eyes shone with trust and something more he didn’t want to examine, melting layers of steel long ago forged with bitterness. Pastor Hammond hadn’t spoken a word, and yet he already felt united to her, as one flesh.
“Mr. Duncan Graham Murray and Cameron Andrena Sims,” Pastor Hammond said, wasting not another moment. “Marriage is an important bond of two souls becoming one, producing children, going forth and multiplying God’s earth as He commanded Noah in His Word.”
Duncan shifted, surprised he didn’t feel the need to drop her hand like a hot poker. Images of rosy-cheeked little girls with freckles and chubby-legged little boys with brown eyes pressed into his mind. And he didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he quite looked forward to bouncing them on his shoulders.
“Do you, Hamish Sims, stand as a true and honest witness to this union?”
“Aye.”
“Do you, Ellie Sims, stand as a true and honest witness to this union?”
“I do.”
“Duncan Murray, do you take this woman to be your wife, to comfort her, honor her, to keep her in health and sickness?”
“I do.”
“Do you promise to love her, forsaking all others for as long as you both shall live?”
His heart leaped, kicking against the wall of his chest, and he knew it was a promise he
could keep. “I do.”
“Cameron Sims, will you serve this man as a true helpmate, to honor him and keep him in health and sickness?”
“I do.”
“Do you promise to love him, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“Now repeat after me.”
“We promise to have and to hold, from this day forward for better or worse, rich or poor, until death do part us.”
Turning toward her, Duncan crooked his finger beneath her chin and gazed into her eyes. He wanted to look into her eyes as they spoke their vows in unison.
“We promise,” they said, their voices in perfect accord. “To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, rich or poor.”
Duncan squeezed her fingers. Pausing, she blinked at him. “To love, honor and cherish,” he said.
“To love, honor and cherish,” she whispered as she swiped at a lone tear.
“Until death do part us,” he said, wondering if she believed his words. Praying she meant hers.
Squeezing her eyes closed, her fingers tightened around his as if she were trying to keep him from leaving. “Until death do part us.”
The emptiness in her eyes drew him closer, but Pastor Hammond clucked his tongue. “First, the ring, Mr. Murray.”
“Oh.” Duncan pulled the velvet bag from his pocket, and as he’d done earlier in the morning he untied the ribbon and slid the ring into the palm of his hand. Earlier it had meant something, now it meant even more. The ring warmed against his palm. He took her left hand in his. As he slipped it on her finger, he said, “Cameron Sims, with this ring I wed thee.”
The Negotiated Marriage Page 19