The Bonny Bride

by Deborah Hale

  “Are ye daft? Of course I would.”

  “Would ye? Well, I had no way of knowing it. Not after ye sneaked out of town this morning without so much as a word to me. For all I knew, ye’d keep quiet and hide, and I’d never have found ye in the dark.”

  She had no spiteful retort for that. Not for a moment at least. When she finally did reply, it sounded as though her wrath had abated—somewhat.

  “If I’d told ye where I was going, ye’d only have tried to stop me.”

  “Aye. Stop ye from the folly of walking into the wilderness without a scrap of provisions.”

  “I brought money,” Jenny flared. “And my wedding dress,” she added in a less certain tone.

  “Did ye expect fish to jump out of the streams and cook themselves for a penny?” Relief at finding her alive finally caught up with him. In spite of himself, he began to laugh. “Or were ye planning to eat yer dress?”

  “I thought there’d be inns,” she flared, as if the lack was his fault. “Houses. People. I thought I’d be walking on a road. I’ve seen better cow paths back home.”

  “Aye, so have I.” A last chuckle died in his throat. “But this isn’t home where ye can walk forty mile in a day or two and lay yer head down at night in a decent inn.” He felt for the pack slung over his shoulder. “Would ye like a drink?”

  “I would.” She sounded subdued. Perhaps even contrite.

  He unstopped the water jug and passed it to her. “Go easy now. I haven’t much. I hope it’ll last us till we get back to the wee creek by Vautour’s.”

  The sounds of eager drinking ceased abruptly. “What do ye mean?”

  “We can’t start back now.” After the chase they’d just been through, shouldn’t that be obvious? “We’ll have to stay put for now and try to retrace our route as soon as it’s light.”

  “Retrace yer route, ye mean, I’m not going back to Richibucto, Harris. When that sun comes up, I’m pressing on to the Miramichi.”

  This stunned him more than her violent kiss had.

  “Are ye daft, woman? Did ye learn nothing from what happened tonight? Ye could get lost and never walk out of these woods again. Ye could starve or die of thirst. Drown trying to ford a stream.” The possibilities for disaster were so many and so obvious, Harris could not spit the words out fast enough.

  “On top of everything else,” muttered Jenny, interrupting him, “ye made me drop my bundle. I reckon I can find it in the morning, but it would have made a fine pillow for tonight.”

  His mouth kept moving, but no more words would come out.

  Jenny had gone daft. There was no other explanation for it. Talking calmly of pillows and wedding finery. Insisting she would carry on to the Miramichi when any fool could see how dangerously absurd a notion that was. Their hair-raising chase through the woods had clearly addled her wits.

  Fighting down his indignation, Harris tried to keep his tone neutral and soothing. The lass was likely exhausted. She’d come to her senses by morning.

  “Neither of us is going anywhere tonight, Jenny.” Surely she couldn’t argue with that. “I’m going to rest up against the trunk of this tree. Ye can lay yer head against my shoulder if ye like. It may not be as soft a pillow as yer wedding dress, but if ye’re as tired as I am, ye won’t notice.”

  She yawned deeply. “I suppose it won’t do any harm.”

  Harris heard her crawl toward him. She yawned again and so did he.

  “For this one night,” she added in a drowsy murmur.

  Jenny had barely settled herself when Harris heard her breath calm into the slow, even rhythm of sleep.

  He tried to relax so he could drift off, too. But something kept him awake. Perhaps it was his protective instincts that roused to every rustle of the woodland, anticipating danger. Perhaps it was the worry for Jenny that he’d carried with him all day, like a second pack. Or perhaps it was the warmth of her head resting so trustingly against his shoulder and the faint scent of her. They provoked feelings he could no longer afford to entertain.

  Harris gazed up at the night sky, a small patch of it visible through the leaves overhead. Luminous and almost full, the moon stared back at him with her delicate, feminine features. He might as well yearn for the moon as for Jenny Lennox. From the very beginning she’d served him notice that she belonged to another man. A man with so much more to offer than dreams and ambition and a heart that ached to bursting with suppressed desire for her.

  Suddenly Harris was tired of that ache. Tired of lurching from feverish hope to chills of doubt to the prostration of despair.

  The woman was like a disease with him.

  No sooner did he think himself cured than he’d suffer a relapse of lovesickness. He could conceive of only one remedy—purging Jenny from his heart completely. Harris shrank from the thought. In the past two months, she had become a part of him. Cutting her out of his life would be as difficult and painful as amputating one of his limbs.

  Sometimes the dire course of amputation was the only way to save a patient’s life. Reluctantly Harris conceded that the sooner Jenny got to Chatham and out of his life, the better.

  It took Jenny a moment to recollect where she was when the sunrise warbling of forest birds woke her the next morning. Memories came flooding back. Her increasing unease at finding no more homesteads. The futility of realizing she’d been walking in circles. The blind panic of pursuit.

  Then discovering it was only Harris and being able to surrender to her weariness. Secure in the simple fact of his presence. Not that he would fend off wild animals with his bare hands, or lead them unerringly back to civilization—though she didn’t doubt he would try. Just by being there, he gave Jenny the confidence that she could face anything.

  Anything, she reminded herself, but the life she would doom them both to, by marrying him. She had no doubt a man as smart and capable as Harris would make his way in the world. Not when saddled with the responsibility of a wife and family, though.

  Easing away from his slumbering form, Jenny gazed around her. After the terrors of the previous night, the New World timberland looked positively benign by the first light of day. The high canopy created by this stand of tall, ancient pines kept much of the forest floor in shadow. Only the odd bed of soft green moss or swath of filmy fern relieved the carpet of dry, tawny pine needles. Unlike the dense walls of new growth she’d struggled through on the previous day, this area would afford easy walking.

  Gaining her feet, she soundlessly stretched the stiffness from her limbs. It was easy to discern the trail she and Harris had blundered along last night. Follow it, and she’d soon find the parcel with her wedding dress. Then she’d take her bearings and be on her way. Or perhaps she would find a spot to hide until Harris gave up looking for her and went back to Richibucto, where he should have stayed in the first place.

  For a long moment, she hesitated, staring down at him as he slept. Though his chin bristled auburn whiskers, there was something appealingly boyish about his face relaxed in slumber. How could his mother have gone away and left him, no matter how hard her lot?

  Jenny’s conscience pricked. After all, she was about to abandon Harris in her own way. Might he think that, like his mother, she shied away from his scars? The painful notion held Jenny there, watching Harris, yearning for him, when she knew she must go—and go quickly.

  “I’m doing this as much for ye as I am for myself,” she whispered. “I wish I could make ye see that.”

  Willing herself to turn away, she tiptoed toward the trail of broken saplings and crushed vegetation that she and Harris had hewn the night before. She tried to ignore the heartache it cost her to leave him.

  “Where are ye sneaking off to now, woman?” Harris’s voice rang out, sharp with vexation.

  The sudden noise, combined with her own stricken conscience, made Jenny’s heart lurch in her chest.

  She rounded on him. “Won’t be satisfied until ye scare the wits clean out of me, will ye?”

  St
iffly he rose from his sleeping place and scratched his unshaven chin. “And ye won’t be satisfied until ye drive me clean out of my wits with worry.” He traded her glare for glare.

  Then, unexpectedly, one corner of his wide, mobile mouth curved into an irresistible grin. “Since we’re each bent on driving the other mad, maybe we ought to find a nice cosy lunatic asylum and settle down.”

  “This is nothing to joke about.” The unbidden chuckle that burst out of Jenny belied her words. “We’re at each other all the time. Ye and I never would have made a happy match, even with all the money in the world.”

  “Don’t ye believe it, lass,” Harris replied in quiet earnest. A ray of rising sun pierced the foliage, burnishing his hair like new copper and lighting the rich warmth of his hazel eyes.

  It cost Jenny every crumb of her self-control to keep from bolting straight into his arms.

  “I ken a little good-natured tormenting is only natural between a man and a woman.” He brushed away several stubborn pine needles that clung to his trousers. “When things get solemn and serious all the time, that’s when ye can tell there’s a spark gone out. If it ever was there to begin with.”

  “For a man who claims to know so little about women, ye sound like quite an authority on the subject all of a sudden,” Jenny retorted, even as she privately acknowledged the truth of what Harris had said. There was no rancor in this give-and-take of theirs—more a gleeful sparring that added zest to the softer, warmer feelings of their companionship.

  Instead of delivering a clever riposte, however, Harris reddened and averted his eyes. “Don’t…don’t…pay me any mind. Likely ye’re right…and I don’t ken what I’m talking about.”

  What had she said to distress him so? Jenny wondered, reviewing their conversation in her mind.

  “Anyway…” He cleared his throat, an abrupt and obvious prelude to a change of subject. “There’s no sense us standing around wagging our tongues when we have a long day ahead.”

  Jenny sighed. “I told ye last night, Harris, and I’ve no intention of changing my mind. I’m heading on for Chatham, and that’s final.” She peered back into the trees from the direction they’d come. “As soon as I can find my wedding dress.”

  She braced herself for a lecture or an argument. Perhaps he’d pick her up bodily and march back to Richibucto with her. Remembering how Harris had shouldered her below decks during the pirate attack on the St. Bride, Jenny felt her knees tremble with anticipation.

  Instead, he replied with cool composure, “I’ve come too far with ye not to see the folly of trying to talk ye ’round once yer mind’s set. If ye’re bound for Chatham, so be it. I’ll go, too.”

  “But…” That’s almost as bad as going back to Richibucto Jenny wanted to wail. Maybe worse, for we’ll be alone together. She clenched her lips tight, lest the words work their way out. It would never do for Harris to realize the powerfully disconcerting effect he had upon her.

  “Aye?” he prompted her. A hint of that endearing, exasperating grin hovered at the corner of his mouth.

  “That is…” Jenny struggled to regain her composure. “If ye mean to come with me, there’s a few things we’d better get straight right now.”

  All traces of levity disappeared from his face. “There are, and I’m going to make them plain. I’m not coming with ye so I can press my suit along the way. Ye made yer choice when ye left Richibucto. Fool I may be in plenty of ways, but I’m a hardheaded businessman, too. I ken there’s no sense throwing good money after bad. The same goes for time and energy. I’m putting my feelings for ye in the past, and I’ll not speak of it again.”

  Jenny took an involuntary step back, as though he’d thrown a basinful of cold water on her. That was the gist of what she’d planned to say to him. Hearing it from Harris chilled her to a degree she hadn’t expected. She could not think what to reply.

  “And,” he added with grave dignity, “I’ll thank ye to do the same.”

  “I…I’m glad ye’ve decided to be…sensible, Harris.” Jenny fought to swallow the queer lump in her throat, but it would not budge. “I’ll welcome yer company…of course. It gets tiresome walking a long ways with no one to talk to.”

  “Go find yer things, and look smart about it.” Harris waved her away. “Then we’ll have a quick bite and set out. We have to find water soon and try to get our bearings.”

  Discovering her bundle only a few hundred yards away, Jenny shook her head in disbelief. Last night, when she’d thought she was running for her life, it had seemed like miles and miles. She breathed easier knowing she would not face that same terror tonight, even if she and Harris failed to find shelter.

  She knew she should be pleased that he’d come to his senses and didn’t mean to pine for her. Nor make a nuisance of himself trying to court her all the way to Chatham. Still her pride stung at how promptly and casually he’d written her off, like a bad debt.

  Well, Harris Chisholm wasn’t the only one who could make his head rule his heart.

  “I still don’t ken how ye did it, Harris.” Jenny cupped the icy spring water in her hands and drank as though it was the elixir of Eden. “Finding this place.”

  Having spent the day rationing the last drops of warm, stale water from his jug, Harris was apt to agree. After drinking all he could hold, he rinsed out the jug and refilled it. Then he scooped a palmful over his face. Too bad he’d been in such a hurry to leave Richibucto. Intent on fetching Jenny back, he’d never thought to bring his shaving soap and razor. By the time they reached Chatham, folks would probably mistake him for a well-dressed bear. Or a giant red squirrel.

  “My grandpa always used to say, the birds and animals will lead ye to water, if ye let them.”

  “Oh, aye?” Jenny sounded skeptical as she eased the shoes off her feet and wet them down with a trickle of water from her hand. “How did the animals lead us here?”

  “I watched for their tracks,” explained Harris. “And I kept an eye on how the birds were flying. When they’re going to water, they fly straight, but when they’re coming away from it, they swoop from tree to tree.”

  “I never knew ye were such an outdoorsman, Harris.”

  He ignored the teasing note in her voice, but nothing could make him disregard the unfeigned light of admiration in her eyes.

  “When I was a lad, my grandpa used to take me into the hills to hunt and fish.”

  “Speaking of food…” Jenny gazed hungrily at his pack. Several times today she had told him about the fried cod and potato delicacy she’d eaten. Now and then he had caught her sniffing the breeze—sensitive, no doubt, to even the slightest whiff of hog fat.

  “I’ve got some oatcakes left,” said Harris. “I’d like to save them for as long as they’ll keep, though. In case a day comes when we can’t get anything else. Now that we’ve found water, we can think about something to eat. I saw a place back a ways where it might be worth setting a snare.”

  Jenny came to rest in a small patch of sunlight. “I hope ye’re as good at finding food as ye are at finding water, Harris. I could eat a whole deer.”

  He tossed a pinecone at her. It missed. “If ye can catch one, ye’re welcome to it, lass.”

  They both laughed at the absurd mental image that conjured.

  “For now, ye can make yerself useful by gathering wood and kindling,” said Harris.

  “Don’t ye need something to cook, first?” Jenny quipped.

  “I have to rub the snares and my hands in ash, to get the human smell off them. Otherwise the animals’ll stay clear. Once the fire’s going, ye can hunt for pinecones to roast the seeds.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Jenny pulled a jaunty mock salute.

  Several hours later, the snares yielded them supper in the shape of a good-size hare, which Harris promptly dressed and arranged on an improvised spit over the fire.

  While foraging for pinecones and deadfall branches to fuel the fire, Jenny had discovered a clearing rich with plump, sweet blueber
ries. Valiantly resisting the urge to gorge herself, she’d gathered as many as she could carry in her apron. When she presented them to Harris as her contribution to the meal, her face radiated pride.

  The succulent aroma of roast game hung temptingly in the summer air as Harris broke a dry branch across his knee and added both halves to the fire. Jenny rotated the long stick that skewered their supper, exposing another part of the meat to the flames.

  “If I catch anything in my other snare tonight, we should be able to cover more ground tomorrow,” said Harris. “We won’t have to spend all our time scouting for food and water.”

  “That’s good,” Jenny replied, though without the enthusiasm he’d expected. “It’ll put us in Chatham all the sooner.”

  “Aye.” Despite his best effort, the word came out as a brief sigh. No matter how often he impressed upon himself the necessity of getting Jenny to her destination as quickly as possible, some stubborn streak of fancy in him yearned to prolong their journey.

  For a time they sat in silence, watching the flames dance. Listening to them crackle. Inhaling the smell of the meat, as though every savory breath would nourish them. Now and then Harris refueled the fire. Now and then Jenny turned the spit. Now and then their gazes strayed to each other, met for a blushing, breathless instant, then skittered apart.

  At last, Harris pulled a short-bladed knife from the sheath in his pack and stuck it into the thickest part of the carcass. When he pulled it out, a few drops of clear fluid gushed from the cut, hissing as they spattered on the fire below.

  “I ken it’s done.” He transferred the spit to a pair of forked sticks planted away from the fire. Glancing up at Jenny, he grinned. “I don’t care if it isn’t. I’m too hungry to wait another minute.”

  He did not give the meat long to cool, but hacked off a chunk and passed it to her on the point of his knife. Though it clearly burned her hands, she took it eagerly and began to eat. Cutting a piece for himself, Harris devoured it, then licked the fat off his fingers.

  “A bit fresh,” he said as he cut more meat for Jenny. “If I’d known all things, I’d have brought along salt.”