RNWMP: Bride for Dermot (Mail Order Mounties Book 7)
Page 3
Pastor Wilson’s words filtered through Dermot’s thoughts, catching his attention. His stomach churned as the man of God asked the second couple before him to repeat after him.
“Do you, Preston, take Maryanne to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part, so help you God?”
The reality of his situation hit Dermot like a rampaging bull moose. He was marrying this girl! As in, till death they did part. Forever!
When Jonathan had broached the subject of seeking Miss Hazel’s help in finding them all brides, he’d just read out loud a letter from his sister, Evelyn, who was deliriously happy with her own Mountie down in B.C. The other men had agreed, and Dermot couldn’t help getting caught up in their enthusiasm. Living alone out in the middle of nowhere had turned out to be more lonely than he’d ever anticipated.
Standing there, listening to Pastor Wilson talk about fidelity and eternity and sacred bonds, Dermot’s skin turned clammy. He’d imagined all the wonderful things a wife could do for him — aside from the obvious, he was a terrible cook, he barely managed to keep his uniform tidy, and he rather missed the ego boost of having an adoring female presence around. But what would he do with her when his five-year tour was over and he returned to Vancouver to take over the family business? He hadn’t given it so much as a second thought before.
Dermot watched in a daze as Preston kissed his new wife, and Pastor Wilson waved him and Isabelle forward. Neither moved a muscle until Miss Hazel laughed and gave him a surprisingly hard shove.
“Go on, you two,” she said with a chuckle.
The fifteen or so feet they had to cross to reach the preacher extended so far out ahead of Dermot, it looked like a mile. But before he knew it, he’d arrived there and stood before the man who would join them in holy matrimony.
This was a mistake. He shouldn’t tie himself to a strange woman he didn’t know just because he was a little lonely. He should tough it out so he could be free when he returned home. He’d dreamed of pursuing some of the finer catches once his father gave the company to him. If he’d been in demand before he’d joined the Mounties, he’d be irresistible then. It would hardly be fair to pledge himself to one woman, when all he’d really wanted was a little companionship.
No, he had to stop this farce. She might be upset at first, but she’d quickly understand it was for the best. He had some savings, so he’d make sure she returned to Ottawa in style. Of course, his friends would no doubt never let him live this incident down, but better that than the alternative.
As Pastor Wilson’s voice hummed in the background of his consciousness, Dermot took a deep breath and turned his gaze on Isabelle. The next time the preacher managed to take a breath, Dermot would tell her he couldn’t go through with the marriage. But the moment his eyes locked onto hers, the concept of language evaporated. After all, no words had been invented that could accurately describe her devastating beauty — or the wariness haunting her eyes.
Dermot had seen that look before, many times. Only women who thought they knew the true nature of men wore that expression. Heat suffused his face as he realized there was probably more than one woman in Vancouver who wore the same look because of him. But seeing it on Isabelle’s perfect face nearly broke him apart.
“Do you, Dermot, take Isabelle to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part, so help you God?”
In a flash of brilliance, Dermot found the words he needed to show Isabelle he could become a better man, a man worthy of her.
“I do.”
Chapter 3
Isabelle had never seen so much wilderness before in her life. Though Ottawa wasn’t the largest city in Canada, it certainly was the most civilized, in her opinion. As she rode on the seat of a small buckboard next to her new husband, she marveled at all the wildlife surrounding her, not a speck of civilization in sight.
Rabbits darted out across the trail they lumbered down; birds she’d never known existed flitted around the sparse smattering of trees; and once she thought she spotted a small fox, only it was pure white. Do foxes come in white? she wondered.
But the biggest surprise of the day — so far — was Dermot. She’d almost allowed herself to think he might be a different sort of man, but she’d put her protective wall up before he could get a toehold with his gregarious manner. Then, standing with him in front of the preacher, she’d seen a change in him. In span of a single blink, the intensity in his eyes had flashed from ambivalent to something much fiercer.
Her own heart had skipped at least one beat at his enthusiasm when he’d said “I do.” Then it thundered so loudly in her chest, she’d barely heard the preacher ask her the same question. Dermot’s smile had been so sincere, she couldn’t help mimicking his tone. What really caught her off-guard though, was the excitement that had coursed through her at the idea of marrying this man. This strange, handsome, charming man.
“Oh, look,” Dermot said, pointing at a trembling bush. Isabelle turned just in time to see the tip of a fluffy white tail disappearing in the foliage. “That’s an arctic fox. Bet you’ve never seen one of those before.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said with a wry smile. “I saw one a few minutes ago. Of course, I had no idea what it was…”
Dermot laughed loudly, sending a flock of thrushes fleeing into the pale blue sky. Inexplicably, his glance sent a rush of warmth all the way down to the tips of her toes — which she welcomed, considering the nip in the air.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “I hope there’s some warm clothing in all those bags.”
“I only brought six bags, plus my satchel. Miss Hazel insisted this was all I could bring, but she did help me pick out a variety of items to tide me over until my mother sends the rest of my things in a few weeks.”
A crease furrowed deep into Dermot’s brow as he glanced in the back of the little wagon, full to the brim with bags tied down so they wouldn’t tumble out. “The rest?”
She was about to explain that her parents would soon be sending the rest of her clothes, some furniture, and sundry items, when they rounded a corner and were greeted by a group of women walking down the side of the road — if one could call a couple of ruts a ‘road’. They looked up and smiled broadly when they saw Dermot.
Isabelle had never seen Indians in the flesh before. Popular literature made the entire race out to be vicious savages, but these women appeared quite friendly. Dressed in long, European-style skirts and practical wool coats — long out of fashion, but not remotely exotic, as Isabelle had imagined — only their richly hued, round faces and long black braids gave away the fact they weren’t white settlers.
“Good morning, ladies,” Dermot said as the wagon trundled past, tipping his hat to them as if he was greeting a group of high-society ladies.
They snickered and whispered to each other, before turning their attention on Isabelle. One pointed at her, then tugged at her own long black braids. Another grinned, her gaze flicking between Isabelle and Dermot. The woman didn’t need to say a word for Isabelle to know what that look implied, and her cheeks flushed pink at the thought.
“You know those women?” Isabelle asked after they’d passed the group.
“Of course. I know all the people in these parts.”
“Are they Crow?”
Dermot glanced at her in surprise. “Crow is their clan, but they’re from the Kaska band. You know about the natives up here?”
“A little,” she said with a slight shrug. “Once I decided to come, I read up on the region. Though I will say, I pictured them differently.”
“All dressed up in beads and feathers?”
Isabelle dipped her head in embarrassment. “Those were the only photographs I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t feel too bad. You couldn’t know the photographers paid them to get dressed up in their ceremonial finery. But this is how most of them dress these days.”
“Do they speak English?”
“Some. The younger ones are pretty fluent, but the elders don’t have much use for it. There’s usually someone around to translate, but I’ve picked up a little of their language too, so that helps.”
Yet another chink in her armor fell away. She’d always found men who spoke foreign languages attractive. To have married one who spoke the Kaska language was beyond her wildest imagination.
“So tell me about your duties up here,” she said, honestly curious. “I can’t imagine there’s much crime.”
Dermot smiled and those dimples of his made her heart beat just a little faster. “Not too much, but enough to warrant a Mountie presence. Mostly we make sure the fur trappers who pass through don’t cause trouble, but we also travel to a few outlying settlements to keep an eye on their well-being. As far as assignments, it’s a pretty easy one — if you don’t take into account winter.”
Isabelle had read about the sub-zero temperatures the Yukon saw each winter, and it made her shiver. Dermot wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close into his warm body. She shivered again, but this time for different reasons.
“That better?” he asked. “I’d pull the wool blanket out of my emergency kit, but I had to leave it behind to fit all your luggage.”
The best she could do was nod. Tipping her head slightly, she managed to sneak a peek up at him from under her eyelashes. He really was heart-stoppingly handsome. Was it at all possible he was actually a good man? A few hours ago, she wouldn’t have imagined such a thing was possible, but after marrying him… The flutter in her chest that hadn’t stopped since she stepped off the train had a name after all: hope.
She’d been so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice Dermot had pulled the wagon to a stop. Glancing around, the only thing that lay before them was a tiny dilapidated outbuilding of some kind.
“Well, here we are,” Dermot said, jumping down from the seat and holding his hand out to her. “Home sweet home.”
“Home? Where?” She looked around again as he helped her down, wondering what she was missing.
Dermot laughed and pointed to the little shack. “There, of course. The only cabin in sight.”
Isabelle blinked hard. That was her home? She stared at it in horror and shock, completely speechless.
“I suppose if we’re going to do this, we better do it right,” Dermot said, an unsettling twinkle in his eye.
Stooping down, he lifted her deftly into his arms. If she’d had her wits, Isabelle might have been delighted at the feel of his muscles rubbing against her back and legs, but her entire focus was on the so-called cabin. She didn’t even have the strength to struggle against being carried into the awful hovel.
Kicking open the door, Dermot carried her across the threshold and set her on her feet. Spreading his arms wide, he flashed her a wicked smile. “What do you think?”
She didn’t know what to think. The exterior had been rough enough, but it looked like a mansion compared to the interior. The entire space — one single room — was no larger than her bedroom back home. The only furniture was a small bed shoved into a corner, a tiny table with a single chair, and a ridiculously small pot belly stove. No fireplace, no bathroom, no wardrobe! Where would she store all her clothes?
The question was moot, because every square inch was piled high with junk. She barely had room to set down her satchel, much less store the trunks she’d been allowed to bring. No wonder Dermot had looked surprised when she mentioned her future shipments.
Besides all that, every surface held a thick layer of grime, including the two small windows. A worn, filthy path wound through all the stuff, from the door to the stove to the bed. Never in her life had she seen a more disgusting living space. And he expected her to live there!
Shaking her head, she frowned up at him. “You really need to fire your maid.”
His eyes grew wide for a moment, then he broke out in loud guffaws. She scowled at him, completely unamused by his amusement. Finally he caught his breath, and as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, he choked out, “Why, Isabelle, that’s what you’re here for!”
For thirty hilarious seconds, Dermot thought Isabelle was joking. Only when she whirled on him, beautiful brown eyes blazing with fire, did he suspect maybe she’d been serious. Then she jammed her fists onto her hips and pursed her pretty lips into a fierce little bud.
“Excuse me?”
“What?” he asked, honestly perplexed. While he’d always had luck attracting the ladies, he’d never been able to figure them out. This one was clearly no exception.
“You expect me to clean all of…this?”
In other circumstances, he would have found the way her nose crinkled quite fetching, but that look of disgust was directed at his home. It wasn’t as if he was particularly house-proud, but there was no call to act like he lived in a hovel. So what if a few items of clothing were scattered about and he’d forgotten to sweep before collecting her? The place was relatively clean, considering he didn’t spend much time there.
“Of course I expect you to clean it. You’re my wife now, and wives keep the home clean while the men go to work. Why on earth would you think I have a maid? Do you see this place? It’s tiny! Wait, didn’t Miss Hazel explain the situation here?”
He’d only just met the older lady who’d brought his feisty new bride to him, but she seemed smart enough to not mislead the women she recruited. Isabelle’s face turned bright red, confirming his suspicion that Miss Hazel had spelled it out for her.
“I thought…” Isabelle’s mouth twitched slightly and she sniffed before lifting her head proudly. “I thought she was not fully informed.”
“About what? Everyone knows life in the Yukon is hard. Haven’t you read any Jack London?”
Her suffused face glared up at him as she sputtered, “But…but…you’re rich!”
And there it was. Dermot had spent his life honing his ability to sniff out women who only wanted him so they could enjoy his father’s wealth. He’d been all too happy to shower them with trinkets and baubles for a short time, but they never lasted long. Not that his mother would ever admit it, but he suspected she’d married his father for the security his money offered. The last thing he wanted was a marriage like theirs. In fact, he’d never wanted a marriage at all, yet his new bride stood not five feet away from him. Funny how things happen.
“I see,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment and, quite frankly, disgust.
“I only mean, I expected a man of your means to have some help.“
“Lady, I’m a Mountie. This may surprise you, but my superior officers really don’t care how much my father is worth.”
That wasn’t exactly true — in fact, his father’s influence was what brought him to this lonely outpost on the road to nowhere in the first place — but there was no need to air his dirty laundry with a gold-digger he couldn’t trust.
“Besides, who would I hire as a maid? I know you haven’t had the grand tour yet, but we’re in Indian country here. They have their own lives and customs, and don’t have the time or interest to make sure my floors are mopped. The nearest civilization, as you know it, is three hours away, in the thriving metropolis of Moose Lick.”
She cringed at the town’s name, much as he had when his post assignment had come through. But the town and the people — the handful that had remained after the Gold Rush — had grown on him since he arrived. They’d grow on her too, if she gave them a chance. Breathing deeply to calm his irritation, he changed tacks and poured on the charm. Maybe that
would work where reason didn’t. He had to at least try — he’d married her, so he might as well make the best of it.
“I know a lady such as yourself must be used to only the finest things life has to offer. I’m sure this has been quite a shock to your system, am I right?”
Isabelle glanced away from him and shrugged. He took that as a ‘yes’.
“I can certainly relate. I thought there’d been some mistake in my orders when the train pulled into the station — if you could even call it a station.”
He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the tension in the room. While she didn’t smile, her scowl eased some. He was gaining!
“And thinking back, I remember being shocked at the sight of this place, but you should have seen it then. Pretty sure a pack of timber wolves lived here before I arrived.”
Something twinkled in her eyes, something that looked almost like amusement, so he pressed on.
“I never thought I’d survive, but I’m going on two years here, and I have to be honest. This place has grown on me.”
“Like mold?” Isabelle asked, as she reached out and ran a finger along the mildewy window sill. She held up her black fingertip to prove her point.
He flashed his most dimply grin, one guaranteed to make any young lady swoon. Only she didn’t. She just raised an eyebrow and brushed off her hands. Boy, she wouldn’t give him an inch!
“I’m not going to lie to you, Isabelle. Life here isn’t as easy as it is in the city. There will be no balls, no late-night dinner parties, no friends dropping by for tea, no shopping — except to order the necessities from the mercantile’s catalogue. Even though we’re well into the twentieth century, this is still the wild, wild west. But for the most part, the people are good and true, and the scenery is almost as beautiful as you are.”
That ought to do it!
For the briefest of moments, Dermot thought he saw a flicker of a smile on her lips, then they turned down in a frown. When her gaze met his, his heart sank all the way down to the tundra.