* * * * *
“Still waiting for the elusive captain?” Peter said lightly as he approached Kyrah on the pier.
Kyrah made no response as she quickly stuffed her sewing into the satchel so Peter wouldn’t see that she was making baby clothes. She was relieved that he didn’t seem to notice. But then, many times she’d worked on them almost right under his nose, and he’d paid little attention to what she was doing.
“You know,” he said softly, sitting close to her, “there is an inn not far from here called the Harbor. The crowd isn’t too pleasant, but the food is great. Would you care to dine with me?” Kyrah glanced at him, saying nothing. But he seemed to have grown accustomed to her silence. “Come along,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m certain you could use a change of pace from eating at the boardinghouse day after day.”
“Actually the food there is very good,” she said.
“Nevertheless,” he said and continued walking, “a change of pace would do you good.”
Kyrah couldn’t deny that he was right—on all counts. The crowd at the Harbor was typical of the brash sailors and merchants that dominated the town. But the food was delicious, and the change of pace did feel good. After they’d eaten, Peter took her arm and led her from the inn, aimlessly walking through the dark town of Hedgeton until they came again to the pier.
“You know, Kyrah,” he said, standing close to her, “you’re very beautiful.” Kyrah turned away from him, not wanting him to say such things to her. “I mean it,” he went on and his voice softened. “I think you’re beautiful. I know you probably find it difficult to believe, but I do love you, Kyrah.”
She turned to look into his eyes, wishing she could read his mind. He seemed sincere enough, but she found it difficult to completely trust him.
“Kyrah,” he whispered when she made no response, and she felt his arms go around her. She didn’t find his embrace distasteful enough to recoil, but she was more concerned that he might detect that she wasn’t nearly as slender as she used to be. Preoccupied with her lack of waistline, she was surprised to find his lips against her face. At one time she would have been revolted, but now she felt entirely indifferent. Of course, Peter had changed. She knew that. He was not the same man she had worked for in Cornwall. Nevertheless, that didn’t change the fact that she felt absolutely nothing for him. She told herself she should make her feelings known, and not lead him on this way. But she felt somehow hesitant to speak up. She wondered if old habits made it difficult for her to oppose him, or if she was simply stunned by his apparent affection. She watched him closely as he kissed her face, still searching for evidence of his sincerity. Trying to discern her own emotions, she had to admit that his presence was somehow comforting. He was the only tangible connection she had to the life she had known before. And when he behaved this way, she couldn’t deny his charm. He was so different from the man she had come to know in England, and she wondered if he had simply found it difficult to know how to express his feelings appropriately. Could it be possible that he really loved her?
His lips touched hers, startling her to the realization that she was allowing him to tread into territory that belonged to someone else. She quickly turned her face, feeling as if she had just betrayed Ritcherd. She suddenly missed him so deeply that she felt a tangible pain in her chest. She pressed a hand there as Peter touched her chin and looked into her eyes. Not wanting him to see the emotion rising there, she turned her back to him, murmuring, “Please . . . don’t.”
He said nothing more as he escorted her back to her room. But the loneliness seemed to close in around her after he left. Preparing for bed, Kyrah glanced in the mirror and ran her hand over where Ritcherd Buchanan’s child was gradually becoming more evident. This manifestation of time’s passing struck her in a way that she had not allowed herself to feel. She crawled into bed and tried to sleep, but her mind roiled in growing turmoil and confusion. She began to wonder if Peter might have been right. Perhaps Ritcherd would have realized by now that they were not well suited to each other. She knew Ritcherd loved her. But how much? And perhaps love was irrelevant. Facts be faced, she was alone in this hole of a town, unwed and pregnant. Her fears began to take hold, squelching the ebbing belief that Ritcherd would find her and make the circumstances right between them. She forced herself to take a long, hard look at where she might end up if Ritcherd didn’t find her and she was unable to find passage back to England—or even if she did. Wherever she might end up, she would be the mother of an illegitimate child. She had the diamond necklace, but no matter how much income she got from selling it, the money would run out eventually. She had no means to support herself beyond the menial labor that she had once done. And people who valued their reputations would not be hiring an unwed mother; it was a taint that would never leave her. Only Ritcherd could erase such a blemish, but he was not here. And time’s passing increased the probability that he wasn’t coming.
Consumed with the stark reality of her position and its accompanying fears, Kyrah cried herself into a numb exhaustion. She finally drifted to sleep, only to wake up again soon after dawn with her fears catapulting through her mind all over again. Spurred by a helpless desperation, she sank to her knees by the bed and poured her heart out in prayer, certain that nothing short of a miracle could save her from an impending doom. She didn’t find any immediate answers, but she left for the pier right after breakfast, determined not to let go of the hope that Ritcherd would come. When it became evident that no ships had come in since the previous evening, she walked the pier, asking all the usual places about getting passage to England. She wasn’t surprised to hear the same old answers, but at least she felt like she was trying; she was doing everything she could. She could only pray that God would somehow make up the difference.
Kyrah left the pier early when it started to rain, and she managed to avoid Peter. That night she prayed herself to sleep rather than succumbing to her fears. But she woke up to find the sky drizzling and gray. And Mrs. Dodd informed her at breakfast that her rent would be all used up in two more days. Kyrah paid for another week, but the time passed quickly, so she paid for another. Her pregnancy became increasingly difficult to hide, and Peter appeared each day, seeming more determined than ever that she should marry him. She felt somehow detached from herself as she listened to him tell her over and over how much he cared for her, how he would see that her needs were met, and he would do his best to make her happy. He reminded her once again that they were two of a kind, and that he understood her because of the social status they shared.
Kyrah tried to remain hopeful, tried to find something logical to hold on to that might give her strength to resist the means Peter was offering to solve her problems. But each day the confusion and discouragement became stronger, gradually stifling her hopes and beliefs. One day she stayed at the pier later than usual, knowing she was out of time. The rent would be used up tomorrow, and she was almost out of money. She would either have to sell the necklace and begin to face life as an unwed mother, or . . . Could she even entertain the thought? Had she become so desperate that she would actually consider it? Yes, she decided firmly, she had. She could marry Peter. Once she allowed the thought into her mind, it took hold and began to seem so easy. She could stop waiting and wondering. She could stop fearing the future for herself and her child. She could have security and return to England without the scandal and shame of her circumstances. There was something cold and horrible at the core of her that was repulsed and disgusted by the idea. It would solve her problems now, but what would it do to the rest of her life? Could she live with such a decision? On the other hand, could she live with the scandal and shame and probable poverty of her circumstances if she didn’t accept his offer?
Trying to look at the positive, Kyrah had come to believe that Peter Westman really did love her. He’d been so kind, so sincere. But sincere or not, she knew she could never love him. It was Ritcherd Buchanan who held her heart captiv
e, and he always would. But too much time had passed. The few ships that had come from England during her stay here had not yet brought him, and Kyrah had to admit that he probably was not coming.
As afternoon faded into evening, Kyrah was grateful that Peter had only shown himself for a few minutes that morning. It was easier to feel hopeful when she looked out over the sea. But when it began to get dark, she forced herself to head home. She was deep in thought over her dilemma when a hand reached out of an alleyway, pulling her into the shadows. For a moment she recalled the time Ritcherd had abducted her. For a moment she wished with everything she had that it was him now. But it quickly became evident that it wasn’t, and suddenly her fears for the future were put into heart-stopping perspective.
She was overcome with the stench of body odor and liquor as she was dragged by two men deeper into the alley. One of them kept a hand clamped firmly over her mouth while they discussed what a beauty she was and how much fun they could have with her. She fought and squirmed with all the energy she could muster, while a part of her hoped she would not survive this—then her problems would be solved. They nearly threw her to the ground and held her there, while she prayed that she would survive, if only for the sake of her child.
“Hold it right there!” Kyrah heard a familiar voice call out, followed by the cocking of a pistol. The men released their grip and put their hands up. She scrambled to her feet and could barely make out Peter standing at the entrance to the alley, a pistol in each hand. She couldn’t help recalling a similar situation on board the Libertatia. But she was too filled with gratitude to question the coincidence.
“Peter!” she cried, and ran to put him between herself and her abductors. He kept the pistols pointed at them as he backed out of the alley, keeping her securely behind him.
“Think twice,” he said, “before you lay your hands on this lady again. You might find yourselves dead.”
The men ran the other way, and Kyrah nearly collapsed with relief. “Are you all right?” Peter asked, putting the pistols into his belt. Kyrah nodded and attempted to get control of her breathing, fearing she might pass out if she didn’t. “Are you sure?” he added, touching her chin.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, and he guided her silently back to her room at the boardinghouse. Kyrah hardly noticed that he came into the room with her. He guided her to a chair, and she realized she was shaking. She held her cloak tightly around her and couldn’t find the will to protest when Peter slid the other chair close beside her and put his arms around her. He whispered soothing words that encouraged the tears she was fighting to hold back. Sobbing against his shoulder, the full reality of her circumstances came crashing down upon her. She cried for the fear of what she’d just been saved from, and she cried for the loss of every hope she had been clinging to. When she finally managed to stop crying, a numb dread settled into her like a cold wind that chilled her to the very core.
“Will you be all right, my dear?” Peter asked tenderly.
“Yes, of course,” she said, while her words felt distant and obscure. “Thank you . . . for being there.”
“I’m glad that I was,” he said, kissing her cheek. He cleared his throat slightly. “You know, Kyrah, it terrifies me more than ever to think of you alone in this dreadful place. Let’s get married . . . soon, and I’ll take you away from here.”
Kyrah looked into his eyes as if she might find the answers there. Not certain whether she’d found them or not, she stood quickly and began pacing.
“What is it that keeps you from saying yes?” he asked in dismay.
“My heart belongs to another man,” she stated.
“Ritcherd Buchanan,” Peter stated with obvious disgust.
“Yes,” she said sadly and continued pacing. In her mind she tallied every aspect of the situation with frantic urgency. The facts stood out sharply, just as they had for days now. But it was the child’s welfare that concerned her most. It deserved better than to be born illegitimate, with no security, shamed for life. She deserved better than to do hard labor all her life to support a child—or worse, she could end up in prostitution. But would Peter accept Ritcherd’s child? If he loved her, he would have no choice. It was a part of her. Peter was offering what she needed: a husband, security, protection. Forcing herself to think reasonably, she decided to find out exactly where he stood.
“Peter.” She stopped pacing and stood to face him. “You know that I’m not in love with you. I’ve not led you on.”
“I know that,” he said.
“And you know that I love another man. I believe I always will.”
“I feel confident that time could change such feelings,” Peter said.
“But now. We have to talk about now.”
A light of hope came into Peter’s eyes that urged her to go on.
“You’re right when you say that I should get married. I should not be alone. But there are more reasons than the ones you have spoken of. You must understand that there is a part of Ritcherd Buchanan that will always be with me. You have to accept that.”
“Kyrah,” he said, taking her hands, “are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I suppose I am.” She glanced away, then met his eyes directly. “Will you accept me for what I am now—and for the way I feel?”
“Oh, yes,” he said with obvious pleasure.
“Even knowing that . . . well, Ritcherd and I were very close. And he has left a very real part of him with me . . . that I will never be free of. That’s the real reason I need to get married, Peter. You must accept that, if you accept me.”
“Of course,” he smiled, but she wondered if he’d even been listening. “I love you, Kyrah,” he added gently. “Nothing else matters. I will take you just as you are, and perhaps one day . . .”
“Don’t speak of that for now,” she said, turning away. “We’ll take it one day at a time.”
“Whatever you say, my dear,” he said with a smile and kissed her. And with his kiss, her little remaining hope disappeared.
When Kyrah was left alone, she realized that her decision had been the result of fear and desperation. She sat numbly on the edge of the bed, searching for any degree of strength inside of her that might ward off the fear and help her to know if she was doing the right thing. But she could see no other way. She didn’t want to marry Peter. But she simply could see no other way.
Before crawling into bed, she prayed for strength and guidance, feeling at the same time that she didn’t have enough faith left to propel her prayers past the ceiling. She lay awake far into the night, while an inner voice seemed to whisper that she shouldn’t do it, that she should just hold on, have faith, and believe in her own strength. But the fear overruled and she finally slept, resigning herself to her fate. The following morning, Kyrah went to the pier as usual and stood numbly in the same spot for hours, gazing out to sea, knowing this would be the last time. She couldn’t wait another day. At first she felt too numb to cry, but eventually the tears trickled down her face, quickly drying as they met with the salt-tinged breeze.
“Are ye all right, Miss?” Mr. Birch’s voice startled her.
“No,” she said, turning back to look at the sea, as if a ship might appear on the horizon—a ship that might rescue her from her plight. The old man took her hand and urged her to sit beside him. She hadn’t intended to tell him her story, but as the words poured out, along with the tears, she felt somehow better—even if it didn’t change what she had to do.
When there was no more to say, Mr. Birch asked, “Why are ye goin’ t’ marry someone who’s not th’ cap’n?”
Kyrah swallowed hard and simply repeated what she’d already told him. “I’m in trouble. I can’t wait another day.”
The old man’s brow furrowed with concern, but he didn’t ask what kind of trouble she was in. His compassion and listening ear were appreciated, but he couldn’t help her. No one could help her but Ritcherd. And she couldn’t wait another day.
&nbs
p; “I want to thank you for your kindness all these weeks,” she said, taking his hand. “I probably won’t be seeing you again. We’ll be leaving here as soon as we’re married. He says that we’ll move south, and eventually return to England.” Kyrah sighed. Repeating it to him made it all sound so horrible. But she felt helpless to do anything about it.
Kyrah didn’t leave the pier until the sun had gone down, and long past midnight, sleep still eluded her. As the hours slipped by, she felt herself losing something that she would never find again. There was a dream in Kyrah’s heart of a life she should have shared with Ritcherd. Despite how hard she’d tried to keep that dream, fate had seemed to work against it in the years since Ritcherd had gone to war. And it now appeared inevitable. She had to stop waiting.
As the new day dawned over a sleepless night, she felt those dreams drifting away forever, and resigned herself to live without Captain Ritcherd Buchanan. The times they’d shared together were far in the past. It was too long ago. They’d been too long apart.
Watching sunlight filter through the window, Kyrah thought of the stories she’d heard of men going to the gallows at dawn. At this moment she was certain she knew how they felt. Again a voice seemed to whisper inside of her that it wasn’t too late. She didn’t have to go through with it. And once again she tallied the facts and her fear overruled. She could see no other way.
Feeling like a puppet, moving by the will of some power beyond her own, Kyrah packed her things and returned the key to Mrs. Dodd. Peter came for her right on time with a hired carriage. As they rode together toward the little church on the outskirts of town, he proudly told her how he had everything arranged.
While they held hands to be married, Kyrah watched Peter through a fog of confusion. It wasn’t until she had spoken her vows that a thought occurred to her. Until that moment, she had believed that her despair was in admitting defeat. She was removing herself from Ritcherd’s life forever. But now she realized it was more. The reality was that she would be Peter’s wife, and there were aspects of being married to him that she knew would be unbearable. As he slid a gold band onto her finger and kissed her to seal their marriage, Kyrah’s thoughts went to her fear of ending up in prostitution. Then she looked into his eyes and realized that there was little difference between that fate and what she had just done. She had sold herself for the sake of being saved from shame and poverty. But the shame would always be with her. She felt certain that by tomorrow morning she would feel so completely defiled that Ritcherd Buchanan would not want her, even if she was free. But there was little point in speculating over such things now. As she left the church wearing Peter Westman’s ring, she had to face reality. Captain Ritcherd Buchanan was lost to her.
Kyrah’s thoughts wandered as they rode in the carriage, and she was startled to the moment when it drew to a halt much sooner than she’d expected. “Where is this?” she asked. A quick glance out the window told her they were still in Hedgeton.
“This is where I’ve been living,” he said as the carriage door opened. She was thinking that he would be stopping to get his things, but he stepped down and held up a hand to help her. “And now this is where you’ll be living.”
Kyrah stood beside him and said, “But you told me we would be leaving here . . . that we would—”
“Well, I changed my mind,” he said in a tone of voice that chilled her. It reminded her all too keenly of the man she had worked for in Cornwall. He took her bags into one hand and her arm in the other, leading her toward the door of the little house as the carriage rolled away. Everything inside of Kyrah was telling her to scream and run. Something was wrong—horribly wrong. She felt as frightened and helpless as she had when she’d been dragged down the alley by a couple of drunk sailors.
Once they were inside, Peter let go of her arm, but she could feel where he’d held her by the pain that lingered. He tossed her bags onto the floor of the front hallway and leaned against the door. Kyrah watched him closely, trying to convince herself that his concern and affection for her all this time hadn’t simply been some overblown charade. She tried not to show her fear, but knew she had failed when he shook his head and laughed. And she could almost hear the devil laughing right along with him.
“Oh, Kyrah, Kyrah. You sweet, gullible fool. Your innocence warms me, I must say. But now that I’ve got what I want, there’s no point in pretending any longer, is there.”
“And what is that?” she asked, her voice barely steady.
He laughed again—a triumphant, wicked laugh. “I’ve got you. Who’d have dreamed when I won that card game that I would be getting such an opportunity in the bargain? You see, Kyrah, you’re as big a fool as your father. He was gullible too, you know. But I wonder if you do know that he left a great deal of money behind. And you and I are going to find it, my dear. With you as my wife, it’s my money now, wherever it may be.”
“It doesn’t exist,” she insisted, as if she could talk him out of the vows they had just exchanged. “I searched everywhere.”
“Well, obviously I knew you hadn’t found it, or you wouldn’t have been working for me—and what a pity that would have been. But I’m certain it exists. You just don’t know how to hunt for money the way I do, my dear. However, that was only part of my motive for marrying you.” He laughed again as he folded his arms and moved to lean against a little table. “You can’t imagine how thrilled I was to realize that Ritcherd Buchanan, beloved war hero, had a soft spot for you—which was quite contrary to his mother’s sentiments.”
“What are you saying?” she asked when he made no further explanation.
“I’m saying, my dear, that we are here compliments of Jeanette Buchanan—which probably doesn’t surprise you. But I think the price she was willing to pay me for this marriage certificate would probably make your head swim. Between your father’s hidden treasure and the bounty on our marriage, I’ll be set for life. And you, my dear, will have the benefit of sharing that life with me—once we get other matters out of the way.”
Kyrah discreetly eyed her bags at his feet, knowing that she could never survive without the necklace hidden in the lining of one of them. He was no longer blocking the door. She just had to grab them and run. But she barely took a step toward them before he was in front of her like a flash of lightning, as if he had predicted her next move precisely.
“There’s no point in running, Kyrah,” he said, so close to her face that she could feel his hot breath. “You wouldn’t want to go into public anyway, with that nasty bruise on your face.”
Kyrah’s puzzlement over his statement ended when he backhanded her across the face with such force that she found herself on the floor. She tasted blood and saw stars while Peter spoke to her in a harsh whisper. “You probably think you’re so clever, tricking me into marrying you with another man’s baby growing inside you. Did you think I hadn’t noticed? Did you think I was really so stupid?”
Kyrah bit back the protests that came to mind, knowing that anything she said would only make him more angry. He hit her again. “You won’t make a fool out of me, Kyrah,” he screamed and any trace of his calm demeanor dissipated as he struck her over and over, cursing and raging. He told her she was nothing more than a worthless serving wench, and the pompous Ritcherd Buchanan had made a whore out of her. He said that she should have listened when he’d told her that the captain would only use her and toss her aside. And Jeanette Buchanan had been right in trying to keep her son away from a deceptive little tramp. Gradually Kyrah ceased her screaming and protests, numbly letting him hit her while she cried inside, wondering what kind of madness she had subjected herself to.
She felt a blessed relief when he finally stopped and left her lying curled up on the floor. Through swollen, throbbing eyes she looked up at him, silently questioning the way he was glaring at her. She instinctively clutched the buttons of her bodice with clenched fists and slid away. As if he’d read her mind, he laughed again and said, “Oh, don’t worry about that, K
yrah—at least not yet.” His voice was calm again, malevolent and cold. “I have no desire to share a bed with you when Captain Buchanan’s brat will be there, too. No, there will be plenty of time for such niceties. Considering he was home from war about a week before you left him, it shouldn’t be too difficult to figure when the brat will no longer be a problem. And that’s when I’ll be back, Kyrah. The rent is paid on the house for another six months, and there’s plenty here for you to eat. I assume you can manage. But you certainly don’t have the means to run—as if you could go anywhere looking like that. And even if you did run, I would find you. You’re mine now, and I’ve got the document to prove it.”
Kyrah barely clung to consciousness, vaguely aware of noises that indicated he was packing. She heard the door slam and succumbed to the lure of oblivion, wishing that she would never wake up again.
The Captain of Her Heart Page 37