Gillian_Bride of Maine

by Kirsten Lynn

  Tears pooled in her eyes, but didn’t fall. “She was beautiful and kind and…miserable. I never knew her to smile much, but she made sure I learned from the other women around me. I…”—she attempted a smile—“I don’t want to talk about that today. Today, we are celebrating my husband becoming an old man.”

  Rhys returned her smile and let her have her way. “Yes, at twenty-seven I will need a cane and ear trumpet in no time. But you, my pretty wife, won’t be far behind when you turn twenty-three on the eighteenth of March.”

  The gloomy subject of her parents disappeared with her laugh. “We will both be shuffling around yelling, ‘Eh…Eh…’ ”

  Rhys reached across the table and took her hand. “But I will still carry you up the stairs to our bed and show you how much I love and desire you.”

  “Do you find it strange how fast we’ve come to love each other?”

  “I find it amazing that I could love at all, Gillian Chermont. So, I don’t question when it happened. I just give thanks that you came, and I was smart enough to marry you. I know you’ve caught me watching you again.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not that I think you’ll betray me. It’s now out of disbelief that you’re so happy here. I saw Miriam in her rich velvet and furs, and I know you came from that life. Then I see you in a simple wool dress, and you make it the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. And you find it to your liking, too. Sometimes, I wish I could give you…”

  She took his other hand and connected them across the table. “I don’t want it, Rhys. Any of it. I couldn’t help you in those gowns, and I find great joy in working beside you. You have given me so much more than anyone ever has. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you believe I won’t betray you. I assure you, my heart is forever yours, and I look forward to the day when our children will play and grow under their father’s lighthouse.”

  A jolt hit him in the chest, robbing him of breath. “Children?”

  Her hands squeezed his. “Don’t you want children?”

  “Yes, yes. I’d just given up the dream. You’ve given me a fine birthday.”

  She ripped her hands from his. “Your gift!”

  She dashed up the stairs, and Rhys heard shuffling around and then her feet taking the stairs much too fast. He wished his wife didn’t seem to feel the need to dash here and there.

  A small brown package tied with string was shoved into his hands. “How did you…?”

  Gillian stayed by his side. “I sold that useless dress I wore here.”

  “Gillian, you shouldn’t have spent your money on me.”

  “Who would I spend it on? Don’t be insulting; open the gift.”

  She was going to make a good mother. He opened the package and stared at the silver pocket watch. “It’s beautiful, Gillian.”

  She hugged his neck and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Look inside.”

  He opened the lid to find an engraving. Yours for all time, Gillian.

  “There are no words, ma petite.”

  “I’m so happy you like it. I know you already have a pocket watch, but I wanted you to carry something from me always.”

  Rhys cupped the back of her head and drew her mouth to his for a kiss. He lingered, tasting her and pouring his heart and gratitude into every touch of his lips against hers.

  He broke the kiss and smiled when she pressed her mouth to his for one more taste before sitting on his lap. “Do you need help today?”

  “No, but I’d take your company.”

  “Good, I’d much rather spend the day with you than on housework. You’ll find, husband, I’m not too keen on dusting.”

  He ran his thumb over the smooth silver of the watch. “Neither am I. And I’d rather you spend your day with me than a dust rag, as well. But I’m afraid part of today will be spent cleaning the lens and the inside of the storm panes.”

  She stood, and Rhys’ felt the loss of her as he always did when she wasn’t in his arms. “Did I scare you away?”

  Gillian gave a short laugh. “Not a bit. I just figured you’d want to get busy.”

  He tugged her back on his lap. “It’s my birthday, wife, I intend to extend my dinner to enjoy my gift.”

  “Your watch?”

  “You.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‡

  The days blurred in happy memories, and the only time Gillian caught Rhys staring was when he was looking at her in admiration. She tucked her feet under her skirt and nestled deeper into the soft cushions of the claw foot sofa. A lady would never be caught sprawled as she was, but Gillian never wanted to be a lady. It was her house and her sofa, and she’d sit as she pleased. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. At least for a few more minutes until it was time to join Rhys in the tower for their nightly hot chocolate.

  Folding the letters she’d received from Emma and Rose, Gillian watched the snowfall. Neither had found work, and time and finances were running low. She prayed her friends would follow in the footsteps of so many of the women from the factory and seek husbands in the Grooms’ Gazette. It was a sad thing that a woman’s only real hope for security could be found with a husband, and even then, poverty might seem a better option than depending on a man. She was a fortunate woman to be sure.

  With a deep breath, she pushed off the sofa. Nothing was gained by wallowing in morose thoughts. If the men were half the man she’d found, they’d be as content in their new homes as she was. In just over a week, she and Rhys would be married two months. At times, she’d still wake up with a start at being surrounded by her husband’s body. Other times, like that day they worked together in comfortable silence, she couldn’t recall a time when Rhys wasn’t a part of her life.

  She placed the folded letters on the desk and stood by the window, hands behind her back, feet braced apart. She smiled, imaging Rhys standing just the same in the lighthouse tower and watching the sea, his eyes narrowed to spot any ship in peril during the thick snow and brisk winds. Gillian glanced back at the clock. Almost time. Tonight she planned on telling Rhys his life was about to change again. This time he would have nine months to prepare. Well, seven or eight months if she’d calculated correctly.

  A flash of light caught her gaze. Just as her mind registered what she was seeing, Rhys’ voice cut through the hall and into the living room. “The Femme Rouge, Gillian! Fire!”

  Gillian dashed to the door and slipped on her heavy boots and coat. Rhys didn’t wait for her, but barreled out the door and down the path to the boat landing. She tried to keep close, since he carried the lantern, but fell behind.

  Rhys had already retrieved a bucket and was madly dousing the sloop with water when she arrived at the ship shed. Grabbing a bucket, Gillian joined him.

  She swept back thick locks of hair, wet with perspiration from the inferno. The shell of the Femme Rouge sat like a black ghost inside the blazing orange flames. “No, dear God, no,” she prayed as they continued to fight an enemy that had already won.

  Wee Jacques gave a low growl and took off down the rocky coast. Gillian followed him with her gaze and gasped. “Rhys, it was my father. Look!”

  She pointed at a shadow man. She couldn’t make out his features, but she knew, and her hopes and heart turned to ash along with the beautiful Femme Rouge. Rhys brushed by her, and the shadow began trying to run on the slick rock.

  Gillian grabbed Rhys’ arm and tried to hold him. Edgar Nulton was capable of anything, including murder. She had no doubt he carried a weapon. That he remained after setting the fire told her he intended to draw Rhys into a confrontation and then kill him.

  “No, Rhys! Please! We can go to the authorities.”

  He turned on her his face black with soot and contorted with rage. He continued to move, dragging her. “In what, Gillian?! Damn and blast, how are we to go anywhere? How am I to get to an unfortunate shipwreck and assist those sailors tossed into the icy ocean? Your family has cost me and those I’m to protect dearly!”

&
nbsp; The last words were bellowed and Gillian released his arm. Your family, but she only heard you. You, Gillian, have cost me dearly. Stunned and sickened, she watched the flaming beast devour the rest of sloop. The wood cracked and snapped in a violent, thunderous rage as the mast tumbled. The bright red letters Femme Rouge disappeared, swallowed by a hideous orange mouth.

  Another beast barked, and Gillian turned toward the path where Rhys had caught up with her father. Words of anger and hate seemed to feed the flames, and she rushed to where the two shadows fought. Slipping on the rock, she fell to her knees, but pushed up and onward. She couldn’t let Edgar hurt Rhys anymore.

  “I told you, you’d pay for the insult.”

  “No!” Gillian cried and pushed forward to stand between the two men. “No more, I won’t let you hurt my husband anymore.”

  “Then come with me, daughter, and do what’s expected.”

  Gillian was pushed behind Rhys. “Damn you! She is my wife, and you are nothing to us.”

  Gillian watched in horror as Rhys lifted his fist, and she saw Nulton pull a pistol from his coat. With a cry, she lunged forward and pushed her father. His eyes grew wide, his arms flailed, and then he was gone.

  Rhys shoved his coat and hat into her hands. “Take these.”

  She blinked, and her husband disappeared into the same black ink as her father. Gillian scanned the water for sight of either one. Wee Jacques joined her whining.

  “Rhys!” He broke through the top of the frigid water, but dived below again. “RHYS!” She screamed in terror; sobs racked her shaking body, and she screamed again, her soul splintering with the sound.

  Rhys broke through the water and swam toward her. He climbed onto the rocks, and Gillian wrapped his coat around him. “I couldn’t find him.”

  Tears cascaded down her cheeks and dripped on the rocks. “I don’t care about him. We have to get you to the house.” Gillian pressed her body close to his under his coat and started for home.

  Rhys flinched as they walked past the last of the fire consuming the Femme Rouge. The sloop was named for his mother who had gifted him with his red hair. She’d been the finest woman he’d known…until Gillian.

  He couldn’t tell if the tremors racking his body belonged to him or his wife. He heard her sobs…saw the stark horror on her face, but he couldn’t comfort her yet.

  Gillian allowed Wee Jacques into the house with them, and got both him and the wolf to the fire seconds after the door closed. She started stripping him of his wet clothes. Rhys was grateful because his fingers were numb, and he wasn’t sure he could work the buttons. When she had him stripped, she yanked the afghan from the sofa and wrapped it around as much of him as the cover would fit. Before he could say anything, she’d moved a chair before the fire and shoved him down. She never spoke and dashed away when he reached for her. Rhys gave up. He couldn’t fight the cold threatening to stop his heart and Gillian. When he recovered, he’d soothe her.

  Gillian returned with long johns and a flannel nightgown. He hated the pajamas and never wore them, but tonight, the flannel never looked or felt so good. Again, she left him and then brought back a basin full of water. He stood to help her, but with the sharp look she shot him, he sat back down.

  “For your feet.” He watched her throat work as she swallowed tears. He inhaled a sharp breath when she didn’t just leave the tub, but knelt before him and rubbed each of his feet between her hands like she had done his hands the night they welcomed in a new year. She massaged his feet for long minutes and placed them in the lukewarm water. Because of her earlier attentions, they didn’t burn like they would have before.

  Still on her knees, she took his hands, massaging life back into each finger. “Do you need water for your hands?”

  “No, thank you, ma petite.”

  Tears fell in earnest cutting through the black soot on her cheeks and leaving harsh paths. He leaned forward and cupped her face between his hands. “Gillian, I am fine, my love. This isn’t my first icy swim.”

  “I know, but I was so scared, Rhys. When you disappeared…” He lifted her onto his lap and wrapped the blanket around them both. Her sobs were so fierce they shook her, as well as him.

  “You saved me. He was going to shoot me, and you saved me, Gillian. I am so proud.”

  “I…destroyed…you! I cost you…dearly.”

  He crooked a finger under her chin and tipped her face so their gazes met. “What are you talking about? Edgar Nulton cost me dearly, though not so dearly as losing you.”

  “But he was my father. You said it, my family cost you, and he’d have done nothing to hurt you if I’d only done what…”

  Rhys cut her off by crushing his mouth to hers. Once she was thoroughly silenced from spewing such bile, he broke the connection. He swiped at the tears and soot on her face. How could she think such a thing after standing beside him and fighting just as hard to save the Femme. He’d be lost without her standing beside him in all things.

  “I should never have said such a thing, mon ange, and I assure you, even in my rage, I did not include you. You know you’re the greatest blessing of my life, Gillian Chermont.”

  “But…”

  He captured her mouth in another kiss. When he broke from her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. The clock ticked a sad countdown to morning. When a log broke in the fire, Gillian startled against him, and he held her closer.

  Her arms dropped from around his neck, and she tried to stand. Rhys held her to him. “Where are you going?”

  “To get coffee started for you and then to check the light.”

  “You will not. I’ll help you draw a hot bath for yourself, and after soaking for an hour, you’ll go straight to bed.”

  “But…”

  He leaned forward and Gillian covered his lips with two of her fingers. “We can’t ignore the light, Rhys.”

  “Who’s the lighthouse keeper here?”

  “You.”

  “It’ll keep. After we see to your bath, I’ll check the oil.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Charlie will be here soon, probably followed by Deacon and Alice.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “They’ll have seen the fire and will come to make sure we’re all right. We take care of each other here.”

  “Then I’ll do as you say.”

  “Right. Let’s get your bath, so you can soak before help arrives.”

  Gillian gave a slow nod. She brushed her mouth over his in a soft kiss. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Thank you for all you’ve done this night.”

  He cringed at the way it sounded as though he thanked her for killing her own father. She didn’t say any more, but shuffled upstairs. He watched her and frowned as her shoulders rounded, and her steps were heavy as though a great boulder rested on her head and weighed her down. He cursed himself for the hateful words he’d tossed out in rage. He was frustrated and enraged at Nulton for thinking he could burn the sloop and Rhys would hand over Gillian. Nulton could burn the whole of Maine to pile of coals; Rhys wouldn’t let Gillian walk on the same side of the street as the blackguard.

  He shrugged. The man didn’t matter now; he was dead. It wasn’t charitable to just shrug another life away, but he wasn’t feeling charitable at the moment. When he heard Gillian in the kitchen, he removed his feet from the basin. Rhys retrieved the large washtub and set it in front of the fire to keep Gillian and the water as warm as possible since he’d wash up after she finished.

  Gillian brought in a bucket of water from the pump and Rhys went to retrieve another while the water to heat the bath boiled on the iron stove. She didn’t speak once as they worked together filling the tub until it was the right temperature.

  She turned her back to him and he dutifully unbuttoned her dress. “Are your hands and feet warm, Rhys? Tell me the truth.”

  “I’m fine, Gillian, truly. You got me to the house and cared for me quickly and thoroughly.” He
pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Are you all right, ma petite, about your father?”

  “Yes.”

  The hollow void in her once vibrant voice twisted his insides. “Gillian, don’t start hiding things from me now.”

  She stepped from him and continued to undress. “I’m not, I just can’t speak of any of it tonight, Rhys. I feel empty.”

  Rhys wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against him. “All right, we’ll leave talking for tomorrow and simply warm and fill the dark places in each other tonight.”

  Lifting his hands, she placed a kiss on each palm. He didn’t turn from her as she stripped and sank into the tub. Her eyelids slid closed, and her lips parted in a deep sigh. Wee Jacques flopped by the side of the tub, and she absently stroked the wolf’s head.

  Rhys continued to look at the woman who’d come to be his world in such a short time. If she was only beautiful on the outside, he could dismiss her and walk away to tend the light. The source of Gillian’s beauty came from her heart and soul. It shined through her smile and in the sparks of light in her dark eyes. Tonight the light was dim. He was thankful Charlie and Deacon would be coming to tend the lighthouse. Rhys needed to tend to his wife, so she could shine again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‡

  Sunlight sliced through a gap in the bedroom curtains, and Gillian groaned. It should be cloudy and dreary outside to fit her mood. Rhys had stayed with her through the night. He’d held her tight to him, not demanding she share her feelings, but just held her. When he had to get up and check on Charlie and Deacon, he’d kissed her thoroughly and reminded her nothing was her fault.

  How could she believe such a thing? The Femme Rouge was nothing but a burnt shell. Edgar Nulton was dead, and Rhys had almost been killed. Nothing on the list she drew in her mind would have happened if she wasn’t there. She wasn’t sorry for leaving the Nulton household, but she should never have chosen a man from Maine. It was the greatest folly to believe she could sneak Downeast and Nulton wouldn’t hear of it, or that they wouldn’t cross paths.