His Chosen Bride

by Marcia Evanick

  Who was she kidding? This wasn’t their bathroom; it appeared to be hers. Everything of Mason’s was meticulously placed in the cabinet above his sink, just like always. Except for his robe, no one would guess he shared this bath with her. It was like their lives. If it wasn’t for the gold band encircling his finger and the life growing deep within her, no one would guess they shared a life together.

  “Gillian?”

  She looked at the windows with the morning sun streaking in through the glass and the sheer white curtains. She couldn’t face Mason right now. She needed more time. A lot more time. “Not now, Mason.”

  “But we need to talk.”

  “I only have two words for you—Go away!” She honestly didn’t want to discuss anything with Mason. Right now she had a problem of her own. Should she stay, or should she go?

  * * *

  Mason drove up his driveway and immediately let out a sigh of relief. Gillian’s car was still there. He glanced at the house and felt her presence. She hadn’t left him, at least not yet. All day long, during endless court sessions, he thought of nothing but Gillian and the child she claimed she was carrying. Their child!

  He had called home six times. Each time Birdie had answered the phone. Never Gillian. His wife had refused to come to the phone. Who could blame her, though. If the situation was reversed, he wouldn’t talk to him, either. How could he have been so callous as to tell her he didn’t want their child? Especially while she was physically ill and trying to be so cheerful at the same time.

  He parked the car in the garage and stared at the back wall through the windshield. Assorted rakes, shovels and yard tools hung neatly on hooks but he didn’t see them. He was seeing his past. His heritage.

  He remembered being six and sneaking down the hall to listen to the latest quarrel. Arguments between his parents weren’t anything new, but something told him that night’s fight was different. His mother’s sobs and his father’s shouts filled the small kitchen. Every neighbor on their block probably had heard his father. He wished like hell he hadn’t.

  “What in the hell do you mean, you’re pregnant? I thought I told you to use something.” His mother’s reply was lost in her sobs. “Well, the Council’s not the one busting their ass trying to support a bunch of runnynosed brats. I told you I didn’t want the two we have, I’m sure as hell not going to be stuck with another one. Get rid of it!”

  Even though he was only six years old, he knew what they were fighting about. He was going to become a brother again, and his father didn’t want the new baby. But how did one get rid of a baby? By his mother’s sobs and his father’s renewed shouting, he knew his mother didn’t want to get rid of the baby. He also knew what he had suspected for a long time. His father hadn’t wanted him or his baby sister, Amy.

  “I’ll leave you, Nadine, if you keep this baby. I should have been more of a man and defied the Council. I should be married to the woman I love instead of being stuck with you and a bunch of crying babies that suck the life out of you. Do you think one of them is fertile, Nadine? How are you going to like it when one of them tests fertile and has to marry someone they despise? What if your precious Amy has to marry a man who makes her frigid like you? What if little mamma’s boy Mason marries a woman he doesn’t love and is forced to produce baby after baby after baby? He’ll end up hating you, his wife and all your snot-nosed grandchildren. A man can only take so much, and Mason is my son. He’ll grow up just like me, no matter what you or the Council do!”

  Mason cringed and forced his mind away from the memories. He’ll grow up just like me! That simple phrase had haunted him since he was six. He didn’t want to be his father. For the past twenty-three years of his life, everything he did, he did to prove to the world he wasn’t his father’s son.

  The startling reality was that their paths were already preordained by the Council. Clint Blacksword had to marry a woman he barely knew and didn’t love. Mason Blacksword married a woman he barely knew and didn’t love. His mother conceived him within the first month of marriage. Gillian conceived their child within the first month of marriage. Were the coincidences going to stop there, or were there more to come? Would he grow to detest his life, his wife and their children, just like his father?

  He never wanted to put a child of his through the pain he had suffered at the hands of his own father. Clint Blacksword hadn’t been physically abusive to his family. His father had been an expert at mental and emotional abuse. Four and a half years after his second sister, Kara, was born, Clint Blacksword walked out on his family, never to return. Those four and a half years had been devastating to their family. Clint lost his job, their nice lower-middle-class home and every other possession they had had. Somehow it always managed to be his mother’s fault, or his sisters’ fault, or his fault. Clint blamed everyone but himself for his problems. And he wasn’t afraid to let them know it, either. Mason shielded his sisters and mother as best as he could and tried to carry most of the blame.

  Mason knew he was probably just frightened. Who wouldn’t be? But the biological fact remained—he was his father’s son. Only time would tell how alike they were.

  Mason got out of the car and reached for his briefcase.

  He had a couple hours’ worth of work to get through tonight, but he wanted to talk to Gillian first. He needed to talk to his wife. To make her see it wasn’t that he didn’t want their child, he was just scared to death to become a father.

  He entered the kitchen and gave Birdie a halfhearted smile. “Something smells good.” He glanced into the family room hoping to spot Gillian. The room was empty.

  “She’s upstairs sleeping.” Birdie continued to chop up fresh vegetables and dump them into the salad bowl. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”

  Birdie knew there was something going on—who wouldn’t after six phone calls, all of which Gillian refused to answer? But she didn’t seem to be picking a side. “Do you think I should wake her for dinner?”

  “No, let her sleep.” Birdie scraped the cucumbers on the cutting board into the bowl. “She looked exhausted.”

  “What was she doing all day?” Gillian had still been locked in the master bathroom when he left for work. Twice more he had tried to talk her into coming out. Both times she refused. He had been hoping she had calmed down in the past eleven hours so they could talk. Now that he was home she was taking a nap. He guessed their conversation was going to wait a couple more hours.

  “I don’t know. She spent most of the day upstairs.” Birdie set the salad and a bottle of dressing on the table.

  Mason frowned at the table set for one. “Did she eat anything?”

  “She barely touched anything at all today.”

  His frown deepened. That didn’t sound too good. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to eat for two? “Thanks, Birdie, for staying in the house today.” He wondered how much he should tell Birdie. Being at work all day, he was glad Birdie was around to keep Gillian company.

  “I didn’t mind.” She pulled a casserole from the oven and put it on the table. “Gillian didn’t seem to want company, so I spent most of the day reorganizing your pantry.”

  Mason yanked at his tie and stared at the table for a moment. “I think I’ll go upstairs and check on her. I’ll be right back.”

  Birdie gave him an encouraging smile. “Dinner will keep.”

  Mason left the kitchen and climbed the steps to the second floor. He entered their bedroom and felt the loss immediately. He glanced around. Gillian had moved out of their room. He slowly walked down the hall to the guest bedroom and pushed the door open. Gillian was curled up in her old bed, and her possessions, which he had noticed were missing from their room, were now on top of her old bureau.

  His wife had left him! He should count his blessings that she hadn’t packed up everything and moved out of their house. But the one-room difference spoke volumes. Gillian would not be sharing her bed with a man who claimed not to want their child.

&nbs
p; He walked quietly into the room and stared down at his sleeping wife. Even with the dark smudges beneath her eyes and sleep-tousled hair, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Both inside and out. She was going to be a wonderful mother. Gillian would teach their child how to love and laugh. Laughter was something his own childhood had lacked in abundance.

  What did he have to give a child? That question worried him. He could offer the financial security his father never provided, but there was more to raising a child than providing a decent house and three balanced meals a day.

  He glanced down at her slim body beneath the light blanket, where their child lay. A sense of pride filled his soul. Gillian was carrying their baby. Was it a boy or a girl? Would it have black hair like him, or pale blue eyes and golden hair like Gillian? So many questions. So many possibilities.

  Would his child love him or would he be filled with the same hatred he felt for his father? Hatred he never got to express because Clint Blacksword had run out on his family and had died before he was heard from again. How could his child love him when he was unsure if he, himself, was capable of such an emotion?

  Mason shook his head slowly. That wasn’t true. He was capable of love. He loved his mother and his sisters. Always had, always would. He watched as Gillian muttered something in her sleep and rolled over. She seemed to be searching for something or someone. Her hand reached out and a tiny frown pulled at the corner of her mouth. Was she searching for him? A moment later she hugged the extra pillow to her chest and slipped back into a restful sleep.

  What did he feel for his wife? Desire, definitely, but it went deeper than that. Much deeper. She had handed him her heart and he had promised to keep it safe. This morning he had shattered that precious gift. As he had stood on the other side of their bathroom door he’d had the unsettling thought that her heart wasn’t the only one breaking. The sight of her tears, the sound of her crying had ripped his to shreds. Was that love? Was it possible that he was already in love with his own wife?

  He glanced around the guest bedroom looking for an answer. It wasn’t written on the walls. There was no big red heart with the words Mason Loves Gillian written anywhere inside the room. How did a man know when he loved a.woman? There hadn’t been any fireworks or rockets exploding to signal the event. The passion that raged between them was hot enough to scorch the sheets, and there were no signs of it diminishing. He wanted to crawl into bed with her and hold her through the night. Every night. He wanted a future with Gillian.

  How could he reach for the future when his past was still in control?

  Mason pulled the light blanket up higher over Gillian’s shoulders. The air-conditioning was cool and he knew how much she loved to snuggle under the blankets. His fingers trembled slightly as he brushed a wayward lock of her hair away from her cheek. Her complexion looked pale and the dark smudges of fatigue stood out clearly. She needed to see a doctor as soon as possible. For her health. For their child’s health.

  He brushed a tender kiss on her cheek and turned away. Somehow they would work all of this out. For now, she needed her sleep, more than he needed his peace. Mason walked from the room and softly closed the door behind him.

  Mason stood by the French doors overlooking the backyard and watched as Gillian tossed a Frisbee to Fred. The frisky pup was loving every minute. His heart contracted as a beautiful smile broke out across Gillian’s face. It was the first time he had seen her smile in two days. He missed that smile. He missed her warmth. He missed his wife. Ever since she’d told him she was possibly pregnant she’d been avoiding him. He couldn’t blame her.

  Every time they were in the same room together he didn’t know what to say, where to begin. He’d never had to explain himself to anyone before. He’d brought a dozen red roses home yesterday, hoping to break the ice, and she had barely glanced at them. She napped when he was home, ate dinner before he even got home from work and had a hundred excuses not to talk to him at any particular moment. His patience was wearing thin. He wanted his wife back.

  The yellow Frisbee sailed through the air and Fred tripped over his own feet trying to run after it. Gillian’s laughter at the dog’s antics reached his ears. This afternoon he had rushed through a case so he could arrive home before she headed for the guest bedroom. Justice had been swift, but sure, and a half gallon of pistachio ice cream was sitting in their freezer. Gillian was going to have to talk to him this evening.

  He tossed his suit jacket and tie onto the back of the couch and stepped out onto the patio. Fred spotted him, dropped the Frisbee he had been carrying, barked excitedly and ran for the patio. Mason bent and patted the pup without taking his eyes off Gillian. His wife’s greeting wasn’t anywhere near as enthusiastic as the dog’s.

  Gillian slowly walked toward the patio. She gave her husband a nod. “I’ll go see about dinner.”

  “Birdie’s handling it.” He stepped in front of her before she could reach the door. “She said it’s going to be about another hour.”

  She kept her gaze directly on his chest. “Good, I’ll have time to take a nap then.”

  Gillian’s naps lasted for hours. If she disappeared into the guest bedroom now, he wouldn’t see her again this evening. “I thought we might sit out here and talk.” He liked the patio with its bright chaises, tubs filled with a kaleidoscope of flowers and cool breezes. All the years he had lived here he had never used it. Until Gillian came along he’d never noticed how stifling the air-conditioning could be compared to cool evening breezes. Twilight was the best time to sit, watch Fred chase lightning bugs and enjoy the peacefulness.

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Mason.”

  He felt his heart give a sudden lurch. “You’re not pregnant?”

  “I believe I am, but it’s not official yet.”

  He gave her a smile and took a step closer. For a minute there she’d scared him to death. Over the last two days their baby had become very real to him. “I think we should talk about the baby.”

  Gillian glanced up and he noticed the tears pooling in her eyes. “We already talked about the baby, Mason. You don’t want it. I do.”

  “Please, Gillian, let me explain. You caught me by surprise the other morning.” His fingers plowed through his hair in frustration. He didn’t know where to begin.

  “Morning sickness has a way of making everything a surprise.” She stepped around him and opened the door. “I need to take a short nap. Jon Hall called and he’ll be stopping by around eight. He wants to fill us in on the investigation.”

  “What else did he say?” It had been almost two weeks since the dead-rat incident. He had been praying the joker had finally given up.

  “Nothing much. He wants to run a couple of things by me. But so far nothing.” She stepped into the house. “Call me when he arrives.”

  Mason watched her go with a sense of helplessness. She wouldn’t talk about the baby, nor would she give him a chance to explain. He had been tempted to shout that he wanted their child, but knowing Gillian, she would demand to know why. Why the change of heart? Why now? What could he say? That a child they created together meant everything to him. She would want the words and he didn’t know how to say them. How could he tell Gillian he loved her when his past and his fears were pulling him away?

  He loved Gillian. The past two days had shown him how much. He missed her warmth and her passion in their bed. He missed her laughter ringing throughout their house. He missed her smiles and he missed her sweet kisses. Everywhere he went, he thought of her. They lived in the same house but she might as well have been living on the other side of town. He wanted her, that went without saying. But more important he needed her. Gillian was showing him how to live for the first time in his life. Gillian had taught him how to smile and how to laugh.

  He couldn’t walk into their bathroom and look at the whirlpool tub without thinking of the night she surprised him with a strawberry bubble bath. It had taken two days to get rid of the sweet, fruity scent and
the smile that seemed permanently fixed on his face. Was that the night their child had been conceived? Or was it the night she gave him her heart and took control of their loving? He would go to his grave remembering that night.

  With a heavy sigh he and Fred entered the house. Tonight, after Jon left, they were going to have a real long talk. Even if he had to tie her to a chair to make her listen.

  Gillian entered the kitchen the next morning and cringed. Mason was still there, and he wasn’t happy. Well, tough donuts for him, she wasn’t jumping for joy, either. Her stomach was still heaving and rolling after the latest bout of sickness. She pulled the sash on her robe tighter and walked to the refrigerator. She popped open a can of soda and took a sip.

  “You shouldn’t drink soda for breakfast.”

  She glanced at her husband but didn’t respond. He looked worse than she felt. By the fatigue on his face, he obviously wasn’t getting any sleep, either. If they continued like this they would both be in the hospital before her first trimester was up. That was if she was pregnant. If she wasn’t pregnant, then she would be in the hospital a lot sooner than that. It just wasn’t normal to greet the dawn by vomiting and to feel so tired all the time.

  Mason fingered the handle on his briefcase and glanced at his watch. A frown pulled at the corner of his mouth. “About last night…”

  “Forget it, Mason. I’m not the one you should be explaining anything to. Try calling Jon and apologizing for your bizarre behavior. Here he has been doing us both a favor trying to locate whoever’s been sending me the threats, and you practically threw him out of the house.” She still couldn’t believe her husband’s behavior last night. Jon had come all the way to their house, on his own time, and Mason had treated him horribly. He had been like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. One minute they were in his office, and the next, Jon had been hustled out the door. “Whatever in the world possessed you to act like that?”