Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23)

by Kirsten Lynn

  “Will you marry me, Gillian Darrow? Will you stay true until death parts us?”

  Her eyes were wide and bright, and her face red from where his beard marked her. It was the most foolish thing he’d ever done, but he couldn’t have kept the words in if he’d tried.

  “Yes.”

  On her acceptance, the villagers, who he now realized had witnessed it all, came inside and took their seats. They must have followed Gillian to the church, because no one had been brave enough to trail him. Each sparkle in their eyes and the attempts to hide their smiles set his jaw. He wondered if he’d have a tooth left at the end of the evening. Rhys separated from Gillian, but took her hand in his as Father McDonald took his place before them. They knelt as one. Her hand turned cold at one point during the ceremony, and Rhys gave it a squeeze. She squeezed his hand back and her mouth turned up in a small smile.

  Gillian’s insides burned at the memory of Rhys’ kiss. She’d had a couple of suitors steal a peck on the lips, but nothing in her twenty-two years matched the power of his lips on hers.

  The ceremony seemed to be over, and Gillian couldn’t remember saying her vows or standing again, but Father McDonald told Rhys he could kiss his bride. She braced herself, but this time, his kiss was soft and tender, and over much too soon.

  The people of Bass Harbor whistled and hollered, and looked like proud parents each and every one. She wasn’t so sure their subterfuge had been a complete success. Rhys visage darkened with the cheers, and he dropped her hand. They’d gotten their wedding, but at what price to this man and to her? Desire was one thing, love and friendship quite another. If they were to build a life, they’d have to find the last two, or their marriage would crumble like ships against the rocks.

  Realizing Rhys’ mood was bound to darken more if forced to sit through a feast and ribald comments by other men about his surprise wedding, Gillian leaned into him as they made their way back to the community hall. “I’d like to go home, if you don’t mind?”

  He leaned down closer to her height. “Pardon?”

  She stretched to reach his ear without others overhearing. “Would you mind skipping the feast and going home? I’m a bit exhausted after everything.”

  He visibly relaxed in front of her. “I don’t mind at all. Thank you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‡

  Ida refused to let them go before seeing Gillian eat something. They rushed through a meal, barely tasting the goose or stuffing, and both declined pie. She ran her hand over the head and neck of Wee Jacques, who took his post next to her by the rail of the sloop. She found a soft spot behind his gray, silky ears, and the light blue eyes stared at her in adoration. Fortune smiled on her, and she managed to keep her supper down as Rhys steered the sloop to the cliffside light not far from the village. It wasn’t easy going, but Rhys maneuvered along the rocky coast effortlessly.

  A man met them at a boat landing, and Rhys tossed him a line to secure the sloop in her place. “I see ya brought a wife with ya.” The older man smiled as Rhys tossed him her carpetbag and then helped her down the ladder to the shore.

  “You knew about this, too, Deacon?”

  “Ayuh, not many didn’t. I kept it from Alice until tonight. She would have told you for certain.”

  “Then I wish you would have told her.”

  Keeping her hand in his, Gillian felt a bit awkward as the men talked around her. Finally, Rhys pulled her to his side. “For all that, this is Gillian Chermont, my wife. Gillian, this is Deacon Ambrose. He and his wife have a small cottage down a bit from the lighthouse.”

  Gillian offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Ambrose.”

  He accepted her hand and bowed his head for a second. “Mrs. Chermont. Welcome to Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse. Weather stays decent, my Alice will be stopping by soon to make your acquaintance, I’m sure.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Too cold to stay outside and exchange niceties,” Rhys grumbled.

  Deacon led the way to a set of rough stairs carved into the cliff. Gillian bit her lip and suppressed a groan at the slick steps. Then, shoring up her spine, she followed the older man with Rhys and Wee Jacques behind her.

  Halfway up, she breathed a sigh of relief and then promptly slipped. Rhys’ hands encircled her waist. “Steady on, Gillian.”

  She gave an uncomfortable giggle and continued up the cliff. Seasickness and now she appeared a clumsy oaf. The words from one of the earliest letters scrolled through her mind. I need a partner in life, Miss Darrow. A woman I can love, but can also work beside. The life of a lighthouse keeper can be a hardship on a man’s family. I would like a wife who can embrace this life and be my true other half. At this rate, Rhys would have their marriage annulled by morning.

  Climbing the remaining steps, Gillian emptied her lungs of the breath she’d been holding and accepted Deacon’s hand for assistance up the last step and then onto a flat surface, though it was still a bit dodgy. Rhys came up beside her and cuffed his hand around her arm, guiding her to the whitewashed wooden house attached to the matching brick lighthouse.

  She tipped her head up and watched the red light in the dome at the top. It wasn’t a foggy night, but with the steady snow it would be a welcome sight to anyone on the water. She remembered hearing about the unique Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse as a child. A red chimney was placed over the lamp inside the Fresnel lens, giving Bass Harbor Head a distinctive red light that could be seen for thirteen nautical miles. She smiled; everything seemed to have a red theme that night.

  At the door, Rhys nodded to Deacon. “Thank you for watching the light.”

  “Anytime, Rhys.” The man doffed his cap. “Should be good until midnight. Goodnight and congratulations to you both.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ambrose,” Gillian responded while Rhys steered her inside. She closed her eyes for a minute before opening them to reveal her home. A sitting room was to her right with a fireplace providing heat to the house. The furnishings were, of all things, a deep burgundy. She almost laughed, but didn’t want to insult Rhys. The scent of balsam pine filled her nose even though she couldn’t see a tree or even a wreath on the door.

  His home was lovely and well kept. She turned in the opposite direction to a small dining room with a simple mahogany dining table and chairs. Gillian felt Rhys no more than a step behind her when she walked through the open doorway that led into the kitchen. White and black tile on the floor, and white walls and cabinets kept the room bright even in the soft glow of lamplight. She stared at the large iron stove, imagining next Christmas when she might prepare a feast for her husband…and possibly a child. A table just right for two occupied a corner of the kitchen with a chair on each side.

  “It’s not much but…”

  She whirled on her new husband. “It’s lovely. A new wife couldn’t ask for more.”

  His gaze locked with hers for long minutes as though he was determining if what she’d said was true. She took the time to admire his ice blue eyes and teak-colored skin. A man weathered, but beautiful. He was also a man who probably wouldn’t care to be called beautiful.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I do. I’m sure I’ll be very happy here.”

  His eyebrow hitched. “We’ll see, mon petit chou.”

  Gillian wrinkled her nose. “Cabbage?”

  Something in her question made him laugh, and Gillian decided to let go of the fact he’d just called her a small cabbage. “May I see the tower?”

  His laughter stopped. “Not tonight.” He cleared his throat. “The privy is just behind the house a few feet. Should you…”

  “No.”

  He released a breath, and Gillian relaxed again. She continued to explore the kitchen with her gaze, not wanting to rattle around in his house her first night here.

  He raked his fingers through his ginger hair, and Gillian had the sudden urge to run her fingers through the thick waves as well.

  “Would you like some ho
t chocolate? Best I can do for a Christmas treat.”

  “I’d love some. Thank you.”

  He followed her back through the dining room, placed her bag by the stairs, and nodded up the stairs. “Bedroom’s up there. We’ll head up in a bit. I’ll get our hot chocolate.”

  Gillian could only nod and stare up the narrow staircase. He’d definitely said we’d head upstairs to the bedroom. On the train, she’d hoped the man she married would want to give it some time before consummating the relationship, but with Rhys, it seemed right she’d become his true wife this Christmas. So why was she shaking as if he’d tossed her into Frenchman’s Bay?

  “You’re shivering, Gillian. Go sit by the fire, we’ll have our chocolate there.”

  She didn’t correct his assumption about why she was shivering. She pointed her feet in the right direction and managed somehow to move them to the sitting room. Looking the room over, she weighed her options. She could be safe and take one of the overstuffed chairs with the length of a throw rug separating them, or sit on the sofa and see if Rhys would sit next to her. She took her place on the sofa.

  The warmth from the fire relaxed her, and Gillian watched the snowfall through the windows. Now that she was inside and safe, she admitted it was beautiful. Large, wet flakes just right for snowball fights and making a snowman. Her mother used to help her build a snowman every year, and then they’d go into the house and have hot chocolate. That is, until her mother fell ill and left Gillian when she was eleven. After that, snowman-making was rare, and her life turned into avoiding her father and spending time with the servants.

  The sound of boots on the hardwood floor brought her back to her new home. She saw the same quandary play out on Rhys’ face regarding where to sit. In the end, he sank down next to her on the sofa and handed her a mug of hot chocolate.

  “Merry Christmas.” She lifted her mug in a toast.

  He returned the gesture. “Merry Christmas.”

  They sat before the fire, drinking their chocolate and watching the snowfall for a time before he spoke. “Sorry, I don’t have any decorations up.”

  “That’s fine. It saves us having to take them down.”

  His head bobbed in a slow nod. Taking her mug, he set both on an end table. “It’s hard to get out here, Gillian. I want you to know, you won’t have many visitors. Alice Ambrose will be about it, and she can only make it at rare times. I’ll try to get you to the village when I can, but in the winter…”

  He stopped when she placed her hand over his. “I’m not much for entertaining, Rhys. And I’ll have you. I’d like to help you with the light…with the house…with whatever you need.”

  He turned his hand so hers rested in his palm, and he closed his large, calloused hand around hers. “Are you sure? Are you really sure this is the life you want?”

  She held his gaze. “Yes, I’m very sure. I think love can grow between us. I think we can have a good life here.”

  “You’re a strange sort of woman, Gillian Chermont. You’ve known me only hours, and we’ve shared two kisses and fewer conversations, yet you speak of love between us.”

  “I like my name attached to yours, and yes, I think if we give each other a chance, love will grow.”

  He leaned forward, and Gillian met him halfway, her lips parted in anticipation. When his mouth took hers, he instantly deepened the kiss. He tasted of chocolate, the salt of ocean spray, and outdoors. Gillian wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer. She opened her eyes to find him watching her respond to his kiss.

  Rhys broke the kiss, but she gasped when he gave her bottom lip a small nip. He moved his mouth to her neck, and Gillian angled her head to give him better access as he trailed opened-mouthed kisses along the curve of her neck. She raked her nails over the back of his neck at the pleasure shooting through her as his rough beard marked her tender flesh.

  His moan blended with hers, and Gillian felt the pull and desire for more. She felt her forehead wrinkle in frustration that he wasn’t close enough, and a slow burn simmered low in her belly. His hands smoothing over her curves should have shocked her; instead, they fueled her need.

  He lifted his head and moved his hands to her hair, releasing the up-do she’d fashioned in haste at Ida’s. Her hair cascaded thick and heavy over her shoulders and down her back.

  His eyes were no longer icy, and blue flames danced as he picked up a lock of hair and smoothed it between two fingers. “Beautiful.”

  Gillian moved her hands from around his neck and smoothed them over his face and down to the solid wall of muscle of his chest. He’d taken off the heavy peacoat and sweater, and through the flannel of his shirt and his undershirt, she could feel his heartbeat. Then she did what she’d wanted to do earlier and combed her fingers through the thick, red waves of his hair.

  “Are you sure, Gillian? Once we do this…”

  She cut him off, pressing her lips to his for another kiss before leaning just a breath away. “I want this…I want you.”

  Taking her hand in his, he rose, bringing her up with him. He turned on his heel and led her up the stairs. Gillian glanced at her bag and almost stopped him so they could bring it upstairs. He glanced over his shoulder, and Gillian’s breath caught. No, she wouldn’t need her nightgown this night; of that she was sure.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‡

  Gillian woke as a chill hit her warm flesh where Rhys’ body had been wrapped around hers. She shifted in the bed as he pulled up his trousers. She was thankful the room rested in darkness except for a bit of moonlight through the curtains as her cheeks heated with the memory of all they’d done, and now as she watched him dress.

  “Rhys?”

  He sank back onto the bed and ran the back of his hand over the curve of her cheek. “Go back to sleep, Gillian. I have to tend the light.”

  She moved closer to him. “I could help. Just give me…” This time he cut her off with a kiss before pulling just far enough away so he could speak. He pressed his forehead to hers.

  “I want you to sleep tonight. You need your rest after giving yourself to me.”

  The heat in her cheeks rose to feverish levels, and she swallowed. “Okay. But next time, I’ll help.”

  He smiled and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “Next time.”

  With that, he pushed off the bed, yanked on a shirt, and was gone. Gillian snuggled under the heavy quilts, seeking the warmth now missing from their bed. In a desperate act, she moved to his side of the bed to absorb the heat he’d left there. She wasn’t sure if this was how it was supposed to be in a marriage like theirs, and wondered if other women so brazenly gave themselves just hours after meeting their men. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she couldn’t bring herself to care. They were married, and there was no sense in denying either of them this part of marriage. She snuggled deeper under the quilts and chuckled. Plus, she’d quite enjoyed it and knew she’d given Rhys pleasure as well.

  There was one moment during their time when a strange look had crossed his face like he pictured another. In a flash, it had disappeared, and he called Gillian’s name, but it still cut at Gillian’s heart. She knew from his letters…or the letters sent by the village…he’d been married before, and his first wife had played him false and divorced him. She didn’t want him picturing that witch’s face when he was with her. She came here knowing exactly what a lighthouse keeper’s life entailed, and she welcomed it. When she sent the first letter, she’d decided if she agreed to marry the man once they met, it would be forever. She’d given her vows to Rhys, and to Rhys she’d remain true all of her days.

  A twinge of guilt hit her in the stomach. She knew his past, but she hadn’t been as truthful about hers. Yes, she’d written about being from Maine and troubles at home sending her to Massachusetts, and the fire that had her searching for a new home. She hadn’t mentioned where in Maine she was from or who her father was. She’d have to set that right with Rhys, and she’d have to do it that very day.


  Rhys swore. He should have been tending the light an hour ago. And of all things, he shouldn’t have been bedding Gillian Darrow…he shook his head… Gillian Chermont. What had he been thinking? It was one thing to offer a woman a home, but tying her to him in the most base fashion after only knowing her a few hours was unconscionable. He’d wondered at her innocence when she’d been more than willing, but an innocent she was, and that was even more reason not to act like an animal who couldn’t control his needs.

  Did she really understand the life she’d just signed up for? A lighthouse keeper was tied to the light. Yes, Deacon would watch the light for him for a few hours here and there, but it was his responsibility and one he didn’t take lightly. He’d received commendations from the inspectors, and he took pride in his work. His pay wouldn’t stretch far. At $550 a month he was far from a wealthy man. The coal allowance along with the allowances for meat, provisions and, of course, oil for the lamp kept him comfortable, but there wouldn’t be much extra for new dresses or fancy bobbles. What had he done?

  Blast him, it had been wonderful though. Gillian was as giving with her body as she’d proven to be with everything. He’d never experienced such a night. That she’d slept snug against him and woke when he moved from her had broken through a wall he’d long been building around his heart. Miriam slept as far away as possible and never moved when he left the bed to tend the light. What was he saying? What did he even know of her?

  Rhys continued to trim the wicks of the lantern and adjusted the vents to ensure the lantern panes wouldn’t fog since the wind had changed direction. He would have to clean the lamp chimneys, but he stepped over to one of the windows. Searching the waters for any vessels, he took out the packet of letters, and when nothing moved on the water, he began to read. There were only three, but Gillian had written long letters filled with important and mundane details of her life. When he got to the part about Mr. Brown starting the fire, he wished the man wasn’t already dead. The ass could have killed the women and all for his own greed. She wrote of how Roberta introduced them all to the Grooms’ Gazette and how her friend Willow was the first to leave and marry. He read of Rose and Emma, both still undecided if finding an unknown man to marry was right for them, and how Emma was a bit arrogant, desiring wealth before considering marriage. But the love for her friends shone in each line, and the happiness she felt for Willow at finding a man she could love and admire once again sliced at his heart. He hoped Gillian could say the same someday.