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

by Kirsten Lynn

  “We’ll never get there with your petite legs trying to plow through snow almost deeper than you are tall.” Gillian would have fought him, but she needed to be close to him and realized he needed to be close to her, too. He didn’t put her down when they entered the walkway, but kept her close, knocking off her hat with his nose as he nibbled her earlobe and whispered things that warmed her from the inside out.

  When they reached the bottom of the spiral stairs, he set her on her feet, and Gillian moaned in disappointment. “When will this end, Rhys? It’s nothing but white forever with no horizon.”

  He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, and even through wool gloves, she felt him infuse his calm and peace into her soul. “I don’t know, ma petite, but I couldn’t have made it through these hours without you. You have been more than a helpmate; you’ve been my salvation.”

  “I’m pleased I could prove myself after my poor showing when we first met. You must have wondered what you were getting.”

  He gave a short laugh then ran the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone. “I knew what I was getting, and whether you could change a lantern wick or not, Mrs. Chermont, I knew how fortunate I was.”

  She held his wrist, keeping him close for just a moment longer. “I love you.”

  “Good, then I won’t worry you’ll leave when the snow thaws…if it ever does.”

  She met his gaze. “I will never leave you, Rhys. There isn’t a force that could move me from your side.”

  He stared into her eyes, and she saw the moment when he truly let it sink in. She wasn’t a temporary helper or bedmate. One horrifying nor’easter wasn’t going to drive her away. A million more wouldn’t turn her against him, either. She was there for all her life, because this was her life.

  “I love you, too, Gillian.”

  It was all he could say to acknowledge all that passed between them in that look, and she accepted it with her whole heart.

  “I’ll check the vents and chimneys. Go get what food and drink you’re determined I have and bring it to the tower, if you would.”

  She smiled and gave him a quick kiss before turning for the house. “I’ll bring dry clothes and socks, too, you’re soaked to the bone.”

  His deep chuckle rolled down the walkway and lifted her feet into a spry step instead of the dragging weights she’d been carrying.

  Gillian found him in the service room checking the clockworks, fuel tanks, and vent to make sure it was still correct for the direction of the wind so the light remained steady, clear and bright, all things she’d checked before going to retrieve him. “I replaced a chimney.”

  “I saw that.”

  “You checked all of those not long ago, Rhys, and I checked before going for you.”

  He turned. “I know, Gillian, but it never hurts to check again with the kind of storm we’re having. I’m not doubting your capabilities, mon coeur, just doing my job.”

  He followed her to the small anteroom where they’d shared many meals since the ill-fated picnic that first Christmas. So many that Rhys had moved a small end table and two chairs into the space to keep from having to eat on the floor. She enjoyed their picnics, but found her husband could only take so many.

  She handed him the dry clothes, and he dutifully stripped and redressed. “I know you don’t doubt me, Rhys. Sometimes I can be a bit prickly.”

  “Like after almost two days with no sleep spent in constant motion and cold?” He tossed her a wink.

  She sank into the chair almost wishing she hadn’t. It would be so hard getting back up.

  “Yes, during those times.” She handed him the food she’d prepared in haste knowing if she took too long she’d lose him. “Egg sandwich I’m afraid. At least it’s a little warm.”

  “It’s perfect.” He took a large bite.

  She poured the coffee into their mugs and handed him one. He didn’t sit down, but kept his gaze trained out the window.

  “Looks like the wind has decided to have mercy on us. The flakes are actually falling down.”

  A sense of relief traveled from her head to her toes, and she sank deeper into the chair. “Those are sweet words.” She started eating her sandwich the simple meal tasting like a feast.

  “Will you please stay inside now, Gillian?”

  She scanned his wonderful face. The already deep lines at the corners of his eyes were deeper, and he looked ready to drop.

  “Yes, if it will help.”

  “It will, ma petite. That is how you can help me most, giving me two less souls to worry about.”

  “Will you please eat and stay inside as much as possible?”

  His mouth lifted on one side in a half smile. “Yes, if it will help.”

  “It will. And anytime you go out, you’ll take Wee Jacques. I don’t like you out there alone.”

  His shoulders shook, and she imagined he was trying not to laugh at her. She was well aware that, in the past, he’d been alone during many storms. Nevertheless, she didn’t care about the past; he wasn’t alone any longer.

  “Yes, wife, I will take the wolf, though he’ll bemoan going out in the cold.”

  “And you won’t laugh at your wife, Rhys Chermont. It’s inconsiderate when my concern is only for your sorry hide.”

  When their gazes met, all humor was gone from his face. “You’re correct. I won’t take it for granted again. Thank you for logging the times and repairs in the journal, and keeping track of the vessels that have passed the lighthouse.”

  “You’re welcome, again, Rhys. Even if it was part ploy to keep me indoors more.”

  Setting his mug on the table, he stood guard next to her. His caressed her face and absently combed his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. “Ah, my quick-witted wife, you’ve found me out once more.”

  Her head fell back, and she groaned. “You’re purposely trying to lull me to sleep.”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t stop. Gillian opened her eyes and saw he continued to watch the waves as he soothed her. “Will you join me in our bed as soon as you’re able?”

  He angled his face so she saw the wicked smile exposing white teeth in the neatly trimmed beard. “You can rest assured it will be the very first place I go.”

  “Then stop, before I fall asleep in this chair. Your scheme worked.”

  She pushed out of the chair and checked the weather for herself. She wanted to make sure the storm was indeed ebbing, and her husband wasn’t telling tales to get his way. Darkness met her gaze, and she yawned. The snow was indeed falling straight to the ground and in lighter flakes, but it was already nighttime. Two days, they’d been at the fight. No wonder Rhys could so easily talk her into going to bed. All the long hours at the factory hadn’t been anything like what she’d just gone through, but all those hours never left her with such a feeling of accomplishment.

  “What time is it?”

  Rhys pulled the watch she’d given from his pocket. “Five-thirty. Go to bed, ma petite.”

  She really looked at him. He’d said she’d been amazing and a true helpmate. She knew he meant the fine words with his heart, but she recognized the added stress her presence had caused. In her determination to prove her worth, she’d added weight to Rhys’ shoulders with his concern for her and their unborn child as he worked against the storm.

  Gillian rose to the balls of her feet, and Rhys met her in a kiss. “Goodnight then, and I promise I will sleep.”

  “Thank you, Gillian, for that and for finally getting it through my thick skull that nothing will take you from me. I thought I understood it, but now I finally do.”

  She cupped the back of his head and held his forehead to hers. “I think we both understand a bit more about the other. Please be safe, love.” She said a quick prayer and then trudged down the stairs, the energy seeping from her with each step. Another trial over, and still, it didn’t destroy them, but drew them closer together.

  Walking through the house, Gillian stopped to stoke the
fire in the sitting room. She added another log and stood. Stretching, she let her gaze wander the room. She allowed her mind to think on Mrs. Nulton one last time. This was indeed going to be a life with trials, but it would be a full life, filled with love and smiles and laughter, and even a few tears as she and Rhys weathered every test. How strange; Gillian had fled from a life empty except for the pocketbooks. Miriam had fled from a life of abundant love to an empty existence as she roamed a massive stone house in Bath, hollowed and alone. What cost the silks and satins she wore? With a shrug, Gillian dismissed the name Nulton and all to do with it forever.

  She stripped off the slicker and hung it by the fire, then slipped off her Wellies and put them there, as well. The sofa appeared much more inviting than the stairs to an empty bed without Rhys. She curled up on the sofa and rested her head on her hands, inhaling the scents around her. Balsam, the spicy scent of the soap Rhys used, and her own lavender soap along with the linseed oil used on the furniture, and even wet wolf, all combined into the perfect blend of shelter, protection and home.

  Home, she’d made it at last.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‡

  Rhys stared down at his wife curled on the sofa fast asleep. The last time he’d found her sleeping here was the afternoon after the nor’easter. He’d carried her to their bed with every intention of making love to her. Instead, they wrapped around each other and slept like Van Winkle was their last name.

  He crouched beside her and ran the back of just his forefinger over curve of her cheek. They’d made up for lost time in each other’s embrace in the days and weeks that followed.

  “Gillian, ma petite, Father McDonald and the others will be here soon.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered, but she didn’t open her eyes. He smiled when she took his hand and opened it so his palm covered her cheek, and she nestled into his rough hand. “Tell them to go away, I’m dreaming of a handsome lighthouse keeper.”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  Her cheek brushed against his palm as her mouth turned up in a smile. “You should. He’s very beautiful.”

  “Beautiful?”

  Her eyes opened when she laughed and cupped his face between her hands. “Exceedingly so. Just as the granite cliffs around our home are beautiful in their strength and ruggedness.”

  Before he could act, Gillian pressed her lips to his, and Rhys accepted her kiss then took control and kissed his wife thoroughly. “You please me, Gillian Chermont.”

  She pressed her forehead to his, her hands resting on his cheeks. “You please me, too, Rhys Chermont.”

  Rhys stayed put and just breathed her in, absorbing the warmth of having her near. “Has the child settled?” Concern drove him to break the moment.

  “Yes, I’m thankful he rejects haddock and not Alice’s blueberry jam.”

  He pulled her to him until she joined him on the floor, both kneeling before the other. He laughed and dropped a kiss to her nose then rested a hand over her belly. There was just a slight curve where their child rested, but the babe was making Gillian suffer with sickness when she ate certain things, or even just rising from bed. He’d talked to the baby many times about treating his mother well. He’d have to be more strict.

  The lace curtains lifted, and they were caressed by a cool, May breeze. “Do you regret having a child so soon?” she asked, smoothing her hands over his chest.

  “No. I’m blessed to have the wife I love give me a child to love as well. Do you?”

  “No. I wanted your child from that very first night. It seemed right for us.”

  “What? To act in haste and do in months what takes others years?”

  “Yes.”

  Rhys stood bringing his wife with him. “We shouldn’t be caught in that position by the priest.”

  Gillian lowered an eyelid in a wink. “We could tell him we’re praying.”

  Rhys threw back his head and laughed. He’d laughed more in these months than he had in years. Even during the storm, she’d made him laugh. She’d brought him home.

  She smoothed the blue dress she’d finished sewing a few nights ago. The cameo he’d given her on her birthday rested on her skin just above the top of the square neckline. He liked that the pendent rested on her flesh with nothing between it and her.

  “I should be in trousers helping with the storm pane.”

  “You should definitely not be doing any such thing. Deacon, Charlie and I can manage just fine with Father McDonald directing.”

  A frown marred her forehead for a second and then disappeared. One of the storm panes had cracked in the storm, and it had taken this long for a new pane to arrive. The others offered to bring it to the lighthouse and help him install it. He expected young Charlie would be along, as well. He looked forward to his lantern room being whole again, but he didn’t want Gillian anywhere near the astragals balanced on a ladder. He still insisted on being the one outside on the catwalk cleaning the panes.

  Voices outside ended their discussion, and Rhys took her hand as they met their guests.

  Rhys climbed down the ladder and stood on the catwalk. He swiped his forearm over his forehead. Deacon and Charlie did the same inside the lantern room. Father McDonald nodded at the work they’d done, giving his approval.

  Laughter below him caught his attention, and he walked around to where he could watch Gillian walk with Alice. Wee Jacques—the traitor—strutted beside Gillian as though he escorted her. As if she felt Rhys’ eyes on her, she lifted her gaze to him and smiled and waved. He waved back trying to keep the smile from stretching his cheeks.

  Gillian came his way and shouted. “Do you need me?”

  Like the ships need our lighthouse. “No, I just heard the sound of angels walking the earth and had to watch.”

  He could almost picture the sparks in those dark eyes, and his fingers ached to tuck the loose lock of black silk behind her ear.

  “You must have read that Lord Byron I gave you,” Alice shouted up, teasing him.

  “At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet. Plato seems to inspire me today. But a man doesn’t need a Lord Byron or Plato giving him words, when something so beautiful moves any tongue.”

  Alice waved him off, but Gillian rose on tiptoe as though she might reach him. “I think you’ve been up too high for too long, husband, but I’m not complaining.”

  “Get on with your walk, Gillian. The boy has work to do, and you’re muddling his mind.” Deacon had joined him on the catwalk. With a wave, she pivoted to join Alice. Rhys waited another moment and was rewarded when she glanced back and waved again. He lifted his hand and faced the two men and one youth giving him sly grins and knowing nods.

  “I’m prepared to take whatever you’re biting your tongues not to say.”

  “I don’t know about Deacon or Father McDonald, but I, for one, am glad to see all our scheming brought you happiness in the end. It’s all I wanted, to see my friend happy again.”

  “Ayuh, I’ll second that, boy. Alice and me were saying during the storm how we worried for ya both, but we could rest some knowing Gillian would be at your side, and you weren’t out here alone, or worse, with someone not helping to carry the load.”

  Father McDonald stepped out to the catwalk and gazed down to where Alice and Gillian were stopped right before the path. He nodded toward the women, and his gaze fell on Rhys. “It’s all any of us wanted for you both, Rhys. All we did was shine the light; you and Gillian followed it to the safe harbor. That being said, we have something that needs taking care of this afternoon.”

  The same feeling of dread that twisted his stomach at the Christmas Eve dinner settled like a stone there again. Charlie and Deacon suddenly found any place of more interest than what was going on with the priest. “What’s that?”

  “Let’s gather Gillian and Alice, and I’ll explain.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‡

  Gillian followed Father McDonald inside the house, feeling like she had when she
followed him Christmas Eve. It had been a lovely afternoon. She’d heard the men’s laughter from the tower, and she and Alice discussed what would need to be done in the coming months to prepare for the babe. When she’d laughed at Alice’s promise to bring more jam, she was pleased it drew Rhys’ attention. His honeyed words still poured over her, sweetening the day even more.

  Now, as she entered her home, only Rhys would meet her gaze. She smiled, remembering it was the same the night they married. Even in his own distress, he’d seen to it she was comforted, first meeting her as she entered the hall and then his hand on her back as they met with the priest.

  She went to him now, and he hooked her waist with his arm, pulling her close. Father McDonald smiled at both. “We’re not here to tear you apart, children.” He cocked a brow. “I doubt we could.”

  Rhys grip tightened as if he didn’t believe the priest. “Then why the sudden silence, and you’re the only one who’ll meet our gaze? This is feeling familiar, and not in a good way.”

  Father McDonald ignored Rhys and focused on her. “Gillian, do you remember when you told the Nultons that you signed your marriage license using your legal name of Nulton?”

  She swallowed around the boulder in her throat. “Yes.”

  “Well, my child, that isn’t true.”

  “Gillian, you swore it was the truth.”

  Rhys’ words didn’t hold the sharp edge of accusation, but she felt the sting just the same. “It was. I did, Father. I know I didn’t sign Darrow.”

  The priest’s mouth twitched in a grin. “No, that is the truth. You did not use Darrow.” He retrieved documents from his satchel. “Miss Miller sent a copy of the contract you signed. You signed Chermont. You signed Chermont two more times on your marriage license. I checked after receiving the paperwork from Miss Miller. Seems you’d already accepted Rhys whether he would have you or not.”

  “But I signed the contract in Miss Miller’s office, when I accepted the proposal…” She turned to Rhys. “Before we met.”.”