by Kirsten Lynn
He hugged her close. “Must be like the Father said, you were mine and you knew it.”
Before her smile could form she felt as though she was going to be ill. “But then we’re not married.” Her hand flew to her belly.
Rhys’ gaze followed her hand. “Gillian, mon ange…” He turned to Father McDonald and the others in the room. “What is the plan?”
“You’ll marry today. We have a new license, and witnesses to your union. No one, but those in this room, need ever know. I’ll send Miss Miller the amended contract, and deliver the new license myself.”
The priest rested one hand on her shoulder and one on Rhys’. “But you have been married these past months, Gillian, in the sight of God and in your heart. Both trump the state of Maine, no matter how fair she is.”
Gillian met her husband at the cliff, and he held out his hand for her. “Do you want to kiss me before these vows, like you did the last time?”
She half gasped, half laughed when he hauled her close and did just that. When he set her back, he gave her a wicked wink. “It brought us good fortune last time.”
“Enough of that foolishness.” Father McDonald cut in before her mind cleared enough to offer a retort. “Let’s get started.”
This time, as Rhys said his vows, he held her gaze and offered her everything up to and including his life with his heart guiding every word. He let go of her hand for a second and reached into his jacket pocket. “I’ve been carrying this around for a few days waiting for the right time. This would be it.”
He took her left hand and slid a silver band on her ring finger. She looked closer and found the ornate pattern of the band. “Rhys.”
“My mother sent it in a package with one of her last letters. It was her mother’s. She told me it belongs where my heart is. It belongs with you, mon coeur.”
Gillian roped Rhys’ neck and pulled him down for a kiss.
“Should we at least finish the vows, daughter?”
She stepped back and felt the heat in her cheeks. “Yes, of course.” She repeated after the priest the simple vows that had been around for hundreds of years, but with her eyes, she offered her own vows. She would love him always. Help him and support him throughout their lives, and even death would not separate them.
“Now you may kiss…for the third time.”
She and Rhys laughed, but met in the middle and sealed every vow with a kiss.
“And now you are truly Gillian Chermont.”
“I’ve been truly yours since the people of Bass Harbor shared you in that first letter.”
Gillian snuggled close to her husband, twice blessed by Father McDonald and once by the state of Maine, and linked their hands together. She rested her head on his shoulder. He’d just returned from preparing the light for the evening, so they had some time before he had to check the vents again or clean a lamp chimney.
“We’re a little closer on the sofa tonight than we were after our first marriage.”
He squeezed her hand. “I don’t know; I remember we got pretty close.”
“Were you shocked?”
“A bit, but I wasn’t going to let it stop me.”
“You planned from the moment we married that you’d bed me that night didn’t you?”
“Yes. I tried to tell myself I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to sleep on the sofa, and I didn’t see us sharing the bed without something happening.”
There was a long pause before he continued. “Did you plan on letting me?”
“By the time we left the hall, yes. I didn’t see the point in waiting. We were married and that’s a part of marriage. I wanted a true marriage with you. I didn’t plan on finding so much pleasure though.”
He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “You gave as much pleasure as you received if not more.”
The air around them sizzled more than the fire as they both returned their gazes to the flames. “Father McDonald seems to be our guardian angel as well as our priest.”
She pushed up and glared at Rhys, as his deep belly laugh cut into their serious conversation.
“Father McDonald is an old schemer, with God’s consent, who knew exactly what he was doing, wife. Do you think it was a coincidence that the daughter of the man who stole my first wife just happened to answer my advertisement?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Who was your priest in Bath?”
“Father O’Shea.”
“And did the Father know where you went when you fled your father’s home?”
“How did you…” She pushed down the rising suspicion. “Yes. He helped me leave.”
“Did you contact the priest after the fire?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
She couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh or cry. “He counseled me to follow the leading of my friends and inquire in the Grooms’ Gazette for a husband.”
“And?”
She punched his arm. “Stop it, Rhys.”
“And?”
“And he suggested I try to find a husband from Maine, or close by.”
He cradled the hand she’d used to punch his arm and brushed a kiss on each knuckle. “Do you know, my sweet wife, Father McDonald goes to Bath when he can to visit his childhood friend, a fellow priest, Father O’Shea?”
“Why would he do that to you?” she whispered.
“What did he do to me?” The sparks of mischief died in his eyes, and the teasing was gone from his voice.
“Have you marry me. He must have known how much it would hurt you when you found out. And Father O’Shea knew Edgar’s villainous tendencies. He put you in danger.”
“Ma petite, mon coeur, those two wily old priests and their many conspirators in Bass Harbor gave me the greatest gift last Christmas…the greatest gift of my life. They gave me you. With you, my heart returned, my faith was restored, and the man I once was reawakened, but as a better man for being a part of you. They did not hurt me…they resurrected me.”
The world seemed to shrink to just a tiny lighthouse keeper’s house on the granite rocks of Maine and then narrowed further to just the sofa and the two individuals sitting a breath apart. “I never know how to respond when you say such beautiful things, Rhys. I’m not as well read as you, so I don’t have the words. My mind whirls too fast, and my heart races too fast.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Gillian, you show me in a million different things you do. You bring me coffee and food on nights when the sea demands my attention. You accept strangers with open arms just because I call them friend. You work beside me. Even that you trusted me with your body our first night together and many nights since, shows me how you feel much truer than any words that can soon be forgotten.”
She held one of his hands between hers and pressed it to her heart gracing him with a smile. “You did it again.”
He returned her smile. She’d always wanted a man with a quick smile, not just a small twitch of the mouth, but a full smile that lifted his cheeks. Rhys fulfilled that wish, as well as all the others she’d written in that first letter.
She pushed up from the sofa and took both of his hands, giving a tug. He stood and Gillian walked backwards, holding his hands in hers. “I’ll say it again: Father McDonald is our guardian angel, and Father O’Shea is his partner. I’ll have to write the good Father and let him know what a fine husband I have. But I won’t let on we know about the scheme. Let them have a moment of sinful pride at what fine matchmakers they are.”
“And where are you leading me?” His smile grew.
Dropping one of his hands, she turned to lead him upstairs. “I’m taking you to our bed, to once again show you how much I love you.” She angled her head over her shoulder to meet his gaze. “Unless you’d prefer coffee and a sandwich?”
Her laugh echoed as she was swept off her feet and into Rhys’ arms as he took the stairs two at a time. When he set her on her feet in their bedroom, he smoothed the back of his h
and over her cheek. So much could be said by a husband and a wife with the slightest action and without words. Even his clear blue eyes held volumes his honeyed tongue could never speak.
She framed his face with her hands, caressing his cheekbones with the pads of her thumbs and smoothing the lines nature had carved into her husband’s face. “I am home.”
“The lighthouse?”
She shook her head and stepped into his arms. “Here, this is my home.”
EPILOGUE
‡
Gillian rocked their baby boy in the rocking chair the good people of Bass Harbor had given them as a gift. Rhys cuddled their baby girl on the bed, her tiny hands patting his beard.
Twins of all things.
Father McDonald had teased them that they really did rush into everything, including a full house. Rhys hadn’t found the situation of their birth humorous at all. Hearing one baby cry, he’d burst into the bedroom after hours of pacing up and down the lighthouse stairs, only to be rushed from the room with Ida shouting another baby was on the way. Gillian almost leaped from the bed to catch him before he fell at the shock.
Rhys lifted his head and smiled at her. The smile that belonged only to her. The one that said she was his forever and he was hers.
This Christmas, a large balsam pine stood in their sitting room, and a wreath hung on the door welcoming their friends who’d brought them together and now wanted to see their family. Taking care of two three-month-old babies hadn’t stopped Gillian from baking up a storm, and their house smelled like a sweet shop. She was blessed beyond measure, and her cup overflowed.
“Mother Chermont threatened to make the journey here, weather or no, to see her grandchildren.”
“Father said the same in his letter. She misses visiting with you.”
Rhys carried baby Eleanor to her cradle and tucked the blanket from her grandmother around her. He helped Gillian stand, and she repeated the process with baby Alexis, named after his grandfather.
“I miss them, too. I was so pleased when they extended their visit. They entered my heart almost as quickly as their son.”
From their letters, Rose, Emma, and Willow were all well and happy in their new lives, as well. Her heart ached that she’d probably never see Rose or Emma again as they’d made their homes so far west. Pennsylvania could be done, but with Willow’s new life keeping her busy, and the lighthouse and now the children occupying Gillian’s time, she couldn’t be sure life would ever open a door to visit her friend and laugh and talk face-to-face like they used to. For now, she would treasure their letters and hold her memories close.
“Thinking of others you miss, ma petite?”
“Yes. I suppose it’s the nostalgia Christmas brings. Thinking of those not here.” She took his hand in hers and brushed a kiss on his palm. “And thanking God for those who are.”
Lacing their fingers together, Rhys led her downstairs. She inhaled the scents of Christmas as pine from the sitting room mixed with goose, stuffing, cinnamon, nutmeg, and gingerbread from the kitchen.
“Ida will skin us for sure for not attending the Christmas Eve dinner this year, especially after our quick exit last year.”
She lit the candles on the table set for two. Not a big celebration like what they were enjoying in Bass Harbor, though if she and Rhys continued as they were they’d have their own village in a few years.
“I know, but the babies are too young for the night air. To be honest, this is the nicest Christmas, just you and me.” Her gaze shifted to the stairs. “Well, just you and me for a little while.”
“I agree. I’m enjoying spending the evening with my wife and children.”
They worked together to finish putting the meal together and carrying everything out to the table. As Gillian went back to the kitchen for one more dish, Rhys stopped her under the doorway between the two rooms.
“You owe me a kiss.”
“Pardon?”
He nodded to the top of the doorway, and Gillian smiled. “When did you put mistletoe up there?”
He nodded to the top of the archway leading from the dining room into the sitting room. “When I put mistletoe there and in the walkway to the lighthouse and in the service room and lantern room.”
She couldn’t hold back the laugh burning her lungs. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she nuzzled her nose with his then leaned into him when he took her mouth in a slow, passionate kiss. When he pulled from her, he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers.
“You please me, Gillian Chermont.”
“You please me, too, Rhys Chermont.”
If you enjoyed reading Gillian’s story, there are 49 more in the series! Find out about the rest of the American Mail-Order Brides here:
www.newwesternromance.com
Thank you so much for reading Gillian and Rhys’ story. For more wonderful stories and to catch up with Gillian’s friends and roommates make sure to get your copy of:
WILLOW, BRIDE OF PENNSYLVANIA by Merry Farmer
EMMA, BRIDE OF KENTUCKY by Peggy Henderson
ROSE, BRIDE OF COLORADO by Margery Scott
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you so much, dear readers, for picking up a copy of GILLIAN, BRIDE OF MAINE. I was thrilled to be a part of such an amazing project, and like Gillian, I made new friends through the process of working with such an outstanding group of authors.
As my readers know, most of my stories are set in Wyoming, and that was the state I initially wanted when I joined the project. However, Wyoming had already been snapped up, and honestly, I couldn’t be happier. I had such fun visiting Maine again, if only in my imagination. If I had gotten Wyoming, there wouldn’t be Gillian and Rhys, and I would hate to see a world where their story didn’t exist. For those who’ve started my Navy SEAL series with the book THE AIR I BREATHE, you’ll recognize the name Chermont. Gillian and Rhys are the great-great grandparents of Caleb “Frenchy” Chermont, and I enjoyed getting to know his family a bit better.
I have been a lighthouse enthusiast for many years and fell in love with Maine and Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse when I visited. Here’s a little history of the lighthouse.
Congress appropriated $5,000 for the construction of the Bass Harbor Head Light after it was determined that “sufficient need” existed to have a lighthouse near the entrance to Bass Harbor. This was followed by the addition of a fog bell and tower in 1876. This bell was replaced by a substantially larger 4,000-pound bell in 1898 when it was installed within the tower. The original lens was a Fifth Order Fresnel, but was replaced by a Fourth Order Fresnel in 1901. Originally, there was no easy access via a boat landing until one was added in 1894. During the 1970s, the Coast Guard took over the lighthouse. On January 21, 1988, the lighthouse was added to the National Register of Historic Places, under the title of Bass Harbor Head Light Station.
The keeper’s house remains pretty much in its original form other than a small addition in 1900. The house serves as an actual residence for a U.S. Coast Guard family.
There are a few things where I took a bit of literary license. The boat slip was not a part of the lighthouse until 1894. I included a community hall for the village of Bass Harbor and could not find any information that corroborated or disputed this information. In order to have Father McDonald, I had to include a Catholic church instead of the Methodist or Congregationalist that are a part of Tremont today.
Bass Harbor is actually one of five villages that comprise the town of Tremont. The other villages are: Bernard, West Tremont, Seal Cove, and Gotts Island. I did not mention Tremont in the story because the village of Bass Harbor is where all the action takes place, but I wanted readers to be informed of the history of the area. I hope those who know Bass Harbor and the Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse will understand the liberties taken.
Gillian and Rhys are those wonderful characters I love as an author who, by the end of the story, completely captured my heart. I hope they will find a place in your hearts as well.
&nbs
p; Warmest wishes always,
Kirsten Lynn
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kirsten Lynn is a Western and Military Historian. She worked six years with a Navy non-profit and continues to contract with the Marine Corps History Division for certain projects. Making her home where her roots were sewn in Wyoming, Kirsten also works as a local historian. She loves to use the history she has learned and add it to a great love story. She writes stories about men of uncommon valor, women with undaunted courage, love of unwavering devotion, and romance with unending sizzle. When she’s not writing, she finds inspiration in day trips through the Bighorn Mountains, binge reading, and watching sappy old movies, or sappy new movies. Housework can always wait.
Connect with me online!
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My Website:
www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com
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www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com/contact_kirstin.php
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STAND ALONE BOOKS:
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