The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  But now?

  He stood at her side, his usual grin hitched at the corner. Her heart gave a responsive flutter. Problem? The sweet hum under her skin confirmed much more than a problem. It awakened a frightening flare of emotion she could barely contain, and being out of control terrified her. All she needed was to get aboard without saying something to alter her friendship with him forever and possibly brand her as frivolous as her sister. Surely after two years nurses’ training and a childhood diet of pretension, she could douse her feelings long enough to board the ship?

  But Sam knew her. His tender way of etching out the truth held a surgeon’s precision.

  A cheer from the crowd pulled Ashleigh’s attention to the emotionless steel of The Lusitania. Dwarfing the crowded pier, the ocean liner provided a solid diversion of elegance and ingenuity. It was a massive display. The Cunard Company’s Scottish princess. A stronghold of black paint and billowing smoke framed by the four towering funnels and five passenger decks readied to whisk her back to England and away from her failed wedding plans.

  Running from her disappointment with Michael to the world of pretention with her sister? A lesser of two evils? At least Catherine’s behavior was predictable and didn’t leave her holding a one-way ticket-turned-escape-plan.

  She studied the great display of white and red flags, fluttering in the strong ocean gusts. People of all shapes and sizes, from every social class, painted a blur of smiles, bidding their farewells from the cascade of decks high above, but one face came into focus among the masses.

  Ashleigh’s breath stumbled on a gasp. The ship’s funnels blurred. The crowd’s noise droned to a murmur.

  Michael?

  Her reticule slid from her hand, dropping to the pier, fingers too numb to snatch it in time. Impossible. He’d disappeared eight months before their wedding without explanation only to show up now? Here?

  Her knees weakened. She’d given him her friendship and a promise of her future, and in return? He’d left her holding a ‘good-bye note’ and a heart filled with as many questions as the debtors knocking on her door to locate him. No. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her, her troubled thoughts creating ghosts.

  She bent to retrieve the small bag, muscles moving as if in slow motion, but Sam reached it first. Concern in his eyes softened the tension in her face.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She took her reticule from him and nodded toward the ocean liner.

  “This fell from your bracelet.” Sam handed her the intricate locket her Grandmama had given her as a parting gift. A charm with a portrait of the two of them together. “You don’t need to lose any more. It looks like there is only one more left on your bracelet.”

  Ashleigh took it with a small smile. She’d removed all the charms from her father, except the one given to her his last Christmas. The piano. Somehow, since it had been presented from the entire family, it didn’t hold the same corruption as the other charms. Those gifts came with a meaningless apology for the corruption he continued to bestow on her. Perhaps Grandmama’s elegant charm fastened on the old bracelet would prove the past didn’t have to direct her forever. “Thank you.”

  “And the ticket man had this for you.”

  She took the small envelope from him, her name scrawled in elegant hand on the front. A quick look confirmed her suspicions. “It’s from Grandmama’s distant acquaintance, Mrs. Ragan. My room adjoins hers and she’s providing escort for me, but I believe it’s more a formality than anything else. I don’t suspect we’ll engage in much conversation since she cares little for the society in which she is traveling.”

  “Ah! She sounds delightful.” He nodded, his gaze searching hers, almost as if he could see her heart. “Are you sure you’re all right, Ash?”

  His nickname drew a larger smile from her. “Just overwhelmed by this Palace of the Seas, I suppose.”

  The ship loomed overhead, calling her attention back to the railing where she’d seen Michael’s image, but he was as absent as he’d been on their wedding day. She was finished with him. A new life with new dreams waited just across the ocean and Michael wasn’t a part of it.

  Sam sighed and a hint of mischief tipped the corners of his lips. He assessed the ship, hands tucked in his pockets. “You Brits sure like to show off, don’t you?”

  Her caution ebbed in light of his easy banter, their friendship an acceptable substitute for romantic fancies. Oh, how she would miss him. “Poor Sam, you’re not going to allow a ship to wound your fragile American pride now, are you?”

  Sam winced and slapped his palm against his chest, feigning a wound. “Whew, nice shot. I think my quick wit is rubbing off on you.” He leaned close and winked. “Your mother might disapprove.”

  Ashleigh adjusted her gloves to keep her gaze from his, but warmth swirled in her stomach, nonetheless. “She has a tendency to disapprove of me quite often. And you never help.”

  He took off his hat and ruffled his curls. “You mean she still hasn’t forgiven me for teaching you how to swim? That’s an important skill to lea—”

  “Swimming mildly irritated her and bicycling, well, she didn’t care for that too much either. But climbing trees? Frog gigging? She may never forgive you for those.”

  Sam’s brows inched higher with each accusation.

  She razed him with a look. “Not suitable for a lady, you know.”

  “A lady? You were ten−”

  “Twelve.”

  “Twelve?” One brow tipped skyward and he scratched his chin. “Well, you were still just a kid, not a lady.”

  A grin eased onto her face. “Mother had high hopes that I would be some day.”

  Sam hesitated, as if considering the thought, and then tilted his head to examine her. “A lady?” His expression softened, a tender caress. “I don’t think frog gigging affected that outcome.”

  For one split-second she bathed in the fresh spill of sweetness his affectionate gaze produced. But it could never be. His love resembled an elder brother’s or perhaps a dear friend, but nothing more. She shifted under his gaze.

  “Well, Scott was too young and I could never convince Catherine to try new things.”

  “Ah, I see the way of it.” Ashleigh shook her head and stepped back, Catherine’s name a presence between them as never before. “Corrupt the young, impressionable Dougall sister. Of course, it didn’t help that I thought you hung the moon and stars.”

  “You’ve always been a smart girl. At least you have your priorities straight.” A twinkle deepened his eyes. Had they always been so blue?

  “Smart girl, indeed? Where was Catherine when I was ankle deep in a sinking boat trying to pick off some poor frogs? Not within half a mile, I’d say.”

  “You know, Catherine always disappeared when I mentioned slimy critters or dirt. It usually ended up just you and me.” His gaze grew intense. “And we’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”

  She couldn’t manage his seriousness. Her feelings edged much too close to the surface already. “The fact I engaged in questionable outdoor activities is the core of our friendship? Why does it suddenly feel less glamorous than I imagined?”

  “Maybe not so glamorous, but certainly genuine.” His smile faded. “I can’t imagine Millington without you.”

  At the vulnerable look in his eyes, something cautious and hard inside her chest melted. She settled into the feeling like coming home. Sam. How long had his face replaced Michael’s in her dreams? A sharp sting eclipsed the touch of sweetness, his tenderness suddenly too painful, pleading for her complete confidence.

  She wanted to trust him completely, anchor her faith in the kindness of another man, place her hope in the possibilities of something more, but she couldn’t. Memories suffocated hope, reminding her of who she was…and who betrays. Men. Men like Michael. Or her father.

  A protective cloak of pretension as ingrained through her family as the dominant gene for dark hair cooled her heated cheeks,
numbing her feelings. “Millington is my true home.”

  “And people always come back home, right, Ash?”

  She cleared her throat. “There’s plenty to be done in Edensbury, so I shan’t know how long Mother expects me to remain. She was determined to place an ocean between her and Grandmama once father was no longer around to play referee. Although I’m certain the thought of living in Grandmama’s manor house gives little consolation.” She shrugged. “And with my nurse’s salary, I hope to make my own contributions to the war effort.”

  “The orphanage you’ve talked about?”

  “You were listening?”

  He quirked a brow. “Now why would you think I don’t listen?”

  Michael never did. The thought humbled her. The past eight months since his absence proved better clarity than the previous two years. Michael had never loved her as much as he loved himself. She’d agreed to marry him on a whim of grief after her father’s death, a means to ease her mother’s financial burden and she’d hoped their love might grow in time.

  Hope had never served her well.

  “An orphanage seems an insignificant thing for a man, I suppose.”

  “I’m not Michael.” The tension in his voice drew her eyes to his.

  His gaze roamed her face, as if memorizing it. She stepped close and placed her hand on his arm, his muscle tensing beneath it. Her words nearly stuck in her throat. “I know you’re not.”

  He tilted his head, watching her. “Do you realize we’ve eaten dinner together five nights a week for the past three months?”

  “What?”

  “And lunch every Sunday?”

  Some of the best memories of her life – a friendship forged deeper over the past year. “Yes, I know.”

  “There’s going to be this giant hole in my life when you leave.” He shook his head. “First Catherine and now you?”

  I’m not Catherine. She searched his gaze and forced a strained whisper. “We can write letters.”

  His expression darkened. “They’re not the same.”

  She stood in silence, willing the safe numbness to stay wrapped around her heart. No, they weren’t. No tender glances or shared secrets at the table. No easy banter or welcome laughter. Letters could never be the same, but neither would their relationship. Her pulse shuddered into an erratic staccato and she distanced herself with a step. “I must go.”

  His forehead crinkled in thought. “Do you have everything?”

  Have everything? No, she was missing a husband, a honeymoon negligee, and a piece of her heart to the wrong man. Blessed escape was the only answer. “Yes, thank you, dear Sam.” She took a deep breath. “But I suppose I must be off.”

  He nodded, but didn’t move. “S’pose so.”

  “My bags?”

  “I had a porter take them after I picked up the tickets.”

  “Then−” Ashleigh replayed his word in her mind. Her gaze snapped to his. “Tickets?”

  Sam nudged her forward. “There’s the line for boarding?”

  “Tickets? Sam?”

  He led her to the gangway, his jaw working. A certain sign of trouble. “I already told you, Ash. I couldn’t just let you leave.”

  She caught his arm. “Sam?”

  “I haven’t seen Catherine in a year and our engagement happened so fast. Maybe I rushed things.” He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, squinting from pale midday sun. “Her letters - they’ve been fewer and farther between. Things have changed. I need to see her.”

  Ashleigh’s throat tightened. “What do you mean?”

  His stare brooked no argument. All heat fled her body.

  “I’m going with you to England.”

  Chapter Two

  Ashleigh’s eyes grew wide as his words sunk in and then she sent him a look that took the chill right out of the May morning. Maple brown, with the faintest flame of oak-gold around her pupils – Sam felt every flicker, hot enough to steam the Lusitania.

  Not the reaction he’d expected.

  “You’re going to England?”

  He opened his mouth, but Ashleigh interrupted - her cheeks almost as pink as her hat. “You’ll travel across the entire Atlantic to secure your relationship with a woman who doesn’t –” Ashleigh jerked one glove from her hand and squeezed it, her tone controlled. “For Catherine?”

  Her hesitation hit him in the chest. Exactly. A woman who hadn’t written in over four months. He was no Sherlock, but the clues sent a clear message. He had to know why.

  “Of course I would. I can’t keep living in uncertainty. If things are over between us, I need to end it face-to-face.” Sam shrugged. “Plus there’s the simple fact you shouldn’t sail across the Atlantic alone.”

  “Grandmama provided a suitable chaperone with Mrs. Ragan.” Her body stiffened and she looked toward the ship. “Despite what you might think or believe, I am no longer the twelve-year-old knee-deep in muck. If the past year hasn’t confirmed it, perhaps the past eight months have.”

  Actually, the thought had flitted through his mind a few times since they left North Carolina, and the little-girl pout on her lips right now wasn’t helping her argument, but through her father’s death and Michael’s betrayal she’d proven the ‘little girl’ lay far behind. She was a strong and honest woman.

  Something inside him twisted as tightly as a double-overhand knot. Michael should have been with Ashleigh on their wedding cruise. On this ship. He stifled a growl. Michael was an idiot. He’d thought it a dozen times, but said it? He’d feel better if he could tell Michael in person. Maybe with a fist or two.

  His desertion changed a lot of things, most of all her. The shadows under her eyes, the dimmed emotions, the need to leave for England. No one leaves home without a good excuse.

  Just like no fiancé stops writing letters without an excuse. Usually a bad one.

  “Well, if your Grandma was so sure of Mrs. Ragan, she wouldn’t have encouraged me to come—”

  “Grandmama forced you into this?”

  He bit back his smile at the thought of Victoria Dougall’s gift of persuasion. Of course, it didn’t take much for him to agree to her urging. Take care of Ashleigh and sort out his relationship with Catherine all in one trip? Sounded like a win-win and long overdue.

  “Ash, your grandma is the picture of gentility and temperance, but we both know she has the persuasive abilities of a cattle prod.”

  His words hit their mark. The fire in her eyes dimmed.

  “Besides, someone needs to watch over you.” He took Ashleigh’s arm and ushered her closer. “Ash-honey, I can’t just leave you after what Michael did.”

  Softness flickered over her countenance. Tears formed in those coffee-colored eyes, drawing him closer. Her eyes had always been his downfall - round, dark, pleading. When she was little, he’d caved into giving her a treat or taking her along on an adventure. Unguarded, they glowed with a million emotions.

  “Mrs. Ragan doesn’t know you. I do.” His thumb pulsed a squeeze. “And I have no intention of letting you sail alone.”

  She slipped her arm free from his hold and the familiar transformation began with each step she made up the gangway. That infuriating emotionless glaze cloaked her expression. If he didn’t hate it so much it might have been a fascinating study, but she walled herself in with it: Protected herself from something, but he'd never figured out what. He’d rather she burst into tears or slap her hand against his jaw than distance herself with that confounded look.

  A porcelain doll, dark mass of hair pinned neatly beneath her rose hat to show off her slender neckline, lips firmed into a grim line of determination, and he knew--because of the past, and Michael’s betrayal--their relationship was changing.

  An ache swelled in the place where his heart thumped a slow rhythm. He couldn’t lose Ashleigh like he’d lost Catherine. He needed to keep her safe. Close. Protected.

  “You needn’t feel obligated, Sam.” She blocked his entrance up the gangway. “Go
home. I’ll be fine.”

  “Obligated?” He tipped up the rim of his hat to get a better view of her face. She finally turned her attention toward him. She wouldn’t stay behind that confounded mask. Not if he could help it. “I’ve never taken our friendship lightly, even when frog gigging. Friends look out for each other.” He offered an exaggerated sigh and pushed past her. “And I don’t think Mrs. Ragan has the constitution for it."

  Life shimmered into her expression with the hint of a smile to relax her features. She snatched the newspaper he had under his arm, and hit him against the shoulder. “I do not need an overprotective nursemaid along.”

  Sam followed her to the far railing facing the sea. “Then it’s a good thing your charming and handsome neighbor came instead, isn’t it?”

  She turned and lifted a much-too-innocent brow. “Really?” Her gaze slid down him and back up to his face, as if questioning his declaration. “And who might that be?”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.” He grinned. “I’m still going.”

  “You’re stubborn to a fault.”

  “Kind of like someone else I know.” He grabbed the paper from her hand and nudged her shoulder with it.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head.

  “No more arguing. I’m going. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.” He turned his back and strolled toward one of the deck chairs without another glance in her direction. After all the hurt she’d been through, the last thing she needed was to be alone.

  If she’d been his sister, Michael wouldn’t have been able to hide from Sam’s wrath. How could Michael have done this? His reputation as a playboy only bore skin deep. A lifetime of friendship and memories confirmed it. He’d been certain Michael had changed his ways and committed to Ashleigh. How could he have been so wrong?

  He reclined back in the chair and flipped open the paper, peering over the top to gauge Ashleigh’s reaction. She looked lost among a sea of farewells. Instead of following suit with the other travelers and waving toward the pier, she faced the channel that led to open sea. What was she thinking? Devising a plan to get him kicked off the ship?