"Every day I try to push away the dark thoughts. Pray it won't end today. I detest when you debate with me, for any disagreement might be our last. Any moment I might find I've become Andrew Tremayne all over again. The horrors will come back again. Anna couldn't face me. She believed me worse than he was."
"No, Morgan, you're not," she soothed. "You're the most wonderful man I've ever known."
His words spilled out now in a torrent between harsh gasps. "I tried not to let any wench matter. Never wanted to care so deeply about anyone, but I couldn't help myself. I'm the son of Andrew Tremayne. Andrew Tremayne would never beg. Swore he'd never show weakness to a female, and he never did. Watched her go without a word. Maybe it is weakness, Richelle—" came his choking sob, "but I'm not as strong as he was. Please don't leave me, Richelle, even if I'm crippled. Please don't."
She clutched him fiercely to her as he released the tears he'd kept inside for so many years. She cried with him. Cried for the lost boy he'd been, the adolescent who'd broken his back trying to measure up, trying to prove himself worthy of love and respect.
Wiping at her eyes, she glimpsed the signet on her left hand. Her symbolic wedding ring. She'd been wrong about that, too. The cachet never represented the past and his family roots. His family had abandoned him. It was a symbol of honor, yes, because Morgan could swear a promise for the future and control whether that came true. The signet wasn't revered because of his past. It represented the little he had left besides a hated cottage and a proud name. His desperate hopes for warmth and family. Prayers for a future happiness he was terrified would never be his.
She helped him back to bed and sat down beside him. "I wish you'd told me about your mother before. I understand things now that had confused me. I'm glad you finally divulged that bit of your past, because it's made me realize there are things you don't understand, either. I'd like to help you see what's in my heart."
"What?" he mumbled, embarrassed to look at her now that she'd seen him reduced to unmanly tears.
"When I first came to this village, I simply needed somewhere to hide. You wondered why a rich girl with a good education would come here and clerk for you. The truth is, it seemed an ideal place for an American widow to lose herself. I came knowing I'd be an outsider. I didn't expect the villagers to welcome me. I didn't want any of you to. I was determined to keep to myself and fade into insignificance. When your name and likeness appear on posters and in newspapers, it's startling how quickly you come to desire anonymity."
She knew he digested her words. Perhaps he was seeing her reasoning for the first time. "The peculiar thing is that I wasn't insignificant," she emphasized. "Here in Crowshaven, I wasn't Jeremiah Hardwick's daughter, Sheila's cousin, or anyone's wife. I wasn't even Richelle. In some strange way I came to belong. And I met the most incredible man I'll ever know."
She took both of his hands in hers. "A man I couldn't help but fall in love with."
"When I first arrived, I asked Boyd and then Chrissandra what you were like. I wanted to develop a mental image of the man who owned this house. Their answers made absolutely no sense."
"What could either of them have said about me that would make no sense? They're my two dearest friends."
Her smile widened. "That you were a man who was very like his peers, but unique among them. That you joked and drank and chased women, yet lived and breathed trade and business. I couldn't understand how one person could be all those things: a driven yet playful scoundrel, a royal commoner, an understanding beast. But you see, I didn't know you then. You are all of those things."
He gave her a look of reproach. "What an absolute load of rubbish!" Then he seemed to reconsider. "Did live for trade, though. Before you, women never really mattered. I can't think straight for loving you, Richelle. I'm petrified I won't be a good father to our child. I always had visions of a wife and children some day, but they were like museum paintings one admires from a polite distance. I thought it would feel like that, be like that."
"I see. But it's not."
He shook his head. "Nay, it's like my intestines are knotted in your fist. Like being lost, muddled, half besotted all the time. Not Morgan—at least not just Morgan anymore."
She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I suppose there's some truth to that. Together we're more, or different than we were separately. But it's false, too. You're still Morgan. Capable, smart, handsome, and distinctly your own person. Different from everyone else in this wide world. Still strong and still proud."
So much of the wonders between a man and woman she had learned from him. This she could finally give back.
"You're on the same path, but you're no longer walking it alone. What you feel is my shadow. Whichever way you turn, whatever murky grove or bright clearing you pass through, it's always there, just beside you." His pewter eyes burned with a strange intensity as he studied her face. "I'll never feel the way your mother did about this house or the village. Now I see why my father's money and the manor upset you so."
His Adam's apple bobbed. "What woman in her right mind would trade that palace for this?" He waved his hand to indicate their bedchamber.
"I don't recall ever boasting about being in my right mind," she teased, caressing his unshaven cheek. "Morgan, this cottage is my home. Chrissy and Boyd have become my close friends, too. My heart is here in Crowshaven because you're here. I choose to walk beside you. I still have a healthy portion of my inheritance in a London bank. I decided to let the money grow until our son is a few years old, then offer it to the council for the schoolhouse you've always wanted"
"You're serious about this." It wasn't a question.
She nodded. "I meant to discuss it with you later, when you were feeling better. I intend to live the rest of my natural life here. I'll give you whatever years I have remaining, Bargainer—but at a very steep price." She wagged her finger in his face. "And we'll not negotiate. This time it's you who must pledge to me."
Morgan's eyes clouded. "What do you want from me? You know this is all I have." He glanced again about the room.
She turned his chin back to face her. "I want the one thing you have in shortest supply—therefore, the most valuable commodity you can offer. Faith. You must trust me now, as I trusted you. Believe that I'll never abandon you."
Morgan felt something that had always been constricted inside loosen a fraction. Richelle's eyes said she meant every word. "It strikes terror in my soul to suspect that you're keeping a dark truth from me," he whispered. He squeezed her fingers. "Please be honest. I've been painfully honest with you."
"All right."
His fingers nearly crushed hers. "I'm not going to walk again, am I?"
She didn't flinch. "The doctor can't predict with certainty yet. There is a chance you may always need a crutch."
He squeezed his eyes shut again. "Another truthful answer, please. If not—" The gray eyes opened and peered closely into hers. "Would it matter? Don't say it doesn't alter your feelings. It must, on some level. I want to know if...if you could feel as you did before my accident."
"I'll love you no matter what becomes of your leg. You've taught me what love is between man and wife. You've earned the affection and passion I feel for you. You've earned my respect. Don't let a wagon take that from you."
He kissed her softly. "I can't be a merchant or the Bargainer or the village mayor without you, Richelle. But I can be a cripple with you, if that's God's will."
"The mayor?"
He offered a weak smile. "When I went to Entwistle's to get the cradle, several local gentlemen arrived to meet with us. I'm to be nominated at the next council meeting. Vote's due any day. I told them I'd consider it, but I'd like to have your blessing. Or your thoughts, if you disagree with the notion."
"Of course you have my blessing! I think it's a wonderful idea." She gave him a tight squeeze.
"You may not think so when you hear the stipulation. As you just pointed out, everything has its price. You know the council meet
ings are held at the inn. They produce significant sales. I'd have to sell the inn to take the mayor's office."
"You've owned it since you were eighteen, Morgan. Is that what you want?"
"I don't know," he admitted truthfully. "I'm flattered to be their choice, of course. We could build the schoolhouse that much sooner. Certainly as mayor, I'd finally have more influence in such matters. It's a chance to leave my mark."
"Yes," she nodded, watching and waiting. She knew admiration must be shining in her eyes, that he would see how very proud she was of him.
"Please don't look at me like that," he groaned. "It should be a simple decision, but it's the most difficult I've ever faced. Selling my granary to have you was easy by comparison."
"You need time to rest and think. This is no small decision you're weighing. It won't have minor consequences. It's a big step. You know I'll support your decision, whichever way your instincts guide you. Listen to them, Bargainer. I've never known them to steer either of us wrong."
Chapter 30
Richelle cracked open the door just after nine the following morning. Morgan was in the robe she'd left at the foot of the bed for him. "You're up! I was going to let you sleep. You look much better."
"I got the best night's sleep I've had in ages." She crossed behind him and went to the windows, opening the lacy curtains to admit the pale sunshine.
"You didn't toss and turn with indecision about the inn."
"Nay, I didn't. I was genuinely exhausted after yesterday's ordeal."
"Lorella has breakfast for you. I'll go down and fetch the tray."
"I need to say something first. Come here." He reached for her hand, pressing it to his chest. "There's never been a moment when I haven't been honored to be your husband, Richelle. I'm proud you bear my name, and that pride never faltered. Not even when I learned of the charges against you."
She instantly burst into tears. "Now I've gone and done it," he sighed, cradling her against his upper body. He held her while she sobbed.
"Mercy!" came her muffled gasp. "My stomach's gone hard as a rock. I think..." Her words trailed off as they both stared at the spreading damp spot on the front of her dress, the puddle forming on the bedroom floor. "Your child's decided to make his appearance."
Morgan bellowed for Lorella to summon the doctor. Richelle struggled to pull off her wet garments before stretching out on the bed and covering herself with the quilt. "Have her go...right away," she panted. "Dr. Rowe said to send for him immediately. Baby hasn't turned. Only a chance, but there could be trouble this time, too."
Morgan had fumbled out of bed to lean against one of the bedposts, his face ashen. "Rowe told you the babe hadn't turned? Why didn't you tell me this before?"
Richelle waited until the contraction eased. "He told me the same morning as your accident. I honestly forgot, I was so worried about you, and—"
Lorella burst in, her features mottled. "You sir, either take this chair and talk nicely to her, or I'll help you down to the kitchen. There's a fresh bottle of brandy behind the sugar in the pantry. She's going to bed to have that baby, and she won't be having you glowering over her while she does it. Mr. Impossible."
Richelle looked from one to the other and began to giggle helplessly. Soon the giggles became whooping peals of laughter, cut off abruptly as the next pain hit.
"Your mistress could use a spot of that brandy in some hot tea," Morgan told the maid as she helped him perch on the bedside chair. "Bring some on a tray before you go. And take Patrick with you. I'll look after my wife until the doctor comes."
Richelle inhaled deeply as Morgan reached for her hand. "I'm sorry I forgot to tell you about the baby. I've honestly been so worried about you and that leg..."
Morgan smoothed the thick auburn locks from her forehead. "Rowe will turn the child, should it be necessary. You've a tough fight ahead, but I'm right here as promised, Colonial." His eyes were a soft, shimmering gray in the stove's firelight.
"How is it you're so calm about this? Most expectant fathers bolt from the room when their wives go into labor."
"Ah, but remember, I spent my boyhood working on farms. This isn't precisely unfamiliar to me."
"I didn't realize a farm boy's chores extended to helping the farmers' wives give birth. Just what did you do to earn your pay?"
He flashed her a look of mock indignation. "You're always suspecting me of improper behavior."
"If you never engaged in any, I'd hardly be in this situation, would I?"
He patted her hand and beamed at her. "That's my girl. Keep your sense of humor. Phantom and a good many other heads of valuable livestock have me to thank for their arrivals."
"Now I'm certain you're jesting with me."
"Madam, you know very well I rarely jest. Besides sweeping out manure and stacking hay, I often found myself helping a cow bring forth a new calf. I've turned newborns in the tunnel more than once. Always had strong, slender fingers and arms."
"Please don't elaborate." Richelle felt slightly queasy.
"Sorry for the indelicacy. However," he frowned, "It occurs to me that our good doctor lives a fair distance and this is not your first." He hobbled to the washstand and rolled up his sleeves. Then he began vigorously scrubbing his hands and forearms.
"Morgan! You can't mean to suggest you're going to—" Her words were cut off by another sharp pain.
"I've sworn to provide any and all necessary assistance. Don't ask me to break my oath now. I'm deeply indebted to you, my love, in ways I'll never be able to fully repay. This would be but a small comfort." His eyes held hers. "You know I'd never hurt you, Richelle. I thought we'd established your trust in me." She nodded and held her breath.
He was extremely gentle. He probed cautiously and a smile broke across his face. "That babe's not turned wrong, Richelle! I felt the head. You're doing fine!"
"Oh Morgan, honestly?"
"Aye. Now take a sip of the tea Lorella made you," he directed, bringing the cup to her lips. Lorella had also provided a sandwich for him. He took a bite and began talking as he chewed. "Remember the pirates? You were afraid for your very life then, but you listened to me and made it through. Listen again now. You'll come through this fine, and so will the babe."
She panted, clinging tightly to his hand and resisting the urge to bear down. Morgan never winced, never adjusted his hand, just let her crush his fingers when she needed to and continued to smile.
At last the doctor appeared. "How's she doing?"
"Fine," Morgan grinned. "Normal presentation, head's pretty low. Won't be long."
Richelle felt her face redden. "Morgan!" she hissed. "I think the doctor can decide for himself how matters are progressing."
"Right as rain!" the doctor pronounced as he examined her. "You're fortunate to have this fellow for your midwife, you know." Dr. Rowe gave Richelle a wink and grinned at Morgan. "He's delivered some of the finest animals in Northern England. Never lost a foal or calf yet."
"When I begin munching oats, I'll take comfort in that."
"I see I'm no longer appreciated," Morgan sniffed in mock offense. "I'll go have some of that brandy, then." He started toward the doorway.
Richelle shook her head violently, seizing the doctor's arm. "The stairs! He can't make it down alone."
The doctor glanced at Morgan. "She's got a ways to go yet." He'd left a crutch by the door, and handed Morgan the padded end. He ran his hand along the damaged thigh. "Thought I told you to stay off that leg. How's it feeling?"
"Never better," Morgan replied, staring into his wife's dark eyes. "Might I have a word alone with my wife before you help me downstairs?"
Dr. Rowe nodded and quit the room. Morgan eased onto the edge of the bed and spoke in a serious tone. "You were right about the marriage aboard the ship. Before I arrived at your aunt's house, I'd already set my mind to do whatever was required to keep you in my life. I did purposely deceive you to get what I wanted. My own goal was all that mattered."
&
nbsp; "I've forgiven you, remember?"
"I longed to make you mine from the first moment I held you in my arms and kissed you. Even though marriage terrified me. I wanted you so much." He reached for her hand. "Other than craving you for myself then, I've never wanted anything as much as I now pray to watch you suckle a healthy child."
His voice was hoarse, but his words very clear. "I had a talk with the Almighty last evening, beloved wife. We struck a bargain between us. I've put up the use of my leg against your welfare and the child's. I had a long talk with Him. He knows I'm a man of my word. I know full well the power of His."
Richelle gasped. "You asked God to leave you crippled?"
The resolve on his face hit harder than any contraction yet. "Aye, if that's the price of your dream, Richelle."
Epilogue
Richelle sat ramrod straight in the crowded pew as her gaze swept the church. Every row was filled. Morgan was seated immediately to her left, mustache neatly groomed, the thong gone from his hair. His mane had been shorn to just grazing the top of his starched collar. Lorella was on Richelle's right, holding tight to Malcolm's hand. She would be back in a month to wed Malcolm and move into the Entwistle's farmhouse.
The vicar called Morgan and his wife forward. Morgan flashed Richelle a look he hoped conveyed the mingled uncertainty and solemn pride in his soul and rose to his feet. He waited as Lorella transferred the chubby bundle from her lap into Richelle's arms. Silently Morgan laid his cane across the wooden pew behind him. He heard several audible gasps. He ignored them, moving stiffly to join his wife and David Entwistle in the nave. The vicar asked David a question.
"Regan Hardwick Tremayne," came the resonant answer.
Richelle barely heard the words. She saw Morgan standing tall with nothing in either hand. Balancing Regan in the crook of her arm, she reached for Morgan's right hand with the fingers of her left. Their twin signets came together in one soft, burnished glow. Morgan had insisted upon naming their son Regan—half Rachel, half Morgan. It was a good name, she reflected as the baby loudly voiced his complaint at the rush of water over his brow. A strong name for the son of a strong man.
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