A Bargain For A Bride: Clean mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 1) (10 page)

“Are you sure? It doesn’t have to be today, not with your arm still hurt,” Pryor reminded Moira for the hundredth time. She smiled and adjusted her hat.

“My arm is fine. It’s just a little sore, that’s all. Besides, aren’t you quite ready to stop sleeping in the barn? It’s been over a month; you must be getting tired of telling your horses goodnight!”

Pryor smiled at his soon-to-be bride. The past month had been a surreal time of preparation and activity for both of them. The land exchange between Moira and Nathaniel had been finalized, with the rest of the claim paid for outright. Pryor had taken the time to add a room onto their house for Gretchen, one that extended from the living room and kitchen, but that also had its own outside door so she could move about as she wished without feeling as though she was entering someone else’s home. The gesture, though unnecessary in her mind, was still thoughtful and appreciated.

Moira had been busy, but not in the way that many brides might have been. Rather than needing linens or hand-stitched items for her new household, she was plotting the location of her garden, as well as a thriving business in cattle grazing. Other settlers on the prairie would pay to graze off her claim, she’d found, especially because there was no danger of a crop being destroyed. She’d already had requests from two homesteaders to board their small herds of livestock on her place while they traveled back east to retrieve their families, with both offering payment in hay and fence work. It was intriguing how the barter system worked among the settlers, and among people who knew the feel of having to pull together for survival.

“Are you sure I don’t have to bring in a full harvest?” Moira asked, her brows creasing in concentration as she looked through the claim’s paperwork for the hundredth time. “I remember clearly that you said I had to build a fence and provide so much in harvest to be considered a legitimate claim.”

“You will have a harvest, only yours will be hay. You can grow hay on your land quite well because it doesn’t grow in the saw rows wheat or corn require. Plus, you’ll be a livestock breeder, a farmer of animals instead of crops. So long as you can show that you’re increasing with each season, it counts. It’s only if you tried to pass off the same sad three cows each year that they would wonder if your farm was active.”

“I plan to do more than just raise three ‘sad’ cows! I think I’d actually like to raise horses, much like my fine horse back in Brennan. Those were some of the happiest hours of my week when I got to ride, and days that it wasn’t permitted, I would simply pay her a visit in the stables, grooming her and talking with her. She was my dearest companion in times when I thought I had no one, mostly after my mother died.”

“How did your mother die, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Oh, not at all. She was always a frail person, having had a childhood illness that robbed her of her strength. But she was the kindest person who ever drew breath, generous to a fault and always concerned with the welfare of anyone within her eyesight. It was she who taught me about the role that we must play to our servants and our common folk, that we are their protectors and their providers.”

“Don’t they provide for you, you mean? They provide a portion of their crops or face judgment, and they provide their taxes to you, no?”

“Yes, and we’re the ones to see to it that their roads are passable, that their business dealings are always fair, and that their voices are heard in government,” she reminded him kindly. “I admit, it’s a situation I took for granted for many years, and that living here has made me question what I’ve always just assumed to be a right and fair system.”

The only source of discord between Moira and Pryor had been over the house Nathaniel had started. Moira wanted it completed, given that the house was mostly finished and the necessary lumber was sitting around the property, going to waste in the elements. Pryor, who saw no need for his wife to need a home of her own a few miles away, urged her to put the lumber and the effort into completing the rest of her fence before Nathaniel’s deadline came due. Moira finally had her way of it with her explanation.

“I’ve been thinking a good bit about how you felt toward Gretchen when we first came. You were appalled that she would choose to be a servant, and were convinced she served against her will. Although I’m not saying I agree with you, being in Montana has made me question her role now that she’s in America and no longer a part of the household at Brennan Castle.” Moira paused to make sure that Gretchen wasn’t within earshot. “I want to give her the house and a bit of the land outright when she decides to marry.”

“Give it to her? But what good would it do her without suitable land to farm it?” Pryor asked.

“The same as it’s doing now. It can be grazing land, she could breed and sell livestock; for all we know, she may end up as a teacher, a seamstress, a nurse… perhaps she’ll marry a pastor and we’ll bring Godliness to the frontier. This is America, after all!” Her eyes twinkled with delight at her fun, but Pryor was impressed with her generosity. He nodded his consent, and agreed to begin work on the house.

Moira had had one other order of business to attend to before she could marry Pryor: she had to let her brother know. She sat down to draft a letter a hundred times, but could not bring herself to explain that she was marrying a man he hadn’t chosen for her, and one who had no noble blood. She put aside thoughts of her mother and father and what they must think of her situation, deciding that dwelling on what couldn’t be was fruitless. She eventually penned a brief note, informing Ronan that all was well and that she would be marrying at the end of the month.

Now, Pryor helped Moira up into the carriage tenderly before offering a hand to Gretchen, who would serve as a witness to the ceremony in New Hope. Nathaniel had arrived earlier that morning to accompany them and serve as the other necessary witness. Moira shot Gretchen a knowing, hinting look when Nathaniel sat near her in the wagon, but the maid only rolled her eyes.

They chatted happily throughout the long drive to the town, talking about the spring season ahead of them and their plans for planting. Nathaniel talked as excitedly as always about his plans for his new piece of property, already plotting both his crop and his own modest garden. He’d already begun to set aside his earnings for a breeding pair of horses, and a small stable of cattle. Gretchen, who rarely spoke up in the presence of company, suggested a pig for the return on the meat and the lard for cooking through the year.

“And a pig will eat your scraps, which will help to keep the bears away,” she suggested before remembering that she was more comfortable watching others’ conversations.

Nathaniel turned to her, impressed with her knowledge. “Did you work a farm then?” he asked, waiting intently for her answer. Gretchen only shook her head, but Moira intervened to save her from answering, explaining what Pryor had had to teach her during their argument shortly after her arrival on his property before changing the subject.

“Mr. Russell, you haven’t told us your ideas for hunting this year. What do you think of the stag population? I’ve always heard they were prized for their antlers, but would you not think the does are the more tender meat?”

Nathaniel turned his attention to a lively discussion of the hunting to be had in the Montana territory, as well as the recent talk that that Indians would refuse to conduct trade with any hunters who took a doe or stag outside of their recommended breeding times. Gretchen looked gratefully at her mistress, silently thanking her for saving her from being the center of attention.

They reached the town in a matter of a couple of hours, and Moira’s nerves immediately began to flutter. She’d been in the region for nearly two months, and in America for almost three. She’d crossed not only an ocean but also an entire continent’s worth of land, but this was still by far the most frightening thing she’d done. She was about to pledge herself to another person for the rest of their lives, and was doing so without the knowledge or permission of the one person who mattered most to her, outside of Pryor.

“I’ll stop in at Jorgenson’s and see if there is any news or post,” Pryor said, leaning over to speak in her ear. “Do you have need of anything? Anything at all? Just say it, and Jorge can get it for us.” Moira shook her head, and Pryor took her hand, holding it in his briefly before kissing the back of it. He released her hand just as quickly and climbed down from the wagon, leaving Gretchen and Moira to watch after the two men as they went to the mercantile.

“Are you sure about this, my lady?” Gretchen finally asked, still watching the two men’s backs.

“Now is a fine time to ask me that, dear!” Moira said hollowly, but inside, she was overjoyed. She was only minutes away from marrying Pryor, and it was a decision that she had been more sure of than any she’d made in a long time. This was why she was in Montana, she was sure of it. She had crossed an ocean for him, and it was right.

Soon, though, Pryor returned to the wagon without Nathaniel, having left him in the general store. He held a flat package in his hands and held it out to Moira when he reached the wagon.

“Jorge says this is for you,” he said, holding out the thick ivory paper. Moira took it and looked it over, then turned her attention to Gretchen. She dismissed the maid with a slight motion of her head, then waited for the girl to scamper down from the wagon in an obedient gesture that still seemed to amaze Pryor.

“My lady! You must have a bouquet of flowers for your wedding day! I’ll arrange it, you’ll see!” she cried, looking back once to see that her mistress was all right, then turning and walking away, giving the couple their privacy. After Gretchen was some distance away, Moira patted the wagon seat beside her and gestured for Pryor to join her.

“I have a question to ask you, and it is of no importance other than to sate my own womanly curiosity,” she began, looking down at the package without seeing it. Pryor waited expectantly for her to continue. She looked away so as not to direct her question to his still eager face before asking softly, “Can you not read, Pry?”

“No, I can’t. Does that matter to you?” he asked, genuine in his answer and unashamed as well.

“Of course not. Not in the least. But… do you wish to be able to read?”

“I hadn’t thought of it, to be honest. I don’t need to read to know how to plant my crops or birth my livestock, and reading never taught me how to face my cabin away from the wind to keep the cold out. I suppose it would be a helpful thing to know I’m not being taken for a fool in business, but from day to day, I have no need of letters.” He stopped and raised Moira’s downcast chin with a gentle fingertip. “Does that shame you?”

Moira clasped both of Pryor’s hands in hers. “Never! There is naught you could do that could shame me! Not ever!” Her desire to prove her pride in her husband made her grow bolder, and she pressed both of his hands to her warm lips. “If you did wish to know your letters, I would be honored to help you. But if you have no need, then it is naught anyone’s say in the matter. And I will be here if you did have need someday. I will read for you.”

Pryor smiled with relief, knowing there was no more need to keep any secrets from his wife. “Are you ready to find the county clerk?” Moira nodded. “Then let us find Nathaniel and this bouquet of yours!”

“Oh, I didn’t even open this letter. I’m sure ‘tis about the claim,” she said, holding Pryor back as she reached for the letter. She turned over the heavy paper and stopped when she saw the familiar wax seal. She tore it open and slid a thick folded sheet from the envelope. She smoothed it out and held it closer, then nearly fainted from the sight of the handwriting she would have recognized anywhere.

It was written in her brother’s hand.

Dearest sister,

I pray this letter reaches you, and I pray that it finds you well in body and spirit. You cannot know what has transpired in the time since you left me, and I can only hope that honest men have been truthful with me and will deliver my words to you.

I live in grievous fear that the worst has befallen you. Our uncle, may he eternally rot, contrived for your kidnapping once you left Brennan Castle. He sold you into marriage to a faceless, penniless stranger somewhere in the Americas as punishment for not aligning with that traitor Macomby. His efforts to lay claim to our fortunes have proven for naught, as the king himself has intervened to see that just punishment befalls our father’s murderer.

Yes, our father was poisoned by his own brother, a thief intent on gaining all that he could from the family’s fortunes. He was not content with the fair dealings our father’s future will would stipulate, and sought to destroy our father first in body, then in heritage as he disposed of us. It is only by our good fortune that an accomplice within Uncle’s household has come forward and given testimony.

If this letter finds you well, or finds you at all, I beg you to come home. Brennan awaits you, and I await the opportunity to look upon my dear little sister again. There is naught that anyone can do to divide our household now, and I look forward to reuniting again as a family. I pray that you are well and happy, and that my correspondence does not reach you too late.

Loving forever, your brother,

Ronan, Lord Brennan

“My lady?” Gretchen asked softly as she reached the wagon. She laid a thin cluster of delicate purple and white blooms on the wagon seat, all she could find because of the late winter weather, then gently put a hand on her mistress’ arm. Moira didn’t look at her, instead looking at the paper in her lap and watching as her tears slipped from her cheeks and splashed on the letter, running the ink into small pools. Gretchen peeked at the handwriting and saw Lord Brennan’s name and seal. “Oh, dear Lord, spare us! Say ‘tis not bad news from home!”

Moira shook her head, but couldn’t speak. She passed the letter to Gretchen, who read it eagerly, pressing her hand to her mouth in shock before she’d even read the first third of the page. Pryor looked between them, and gauged that something was wrong even before they had begun speaking rapidly in Irish, the strange brogue-filled words sounding ominous. Instead of interrupting, he let them finish talking; if they weren’t using their English, he knew there must be a reason.

Finally, Moira turned to Pryor and began to explain. “The letter is from my brother…”

“The one who was supposed to duel over you? Is he okay?”

“He is,” she answered, nodding. “There was a plot between my uncle and a handful of others, a plot to gain the inheritance of Brennan Castle. You were right about my uncle and his involvement with sending me to be your bride. Once I left home, Uncle worked through some contacts in America—that sniveling clerk in the land office, to be sure—to send me out to you instead of to my claim. That plot, and the false betrothal that would have led to the duel you spoke of, have been discovered and thwarted, the saints be praised.”

“Oh, well then, this is good news! What a great thing to find out on your wedding day!” Pryor said cheerfully, though his smile faded when he saw that Moira didn’t return his excitement, and that fresh tears lid down her pale face. She shook her head. “It isn’t good news, my dear? Or… it isn’t your wedding day?” He held his breath while he waited for her to answer.

“Pry, I’m… I’m so sorry…”

He held up a hand to stop her from saying anything more. “You don’t have to explain. I know what you’ve been through and I know that coming here was never your choice. You’re free to go home now, what person wouldn’t choose that? You can have your family and your pretty castle again, so you don’t need a cabin in Montana with a husband who doesn’t know his letters. Heck, even your servant girl can read, and I can’t. No, it’s better this way. Go home, Moira, go back to your old life. This one isn’t what you want.”

He turned and walked away, the soles of his boots scuffing the hard frozen ground. Gretchen turned to admonish Moira.

“What do you think you’re doing, miss?” she hissed, keeping her voice low so Pryor wouldn’t hear. She looked up and saw that Nathaniel had caught up to him, and the look of happy pride on his face quickly melted into surprise then hurt as Pryor explained what had transpired. “What will you do?”

“It is as my brother has said. He wants me to return to Brennan; he wasn’t at all angry in his letter!”

“Angry? Your brother? What right would your brother have to be angry, if you’ll pardon my asking, ma’am?”

“Why, he has every right! I ran from my home and left him to fend for himself, not only in the care of our estate, but in all the horrible goings on! He would be within his rights to cast me out and never speak of me again, but instead, he has begged me to come home! That is why I must return at once!”

“And what of Mr. MacAteer?” she asked in a solemn voice.

“What of him?” Moira asked, holding back more tears and even more pain. She knew what he must be feeling at that moment, because she was feeling every bit of the hurt and loss that had been written on his face before he turned away.

“My lady, you can naw let him go! ‘Tis a good man, he is, and you clearly care for him. There is respect and affection twixt you, and you would let that go by the wayside to return to Ireland? And to what? What is waiting for you in Brennan ‘tis worth losing Mr. MacAteer?”

“Gretchen, that is our home, how can you even ask if there’s anything of worth about it?”

“No, my lady, ‘tis not me home any longer. ‘Twas only me home when I did naw know better, when I did naw know that I could wake up each day and be asked to fetch a breakfast, rather than expected.”

“Are you now turning your back on me, too, then? You’re leaving me as well, all because I wish to look upon my brother and my home again?”

“Aye miss, that I am,” Gretchen answered coldly. “If you would have me choose a life of serving, only to watch you be sold off to another strange husband when the suitable deal happens along, then I’ll take my chances on the frontier. Have you considered that? Do you truly not know that you escaped from having to marry a filthy old man, and now you’re running back home so your brother can choose for you another husband?”

Moira didn’t answer. She looked away, watching Pryor’s back. Nathaniel put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but Pryor only shook his head. The scene blurred when her eyes flooded with tears again as she watched the broken man in the distance.

Once, her life had been so easy, and not only because she rarely had to lift a finger for her own care. Certainly the servants and her status as a lady had kept her in a life of comfort; she had only to ring a bell or call out a request, and serving boy and nobleman alike bowed to her will. The trade off, though, was the knowledge that her life was not her own to do with as she chose. She had always known that her father, and later, her brother, would be tasked with making a suitable match for her. She had never questioned it, and, in fact, had always welcomed that knowledge.

It was as it should be. As men, they had far more opportunity to meet eligible matches, but even more important, they were privy to the real character of the men they knew. She, however, was only made aware of their courtly manners and their ability to dance at parties. Any conversations she had around men were limited to the weather or poetry or the finer differences between Spanish lace and Belgian lace. It only made sense that they should be the ones to choose, as they knew which men were to be trusted, which ones were a little too fond of drink, and which ones would bring scandal and ruin on her with unscrupulous business dealings.

Now, she couldn’t imagine going home and having her hand offered in marriage, not after experiencing the freedom to make her own decisions… and her own mistakes. It was as her maid had said: she’d narrowly escaped marriage to a stranger twice now, so what made her so willing to run back to Ireland, back to the life of a spoiled but captive lady?

“I don’t know what to do, Gretchen,” she whispered. “I miss my brother so much that it pains my heart, but I cannot leave Pryor. His happiness means the world to me, and for the first time in my life, I know he is one person who genuinely values my happiness as well. Not because he has to,” she said, nodding towards her servant. “But because it also brings him joy.”

“I can naw tell you what you must do, my lady,” her maid said with a comforting smile, her former mirth having burned itself out. “But I can tell you this much: if you go back to Brennan, there will always be a part of you here, a part you’ve gone and left on the frontier. And you will spend the rest’a your life grieving because you’re no longer whole.”

“When did you become so wise, Gretchen?” Moira asked, smiling and wiping away her tears with her handkerchief. “If you’ll pardon me for being so bold,” she teased the younger girl. “I have a husband to claim.”

Moira jumped down from the wagon on her own and raced toward Pryor. Nathaniel’s eyes went wide at seeing her run toward them, her full skirt flying behind her as her slippered feet danced over the icy ground. He stepped away as Pryor turned toward the sound of her voice, calling out to him.

“Pryor! My dear! I want to marry you! Today, right this very minute, I want us to be married!” She waited with a breathless smile for him to respond, but instead, he narrowed his eyes and regarded her coldly. He didn’t speak, he simply watched her eyes as the joy dissolved out of them.

“You’ve denied me twice, Moira. Why should I believe you want me now?”