Darby: Bride of Oregon (American Mail-Order Bride 33) (8 page)

Darby took her time in the bathing room while a
table was set in the master bedroom. She’d had enough putting on of brave
faces, and she wasn’t about to put on another for the maids. So, only after it
was very quiet on the other side of the door did she venture out again.

She willed her hand not to shake when she reached
for the door that separated their two rooms, but it ignored her. She willed her
body to step through the door, but it ignored her too. Instead, she stood on
the threshold and waited for Rand to help.

He laughed lightly and started to stand. She
remembered what a chore it would be for him and hurried forward. “Don’t get up.”

He checked her expression, then nodded and resumed
his seat behind the impromptu dinner table. “At least I got you through the
door.”

The joking helped more than she could have hoped.
And for the second time since arriving in Portland, she sat down with her
husband to enjoy a wedding supper, of sorts. But this time, when the meal was
finished and the plates cleared away, neither of them left the room, let alone
the house.

The night unfolded quite differently than she’d
expected, and all her fears were chased away by a gentle and tender champion.
In the morning, she was shocked to find how rested one could feel without
having much real sleep at all. And though she’d avoided meeting Rand’s eye when
first they woke, a few kisses chased away her embarrassment. And she reveled in
the sense that she was no longer alone in the world.

Thankfully, he seemed to have a hard time letting
her out of his reach, let alone his sight. In fact, when Shadow and Jezebel
arrived that afternoon, in disguise, for their daily update of the Phantom’s
movements the previous night, he invited her to join them.

For the past weeks, his men had taken turns
wearing his costume and making their presence known while everyone in the city
believed Rand and his bride to be were out of town. And since Harrigan had
insisted he’d mortally wounded the Phantom, it only added to the rumor that the
devil might not be mortal to begin with.

Darby prepared a tray of tea and small sandwiches
and carried them into the library. It was a dark room that seemed to suit their
guests and their topic better than the brighter rooms of the house.

Jezebel held one hand to her temple and claimed a
headache. But when she moved her hand away to pick up her tea, Darby could see
a slight lump. The woman gave her a sharp look that warned her to keep her
thoughts to herself. Darby nodded discreetly and reached for her own tea.

The other woman gasped and dropped her cup
carelessly on her saucer as she reached over and snatched Darby’s fingers. She
looked long and hard at the ring, then sent a pointed look at Rand.

He met her gaze with a calm face, then tilted his
head as if daring her to say something. Or warning her not to.

Though Darby was tempted to make her excuses and
leave the room, she realized how pivotal that moment was. Jezebel might have
the loyalty of the Phantom, but when he was Rand Beauregard, he belonged to his
wife.

However, after the previous night, she had a
clearer idea of what it meant to share a man’s attentions. And she decided that
somehow, she would figure out a way to win Rand’s heart so completely that he
would never go to the other woman’s bed again.

As the conversation turned to people and places she
didn’t know, she wondered if the first and smartest thing to do would be to
help Jezebel believe she didn’t want Rand in her bed to start with.

The four of them agreed that, before Rand could return
to his office and get back to his work as Commissioner, he and Darby needed to
sneak out of town in order to return to a bit of fanfare. When he hopped off a
train, there would be no question—he could not be the same man Harrigan sliced
open that night at The Port Queen.

Jezebel suggested they split up to get them out of
town.

Rand ignored her.

They decided they would go north on horseback for
a while, hire a coach after a day or two, then go on to Seattle. After spending
the night there, they would take the train back to Portland. A telegram would
be sent to Jez so she could arrange a little welcoming party of the city’s more
prominent citizens.

Rand could feel the tension building between the
women, now that Jez knew he’d finally taken his wife to bed. But he wasn’t
going to make it easier for them. Darby needed to accept what kind of life he’d
led before she arrived. And Jez needed to accept the fact that he was gone from
her bed for good.

Shadow wasn’t happy with him either, for some
reason. So he invited him to step outside for a word. Jez jumped to her feet.

“We haven’t got time for this. I need sleep or I’ll
be no good to anyone tonight.” She gave Shadow a warning look, and Rand hoped
it had nothing to do with him.

~ ~ ~

With four of his men as an escort, Rand and his
bride set out on horseback in the middle of the night. She’d insisted she could
keep her seat in a saddle and even wore britches to help with the charade.
Anyone watching would never believe a woman was in their company, let alone the
refined Lady Beauregard.

It was lucky for him she wasn’t precisely what he’d
asked for. But where his needs were concerned, it was more important that the
wife on his sleeve was a worthy woman of class. The fact that she was also
willing to ride through the countryside on horseback was convenient, but after
the charade was over, and Harrigan was proven wrong, Rand didn’t intend to ever
have his wife involved with Phantom business again.

Since Darby wasn’t used to riding long in the
saddle, and his leg wasn’t completely healed, they made camp early that first
afternoon. The men laid two fires. One for the newlyweds and one for themselves
further up the hill. Rand had no difficulty relaxing, knowing they’d be watched
over all night. Two men on guard at all times. But Darby had a harder time
settling down.

He remembered, not long ago, he’d also needed
someone to soothe him. And he was sure it had been his wife who’d done the
soothing.

“Do you remember,” he said, once the sunset faded
from the tops of the pines, “when I was out of my mind in pain?”

“Yes.” She swallowed with difficulty as if the
memory was hard for her, too.

“And you sang to me?”

She swallowed again. She looked so prim and proper
sitting on a felled tree trunk with her knees to the side and her hands folded
in her lap. And he wondered what had happened to the girl who had laughed in
the wind as they’d raced across a meadow earlier.

“Darby?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Yes?”

“Would you sing for me now?”

“Sing?” Considering the panic in her eyes, he
wondered if maybe he had imagined the whole thing. But he didn’t quite believe
it. He couldn’t have come up with the tune on his own, and it had been haunting
him for weeks.

But besides his own need to hear the song again,
he hoped a little singing would calm her down. At the moment, she looked like a
startled rabbit getting ready to run.

“Darby,” he said more firmly. “I want you to sing
that song—I don’t know the name. I can barely remember the tune. But I’m sure
you know what I’m talking about.”

She dropped her chin and he couldn’t see her face
for her hair hanging down. “Yes. I remember.”

“Good. If it makes you self-conscious, I won’t
watch you. I’ll just keep my eyes on the fire.”

She nodded, reluctantly, and he turned his
shoulder to her and poked the fire with a long stick.

Darby began humming and he did his best to hide
his surprise. First of all, her voice was lovely and clear, even though she
said nothing at all. Secondly, the tune was even more haunting than he’d
remembered. And it brought with it the very distinct memory of pain—and
something else.

She’d hummed while she hurt him, cleaning his
wound, piercing his skin with her needle. But her voice hadn’t been so clear
then. It had broken, again and again, while she’d cried. And as touched as he
was by that memory, he grew angrier by the second.

Though she hummed the tune, he now remembered the
words. He couldn’t understand them, however…

Because they’d been in Gaelic.

“Stop!”

The humming ceased immediately, as if she’d
expected him to cut her off. He didn’t want to look at her. He just wanted… He
didn’t know what.

The silence stretched out and he knew she wouldn’t
speak, so he did, albeit through clenched teeth.

“You sang me a
Scottish
song while I
writhed in pain?”

“I…” Her sigh was heavy. “I had a Scottish nanny.”

Reasonable. She’d grown up in England. Scottish
servants were probably as common as not.

“Even so,” he said. “I would appreciate it if you
would never sing it again.” He gathered up his bedroll and his saddle bags and
headed away from prying eyes. “I’ll leave the fire to you.”

“Wait.”

He stopped but still couldn’t look at her.

“Will you tell me why you hate all things
Scottish?”

He took a deep breath and tried to clear out the
anger gathering in his chest. But he owed her some explanation.

“Those Scottish bastards are the reason there are
cages below Portland,” he said. “To satisfy their demand for slaves.”

“Scottish bastards?”

By his tone, she should have known better than to
press him, but she had. So he faced her and allowed her to see the hatred on
his face. It was better she understood him anyway. After she’d seen it all,
maybe she would be more careful not to mention Scotland again.

“The sea captains. Red-headed monsters who created
the Phantom with their depravity.
They
are why I haunt the tunnels.
They
are why I cannot sleep at night…because I am tormented by the men I must feed
to that monster to keep the rest of us safe.”

She recoiled from him then. She’d heard enough to
know what kind of a man he truly was. And he wanted her to know—he should have
revealed it all to her before she could get too close. Maybe then she would
have been satisfied to be the pretty porcelain figurine on the shelf of his
honorable mantle, lovely but silent. Keeping those damned emotions to herself.

Run, he wanted to tell her. Run away and never
look back. Run and take your lovely, sadistic voice with you.

And, as if she’d heard his thoughts so clearly, she
got to her feet and ran.

Darby had no idea what she was doing, running down
the slope away from the dark forest and the frightening creature standing in
the shadows, hating her so passionately, he couldn’t stand to lie beside her
again.

Only he didn’t know it.

Her boots pounded the ground as she tried to keep
from descending too fast down the hill. The worst thing she could do now was to
fall and break her neck.

Or was it?

He would be so much better off without her. After
all, another wife was just a letter and a train ride away.

She finally released a sob, but it threw her
forward and she tumbled, arse over teakettle. The momentum took her to the
bottom of the hill in no time, and when she finally stopped rolling, she jumped
to her feet and ran again.

“Darby!”

No!
She ran on. The poor bastard didn’t
want her, but she had no intention of explaining it to him. She never wanted to
face him again. Ever.

“Darby, stop!”

“Ma’am!” One of the guards emerged from the trees
to her right and held out his hands as if trying to catch a spooked horse. She
was mortified. She couldn’t possibly face any of them again.

“Don’t touch her,” Rand hissed. He sounded far too
close. So she turned toward the trees. “Darby!”

He was still angry. Angry was good. Then he would
be less hurt in the end. After all, she was just another red-headed monster to
him. The message in his eyes had been clear.

She’d soothed him with a song once. He’d seen it
as torture. Well, she wouldn’t torture him ever again.

She heard his breath only a second before he
grabbed her around the waist. He spun her around. When they came to a stop, she
put both hands on him and pushed him down. Then she ran again.

She came upon a stream, and though it caught her
by surprise, she scurried across it with quick, close steps. Rand took it in
one jump. He gasped, then cursed. He’d hurt his leg. She refused to care. It
only meant she could get away that much easier.

She heard the horse long before the animal and
rider came around the edge of a clearing. She quickly changed course and dove
into the trees. Rand cursed again. The pines were far too close together now
for a horse and rider to maneuver through them with any speed. And a man with a
lame leg wouldn’t do any better.

Unfortunately, the trees slowed her down as well,
and only then did she realize the pain in her gut wasn’t going to go away.

“Stop, damn you!” Rand was closing fast, but her
legs betrayed her. She had to put her hands on her knees to stay on her feet.

Three guards on horseback moved to block her way
out of the grove. She was caught.

“I’m sorry,” Rand said. She was pleased he sounded
just as breathless as she was. “I shouldn’t have tried to frighten you like
that. It’s just that… It’s like you said. I do hate all things Scottish, but I
shouldn’t have taken it out on you—”

Still refusing to face him, she turned her head to
speak over her shoulder. “Kiss me arse!”

He walked around to face her, his brow twisted in
horror and confusion. Either he didn’t accept what she was trying to say, or he
didn’t understand it. So she made it nice and clear.

“Are ye daft man? I’m Scottish as the day is long,
aye? So heigh back to yer Jezebel and tell the world we never consummated that
marriage. And when I say Jezebel, I wasn’t referring to the woman’s name—”

The world tilted and went dark for a second while
she recovered from a slap across the face. She forced her arms to her sides,
though, and with a smile, dared him to do it again.

The guards stilled. She glanced at them over her
shoulder. “What? Have ye swallowed yer teeth?” She chuckled. “Dinna worry,
lads. He doesna strike women. Just Scotswomen. And those dinna count.”

There. That should do it.

She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head.
“Go on wi’ ye now. We Scots are scrappers. I’ll make out just fine. Dinna
bother leaving a horse.”

His jaw jumped and she wondered if the movement
was caused more by the pain in his leg or the hate in his heart. She’d just
embarrassed him in front of his own men. She was guessing it was the hate.

Finally, he walked away. He waved one man off his
horse, took his place in the saddle, and looked at her again with absolutely no
expression. “Take her to Seattle. Make sure she’s on that train in three days.”

“And where do we take her in Seattle?” a guard
asked.

“Rosemary’s,” Beauregard said. Then he rode out of
her life.

She hoped.