Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) (6 page)

“It was my mother’s maiden name. She was good and kind and wonderful, and I wanted to honor her and forget him.”

He looked out the window at the cove covered in dense fog. How appropriate as a fog drifted over his heart. “Go downstairs, wife. I wish to be alone.”

She stood and gathered most of the items into the basket. “I’ll leave some food for you.”

He didn’t want his heart to soften. He wanted to hold on to the bitterness and let it turn him hard again. He shouldn’t have allowed a beautiful woman, a few sweet lines in a letter, and one night of passion to soften it to begin with. “Take it all. I won’t be in the mood for food this night.”

She rested a hand on his arm and compelled him to meet her gaze. “Please don’t let him do this, Rhys. He’s evil and destroys everything good. Don’t let him destroy what we’ve built in just a short time.”

He caressed her face where he’d been rough. “Leave me for a bit, Gillian; let me brood and digest this news.”

A spark of hope lit in her eyes like a lone star breaking through the clouds after a storm. “Should I leave you some supper?”

Drawn to her in a manner that frightened him, he brushed a kiss on each of her cheeks. “Yes. Bring up some hot chocolate in a few hours and we’ll share the last of Christmas together.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him close. “Thank you.”

“Go now. Just for a bit.’

She nodded, gathered her basket, and left. Her footfalls reminded him of the many trips she’d made up and down the stairs bringing him supplies, or just checking to make sure he didn’t need any coffee or anything. She’d been everything he’d prayed his wife would be…until he heard who her father was. No one chose who fathered them. Rhys had been fortunate with a kind father and mother who raised him to be kind and fair with others. So how did the devil raise an angel for a daughter?

‡

G
illian sat at
the desk and tried to write a letter to her friends. If she’d seen to it Christmas morning she would have had nothing but good news. Now, on the day before the New Year, she wasn’t so sure. Rhys hadn’t been cruel since his initial reaction, but he hadn’t been the same. He still came to her bed, and during those times, he let his guard down and let her enjoy him and give him pleasure as much as he gave her pleasure. But he never stayed long. She knew a lighthouse keeper’s busiest hours were at night, but he seemed all too eager to return to his duties.

During the day, she’d catch him staring at her as if he expected her to grow horns and a pointy tail. She fought between her growing feelings for him, her sorrow at what her father had done, and her anger at Rhys for looking at her and seeing the same kind of person as her father instead of seeing her.

Picking up the pen, she decided to tell her friends the truth.

Dear Emma & Rose,

I hope you enjoyed a Merry Christmas, and I wish you both much happiness in the New Year. I am married now, right and proper. Rhys is everything he claimed in his letters and so much more.

You will never believe it was actually the people of Bass Harbor writing to me on Rhys’ behalf. He didn’t even know about me until I announced we were to marry. I don’t know what changed his mind, but in the end, he took me as his wife.

He is very handsome. So tall, the top of my head rests on his chest. He has a full, red beard, and blue eyes that are warm or ice depending on his mood. He is kind, my friends, something I’ve longed for in a man, and he has a great wolf-dog that, as I write, is guarding me by lying by my feet.

The first night and day were a dream. Then I told him who my father was. In a cruel twist of fate, the very wanton my father married was Rhys’ first wife. Since finding out who fathered me, there has been a distinct chill in the air when we are in the same room. He is still extremely affectionate, but there is a distance greater than when we were strangers.

I can only ask for your prayers for us. I am determined to keep him now that I know him. I cannot say I am in love with my husband, but it will be a short trip for my heart to get to that point. I shall also send a letter of the same to Willow.

I miss you all terribly and wish we could huddle together as we used to and share our dreams and miseries face to face instead of on paper. Please write and let me know if you’ve decided to join the rest of us in this insanity of finding a husband. You can address your letters to the Bass Harbor post. Rhys has a box there and will pick up our mail as he can.

Happiest of New Years to both of you!

Love and friendship always,

Gillian

“Gillian!”

She almost sent the pen flying as Rhys’ booming voice filled the sitting room. Gillian hurried and shoved the letter into an envelope before she turned to find him standing in the room like a captain ready to give orders. His feet were braced apart, and his hands rested on his hips.

“I’m sorry; I was writing and didn’t hear you. Did you need something?”

His mouth turned in a wicked smile, and he scooped her up out of the chair and held her in his arms. His mouth crashed on hers in a hard kiss. “Yes,
ma petite
. I need my wife.”

“For what?”

“This.”

He kissed her again, this time taking all the time in the world to taste her and allow her to taste him back. When he broke the kiss, she filled her burning lungs with air. “Rhys? Why?”

She didn’t bring up the fact that he still held her cradled in his arms. No use in being stupid about the situation. He began walking toward the kitchen. “I don’t know. Do I need a reason to want to be with you?”

“Not at all. I’m thrilled you do. It’s just this is a bit new after days of you trying to avoid me.”

“Exactly. Look at all those days wasted. Gorgeous blue days when I could have snuck away from the light and made love to my sweet wife.”

“In the daylight?”

“All day.”

She gave his chest a small shove. “You’re not suggesting…right now?”

“Alas, no. Not that I wouldn’t mind you talking me into it. But I was wondering if you could man the light for a bit? I’d like to sail over to Deacon and Alice’s and invite them to a New Year’s Eve supper. Of course, you’d have to make the supper unless you wanted beans.”

Gillian roped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “I’d love that, Rhys. Thank you.”

“So, I take it you won’t be talking me into a mid-day tryst. I’m not so hard-headed I couldn’t change my mind.”

She laughed. “You are truly the finest man I’ve ever known.”

He gave her a quick kiss and set her on her feet. “Considering the men you’ve known
, ma petite,
that isn’t much of a compliment.”

She searched his face for the hard lines and icy stare he would get from time to time, but warm blue eyes to rival the cove in spring and his smile assured her he was teasing. “I better get up to the light.”

He took her hand. “You don’t have to stay up there the whole time, Gillian. It’s a gorgeous day, so I extinguished the light this morning. Just light the wicks at sunset, and make sure the vents are positioned correctly. You remember what I showed you?”

“Yes, all of it.” She’d relished the times over the past days when he’d educated her on the basics of the lighthouse. Those were moments when he didn’t see her as the devil, and showed trust in her.

“You better decide what feast you’ll be preparing. I’ll warn you, Deacon outeats Wee Jacques any day.”

She gave him a kiss. “Be careful.”

“I will. Funny how the thought of getting back to a beautiful woman can make a man more cautious.”

Gillian gave him one more hug and then started searching the cupboards and icebox to see what she might put together for a New Year’s Eve celebration. Rhys walked by her on his way out, and she let out a yip when he slapped her backside.

She couldn’t say what had gotten into her husband. That morning, he’d been as distant as the past days; then, out of the blue, he was treating her like they’d been married for years. She would accept this as a belated Christmas gift and not question the whys and what fors. Gillian turned back to her pantry and started removing flour, sugar and other ingredients for a cake. She ran to the door and grabbed her worn wool coat. She tried not to slip as she ran across the yard and down the steps to the boat landing.

Rhys’ forehead folded in a scowl. “Are you trying to kill yourself, Gillian?”

“What kind of cake is your favorite?” She rushed the words while she still had air in her lungs.

Rhys continued to scowl at her until he gave a low chuckle. Wee Jacques stood between her and Rhys as if deciding with whom he wanted to spend his afternoon.

“Vanilla suits me just fine, Gillian. I’m a man with simple tastes.” He captured her mouth with his and ran his tongue over her lips as he stepped back. “Except in the woman I married.”

“Vanilla it is.” She wondered for a minute if she could still take him up on his offer.

“Don’t go giving a man those looks,
mon ange
, unless you’re willing to forgo the party.”

She shook her head and wished she had a mirror to see her expression. She’d like to know for future reference when she didn’t want to meet her neighbors and welcome in the New Year with friends.

“Tonight then.” Rhys cast off the line and jumped into the sloop. “I’ll have to console myself with vanilla cake.”

He sailed off without any other words between them. She dropped her gaze to the wolf-dog by her side. “He ordered you to stay with me, didn’t he, Wee Jacques?”

The dog gave a snort and fell in step beside her. Gillian breathed deep of the pine surrounding her home. She didn’t need a tree in her house when she had a whole forest just outside the door. The wind whipped her skirts, and the salty air seemed to baptize her and welcome her home. She started climbing the stairs with a bit more caution than she’d descended, and shielded her eyes from the bright sun reflecting off the white stone tower. She traced the thirty-two feet beacon, raised to fifty-six feet above water by the granite bluff, to the black top and red light. It wasn’t as tall as the ocean lighthouses, but their lighthouse was just as important. It was where her husband stood guard over the seas.

Another gust of wind sent her feet moving faster, past the covered walkway that led from the keeper’s house to the lighthouse, and then she climbed the three steps that led her back into the house. Wee Jacques entered on her heels. She hoped Rhys had dressed warm enough against the elements. She tugged off the coat she had failed to button, and glared at the plain cotton prairie dress she wore and the fashion boots that didn’t provide much protection. It wasn’t her husband who needed a lesson in dressing appropriately for January in Maine.

Wiping her feet on the rag rug by the door, Gillian finished gathering the ingredients for the vanilla cake. She’d start the cake baking and then check the light. With renewed purpose and hope for a happy New Year, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

‡

G
illian picked up
the dress she’d worn to meet her new husband and held it to her front, admiring it in the looking glass. The baby blue gown was far above what she should have spent. Emma persuaded her to purchase it, saying she should look her best and dress in the fashion of her station. Funny, but Gillian never dressed in the fashion of her station except if her father demanded it when investors joined them for dinner.

Large, puffed sleeves tapered to a point over her hand. The waist was narrow and then flowed into a full skirt. Velvet in a darker shade of blue graced the neckline and the ties around the sleeves, and a sash around the waist. None of it kept her warm enough, nor did she think Rhys’ eyes would have lit at the sight of her like they did in a simple red wool dress.

Folding the fine fabric, Gillian placed the dress in a large trunk at the foot of their bed. Rhys had cleaned it out for her to store whatever she wanted inside. Maybe someday she’d have a daughter, and while she adjusted the dress for style, she could share the strange circumstances that brought her and Rhys together.