Lady Fugitive (36 page)

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 meetings 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."

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.