Shemaine clamped a trembling hand to her throat. “Papa, don’t!”
“I didn’t need your consent,” Gage answered tersely. Gripping the smaller man’s wrist, be dragged the white-knuckled hand away from his coat. “Shemaine was already mine.”
Maurice stepped near the two whose glares dueled like glinting sabers and informed Shemus bluntly, “He’s the one who bought her papers . . . the one Captain Fitch told us about. The wife-murderer, so the bosun says. Obviously this colonial forced Shemaine to marry him!”
“No!” Shemaine pressed her hands to her face in dismay, for the world, which had seemed like heaven only a moment earlier, was now closing in around her again. Facing her mother, she pleaded for help. “He’s not a wife-murderer, Mama! He asked me to marry him, and I accepted! Because I wanted to!”
Camille was as bemused as her husband, but she moved forward and laid a gentle hand upon Shemus’s arm. “The middle of the road is no place for us to conduct inquiries into this matter, my dear. We must seek a private room; perhaps one at an inn will suffice.”
“Your pardon, madam,” Gage offered stiffly. “There’s been an influx of ships docking here recently, and with only one inn in the hamlet, I rather doubt you’ll find space for even one of you there.”
“But where are we to go?” This time it was the mother who turned to the daughter for help. “There are so many of us. And we’ve come so far. What are we to do?”
Shemaine went to her husband and asked in a subdued tone, “Do you suppose Mrs. McGee would consent to putting them up?”
Gage would have gladly consigned them to sleep in the street if not for his wife. “Possibly tomorrow, but what about tonight, Shemaine? ‘Twould be a late hour before we could get back home. We can’t rout our guest out of bed and burden her with the task of returning to the hamlet and opening her home to people who are strangers to her. ‘Twould be too much to expect of the old woman.”
“Is there some way they can stay with us tonight?” Shemaine cajoled softly. “Perhaps you and I can sleep on the floor. . . .”
“We wouldn’t think of putting you out of your own bed,” Camille interjected, though she could hardly approve of their little girl being married to this stranger. She was so young, and he . . . so, so . . . Camille could find no adequate word to describe her feelings toward the man, except that she was sure he was nothing less than a scoundrel who had taken advantage of her daughter.
“I’d like to see the blackguard put out of my daughter’s bed!” Shemus growled.
“I’d like to suggest an annulment,” Maurice offered boldly. “The beast has no doubt imposed himself upon her. Whether Shemaine admits it or not, I’m sure she was under great duress when she accepted.”
Shemus was not so civilized with his recommendations. “I’d like to see the man gelded!”
Shemaine clapped a trembling hand over her mouth and moaned, “I think I’m going to be sick!”
“Good heavens, child!” Camille cried, looking aghast. “Don’t tell me you’re . . . you’re . . .”
“You’re what?” Shemus implored, looking stricken. If his wife was upset, then it was damned certain he would be infuriated by whatever she was thinking.
Camille waved a hand weakly, hoping against hope it wasn’t true. “With child . . .”
Shemaine closed her eyes and shuddered squeamishly as her father let out a horrendous bellow of rage.
“Where’s a knife? I’ll cut the bloody beggar’s pebbles out right now!”
Shemaine spun around in a panic and bent forward to heave up her previous meal. Gage slipped an arm about her shoulders, lending her support as Nola ran to wet a cloth in the watering trough and Bess stepped forward to wave a vial of smelling salts beneath Shemaine’s nose.
“There now, darlin’, take a deep breath,” the old cook coaxed.
Gage heard a familiar voice cautiously greeting the strangers and glanced around in some relief to find Ramsey approaching him apprehensively. “Calley wanted me ta come out an’ see ’bout ye an’ Shemaine afore we left for home,” he informed Gage. “Soon as I come out of the tavern, I figgered ye were in some kind o’ tiff with these here people. Do ye need any help?”
“Not unless you can supply these good people with beds for the night.” Gage muttered none too happily.
Ramsey was clearly taken aback by the suggestion. “Ye mean ye want me ta be nice ta these here folks? But they were ’bout ta bash in yer bloomin’ head!”
“Aye, an’ I still might!” Shemus threatened, shaking a fist at Gage. “So ye needn’t worry yerself about doin’ any favors for me family!”
Casually ignoring the intimidation, Gage slipped an arm beneath Shemaine’s knees and lifted her in his arms. She had not the strength to raise her head from his shoulder as he faced her father. “If you come home with me, sir, you’ll either be sleeping on the floor or on the settee in the parlor, because your daughter is in no condition to give up her bed.”
“Daughter?” Some enlightenment began to dawn as Ramsey glanced between his employer and the elder gentleman.
Gage ignored the interruption as he reluctantly offered to provide lodging for the O’Hearn family, improvising as he went. “Shemaine’s mother can have the other half of the trundle bed, providing Mrs. McGee doesn’t mind sharing my son’s bedroom with her. My son will either have to sleep in bed with us or on the floor.” His amber-brown eyes fixed the Marquess with an icy stare. “If Mr. Tate, here, will grant you a room at his home, then you may pass the night in reasonable comfort. Otherwise, there’s a roughed-in bunk and a well-used feather tick aboard the ship I’m building. The old shipwright who works for me uses it for short naps after he’s eaten at noon. ‘Tis yours as long as you don’t interfere with his schedule.”
“And where is this ship located?” Maurice asked crisply.
“On the river about a hundred or so paces beyond my cabin, where the rest of us will be.”
“And is there water other than the river, and a place to bathe?”
“In the stream in front of the cabin.” Gage waited, fully expecting the Marquess to reject the idea for want of something better. The man was apparently well acquainted with luxury, but he would find little of it in the wilderness.
“Is this stream inhabited by snakes and such, or have you bathed in it before?”
Gage gave him a slow nod and verbally twisted the knife in the man’s heart. “Shemaine and I have both bathed in it.”
Maurice’s dark eyes held his in a cold, level stare. “Then perhaps Shemaine and I will consider enjoying it together one day . . . after they hang you for your wife’s murder.”
Ramsey gasped sharply and sought guidance from Gage. “Seein’ as how ye’re busy holdin’ yer wife, ye want me ta slap his face or somethin’?”
Though they never wavered from Gage, Maurice’s eyes gleamed in eager invitation, as if he anticipated such an altercation. “Is your friend suggesting that you might desire recompense for the insult by way of a duel?”
“No duel!” Shemaine cried weakly, lifting her head from Gage’s shoulder. She knew only too well that Maurice was an accomplished marksman with dueling pistols. In fact, there were many things Maurice was adept at, not the least of which was his skill at verbally baiting men who antagonized him. He was at his best arguing against the ludicrous suggestions of pompous lords at court. He could flay an adversary with innuendos, and a foe would never know the death blow had been struck until he heard the loud roar of laughter filling a hall.
“As much as I’d like to accommodate you,” Gage lightly sneered, “I see no need to confront you over Shemaine. She is my wife, and I don’t intend to let you kill me so you can claim her as yours.”
Maurice hissed in contempt. “You’re a coward and a sniveling lout.”
Realizing the man was trying to goad him into doing something foolish, Gage slowly responded with a facial shrug. “Think whatever you will, but I have a wife, a son at home and another child on t
he way. . . .”
With a growl Maurice stepped forward to challenge the colonial for possession of his betrothed, but he felt the wind being snatched from his sails as Shemaine, heedless of his proximity, lifted her head from her husband’s shoulder and, with a finger, gently turned that one’s face toward hers. Maurice felt forgotten and betrayed by this young woman whose disappearance had left him mourning and fretting in deep discontent.
Shemaine searched Gage’s lean, handsome visage, and his responding smile assured her that what she had been trying to keep secret from him for at least a little while longer was something that he had already begun to suspect. He had not needed her mother blurting it out to be apprised of her condition.
Shemaine’s lips mouthed a silent question, How?
Gage pressed his lips near her ear and spoke in a hushed whisper. “No interruptions in our nightly pleasures since we married, my love. From experience, a widower knows about monthly cycles and such. Either you were incapable of having them or had gotten with child soon after we wed. It was when I started noticing a change in your breasts that I knew for sure, but I bided my time until you were ready to tell me.”
With a soft, contented sigh Shemaine nestled her head to his shoulder, and Gage continued with the business at hand.
“Your servants are welcome to bed down in some corner of my house,” he told Camille. “Shemaine has been making some new feather mattresses for us. They’re not finished, but they’re still serviceable.”
“Ye gonna be packed in tighter’n trees in a forest,” Ramsey observed dryly. “An’ ye know somethin’ else? Ye ain’t gonna be able ta sneeze without needin’ someone else ta hold yer handkerchief.”
Gage didn’t need his friend to explain in greater detail, for Ramsey had a way of getting directly to the heart of what could eat at a man. Simply put, making love to Shemaine would be nigh impossible without their visitors overhearing.
Shemus brushed his frock coat aside and settled his fists on his lean waist as he stepped up to Gage. “If yer house is so sparse on bedrooms, just where in the hell did my daughter bed down when she wasn’t hitched ta ye?”
“Papa, please,” Shemaine begged, lifting her head and giving her parent a pleading look over her shoulder. “Can’t we wait until we get home to discuss all of this instead of having it out right here in the middle of town?” Her eyes flicked toward the people who had stopped along the boardwalk to gawk at them. “We’ve become a bigger attraction than the bride and groom at the wedding feast.”
“Just tell me!” Shemus insisted irately, fixing Gage with a persistent stare.
“Your daughter slept in the loft until we were married, Mr. O’Hearn,” Gage replied. “But my father is presently ensconced there recuperating from a serious wound. We also have another guest, with whom your wife will be sharing my son’s bedroom.”
“Why can’t she sleep with my daughter?” Shemus demanded.
Gage met his gaze directly and explained as if he were speaking to a simpleton. “Because I’m sleeping with your daughter, and I don’t care to sleep with your wife!”
Hooting in glee, Ramsey clapped his friend on the back in a show of support, but upon finding himself the recipient of a green-eyed glower from Shemus, he brushed a hand down his bushy mustache in a lame attempt to wipe the grin off his face. He coughed behind a hand, managing to curb an unruly twitching at the corners of his mouth, and was reasonably sober when he faced Gage. “Will ye be needin’ ta send yer wife’s kin ta me house now that ye’ve committed yerself ta loadin’ ’em all in yer cabin?”
Gage raised a querying brow at Shemus. “My friend here has some extra bedrooms available now while his sons are working at Williamsburg. If you’d care to pass the night in more comfort and privacy than I’m able to offer you, then I seriously suggest you consider his willingness to put you up. I’m sure your funds are adequate enough that you could ease the inconvenience of having the lot of you in his home. Mr. Tate arrives at my place just after sunrise, if you’d care to come out in the morning and discuss my marriage to your daughter.”
“Perhaps it would be best, Shemus,” Camille suggested, taking her husband’s arm. “We’re all upset, and if we’re crowded together and can’t sleep, we’ll be snapping at each other like a pack of wild dogs.”
Shemus reluctantly conceded to her wisdom. “As you wish, my dear, but I would have this thing out ere long.”
“I know, dear,” she replied sweetly, patting his arm. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
Facing Ramsey, Camille bestowed a gracious smile upon him. “If you would allow us to be guests in your home, sir, we’ll be more than grateful for your kindness and hospitality.”
Ramsey gave her a generous display of his best manners as he swept an arm before him in a flamboyant bow, amazing Gage, who cocked a wry brow at his friend. “Yer ladyship, ‘twill be me very good pleasure ta take ye home with me an’ me wife.”
Shemus raised a brow in sharp suspicion, noticing the man hadn’t included him in his statement. “Do ye welcome the rest of us with as much eagerness?”
Ramsey never minced words when he was firmly set on a matter. “As long as ye don’t slander Mr. Thornton’s good name in me home or in me presence, then I’ll welcome the lot of ye. Otherwise, ye can be findin’ yer own lodgin’ for the night.”
Camille waited for her husband’s response. The appeal in her gentle blue eyes told him that she, too, desired a truce for the night. In consideration of her wishes, he reluctantly nodded, yielding to the conditions bluntly stated by Ramsey.
“Blast, you evil woman!”
The outcry greeted Gage and Shemaine as soon as they stepped through their cabin door, causing them to look at each other in sudden consternation. They could only wonder what mayhem William yearned to commit on Mary Margaret McGee.
Gage bolted toward the back corridor, hoping he could mollify his father before anything more disastrous could be said. Shemaine hastened in his wake, for she could only foresee the Irishwoman needing some gentle soothing after suffering such slanderous abuse.
“You deliberately sacrificed your knave to draw out my king,” William continued accusingly with a chortle. “And now I have nothing better to beat your queen. You take the last hand and the kitty.”
Mary Margaret’s jovial laughter drew Gage and Shemaine to a stumbling halt near the stairs. Weak with relief, they came together in a thankful embrace as the conversation continued to drift down from the upper story.
“Would ye care for another game, me lord?” Mary Margaret sweetly inquired.
“What, and let you beat me again?” His light-hearted scoffing laughter denied the possibility. “ ‘Tis certain I would have no manly pride left after such a thrashing!”
“I haven’t a ken why ye’d be thinkin’ that, me lord,” the Irishwoman trilled in charming tones. “There is much ye have ta be proud o’. Why ‘tis sure I’ve ne’er seen an Englishman better lookin’ than yerself, sir . . . that is, except for yer son, but I’d swear he’s the very image o’ ye. And, of course, there be wee Andrew, who’s claimed the best o’ both o’ ye.”
“Aye, he is a handsome boy, isn’t he?” William heartily agreed. “He brings back memories of Gage when he was no older than Andrew.”
Only a brief pause ensued before the wily matchmaker queried amiably, “Where is yer wife now, yer lordship?”
“Oh, Elizabeth died when Gage was twelve. She caught a chill and became feverish. I was not prepared for the suddenness of her death. It made me terribly angry. I found myself ill prepared to nurture my son with the gentleness she had always displayed. I’m afraid I was gruff and demanding.”
“An’ ye ne’er remarried?” A note of surprise had crept into Mary Margaret’s tone.
“Never wanted to. I was too busy most of the time, what with the challenge of building bigger and better ships. Then, too, I found myself at odds with women . . . I suppose in much the same way I was with my son. I’m sure those with whom
I came in contact thought I was a crusty old man.”
“I find that hard ta believe, yer lordship,” Mary Margaret murmured warmly. “For ye seem quite pleasin’ ta be with. Indeed, ye have a way ’bout ye that reminds me o’ me own dear, departed husband.”
“How is that, Mrs. McGee?” William asked curiously.
“Me name is Mary Margaret, me lord, an’ I’d be honored if ye were not so formal in addressin’ me.”
“Thank you, Mary Margaret. And if you’re of such a mind, my name is William.”
“Aye, resolute protector.” Mary Margaret sighed thoughtfully.
“I beg your pardon?” His lordship’s tone conveyed his confusion.
“William . . . means ‘resolute protector,’ “ Mary Margaret replied. “The name does ye service. Ye were a resolute protector o’ yer son, were ye not?”
“I suppose I was. In truth, I couldn’t bear to think of losing him after I had searched for him so long.”
“Ye must love him very much.”
“Aye, I do, but it has always been rather hard for me to tell him that.”
“Well, ye needn’t worry yerself ’bout it anymore, William. Ye proved yer love far better with yer actions.”
Downstairs in the corridor, Gage pressed a finger to his smiling lips as he looked down at Shemaine. Taking her hand, he led her stealthily from the corridor and across the parlor. Upon entering their bedroom, he gently closed the door behind them. With the same noiseless gait, Gage stepped into the adjoining bedroom to look in on his son. The angelic face was too irresistible not to kiss, and after straightening, Gage found Shemaine slipping to her knees beside the trundle bed. Stroking the boy’s brow lovingly, she sang a lullaby in a voice that was nearly as soft as the gentle brush of her breath. A smile drifted fleetingly across the small, rosy lips before Andrew heaved a sigh and rolled over to cuddle against his cloth rabbit. Gage offered his hand as Shemaine rose to her feet and together they retreated to the adjoining room. Very quietly the bolt was pushed closed.
“I think we should have a boy so Andrew can have a playmate,” Shemaine suggested with a smile.
Petals on the River Page 44
