Travis bottled his anger behind his stoic façade. “As I have told you before, the choice is your daughter’s. As far as I and my people are concerned, we are already wed.”
Dr. Farrar glanced up at Alicia’s, but at her silence, he returned to examining his patient.
“My daughter will do as I say. If she does not, I will see you hanged.” Her father hit the nail in her coffin.
As she had known, there would be no choice. Men were violent and unreasonable by nature, her own father included. Much as he deserved it, the father of her child could not be hanged.
The minister’s placating words had no effect on the argument. Numbly, while they fought, Alicia acted as interpreter between doctor and patient. Not that Homasinee needed an interpreter, but her fear blocked her tongue, and Alicia explained the symptoms as best she could.
By the time Dr. Farrar had produced a bottle of strengthener and restorative and ordered complete bed rest, the argument outside had died to ominous silence. They awaited Alicia’s appearance.
Dr. Farrar left first, giving Alicia time to reassure the patient and administer the medicine. When Alicia stepped into the dirt street, it had been cleared of women and children. Men were arriving from the woods as word of the intruders spread, but they maintained a respectful distance until they had some signal from Lonetree.
Chester frowned at her, but he spoke with authority. “Alicia, you are coming with me. Mr. Hale has agreed to perform the ceremony first thing on the morrow. Your fiancé will be kept under guard until then to assure his appearance.”
Weary down to her very bones, Alicia answered without emotion. “You would do better to set the guard on me. Travis will be there.”
She could almost feel the tension in the muscles of the man beside her, but Travis said not a word, merely sending her a scathing look.
“If you are not, he will hang.” Chester gestured toward the woods and a group of riders trotted from the shadows carrying shotguns and leading Alicia’s mare.
Bear Mountain stepped forward, speaking sharply to Travis and issuing curt commands to the men around them. The confrontation could have been deadly, but Travis halted it with a few short words in his language and an abrupt agreement to Chester.
“My boat is at the river. Alicia will be more comfortable there. Make whatever other arrangements you prefer; I will follow.”
Without expression Travis turned his gaze to Alicia. “Homasinee?”
“The doctor says it would be best if she did not travel. He has given her medicine and instructions. There is nothing more you can do.”
By all rights she should hate him, but Alicia was too drained to feel anything. Even the embarrassment of all those men staring at her, knowing how she had spent these last nights, failed to reach that part of her that mattered. She felt like the condemned prisoner standing before the court. Tomorrow would be her day of execution. Or Travis’s.
Chapter 32
Travis waited inside the cool darkness of the church, surrounded by the bodyguards who had not left him since the village. These were men he had joked and laughed with on social occasions, but he could read the fear and anger in their eyes now. He was not one of them, would never be one of them, and he had proven it by his treatment of a white man’s daughter. They would hang him without a qualm if Alicia did not appear.
That danger seemed likely after his actions these past days. Still, he did not see how he could have acted differently. He could never have let her walk out of his life as she had planned, but Travis had finally grasped some of the reason Alicia feared him—he had reacted as a man who had lived the violent life of the river too long.
A woman who had been raised out here might understand his actions, but not Alicia. He had been too long from civilization. She had some justification for her fears, and his hopes sank faster than stones in a pond.
He could very well hang before this day ended. Travis glanced out the church window, trying to judge the time by the angle of the sun. Approaching noon, he surmised. The few guests had begun to squirm restlessly in the pews.
Travis’s heart lurched at a rustle of activity at the rear of the church. Would she really allow him a second chance? Perhaps Chester Stanford had arrived to order his execution. The men beside him had the same thought. They stiffened to attention, clutching their shotguns nervously. It would not be easy to outrun those guns, but Travis damned well planned to give it a try. He braced himself for a dash into the crowd, where they would not dare fire.
To Travis’s immense relief, Letitia appeared garbed in brilliant blue and a collar of pearls, lending her respectability to the occasion. She clung to Chester’s arm and proceeded up the aisle, smiling as if it were the happiest day in her life, occasionally stopping to whisper to one of the guests or throw a laughing gesture to a friend in a far row. Travis mentally applauded her performance while eyeing his prospective father-in-law. Stanford never looked once in his direction.
The church doors were thrown wide, allowing in a stream of golden sunshine and the outpouring of a mockingbird. Heads turned and whispers of delight rose through the gloom. Travis fastened his gaze on the doorway and prayed.
Alicia appeared in a satin sheath that trailed behind her in a river of shimmering silver blue. A froth of intricate lace descended to her shoulders, hiding the dark curls pinned in a chignon. A trick of the light caught the brilliance of sapphire eyes as she glanced toward Travis, but she turned her gaze back to the long aisle ahead of her. She did not look at him again as a violin began to play and she proceeded to the altar.
Alicia started nervously when Travis stepped from the shadows to join her. She knew he had dressed respectably for the occasion in a formal suit and cravat, but she could see no more than that from the corner of her eye, wanted to see no more than that. It was easier pretending a nameless, faceless man stood beside her than to admit she was actually binding herself for life to a renegade keelboatman with the morals of a savage.
As the minister murmured the first part of the ceremony, Alicia stood as if listening to a sentence of death. When it came time to repeat their vows, her voice sounded hollow, even to herself. The minister referred to Travis as Maximillian, making the ceremony even more unreal. Only when Travis took her hand to place the sapphire ring upon her finger did the tolling bell of reality peal. Just as he took possession of her hand now, he would take possession of everything she owned or claimed later, including herself.
She tensed, and Travis had difficulty sliding the ring on her finger. She jerked her hand away when it was done, and continued staring at a space somewhere over the minister’s shoulder. Legally she had no rights, but if he thought it would be easy, he was mistaken. The battle had only just begun.
With the end of the ceremony Travis turned to kiss his bride and read well the rebellion in stormy eyes. In his relief, he held her hand but kept the kiss to a chaste peck. Now was not the time to create a scene. His collar still felt tight from the threat of the noose.
Before they could escape down the aisle, the minister muttered about marriage papers that had not yet been signed. He led them to the side of the church, where someone held out a pen and a writing desk and a piece of parchment.
Travis scrawled his name on the line indicated. He handed the pen to Alicia, who gazed warily at the legal document. She scrutinized the writing, probably just to irritate the men around her.
When she came to Travis’s scrawl, her eyes widened, and she shot him a look of fury. In an undertone she asked scathingly, “Is this your idea of a joke? Or did you think you could nullify this whole miserable episode by forgery?”
Travis gave her a startled look, then glancing where she pointed, shrugged. “That’s my name. Ask your father for the particulars if you do not believe me.” He watched her reaction, wondering if the title that was part of his legal name would ease her anger any. It had not occurred to him that Chester Stanford had not informed his daughter that she would be marrying into the British peerage.
Alicia stared in disbelief at the “Viscount Delaney” scribbled after a host of given names. She still knew nothing about this man she’d married. It would be fitting if she spent the rest of her life behind locked doors, like a mad aunt in the attic.
Which gave her a perfectly workable idea of how she would even the score. Neatly penning her name across the document, she gave the minister a lovely smile and dutifully took Travis’s arm to be escorted down the aisle. Her bridegroom would not be quite so confident of himself when she finished with him. Viscount Savage, indeed!
Travis was not fooled by the polite smile on Alicia’s lovely lips. She was a lady first and last, and she would play the part of dutiful wife in public. What he could expect when he took her home was anyone’s guess. He knew enough by now to realize the lady’s temper was quick and unpredictable. The knife in his back would be invisible but just as painful.
To his surprise Alicia demurred when her father offered his home for their wedding night. Chester appeared stunned at her refusal, but Letitia smiled and wished them well.
The usual merrymaking had been foregone, reportedly in deference to Alicia’s mourning, and in no time at all a parade of horses, wagons, and carriages escorted the newlyweds to the river and Travis’s waiting boat.
Chester still seemed shaken by the suddenness of this departure, but he hugged his daughter and shook his son-in-law’s hand. “I’m trusting you with my most precious possession, damn you, Travis. If you hurt her, I’ll have your hide.”
Travis wished for the time to take him aside and ask why he had never told Alicia of his heritage, but it no longer seemed relevant. A title made no more difference to Alicia than his Indian ancestry. She hated him for himself alone. He wondered if that was an accomplishment to be proud of.
As the boat shoved off, Alicia waved to the gathering of friends and relatives on the shore, but as soon as they were out of sight, she strode to the cabin and shut the door. If Travis dared follow her, she would hit him over the head with the wine bottle left suggestively upon the bed, apparently a gift from the crew.
It had all happened too fast. She had lost the job she loved. Her father had sold her to a British lord. She didn’t even know if arrangements had been made to send her clothes downriver. She had nothing but a few remnants of pride to cling to. And Travis was the reason. Or Lord Delaney, or whatever his name was. She wasn’t even certain of her own name now. Lady Delaney? Mrs. Delaney? Mrs. Travis? Lord in heaven help her!
The crew had begun celebrating early, and their boisterous songs echoed off the riverbanks as they passed the jug around, guiding the boat downriver with little need of effort. Shadows had already grown long by the time they reached the landing Travis had constructed. Alicia felt the boat bump against the shore with dismay.
This time Travis did not carry her ashore, but politely lent his hand in assistance. Alicia jerked away, sweeping up her skirts and maneuvering the tricky path on her own. Travis shrugged and followed.
The house loomed dark and empty when they reached it. There had been no time for preparations, no means of sending someone out to prepare beds and meals and fires. Travis had no servants.
“Becky and Auguste will be out tomorrow,” he muttered, opening the door.
The coldness of the house seeped into Alicia’s bones, and tears leaped unbidden to her eyes. The house had held so much hope and sunshine the last time they were here, the time their child could have been conceived. Now she saw only the bleak emptiness of the type of marriage her mother had faced, and she could not meet Travis’s eyes.
“I cannot fix dinner in this.” She indicated the long train of her gown. “Have you something I can wear? An old shirt, some breeches?” She strode into the gloom of the hall, away from the threatening presence of her husband.
“Upstairs in the wardrobe you will find one or two things that might suit. I will start the fires and see if they don’t have something cooking in the bunkhouse. You shouldn’t have to cook your own wedding meal.”
“It doesn’t matter. I am capable of fixing my own.” Proudly Alicia tilted her chin and proceeded up the elegant stairway, tears streaming down her cheeks.
In the wardrobe she found an assortment of dresses made up from materials she recognized as having admired in the dry-goods store. Travis had bought her gifts! Curse Becky’s tattletale tongue.
Without so much as a candle, she could only admire the workmanship in the twilight, but even in that, the colors shone like jewels. Travis preferred her in bright colors instead of the drab ones she had worn since her mother’s death. Spite made her reach for the darkest one in there, a deep indigo with less neckline than she had ever worn, but she suspected they would all be of the same make. Travis meant to dress her to his taste, but Becky would bring her own clothes on the morrow.
The rich wool fit like a second skin and Alicia eyed the seams of the bodice with trepidation. She would not have to worry about wearing these gowns for very long, in any case. Shortly it would be obvious the gowns no longer fit.
The happiness Alicia had once found in this thought faded to an aching sorrow. Once Travis learned of her pregnancy, he would crow with pride and strut about like a rooster, knowing he had accomplished his goal. She was his, until death do they part. What little pride remained to her would be lost.
She would keep it from him as long as she could, however. She knew how to play the part of wife, how to run a household, how to cook. She was well trained for her place in things, as every lady should be. She would make a home of this place if it killed her, simply because her child must grow up here. Beyond that she would not go. She had given of herself once and been humiliated far beyond her imagination. Never again.
Travis lifted his head from gazing at the fire as Alicia entered the kitchen. He caught his breath at the beauty of milk-white shoulders emerging from the satin sheen of blue. No ornament adorned Alicia’s graceful throat except the tangle of a silken curl escaped from its pin, but that was enough. He wanted to jerk the remaining pins from her hair and bury his fingers deep in thick mahogany cascades, but he could see by the iciness of her eyes that time had not come. Might never come.
He gestured toward the tin plates on the crude table. “I have had no time to make this house a home. I hope you will be able to do that.”
“My things should be arriving from Philadelphia any day now,” she said coldly. “We can manage without for a while.”
At least she was talking, and Travis allowed hope to enter as he produced a bottle of wine and poured it into two cups. Alicia spooned the thickened broth and lumps of meat and beans onto the plates.
They ate in relative silence, Alicia barely picking at her meal while Travis gulped his with all the gusto of a condemned man. He could not find the words to apologize for his behavior, could not really find the need to apologize. He had done what he had to. He was sorry he had embarrassed her, but that would be easier to say in the aftermath of lovemaking, when they were a little more relaxed. The anticipation of his wedding night raised his spirits.
Water heated over the fire while they ate. As Alicia began to rinse and scrape their plates afterward, Travis carried buckets to the wash pitchers and tub upstairs. Someday he would have to build a bath house and teach Alicia to enjoy it. For this night he would anticipate her wishes and provide a hot bath.
When Travis returned downstairs, he offered Alicia what privacy he could, hoping to ease her tension. “I will check on the horses and leave some orders with the men. Don’t worry about the fire, I will bank it when I come in.”
Alicia dried her hands on a towel and nodded acknowledgment, but remained in the kitchen until Travis was out the door. Then she strode for the protection of the bedroom upstairs.
Fire danced in the grate and a steaming bath awaited her. A gown of gossamer weave lay across the bed covers, another gift from her husband, she surmised. As usual, he had prepared all the trappings for seduction. But this time he would not succeed.
Without a qualm she threw the bolt of the bedroom door.
Half an hour later, Travis returned to the house, hopeful hot water and wine had done their work and that Alicia had begun to thaw. They were married, for better or worse. It was not as if they were strangers to each other’s beds.
Repeating this litany of logic, Travis climbed the stairs. He could imagine the gown on her now, the soft folds of material clinging to Alicia’s high, full breasts, silhouetting her supple waistline and slender hips, disguising the long limbs that drove him to distraction when they wrapped around him. He would have the whole night to make love to her, teach her the foolishness of denying what they both wanted, and with God’s will, give her the child she craved. It would work, he would make it work.
When Travis encountered the barred door, he still did not grasp the future in store for him. He rattled the wood, calling out to wake Alicia from whatever reverie she sought in her bath. When he received no reply, he shook the door louder, setting up a thundering that came from his heart.
“Alicia, are you asleep? Unbar the door, please.”
He heard a movement within and breathed a short-lived sigh of relief. The light under the door went dark, and he could hear the creak of wood as the bed sagged beneath Alicia’s weight. He continued to stare dumfounded at the barred door even as it became obvious that Alicia had no intention of unfastening it.
Once she had barred her door to him. Never had it occurred to him that she would try again. With disbelief Travis stared at the solid oak he had so carefully fitted with the precaution of an unbreakable bar to protect their privacy. Not even an ax would destroy that bolt without a night’s chopping. And he would not lower himself to that level.
With a curse Travis swung on his heel and sought the cold comfort of the kitchen fire, the pleasures of his wedding night burned to unwelcoming ashes.
Lord Rogue Page 27
