Cautiously yet curiously, Elle placed the dirty dishes back on the table and stared at them. “Huh,” she said, not feeling any different.
Duncan smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Huh.”
She glanced between him and the dirty dishes. It really didn’t bother her to leave a mess out—much to her own surprise—but she got back to thinking about Duncan’s friends and neighbors—about entertaining people. She frowned at him. “When was the last time you’ve spoken to one of your friends?”
“Friends?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
Elle blinked at him. “Yes. All those people at our wedding…they were your friends, weren’t they?”
“Oh.” He scratched his chin, a contemplative look coming over his features. “Well, most of those people were townsfolk I had spoken with before you arrived. I don’t know them all that well—never spent much time outside of this house, to be honest. People tend to ask questions about your family, and I just could never bring myself to answer them, so I don’t really have any friends here.” His gaze lowered to a table, embarrassment tinting his cheeks.
Elle was still confused. “But then why invite so many strangers to our wedding? We only needed one witness.”
Duncan smiled sheepishly, glancing at everything but her. “I knew your family wasn’t coming down, and I figured weddings were important to ladies…I just wanted you to feel special—like the whole town had to be there to see you.”
Elle was so touched that she didn’t know what to say. After a few seconds of staring at Duncan, she walked over to him and pressed her lips to the top his head. “Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
She remained where she was over him, her hands massaging his shoulders. “So it really is just you and me out here?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes found the dirty dishes again, and she smirked with a mischievous sense of liberation. “Huh.”
The house got filthy within the day. Elle laughed at it from her bed, where Duncan rested beside her.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, stretching in his spot.
Placing a protective hand over her swollen stomach, she turned to him and grinned. “Nothing. I’m just so happy with all of this. I can’t remember a time when I’ve been this happy.” And it was the truth. Even with her first husband, their days were spent focused on working and surviving. She had never felt truly relaxed before; she never felt unashamed about her faults and her mistakes before. She laughed again, reaching out and touching Duncan’s broad chest. “We may be strange ones, but I like it.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I do, too.”
Elle trailed her fingers up and down his torso. She felt him go lax beneath her hand, his chest rising and falling in a smooth rhythm. He was a strong comfort, so warm and solid. Just being near him, she felt safe. Better yet, she felt whole.
Nervousness and uncertainty made her bristle, and she bit her lip. Three words popped up in her mind—three words that expressed so much in regards to Duncan and herself—but neither one of them had spoken them before. She hadn’t even said them to her first husband, and at a time, she hadn’t felt the need to. But now, with Duncan…confliction wormed its way through her, making Elle furrow her brow.
“Elle?” Duncan said, tilting his head. “You alright? You’re making a funny face.”
She snorted. “Charming, as ever.”
“I try to be.”
A genuine smile graced her lips then, and she moved her hand from her stomach and placed it against Duncan’s rough cheek. “I’m just sleepy. The baby’s taking up a lot of my energy, the bigger it gets.”
“You can sleep, sweetheart. All day, if you want.” He laid his own head down on his pillow. “Makes no difference to me. I’ll go to the market later and get some things for dinner.”
Elle nearly said those three words then and there, and she barely managed to keep her lips pressed together. Nodding at him, she let herself sag against the bed. She listened to Duncan’s soft breathing—inhaled his scent—felt his heartbeat beneath her palm. In a matter of minutes, she was soothed and falling asleep with ease.
***
A couple more months went by, and Duncan noticed with a mixed feeling of anxiety and excitement how Elle’s belly grew larger and larger. Often, Duncan considered inviting a doctor to live with them until her baby finally came out. He had been near his parents’ bedroom when his mother had given birth to his younger brother; he had heard his mother’s screams of agony. Whatever Elle was about to go through, Duncan wanted to make sure he could make it as painless as possible. After all, it had been decades since his little brother had been born; modern science had to improve significantly by then, right?
“The doctor lives in town, darling,” Elle reminded him for the umpteenth time. “He doesn’t need to actually live here. He’s not far away.”
“Far enough,” Duncan muttered, his hand ghosting over his wife’s stomach.
Gently, she took his outstretched hand and brought it to her lips. “We’ll be fine,” she breathed over his knuckles before she kissed them.
“I’m more worried about you,” he said, but that wasn’t completely true. What would he do if something happened to her? To her and the baby? The panic these mere thoughts invoked would be nothing compared to the actual pain if he lost them. “I just want you to be safe.”
“I know,” she whispered, pulling him closer to her. She rested her head on his shoulder and held him. “I know. It’ll be alright.”
He held her back, and the two of them swayed back and forth like they were dancing to music. Not that he ever heard of anyone dancing like this, but the two of them were fairly different from others. And he liked it. Hell, he loved it. He loved her.
The thought made him smile, even as his heart panged. As much as he loved her, he didn’t dare to dream that she would truly love him back. What they had now though…it was enough.
He buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply. Yes, it was more than enough.
Their front door was violently kicked open, making Duncan jump and Elle cry out. They both turned toward the direction of the little entryway and watched as a bulky, bearded man walked out of it and toward them.
Duncan immediately placed himself in front of Elle. Glaring at the intruder—his own shock still zapping through him—Duncan said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Peter?” Elle gasped, grabbing Duncan’s arm and squeezing it.
Duncan glanced back at her. “Who?”
“Peter,” the bearded man said, stopping when he stood a few feet away from Duncan. The man—Peter, placed his thumbs inside of his pants and turned his head to spit on the floor. “Peter Abel. I’m her fiancé.”
While Duncan gave this very confused, rude man a reproachful look, Elle snarled, “No, you are not. I terminated the arrangement right before I left New York. I’m married now.”
“So I see,” Peter said, glancing Duncan up and down. “I’m sorry about this, sir, but I’m afraid that woman was promised to me. You have no rights to her. I shouldn’t have let her out of my sights as often as I did, and I will compensate you for your troubles.”
Rage seared through Duncan’s veins, constricting his lungs and making him see red. “Get out of my house.”
Peter’s eyes shined with pity. “Look, I’m sure you are misunderstanding the situation, here.” He pointed toward Elle’s face. “That woman is pregnant with another man’s baby. Not even mine. It was her husband’s before he got killed in one of those textile factories. Her parents gave her over to me to marry and make pure, and she agreed to it. She belongs to me.”
“She belongs to no one,” Duncan growled, clenching his fists so hard they shook. “Leave my house. I won’t ask again.”
Sighing with exasperation, Peter reached behind him and pulled out a gun before aiming it at Duncan’s chest. “Neither will I. The woman’s coming with me, with or without your
permission.”
For several tensed seconds, Duncan didn’t even breathe, his eyes trained on the gun and his mind racing. He tried to think of a plan, but all he could picture was Elle and the baby getting hurt—or worse. Those thoughts tainted his psyche and left him helpless. Soon, he began to tremble.
When Elle began to move around him, Duncan’s arm snapped out and pushed her back. “Don’t,” he growled, his gaze still on the gun.
“He’s not bluffing,” she choked out. “He will kill you and have me, anyway.”
“Listen to the lady,” Peter said, nodding toward her. “I know you’re trying to be honorable here, but you’re only going to make a huge mistake.”
Dread settled within Duncan’s heart, panic jolting through her numb limbs. He could think of no argument against theirs; he couldn’t think of any way to save Elle and himself from this man. There was no guaranteed promise of success, whatever he did.
But if he did nothing?
Elle moved to the side, and Peter’s eyes followed her while his gun remained aimed at Duncan.
Duncan wasted no more time thinking; he sprinted forward and tackled Peter to the ground before Peter could even process what was happening. His armed hand flailed to the side as they fell, and he fired off a rogue shot at the wall.
Elle screamed.
Duncan made sure to keep pressured on Peter’s armed hand while the two men fought. Peter threw some punches with his free hand into Duncan’s side. Pain throbbed there and worsened, but Duncan chose to ignore to use his free hand to grip Peter’s throat tighter and tighter.
Duncan managed to make Peter let go of the gun, but Peter managed to punch Duncan hard enough to make him recoil violently. Peter used that to his advantage, shoving upward and over and making the two men tumble. They kicked and punched at one another as often as they could. All the while, Duncan’s mind was on Elle—protecting Elle—keeping her safe—keeping her away from this danger.
Peter swung his fist out and smashed it against Duncan’s jaw, making Duncan’s head twist to the side in a jarring motion. He saw darkness and stars bursting in his vision, and before he knew, Peter was on top of him with his hands around his throat. Duncan wheezed and squirmed, sneering at his assailant.
“She’s mine,” Peter breathed, blood coming out of his nose. Duncan didn’t remember hitting him there, but he felt satisfied to see Peter injured, regardless. “It didn’t have to be this way.”
Duncan clawed into the other man’s beefy hands, but the pressure around his throat didn’t lesson. Writhing, Duncan struggled for all it was worth, his body using up the last remnants of oxygen he had within seconds.
Horror iced through him then. His soul seemed to recognize that his demise was imminent, and a darker part of him accepted it as the inevitability that it was. He could only pray that Elle got away—that she was running into town to get help. He could only hope that his failure didn’t result in her pain. Tears stung his eyes as he continued to think about her, and his body started going lax.
An abrupt bang exploded within the home, and Peter jerked before collapsing on top of Duncan.
Duncan gasped, sucking up the sweet air into his neglected lungs. After a few seconds of recovery, Duncan shoved the large man off of him and scooted back to the wall. It took his vision a little more time to return to him in full, and when it did, the sight before him left him in a state of shock and awe.
Elle stood there, aiming a smoking gun at Peter’s body. Her eyes blazed with fury, even as tears poured from them. She was like a vengeful angel of death.
Bewildered, Duncan glanced between her and Peter. It was then that Duncan saw the blood oozing from the assailant’s skull.
Elle’s anguished screams brought Duncan’s attention back to her. Her face was contorted with agony, and she dropped the gun as she snapped her hands to her belly.
“Elle,” Duncan gasped, scrambling over Peter’s body to get to her. His entire body cold and quivering—his heart hot and hammering—Duncan grabbed his wife’s arms and looked into her pain-filled eyes. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”
A loud sloshing noise had him glancing down. There was liquid between her feet.
“Baby’s coming,” Elle wheezed, crying heavily. “It’s coming now.”
***
It felt as if someone was stabbing her stomach repeatedly while she was trying not to throw up. Nausea mixed with overwhelming pain—her insides tearing apart. Elle had never experienced anything like it, and in the back of her mind, she wondered if Duncan had known this was going to happen—if she should have been as worried as he had been about the arrival of their child.
“What do I do?” Duncan asked rapidly, holding her arms tightly. He was basically holding her up as she screamed and wobbled. “What do I do?”
“I don’t know!” Another of wave of agony crashed through her, and she fell against his torso. “Let me down!”
“We should get you to—”
“NOW!”
As gently and quickly as he could, he helped Elle lay herself down over the cool floor. She felt as if her blood was sizzling, sweat coating her hot skin. She placed her hands over her stomach and cringed when more pain hit her.
“The baby’s coming,” she said, unable to see Duncan through her tears. “Duncan, the baby’s coming right now.”
She felt his fingers brush over her arms before she felt her dress move up over her waist. A small part of her was surprised how indifferent she was to that—to all of this—but then she spread her legs wide and decided to focus on more important things.
“Duncan, Duncan,” she whimpered, reaching outward.
“I got you,” Duncan said somewhere in front of you. “I got you. I’m here.” She felt him squeeze her leg. “It’ll be okay.”
It was several horrible hours later when the baby was finally out of her. Elle was so sore and relieved she sobbed and let her body fall back onto the floor. Still, as overwhelmed with sensations as she was, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Is the baby alright? Duncan?” For the second she waited for his answer, ice-cold fear gripped her heart.
“He’s perfect,” Duncan said. “He’s healthy and perfect.”
Elle’s head fell back against the floor, a sigh of relief bursting from her mouth. “Thank God.” She closed her eyes and let her mind swim in and out of consciousness. She trusted Duncan completely, and she had no qualms over letting herself fall into a coma of sorts.
She wasn’t sure how much time had gone by when she felt something being placed over her stomach and torso. She heard the little whimpers—felt the little squirming—and she forced herself to open her stinging eyes and look down at her son. She didn’t get the best look at him from the angle she was at, but that didn’t matter. She knew Duncan was right; this little boy was perfect.
“Hold on to him, okay?” Duncan instructed gently, crouching over her. “I’m going to carry the both of you to bed.”
Elle’s arms cradled around her baby boy. Once he was secure, Elle nodded toward Duncan.
Duncan awkwardly scooped his arms beneath her legs and her back. It took him a moment to get to his feet, but once he was standing, he had no problems carrying the two of them. He stepped over Peter’s body, and Elle’s mind reeled at that; she had nearly forgotten about him—about what she had done to him.
She closed her eyes tight and pressed her face against her son’s head. She could not make herself feel guilty over murdering someone like Peter—someone who was going to kill the best man in Elle’s life. All she could feel in that moment was relief and love as she inhaled deeply.
Duncan lowered himself, placing her on top of their bed. She was so tired; she was practically limp as her husband situated the pillows behind her head. Her eyes wandered over her son—the warm little bundled that meant everything to her. She cried and smiled. “I love you,” she said to the child. “I love you so much.”
Duncan situated himself beside her and peered down at the
baby. “What’s his name?” he asked her.
Elle hadn’t even thought of that—not in that moment, at least. Through all the months she considered various names, none of them sounded ideal to her any longer. She shook her head, her eyes still glued to the infant. “I don’t know. Nothing seems right.”
Duncan placed a kiss against her temple. “What was his father’s name?”
She nearly sobbed. The question itself, and the tender tone it was asked in, was too much. “S-Sam.”
“Samuel. That’s a good name. Strong. Biblical.”
She had considered it earlier, but she hadn’t been sure if Duncan would have appreciated being reminded of her husband. But by the way he was speaking now—by the way he was pressed so closely to her and protecting her—she nodded. Then a surge of determination shot through her. “Samuel Duncan Aster,” she said. “It’s perfect.” Torn between so many emotions, she turned to Duncan.
He backed away a little, revealing his wide and glazed eyes. God, he was perfect, too.
Elle smiled at him. Not caring if it was right or wrong any longer, she said, “I love you, Duncan.”
His breath hitched. He stared at her intently, like he wasn’t sure if she was delusional or not. Before she could repeat it—louder and firmer this time—he whispered, “I love you, too. Both of you.” He shifted his wonder-filled gaze to the baby. To Sam.
Elle laughed, joyous. She also turned back to their son and felt Duncan’s head press against hers a moment later.
Epilogue
Duncan woke to the sound of Sam’s wails in the crib at the end of the bed. The child was over four months old now, and his lungs seemed to be stronger than ever.
Groaning, Duncan turned to encircle his arms around his wife, only to discover she was no longer in bed. Tired as he was, he forced his eyelids apart and allowed his vision to adjust to the darkness. Then he turned toward the crib.
Elle stood over it, her hand no doubt skimming over the baby’s head. She whispered soft nothings, but that wasn’t calming Sam down in the slightest.
[2016] A Bride's Journey Page 26
