The Renegade Wife

by Warfield, Caroline

  “So. Shall we have an accounting?” she asked.

  “As you requested. Is Lena well enough to travel?” He hadn’t checked on the child in three days, not since he fetched his livestock.

  “Well enough,” she replied.

  “Whether it’s enough depends on where you plan to go. You do have a plan, I hope.” Please tell me you’ve worked something out.

  She bit her lip. “My grandmother,” she mumbled. “She’s all I have.”

  “You have no idea where she is. You can’t drag Lena all over Upper Canada and above the lakes to find the woman.” Visions of her doing just that shook him, and the rush of contradictory emotions confused him. He wanted his solitude back and his nightmares locked back in their box, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Meggy dragging her children on a fool’s errand, living rough.

  “I can, and I will,” she said. “All I need from you is an accounting.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the little silver cross and one shilling. “This is what I have. What else do I owe you?”

  Honor demanded he refuse to take her pitiful payment. If I don’t take it, I’ll humiliate her. He took the trinket and coin from her hand and laid it on the table.

  “A wooden beaver. Drew has been working on it off and on all week with the little penknife I, ah, loaned him. It is almost done. That and your labor should do it.”

  She looked skeptical but relieved. She pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you. You’ve been more than generous. We’ll leave early in the morning.” She stood.

  “What if your grandmother is dead?” he demanded.

  Meggy paled. “Then I’ll have to put myself at the mercy of her people. My people.”

  “Your people? When did you see her last?”

  He thought for a moment she wouldn’t answer.

  “When I was eight,” she said through tight lips. “My mother was still alive then, and she took me to visit.”

  “How old are you now?” he asked. Drew said he was almost seven. Is he her oldest? Twenty-five? She appears to be about my age. Maybe younger.

  She glared at him. “None of your business.”

  “You haven’t seen her in almost twenty years? How do you know how to find her?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You don’t, do you? You have no plan, yet you want to drag two children, one of them recovering from a fever, out into the snow for pity’s sake.”

  “It would be easier on Lena if you found a place in Gibb’s Mill or Perth,” Rand said. “I checked on some things the other day. There are two boarding houses now. Both need a willing worker.”

  “You asked about a place for me in town?” Her voice sound wobbly to Rand’s ears, as if fear held her throat in its grip.

  “Why not? Someone had to make a sensible plan for those children if you won’t.”

  “But he’ll find us,” she wailed. “He’ll know someone asked about a woman and children, you fool!”

  Definitely terrified. She knows soldiers moving up and down the Rideau would recognize her eventually. Kingston would be little better.

  “Calm down. You can’t take the children out into the snow with nowhere to go.”

  She sat back down with a thump. “I can’t take them back.”

  This isn’t your problem, Randolph Wheatly. Let her puzzle out her real choices.

  She sat in stricken silence, her eyes staring into the distance as if they saw no hope and little mercy.

  Oh hell!

  “If you insist on finding your long-lost grandmother, at least wait until we can make inquiries.”

  “We?” she demanded.

  “Me. I know there are villages along Lake St. Clair and above Huron.”

  “She isn’t there.”

  “There are others up north. Give me time to gather information.”

  “You want me to give you time?” Meggy began to laugh, a hysterical sort of laugh too close to tears for Rand’s well-being.

  “Listen. It hasn’t been so bad. How long can it take? A month or so?” Did that really come out of my mouth? It could be midwinter by then. I could be stuck with them until spring. It surprised him to realize that thought didn’t alarm him as much as it should have.

  Rand found Meggy’s gratitude pathetic and heartrending, but compelling. I could get lost in those eyes if I were foolish enough to believe it.

  “I have to see to the stock. As soon as it’s passable, I’ll ride into town and begin our inquiries.” He left her there with her shocked expression.

  I’ll get them out of here as soon as I hear back. If her famous grandma won’t have her, she’ll have to move on. I’ll have no more crises cutting up my peace.

  It would be some time before he discovered how wrong he was.

  Chapter 11

  Late in the night, Meggy shivered in spite of wool blankets. Lena must be frozen, she thought. She pulled one of the blankets off her bed and padded across the room in the dark on icy feet. Lena rolled over and snuggled deeper when Meggy put the extra blanket over her, but she didn’t wake up.

  The shawl Meggy was wearing helped a bit, but she doubted she could sleep. The fire downstairs must have gone out. Do I dare enter his precious study?

  She felt around under the remaining covers until she found her woolen stockings and pulled them on.

  He has to be asleep at this hour. Maybe he would even thank me for building up the fire. Still, she hesitated. Pluck up your courage, Meggy, she told herself.

  She gripped the ends of her shawl, wound her arms around her middle, and took the steps on silent feet.

  In the darkness, she felt along the wall at the bottom of the steps until she came to the door of the study. She ran her hand across the wood, memory of his words echoing in her mind “You will not go in my study,” he had said. “Ever.”

  Meggy stood shaking for several minutes. Thoughts of Lena freezing, however, stiffened her resolve.

  When the door gave under her hand, she breathed easier. She had feared it would be locked. As she pushed it open, moonlight that reflected off the snow flooded through the windows to bathe the room in light. The hearth in the far wall lay in darkness except for one or two glowing embers.

  Meggy went directly to the fireplace and leaned down to feel for wood.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?” came a voice from the chair.

  Meggy fell down on her bottom with a shriek. “You terrified me,” she accused.

  “I told you never to come in here.” She squinted to adjust her eyes but couldn’t see his face. Something soft and warm rubbed against her hip. She gathered Cat into her arms and rubbed her cheek on the animal’s head.

  “Traitor,” Rand said bitterly.

  “She knows I’m no threat.”

  “She’s a faithless female.”

  Meggy realized his speech slurred ever so slightly. For the first time since the day he aimed a gun at her, Meggy was afraid of him. Experience taught her that men in their cups could be dangerous. She scooped up the cat and carried it into the shadows.

  “Your cat, Mr. Wheatly,” she said, holding it out.

  “Rand.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My name is Rand.” The cat made a disgruntled mew, leapt down, and scurried under the desk. “Damned cat. Why are you here?”

  “I’m cold. Lena is cold. I can only hope Drew is able to keep warm in the attic. Did you not notice the fire is out?”

  He rocked forward and pushed himself up, groaning. The rocker creaked. “I fell asleep, I think.” He scratched his head then felt along the mantel. She heard a match strike and watched as Rand lit a lantern on a hook next to the fireplace. His haggard face in the circle of light shocked her.

  If he slept,
it wasn’t for long.

  “I’ll build up the fire and leave you to your thoughts,” she said.

  He had already piled logs in the firebox and reached for another. “I’ll do it,” he grunted. He looked back over his shoulder. “And I wish you wouldn’t . . .”

  Meggy stood in the center of the room hugging her shawl to her. His strange mood bewildered her. Uncertain, she did nothing but watch him until the fire flared to life. “I beg your pardon,” she said. “You wish I wouldn’t what?”

  “My thoughts, Mrs. Campeau, are poor company tonight. I wish you wouldn’t leave me at their mercy.”

  She stared at her feet in the woolen socks.

  “Sorry, I—” he began.

  “Meggy,” she said.

  “Pardon?”

  “If you’re to be Rand, I’m Meggy.”

  “Well, Meggy, I’m sorry. My thoughts are not fit company for anyone.”

  “Would it help to talk?”

  “Probably not, but a drink might.”

  He pulled a bottle from the shadows next to his chair and padded to the desk. He pulled two glasses from a drawer.

  Typical man. He was drinking from the bottle. She raised an eyebrow. I hope that second one isn’t for me.

  It was.

  “Unless you plan to sit on that rug, pull the chair from my desk.”

  She did what he told her. He chuckled when she put it as far from his as she could in the small room, nudging it close to the warmth of the fire. Meggy found his laugh oddly reassuring. She sat.

  “Afraid of me, Meggy?”

  “Of course not,” she lied. Not much anyway. I hope I’m not wrong.

  She’s ridiculously prim in that ugly shawl and—what are those things on her feet?

  “Drink up, Meggy Campeau,” he said, taking a swallow of his own.

  She did as he bid, took a ladylike sip, and held the glass up in the moonlight as if to study it.

  “Careful with that. Do you like it?”

  “I haven’t much experience with spirits, at least not drinking it myself.”

  Only with watching men drink it, he thought. He let his eyes roam over her, from her toes in some thick stockings to her hair in disarray. No spirits, and you button up in flannel. As a courtesan, you’re sadly lacking in skills, but whatever you’re doing, it’s working.

  He watched her venture another sip. “Well?

  “It isn’t bad.”

  His bark of laughter narrowly missed colliding with his last swallow. “Not bad? It is some of the finest whisky in the world.”

  “You find the best in the world in Gibb’s Mill?”

  “My brother-in-law sends it from London.” The earl would be amused to hear his finest is “not bad.”

  He drained his glass in silence without taking his eyes off the woman across from him. As the fire and the whisky worked their magic, she let her shawl slip down her shoulders. He bent and reached for the bottle.

  “How many of those have you had?” she asked.

  “Are you some kind of Methodist?” he demanded. The hand holding the bottle stilled.

  “I’m just trying to understand what I’m dealing with tonight.”

  Wise woman. He poured a little, hesitated, and then put the whisky down. “The bottle was keeping me company. Do you plan to take its place?”

  “Company? I thought you wanted me gone.”

  I do. But not tonight. He couldn’t bear being left alone with his nightmares.

  “Talk to me, Meggy Campeau. Tell me why he broke your son’s arm.”

  She bristled. He could see it in her posture.

  “Drew lost his temper and—”

  With reason. “How often did he hit you?”

  “Did Drew tell you that?”

  “As well as. He said he had to defend you. How often did your husband hit you?”

  He thought she wouldn’t answer, but he didn’t leap into the silence. He almost reached for the bottle again before she spoke.

  “More when he drank,” she said. When she went on, she sounded weary. “It varied. Drew tried to pull him away once or twice before.”

  He drew in a breath and held it. I don’t want to hear this, he thought, but it was too late to stop her.

  “Fergus hurt him before, but not so badly. His violence seemed to be getting worse and worse.”

  Rand’s stomach roiled. A man who beats a child is the lowest form of life.

  “Why didn’t you leave the first time he hit you, or at least the first time he hurt your son?” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice.

  “What would have happened to Drew if I left? Who would protect him then?”

  “Did you ask for help?”

  “I have no family to turn to. Even if my father were alive, the army wouldn’t listen to him over Fergus.”

  “Superior officers?”

  Did she just snort?

  Disdain dripped from her voice. “‘All children need discipline and sometimes women do too,’” she mocked. “That’s what his colonel told me. He said, ‘A man’s home is his to rule.’”

  “They didn’t believe me either,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “They didn’t believe you,” he lied. I’m not about to air my own shame to this woman.

  “So you left when this Fergus broke Drew’s arm?” he went on.

  “Yes. Mostly.”

  “What do you mean ‘mostly?’” he said more sharply than he intended. There’s more. She may as well tell me all.

  “The arm was the biggest part. He pulled Drew’s arm until I heard it snap. When I went to help, Fergus shouted at me to leave him be.” Her voice rose. “You want to hear it all?”

  He didn’t, but he waited for her to tell him. After several moments of silence, she did.

  “Here it is. When I went to help my son, when I didn’t obey him, he turned on Lena. He grabbed her by one foot and held her upside down.”

  “Dear God!” He felt sick.

  “He shouted, ‘I’ll drop her on her head. Leave the brat, or I’ll drop this one on her head.’ She screamed in terror, almost hysterical. I had to leave Drew on the floor in pain and let Fergus—” She gulped air.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. I can guess the rest. He wasn’t sure she even heard what he said because she rushed on.

  “I let him take me into the bedroom and ‘exert his rights.’” She had begun to shake visibly.

  “Rape.”

  “Don’t be absurd. A man can’t rape his wife. He’s entitled to do what he wants,” her voice quivered uncontrollably. She swiped at her eyes and struggled to pull herself together. “We left while he slept off his drunk.” She had begun to rock back and forth.

  He wanted to ask her how she traveled, how long they were on the road, and how she got into his house, but the strong woman who had defied him for ten days had begun to crumple before his eyes.

  He went down on his knees by her chair. When he reached out to hold her, she cringed. “Meggy, don’t. You’re safe with me.”

  “Am I?”

  “I won’t harm you. You and the children are safe here.”

  “For now, Mr. Wheatly. For now,” she wailed.

  “Rand,” he said. He lifted her then, carried her to his chair, and put her in his lap. She didn’t protest; she wept.

  He let her cry, her warm body in the thin nightgown snuggled against his chest. She feels right here, just for this night.

  When her sobs subsided, she pushed against him. “This won’t do,” she cried.

  An errant devil urged him to pull her back. She didn’t seem like a willing widow, but he couldn’t be sure. He remembered the last woman he though
t an innocent. She had played him for a fool. He wanted to kiss Meggy senseless, but he let her go, ashamed of his own foolish lust after what she had shared with him.

  She stood and rooted around for her shawl. “I’m sorry, Rand,” she said. “You did ask. I should have warned you that it would open the flood gates.” Finding the shawl, she wrapped it around herself and looked at him so directly that he squirmed. He felt ashamed of his gender.

  “Meggy, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You have nothing to do with it. Just know this: I’ve done the best I could to take care of my children. I will continue to do whatever I have to do to protect them.” When he didn’t answer, she stared down at the fire. “It’s warm now. Thank you for that. I’ll bid you good night.”

  He didn’t stop her when she left. He sank back in his chair and found his old demons waiting. New ones had joined them. Sleep eluded him.

  Chapter 12

  Rand watched Lena take another trick. She lay down her cards like a hardened gamester and collected five more nuts with glee. How on earth did a five-year-old girl learn to play Loo?

  “Isn’t it getting close to bedtime?” he asked. “Mustn’t overdo. You’ve only been up two days.”

  “Did I make you afraid?” the little girl asked, popping her winnings into her mouth.

  “Who taught you how to play cards?”

  “Private Pratt. He’s nice to me.”

  Rand glanced at Meggy leaning against the sink and raised his eyebrows. She shrugged and pushed away from the sink, folding the dishtowel as she did.

  “Mr. Wheatly is correct, Lena. Time for bed.”

  Glee turned to pout instantly. “One more game,” she wheedled.

  “You heard your mama, Lena,” Rand told her.

  She lay her head on the table. “I don’t feel well. I can’t go up.”