“How wonderful to know you’ve missed my attentions, Charity,” Walter said in a low voice.
“My name is Miss Evans,” Fidelia said with a tremor in her voice.
“Oh, no, Charity. You owe me. The Madam had no right to barter you when everyone knew you were really mine.” His silky soft voice acted as a rapier, cutting away her hard-wrought confidence. “You may wear proper clothes now, but I know the true you. The whore who can’t get enough.”
“Enough!” an irate voice from the hallway snapped. Irene Tompkins pushed in and looked from Bertrand, rising to his feet, to Walter and Mrs. Jameson standing in the corner near the bureau to Sorcha and Fidelia guarding Helen prostrate on the bed. “I thought I had seen everything, but this is beyond anything I could imagine.” She focused on Mrs. Jameson. “If you think you can turn the tide of town support in your direction, you grossly miscalculated.”
“I have every right to see my daughter.” Mrs. Jameson met Irene’s glare.
“Yes, but you don’t have the right to attempt to abduct her from the home she shares with her husband.” She nodded to a disheveled Sorcha. “If what Mr. March did to Miss MacKinnon is any indication of what Mrs. Clark …” Irene paused a moment to stare at the three members of Helen’s family. “Yes, what Mrs. Clark would have suffered at your home, then it is something I care not to imagine.”
“You have no right to presume we would have treated her with anything but the utmost care,” Walter said.
Irene took a step forward and poked him in his chest. “You don’t have the right to even speak your sister’s name, never mind be in the same room as her after all you did to her.” Irene turned and glared at Bertrand. “And you are a fool to align yourself with them.”
“I must be allowed to see my daughter,” Mrs. Jameson protested.
“No, you have no rights. You gave those up when you and your son tricked her into leaving your house so as to make a profit off her auction at the Boudoir. You forfeited them again when you summoned Bertrand here with the plan to marry her to him so he could torment her for the rest of her mortal life. Leave, Mrs. Jameson, before Warren returns home.”
Mrs. Jameson quivered with rage before spinning on her heel and marching down the hallway.
Bertrand paused, a bloodied hand held to his nose. “This isn’t over,” he said, the words garbled due to his broken nose.
Sorcha watched as Irene followed them out and then returned to the room. “Are they gone?”
“Yes, and I locked the front and back doors,” Irene said. She frowned as a shaking overtook Sorcha’s composure. “Sit.” Irene pushed her onto the edge of the bed next to Helen and crouched in front of her. “Are you all right?”
“They were going to steal her away,” Sorcha whispered. “And two women were no match for Walter and Bertrand.”
Irene ran a hand over Sorcha’s knotted red-brown hair. “You look a mess.” She saw Sorcha battling tears and pulled her into an embrace. After a few moments she focused on Fidelia. “And you, Fidelia? How are you?”
“Fine. They didn’t touch me.”
Sorcha scoffed. “No’ with hands or fists, but that horrid Walter gutted ye with words.” Sorcha’s eyes smoldered with anger. “Ye ken he spoke lies.”
Fidelia nodded, although her eyes remained haunted. “I had hoped never to see him again. A foolish hope as he lives in town.”
Irene gripped Fidelia’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You are strong, Fidelia. As strong as your sister. Perhaps stronger. You must continue to find that belief inside you, and you will be happy again.”
Fidelia nodded once more and then lost her battle with tears as Irene pulled her into a hug. “Thank God I saw them walking down the boardwalk and turn up this way. Harold always says I’m too suspicious by nature, but I’m glad I was in this instance,” Irene said.
Fidelia jerked away from Irene’s embrace when a loud voice boomed through the room.
“What the hell is going on? Why was the door locked?” Warren strode into the room and then froze at the sight of Sorcha sitting dazedly on the bed with her hair askew from its knot, Fidelia crying and a pool of blood on the floor. “Helen,” he murmured, rushing to the opposite side of the bed. He ran gentle hands over her, but she remained unconscious to the turmoil around her. When he had assured himself she was fine, his concerned gaze met Irene’s.
“Mrs. Jameson, Walter and Bertrand paid a visit.” Irene paused as he hissed out a swear word. “Sorcha and Fidelia did all they could to prevent them from stealing her away. Kidnapping her to the Jameson house.”
He froze at the words. “No.” He then rushed around the bed to run hands over Sorcha’s head and shoulders. “Are you all right, Sorcha? Did they harm you?” He spun to face Fidelia. “Or you?”
He relaxed only a fraction at their murmured denials. “How dare they.”
Fidelia noted his low growl and retreated to the chair she had vacated to help protect Helen.
“I think they dare because they believe they have the right,” Irene said. “They have not accepted your marriage to Helen, and I fear they never will.”
Sorcha grabbed Warren’s hand. “They think she has been ill treated as yer wife and blame ye for her injury.”
Warren squeezed her hand before releasing it and rubbing his hands over his face. “Isn’t that rich? They abuse her for years, with words and deeds, but now I am to blame for this.”
“Never attempt to find reason with those who are irrational,” Fidelia whispered.
Sorcha huffed out an agreement. “Aye. Ye sound like Bears.” She pulled at pins in her hair and then loosened her long skein of hair until she could finger-comb it and tie it back again. She watched as Irene returned to the bedroom with a pan of water and a rag to scrub the floor. “If I were ye, I’d meet with my brothers. And Bears.”
Warren met Sorcha’s gaze. “I agree. Will you speak with them for me? I don’t want to leave Helen alone again today. I … I need to stay here.”
“Aye,” Sorcha said as she stood. “I’ll have them come by after supper.” She squeezed Warren’s arm and packed up her knitting implements. “I should have thought to use these.” She saw Fidelia stow away her needlework, and Irene finished scrubbing the floor.
“There will be spots I missed,” Irene said.
“Thank you for doing it. I shouldn’t have allowed you to do it at all.”
Sorcha watched as he kicked off his shoes and lay down beside Helen, wrapping an arm over her waist and murmuring soft words in her ears. “To have a love like that,” Sorcha whispered to Fidelia as they followed Irene out of the house.
“You lose your reason for being if it’s lost,” Fidelia said as she walked beside her down the hallway. The remainder of their journey home was in contemplative silence.
That evening Warren sat with the MacKinnon men and Bears in his parlor while Jessamine read and kept vigil next to Helen. “Thank you all for joining me here tonight.”
Cailean made a low grunt of agreement. “All you have to do is ask, Warren. Besides, those men threatened three of our women. We will do what we can to protect them.”
“I imagine the women were pleased they protected themselves today,” Bears murmured.
“Aye,” Alistair said, sitting on the settee with Bears. “But even feisty Sorcha admitted she was no match for a grown man. Seems yer teaching on how to fell a man did no’ work today.” He nodded to Ewan who had taught Sorcha to knee a man in his groin if she felt threatened.
“Ye ken it only works if he’s caught unawares. I doubt those two are ever unaware of the havoc and pain they are causing.” Ewan shook his head in disgust.
“What can we do to help you, Warren?” Cailean asked.
Warren sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. A forgotten glass of amber liquid sat on the table next to him. Only his closest friends knew it was watered-down sweetened tea rather than whiskey. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what to do. The Jamesons won’t see
reason. They don’t accept that I married Nell twice.” He sighed in irritation. “They are determined that she return to their house.”
Ewan frowned. “Jessamine would say ye must figure out why they are taking such a drastic course of action. Why do they want Helen back?”
Alistair nodded. “Aye. It seemed they were happy to let her go in December. What has changed now? Why do they want her to marry their cousin?”
“March is not what you think he is,” Bears said. “Jessamine should investigate him.”
They stared at Bears a moment, and then Warren asked, “How do you know Bertrand?”
Bears’s eyes shone with hatred and disillusionment for a moment before he masked all emotion. “He is a man who looks for the quick dollar. He thought he wanted to be a trapper once.” He shrugged. “And my father was always willing to help those who seemed eager to learn.”
Cailean frowned at the hatred in Bears’s voice. “Whatever happens, Bears, you are to have nothing to do with Bertrand. If something were to befall him, and you were blamed …” He shook his head. “You would not receive fair justice.”
Bears nodded.
Warren sighed. “I have no plans to harm anyone physically.” He gripped his hands together and clamped his jaw. “Although it is tempting after what I saw today.”
“I make no promises if they threaten the MacKinnons again,” Alistair said.
“Nor I,” Ewan said, his shoulders tensing. “An’ when I say that, I include ye and Helen, Warren.” He watched as his brothers nodded. “The Jamesons crossed a line today, an’ they must ken there will be repercussions if it happens again.”
“But what would they be?” Warren asked. “I’ll not challenge either Walter or Bertrand to a duel. I know they are expert marksmen, and I would merely leave Helen a widow. Which is exactly what they want.” He ran a hand through his brown hair and sighed again.
“I dinna ken, but we’ll find a way,” Ewan said. “Ye are no’ alone in this.”
“Thank you,” Warren whispered.
“Any news from Sheriff Sampson about Doc Chester?” Cailean asked.
“None. Seems he’s disappeared, which is hard to do in late winter in Montana.” Warren looked at the brothers. “Did he steal a horse?”
“Nothing from the livery but the doc’s house had its own stable for two horses. The doc always had to be ready to ride out when called, and the old doc didn’t want to worry about waking us up in the middle of the night.” Cailean frowned. “Why would the old doc vouch for a man like this?”
“Does everyone have gambling debts?” Bears asked.
Ewan grunted. “Many do. Although I dinna remember seeing the old doc at the Stumble-Out. Heard he was more a regular at the Watering Hole Saloon.” Ewan rose and moved to the hallway where Helen’s room was.
After a moment Jessamine emerged. “Ewan sent me to speak with you,” she said as she sat near Bears on the settee. “I would imagine you’d want me to look into Bertrand. And the old doc.”
Warren shared a look with Cailean and then smiled. “You’re far too intelligent at times, J.P.” He saw her shrug. “Yes, that’s what we need.”
“Well, as it happens, I was curious about them both, and I’ve already begun my inquiries. Nothing that I have discovered is flattering for either of them.” She took a deep breath and then began to speak. “Bertrand March has been a trader, a trapper, a miner, a general mercantile owner and a whorehouse owner in his short life. He is in search of the next get-rich-quick scheme that seems to plague most gambling men, although he has seen some success. He had a mildly profitable mine in Helena, but it sat next to one of the most prosperous veins. With ingenuity, a lack of morals and unscrupulous town officials, he mined his successful neighbor’s ore and sold it as his own, with no threat of legal action as he paid handsomely for officials to look the other way. He continues to extract ore, although there isn’t much to gain in it now.
“However, with said money, he invested in stores and a whorehouse, and his investments have continued to grow. I imagine he is one of those who believes Helena should be the capital should the Territory become a state, and then his investments would be even more sound. Who doesn’t need food and a bit of vice?” She raised a brow as she looked around the room.
“What does Helen have to do with all this?” Warren asked.
Jessamine shook her head. “That’s the one part of the story that makes no sense. She brings nothing to the marriage that he values. Not money or social connections or tremendous beauty.” She met Warren’s glower. “I mean no offense.” She paused. “I will continue to look into it, although it is a challenge, living here.”
“Is he married already?” Bears asked.
Jessamine tilted her head and studied him for a moment. “Not that I could discover. What do you know, Bears?”
He shook his head, his gaze distant.
“How do you know Helen’s cousin, Bertrand?” Warren asked. “I wouldn’t think you’d cross paths with him.”
Bears nodded and took his time before answering. “My father was a generous man. If you asked him for help, he’d aid you. If you wanted to learn, he’d teach you. All he asked for was sincerity and that you worked hard.” He paused, his head tipped down as he stared into the flames in the fireplace. “Bertrand had heard of my father’s trapping skills and came to our land. To learn.”
He paused a long time, and Alistair shared a look with Cailean. “What happened, Bears?”
“He never had the patience needed to be a good trapper. Not of a wild animal. You need to learn the animal’s ways and then find a way to outsmart them.” Bears shrugged. “At least that’s what my father taught me. Always respect the animal, as we are intruding into their home. Never take more than necessary, as we want there to be plenty left for next year.”
Warren chuffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t think that would be Bertrand’s strength.”
Bears shook his head. “No, he was always greedy. Wanted a way to earn a fast profit. Didn’t accept that the time of such profits was long gone. No one was interested in beaver pelts for fancy hats now.” Bears’s jaw ticked. “My father never raised his voice nor his hand. But he rifle-whipped Bertrand when he saw the number of beavers Bertrand had trapped. Wiped out the population for half a decade.”
Warren watched Bears curiously. “I thought beavers were a nuisance, Bears.”
Bears shook his head. “All are needed for balance, lawyer. Even those we might think of as a nuisance.”
“Sounds like something that Bertrand would do,” Cailean muttered. “What happened after your father showed him his anger?”
“He left, swearing he’d have his revenge. That no ignorant back-country trapper had the right to treat one such as he in that manner.” Bears raised indignant eyes in a challenging glare.
“Yer father was a fine man, Bears. If he had reason to reprimand Bertrand in such a way, then I’d never condemn him. And we all ken what sort of man Bertrand is,” Alistair said. He watched as some of the tension eased from Bears’s shoulders.
“Who is Sara Parker?” Jessamine asked. She watched as Bears flinched at the mention of her. “I’ve heard her name a few times when trying to learn about Bertrand.”
“She was my wife.” Bears ran a hand over his face. He met their incredulous stares. “At least I considered her my wife, and I thought she considered me her husband.” He clasped his hands together. “But she took a shine to Bertrand and left with him when Bertrand hightailed it from my father’s land.”
Alistair leaned back in his chair as he huffed out a deep breath. “I thought your wife and child died in a small pox outbreak.” He shared a quick look with Cailean.
Bears looked at Alistair a moment and then shook his head. “There’s rarely little truth to rumors. And I never had a child.”
“She left?” Jessamine whispered. “With a man like Bertrand? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Bears nodded. “Ten years ago. Said she wanted
more from life than to be stuck living in an isolated cabin with a half-breed of no ambition.” He closed his eyes as though he could still see and hear the scene all these years later.
“Daft woman,” Alistair growled. “I hope she suffered.”
Jessamine stared at the irate men with sorrowful eyes. “She did.” She met Bears’s gaze and continued to speak after he gave a subtle nod. “She moved with him to Helena. He treated her worse than a servant, and, after he opened his … whorehouse, he forced her to live there. To work there.”
“Is she still there?” Bears asked.
“No, she died two years ago.” Her gaze tracked his movements as he rose and strode to the door and exited. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to those who remained. “I …”
“Ye did what ye were trained to do and what we asked ye to do, Jessamine. Ye are a reporter, and ye had information. We already kent this Bertrand was a bastard, and now we have more proof.” Alistair shook his head. “I always kent Bears had his sorrows, but I never imagined …”
“His revelations don’t really help us though,” Cailean said. “We aren’t any further along in determining how to prevent Bertrand from harming Warren.”
Jessamine nodded her agreement with Cailean. “As for the old doctor, he seems to have vanished as readily as the fake one on the run from the sheriff. I never heard the townsfolk question the previous doc’s knowledge, so I have to believe he was a real doctor, although I have been unable to verify that he attended medical school.” She sighed and rubbed her head. “However, many men his age received training during the War, and few had any trouble calling them doctor, especially in tiny towns like ours.”
“Are ye sayin’ the old doc might no’ have been a doc either?” Alistair asked with a furrowed brow.
“There is every possibility that he wasn’t a university-trained doctor, as he claimed. But I can’t confirm that yet. However, many men who have worked as doctors are quite skilled after a lengthy apprenticeship. Perhaps he merely … overstated his qualifications.” She let out a deep breath and leaned against the back of the settee. “What I do know is that, as far as I have been informed, no man matching his description ever arrived in Butte.”
Montana Renegade Page 19
