By Love Alone

by Judith E. French

  "Do you honestly think I would have come back here if I was carrying his child? Do you think I would have let him... I would have died first, Pride. If you know me, you know it's true."

  He held up an open palm in the peace sign. "Wait. I didn't ask you here to fight with you. I said I wanted to apologize, and I do." Pride crossed the room and sat beside her, his rugged frame dwarfing the delicate loveseat. He took her chin in his hand gently.

  Kate swallowed hard and blinked back tears. He'd learned torture well from the Huron. It was impossible for her to be this close, to smell the fresh, woodsy odor of the man, to look into those large dark eyes without melting. She still cared for him. Nothing he could do or say would stop her loving him. She wanted to run her finger down the scar, to brush the square, solid chin; she wanted to throw herself into his arms.

  "I'll take the child, Kate." He shook his head at the confusion in her clouded blue eyes. "No... that's not right. I want the child." He dropped his hand to capture her wrist. "It could well be mine or my brother's. Despite what he did to us, we're the same blood. As an uncle, I'd have the same responsibility to the infant as if it was mine."

  "And if it's DeSalle's?" she taunted. She wanted to slap his face, to hurt him. Why? Why didn't he believe the truth?

  "What's happened between us has nothing to do with the child. I'll love it and raise it as an Ashton, boy or girl," he continued huskily. "Rebecca will welcome a baby in the house." Pride turned her hand over and traced the bruises on her slim palm. "I'll send you back to England, Kate, a free woman. My people will provide you with a new identity and funds to begin a new life. But I want a promise from you that you will never interfere. I want no contact. You won't see the child again. No letters. It will be an Ashton."

  "And what will you tell him of his mother?"

  "I'll say she was a brave and beautiful lady who died when he was born."

  "And you call me a liar?" She shook her head. "No deal, Lord Ashton. What did you tell me about the Shawnee? Every child has a mother. Every child takes the mother's name. Better this baby should be a Storm. Your son deserves better than you could give."

  "I'll claim it as my heir," he promised. "Boy or girl. You can ask no more."

  Salt tears blinded her eyes; she dug her nails into her palms. Head high, she turned toward him. "This is one thing that's mine. You can accept the baby, or turn us both on the road. I don't expect you to honor our Indian marriage, or to treat me as anything other than the bondwoman I am. But one thing I promise you." Kate's voice dropped huskily. "You'll not separate me from my child without killing me first."

  He laughed wryly. "The field is yours, Kate, as always." He came to her and took her in his arms, kissing her forehead. She might have been made of stone. "A peace treaty, Katy. No more fighting. You are a guest in my home. If we cannot be friends, at least we can no longer be enemies."

  "I was never your enemy, Pride, not really." Her heart was beating wildly; surely, he must feel it through the thin gown. The child kicked and she grabbed Pride's hand and placed it on her belly. "Feel that," she ordered. "That's your son. Whatever else you think of me, whatever else you believe, on Geoffrey's soul, that's your son."

  "I told you," he repeated. "I accept the baby as an Ashton and my heir. I'll kill any man who says otherwise." It was true, he did want the child. He wanted it even if it was Tschi's. He wanted the child because it would be Kate's child. But even more than the child, he wanted the mother. In spite of everything, he still loved her, God help him. He loved her, but he was afraid to trust her. "I will claim the babe and give you an honorable place here, Kate. You have my word on it."

  She pulled free from his embrace. "Good enough. And now, if you'll excuse me, m'lord, I'm weary. I think I'll go to my room and rest."

  "As you please." Pride averted his eyes. Perhaps the child would give them time to begin again. He would try. He would have to—or spend the rest of his life alone. Kate Storm had taken his heart, and no other woman would do, not now and not ever.

  "I'll keep to my room and the garden as much as possible," she promised. "We might as well make this easy on both of us."

  "That's not necessary. Ashton Hall is your home. You must consider yourself mistress here," he answered formally. The cultured tones of the English aristocrat crept into his voice.

  "I think not." She swept from the great hall with as much dignity as she could muster. Away from those eyes, that voice, she could gain control of her own mind again.

  May in Maryland was glorious that year. The garden burst forth in magnificent bloom; the sweet mingled scents poured through Kate's bedroom windows. Her days were reduced to hours of waiting, waiting for the child.

  Her body was still increasing in size, so much that it was alarming. Since Kate had never had a child before, she had not expected to become quite so large and awkward.

  The maids had altered some of her gowns and made special garments to go over them. The silks and satins felt strange after the coarse gown of a serving wench. When they were finished, they came to her chambers in the afternoon to sew clothes for the infant. Kate tried her hand, but she was all thumbs with a needle as usual. Her efforts ended up being ripped apart and resewn by the giggling servants.

  Gossip aside, Kate could find no fault in the behavior of the servants toward her. They were pleasant and respectful. She supposed even the mistress of Lord Ashton rated loyal service.

  She took her meals alone in her chambers. She could not bear to sit at the table across from Pride. His courteous attention was harder to bear than his accusation and shouting.

  Kate realized that something was worrying him, something other than the situation between the two of them, something he did not wish to discuss with her.

  Even from the house and garden, it was evident that Ashton Hall was an armed camp. Twice, parties of men rode into the yard, some badly wounded. Rumors of war troubled Kate's dreams. She saw again the blood, and heard screams of fallen men.

  It was on such a night that she rose from her disheveled bed to walk the garden paths. It was the dark of the moon; the night air lay about her like a mist. Kate walked barefoot on the cool bricks; her thoughts drifting back to those few sweet days she'd shared with Pride in the Shawnee village, those days and nights she'd believed she was his true wife.

  "What are you doing out here?"

  Kate's throat tightened. She had not seen him in the shadows of the willow. "Walking," she stammered. Her voice sounded like a child's. "I couldn't sleep."

  "You're in pain?"

  "No. Just restless."

  He came toward her, a giant in the gloom. "You should be in bed."

  "I'm not an invalid. Childbearing is natural for a woman."

  "So you admit you're a woman."

  "I never denied it. It was your woman I denied being."

  Pride caught her in his arms and she smelled alcohol. She'd never seen him drink more than a glass or two. He held her tightly but gently.

  "Are you drunk?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?" She tried to pull free. It was like struggling against an oak. He brought his face down close to hers.

  "You're in my blood," he said hoarsely. "I can't sleep for thinking of you."

  "And you think a bottle will solve it?"

  "Maybe." He lowered his head so that his hard lips brushed hers.

  Her fingers slipped through his hair, tangled in it, and pulled him tighter against her seeking mouth. They kissed, a tender exchange of confused emotion. "Pride," she whispered. "Hold me."

  "I am holding you." His lips parted and the tip of his tongue caressed her lower lip, then gently explored the warm interior of her mouth. "I don't want to hurt you," he said.

  "You won't." Kate's lips trailed down his neck to kiss his chest. "I've missed you so," she breathed. His touch sent shocks of excitement surging through her body. Her breasts ached to have him touch them... suckle at them.

  "If I don't let you go now, I won't be able to stop,"
he murmured. His strong fingers found a swollen nipple and tantalized it. "You're so beautiful. Your breasts are so big, so full. I want to kiss them, Kate. Let me kiss them."

  "Yes," she moaned. "Yes."

  His arm slipped under her knees. He picked her up and carried her to a bench beyond the willow. It was so dark she couldn't see his face. It all seemed dreamlike. "Oh, Pride, I've missed you so damn much."

  "Don't talk, Kate. Just let me touch you, prove to myself that you're real." He held her on his lap and slipped aside the silk dressing gown. His fingertips stroked the warm, hard curve of her belly. He bent his head and kissed it lightly. "You're so beautiful. Like some ancient fertility goddess."

  His words slurred and a tiny warning voice shouted to Kate to stop it. He's drunk! He'll hate you for this tomorrow. She pushed it away, refusing to listen. Her skin burned like fire where his lips touched. A sweet moistness filled her. She lifted a swollen breast to his mouth.

  "I love you," he groaned. "I love you."

  The flames grew within her; she twisted and moaned against him as his hand slipped lower to tangle in the dark curls. "Yes," she cried. "Yes."

  "You want me as badly as I want you."

  "You know I do." Kate felt as if she was floating on a warm tide. She couldn't think, didn't want to think. She only wanted to possess and be possessed by the man she loved.

  Pride fumbled with his clothing, then turned her to face him on his lap. He leaned back, and she felt the full length of his throbbing manhood pressed against her. "I don't want to hurt you," he repeated.

  She arched against him, lowering herself on his member, taking it into her body completely. There was no pain, only an overwhelming drive to join with him. Waves of joy swept through her veins, cresting and building again as they moved together. Pride cried out with pleasure, and she clung to him, treasuring this moment out of time, this moment when she was truly his.

  Later, he carried her to her bed, and they made love again, slowly, exquisitely. He kissed her tenderly, over and over. He stroked the mound of her belly and listened to the heartbeat of the child.

  "If it isn't mine, don't ever tell me," he said hoarsely.

  She laughed. "It's yours, Pride, only yours. There's not another man I'd go through this for, believe me."

  Finally, he slept. Kate lay awake until the first threads of roseate light spread across the polished wooden floor of her chamber. In the half light, his hawk face was almost boyish, the lines of tension softened. She could not resist kissing the firm lips, could not keep her fingertips from tracing the curves of his scarred chest, his muscular arms.

  With full daylight, Kate slept. When she awoke, she was alone. She reached out for him, murmuring sleepily. "Pride?" The door to her room stood open. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. She curled around a pillow and slept until late afternoon.

  There was no sign of Pride at the evening meal. Kate drifted to the library and found a book. She read until late, then went to bed, her heart troubled.

  Two days passed and then four. On the fifth night, Kate woke in the middle of the night with a severe backache. As she got out of bed, her gown was soaked with a sudden gush of liquid. A little ashamed, she changed the garment for a dry one. She knew the breaking of waters usually meant the start of labor, but didn't want to call the maid yet. What if this was another false alarm?

  By morning, there was no doubt in her mind. The pains were coming regularly. Her back ached, and she felt sick to her stomach. She paced the floor, unwilling to lie still and let this happen to her body. A restlessness filled her, and she longed for Pride.

  There was a quick knock at the door, and it opened. Rebecca stood for a moment in the doorway, then rushed to her side. "The baby's coming?" she asked. She laid a practiced hand on Kate's belly. "How far apart are these?"

  Kate told her, and she shook her head. "How did you know?" Kate asked. "About the baby?"

  "I got back late last night. The servants could talk of nothing else. I would have come then, but I didn't want to disturb your rest. Where is he?"

  "Pride?" Kate winced as another pain took control of her body. "I don't know. He's been gone for days." She clasped the strong dark hand. "He thinks I betrayed him."

  "Did you?" The almond eyes searched Kate's soul.

  "No. I tried to bargain with the Frenchman to save Pride's life. I would sleep with the devil to keep him from the stake. Nothing happened between us! He double-crossed me and tried to kill Pride. He shot him right in front of me. I was convinced..." Kate took a deep breath and blinked back tears. "I thought he was dead. I wanted his son to be born here; I thought you would want him."

  "And you don't?"

  "Of course I do, but I don't want him to be a bastard. I want the best for our child. I didn't betray your son, and I'm not lying to you now. I wouldn't lie about something so important." She leaned back against the pillows and wiped the damp hair from her face. "This baby is an Ashton."

  "If it were yours alone, I would want it, Ki-te-hi. Pride's father was a fool at times. It seems my son has inherited some of his bullheadedness. He should be here at the birth of his child. Never mind, we will care for you. It will not be long now." She crossed to the French doors. "I'll be right back." Rebecca went into the garden and returned in a few moments.

  "The pains are harder now," Kate gasped.

  "Chew these leaves." Rebecca held out a strange plant. "It will ease the pain without hurting the little one. My people have used it for centuries." She went to the hall and called for a servant, ordering water and clean clothes. She came back to the bed. "Up with you now. You must walk. You may wet your lips with water. Let mother earth share your burden."

  Two housemaids came in with the required supplies. A man followed with an odd-shaped chair. "Where do you want it, Lady Ashton?"

  Rebecca pointed to a place near the window. She pushed open the doors so a fresh breeze blew through the room. "Send the midwife and Molly. The rest of you may go."

  "A birthing chair? I've never seen one," Kate said. She looked suspiciously at it.

  "Trust me, Ki-te-hi. Shawnee women crouch to deliver their children. You are strong and healthy. This will be faster; easier for you, easier for the child, than lying flat in a soft bed."

  There was a commotion in the hall, and Pride strode into the room. "You're back, Mother. Good. Now, leave us alone for a few minutes."

  "No," Kate protested. She leaned against the Indian woman and tried not to show her pain.

  "If I stay out of the room long, you will have to catch your child, my son," Rebecca pronounced wryly.

  "Out!" He slipped an arm under Kate and led her to the bed. "You could have waited until I got back."

  "Are you serious?" She bit her lip as another pain knifed through her.

  "I went to Annapolis."

  "Fine. Now will you get the hell out of here and let me have this baby!" She tried to stand by herself, and he caught her.

  "That's just it. The child will be my heir. I don't want it to be called a bastard by English law. I've brought a minister. He's going to marry us."

  "Now?"

  "Yes, now! How else would my son be legitimate?"

  "But I haven't said I'd marry you. Right now I can think of nothing I'd want less," she lied. "You made it clear what you think of me. We made a bargain. All that I ask is that you keep..."A moan escaped her clenched lips. Sweat poured from her face, and she clenched his arm. "That you keep your promise."

  "After what happened in the garden, I can't deny to myself or to you that I still love you. We'll be married, and then if you still want to be apart from me, you can go back to England as Lady Ashton. With the Ashton title, there will be no question of your being sent back to prison. The law forgives much to those who can pay well. We will secure you a royal pardon."

  "I can't marry you," she protested. Pride must not have slept the whole time he was gone. White lines of weariness showed in the craggy face. The buckskin clothing was soaked
with sweat and dirt-streaked.

  "I nearly killed two horses to get back here in time," he said quietly. "I'll have none of your nonsense. Our marriage is already registered at the courthouse. You'll sign these papers, or I'll break your arm." He produced a wrinkled parchment from his shirt. "I'm sure we can find quill and ink."

  "Do you believe me about DeSalle?" she gasped. "Do you?"

  He sighed and shook his head. "I was a fool. Yes, I believe you. I know the child isn't his."

  "And Tschi? Do you still think I made love to him?"

  "It doesn't matter, damn it! It doesn't matter about my brother!" Could she be telling the truth? Tschi had lied to him before—but so had Kate. It was best not to think about it anymore. It didn't matter. All that mattered now was Kate and the coming child.

  "How can I marry you if you think..." Tears welled up in her eyes.

  "You're already my wife. We're only protecting the child's interests," he insisted.

  Kate doubled up; her breathing quickened. "You can't make me," she protested. Her muscles were beginning to push down. He was out of his mind. They couldn't possibly be married... "Rebecca," she screamed. "Help me. It's coming."

  Pride seized a quill pen from the desk. He looked about for ink and saw none. Pulling the hunting knife from his sheath, he sliced the edge of his thumb. Blood oozed from the cut; he dipped the end of the quill in it and thrust it at Kate. "Sign."

  "With your blood, gladly!" Blindly, she scrawled Lady Kathryn Storm and collapsed into his arms. "Bastard or not," she panted. "It's coming."

  "Mother!" Pride carried her to the birthing chair. "Get that damn preacher in here!"

  Kate clutched the worn arms of the chair as Pride stripped away the dressing gown, then spread it over her. "The baby," she gasped. "I can feel it! Rebecca!"

  Rebecca knelt by the chair. "That's it, breathe deeply. Now, push."

  "No!" Pride shouted. "Not yet! Damn your hide, man!" He grabbed the shaking cleric and dragged him before Kate. "Say the words! Quick before I rip out your tongue!"

  With a squeak of terror, the little man began to stammer out the marriage vows. "Do you, Kathryn—"