The Bonny Bride

by Deborah Hale

  He looked to Harris. “Young man, you’d better be prepared to produce convincing proof of what you say. Interrupting a wedding service is not an act to be committed lightly.”

  “Why are you bothering with this rubbish, Vicar?” demanded Roderick. “You’ve read our banns here for the past three Sundays. This scoundrel can’t just march in and take my bride.”

  Harris pulled a rolled paper from his waistcoat pocket. “I have a license for Jenny and me to wed. It’s duly authorized by the magistrate in Richibucto. If ye’ll give me a moment to speak to Miss Lennox, I’m sure she’ll confirm that she gave me her promise long before she arrived in Chatham.”

  “Damned if I’ll let you talk to my bride at my wedding! Take your miserable forgery of a license and get out.”

  A voice rose from the back of the church. “That paper’s no forgery,” said Captain Glendenning. “I saw Justice Weldon put his seal to it with my own two eyes.”

  The vicar looked positively apoplectic. “I must examine this document for authenticity. In the meantime…” he nodded to Harris “…you may speak with Miss Lennox.”

  “I forbid any such…” Before Roderick could complete his sentence, Harris leaned over and murmured something to him that Jenny did not catch.

  Roderick’s mouth fell open. Then he shut it again into a grim, intractable line. Jenny could almost see the thunderheads gathering over his brow.

  “Very well,” he snarled. “You have two minutes, while I examine this license.” Roderick motioned the Chatham magistrate up from his pew.

  Harris clasped Jenny’s hand and drew her to a corner of the chancel. With each step, he winced. He had suffered too much for her already.

  “Why did ye come back, Harris? And what’s all this about a promise and a license? Ye ken right well I never said I’d marry ye.”

  “I ken. But ye did make me a promise, that day at Kirkcudbright Harbor. Ye swore if I saw ye safe to the Miramichi, ye’d grant me any boon within yer power. Well, I got ye here safe, and now I want ye to honor yer word. It’s within yer power to grant me yer hand in marriage. That’s what I’m asking.”

  She knew then how a drowning victim must feel—to be going under for the last time and suddenly be thrown a rope. How she longed to clasp the lifeline Harris offered her. She did not dare, for fear of pulling him into the murky depths with her.

  Tentatively she reached out. Her fingers grazed the healing gash on his temple. “Haven’t ye been put to enough trouble on my account? I made my bed, Harris. Now I must lie in it. Ye don’t have to pretend ye’re one of those book heroes.”

  The color drained from his face. Did he honestly think she’d prefer to wed Roderick Douglas than him? Better, perhaps, if he did.

  “Are ye going back on yer word, lass? I know I can’t give ye all the things he can, but if ye’ll give me a chance, I know I can make ye happy.”

  The plea in those dear, wounded eyes undid her. “Oh, Harris, don’t ye see? It’s not ye I’m doubting. Ye couldn’t pick a worse wife than me. The first sign of trouble and I’d be gone—just like yer ma.”

  He grasped her by the arms. If Roderick had done it, Jenny would have flinched, fearing what would come next. With Harris she trusted no harm would come to her, no matter how intense his emotions.

  “Ye’re not like my ma, Jenny. Nor like yers, neither. Ye’re strong, and stubborn, and loyal. Did ye run away that day in the river, when ye thought Levi Augustine and his lads were going to hack me to pieces?”

  “Well, of course not, but…” The notion transfixed Jenny. She had stood her ground once—for Harris. Could she do it again? “That was different. I didn’t have time to think of what I’d do. It’s one thing to stand fast for a moment, but it’s another thing altogether to stay when life grinds ye down day after day. Ye may trust me, Harris, but I don’t trust myself. I won’t see ye hurt on my account any worse than ye have been.”

  He glanced over at the vicar, the Chatham magistrate, and Roderick Douglas. Their argument over the marriage license was obviously winding to a close.

  “Listen to me, lass. Nothing on this earth could hurt me worse than the thought of ye wed to a brute like Douglas. It almost drove me mad every step of the way to Richibucto. Don’t turn me down because ye think ye’re being noble and doing what’s best for me. Trust that I know my own mind and keep yer promise.”

  Jenny reeled. Knowing now how she loved Harris, she only wanted what was best for him. He had twisted that concern and left her with no option. One way or another, she would hurt him.

  The vicar cleared his throat. The wedding guests, who’d been whispering feverishly amongst themselves, fell silent. Jenny wasn’t sure if she was still breathing.

  “Mr. Chisholm, although this situation is highly irregular, your document appears genuine.” The vicar cast a sheepish glance at Roderick Douglas.

  “I still say it’s a forgery. Where did a penniless newcomer like him get the cash for a marriage license?”

  Harris replied in a voice of calm strength. “No man is destitute if he has friends, Douglas. But I don’t expect ye’ve much experience of that.”

  “Why you troublemaking scoundrel…” Roderick strode toward Harris, one black-gloved hand raised.

  Jenny stepped between them. She shut her eyes, fully expecting to feel the full force of the blow.

  She heard the vicar cry, “Mr. Douglas, please!”

  Opening her eyes again, she saw Roderick fight to regain his composure. Lowering his hand, he held it out to her.

  “The license means nothing, Janet, if you tell everyone Chisholm is lying. Come, let’s have this over and get on with our wedding.”

  No question the man had an air of command. When he ordered, it was difficult to refuse. After the way she’d treated Harris, she deserved no better than this. Jenny drew a deep breath and blurted out her answer.

  Harris waited for Jenny to speak. His innards bounded like butter in a churn. From the look on her face, he knew she’d come to recognize Roderick Douglas for what he was. Even knowing that, was it possible she would choose a life with Douglas to a life with him? And if she did—how would he bear it?

  “I’m sorry,” she began, looking deep into his eyes.

  An invisible fist thrust into his chest.

  “What Mr. Chisholm says is true. I did make him a promise, before we left Scotland. I didn’t think he meant to hold me to it, so I went ahead with my wedding to Mr. Douglas. But, if Harris wants me after all, I must honor my first pledge.”

  Had he heard aright—or did he long so deeply to hear those words that his ears had manufactured them?

  “Whore!” spat Roderick Douglas. “Bitch! Strumpet! You were lifting your skirt for this oaf every step of the way from Dalbeattie, I’ll wager.”

  This outpouring of bile released Harris from his paralysis of wonder. The realization that he’d won Jenny sent him surging forward on a crest of unnatural strength. Gripping Roderick Douglas by his pristine white stock, Harris pulled him clear off the floor.

  “I’ll thank ye to keep a civil tongue in yer head about my bride. And mind the preacher about foul language in kirk.”

  Douglas struggled free. Looking out at the dumbstruck wedding guests, he made an effort to remuster his lost dignity. “Take her then. I wouldn’t have her now, in any case. A loose little baggage like that is hardly the wife for a man in my position.” With a parting glare at Jenny, he stalked out of the church.

  After a moment’s stunned silence, the wedding guests rose and departed, until the sanctuary was deserted but for Harris and Jenny, the vicar and Captain Glendenning.

  Harris drew Jenny toward the altar.

  “Will ye marry us, sir?” he asked the vicar.

  “Bless my soul, why not?” The vicar adjusted his spectacles. “In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. You’ll need another witness, though.”

  “I’ll stand witness,” said a husky, feminine voice from the back of the church.

  “M
orag!” Harris tried to infuse his smile with a thousand welcomes. “What are ye doing here? This is dangerous for ye.”

  “I had a feeling ye might need me.” She glided up the aisle and took her place beside Jenny. “Ye certainly made a grand entrance, Harris. I’d have given five pounds to see Douglas’s face when ye walked in the door.”

  Harris would have given anything to forget the naked threat in Black Roderick’s eyes. He needed to get Jenny safely married to him so there could be no question of her returning to that man.

  He flashed his bride what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “We’ve got our witnesses, Vicar. Let’s get this done.”

  The clergyman heaved a sigh so massive it vibrated his tiny frame. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

  When it came to the part about marriage being ordained to prevent fornication and for the procreation of children, a stinging blush rose in Harris’s cheeks. It was not enough to have the license signed and the vows read. To insure Jenny’s safety from Roderick Douglas, they’d have to consummate their union, as soon as possible. Part of him roused at the prospect, but another part shrank from it. Having such pitifully little experience with women, could he make his beloved Jenny happy?

  As they repeated their vows, Jenny’s voice quavered with uncertainty. Harris strove to give his words enough conviction for both of them. Yet, deep in his heart, he doubted. Had Jenny wed him only because he’d forced her, and because he represented an escape from Roderick Douglas? Could a marriage thrive built on such shifting sand? He had told Jenny that seeing her wed to Roderick Douglas would hurt him even more than the possibility she might desert him. Now he was not so sure.

  The mood of the wedding lifted slightly when it came time to sign the register. Jenny looked so proud of herself, being able to write her name. A lump rose in Harris’s throat as he watched her. Perhaps he could not shower her with silk and diamonds, but he had given her the priceless gift of literacy.

  “Where will we go now?” Jenny asked, as their subdued bridal party left the church.

  “Back to the St. Bride,” replied Harris. “Tomorrow she casts off for Jamaica. I’m certain I can find work there, perhaps on one of the big estates. Robert Jardine wrote me a letter of introduction to some folks in Kingston.”

  He tried to sound enthusiastic about the prospect. True, the West Indies had long been settled and would provide a more amenable life-style than this rough-hewn frontier colony. But Harris liked New Brunswick. Its landscape had much in common with his native Galloway. The virgin territory offered men of resource and imagination a place to make their mark.

  Captain Glendenning cleared his throat. “Hold yer horses, lad. The crew passed the hat, ye might say, and came up with the price of a room at the inn for ye tonight.”

  It was difficult to tell if the captain’s perpetually weather-reddened face sported a blush. Harris thought it might.

  “A ship’s berth is no fit place for a bride to pass her wedding night,” added the master of the St. Bride gruffly. “Consider it a wedding present.”

  No question that Jenny was blushing. “That was very…thoughtful, Captain. Only…” She looked from Harris to Morag and back. “It might not be wise to linger in Chatham any longer than we have to.”

  “She’s right.” Harris hated to admit it. Much as he longed to undertake the ordeal of their wedding night in the relative quiet and privacy of the inn, he had better reason than most to fear retaliation from Roderick Douglas.

  “Don’t fret yerself on that account,” Captain Glendenning nodded to the kirkyard gate, where two members of his crew idled. “Young Thomas and the bosun offered to keep watch at the doors so no one’ll disturb ye.”

  As Harris searched for adequate words of thanks, Jenny raised herself on tiptoe and planted a kiss on the master’s rough cheek. He grinned self-consciously.

  “Ye haven’t much choice that I can tell. Who knows what kind of foolery the crew’s apt to get up to if ye spend the night on board.”

  Taking the hand Harris offered, he shook it warmly. “Go along with ye, now. Ye’ll want to turn in early, for we sail at sunrise tomorrow. I’ll see Miss McGregor back to her home.”

  Harris swallowed a massive lump in his throat. “To the inn it is.”

  He could not bring himself to look his bonny bride in the face. Had he gone through so much to win Jenny, only to lose her where it mattered most?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As Harris nudged open the door of their room at the inn, a billow of hot air surged out into the hall, redolent with the fumes of lye, camphor and ammonia. With his leg still a bit lame, there was no question of him hoisting Jenny up and carrying her over the threshold. Instead, he stood back to let her enter first. Their bridal chamber was nowhere near the size of the bedrooms at Roderick Douglas’s house, reflected Jenny. In fact, it was not much of an improvement over a cabin on the St. Bride—unless you counted the advantage of privacy.

  A high tester bed occupied most of the limited space, with a three-foot-wide easement at the side and the foot. Wedged tightly into the opposite corner, a three-legged washstand was the only other piece of furniture in the room. A heavy china basin sat on top of it, a ewer of water on the shelf below, while a matching chamber pot rested on the floor beneath.

  By the foot of the bed, a single narrow window looked out onto the roof of the house next door. Three wooden pegs on the wall beside the door, and a candle sconce by the head of the bed, completed the spartan amenities. Perhaps to compensate for its other deficiencies, the cramped little room looked and smelled painfully clean.

  Jenny stared at the bed. “It’s hot as Hades in here!”

  Tossing her shawl and bonnet onto the quilt, she flew to the window. With an energetic tug, she managed to wrench it open a little way. The still, heavy air outside brought little relief, but it did give the smell someplace else to go.

  The door swung closed on squealing hinges. Jenny glanced back to find Harris gingerly settling himself on the edge of the bed. They held their positions for some time without exchanging a word. The confines of the stifling little room imposed an awkward intimacy. At the moment, they were as far apart as they could get—less than ten feet.

  Faint noises drifted in through the half-open window, muffled by the torpid air: the clop of horses’ hooves, the rhythmic pounding of a hammer, the forlorn sound of a dog howling. Jenny could barely hear them over the loud, rapid thumping of her heart.

  Abruptly Harris stood up. Keeping his back to Jenny, he took off his coat and hung it on one of the pegs by the door. Seeing the dark patches of sweat below his shirt collar and under his sleeves, she suddenly felt conscious of the beads of moisture trickling down between her own shoulder blades.

  Harris cleared his throat. “Ye might as well know, straight off…” He did not turn to look at her. “I’ve only a vague idea of what’s supposed to go on between us now.”

  His voice sounded so lost and anxious, it eased Jenny’s own apprehension. She sidled along the perimeter of the bed until she was standing beside him—close, but not quite touching.

  “Ye mean, ye’ve never…?” she asked in disbelief.

  He shook his head, eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

  “Not even…?” Jenny tried to phrase her inquiry as delicately as possible.

  Harris seemed to catch the drift of her half-asked question. Head still hung, he glanced over at her. An embarrassed grin rippled across his lips.

  “Do ye think a fellow who’s too backward to court a proper lass would have the nerve to pay a call on a Glasgow whorehouse?”

  Her bridegroom’s blunt admission prompted a hiccup of nervous laughter from Jenny.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  It made no sense to feel shy of each other now, Jenny thought, not after all they’d been through together. Harris had made no secret of his desire for her. She’d assumed he knew exactly what it
was he desired. Heaven knows, she had! One of them would have to make the first move, Jenny decided, or this would be a very awkward marriage. At the altar of St. Mary’s, she’d sworn in her heart never to give Harris the slightest cause to regret making her his bride.

  Summoning all her nerve, she reached out and took his hand. “What is it ye’re sorry for?” she whispered. “Sorry ye had to go to all the trouble of wedding a daft, heedless, stubborn wench, just to save her from the likes of Roderick Douglas?”

  Harris looked her in the face then, pulling his spare frame to its full dignified height. “I’ll never be sorry for that, if ye’re not. I’ve wanted ye long, Jenny. I haven’t much to offer a wife. Not compared to a man like Rod Douglas.”

  A bright blush spread up from his collar. He looked down at his hand clasped in hers. “It seemed the least I could do—knowing enough to make it easy for ye…the first time.”

  She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Ye needn’t talk so daft, Harris Chisholm. Ye’re a fine catch for any lass. Ye’re the cleverest man I know, and not just book-learning, either. Ye’re honorable, and brave, and kindhearted. Whenever I see yer face I want to smile. Whenever ye’re near, I want ye nearer still. And when ye’re not around, it’s like the sun’s gone behind a cloud and the birds have stopped singing.”

  She hesitated. “As for the other…I ken we’re clever enough to puzzle it out between us. I’m willing to try, if ye are?”

  “Oh, aye.” A tender, hopeful smile spread up from Harris’s mouth, igniting an amber glow in his hazel eyes. It transformed his battered face into the handsomest Jenny had ever seen. She raised her free hand, brushing her fingers against his auburn whiskers in a gesture of affection and trust.

  Far less to fear from the gentle, clumsy ardor of Harris Chisholm than from the practiced seduction and lurking violence of Roderick Douglas. So Jenny thought, as her new husband bent forward to deliver a kiss. She tilted her head to meet it. Tentatively their lips brushed. Then, perhaps recalling that he had kissed her before—kissed her well enough to make her want more—he let his tongue dart between her slightly parted lips. Jenny gave a little gurgle of surprise deep in her throat, which subsided into a purr of enjoyment.