Gwen snorted. “As far as I can see, there is never been a more self-sufficient bunch. They can take better care of themselves than I ever could.”
With a shrug, stuck the pull into the mud and pushed off from shore. “Then maybe it’s you who needing them, no?”
“No!” She insisted as he pulled away. How could he call those filthy, nasty brats children? They were demons sent from hell to torment her. With a gulp, she glanced to the cabin. There was nothing she could do to prevent spending the night here with them, and then they’d made it clear that they weren’t no happier than she was about the situation.
The question was, what did they mean to do about it?
***
Riding home from town, Jervis decided he was well pleased with the day’s proceedings. Thus far, Michael had yet to file his marriage license, but the minute he did, the attorney would file an annulment. They could always claimed lack of consummation, the lawyer had assured him. As long as Gwen didn’t sleep or cohabitate with her new husband, her marriage was as good as over.
Gwen’s marriage to Lance must take place before his brother’s death, Jervis swore, even if he would move mountains to get it.
No matter what it took, you would have that trust fund–and the Willows along with it
***
Hands cradling his head, Michael lay on the hard ground, his body exhausted stared at the star filled sky. It was an incredible night, warm and seducing, a night made for dreaming. Back in his youth, his mind would have danced with dazzling images of wealth and recognition, as brilliant as the distant stars twinkling above him.
But tonight, it was not the constellations, or even his future that he saw in his mind. It was the interior of that little cabin in the swamp.
Nor was it a scene of domestic tranquility he pictured. Given the characters, what he imagine more resembled a brawl. Too easily, he could see Gwen demanding the children do something–fetch her food, pick up her discarded clothing–while Jude lead the others into rebellion. The children would give their new mother the fight of her life.
Not much he could do about it, though, save hope that Jeffrey had, as he promised, to act as arbitrator.
Still, Michael knew the old man couldn’t stay forever, and they would impose more than enough as it was. Like himself, Jeffrey had other, more pressing demands on his time. For the time being, if Michael wanted a guardian for the children, he would have to rely on Gwen.
That was the sole reason he’d taken the woman, he told himself. He needed someone to watch over the children, while Jeffrey went home to visit a dying family member. If Gwen would just give him a month, maybe two at the most, Michael would happily hand there on the wedding license and call the marriage off. Hell, if she helped him and things worked out as he hoped, he would be willing to consider all their debts cancelled.
Too late, he wished he hadn’t gotten so angry. He’d meant to tell her that she had no intention of holding her to the vows she hadn’t realized she was making, but she’d gotten him so riled, it was all he could do to leave with this temper intact. How could such a beautiful woman have so uncanny a knack for getting under a man’s skin? Instead of striking a deal like the mature, responsible adult he should be, Michael had barely made it out there without bringing her neck.
Because of it, he would now lie awake for hours, worrying, when he desperately needed sleep. He knew those children, and he knew Gwen, and they did not make a comfortable combination.
Damn. Despite his tight schedule, he’d have to squeeze in a visit sometime tomorrow, just to make certain that cabin still stood and everyone remained alive in one piece. Or he would not to be sleeping tomorrow night, either.
***
Inside there fortress, Patrick listen to Jude, and making plans on what they would do with that woman. Everyone wanted her gone, but no one knew how they could drive her away, without the blame coming back to themselves. They had hoped Jeffrey would help, but he had not appeared anxious to help get rid of her. As Jude insisted, it was clear they were on their own.
At the least, they had to make certain he stay out of their way that she never ventured anywhere near there fortress, besides you could tell just by looking at her that woman like that could never keep a secret.
Jude talked, dismissing one plan after another. Watching his brother’s listen quietly, Patrick had to concede that what Jeffrey said was true. Patrick might be the oldest, but it was always Jude who took charge. Wherever Jude lead, the rest were about to follow.
Not that Patrick resented it. Judah generally had the best ideas, and certainly the greater enthusiasm. And Patrick had to agree that the woman was the worst possible thing that could have happened.
They had been in getting by fine enough, with Jeffrey dropping in from time to time. At the little ones still had nightmares sometimes, what would the woman be able to do about it? Anyone who could raise such a fuss about one tiny spider, sure what it be much help in a crisis. Her idea of hardship was not having the right gown for a ball.
No, whatever it took, even if it made Michael angry at them, they had to get rid of her. They had to make sure she did not get to liking life here in the swamps.
“Snakes,” he heard Jude say to his brothers. “Want to bet she’s scared to death of snakes?”
Chapter 12
Gwen was dreaming. Deep down, she knew this, even as she leaned forward in her seat. The scene was too romantic, too perfect.
Amid the roar of the delighted crowd, her brave, bold Lancelot turned toward her. She held her breath in excitement anticipating, as she waited for him to come charging forward on his beautiful silver horse. Having captured the day – and her heart – it was time for Lance to come and claim her. The crowd buzzed like bees, knowing it would soon participate in the wedding of the sensory, complete with music and dancing and beautiful, flowing dresses. Everyone was happy. Even her father was smiling.
Beside her, like the serpent tempting Eve, a voice hissed in her ear. Gwen went stiff with confusion; voice seem to belong to Lance.
“Don’t trust him,” whispered darkly, and a hand appeared out of nowhere point at the approaching horseman. “Can you see he is evil, beyond redemption? Remember, his wife had to name her boys after Saints to protect them from his wrath.”
The word of wrath echoed in the murmurs rippling through the crowd. Looking up, Gwen saw that the silver horse had become a fiercely magnificent stallion, its new master bedecked in the same unrelieved black.
Tall and arrogance in the saddle, the man loomed over the tournament like some of avenging god. All around when, the rumor circulated. This phantom in black had once killed a man in a duel, and now had to hide in the swamp.
With a shiver of trepidation, she saw him flick his reins, then everything dissolved–the crowd, her father, even Lance’s voice–as both man and beast came thundering toward her. The world had been reduced to Gwen and this black angel, and she waited breathlessly see what he would do next.
To her amazement, he smiled in open invitation.
He was there, scooping her up as he thundered past, settling her chest to chest before him in the saddle. Gwen had to cling to his neck to keep from falling.
As they rode off, she could feel his heart, pounding in rhythm with her own. It was as if they spoke to each other, those thunderous hearts, calling out any language their brains could not understand. Looking up into his dark, yet familiar eyes, Gwen had never felt so exhilarated, so deliriously happy.
“If you were mine,” he said hoarsely, “I would make certain your nights were filled with magic.”
Suddenly, she cannot get close enough, cannot bear to have even clothes come between them. As he leaned down to take her lips, she wrapped her legs around him, the throbbing between her thighs keeping time with the horse’s acceleration gait.
“Mine,” he moaned into her mouth. “At last, you are mine.”
“It is to mine,” came a younger, more strident voice. “Not everything belongs to
you, Jude.”
Opening her eyes, Gwen took some moments to realize that she was not trotting into some sensual Eden, but rather it’s stuck in this cabin in the swamp. Recognizing Patrick’s voice, she might have been overwhelmed by disappointment, had embarrassments not been there to immediately take its place. “Stop fighting,” she heard Michael interrupt them. “I have brought a knife for each of you.”
She thought intensely of the dream, reliving every intense detail, she wondered how she could ever again look the man in the face.
“Where is, my lady?” She heard them ask the children. “I have brought something for her, too.”
“Still sleeping.” Hard to tell which child that was; they all use the same disdain when they spoke about her.
“At this hour? It’s almost noon?”
In the ensuing silence, she pictured them all shaking their heads in anger. Bolting out of the bed, she muttered an oath. She had never meant to sleep so late, and would not have, if the children had not kept her up, worrying half the night. They’d left when it Jeffrey had-without doing the dishes–and they had not returned until well after dark.
Not that she worried about them, of course; her concern was more about what the planned to do to her.
Standing in the middle of the room, she pushed her hands through her hair, knowing it must be a mess like her clothes. If the man thought of her as a drowned rat yesterday, what would he call her today?
Wiggling into her destroyed clothes, she caught herself up short. What did she care what he thought? Michael meant nothing to her. Less than nothing. It was just a silly dream.
Nonetheless, she continue to fuss with her appearance. Determined to where her locket, she groped through the cupboard, certain she had said it on that shelf last night, but searched though she might, she cannot find the locket nowhere in the room. Confused growing desperately, she heard Jude speak to Michael and her mind made the connection. After all it wasn’t the first time those children had made off with her locket.
As she stormed into the main room, Michael looked up from the sack as he was unpacking. If he had any idea that he’d play role in her dream, she’d never know it from his wary gaze. “I see you survived the night,” he said, handing Christopher a less lethal version of Patrick’s gleaming new knife. “Jude tells me you six managed to avoid all major calamities.”
The children looked up from their new weapons with a collective scowl, but otherwise ignored her. “Indeed?” Gwen said, bristling. “Perhaps you can ask Jude what they have done with my mother’s locket.”
Michael turned instantly to the boys. “Again? Boys, we discussed this that day at the docks. I thought we agreed that the locket doesn’t belong to you. That you can’t be taking it.”
Jude stepped forward, removing the chain from his pocket. “We did not. We found it on the floor. I just meant to look at it. I was going to give the back when she woke up.”
“She is up now,” Michael said gently. “Give it back.”
Glancing down at the picture, Jude side heavily, obviously reluctant to let go of the locket. The child must miss his mother too, Gwen thought, feeling suddenly churlish. She didn’t like to think that she’d made a hasty, undeserved accusation.
But Jude’s hostile glare as he handed over the locket eased whenever tender feelings might have bloomed. Jude might be innocent now, but there were plenty enough other crimes. He was a horrid child, Gwen reminded herself – they all are.
“Let’s hope that’s the last I have to hear about that locket,” Michael said, eyeing each child before turning to Gwen. “In the meantime, however, we have another problem. “He held up her leather boots. “You let them outside and I’m afraid that the leather has shrunk a good three sizes.”
Tensing, Gwen waited for the children to tell about her escape, but they merely continued scowling. “It wasn’t the rain that got my boots wet,” she told Michael, holding her chin up defiantly. “If you must know, I went through quite an ordeal yesterday.”
Grimacing, he looked away. “I’m sorry for that, I will do what I can’t find you some other footwear.” Lifting the sack, he carried it to the kitchen.
Self-consciously, Gwen wiggled her bare toes as she battled bewilderment. Where was the scolding, the laughter at her suspence? Michael acted as if he did not know she had tried to escape, yet she’d have thought it the first thing the children would tell him. Of course, they might have been distracted by their new knives, but what kept them silent now?
Eyeing them, she found each child busy inspecting his gift, but their stiff postures made it clear they were hanging onto every word. “Just tell him and get it over with,” she snapped, unable to bear the suspense any longer. “Go ahead, give him every sorry detail of my running away.”
Jude looked up, facing her squarely. “We don’t snitch.”
“I thought you wanted to get rid of me? Here’s your chance you won’t want such an irresponsible person watching over you.”
Jude looked tempted for a moment, but with a proud shake of his head, the child stood firm. “We have our code. Code of honor. We don’t go carrying tales, no matter what.”
Gwen could not help but be impressed. Looking down at the locket, she realized she’d started snitching the moment she’d entered the room.
“What is this about running away?”
She cringed at the sound of Michael’s voice. Noticing his frown, she remembered her dream. In it, he’d been so fierce, so passionate. Her body betrayed her with a swift, heated flush.
“After I warned you?” He went on, puzzled. “Knowing the hazards you would face in the swamp, you still tried to leave?”
“I don’t want to be here. You know that”
He set the sack on the table with a loud thud. “Have you any idea what could happen to you out there? Of all the foolish, idiotic-“
“What did you expect?” Gwen lashed out. “Did you think I would stay in this shack willingly?”
“It’s not a shack. It’s a cabin.”
“For pity’s sake, even you must see this situation is intolerable. I can’t stay here. I just can’t.”
“Let her go,” Jude said it, looking at Gwen with a scowl. “Things were a whole lot better before she came.”
“That will be enough.” The words were stern, but his tone betrayed his weariness. Setting the sack on the table, Michael reached up to rub the back of his neck. Why, the poor man’s tired, Gwen thought, surprised, then annoyed by her sudden passion.
“But-“
“Enough, Jude. Please, go outside for a moment and take your brothers with you. I need to talk to Gwen.”
Jude looked ready to argue, but Patrick grabbed him by the arm. Though the twins and Christopher followed them out, Gwen knew all five standing on the porch, ears glued to the door.
She cared little if they listened. He was her chance to plead her case, and she meant to take full advantage. Turning to Michael, was now taking supplies out of the sack, she squared her shoulders.
“If you let me go,” she said, trying to add a smile to her words, “I will drop all criminal charges against you.”
A dark eyebrow raised. He watched her, saying nothing.
“Well, perhaps not all,” she went on an easily. “I suppose we really must punish you for cheating, if Lance is to win the tournament and claim my hand.”
“Lance.”
Said the name with such disgust, Gwen went instantly defensive. “Be responsible. Everyone knows Lance must win the tournament, or my father would never let me marry him.”
A door slammed, he turned to glare at her from across the littered table. “For the last time, I had no need to cheat. I’d beat Lance fairly, twice to be exact, and still you people deny. How can you face your conscience, my lady? How do you sleep at night?”
By dreaming. All the hot, driving force of last night’s fantasy slammed into her, leaving her trembling with need. If not for the table between them, there was no telling what foolishness sh
e might have committed. “I…I love Lance,” said feebly, striving to recall the other man’s face. “I always have and always will.”
“So you have made it abundantly clear.” Michael looked away, his boys hard with anger. “Unfortunately, you are married to the wrong man. You are my wife now, and you’re staying right here where you are.” So saying, he turned to march out of the cabin.
Gwen stared at the doorway. It was not in her to humble yourself so, and what good had it done? Michael had it made the least attempt to listen to her please. He did not want her, but he meant to keep her trapped here, until it she was old and gray and no one else wanted her either.
Worse, there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.
Overwhelmed with stray shin and rage, she grabbed the first thing she could find to throw after him. The iron pot hit the door, managing to splinter the frame badly enough in the door what it never again shut properly.
Staring at the broken frame, she realized that her tantrum had not only been destructive, but had been futile, since Michael had long since made his exit. Knowing she’d accomplish nothing by standing there fuming, she followed him outside.
Down by the bank, she found Michael reaching into his boat. “Where are you going now?” She demanded. “It is inhumane, I tell you, leaving me with those children. Is this how a man treats a wife? Why… Why, I’m more and unpaid nursemaid, a…a jail warden.”
Lifting a bundle from the boat, he showed it into her chest. “It’s nothing fancy, but at least you can change out of…” He looked at the filthy, non-fitting dress she was in, “… What you are in.”
She knew what he was thinking, but whose fault was it that she looked like a drowned rat?
Still, clothes were clothes, and it had been a long time since she’d had new ones. With more excitement than she wanted to feel, she dug into the sack to pull out to dresses, a hideous green, and other a Dole, blue gray, along with a shift, stocking, and a blimp petticoat. “Where on earth did you get these?” She asked with disdain.
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