Dawson Bride

by T. S. Joyce

  The bed creaked as he sat beside me. Even if it was highly inappropriate, his hand was a comfortable weight against the blanket over my leg. “You’re mine now.”

  I turned my head and wiped the back of my hand across my damp cheeks. His head was lowered, but that didn’t shield the hideousness of the scar that snaked from his hair line to beneath his shirt. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’re my woman. It can mean anything to you, but to me it means I’ll keep you safe. My body is yours. I’ll die before I let him harm you again.”

  “But I don’t even know you.”

  “We’ll get to know each other plenty where we’re going. I’m taking you on a boat and we’re going to America. You’ll be safe from him there. Doc says his reach is wide and I can’t protect you here, but there’s no place safer than where I’m from. My brother’s and I can protect you.”

  The man was mad. If Ralston, that devil, couldn’t convince me to go to America to save my family, I sure as bloody hell wasn’t going with no incentive at all. My connection to the world was lost. Everyone who meant anything had been taken from me. This land was my only contact to who I was. “I can’t go to America. My home is here.”

  “Death is here. You stay, you’ll die. There’s no way to mask a face like yours, Lucianna. I’m sorry.”

  “And if I don’t want to be your woman?”

  “I won’t force you. You can let me keep you safe or you can try and find your way alone here. I know my limits and I’m just one man. I can’t protect you from a man who has the reach of the one who did to your family what he did last night. We’ll both die and too soon. Take your time and think it through. We leave as soon as you’re well enough.”

  He stood and left the cottage. There was no slamming of the door or ferocious looks like with Ralston. He’d given me a choice and it was the first one I could remember being mine. Still, I’d learned a hard lesson about men. They wanted what benefited them, and when they grew tired of their trinket, they burned them alive. I turned back to the wall. Sure, I’d think about it, but the weakness and ache in my bones told me I had plenty of time. I wouldn’t be able to travel for a while yet. Right now, I needed to mourn my losses while my insides slowly put themselves back together again.

  Chapter Four

  Lucianna

  My heart thundered against my ribs as the stranger entered the cottage. It happened every time he came back to me.

  His threadbare clothes couldn’t hide the strength that hummed through the etched musculature of such a man. His arms pressed against the thin fabric of his cotton shirt, and though his dark hair was shaggy and unkempt, it wasn’t overly long. I canted my head as his glorious, pale gaze lifted to me. His dark eyebrows were lowered just slightly as he raked his eyes over my sitting position. The linger in it held me frozen and my breath halted as if someone stepped across my neck. His throat worked as he swallowed, and I followed the movement to the edge of his collar bone that peeked out from under his undone top button.

  His presence filled up the entirety of the small room. He was tall, to be sure, but it was more than that. There was a power the wafted from the stillness of his stance that sucked all of the air from the room. Inhaling deliberately, I dragged air into my drowning lungs as the crackle of something just above my senses sent a chill down my neck like the legs of a spider.

  In a shaken voice, I whispered, “I’ll be your woman, whatever that means.”

  His jaw worked as he clenched his teeth, and without a word, he dropped a pair of ratty shoes on the floor beside me and squatted down. Unable to move, I sat like some leaf frozen in a winter gale as he hesitated, then reached for my bare foot. Never had a man touched my skin like this, and with his hands so confident and strong, it was hard to stay unaffected by the warmth that touched the sensitive flesh there.

  This was highly improper, but who was here to judge? I’d already committed a sin by staying in a man’s house unescorted. If I was going to hell, I was doing it thoroughly.

  Gable glanced up at me from his position on the floor, and the corners of his eyes tightened as if he could hear my churning thoughts. I was stuck here, caught in his gaze like I had no power of my own to save my dignity. Lowering his head, he slid stockings over my foot. His finger brushed the skin of my leg as he pulled it up and, unable to help myself, I gave a quiet gasp at the intimacy of it. His downturned head was covered in dark, silky tresses I wanted to touch so badly, I ached.

  I cleared my throat. “Did you hear me? I said I’d be your woman.”

  He was trying to figure out how to lace the pair of peasant’s shoes onto my now stocking-covered feet. “Good,” he grunted as he shifted his weight and pulled the laces tight.

  “I have terms though.”

  A dimple deepened on his right cheek as the corner of his mouth turned up. “I thought you would. Let me have ’em.”

  I shifted uncomfortably as my healing wounds screamed they’d been sitting in the same place for too long. “One, no touching me inappropriately.”

  The lines of his face softened and the blue in his eyes danced. “Now, Lucianna. Someday you’re going to want me to touch you, and you’re ruining your chance at that with a silly rule.”

  His confidence brought a delicious shiver to my stomach. I’d grown used to his scarred face during his quiet visits. He’d no doubt been a beautifully created creature before the injury. The other side of his face was unscarred and artfully angled. His nose was straight and majestic and his eyes, not quite the brilliant snow blue I’d imagined in the shock of my first pain-filled days with him, were a cool and kind blue. They rarely left me, and danced with humor in the places I liked to laugh too. He was tall, overwhelmingly so, and the memory of his shirtless chest was forever etched into my mind, but I was a lady and his breeding was very apparently beneath mine.

  And he was American.

  Besides, I wasn’t an animal. I could control the excited trills that sprang beneath my skin when he brushed it with his fingertips. I’d been doing it for days.

  Hopefully my sigh had just enough annoyance in it to affect how unmoved I could be. “Moving on. Two, no inappropriate sneak peeks at my body if we’re living in close quarters. My privacy is to be respected.”

  “I already seen you naked.”

  “What?” Heat fanned up my neck and landed in my cheeks. “When?”

  “When we were trying to save your life.” He sat back and surveyed his handy work. Two ugly low-buttoned, low-heeled shoes peeked out from beneath the horrendous plaid dress he’d probably stolen from some whore’s trashcan. “You didn’t think we stitched you up fully clothed, did you?”

  Okay, unsettling news. Had he liked what he saw? I shook my head. Beside the point! Focus. “From here on out, no sneaky peeking,” I amended. “And three.” I waited until his eyes met mine. “I’ll never marry you. I don’t want to be married so don’t even ask. Swear it.”

  He dipped his head, “Luc, I’m not trying to marry you.”

  “Good, it’ll be an easy oath to take then. Swear it.”

  The corners of his eyes tightened just a little. “I swear. Now pin your hair up tight and put the bonnet on. Let me see if it hides the color enough.”

  The mirror over Doc’s washbasin reflected my first glimpse of myself in a week and a half. I’d lost weight and my face looked gaunt and tired, but healing as much as I needed took it out of me. At least that’s what Doc said. Maybe the dark circles under my eyes would help hide who I was.

  The gnarled wooden cane under my hand was warm in my grip. I barely recognized myself.

  “I’ll get you a nicer dress when we get to Boston.”

  I tried and failed to keep the note of hope out of my voice. “Is Boston where we’ll be living?”

  “No, it’s just the port you’ll be coming into. You’ll travel alone from Liverpool and I’ll meet you at this address when you arrive in Boston Harbor.” He handed me a folded piece of paper and I tucked it into the hidde
n pocket at my waist with my jewelry.

  A sliver of fear snaked inside of me as it always did when we talked about this. “I still don’t understand why you can’t travel with me.”

  Gable sighed and stood behind me in the mirror. “I know you’re scared, but selling your hair pin jewels only brought enough boat fare for you. I have other ways to get to Boston, but they wouldn’t be safe for you.”

  “I still have three pins left and my ring. Let’s sell those and you can board the same boat.”

  His hands closed around mine and the pins dug into my skin. “We can’t sell that ring on British soil without Bastrop getting wind of it, and we’ll need your pins to get to Colorado.

  Stubbornly, I said, “I’m giving one to Doc.” One pale blue jewel clicked as I pressed it against the wooden tabletop under the water basin.

  I thought Gable would argue, but instead he said, “I expect he’s earned it. You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Gable left while I straightened the bed covers as best I could. The door stood open and I could hear the murmur of his conversation with Doc, but when I was sure he wasn’t looking, I lifted the lumpy mattress and pulled a pair of charcoal drawings I’d done of Bryant from beneath it. I would work my whole life to sketch the softness in my brother’s eyes just right. I folded them reverently and placed them into the bottom of my threadbare knapsack. With a final look around the small cottage, I sighed and stepped through the front door.

  Doc stood outside and handed me a bundle of provisions. “If you ride straight through, you should make it to Northwich by dark.”

  “Ride?” I asked.

  Doc gestured to a sturdy looking dappled gray horse tied to a nearby tree. The terrifying thing snorted and bobbed its head like he wanted to eat me. “No thanks, I’ll ride in a buggy, thank you.”

  Gable searched my face like I’d sprouted fingers upon it. “There’s no buggy to escort you to town, Lucianna.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look at your dress, woman! We’re not exactly parading as royalty.”

  My filthy red and purple plaid number surely didn’t scream wealth, but I’d naively been under the impression even the poor had access to buggies. I hadn’t said carriage! I waved my hand at the likely rabid beast. “Well, I can’t ride that thing.”

  Gable’s dark eyebrows shot to his hair line. “You can and you will. Unless you think you can hobble around on that thing from now until this evening.” He gestured to the cane in my white-knuckle grip.

  I tipped my chin up and began walking for the dirt road, leaning heavily on the walking stick. The pain was excruciating. About thirteen yards later I stopped and slumped my shoulders in defeat. “Fine,” I called behind me.

  Gable spoke quietly to Doc and shook his hand. Doc waved and smiled in that kind way of his. I’d miss the old man who cared about people’s well-being more than anyone I’d ever met. He was a kind soul. I smiled sadly and waved back. “Doc, you’ve been lovely.”

  “So have you, my dear.”

  The palms of my hands dampened the closer Gable approached with the horse. “This is Barney,” he said. “He’s the oldest horse in all of creation and he’s perfect for a beginner.”

  I snorted. “I’m not a beginner, sir. I just haven’t ever had a need to get on the back of one of those.”

  “Beginner,” he grumbled right before he hoisted me up in the saddle without a warning about it. I stifled a terrified scream as Barney walked forward behind the clenched reins in Gable’s hand.

  “See you when I see you, Doc,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Don’t kill anyone,” he sang back.

  I twisted in the saddle but failed to find any humor on Doc’s face.

  “I’m cold,” I complained.

  “Poor people don’t have money for fancy jackets. You’ll get used to it. It ain’t cold enough to die from.”

  I pulled the ratty shawl he’d found me tighter around my arms and sniffed. “Isn’t.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You meant it isn’t cold enough.”

  Barney stopped walking so Gable could grace me with a tired look. “No, ma’am, I meant ain’t and if you’re going to be correcting my grammar all the way to Colorado, it’s going to be an eternal journey for both of us.” His blue eyes flashed before he turned and made a clicking sound with his tongue to get Barney moving.

  True to his word, the horse was as docile as a feather pen. The reins lay slack in Gable’s hands as he trudged along behind the imposing man. I’d kept a conversation for the first few hours but my hurts were burning and my hip was so sore from sitting in the saddle, I could barely see straight, much less put a coherent sentence together. I’d gone to memorizing the dark brown waves in Gable’s glossy hair and waiting for the rare moments he would look off into the woods beside us and offer his profile. If he looked to the right, I could imagine him without the scar.

  Without warning, he pulled me and Barney from the road and into the woods. A stream snaked its way through the scrub and the horse lowered its head to take a drink.

  “You need a rest,” Gable said.

  I don’t know how he knew, but I was grateful for the sixth sense he seemed to have. Frozen into the saddle and unable to use my bad hip to swing the other leg over, I looked around helplessly.

  He reached for my waist and pulled me off. I groaned in surprised pain as my feet hit the ground. I couldn’t move or use my bad leg at all and while it dangled in the air, I sank against Gable’s chest and clutched his shirt until the fire became manageable. His heartbeat was strong and steady against my clenched fists and I slowed my breathing as the comfort of his warmth brushed against me.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  His hands hung in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them but at my apology, he pressed his palms against my back. For some reason, his touch brought tears to my eyes. “I’m sorry for everything.” The tidal wave of my emotion was thunderous and inescapable. I’d been holding everything in so well until now, but the pain was so bad and our situation so bleak that the repressed hurt from the past two weeks came back to claim me.

  “Shhh,” he soothed as I sobbed into his shirt. “You’re all right.”

  He was so wrong. I was anything but all right, but his words quieted my crying so I kept my argument locked in its silent tomb.

  “This isn’t working,” he murmured.

  “If you’re talking about my rules—”

  “No, not that. You can’t keep riding a horse split legged like that. Not on a hip injury, but I don’t trust you to sit sidesaddle by yourself without sliding off at every turn. We don’t have the right leather for it. He swung into the saddle in one fluid motion that looked like he’d practiced it one trillion times at least. “Come here.” He slid to the back of the saddle and gestured for me to come closer.

  I glared at the horse and grumbled, “Don’t bite me.”

  Gable grabbed me under the arms and pulled me across the saddle, cradled between his knees.

  “What if someone sees us?”

  He kicked the horse and steered him back toward the road. “You’re my woman. Who cares?”

  I’d argue everyone. Everyone would care. Not even husbands and wives rode the same horse, and we weren’t even married. Nor would we ever be. On the other hand, my hip felt a lot better like this and it wasn’t completely unpleasant to have my arms wrapped around his neck. His strong hand held my back up and kept me steady as if I sat in my very own throne in the forest.

  If I asked questions, I bet I could hear the rumble of his voice against the side of my cheek. “How did you and Doc meet?”

  “Doc didn’t tell you? I was shot up. Not as bad as you but bad enough and he patched me. I repaid the favor by fixing up his cabin and repairing some old furniture pieces he’d inherited from his mother.”

  “Where’d you learn wood work?”

  “My Da and brothers are handy with it. We always built
the houses we lived in when I was younger. We moved around a lot so I got good at fixing things.”

  “Who shot you?”

  “Hunters.”

  I waited for him to elaborate but his eyes had cooled and rested on the road. “Where do you sleep at nights?”

  “Why, would you rather me share your tiny bed?”

  Heat ran the gauntlet up my cheeks. “N-no,” I stammered. “That’s not at all what I was implying.”

  The deepened laugh lines around his mouth said he was teasing me. Again. I’d never met a man who enjoyed baffling a woman more.

  “I sleep outside.”

  “Don’t you have a home?”

  “I do.”

  I arched my eyebrows and waited. Getting any personal information from the man was like catching a slick pig with buttered fingers. “Where?”

  “I’m taking you there. A boat ride, a train ride, and a carriage ride are all that stand between you and my home.”

  I relaxed into the tense and immovable crook of his elbow. “Tell me about it.”

  A wisp of a smile brushed his lips and I watched them mold around velvet words as he talked. He’d grown his beard, to shield the scar he’d said, and the short, dark whiskers made his eyes look bluer and fiercer. His white teeth were a stark, bright contrast to the dark hair. I wonder if it would tickle to kiss a man with whiskers.

  “You all right, there?” he asked.

  “Uuh.” I cleared my throat and tried to expel the foggy sensation sitting so near him was causing. What had he been talking about? “Yes, your home. Go on.”

  “It’s a small town but one you could easily get lost in. There’s lots of land out there and I live on a homestead with my two brothers, Jeremiah and Luke. Or at least I did before the War Between the States. I haven’t seen my family in years. They’ll be mighty surprised when I show up with a woman, that’s for sure and for certain.”

  “It sounds like you loved it there. Why’d you leave?”

  His nostrils flared slightly and he jerked his head to the side before pulling the horse from the road and into the surrounding woods. “Quiet now. Someone’s coming.”