The Maverick's Bride

by Catherine Palmer

  “Just as I’m trying to tell you. Can’t you see?” Emma brushed a hot tear from her cheek.

  “Okay.” Adam took her hand and pulled her closer. “Okay, I’ll help you find your sister.”

  Her green eyes shimmered. “Thank you. We’ll find a church in Mombasa. I promise, you won’t regret it.”

  “Now hold on.” Adam took a step backward. “You never said anything about a church. I’m not going to do this thing in front of a preacher.”

  “God knows I would never make light of the sacrament of marriage, but we must have the union witnessed. The bank in England will require signed documents. We can’t marry out here in the middle of the bush with no one to see but these savages.”

  “Sendeyo and his family are not savages, Emma. They’re people, with pride and a culture as good as yours. Better, probably. They marry and raise families and take care of each other. We’ll get old Sendeyo over there to do the honors.”

  Adam tipped his head at the two men who had stood watching in silence. Sendeyo smiled back, as if he already knew that something interesting was afoot.

  Adam related the scheme to the elder, who listened with bowed head. Then Sendeyo began to respond, his deep voice lilting over phrases almost as though he were singing. At last he stopped and leaned on his spear.

  Adam turned to Emma. “He won’t do it.”

  “But why not?”

  “He says it’s not their way. We have to observe the proper waiting time, and it’s not even calving season. You don’t have a hut, there’s no cow to slaughter for the feast and we aren’t even betrothed.”

  “Preposterous. Surely they don’t get betrothed.”

  “It’s called the esirata—the picking of one girl from many.”

  Emma’s eyes flicked to the old man. He was staring at the stars. “Tell him I shall pay him well. I’ll give him fifty pounds.”

  “Fifty pounds? Why not fifty thousand? Sendeyo wouldn’t know what to do with one shilling. The Maasai way of life is based on the cow.”

  “Then I shall send him a cow. Ten cows.”

  Adam laughed. “He’s not going to do it, but I’ll try again.”

  He spoke to Sendeyo, stressing the urgency of the missing sister and the German who had stolen her away. Then he mentioned the cows. Sendeyo made a brief answer and prodded Adam with his cattle stick until he was facing Emma again.

  “All right,” he said. “He’ll do it.”

  She let out a breath of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Sendeyo. I shall see that you have as many cows as you like.”

  “He doesn’t want cows, Emma. He wants me to pay the bride price.”

  “Bride price? What is that?” she asked, her desperation growing.

  “Payment—for you. And since there are no parents to negotiate, he says I’m to give the bride price to you. Wait here.”

  He walked to his horse, slipped a knife from his boot and sliced into a leather strap on one of the saddlebags. It was one of four that held the bag closed with brass rings.

  “Here’s the bride price,” he told Emma.

  Unwilling to meet those green eyes, he took her hand and slid the ring onto the finger of her left hand. Sendeyo held aloft a knobbed stick. As he lowered it, he spoke in a raspy voice.

  “I’m to take care of you,” Adam translated. “I’m to give you many children and a hut and lots of cattle. You’re to take care of the children and the cattle and the hut. I can’t divorce you unless you’re barren, or you practice witchcraft, become a thief, desert me, behave badly, or refuse me conjugal rights.”

  He glanced up but she was not smiling. “You can’t divorce me unless I commit the same evils you’re supposed to avoid,” Adam went on. “You can leave me if I get drunk or treat you badly.”

  Sendeyo set the stick on the ground. His next words were firm, uncompromising. Adam turned to Emma.

  “As God has willed it,” he told her. “We’re married.”

  “I see.” Emma looked down at her finger. The brass ring glinted in the firelight.

  “I’ll get Sendeyo to sign something in the morning.”

  “Morning, but…?”

  “I’m not going back to the train tonight, Emma. The horses are too tired, and so are we.”

  She sighed in resignation as Adam thanked the two men and watched them melt away into the shadows.

  “Sendeyo says we can have the hut by the gate,” he told her. “It’s empty.”

  Her eyes went wide. “But we can’t stay in the same place. It isn’t right.”

  “I’ll sleep outside in the grass beside the horses.” He stepped closer and took her hands, suddenly unwilling to let her go. “You know what’s not right? This wedding.”

  “I know, but it’s only—”

  “Marriage vows ought to be sealed with a kiss.”

  Before she could protest, he bent and brushed his lips across hers. To his surprise, she leaned against him. Her arms slid around his waist. Her head settled on his shoulder.

  “Oh, this is not in the plan,” she murmured as she lifted her eyes to his. “This is a partnership. Nothing more.”

  “A deal,” he affirmed, kissing her again. But as she moved her hand to his cheek, the brass ring flashed.

  Emma stepped back with a gasp. “I’m so sorry. It’s not real. The marriage. The ring. None of it.”

  “I need you and you need me. That’s real.”

  Emma bit her lower lip and shook her head. “Good night, Adam.”

  Chapter Six

  Emma felt his eyes following her across the clearing, but she could not bring herself to look back. Adam’s kiss had burned her lips and seared her conscience. She had entered into a sacred union with a stranger, a man who was probably already married. If God had permitted confusion and obstacles in her life before, what would He do to her now?

  With shaking hands, she reached for the chestnut mare and untied the bedroll from behind the saddle. She listened for the jingle of Adam’s spurs but heard only the chirp of a cricket. Clutching the blanket, she could feel the ring on her finger. A brass ring.

  Even though Adam had said he wasn’t married, his heart was pledged to another woman. Clarissa. Emma had read her letter, and such passionate words could not be ignored or denied. Nicholas had called Adam a liar and a troublemaker. And now Emma had joined her life to such a man.

  “Where will you sleep?” Adam’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  She turned to find him silhouetted against the fire, a towering figure, his face obscured in the shadow of his hat. Without answering, she pointed to the long dry grass just inside the thorn hedge. She should sleep in the hut for safety, but the grass would be soft…and he would be near.

  He nodded and ambled across the clearing, his boots sending up puffs of powdery dust as he led the horses away from the fire. “Still have my gun?”

  “It’s in my pocket.”

  The leaves of a nearby bush shone silver in the starlight. Emma spread her blanket across the grass beside it and settled there to begin unpinning her hair. As she worked, she watched Adam place his bedroll on the ground a short distance away. He flipped his hat onto the pallet he had made, and the stars lit his black hair, dusting it with a shimmery powder.

  Emma lay down on her blanket and looked up. Like a trail of spilled sugar, stars glittered across the African sky. Never had she seen so many stars nor a sky so velvety and deep. She closed her eyes, wanting the sleep that her body demanded, but her mind refused to rest.

  Her father was dead. Cissy missing. Emma married. Each unreality piled on the next. She clasped her hands together, determined to pray.

  The cricket chorus rose, and she realized once again this was no English countryside. The dark continent had come to life. Insects fluttered by, soft wings fanning the air above her ear. Deep grunts echoed across the plains as swishing noises whispered from the grass.

  Her heart pounding harder with every new sound, Emma drew the pistol from her pocket. Clutching it in both h
ands, she stared into the darkness trying to remember the prayer her mother had taught her. Now I lay me down to sleep…now I lay…

  A shriek of high-pitched laughter split the air, and she sat up in fright, brandishing the gun. As the laughter wound down into a low growl, she swallowed against the dry lump in her throat and lay down again. What could it have been…that inhuman hilarity?

  I pray the Lord my soul to keep…and if I die before I wake—

  An earsplitting roar sent her to her knees, the gun barely controlled in her trembling fingers. Struggling to her feet amid the tangle of her skirts, she looked for Adam. He lay beneath the thorn tree, hat over his eyes and booted feet crossed at the ankles. In the silence that followed the roar, Emma focused on the hut Sendeyo had offered. Jerking the blanket into her arms, she tossed it over one shoulder and started forward, pointing the gun before her.

  “Emma.” The soft voice from behind her startled her, and she whirled around, pulling the trigger. A blaze of fire shot from the barrel. The deafening report sent her staggering backward.

  “Emma! Confound it, woman.” Adam materialized in the darkness, wrapped his arm around her waist and wrested the gun from her fingers. “Give me that thing. You’re going to get one of us killed.”

  “Oh, Adam, I’m sorry.” Emma sagged, relieved she hadn’t shot him. “I heard the roar and I thought of the lion…and the guard…and Cissy.”

  He laid a finger on her lips. “Why didn’t you tell me you were afraid? Come with me.”

  He turned her toward his blanket, but she drew back.

  “No, please. Let me go to the hut.”

  “That hut is full of fleas, cockroaches and lice, and tomorrow you’ll be a lot more miserable than you are right now. Sit with me under the tree, and I’ll teach you about the African night. Then you won’t be afraid.”

  Deciding she feared the night more than she feared Adam, Emma allowed him to walk her through the grass to the tree.

  “The roar was a lion,” Adam said, seating Emma on the blanket beside him. “They’re prowling this time of night.”

  “And that laughing sound?”

  “Hyenas. They mostly steer clear of people.”

  As he spoke, he brushed a tendril of hair from her shoulder. She caught her breath at the touch.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “The ceremony tonight. You…my wife.”

  “But I’m not your wife.”

  “The first time I kissed you, Emma, something happened to me. You’re beautiful and strong—like no woman I’ve ever known.”

  He leaped to his feet like something had stung him. “I’m getting tangled up here.”

  As he walked away, Emma looked into the sky, fighting unexpected tears. Stars hung in the branches of the thorn trees. The pale outline of the moon dropped toward the horizon.

  Adam could neither desire nor expect anything of her. Nor could she hope for anything from him. He had promised himself to another woman. He belonged in her arms, not Emma’s.

  Their sham marriage ceremony had changed nothing. She had her plans, and Adam King had no place in them. She turned the brass ring on her finger. It was only a monetary partnership, this arrangement they had made. No doubt God abhorred her mockery of His holy sacrament.

  “Adam, please don’t think twice about tonight,” Emma called to the man who stood a few paces away. She rose. “The old man’s words? They were simply that—words. A means to an end. I must find Cissy. You have your ranch. All I really want in life is a hospital where I can work. I can’t afford misunderstandings or complications any more than you.”

  “Emma, listen to me.” He caught her hand and pulled her near. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Adam, please.” She removed her hand. “We’re partners in a pact designed to benefit each of us. I expect nothing from you other than help in finding my sister. You ask nothing more of me than to keep my end of our agreement.”

  “Is that what you really want?”

  Words of denial dancing on her tongue, Emma moved away and again shook out her bedroll. “Good night, sir,” she called over her shoulder. “I really must sleep. It’s almost dawn.”

  But sleep had hardly come when the horses stamped and snorted, and the first herd of cattle headed out of the village toward a new day on the burning grasslands.

  Adam studied the woman curled against the sun-warmed mud wall of the hut. He felt sympathy for the fatigue etched in her face.

  When he touched her soft shoulder, the green eyes flew open. With a gasp, she sat up, one hand clutching the collar of her white blouse.

  “Oh, Mr. King,” she murmured, absently combing fingers through waves of tangled golden hair. “You startled me.”

  “Sendeyo’s senior wife has offered breakfast in her hut,” Adam told her. “It won’t be much, but we have a long day ahead of us.”

  “Yes, of course.” She made an effort to smooth out her rumpled skirt as he helped her to rise. “We must ask Sendeyo to sign an affidavit as well.”

  “I already wrote it and got his signature. Take a look.”

  Emma read the document and returned the certificate with a nod. Her silence didn’t surprise him. There was nothing to say. The previous night he had been rash, and she was right to spurn him. The written record of his marriage to Emma would go the way of Clarissa’s last letter. An avowal that meant nothing and would soon crumble to dust.

  As he escorted Emma through the dewy grass, they stepped aside to let a dozen scrawny goats file past. The naked child who scampered behind them stopped in astonishment at the sight of the tall man and the golden-haired woman.

  Adam watched Emma assessing the boy’s sparrow-thin legs, his protruding stomach and the flies crusting his eyes. The child held the woman’s stare before breaking free to race after his goats.

  “The boy is so thin,” Emma remarked. “Is he well?”

  “As healthy as a child can be with almost no water or food. Flies get their moisture where they can find it.”

  Emma shook her head. “Why don’t they dig wells and grow gardens? Can’t they wash? Is it too much—”

  Her words halted as she became aware of a gathering crowd of curious villagers. Adam knew the sight was a first for both parties. The African women wore layers of bright beaded necklaces with earrings hanging from lobes stretched nearly to their shoulders. Men in leather loincloths leaned on their spears to balance on one leg.

  “The Maasai are nomads,” Adam told the woman at his side. “They follow the green grass and pray for rain. Doesn’t do much good to dig a well when there’s no water underground.”

  An elderly woman elbowed through the group. Rheumy eyes glittered through narrow slits as she stood before Adam and Emma, her bare feet crooked and gnarled in the dust.

  He took off his hat and dipped his head low. “Takwenya, Endebelai,” he addressed her in the traditional greeting of respect.

  “Iko,” she returned with a smile, showing a single tooth.

  Adam took Emma’s elbow. “This is Endebelai. She’s Sendeyo’s senior wife. Say Takwenya. It’s a form of greeting.”

  “Takwenya.” Emma dipped a curtsy.

  “Iko.” The old woman cackled aloud over the white woman’s unexpected bow.

  At her merriment, the crowd surged forward to surround Emma. Their hands reached to stroke her skirt and fondle her hair. One little girl lifted her hem and peered in amazement at the white petticoat beneath it.

  Emma stiffened at the attention, and Adam wondered if she would back away in distaste. The people smelled pungent, a mix of wood smoke, perspiration and odors so familiar he hardly noticed them. Their fingers were crusted with dirt. Flies swarmed. But as he stepped forward to rescue Emma, she held up a hand.

  To his surprise, she dropped to her knees among the children, touching their faces and running her hands down their thin arms just as they had hers. A little girl’s arm bore an angry, blistered burn. Emma stroked her fingertips over the raw skin. A boy showed her a
festering black thorn embedded in his leg.

  “Oh, Adam!” Lips trembling, Emma stood. “Have they no hospital? Can they not see a doctor?”

  “They have a laibon, a traditional healer.”

  “But the thorn in the boy’s leg…Adam, he could die. We need hot water and clean cloths and—”

  “Emma.” Adam set his hand on her shoulder. “Emma, the protectorate is filled with villages like this. People live with disease and death.”

  “But I must do something. You don’t understand.”

  “I do understand, Emma. I want you to help these people, and you will. But your sister comes first. The Maasai will be here when you come back. They’ll need you in two weeks as much as they do now.”

  Before Emma could respond, Endebelai took her arm and urged her to the hut. Adam followed, noting how the old woman’s fingers read the bumps and hollows of the mud wall. At the doorway, Endebelai ran her hands around the opening before bending and slipping inside.

  Emma turned to Adam, her face pale. “She’s blind.”

  He nodded. “Go on in. She’s waiting for us.”

  Smoke flooded his nostrils as he followed the women into the hut. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Emma seated against a wall. Endebelai poked at the fire until a breath of air fanned the embers into flame, then she set a pot of milk atop it.

  Coughing, Emma blinked at the small vent in the low ceiling. “Has she no chimney?”

  “Smoke keeps the bugs down,” Adam told her.

  Endebelai passed small gourds of milk to her guests. Adam spoke to her in the singsong language of the Maasai. Sipping warm milk beside him, Emma seemed to relax.

  “Comfortable?” he asked.

  “Oddly enough, I am. Your friend is as warm as any English mother. May I ask what you’re discussing?”

  “Her son.” Adam stretched out his long legs. “He’s a friend of mine.”

  “He lives here, then?”

  “No.” Adam took a sip of milk. “I’ve told Endebelai about your sister. She’ll ask Sendeyo to send out warriors to search for her.”

  “Please thank her,” Emma exclaimed. “I’m sure no one knows this country better.”