Gillian_Bride of Maine

by Kirsten Lynn

  “The happiest, old friend.” He shook Deacon’s hand, and Gillian brushed a kiss on the older man’s cheek, her gaze never leaving his. He’d continue to work on the edges of bitterness that threatened the new life he’d found. Gillian was a gem worth any cost to keep.

  “If the weather turns fair again, you want me to man the light so you can take Gillian to the village?”

  Rhys frowned as he replaced the lamp chimney. Gillian had given up and retired shortly after midnight. He wished he could join her in their soft bed and finish what he’d started in the tower, but the snow turned heavy, and visibility was down to three miles, if that.

  “Why would we go to the village so soon?”

  “Rhys, the lass’s boots aren’t fit for what January and February are planning to bring. And you’d know more’n me, but I think the dress Ida gave her is the only one fit for winter. If you want to keep her past March, I suggest you get her some new clothes.”

  It chaffed that it took Deacon to notice Gillian’s lack of clothing. He’d been so wrapped up in having a wife who didn’t constantly nag about no money for the latest fashion, or a closet full of silks and satins, he missed Gillian’s lack of woolens and flannels.

  “I’d appreciate that, Deacon. If the weather holds would you be available in two days?”

  “I’ll be here if this pea soup fog rolls out.”

  They both turned their attention back to the bay. He rubbed his hands together against the chill then stared at them. Gillian’s loving attention warmed more than his hands. She’d acted without thought or motivation for anything but to bring him comfort. Tempted to share his heart, he’d stopped. It was strange to think he could even feel love for a woman he’d known such a short time, but as he’d told her, he’d been tied to her since he spotted her at the Portland station. He smiled, thinking of how big her eyes had grown at the sight of Wee Jacques. Of course, the wolf was about twice her size.

  “She’s a fine woman.”

  Rhys held onto his smile, unashamed his friend knew where his thoughts had sailed. “Yes, she is.”

  “I suspect you’ve forgiven us all for sending those letters.”

  Rhys frowned. “Don’t push it, old man.”

  He couldn’t keep up the pretense of being angry and joined Deacon in a good laugh. When he took Gillian to Bass Harbor, he’d have to make a special point of apologizing to Father McDonald. He might even have to grovel a bit since he’d cursed the priest.

  “Do you want your breakfast up there, Rhys?”

  At Gillian’s voice, he amended his thoughts. He’d have to kneel and kiss the priest’s cassock.

  “Go down and get some food and rest. Alice and I won’t be going anywhere for a while, and I’d like to spend some more time with my mistress here.”

  Rhys nodded. “Better plan on staying the night. In fact, if you’d like, just stay and leave the morning after we return from Bass Harbor.”

  “Thank you, Rhys, that’s generous of you. I’ll check with the wife in a bit.”

  Rhys turned and tried not to run down the stairs. Gillian stood at the bottom in the red dress. He realized he was frowning when she stepped back instead of into his arms.

  Before she could retreat farther, Rhys hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her close for a proper good morning kiss. “Happy New Year, ma petite.”

  “And to you.” She took his hand and tugged him behind her. “Come and eat while your breakfast is hot, then you can go to our bed and sleep.”

  “What if I don’t want to sleep in our bed?”

  She laughed, the sound as sweet as waves against rock. “I might be able to arrange a bit of that, as well.”

  He slid into a chair and brought her down on his lap, reaching around her for the fork. She shifted just enough to give his arm a path to his mouth. “Where’s Alice?”

  “She had her breakfast, and I informed her they’d be staying put for at least one more night, so make herself at home. She’s walking around the grounds near the house and then intends to spend time with Deacon, so we can spend time together.”

  Rhys took a swig of hot coffee. His hand tightened on her waist. “Seems you have everyone squared away, Mrs. Chermont.”

  She brushed a kiss to his temple and kept her lips close. “I love when you call me that.”

  “I enjoy saying it to you. The Ambroses will be staying with us two more days.”

  She leaned back. “Really? You think the fog will last that long?”

  He shrugged and swallowed another bite of food. What a blessing it was to come down to hot meals and a stoked fire in the fireplace after working the light at night. “It could. But Deacon is watching the light for us, so I can take you to Bass Harbor for proper clothes.”

  She shifted, and the action drew his gaze to her flushed cheeks. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Gillian. Can’t imagine you made much in the factory. You’ll need warm, sturdy clothes and boots that keep the cold and water out. We’ll get you some wool slacks, too, as shocking as it’d be to polite society.”

  She hugged his neck and nodded against his shoulder. She didn’t say anything just continued to hold him. Rhys stilled, thinking for a moment he’d upset her, but he didn’t hear her sniff or feel wet tears.

  “Gillian?”

  “I love you, Rhys,” she whispered. “I don’t know if you want to hear that from me, and I know others would laugh at me saying it after we’ve only known each other a few days, but I know my heart, and I know I love you. I’ve given you my vows and my body. Now, will you accept my heart?”

  Rhys wrapped both arms around her and hugged her close. “Yes. I’ll accept all of you Gillian Chermont. Will you do me the honor of accepting my heart? I’m afraid somewhere along the way I fell in love with you, too.”

  “Oh yes, love, yes, I accept all of you, too. I’m so relieved I can say it out loud now.” She squeezed him tighter. “I love you. I love you, Rhys. I love our home, and I love our lighthouse, and I love Wee Jacques, and I love you.”

  He laughed and stood, swinging her in a small circle. When he stopped, he gave her a hard, possessive kiss then lifted an eyebrow. “It didn’t go unnoticed that you ranked your love for Wee Jacques before me.”

  Her smile lifted any clouds in his heart and calmed the storms of his life. “He did comfort me when I was ill and cold sailing here.”

  Shifting her, he cradled her in his arms and started toward the stairs. “I was a bit occupied steering the sloop”

  Her nose wrinkled in thought and then she gave a nod. “Okay, you’ve earned the spot above Wee Jacques.”

  “Now that that’s settled, are you sure Alice isn’t going to be around for a bit?” He took the first few stairs.

  She rested her head on his chest. “Yes. I’m sure.”

  He took the rest of the stairs two at time. “Then let’s properly welcome the New Year, and our new vows.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‡

  “How are you fairing, wife?”

  Gillian scowled at him holding back her smile at the twinkle in his eyes. “Haven’t I redeemed myself today?”

  She patted Wee Jacques’s head and breathed in the cold, salty air. The sky was a blue almost as pretty as her husband’s eyes, and the waters were calm. It was a day to take advantage of knowing it would be a rare gem among many gray, frigid days. She shielded her eyes against the sun to see the round mountains Dog, Flying, Bald, Burnt and Mt. Gilboa, like old sentinels hunched and weathered after standing through thousands of years.

  “That you have. Seems I married a woman of the sea, after all. But you can understand why I might have doubted it that first night?”

  She joined him on the bench by the wheel and hugged his arm. “I think that was more nerves at just meeting the man I was going to marry than rough waves. I might not have been so anxious if I’d known you had no idea who I was.”

  “If I’d known who you were, I’d have joined you heaving over the rails.”

  Sh
e laughed and slapped his arm. “How gallant, Rhys.”

  He tossed her a wink. Gillian snuggled closer. They fell into a companionable silence, and Gillian admired the sloop she’d been too ill to notice the last time she was aboard.

  The Femme was a larger Friendship sloop of at least thirty feet. She bore the trademarks of the sloop designed in Friendship, Maine. A fixed keel, clipper bow, deep draught, wide beam and elliptical shaped stern all told the story of where the Femme was made.

  “Deacon helped me build the Femme after Miriam. That winter, he encouraged me to pour my anger and pain into the cedar and mahogany planking and ribs, and every piece. Alice and Ida made the sails. Building the Femme reminded me of the friends I had and that good people and beautiful things still existed.”

  Gillian brushed away the fact her new husband read her mind so easily. “You built the Femme?”

  “Oui. Along with my friends, and Father McDonald blessed her.”

  “She’s a beautiful sloop, Rhys. I’m impressed. The forward cabin with bunks and a stove is a nice addition, or it was until nerves drove me topside.”

  His chuckle was deep and rivaled for richness the hot chocolate they shared every night. “I try not to be a vain man, but I admit from mainsail and lines to the very cedar bench you’re perched on, sailing the Femme puffs my chest a bit.”

  The pride he felt for his sloop showed in the care he took. Lines were kept tidy, and the decks cleared and clean. Even the sails weren’t patched, and were lowered and raised with care. In the few weeks she’d known Rhys, she’d found out things about her husband. He wasn’t a vain man—that was God’s truth—but for those things under his care, he kept them in like-new condition. For people in his care, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep them safe and protected. The last thought tightened her chest in fear for a moment.

  “Charlie!”

  Rhys’ voice and the slight squeeze he gave her set her mind on happier thoughts. She wondered if he sensed what she was thinking again, or just acted out of need to pull her close once more before social mores kept them at arms-length. Either way, it really didn’t matter. It was lovely to have Rhys’ strong arm around her.

  A young man not long out of boyhood emerged on the docks and helped secure the lines of the Femme Rouge. Gillian retrieved the bag with her expensive gown tucked inside. Any future daughter would have to do without the dress. She’d remembered an occasion coming up in few days and needed the money for a special purchase.

  “What do you have in the bag?”

  “Something I wish to sell, and that’s all you can know today.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and clouds formed in his gaze. He wasn’t happy with her answer, but she refused to spoil the surprise.

  Rhys took the bag and helped her from the sloop. Gillian took in the sight of Bass Harbor in the daylight. A boathouse stood on the wharf, and she smiled at the familiar sight. Lobster traps sat neatly stacked on the pier close to the building. A net was draped along the side of boathouse with lobster buoys in an array of colors, adding decoration to the drab gray building.

  Someone cleared their throat stopping her visual tour at the docks. She met the young man’s leery gaze as he approached them.

  “You still angry with my part in this, Rhys?”

  Her husband slapped Charlie’s back and almost sent him flying. “Not at all, Charlie. I thank you for it. Did you meet Gillian?”

  He pressed his hand on her lower back and brought her forward. Charlie quickly removed his wool hat. His face turned a shade of red that was almost alarming. “Mrs. Chermont. It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Charlie. What was your part?”

  Charlie dropped his gaze and a mop of brown hair flopped forward. “Ma’am I-I…”

  Rhys cuffed his neck. “He interrogated me is what he did, and did a fine job of it, too. Asked what kind of woman a man should look for when thinking of marriage. If I had any preference in how a lady looked? What’s the one thing a lady would say that I might give marriage another chance? A million other questions, he took back to the Father, and they ended up in the letters you received.”

  Gillian was shocked at what lengths the people of Bass Harbor gone to making sure the letters she received were as close to what Rhys would write, and also in finding a woman just right for him.

  One of the questions Charlie had asked Rhys peaked her interest. “You said there was one thing a woman could say that would make Rhys marry again. What was it I wrote that matched Rhys’ answer?”

  Charlie looked to Rhys for help, clearly not wishing to repeat what he’d said, or she’d written. Rhys took mercy on the young man and answered. “You wrote you desired nothing more than a man who could be your closest friend and someone to watch every sunrise and sunset with every day the rest of your life among a few other things.”

  “Yes, missus, that’s what you wrote, and that’s when Father McDonald said we’d found the one.”

  Gillian ignored Charlie, her gaze locked with Rhys’. “You read my letters.”

  He caressed her cheek with the back of one hand. “I thought I should. They were addressed to me, after all.”

  “I should have known that’s how you knew about the factory and everything. Thank you for reading them.”

  He gave a short nod of dismissal to Charlie and started walking toward the village. “Thank you for writing them.”

  She would have kissed Rhys, but while sharing affection in front of Deacon and Alice didn’t bother him, she knew she’d be pushing his boundaries and those of society to kiss her husband in the middle of Bass Harbor. She almost laughed. The village had already witnessed them kissing…twice. Still she drew on what her mother had taught her and settled for squeezing his hand in a hug.

  Bass Harbor was still decorated for the holidays, and she suspected the decorations would stay up through Twelfth Night. Their shopping wouldn’t take long in such a small village, and Gillian was relieved. She never understood the thrill many women experienced digging through materials and being fitted into frills and laces.

  Wooden shops and a few houses lined a main street painted in shades of red, white, blue or gray cedar shingles with other houses dotting the rocky coast. Sloops used for fishing and lobster added color to the bay. The massive brick Underwood & Co. Cannery rose before them and kept the men of Bass Harbor employed, canning lobster, clams, and sardines. The cannery also gave the wharf its name, and while sardines was big business, Bass Harbor remained one of the largest suppliers of lobster. The white church with a tall steeple where she and Rhys were married just days ago, stood perched on a rise above the rest of the village.

  For a small village, Bass Harbor offered many opportunities including the cannery, a shingle-mill on Bass Harbor stream, a prominent shipbuilding business, and of course, the sea and those who needed to guard it. Affluent individuals were turning their attention toward the village, and Gillian hoped it would never fall prey to the wealthy like Bar Harbor with their houses sprawled over most of the coast and only opened in the summer lying vacant the majority of the year. What a waste of an indescribable view no matter what the season.

  Rhys opened the door to the first shop and placed his hand on her back, guiding her inside. Gillian felt the strength of his large hand and relaxed into his touch. She shouldn’t be anxious about seeing the people of Bass Harbor again, but she couldn’t keep the butterflies from dancing in her stomach.

  “You have nothing to prove, mon plus cher; they are no longer a part of us. There is you, and there is me now. It is our marriage, not theirs.”

  She straightened her shoulders. He was right; it didn’t matter what any of them thought. If they still considered her a good choice, or would make another really was of no concern. She was Rhys’ choice, his dearest one, and that’s what mattered.

  “Let’s start with boots, so your feet can stay dry and warm while we visit other shops.”

  She glanced over her shou
lder at him. “Yes. I think that’s the perfect place to start.”

  Rhys watched with pride as Gillian interacted with the people of Bass Harbor as if she’d been a part of them for years. They managed to get her outfitted in warmer boots along with a pair of thicker boots for the lighthouse and Wellies to keep her from sliding on the slick granite. They’d only been able to find two ready-made wool dresses, but Gillian assured him she could sew her own, and he’d insisted they buy enough material for at least three more.

  She’d taken care of her secret business while visiting with Ida, who gave Gillian the red dress outright. He’d tried to tell her Ida meant for her to keep it, but she wouldn’t be swayed until Ida patted her cheek and assured her. She’d entered this store before him, asking him to give her a few moments. He hated to oblige, but agreed at her earnest look.

  He leaned his hip against the counter as he waited for her to change back into her clothes after trying on a pair of trousers and a flannel shirt. Wee Jacques stood guard outside the store. He wondered if his wolf was as hungry for dinner as he was.

  Gillian emerged from the back of the store, and Mr. Simmons stopped shelving items and turned his attention back to them. “Do they work, Mrs. Chermont?”

  She cocked her head to one side and her forehead wrinkled in thought. “Yes, I guess they do, I’ve never owned trousers.”

  Rhys pushed off the counter. “We’ll take the trousers and add another shirt.”

  “Rhys, I don’t need…”

  “Add another shirt, please Simmons. We’ll pick up the parcels on our way to the sloop.”

  “They’ll be ready, Rhys. Thanks for stopping in today. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Chermont.”

  Rhys nodded and took Gillian’s arm. She smiled at Mr. Simmons. “Please call me Gillian, and thank you for your help.”

  Rhys glanced at the old storekeeper. Yes, there went another heart lost to Gillian.

  They stepped out just as Father McDonald arrived. “Well, it’s good to see you Gillian…”—he gave Rhys the once-over—“and Rhys. How is everything at the lighthouse?”