Frontier Bride (Harlequin Historical)

by Ana Seymour

  Hannah hid a smile. She had never heard dour old Mr. MacDougall “blather.”

  “The fact is, lass, it’s just not right,” Mistress MacDougall continued.

  “Not right?”

  The older woman looked down at her hands and shifted her bulky form on the hard bench. “When Randolph hired ye to care for Priscilla, that was one thing. But now, he’s a lone man, a widower. And ye are an attractive young woman. It’s not a proper situation.”

  The color returned to Hannah’s cheeks. So she hadn’t misunderstood Mistress MacDougall’s earlier remark. She had no idea how to reply. The idea was so absurd. Mr. Webster scarcely spoke to her, rarely looked at her. When he noted her presence at all, it was to give some kind of order about the children.

  “Forgive my speaking plain, Mistress MacDougall, but you’re very mistaken. Mr. Webster pays me less mind than he does one of his horses. He was devoted to Priscilla, and I warrant it’ll be a long time before he cares to cast his eye on any other woman.”

  “I’m not questioning his integrity, Hannah, nor yours. It’s just that if ye head off together alone, folks are bound to talk.”

  “We’ll not be alone…”

  Mistress MacDougall held up a hand to ward off Hannah’s protest. “And so, Mr. MacDougall and I have decided to buy your contract from Randolph. We can use ye here at the inn.” She gave Hannah’s hand a pat. “We’re not as young as we used to be, ye know.”

  Hannah sat back hard against the straight back of the settle. The offer was a surprise, and she was not at all sure that it was a welcome one. When Mr. Webster had first talked of journeying west, she had been disappointed and concerned. But now, after weeks of listening to him and the other men talk of their hopes and dreams for the new land, an odd anticipation had begun to smolder in her middle like a poorly banked fire.

  “It’s overkind of you, Mistress MacDougall…” she stammered, then paused as loud male voices interrupted from the front room. “You have guests. I’d best see to the children.” She stood and picked up a tray of clean mugs to carry out to the taproom. Mistress MacDougall’s words had left her feeling dizzy. It was disconcerting to be presented suddenly with a choice about her own future. Her life had not been her own to manage for so very long.

  She stopped in the doorway. Her glance went immediately to Peggy and Jacob. She had promised PrisciUa to care for them. Could she bear to send them off by themselves into an uncertain wilderness?

  “Strike me blind, Webster! You didn’t tell me that in Philadelphia the barmaids wear the faces of angels.”

  The smooth, deep voice made Hannah’s head jerk toward the group of men who had just entered. Randolph Webster was there, and some of the other men she had met at the Webster house. But it was the unshaven stranger standing at the front of the group who held her gaze. His dark eyes surveyed her with undisguised admiration.

  “And not just the face. The whole of her is of divine making, I’d wager.” His smile flashed white against several day’s growth of dark beard.

  He took two long steps toward her, then swept off his fur cap and gave her a little bow. “These gents need ale, mistress, if you would be so kind. And you may bring me a tankard, as well, though, I swear, a mere drink of your beauty could quench a devil’s thirst.”

  Hannah’s eyes went past the man to seek out Randolph Webster, who was listening to the newcomer with a look of surprise. The other men in the group were grinning. She recognized Amos Crawford and Hugh Trask, a burly fellow who always made Hannah feel vaguely uncomfortable when he visited the Webster household.

  She was about to make a reply to the stranger’s request when Trask shouldered his way through the man and put an arm around her waist, almost toppling the heavy tray to the ground. His body pressed heavily against the thin muslin of her dress. “The captain’s right,” he said, leaning over her. “We’ve a powerful thirst, sweetheart. For ale…and mayhap something more if the tap’s runnin’.” He looked back to the other men with a leering smile.

  Holding the tray awkwardly, Hannah pulled herself out of his grasp. “I beg your pardon, sir!” she said with a grimace of disgust. The words came out less forcefully than she would have liked.

  Suddenly the tray was plucked from her by the bearded stranger, who shot Trask an angry look, then steadied Hannah with a gentle hand on her elbow. “It appears you could use some lessons in treating a lady, Trask. Are you all right, mistress?” he asked.

  Belatedly Randolph Webster shook off his dazed expression and came over to join Hannah and the two men. He moved between Hannah and Trask, then addressed the stranger. “She’s not a barmaid, Reed. She’s…ah…she lives with me.”

  One of the stranger’s dark eyebrows went up. Then he smiled and threw his hands up in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry, mistress. I just assumed…I had been told that you were a widower, Webster.”

  “Yes, that is…” Randolph cleared his throat.

  Hannah took a step back into the relative security of the kitchen, then tipped her head up to look the tall stranger directly in the eyes. “My name is Hannah Forrester,” she said with quiet dignity. “I am Mr. Webster’s servant.”

  The man shot a look back at Randolph, then said slowly, “Mr. Webster is a lucky man.”

  He was different from the other men in the room. It wasn’t just the beard, since there were two or three others who looked as if it had been awhile since they’d felt the sharp edge of a blade. It was something about his height and the way he was…filled out. Hannah didn’t know exactly how to describe it. His shoulders almost blocked her view of the rest of the room. His breeches were not the customary wool or linsey, but rather a fine doeskin that clung to muscular thighs in a way Hannah had not seen in the ordinary gentleman who frequented the tavern.

  She retreated one more step into the kitchen. The stranger hadn’t stopped looking at her. “I believe you wanted ale,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

  Randolph Webster had recovered his poise. Still blocking Trask, he clapped a hand on the stranger’s back. “An honest mistake, Reed,” he said heartily. “And I’m sure Hannah would be happy to bring us something to drink if my mother-in-law is busy in the kitchen. Would you be so kind, Hannah?”

  Hannah took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. “Of course. If I may, Mr…er…Reed?” She reached to take back the tray he’d been balancing easily on one arm.

  “Ethan Reed, ma’am, at your service. I’m most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  He bowed to her once again, a formal bow as though they were standing in the middle of St. James’s palace. Then his eyes sought hers once more. Hannah was sure that her face was the color of Mr. MacDougall’s finest claret.

  She turned quickly back into the kitchen. For once the steamy room seemed cooler than the front taproom. Mistress MacDougall had removed her apron and was drying her hands. She had witnessed the exchange and said in a low voice, “I’ll see to them, Hannah, if you prefer.”

  Hannah shook her head. “No.” She would just as soon stay busy. With Mistress MacDougall’s help, she prepared a tray of cheese, cold chicken and bread.

  Her heart had resumed its normal beat, and she decided that her overly strong reaction to Mr. Reed had been due to the fact that she was tired. She’d been up much of the night tending to Jacob’s croup. “Who is that man?” she asked Mistress MacDougall.

  “Marry, girl. That’s Captain Reed. He was with Rogers’s Rangers, you know. We had some of them here at the inn a couple years ago, and a rowdier bunch of wild men you’ve never seen.”

  “He’s a captain?”

  “Well, not anymore. The war’s over now, of course. The French have hightailed it up to Canada and the Indians have calmed down—except for that Pontiac fellow.”

  Hannah lifted the heavy tray and glanced toward the door to the front room. “Were the Rangers all so… big?” she asked.

  Mistress MacDougall chuckled. “Captain Reed’s not big, lass, he’s just bon
ny. A fine specimen of manhood, if ye ask me.”

  “What’s he doing with Mr. Webster?”

  The older woman’s smile died. “Well ye may ask, child. I’m very much afraid the captain is here to take ye, Randolph and my dear Prissy’s bairns so far from here that I’ll never gaze upon ye again.”

  It was long past sundown. The evening had grown so cool that it felt as if winter were attempting to sneak back. Hannah got up to close the tavern windows, then returned to her rocking chair with a yawn. At the far end of the room, the men were still poring over Captain Reed’s drawings and maps. Randolph Webster sat with Jacob on one knee and Peggy clinging to his side. The children had had so little time with their father lately that they both looked as if they would be willing to stay in his company all evening. But Hannah could see dark circles of fatigue on their pale cheeks. She wanted to take them and head back up the lane to the Websters’. Perhaps Jacob would sleep through the night tonight after taking some of his grandfather’s posset. The warmth of the fire felt good against her face. Her eyelids grew heavy.

  “They’ve worn you out, Mistress Forrester.”

  Again the rich voice jolted her. She straightened and twisted her head to find its owner. “It’s late for the children,” she managed to say.

  “It’s not the children who I see dozing by the fire like a well-fed kitten.” His dark eyes teased.

  Hannah was at a loss for words. She was not used to carrying on a conver-sation with a male. Though she had spoken a few times to the gentlemen who had visited Mr. Webster at his home, the conver-sation had always been circumscribed to her duties as a servant. Before that…well, her mother had made certain that Hannah’s exposure to men of any age was as limited as possible.

  Hannah could still hear her voice. “I’ll not see you follow in the path of yer wretched mum, girl—flowery in the head after a few pretty words from a finelooking gent, then thrown over as neatly as an apple core pitched into the gutter. With a babe in my belly and not a farthing in my purse.”

  It had been the litany of her childhood.

  Captain Reed leaned closer. “They do feed you well, don’t they, mistress?”

  Hannah found the question absurd. She straightened the rocker, almost knocking him in the chin. “I feed myself, Captain Reed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d best bundle up the children and take them home.”

  He stepped around her chair and crouched down next to the fire. The position looked natural to him, as though he spent many hours in places where there was not a chair to be had.

  “I was hoping to talk with you, mistress. It’s been a long, dry spell since I’ve been in feminine company.”

  The words cajoled, but it was his smile that kept her rooted to her seat. She glanced across the room to where the other men still seemed engrossed in their papers. “Don’t you need to be over there—planning or routing or…something?”

  “My routes are in here,” he said, tapping the side of his head with his finger. His hair was a deep, rich brown and he wore it long, not pulled back into the customary queue. His short dark whiskers emphasized the rugged line of his jaw.

  “You know the wilderness well?” she asked after a moment.

  He grinned. “Well now, I’m not a man to boast. Let me put it this way. Before I round a bend of the Ohio, I can tell you how many marsh rats we’ll find nesting on the other side.”

  Hannah laughed. Ethan Reed’s utter lack of humility both irritated and fascinated her. Some of her nervousness subsided. Here was a man who actually knew this land Mr. Webster had described so glowingly and in such detail. “Is it as rich as they say? As beautiful?”

  “The Ohio River valley’s richer than anything these colonies have seen. One of these days people will be clamoring to own a piece of it. You folks are lucky to be among those getting there first.”

  “Do you ‘own a piece of it,’ Captain?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not exactly the settling-down type, Mistress Forrester. I figure, why should I limit myself to a little piece of paradise when I can freely roam the whole thing?”

  “But, surely, now that families are moving into the area, you’ll not feel quite so independent?”

  “The tiny little chunks of land you folks will hack out of the wilderness won’t change things much.”

  Hannah looked puzzled. “I thought Mr. Webster said that the tracts would be upward of two hundred acres.”

  Reed laughed, rich and low. “There’s hundreds of thousands of acres out there, mistress. Your little portion of it won’t amount to more than a fly speck.”

  Hannah shifted her eyes to the fire. “Not my portion, Captain Reed. I’m just going along to care for Mr. Webster’s children. At the end of three years I’ll return here to the city to seek employment.”

  Reed was silent for a long moment. When Hannah turned back to him, he was looking at her with a half smile and eyes that had grown suddenly intense. “I’d not place a wager on that, mistress,” he said softly.

  She wanted to look away again, but his gaze held hers. “Why not?” she asked. Her mouth suddenly felt dry.

  “Webster’s not that big a fool.”

  It was the second time that day she’d had to listen to insinuations about her relationship with Randolph Webster. Hannah gripped the arms of the rocker and said stiffly, “Mr. Webster is my employer, Captain Reed. He has just lost his beloved wife. And if we’re all to be traveling together, I’ll thank you not to embarrass the poor man with your preposterous comments.”

  Reed was unruffled. “If not Webster, then some other man will snatch you up, Mistress Forrester. There’s a sore need for women on the frontier.”

  Hannah stood briskly, setting the rocking chair swaying. “I’m not available to be ‘snatched,’ as you put it, Captain. I’m contracted to Mr. Webster, and that’s the end of it. In the future I’d appreciate it if you kept your speculations about my destiny to your-self.”

  With no visible effort, Reed went from his easy crouch to a standing position. His broad chest was just inches from her face. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a grin.

  “Thank you. I’ll bid you good-evening, sir.” She turned away with a flounce of her skirts.

  Reed watched as she crossed the room to lift a drooping Jacob from Randolph Webster’s lap.

  Hannah had cleaned the tiny office in the back of the Webster house many times, but this was the first time she had ever sat there in the stiff horsehair chair across the desk from Randolph Webster. It was after the noon meal. Peggy and Jacob were playing blindman’s wand with a group of children from the neighborhood. Hannah had been watching them from the front window, thinking that soon they would be leaving all their friends behind, when Mr. Webster had come up quietly behind her.

  “Are you busy, Hannah?”

  She’d jumped and a guilty flush had come over her. It was seldom that she could be found idling thus in the middle of the day. But Mr. Webster looked distracted and didn’t seem to be chiding her for her lack of activity.

  “I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?” he’d continued.

  He’d led her into the office that he used to keep his accounts and those of his in-laws and many other friends and neighbors. The neat rows of books and ledgers made Hannah question once again Mr. Webster’s decision to leave his home and comfortable city life. What did Randolph Webster know about carving a farm out of the wilderness? She sighed. It wasn’t her decision. And she supposed someday the frontier would need accountants, too.

  Mr. Webster appeared to be studying her from his deep leather chair, and Hannah was just beginning to grow uncomfortable when he said, “I’ve not been the most attentive employer these past months.”

  The remark surprised her. It had sounded almost apologetic. “You’ve had your grief to bear, Mr. Webster. ‘Tis understandable.”

  “You’ve done a remarkable job with the children. They miss Priscilla, but I can’t imagine how they’d be faring if you hadn’t been her
e for them.”

  “They’re very dear.” Hannah smiled uncertainly.

  “Yes, well…” Randolph reached out to roll a marble blotter back and forth under his hand. “It’s been brought to my attention that it might be unfair of me to ask you to join us on the trip west.”

  Hannah let out a breath. So this was what was on his mind. “My contract doesn’t specify where my services will be performed, Mr. Webster. I consider that you and…Mrs. Webster…have always been fair with me.”

  Randolph gave the blotter a spin, then stopped the motion with a smash of his hand. “The MacDougalls want me to sell them your indenture.”

  Hannah swallowed. She had thought of little else all morning. It wouldn’t be a bad life. The MacDougalls were honorable people, and Hannah had no doubt that her three years would pass pleasantly enough. But if she stayed in Philadelphia, she’d never see those silver rivers….

  Randolph Webster watched her silently. His stern features had softened, and he looked almost like a little boy making a silent plea for permission to embark on an adventure.

  All at once Hannah realized that her decision had already been made. “Mr. Webster,” she started slowly, “back in London when my mother became too ill to work, we moved to an almshouse. I lived with forty other people in a room the size of your Sunday parlor. On the crossing, there were over a hundred of us in a smelly ship’s hold not as big as this house. Now you tell me about a rich land where you can walk all day in the sunlight and never see another living soul. Just imagine!” Her blue eyes sparkled. “If you and the children want me, I’ll go west with you.”

  Randolph seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. He didn’t smile, but the tenseness left his face and he leaned back in his chair. “We do want you, Hannah.” The slightest bit of red began to show from underneath his stiff white collar. “Er…that is…the children are very fond of you.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Hannah said briskly. “Please thank the MacDougalls for their offer and their concern.”