Mary and the Fighter (Prairie Tales Book 2)

by Kit Morgan

  Mary jumped up. “Patrick!” But her voice was drowned out by the crowd.

  “Quiet!” Patrick shouted.

  The crowd quieted, but not enough as she heard him call her name a second time followed by something else, but she couldn’t understand what it was. “What did he say?” she said to no one in particular.

  “He said,” a man began. “Mary, this is for you.”

  “How romantic,” a woman chimed in. “A man willing to risk his life for the woman he loves.”

  Mary groaned. “Aye, but not if I kill him first!” She pushed and shoved, making headway at last, as the crowd went mad. The fight had begun.

  Chapter 13

  Patrick held his own in the first round, took a good hit in the second, and then had to rethink his strategy in the third. He was getting tired. The upshot was, so was Bert. He really had imbibed too much the night before. His moves were sluggish, and he kept putting a hand to his head. He must have a monstrous headache. The fact he was pale and kept grimacing told him his stomach wasn’t in any better shape. With luck, Patrick could hold his own and make it to the last round. A draw would still be a huge victory in his book.

  He took a ladle of water offered by Mr. Freeman, pushed himself out of his chair and went to the center of the ring to meet the Bruiser again.

  “Stop!”

  Patrick turned at the voice just as the round began. Bert’s fist barely missed him as Patrick ducked, eyes scanning the crowd. “Mary?”

  Bert straightened. “Mary? Who you calling Mary?”

  Patrick spied her right before Bert threw his next punch. This time his fist found flesh.

  “Patrick!” came Mary’s cry from the crowd. His face hit the dirt. Bert got him in the eye. It would swell shut soon.

  “To your corner, Mulligan!” Mr. Freeman cried and grabbed his arm. He helped him up and steered him to his chair. He had only thirty seconds to rest, another eight to regain the center of the ring. Plenty of time to find her.

  Mr. Freeman got some water down him, splashed some on his eye and dabbed at it with a towel. “He got you a good one, son.”

  “I think he’s still drunk,” Patrick commented as he scanned the crowed with his one good eye.

  “Maybe so, but he can still hit hard. Just make sure he keeps missing.”

  Someone called the start of the next round. Patrick staggered to his feet. “Mary?”

  “Here!”

  He turned, saw her, and smiled.

  “Get to the center of the ring!” Mr. Freeman shouted. “Now!”

  Patrick, his eyes still on Mary, went to the center and waited for Bert to do the same. The giant pushed his manager Mr. Pike, away, stood, and staggered forward. “Are you up to this?” Patrick asked.

  “Who’s Mary?” Bert asked, ignoring the question.

  Patrick took his stance. “The bonny lass over there with the long brown hair. I’m going to marry her.”

  Bert looked, smiled, and nodded. “That’s sweet.”

  Patrick almost fell over. “What?”

  “Sweet. Nice. No woman wants to marry me.”

  “Shut up, you two and fight!” Mr. Pike shouted at them.

  Bert shrugged, blew out a breath, and took a swing at Patrick. He missed him by a mile. The giant’s heart just wasn’t into it.

  Patrick moved to his left, his right, and punched Bert right in the gut.

  Bert winced, his face a grimace. “When ya getting married?”

  Patrick couldn’t believe the man was speaking to him during a fight. “Hopefully right after this, that is if she’ll still have me.” He punched him again. He was beginning to get the distinct feeling that Bert didn’t care if he won or lost.

  “Have you?” Bert clipped his jaw, causing Patrick to jump back.

  “Yes, but she thinks there won’t be anything left of me to wed.”

  Bert grinned. “There might not be.” He swung again, barely missing him. “But I wouldn’t mind if ya got married.”

  “Neither would I.” He delivered a beautiful upper cut, catching Bert on the chin. The giant staggered back, and the crowd went wild.

  Squire Ferguson stood. He and several other men were seated atop a platform built for the occasion, to give them the best view. “Mary, what are you doing down there?”

  Patrick and Bert both watched as she fought her way toward the box, the crowd parting the closer she got. The two men exchanged a quick look as they continued to circle each other. But it was becoming obvious that another fight was about to take place.

  “Squire Ferguson! How could ye?” she shouted at him.

  The squire shrugged, looked at the men seated on either side of him, and shrugged again.

  “Ye know perfectly well what I’m talking about! Ye used Patrick’s heart against him!”

  Mrs. Wallace, seated in a chair behind the squire, stood. “Well, Squire?”

  Squire Ferguson audibly gulped. He looked at Mrs. Wallace, at Mary, and back again. “Let’s watch the fight!”

  Bert straightened and looked at the squire, then Patrick. “He did what?”

  “Bert! You imbecile!” Mr. Pike called. “Fight!”

  Bert ignored him. Patrick didn’t. He didn’t like Pike, nor did he trust him. “What did you do in all of this?”

  Mr. Pike snarled. “I said fight!”

  Bert, whose eyes were glued to Mary, arched a single eyebrow. “Ohhhh, I get it.”

  “Bert! If you don’t kill him now, I’m going to do it for you!” Mr. Pike spat.

  “Kill me, is it?” Patrick scoffed. “As if he could.”

  Bert raised his other eyebrow and aimed it at Patrick. “So, you’re fighting me for love?”

  “Ye mean ye haven’t figured that out yet?”

  One of the men officiating turned to the box, tossed his hands in the air, and then pointed at Bert and Patrick. “Control your fighters, gentlemen, or this ends now!”

  The crowd began to boo and hiss.

  Bert glanced at the crowd, then Patrick, and struck him a horrific blow. Down he went.

  “Patrick!” Mary screamed. She started to fight her way back to the ring. People nearby parted to let her do so, more interested in what was going on with the squire than the fight.

  Patrick raised his head to search for her as the count started. His vision blurred, he let his face hit the dirt. He had to get up, had to tell her he loved her, no matter what. He’d leave the ring right now if that’s what she wanted.

  “Patrick!” she cried again. Bert, to everyone’s surprise, reached for the ropes and parted them to let her into the ring just as Patrick climbed to his feet.

  “Finish him!” Mr. Pike cried as someone else yelled to remove Mary.

  Bert shook his head as she ran to Patrick, punched the man that tried to stop her, then turned on Mr. Pike. “What’s going on here? Did you trick him into fighting me?”

  Mr. Pike blanched. “Of course not!”

  “No, he didn’t,” Squire Ferguson shouted. “But … I did.”

  The crowd went silent.

  Mary spun to face the squire. “How could ye! Just look at him!” She turned back to Patrick. “Ye poor darling!”

  Patrick smiled, his left eye swollen shut, his chin bleeding. “Aye, that’s me. Want to get married now?” He staggered to the left.

  Mary steadied him. “No ye don’t, stay on yer feet.”

  Bert approached and waved her away. “Do ya wanna marry him?”

  “Marry him? After he fought ye anyway? After I told him not to?”

  Bert looked at Patrick who was being supported by Mary at this point. “He loves ya. Take it from me, don’t throw that away.”

  A tear trickled down her face. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

  Bert shook his head and then rolled his shoulders. “I didn’t feel much like fighting today anyway. I got me a belly ache.”

  Mr. Pike jumped to his feet and rushed them. “Bert! You idiot!”

  He headed straight
for Mary and was stopped by a huge fist. Patrick’s. “Kindly leave the ring.”

  Mr. Pike rubbed his jaw and looked at Bert. “Finish this!”

  “Why? The fight’s over,” Bert said.

  “No, finish him!” Someone yelled from the crowd.

  A chant started, several actually. Bert rolled his eyes, belched, then turned to Patrick. “Ya hear that?”

  Patrick straightened, put an arm around Mary, and nodded.

  “This is gonna turn ugly in a minute. We need to finish this. It’s only fair.”

  Patrick glanced around at the men officiating. “Why aren’t they protesting any of this?”

  Bert made a scoffing noise and pointed at Mr. Pike. He turned to his manager. “All right, we’ll fight now.”

  “Fine!” Mr. Pike said and stomped to his corner.

  Bert leaned toward Mary. “Best leave the ring now, honey. This isn’t gonna be pretty.”

  “No, I won’t! Not without Patrick.”

  “Aye, I’ll leave with ye, if that’s what it takes to prove my love,” he said.

  “Really? Ye will?” she said, eyes bright.

  “Of course.”

  Bert shook his head. “I got a better idea,” he said in a low voice and grinned. “Besides, you’d be doing me a huge favor. I don’t … I don’t feel so good.” He weaved to one side and back. “Hurry up and hit me.”

  “What?” Patrick said and put Mary away from him. He glanced at her. “Leave, lassie, now. I think he’s going to be sick.”

  Mary glanced between the two men and hurried to the side of the ring. A couple of men helped her out as Bert belched again.

  “Hurry it up, Bert!” Mr. Pike shouted.

  Bert sneered at him, faced Patrick, and smiled. “Hit me as hard as you can, right in the gut.”

  Patrick’s face twisted up. He glanced at Pike. “He’s paid off the officials, hasn’t he?”

  Bert gave him a barely perceptible nod then took his stance. The crowd cheered. “Hurry, I feel like I’m gonna pass out. No food this morning …”

  “Ye mean he’s been fixing fights?”

  “Just do it,” Bert managed. Barely.

  Patrick, putting two and two together, finally understood what Bert was doing. He blew out a breath, pulled back his arm and hit him square in the gut with everything he had. Bert the Bruiser dropped like a stone.

  “No!” Mr. Pike cried and jumped to his feet.

  Bert lay there like a dead fish.

  Mr. Pike ran to him but didn’t dare touch him as the count started. The crowd, realizing what had happened, went wild again.

  Patrick turned and met the eyes of Squire Ferguson. He smiled. Though the squire had offered him Mary’s contract in exchange for his fighting Bert the Bruiser, he knew the other reason the squire did what he did. Mr. Cromwell knew it too. Patrick wasn’t the only one doing things for love.

  Mrs. Wallace lifted her skirts and hurried down the steps of the platform. “Mrs. Wallace!” The squire called after her. “Wait!”

  “For what, you scallywag! How could you do such a thing? Playing with the lad’s heart like that!”

  “Maggie!” he said and followed, ignoring the stares of the nearby onlookers. He caught up to her. “Please, let me explain.”

  “Explain what? How you manipulated Patrick Mulligan? Is that why you kept having him out to serve your dinner guests?”

  “It was two dinners. Now let me explain!”

  “There’s nothing to explain, unless of course you don’t understand two simple words!”

  “What words?”

  She leaned toward him. “I quit!”

  “That’s telling him, Mrs. Wallace,” someone from the crowd shouted.

  Squire Ferguson glared at the heckler then squared his shoulders. “I thought of coercing the boy with Mary, but then I thought of something better.”

  “Oh, I think you’ve done a grand enough job!” she said as she turned on her heel.

  He took her arm, stopping her. “Wait, Maggie. I did this for you!”

  She slowly turned back, eyes narrowed. “You did what?”

  “For you,” he said with a nod. “All of this. I’m … I’m tired.”

  Her face softened. “What?”

  He nodded. “I made an arraignment with Patrick Mulligan. If he won, he could take over The Rose and Thorn. Mr. Cromwell would then help manage my estate while you and I move to a townhouse in Shelburne. We could run the estate from there.”

  She gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “We’re getting old, Maggie, don’t you see? I want Mr. Cromwell to run things from the manor house, handle the workers and tenants. He’s a good manager. Always has been. Why do you think I let him run my inn?”

  She swallowed hard, looked away. “You mean … you did this all for me?”

  He took her hands in his. “Yes.” Squire Ferguson got down on one knee. Mrs. Wallace gasped as the crowd circling them, drew closer. “Maggie Wallace, would you consider marrying a crusty old man like me that spouts off at the smallest thing?”

  She smiled, tears in her eyes. “You old blustering old windbag. Of course I will!” She pulled him to his feet and threw her arms around his neck. The crowd surrounding them clapped.

  Patrick and Mary stood off to one side of the ring, forgotten for the moment. Bert the Bruiser still lay on the hard ground, softly snoring. Mr. Pike, on the other hand, did his best to slink away. That is, until Mr. Cromwell blocked his path and Patrick grabbed him by the collar. “Going somewhere, Mr. Pike?” Patrick asked.

  “Back to the inn to gather my things. Now unhand me!”

  “I think perhaps Bert needs a hand back to the inn too,” Mr. Cromwell commented. “I’m sure when he wakes up he’ll have all sorts of things to say about his fighting career.”

  Mr. Pike gulped and glanced at his unconscious client. “He’s got nothing to say!”

  “On the contrary, I’m sure he’s got plenty,” Mr. Cromwell said. “True, he’s big, can pulverize anyone here, but does he really want to? Your officials, who are they?”

  Mr. Pike scowled and then gulped at the murderous look on Patrick’s face. “They work for me. They uh, were in prison with him.”

  “Prison, eh?” Patrick drawled. “And let me guess, ye threatened to send him back if he doesn’t fight for ye, is that it?”

  Mr. Pike didn’t say a word.

  “I doubt Bert sees much of the prize money,” Patrick added. “Why don’t we ask him when he wakes up?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Mr. Cromwell said as he motioned to two of the squire’s tenants to take Mr. Pike from them. “Escort Mr. Pike to the cell beneath the magistrate’s office, will you, gentlemen?”

  “Magistrate!” Mr. Pike cried. “Fine, I’ll tell him my side of the story, and he’ll not blink an eye at my client!”

  Mr. Cromwell smiled. “Oh Squire! We have a little matter for you to take care of!”

  Mr. Pike blanched as the squire, Mrs. Wallace on his arm, grinned. “My pleasure. But first I have to call on my nephew, the vicar. Patrick, Mary, care to join me?”

  They smiled. “With pleasure, Squire!” Patrick called back. He went to Mary, wrapped one of her arms through his, and led her toward the older couple. “Ready to get married?”

  She smiled, grimaced at his face, and nodded. “Aye, Patrick. And we best hurry, before anything else happens to ye.”

  He laughed, kissed her hand, and went to join the squire.

  Epilogue

  Three weeks later …

  “And do you, Squire Archibald Ferguson take this woman, Maggie Anne Wallace to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  Patrick and Mary sat in a pew and watched the older couple take their vows. “Was nice of the squire to let us get married first, aye?” Patrick whispered.

  “Aye, it was,” she whispered back. “I’ll miss them when they’re gone.”

  “Miss them, how?” He leaned closer. “We’ll be too busy, lassie.”

/>   “Ye already keep me busy,” she said and winked.

  He smiled. They’d been married for less than a week, but one would think they’d been married for years.

  “And do you, Maggie Ann Wallace take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  Mary smiled. “The vicar didn’t look this happy when he married us,” she commented as the vows continued.

  “Hush, now, lassie. I want to see them kiss.”

  “We’ve already seen them kiss,” she reminded him. “I’m sure the squire’s nephew has seen them too. Which is why he’s so happy to be marrying them. Such a scandal …”

  “Hush,” Patrick said with a smile and continued to watch.

  When the ceremony was over he was the first to shake the squire’s hand. “Congratulations, Squire, I’m sure yer new bride will keep things in order.”

  “She already does, has been for years,” he confessed. He sighed and looked at Patrick and Mary. “I’m going to miss the two of you. You’ll come visit us once a week.”

  “Once a week?” Patrick said in shock. “I can’t leave my inn that often. I’m afraid ye’ll have to come visit us. Ye can have a room for free.”

  The squire’s brow creased. “Somehow, being offered a free room at what was once my inn, seems rather odd.”

  “I can’t thank ye enough Squire for giving me the deed,” Patrick said. “Was generous, make no mistake. Of course, ye’ll stay for free.”

  “The best wedding present anyone could have,” Mary added.

  The squire bowed his head, his bald spot a bright pink. “Think nothing of it.”

  His new bride smiled at the younger couple. “Will you always run an inn, Patrick? Maybe open another somewhere?”

  “One is enough for now.” He put his arm around Mary. “Who knows what adventures the future will bring?”

  “Aye,” Mary agreed. “Who knows? For now, I’ve had enough adventure to last me a

  while.”

  He smiled, leaned over and kissed her. “Me too.”

  “Speaking of adventures,” the squire said jovially. “Mr. Pike is having one of his own. I sentenced him to ten years for blackmail and willfully, maliciously, fraudulently, and feloniously concealing, removing and embezzling over a thousand dollars of Bert’s prize money. I’m glad you have him working in the brewery, teaching the man a viable trade.”