The Rebel's Bride

by JoAnn DeLazzari

  “I am glad for him,” she softly said, realizing the room had grown silent, “but it changes nothing. He is free to live his life the way he wants it, and I am sure he will be glad he no longer has the burden of a wife.”

  “You do not know he wants things as they were before you came into his life,” Margaret stated firmly. “You said yourself he went in search of some means to separate himself from Sabrina. That could mean he wanted to be free for you.”

  Catherine nodded. “It could, but I will not pin my future on it.” Young Phillip began to fuss again and she went to pick him up. “Come, my little darling,” she purred gently. “I think it is time for us to go to bed.”

  * * *

  Ransom and Holden sat a table enjoying an ale in the little tavern on the Irish coast. They both relished the news they had picked up moments after landing.

  “I wish the news had reached New Orleans before the battle,” Holden said.

  “We only lost a few dozen,” Ransom sighed. “Almost two thousand British fell unnecessarily.” He shook his head, “General Jackson’s plan worked perfectly, yet history may well see it as a needless battle.”

  “Well, it’s over,” Holden stated. “I hope Mr. Madison is happy.”

  “He never wanted the war,” Ransom commented, “but I am sure he wants this peace.”

  Holden held up his mug. “To peace between our two countries,” he stated. Just as Ransom put his ale to his lips, Holden added, “And to a treaty between you and Catherine.”

  “That is something I will enjoy drinking to,” Ransom grinned. “And it is another war America will win over England, I promise you.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  * * *

  “Hello, Father,” Ransom smiled, extending his hand to clasp his father’s. “I wondered if you would suspect it was me when you received the summons to the stable.”

  Phillip beamed. “I hoped you would return.”

  “Yes,” Ransom sighed heavily. “I have returned, but when we left New Orleans, I had no idea the war was over.”

  “When was that?”

  “Unfortunately, it was after a terrible battle for your troops, but neither side knew it was over when we met.”

  Phillip was clearly moved by his announcement. “We were afraid of that.”

  Ransom forced a smile wishing to change the subject. “So how is it you expected me?”

  “Our house guest,” Phillip replied tersely, but it was answer enough.

  Ransom’s face sobered. “How is she, Father?” he inquired, anxious after all this time to know.

  “Why don’t you come in and see?”

  Flopping down on a bale of hay, Ransom drew up a knee to balance his forearm. “Because I do not know what I can say to her.”

  “If it is the annulment you are worried about, you need not,” Phillip smiled, moving to sit near him. “Sabrina settled it for you.” He explained what he learned.

  “So she did the right thing in the end, did she? I suppose I should thank her for that, yet I cannot help but blame her for Catherine running away in the first place.”

  “At least you do not blame Catherine.”

  Ransom snorted. “That is where you are wrong, Father. I do blame her for not having faith in me.”

  “She may have had cause, you know.”

  Ransom rose to pace. “I told her I would find a way. All she had to do was wait for me to return.”

  “As what, Ran?” he asked. “She was in a very delicate position.”

  He snarled. “I was set to wed her!”

  “Why?”

  Ransom stilled, staring at his father as if he had suddenly developed horns. “Because I love her,” he announced.

  “And did you tell her that?”

  “Yes! No! Damn,” he groaned, raking back his hair. “I don’t know. I wanted to, but maybe I . . . never really did.”

  Grinning ruefully, Phillip kept his head lowered. “And let’s suppose you definitely did not, how do you think she might have felt?”

  Unfortunately, Ransom knew exactly how she felt. She told him quite clearly she would not be his mistress. She carried enough shame for her part in the deception. She couldn’t bear to be looked down upon by a town that had once heralded her a heroine.

  “Is it too late, Father?” Ransom asked softly. “Have I lost her?”

  Phillip rose and placed his hand on Ransom’s shoulder. “I have never known you to back down or turn from a challenge. Why don’t you come into the house and face her. You will not find your answers out here, son.”

  Ransom smiled. “Holden is back at the inn. I think I will get cleaned up before I see her.” Relaxed now that he had set his mind to facing Catherine, he chuckled deeply. “How about we join you for dinner—unannounced?”

  “You know,” Phillip grinned, “this might be the most fun we have had around here in a long time.”

  Ransom nodded. “I think that is safe to say. Catherine is notorious for being stimulating company.” He started for the door. “Remind me sometime to tell you about her escapades, not the least of which was leading the petticoat militia.”

  “The what?”

  Finding the mount he tied behind the stable, Ransom laughed. “Perhaps Holden can entertain you with the story this evening while I talk to Catherine.”

  “Hmm, I rather think yours will be the more interesting conversation, but I am sure we will hear a goodly part of it.”

  Fully aware he was being warned things would not be easy, Ransom paused. “Is there something you are not telling me, Father?” he asked skeptically.

  Phillip smiled. “Just be prepared, son. You know how stubborn she can be and, right now, she is not feeling very secure where you are concerned.”

  Ransom mounted his horse and looked down at his father with a frown “Tell Mother I am here. I should not like to send her into a swoon when I appear suddenly.”

  * * *

  Margaret rapped lightly on the parlor door and entered before bidden. “Ransom!” she cried, opening her arms to him. “My dear son, at last you are home.”

  Ransom chuckled. “For a visit only, Mother.” He knew she never gave up trying to get him back to England permanently.

  “Of course!” she exclaimed as she stepped back and looked at him. “You look fine, son,” she sighed with a smile. “I am glad the war did you no harm.”

  “Nothing lasting,” he told her, ignoring her frown of concern. “I am whole and hardy, I assure you.”

  “Good thing,” Holden commented from a corner. “He has yet to face Catherine and he will need good health, I’m thinking.”

  “Holden,” Margaret smiled warmly and moved into the arms he extended. “I am so pleased to see you.”

  “I’m pleased it is safe to return, Lady Margaret,” he grinned. “For most of us, that is.”

  All eyes turned to Ransom and he felt a rush of warmth rise on his neck. “I would like to know why everyone thinks I am beyond handling Catherine? I have spent the last few years engaged in running blockades, have weathered assaults on my ship and my person, and slipped in and out of England against the odds. Surely I can manage one little bit of fluff.”

  Holden’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at Ransom’s parents, who were obviously trying just as hard not to laugh. “Perhaps it is because we all know that bit of fluff.”

  A mischievous thought filled Ransom’s mind and he smiled. “You might be right,” he mused, “but we will never know if I can survive it unless she makes an appearance.” Directing his question to his mother, Ransom asked, “When should she be down?”

  “She was just finishing with her preparations when I came down, so I would say any moment.”

  Phillip cleared his throat, clearly to draw their attention. “Then I suggest you and Holden make your way to the dining room, my dear. Ransom and I shall wait here. You may send her to fetch me and my guest when she arrives.”

  “I’ll make my way to the kitchen until she is safely on her way,”
Holden chuckled. “I would hate to see her have the edge.”

  “I can handle her!” Ransom snapped, fully aware of what Holden was hinting at.

  Margaret took Holden’s arm and directed him to the door. “Of course you can, dear,” she smiled warmly at Ransom.

  “But call if you need help,” Holden added, laughing when Ransom snorted.

  Ransom turned to his father after the room was clear. “Will it be that difficult? Have I done so badly with her she will not accept me again?”

  “You will have a hurdle to clear, no doubt, but I believe the chit loves you. What you have to do is convince her you love her.”

  “I hope I can,” Ransom sighed. “I failed to do it when I had the chance, but I cannot fail this time.”

  * * *

  Catherine’s heels clicked on the stairs. She spied Margaret and thought she appeared a bit nervous.

  “You look lovely, dear,” Margaret smiled.

  “Thank you, Margaret.” Catherine supposed she misread Margaret’s stance. “Where is everyone?” she asked, seeing no one else in the parlor. “I thought you were expecting a guest.”

  “He is in the study speaking with Phillip on some matter or other,” Margaret said off-handedly. “You know men. They are worse gossips than we are. First it was the war, now it is the peace.”

  Catherine fought a frown. Margaret was definitely not herself this evening. She seemed overly tense. Her guest must be someone of import. “Shall we have a small sherry while we wait?” she asked, thinking to calm Margaret.

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” Margaret agreed.

  For a few minutes Catherine enjoyed sipping the sherry with Margaret and discussing young Phillip. She knew it was a subject neither tired of. After the glasses were empty, Margaret stood.

  “I think we should have the gentlemen join us. Would you be a dear and inform them I am seeing to serving?”

  “Of course.” Catherine smiled as she stood to straighten her skirt. “We will join you in a few minutes.” As she turned to leave, Margaret stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “You have given Phillip and me such great joy. You do know how much we love you, don’t you, child?” she asked, smiling warmly.

  “I know,” Catherine replied, hugging the older woman on impulse. “And I shall always be grateful for your kindness.”

  “I am just being a silly old woman.” She smiled. “Go see to our guest.”

  As Catherine left the parlor, she was filled with a premonition. Something was in the air. She could not define it, but Margaret was acting strangely—and then there was this guest. She paused outside the door to Phillip’s study.

  For a moment, she suspected she might know the guest, but they wouldn’t be that cruel, would they? Of course not, she reasoned. She tapped on the door and opened it.

  “Good evening, Phillip,” she smiled. “Margaret is seeing to dinner . . .” Her voice fell when she saw no one else with him. Feeling eyes upon her, she slowly turned.

  To fight the waves of dizziness suddenly engulfing her, she started to shake her head slowly. “No,” she breathed softly. “You . . . you cannot be here.”

  “Can’t I?” Ransom said, stepping toward her. His eyes were filled with a consuming fire and she could not move. Without another word, he grabbed her wrist and drew her against him to take her mouth in a desperate kiss.

  With all her heart, Catherine wanted to surrender, but thoughts of her son, and Ransom’s apparent knowledge of him, penetrated the effect of the kiss. Gathering her resolve, she went limp.

  He felt her withdraw. It hurt, and he needed to hurt back. “What is the matter, Cat,” he growled harshly. “Someone else been seeing to your needs while I have been gone?”

  Neither of them heard Phillip’s groan. They were too involved in staring each other down. “You no good bastard!” she choked out and brought her palm hard against his cheek.

  Stunned, Ransom’s hand covered the offended cheek. “It seems you have yet to learn that I do not tolerate such abuse,” he snarled, taking a threatening step towards her.

  Catherine fled quickly behind a chair. “Stay away from me!” she cried. “You have no authority over me!”

  Phillip made his way to the door, his face covered with a grin.

  “Where are you going?” Catherine demanded the moment he moved.

  “I thought you two would like some privacy to settle your differences.”

  “Don’t you dare go!” she nearly screamed. “You knew I did not wish to see him!”

  Phillip chuckled. “Why don’t you two just make up and come to dinner?”

  “That is what I am trying to do!” Ransom yelled, turning his gaze toward Catherine. “But she is so damned stubborn she does not know what is good for her.”

  “Well, it is not you!” she cried back. “You think you are so wonderful. Ha! You . . . are nothing but a . . . a damned pirate!”

  Ransom drew back, stunned. “Pirate? Is that what made you run? You thought I was a pirate?”

  Throwing up her hands, Catherine snorted softly. “Of course not, you fool!” she stated, pacing the length of the room. “I knew you were not a pirate right after I arrived at Devil’s Head. I just needed something terrible to call you and that was all I could think of.”

  Ransom was too angry to find humor in her mistake. “You never had trouble thinking of something before,” he sneered, wondering why he hadn’t simply snuck into her bed in the middle of the night. She wouldn’t have turned him down then, he thought. Deciding force might be the right approach after all, he started to move toward her. Fortunately, her pacing put her back to him, giving him the chance he needed.

  “That’s because it is so easy to find fault with you. I assure you I will think of— Nooo!” She screamed as he swung her about to hoist her over his shoulder.

  “If I am a pirate then best I play the part!” he roared, heading for the door.

  Catherine pounded unmercifully against his broad back with no effect. “Do something!” she pleaded to his grinning father.

  Phillip nodded and opened the door for Ransom. Ransom strode toward the stairs as Margaret and Holden stepped into the foyer.

  “Don’t say a word,” Ransom snapped at his mother’s worried face and Holden’s amused one. “We are going to talk privately.”

  Catherine’s head snapped up so fast, Ransom almost lost his balance. “Margaret! Make him stop!” Ransom took the steps. “Someone help me!” Ransom glanced back to assure there would be no help. He grinned as his father led his frowning mother into the dining room. Holden saluted him silently with a large grin before he joined them.

  “There will be no help,” Ransom told her and continued up. At the top of the stairs he paused. Above Catherine’s arguments he heard a strange sound coming from down the hall.

  “Put me down! I do not want to talk to you!” She resumed pounding his back, but he thought it more to distract him, and he stilled. “This will never work,” she continued. “You and I have—”

  “Stop fighting me!” Ransom scolded. He moved down the hall.

  “All right!” Catherine cried and tried to wiggle out of his arms. “We can talk but . . . please let’s go back downstairs. I want . . . I would like . . .” He headed for the nursery. “Ransom, no!”

  Everything made perfect sense, Ransom thought as he made his way toward the precious cry. Sabrina hinted at it in her letter. He, himself, felt suspicious at times, but now he knew. Catherine had delivered a child—his child.

  If the baby’s nurse was surprised to find the child’s mother hanging over the shoulder of a man who resembled the master of the house, she kept it to herself. “Evenin’, m’lord,” she bobbed. “Evenin’, Miss Catherine.”

  Ransom nodded his head toward the door and the nurse moved to leave.

  “Sarah, don’t you dare go!”

  Ransom turned to face the nurse and she left without a word.

  While Catherine hung helplessly over his shoulder,
Ransom moved to the crib to gaze down on his child. Eyes as dark as his stared back, bright and curious. Slowly, he stretched out his hand and placed one finger within reach of the babe. The child grasped it with a crooked little grin.

  “Put me down, Ransom,” Catherine said, her voice finally calm and soft.

  Without removing his hand from the child’s grip, he set her to her feet. “What did you name the child?” he asked, his voice revealing the depths of his emotion.

  “Phillip,” she sighed.

  Ransom smiled at the boy. “A son. I have a son.”

  “Phillip Thorpe.”

  Drawing up to full height, Ransom turned to look down at her. “Do you deny this child is mine?” he asked firmly.

  “No,” she breathed. “He is your son.”

  Ransom saw defeat in her eyes before she lowered her head. She hadn’t wanted him to know of the child. Did she hate him that much? There was only one way to find out. “Then we shall wed immediately and give him his rightful name.”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “I will have my father send for the reverend and we will have it done at once,” he went on, ignoring her softly spoken denial. “You might wish to prepare yourself while I talk to Father. He will know best whom to—”

  “No!” she stated more firmly, startling the babe with her sharpness. He began to cry and she shoved an equally startled Ransom aside to gently lift the babe. “There will be no marriage,” she added, cradling Phillip against her cheek.

  Ransom’s anger simmered. “Pray tell, why not, madam?” he demanded. “You cannot expect me to allow you to raise my son as a bastard.”

  She spun away from him. “Why not? Your parentage has not prevented you from being one.”

  When had she gotten so flippant? If she hadn’t been holding the baby, he would have taken her over his knee and paddled her bottom. “No matter what you think of me, we will wed.” Without another word, he turned and left the room.