The memory tried to rear its head but she took a mental hammer and slammed it back down. She didn’t want to think of the promises, the useless promises they made then. No, none of that.
“Again,” she continued, feeling her temper fight against her control, “I tell you. Your words mean nothing.”
She folded her arms across her chest.
“You may have missed that day. Over the years, I began to suspect, and accept, that something outside of your control must have caused you to not meet me that day.”
“But?” He prompted her.
“What about the next summer, Sterling? Why didn’t you return?”
His mouth opened to speak but Moira stopped him. “When the War began, I prayed for you, begging God to give me some sign that you were all right. Terrified that you were caught up in the conflict.”
A muscle leapt along his jawline. “No, I wasn’t involved in the War although a number of the Dutch in the community fought for the Union. My father doesn’t believe men of faith should participate.”
“How was I to know such things?” She clasped her hands together to still their shaking. “I prayed, every day, during that awful time. I’d go into the forest, and wait for you. Every summer, every day. Waiting for you to come to me.”
A look of horror slackened his jawline. “Never tell me!”
“I did!” Furious at the look on his face, she stomped toward him, standing so close she could smell the lemony masculine scent emanating from his person.
“I’d get a casualty list and search through the list of names, longing to know what your name was. Wondering, as I looked at those names of men whose families would never see them again, if my love, my prince, was among them.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. A single drop trailed down her cheek and to the corner of her mouth. “Then, after it was over—”
“Sterling!”
A loud booming voice fairly shook the walls. Moira stopped, seeing his already pale countenance become ashen as all the blood seemed to drain from him.
“Father!” he whispered. “I’d forgotten.”
“What are you saying?” Her voice sounded watery as the onslaught of memories she relived gripped her with cruel hands.
“He’ll be here any moment.” Sterling stared down at her. “And there’s no time. Nor is this the right time.”
Moira drew back a little, frowning. “The right time for what?”
His took her into his arms, drawing her into the heat of his body. “To prepare you for this.”
As the door burst open behind her, Sterling Montgomery captured her mouth with his own.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nothing in the world could have prepared Sterling for his first kiss.
Poets had spent an inordinate amount of time extolling the pleasure of a lover’s kiss. Like any young man, he waited with anticipation to taste the sweet nectar of his wife’s lips.
In his mind, he’d always known that his first foray into the delights of the flesh would be with his angel of music. When his father forced his hand, he bemoaned the fact that he’d experience his first kiss with an unknown woman.
One whom he could never love.
And yet, here he was, tasting for the first time, a woman’s sweet kiss. His mouth moved over hers with an instinctive knowledge. How soft her lips! How warm her body pressed against him! How bitter to taste her tears as they mingled with that delicate intoxicating flavor that was Moira.
How unfortunate that his father was at the door, and would interrupt this moment when all Sterling wanted to do was prolong it for as long as possible.
“Sterling, what is this I hear—what in the world are you doing?”
With difficulty, Sterling tugged his lips away from Moira. The dazed look in her eyes reflected his own inner chaos.
“Father—”
“Who are you?” Clyford strode further into the library, his face fierce and thunderous. “Are you a strumpet? Has my son disgraced the family name by dallying with a woman of loose morals?”
High color bloomed on Moira’s cheeks, nearly the same hue as her dress. She opened her mouth to speak when he said, “No Father, I’ve not done anything as abominable as that.”
“Then what is this?” Pointing an accusing finger, he asked, “Who is she?”
Moira tensed in his arms. Everything she revealed had lacerated his insides. The pain in her face, the anguish in her voice. He couldn’t grasp all the suffering she endured because he lacked the strength to stand against his father. What if he had gone back to her that day instead of meekly following his sire. Would things have been different for them?
He’d never know.
Taking in a deep breath, he sent another prayer toward heaven. “This is Moira, Father. My wife.”
Clyford Montgomery turned to stone. His face, which had been red and mottled in fury, blanched to a milk-like hue. His mouth hung as if it had become unhinged from his jaw. The terrible stillness that encapsulated his father made Sterling uneasy.
Then, like a lifeless statute being endowed with flesh and blood, the color came roaring back.
“Your wife?” The word came out like a snarl. “You went and got yourself a wife…without my permission?”
Sterling’s mouth went dry. He’d seen Clyford in all manners of bad humor but never like this. The bright blue eyes held only a tiny pinprick of darkness. Knowing he’d have to stand up to his father’s wrath had been a given. He’d just didn’t expect it to be this volatile.
That familiar queasiness in his stomach churned. He had to stop letting Clyford affect him like this.
“I did not think a man had to ask a father’s permission to marry. Not his own father anyway.”
Moira’s voice, that husky tune, wrenched the sick feeling away.
“Don’t interfere where you’re not wanted,” his father told her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “This is a family matter.”
“I should think so,” Moira went on in an amicable tone, “since I am part of the family.”
Clyford stared at Sterling with such heat that he wondered if it was possible to combust into flames. Without being fully conscious of it, his arms tightened around Moira’s waist. For some inexplicable reason, he found the fact that she was there by his side, defending him, as a source of strength.
“I made it very clear to you that you were to pursue Lavinia.”
“I believe, Father, that I made it clear to you that I would marry a woman of my own choosing.” He arched his eyebrow. “Did I not?”
“When Abraham sent his servant to find a bride for his son, Isaac, did his son defy his father’s wishes?”
Stifling a breath, Sterling answered, “No.”
“Isaac was an obedient son, wasn’t he?” Clyford’s eyes narrowed.
“As far as we know,” Sterling couldn’t help adding.
“‘Honor your father and mother that your days may be long upon the Earth. This is the first commandment that comes with a promise.’”
The collar around his neck began to tighten. He knew what Clyford was doing – using scripture to manipulate him. He knew it and yet…
“’Therefore shall a man leave his mother and father and cleave to his wife’.”
Moira’s voice startled him out of the melancholy that had fallen on him. Clyford blinked in surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“A man is obedient to his father until he takes a wife. When he does that, all the teachings that his father instilled into him are passed onto his marriage.”
An invisible weight he hadn’t been aware of fell off his shoulders. Hadn’t that always been the problem? The fact that he felt guilty for not wanting to obey his father’s wishes. That being a dutiful son was somehow godlier and better? Yet his own desires ran rampant in his mind, contrary to everything Clyford wished for him.
Clyford peered down at Moira as if studying a bug. “Women are to be silent,” he quoted.
“In church,” Moira retorted. “We’re in m
y husband’s house and I will not be silent in my home.”
“This my house,” Clyford growled.
She lifted her chin. “And I am now your daughter.”
Clyford sneered. “You chose this over Lavinia?”
Sterling took umbrage to his father’s tone. He could deal with the condescending manner Clyford had visited on him for most of his life. Yet, he would not allow it to touch his wife. A protective instinct, one that had lain dormant, sparked to life. “Moira is not a ‘this’, Father. She is my wife and you will treat her as such.”
“You’ve ruined everything!” Clyford pushed past them and gripped the mantle over the unlit hearth. “Lavinia is now free to accept Van Vonderen’s suit.”
No matter what happened between himself and Moira, one thing for certain was that he would never have to entertain the thought of Lavinia being his wife.
“That’s true.”
“You could have had her for your own.” His father’s fist banged on the edge of the mantle. “I made sure to select a beautiful, exquisite woman. She would have been suitable. More than that. The perfect minister’s wife to greet the parishioners after services. You, yourself, even admitted it would be no hardship to be married to her. “
His father rubbed hard at his forehead. “It was all within my reach.”
“All is not lost, Father. Surely, the elder—”
“Years!” The older man exclaimed as if Sterling hadn’t spoken. “Years! All of it gone.” He threw his hands up in the air. “I hope you’re satisfied.”
Thinking of the kiss his father had interrupted, Sterling remarked, “Quite satisfied, Father. You have no comprehension how satisfied I am.”
Clyford pushed away from the mantle in disgust. “You’ll rue the day you did this. Mark my words.”
With that, he left, slamming the door behind him. The clock rattled on the wall.
For a moment, Sterling and Moira stared at the closed door. Then, he sighed. “Welcome to the family, Moira Montgomery.”
She pulled away from his side. In that instant, he missed her warmth and the light fragrance which wafted from her. “Who is this Lavinia your father went on about?”
He spent the next few minutes discussing Clyford’s ambitions, watching her face which remained passive through his tale.
“You understand now?” he asked as he finished. “I had to marry you. Although I had no idea it would be you.”
Her blue crystal eyes stared into his. “You made mention of your father’s desire to be the successor. Do you want to follow in your father’s footsteps?”
“No,” he told her immediately. “I’ve never had any wish to be a preacher.”
“Does he know this?”
Sterling went over to where she sat and extended his hand. “Follow me.”
After a brief hesitation, she took his hand into her own. Against his skin, it felt soft and dainty. Delicate. Yet, the way she stood up to his father let him know she was a woman of courage and strength.
Much more than what he had.
They exited the library. He listened for his father’s whereabouts but sensed the man was no longer in the house. Relieved to have the house to himself, he took his wife on a brief tour of the house.
The home his father had built with Sterling’s mother’s wealth had opulence inlaid on every inch of the house. Large windows which let in the sunlight during the day lined the exterior. Rich fabrics dressed the furniture along with exotic rugs to warm the wooden floors. Paintings of ancestors, most of whom had been in the ecclesiastical field of study and work, stared down at him from their lofty positions.
“When I come down this hall, I do my best to ignore these paintings,” he said as they stopped under one.
“Why is that?”
“It’s rather silly, Moira. Sometimes, I think they stare at me in disapproval. It’s a great thing that the dead do not linger after shuffling off this mortal coil. They’ve traveled beyond this veil of tears to a new glory. Heaven would be too wonderful to be concerned with a disappointing descendant such as myself.”
He waved his hand, indicating the portraits around him. “Most of my ancestors have been in the ecclesiastical field of study. Perhaps I am the only one with no wish to be a minister.”
“What field do you wish to pursue?”
Sterling’s mouth lifted in a smile. “I want to compose music.” His heart swelled with that deep longing. “Music to be sung in churches everywhere. Whenever I could, away from my father’s eyes, I’ve written and created words. However, I cannot sing.” He sent an amused glance her way. “Were you to hear me sing, you would think an animal was being skinned alive.”
Her cherry-red mouth lifted in a tiny smile. He had a strong urge to kiss her again.
“When I met you for the first time Moira, I had prayed to God the night before to send me a sign that my music was a worthy cause to pursue. That it was worth hiding my works in Jasper’s home. Then the next day, I heard an angel sing.”
His eyes drifted shut in memory. “You’ve met my father and can…appreciate why I would need to keep my ambitions secret.”
“That is an understatement of vast proportions,” she stated coolly.
Opening his eyes, he closed the space between them. Looking down at her upturned face, he said, “Would that I could fully impart what that summer meant to me, Moira. To hear you sing. Your voice has never left my mind.”
Reaching out, he dared to caress her cheek, reveling in the silken softness against the pads of his fingers. “I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you by my desertion. If I had known—”
He stopped. Could he have still held against his father’s demands if he had been aware of Moira’s suffering? Or, would he have simply bowed under the weight of Clyford’s thumb as he had so many times in the past? A knot in his stomach twisted. He didn’t want to know the answer to that question.
“Moira, I never thought I’d see you again. Though your face had faded from my mind, your voice still lived. Haunting me like the echoes of a bird’s song at dawn.”
Reluctantly, he let his hand dropped to his sides. “I have been without you for ten years. I have no right to ask this of you but I will. Don’t abandon me like I did you. Allow me the opportunity, a chance to court you.”
“But we’re already married,” she said in an incredulous tone.
“It certainly makes things easier,” he responded. “I could be like some men and demand my rights without question or consideration of you.”
“Sterling—” She looked uncomfortable.
“But I have no desire to do such a thing. Well, that’s not quite true,” he clarified with a self-deprecating laugh. “I stole a kiss from you without your permission. Would that I could say I’m sorry. Would also, that I could simply say I did it to let my father know how serious I was in defying his wishes. But that would only be a partial truth. He cheated us out of a kiss ten years ago. I wasn’t going to let him do it again.”
A lovely rose color flooded her face.
“What I want is the chance to woo you as I should have done had we met that final day. We would have ended the sweet game of mystery between us. I would have known your name. You would have learned mine. We would have exchanged letters and maybe our happily ever after, the kind we both always wanted, would have happened.”
Her head dipped. “What is it we have now?”
“A start,” he answered slowly. “A new beginning that only God can give. How can a boy and a girl, who never knew each other’s name, meet again in this way? Coincidence?” He made a scoffing sound. “Coincidence left a long time ago.”
He grabbed her hands and kissed the backs of them. “Let us try to recapture that wonder of long ago. Please, will you stay?”
Later, the events and revelations of the day crowded Moira’s mind like the jostling of rambunctious school children vying for attention. After a while, she gave up all pretense of sleep and slipped out of the bed. Padding over to the vanity,
she sat down and stared unseeingly at her moonlit reflection.
Everything she had believed about her silver prince had tumbled down like the walls of an ancient ruin. Her prince had not abandoned her. He was rather much like a damoiseau, the male equivalent of damsel, in need of rescuing.
“It’s like a fairytale of the strangest sort,” she whispered in the quiet of the room.
It certainly had all the makings of a fairytale story. Instead of kingdoms and royalty, it was church nobility and ministers. In the place of the wicked stepmother was an ambitious father who locked his son in a tower. Not a tower of brick and stone but one of his will.
“What does that make me then if he is the lad in distress?”
“My angel of music.”
The phrase took on a whole new meaning now. It was the storyteller’s equivalent of a knight in shining armor. Moira could hear that desperate longing in his voice. Spying her brush, she began the absent ministration of brushing her hair.
Now that she had met his father, she knew what kind of opposition Sterling had been up against as a boy. There was no way he could have come back for her.
She dropped the brush to her lap and then gazed out the window, seeing the long spindly shadows of the bare trees stretch across the room.
Meeting his father was like meeting her prince in the future. They shared the same ash blonde hair though his was more streaked with gray strands. His eyes were the same piercing blue. They reminded her of chips of ice. Mr. Montgomery was still an attractive man which bode well for Sterling if he lived to old age.
Dinner had been a strained affair although the food was a symphony. The housekeeper, Mevrouw Van Dijk, had outdone herself when she found out that the woman who had come to their home was in fact the new mistress of the house. Thankfully, Moira’s Dutch was quite adequate and she accepted that woman’s congratulations with equanimity.
The spread had been a simple but fine meal. Erwtensoep, a split pea soup with thick chunks of ham, sliced bits of rookworst, a kind of smoked sausage, and an offering of Hete Bliksem , a mashed potato dish with smoked bacon, potatoes and tart apples. Soft slices of dark rye bread accompanied the food. For dessert, Mevrouw Van Dijk served appelflappen, a triangular-shaped baked good stuffed with apples and raisins.
A Bride for Sterling Page 5
