Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) (8 page)

She lifted a brow in question, and he took a long swig of the hot liquid. “My parents came to Maine before I was born, but when I was five, we returned to Quebec.”

“And they’re of French heritage?”

“My father. My mother is of Scottish descent.”

“And they were good to you?”

She sounded as if he said no, she’d head to Canada that night and bring down a horrible wrath upon his parents. He set down his mug and framed her beautiful face with his hands. “Yes,
mon plus cher
, they were very good to me. They will love you, because I—” He stopped short before he confessed something he wasn’t ready to confess. “Because you are so sweet, they couldn’t help but adore you.”

Sadness entered her eyes. “Even when they know?”

He brushed his lips against hers then decided to savor her mouth for bit even if the clock hadn’t struck twelve. She opened for him without hesitation and offered him everything she had just as she always did every time they kissed…every time they came together. He deepened the kiss and angled her head so he could deepen it further. Her fingernails dug into his biceps, and she made the most erotic noises deep in her throat.

The tower, once chilled, became warm and humid, and he moved his hands over her, learning her curves again even though he knew every one intimately. Gillian leaned closer, giving his hands more. Buzzing filled his ears as his mind went numb, intoxicated by her soft flesh and sweet taste. A bell ringing brought him slowly from the fog she’d wrapped him in, dragging him away from everything and closer to her.

Unable to part from Gillian, Rhys brushed kisses over her face and down her neck until the bell rang again. He leaned back from her, breaking their kiss, but not the contact with his wife.

“You are a siren, for sure, Gillian, but I’d die on the rocks a happy man for following your song.”

She dug her fingers in his hair and tugged his head down until their foreheads touched. “I’d never lead you anywhere you’d be harmed. Maybe just someplace where Deacon wasn’t ringing that dang bell.”

He laughed and stayed in her embrace, his hands resting on her hips. “Today, I realized I had two choices. To wallow in bitterness until I forced you to leave in order to preserve your sanity, or to accept things we cannot change, that you are not your father, and you are not Miriam. If we’re going to survive, the choice was clear. And I want you, Gillian, no matter where you’re from or who fathered you. You are mine now, and this is where you belong.”

She hugged his neck, pressing close. “This is my home, Rhys, and you are mine, too. I’ll forever be grateful to the crazy villagers of Bass Harbor for bringing me to you. When I think if I’d waited, another might have answered that ad…”

Rhys squeezed her close. “I wouldn’t have accepted another. There was a line between your heart and mine from the first time I saw you, and that’s the truth of it.”

“Happy New Year!” Deacon’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs, and Rhys gave Gillian another kiss before breaking the embrace as their friend joined them.

“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.”

‡

“H
ow 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.”

She 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.