Savage Destiny (The Hearts of Liberty Series, Book 1) (18 page)

"Last night," Ian repeated, and the echo of his voice sent a fresh wave of pain rumbling through his head. He could recall attending the Governor's Ball, but then his memories grew faint. He struggled to bring them into focus, and then felt even worse.

"My God, did we get married?"

"Have you come to regret our marriage so soon?"

Ian leaned forward and propped his head in his hands. "Where did you get that peach wine? I fear it's lethal."

Melissa had not sipped more than a few drops and didn't share his pain. "It was a gift from a neighboring plantation. You seemed to enjoy it last night."

"I must have." Ian was positive marriage was one of the most significant events in a man's life, but he'd not realized how easily a few glasses of wine would wipe the memories from his mind. "Would you please bring me my pants?"

Melissa plucked them from the chair where she had placed them that morning. She handed them to him and then returned to her chair by the window, to provide him with the necessary privacy to dress. From that safe distance, she took refuge in practical matters. "There are so many things we need to discuss. Where are we going to live?"

Ian rolled out of bed, nearly fell, but caught himself and hurriedly pulled on his pants. Expecting some evidence of their passion, he glanced back toward the bed, but when the wrinkled sheets bore no trace of their union, he was in too much pain to care. He pulled the spread up in a hasty attempt to make the bed and then sat down on it.

"I don't know," he replied. "I'll try and rent us a house in town until we can build one, but I don't feel up to discussing real estate today. I'd rather just go back to sleep, but I can't leave you to face your parents alone."

Melissa rose and went to him. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have suggested we toast each other last night, had I known how badly you'd feel today."

Ian took her hands and pulled her close. "You needn't fear you've married a drunkard. I'll not make this great a fool of myself ever again."

Melissa had to bite her lower lip to prevent her ravaged emotions from betraying her. "You're no fool. Don't even think that."

Ian had not expected her to take his remark so seriously. "Thank you, but I know just how wretched I feel."

"We often have guests during Publick Times. Fortunately for us, this is one of the few springs that we haven't, but these bedrooms are always kept ready. There's shaving soap, a razor, water, although I'm sorry it's cold."

Taking her remarks as a gentle prod, Ian slid off the bed. "Yes, my dear, I'll make myself presentable."

"Don't wear your wig. Your hair is really too beautiful to hide."

"Do you really mean that? I've always thought it was hideous."

Melissa's pretty blue eyes widened in surprise. "No, it's certainly unusual, although not for a Scotsman I don't suppose, but it's a very attractive shade." She reached up to kiss his cheek. "I like your freckles, too."

"My God, woman, you've become absolutely shameless with your flattery."

"I think every woman ought to flatter her husband," Melissa protested, "and I intend to keep right on flattering you."

Despite the pain of his headache, Ian longed to take her back to bed, but knew he would have to face her parents first. "I shall strive to deserve it then," he responded with a mock bow.

He walked over to the washstand, and she returned to the window. He poured himself a drink first to rid his mouth of the awful taste of peach wine, and then added water to the bowl. As he scooped it up in his hands to wash his face, he had a startling recollection of tears, and his heart fell. He couldn't remember much of the night, but now recalling Melissa's heartbreaking sobs, he glanced toward her.

She was gazing out the window, smiling slightly, and from the affectionate way she had greeted him that morning—or afternoon, if that were the case—she wasn't displeased with him. He debated with himself a minute, and then decided there were some questions that were better left unasked. If his wife wished to pretend their wedding night had gone well, when all he could remember was wine and tears, then he would not challenge her on it. He was touched that she would try so hard to make the day seem like any other, when in truth they would probably never face a more difficult conversation than the one they would soon have with her parents.

That he had seldom felt worse wouldn't help any either, and he forced himself to concentrate on shaving, but he laughed to himself as he recalled Melissa's comment about his freckles. He was twenty-six years old, and he had more freckles than most ten-year-old children, and Melissa liked them! He would thank God every day of his life for sending him a wife whose love was truly blind.

* * *

Neither John nor Rachel Barclay had felt up to attending church services that morning, but they had gone anyway and insisted Alanna accompany them. They left while the last notes of the recessional hymn were still echoing through the nave and, without lingering to speak with friends, rode home in the same sullen silence with which they had arrived. When they walked through their front door and found Melissa and Ian waiting in the parlor, Rachel again burst into tears, while John fought to control his temper. Alanna saw the protective way Ian's arm encircled her cousin's waist, and envied the newly married couple their love.

They had been downstairs only a few minutes, and Ian had scarcely had enough time to prepare, but he seized the initiative and spoke first. "I want to apologize to you both for any anxiety we may have caused you last night. I know what we've done must seem selfish, and perhaps it was, but we had been discussing marriage for several weeks, and felt we were ready to take that step. I love your daughter dearly, and you have my word that I'll give her the best of lives."

John Barclay's vision was clouded with a scarlet mist exactly matching the coat of Ian's uniform. "Anxiety?" he repeated in a hoarse croak. Ignoring his new son-in-law, he addressed his remarks to his daughter. "Anxiety does not begin to describe the suffering you've brought your mother and me. Barmaids and scullery maids elope, but the well-bred daughters of respectable families, which ours most certainly is, do not elope! Now I want both of you to sit down, and we'll try our best to undo the terrible mess you've made."

"Our marriage is no mess," Melissa argued.

"Sit down!" John bellowed.

"I'll not allow you to shout at my wife," Ian replied.

"She is also my daughter, young man, and I'll shout at her all I please."

"Not in my presence you won't, or we shall have to leave," Ian insisted.

Rachel placed her hands over her ears. "Please, I can't bear the sound of strident voices. Let's all sit down and discuss things calmly."

Alanna wondered if she ought to go, after all, the discussion at hand didn't really concern her, but she was too curious to excuse herself, and when her uncle didn't demand that she leave, she moved to the closest chair. Ian and Melissa chose the settee, and John and Rachel took the chairs across from them. For a long moment, the two couples simply stared at each other, but then John spoke in a more reasonable tone.

"How many people know of your marriage?" he asked.

"The chaplain who performed the ceremony, and the two soldiers who served as witnesses, but I asked them to keep our wedding a secret until you'd been informed," Ian explained. "We've not told anyone else. Have you?"

"Certainly not," John quickly denied. "Lieutenant Tyler and Randolph O'Neil helped us look for you, but when I found the note you'd left with Andrew, I told them Melissa had been taken ill and gone home."

"You lied to them?" Melissa asked.

"Of course, I lied to them," her father scoffed. "Do you think I'd brag about the fact you'd run off with a soldier?"

"I am an officer, sir, not a common foot soldier."

"I'll agree. There's nothing common about you, Lieutenant, not from your bright red hair to your total lack of regard for my daughter's reputation."

"I have the highest regard for your daughter's reputation, but must I remind you that I'll not allow you to criticize my wife?"

John waved aside Ian's feisty defense. "You're a virile young man. May I assume having the marriage annulled is no longer an option?"

"Father, how could you?"

"Hush, Melissa. It's Ian who has to answer."

For an instant, Ian wished there were bloodstained sheets he could flap in his father-in-law's face. Instead, he squeezed his bride's hand more tightly, and replied with a knowing smile, "We're legally wed."

"Where did you spend the night?"

"In the green guest bedroom," Melissa volunteered.

"My God!"

Rachel reached out to pat her husband's arm. "Please don't shout, darling."

Astonished, John eyed his wife with an incredulous glance. "This is a sad day for the Empire, if Ian is a fair sample of the King's officers!"

"It was my idea," Melissa rushed to explain. "We wanted to be here to speak with you today."

John mumbled a string of unintelligible curses before regaining what little hold he had on his composure. "Outside of this room, there are only three men who know of your marriage. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Ian agreed.

"Then you will tell them to maintain their silence, and we shall simply announce your engagement," John said. "After a suitable interval, you'll be wed in a proper ceremony, and no one need ever learn that it is your second wedding, rather than your first."

Not having expected such a reaction, Ian was taken aback for a moment, but then he turned toward Melissa, and spoke before she could object. "You know I'm concerned about what people will say. I think we should give your father's suggestion serious thought."

Melissa had a major objection, and she didn't mince words in voicing it. "As my father so tactlessly asked, we are husband and wife, Ian, and I may have already conceived a child. Our elopement may cause a stir, but it will be minor compared with my marrying you in a few months when my condition might be noticeable, and the subsequent birth of our first baby occurs prior to our nine-month anniversary."

John Barclay fixed his daughter with a piercing stare. "Is this the real reason you and Ian were in such a great hurry to wed? Are you already with child?"

Overwhelmed with guilt, all color drained from Melissa's face, while Ian objected violently to that insulting question. His courage bolstered her own, and she felt no need to even hint at the truth. After all, she was only a week overdue now, and surely that wasn't time enough to confirm a pregnancy. "Ian is a gentleman, Father, and he has always behaved as such with me. In fact, our elopement was my idea, not his, so you mustn't blame him."

"I blame you both for not having more sense," John complained.

An uncomfortable silence ensued, and it was Rachel who finally broke it. "We can plan the wedding for a month from yesterday. Then if you should have a child eight months later, we'll say he's four weeks' premature. A month isn't really sufficient time to plan a wedding, but since Byron was born just nine months after your father and I were wed, I don't think we should gamble on having the luxury of more time. Perhaps we can say that you anticipate being transferred elsewhere, Lieutenant. That's certainly plausible, isn't it?"

"Yes, if the situation in the Ohio Valley worsens, I could easily be assigned elsewhere."

"I think we should discuss this in private, Ian," Melissa urged. "It's too important an issue to decide in haste."

"Unlike your wedding!" John reminded her.

Ian chose to ignore that ill-tempered outburst. "Will you excuse us, please?" he asked.

John rose and gestured toward the door. "Certainly, take all the time you need. We'll wait dinner for you. After all, we don't want to compound the problems of one hasty decision with another equally foolish choice."

Ian helped Melissa to her feet. She glanced toward Alanna, and knew by the hurt she saw in her cousin's expression just how upsetting their elopement had been for her. "I'm sorry," she whispered as they passed by her chair. "I would have told you our plans had there been time, but it was all very romantic and spontaneous."

Alanna nodded, then looked toward her uncle to see if he had heard Melissa's apology. When he looked away, she knew that he had, but it didn't appear as though he would offer her an apology of his own. She understood his preoccupation with Melissa could be blamed for his shocking lack of manners, but that didn't make her feel any better.

Because they had enjoyed previous walks down by the river, Ian led Melissa along the path that crossed the lawn. "At least your father didn't try and shoot me," he teased. "I'm taking that as a good sign."

"Let's not make light of our situation," Melissa begged. "It isn't in the least bit funny."

"I'm sorry if my attempt at humor was misplaced." By the time they'd reached the river's edge, Ian's mood was as serious as hers. "Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not sorry that we got married," he assured her, "but you know I wanted you to have a big wedding so all your family and friends could be there to celebrate. I think we should agree to your father's plan, and keep our elopement a secret. A month isn't an unreasonable amount of time for us to wait to live as man and wife."