The Bargain (12 page)

Tears dripped down her cheeks. "Please, tell me you are well. I'll do anything to fix this."

Anything? "Then, come to me lass."

She tugged at her collar, but came near and sat at his side. His brave girl looked tentative, almost afraid to approach. This wasn't to be. He caught her hand. "You still don't follow instruction well."

With all his strength, he pulled her into his arms, folded her against his chest and embraced her. "Much better."

He held on to her until she stopped crying, taking the opportunity to caress the curves he'd admired moments before. It took a little effort, but he had her off her feet and snuggled next him, just like on the Margeaux.
 

"Gareth, I thought I'd lost you."

"Woman, if you ever leave this bedchamber without telling me where you are going, you just might."

"I just knew they were there from what Branddochter had said to me before I got lost in the woods with those spitting snakes."

He tossed her mobcap and fingered a braid or two. It was time to ask. "She can be dangerous, but what of Grossling?"

Precious tried to pull away from Gareth, but he held her fast. Her tears were ragged and loud.
 

He kissed the scar on her neck. His suspicions had to be correct. Grossling must've forced himself upon her. Anger burned inside, more than the sting of his wound from tensing. Now wasn't the time to plan revenge. It was time to show love to this jewel of a woman. "Nothing matters. You trust me, Precious, right?"

She wiped her face. "Yes, Gareth, with everything in me."

"Do you love me?"

She spun in his arm and held his gaze. Fear and questions dotted her eyes, but was there love too?

"Can you love me, all of me, even the scarred parts?"

Before he could answer, the door opened. She tried to squirm away but he held her fast.
 

Mrs. Narvel poked her head inside, and then pushed fully into the room with Jonas and Dennis. "Sorry to interrupt, Lord Welling,
baroness
, but this little boy and your friend wanted to see you."

Mrs. Narvel let Jonas loose.

Like a released hot gas balloon, he ran to the headboard, squealing and holding out his hands to come up.

With Precious firmly locked in one arm, Gareth reached down and picked up his son. He lay back with two squirming bodies. The two he loved most dearly.
 

"Jonas has been good, helping with my little Clara. But he wanted to see his Papa and his Mammie."

The boy bounced on the mattress. "Papa's going to be fine. Mammie and I prayed."

Precious's cheeks held a full blush. Others might miss it against her warm brown skin, but to him it looked like autumn leaves appearing against the umber bark of an oak. Lovely woman.

Blushing more, she smiled. "We've all been praying, Jonas."
 

The little boy bounced up and down on the bed. If not for Precious's protecting his bandaged midsection, the tike's fast movements might've caused damage.

Gareth raked his fingers through his boy's blonde mop. "So what brings you to me, Dennis? I'm not quite able to dress and attend you downstairs."

"I know, but the colony's abuzz about you and your wife saving us from the Xhosa. I just came to officially perform your marriage ceremony. Regardless of the African tradition the miss tried to explain, we need to make sure that this bond can't be broken by London."

Gareth squeezed her hand. "It can't, Precious. Can it?"

Her pretty chestnut eyes locked on his. "No."

 
"Good." Dennis hefted a big book and took a quill and a bottle of ink from his leather vest. "Mrs. Narvel, can you get this feather pen ready for the bride and groom?"

"It is my pleasure." The woman plodded over and took great care in opening the small flask. She dunked the tip of the quill twice and then handed it to Gareth.
 

Dennis neared and put the book close to the bed. "Put your mark in here, both of you."

Precious sat up a little and fussed with his bandages. "Wait, I need to tell you."

Gareth was done with excuses and delays. He linked his hand with hers, gripped the quill and made his mark for Gareth Conroy, the Baron Welling and then a quick P and a J. "What else, Dennis, do we need to make this marriage official for the folks back in England?"

The blacksmith rubbed his beard. "An exchange of a ring will do it."

The family ring, where was it? Oh, somewhere in his dresser or trunks. Getting up to search for it might give Precious more time for excuses. She was his and he hers, no matter what anyone thought. "I've none at the moment." He heaved a heavy sigh. "Perhaps there is a substitute condition?"

"Use this, Lord Welling." Mrs. Narvel took off her ring and gave it to him. "It can do until you give my friend something proper."

The simple gold band would more than do. "Thank you." He took it and slipped it on Precious's finger. "Done."

Dennis closed his book up. The thud was loud, definitive. "Well then, it's done."

Mrs. Narvel put her hand on her hip. "It can't be that simple. Make them say some vows."

 
Frowning for a minute, Dennis scratched his jaw. "Well, alright. Do you Gareth Conroy, love this woman?"

"I do."

Dennis looked down at the fidgeting bride. "Do you, Precious Jewell, love this man?"

She was silent for a moment and shut those big chestnut eyes. "Yes. With everything that is in me, yes."

Gareth didn't wait for permission. He leaned over his son and kissed her. He made it a slow one, taking time to savor her trembling lip. He lifted his head and peered at his son, who clapped his hands.
 

The cheery Mrs. Narvel in her widow's black crepe and Dennis joined in too, but things weren't done between Gareth and his new wife. He sat back on his pillows and coveted Precious's hand, pulling it along his bandages. "As much as I enjoy you all, the baroness and I won't be joining you for the wedding breakfast."

Dennis offered an arm to Mrs. Narvel. "Newly wedded people need privacy for theirs is an honorable marriage bed."

That wasn't quite the verse, but close enough for Gareth's purposes. He hugged his boy one more time. "Papa will play with you later, Jonas. I need to have a long talk with your Mammie. Would that be fine, son?"

Jonas smiled and nodded. He climbed down and ran to Mrs. Narvel's waiting hand.

The three left and closed the door snuggly behind them.

Straining, he tugged Precious to his side. Her chin rested on his abdomen above the pristine wrapping of bandages. "Now what is it you had to tell me, Mrs. Conroy?"

She put her hand with the glimmering band to her eyes. "That I don't deserve to be. I'm not a pure bride."

"A little late for that complaint since we've been officially married. Yet who needs perfection? I'm not that pure of a groom, but the Lord can make things new."

Gareth studied the serious pout on her face. His jests didn't bring her comfort. It was painfully obvious that her freedom wouldn't be until they talked about what happened at the brothel. He'd arrived too late to save her from harm. Insides beginning to boil, he placed his palms flat on the mattress. "Just say it, Precious." Then he could go and kill Grossling for taking advantage of her.

With tears pooling in her eyes, maybe she feared for Gareth's safety. Or worse, that kindness in her soul didn't want him to harm the villain. He blew out a breath and opened his soul. She had to see Gareth and know his love. "Precious Jewell Conroy, you have the biggest heart. Nothing you could say will ever stop mine from flowing to you."

Precious sat up, taking care to not touch his wounds. "The room is so bright."

"Precious, don't delay." His tone sounded quiet, but she knew him. The hunger to defend what was his would always define him.
 

"Come now, Mrs. Conroy. You can tell your husband anything."

 
She blinked her eyes again. The room was so light. That Sometimes God had been here. He'd made it so Gareth's fever would break and gave him a sunny day to awaken to. But the Lord left His glory shine. No secrets of the past could be hidden.
 

"Your lips aren't moving, Precious. What makes them so quiet?"

He took a short breath and raised her up. His gaze set upon her. His eyes scooped up the candle's shimmer making them a deeper blue than she'd ever seen. Oh, why couldn't he just tunnel into her mind and see the darkness within her?
 

"Precious, we aren't sneaking about. You are legally obligated to lie next to me. There's nothing to fear, but I need you to tell me what troubles you."

His calm voice didn't do anything for her heart. It raced more and more as his lips came closer to hers.

She turned away to the window. "Let me close the curtains. Dim a candle. I want to be in the dark when you see me."

"You know a captain's vision is pretty good, day or night." He eased back on his pillow again. "Nothing escapes me much. What don't you want me to see?"

 
How could she tell him of the scars, the ones that said what she was? Putting herself with Mr. Grossling. "Please, just make it dark."

"How about I just hold you in my arms until your courage returns?" His hands played with the buttons on her blouse. "But while I wait, perhaps we should rid you of these confining clothes. It's not quite fair for you to be fully dressed, while I'm not."

She scooted from his heated hands and dangled her feet over the mattress's edge. "You are not being serious. How am I to tell you something awful?"

He reached over and brushed her cheek. Gareth turned her chin toward him. "Just say it. Then lie back down next to me. The best sleep I've had in years was when you were the captain's woman on the Margeaux."

"Stop making jokes. Another man has looked on me, Gareth. Mr. Grossling at the brothel."

"Did he violate you?" His voice was low and cold. "I will kill him."

She pivoted to face Gareth.
 

His palms fisted. His gaze burned. "Don't tell me not to."

"No, it is worse." Hands shaking, she reached for his but couldn't make it that far.
 

"Precious, come to me."
 

She wanted to but couldn't move. Shame gripped her; hogtied her feet to the floor.

Grunting, he pulled forward. His arms snaked about her middle. He gathered her in his arms.
 

The scent of him, liniment and woodsy, filled her nostrils. He smelled good. His arms felt good.

"You can tell me anything, Precious. Nothing changes what's betwixt us."

As long as his hold was tight, nothing mattered. "Grossling had been drinking. He had a gun and said he'd paid for me. I had to get to you, to tell you about finding the chief. So I didn't struggle with him. I figured I'd let--"

"You'd let him get his due, that stupid concept you tossed at me back at Firelynn." He growled deep in his chest. His arms bound about her more tightly as if he thought she'd flee. That wonderful heart of his thudded against her. "So what happened?"

"He made me lie down and bunch up my skirts."

Another growl left Gareth. Air rushed of her braids; the low tone vibrated on her neck. "But you said, he didn't?"

"He was going to until he looked at my scars. Then he let me go. I was too ugly for him." She couldn't hold in her emotions anymore. Sobs came from everywhere. "I'm afraid you'll think that too. I don't want to be my scars for you. "

"Scars?" He fingered the one that peaked from her collar. "What scars?"

"When my half-brother molested me and thought he'd killed me, he took a knife to me hoping to make sure I couldn't bear children with a drop of Marsdale blood."

"Your half-brother, Eliza's cousin?"

"Yes."

She rubbed at her stomach; almost wishing the motion would take away the memories. She wished it were dark in Gareth's room so he couldn't see her or read the letters cut on her stomach and thighs.

He didn't say anything. His fingers started that dance along her back. When her overdress fell to her shoulders, the fog of his touch had worn away. His motions were purposeful. Her fingers trembled as he stripped away her blouse. Layer by layer, her outer dress dropped to the floor.

Like she was paper, he lifted her and freed her stocking. It wasn't a noise of passion, but of pain. The bullet had done him damage, but none of that seemed to be on his mind.
 

She started to clasp his hand, to make him stop and save his strength, but the look on his face said he wouldn't, not until nothing separated them.

Gareth was her husband now. He had a right to see her. So she put a shaky finger on the front lacings of her corset and undid it for him. Only a thin chemise now remained.

He sunk his hands into her braids and guided her lips to his. It was all a distraction for as his deep kisses took over her; he removed the stiff muslin from her.
 

The room was bright. He could see all of her, including the scars. Her flesh held words so horrible that even a drunken fool didn't want her.

"Trust me, Precious." Those hands of his, rough and powerful, smoothed her knotting stomach.
 

She was on edge, hardly able to breath. "I don't want to be ugly to you."
 

Her next intake of air was sharp. Her innards knotted tighter as his hands wandered lower to the scars.

With his fingertips, he traced the W, the H, then the O. Soon, he'd traced them all, every repeated letter that evil had carved upon her skin. "You've been treated so cruelly. A woman whose heart is so filled with love never deserved this. You're beautiful, Precious Jewell Conroy, every bit of you. You are not these words."

"But the scars are still there for any one who sees me. With layers of clothing, I know they are there. I remember—"

"I'm the only man, Lord willing, who will ever see them. And I tell you, you are not these words. You are this." His pinkie wrote a new word, L, O, V, E over her wounds. "You've bandaged me up. I'm not a perfect specimen either. You know my struggles."