| |
THE TROOP OF YOUNG boys dashed down Calvert Street toward the tavern. They waved their hats. They screamed, “Riders coming!”
Fingal barked and lunged, then slid to a halt, turned, and came back to Elizabeth’s side.
What had possessed the dog to stay near her? ‘Twas obvious she wished to join the fray.
She set the tray of syllabubs and cider to a table on the stage. She lifted her scarf and dabbed the sweat from her neck and brow.
A cloud of dust bowled toward Old Sassenach. Two horses, their sweaty necks and legs stretching for the win, emerged from the gritty puff.
Matthew and Thomas.
And then, Matthew’s mount edged forward. He yanked the bottle from the rope. The crowd hollered and surged toward him. He hoisted the bottle above his head and pranced his horse in a victory dance.
A few men offered condolences to Thomas, but more grinned at the man’s loss. Elizabeth could not hear the words from here, but ‘twas clear it was man talk and for Thomas’ part was meant to be more than a little humiliating.
Except he did not seem particularly upset by all of it.
“McQueen!” Matthew cried. The crowd of men parted like the Red Sea had for Moses. Matthew pressed his horse to Dominic’s side and lifted the bottle upward.
Thomas twisted his head and must have said no, for Matthew shrugged, spun around, and gave the bottle to another. He scanned the crowd. His eyes locked on her.
He leaped from the horse, and for the second time that day he jumped the fence. He wove between people, shoved a chair sideways, and slid across a table.
He leaped to the stage. The crowd quieted.
He grabbed Elizabeth’s hand. Heat waves surged upward from the ground and numbed her feet. Hannah’s face wrinkled with irritation. Her fingers tightened on the wreath.
“You must give it to him, Hannah,” Colina whispered.
The congratulations pinched from the bride’s throat. Matthew knelt to one knee and bowed his head.
The crowd went wild.
He stood and took the wreath. He lifted it above his head and faced the crowd. More applause.
He turned to Elizabeth. He winked.
He is going to give it to me.
The panic set in like winter on an Acadian prairie.
Matthew now lowered before her to one knee. At the foot of the stairs men and boys, some older and others younger, pushed and elbowed to be in front.
“Miss Johns,” Matthew said.
A hush fell over the crowd.
“I knew you were special from the moment I saw you that first day at the Fottrell House. Today, I will show you just how special you are.” He kissed her knuckles, then stood. He pulled the white coif from her head and tossed it into the crowd.
He lifted the wreath upward and placed it on her head. The ribbons danced before her face.
He pressed his lips forward. Was he going to kiss her?
She twisted her face sideways. He cradled her chin and held her still. “Ye are a shy lass,” he laughed softly. He pressed his mouth against hers. The smell of rum turned her stomach and stung her nose. He pulled back and smiled. “But you will not be for long.”
Her head spun faster and faster. She blinked to rid her sight of the hot, hazy fog.
He stepped to the side with a flourish. “Gentleman, you may congratulate the woman on being the bearer of the wreath, but you may not have her this day.” He beamed a smile. “For this day, I have claimed her as my own.”
Waves of applause crashed against her. Her insides knotted. Matthew reached for her hand and pulled her down the steps.
The crowd surged forward. The fear rolled through her stomach.
Lips pressed into her cheek. She twisted her head right and left. Male bodies brushed hers. She was pushed this way and that.
She heard nothing but a rush of wind. Sweat poured into her eyes. Rum-laced mouths pressed against hers.
Men and boys were before her. They were far from her.
Someone asked if she was alright. She opened her mouth to say she was not, but nothing came out.
And then, she was gone.
––––––––
THOMAS PUSHED MEN AND boys this way and that.
Where was she? Why would they not move out of his way?
He shoved harder. Men stumbled. Fists clenched. Mouths swore. The fight fueled Thomas forward.
He should never have let Hardwin gain that bottle. He did so to save himself and in the process had given Elizabeth to the boy.
He shoved the last man aside.
She lay on the ground, her head in his maither’s lap.
He threw himself beside her. Alex had lowered to the lass’ other side. Above them, Hardwin twirled the wreath in his hands and pleaded with Elizabeth to get up.
“I think she has simply passed out, Thomas,” his maither said.
“The seasoning?”
“I think not. Too far past.” She lifted the bandaged hand upward. “Mayhap this? And what of her face?”
Thomas told her and Alex what Elizabeth had told him. The three of them shared long looks.
No one believed her.
“Alex,” his mother said. “If the burn is that bad she needs to rest today.”
“I understand, Colina, but I cannot afford to give her the day off, not if she can at least do something. Look at the number of people here.”
Hardwin lowered the wreath to his side. “What if I find someone to work in her place? And I would pay their wages.” His gaze fell to Elizabeth. “I would pay Elizabeth’s as well.”
A hot angst crawled up Thomas’ spine. What was he up to?
Thomas could well do her work, but then she would be at Hardwin’s mercy. “Alex, I will work alongside her this day.”
“You cannot see to her,” Hardwin smarted. “The lass is mine this day. I won her fair and square.”
“What if she does nae wish your company?”
West pressed his hands between them. “Matthew, you take your leave and find me some help, but it may be for naught.” He backhanded the boy’s chest. “No doubt by this evening Miss Johns can spend some time with you, but if she cannot then you best be a gentleman about it. And Thomas.” He turned. “Take her to her cottage.”
“Mr. West!” Hardwin cried. “You cannot let this man take her to her private quarters.”
Alex ignored him. “Let her come to herself and see to that hand.”
Hardwin huffed. “‘Tis really too much liberty ye take, McQueen.”
Thomas exploded to his feet. He reached across his maither’s head. He seized Hardwin’s navy silk vest.
The boys’ eyes widened.
“No, Thomas.” Alex grabbed Thomas’ arm. “At least not here.”
Thomas shoved the boy backward. He turned to the lass, lowered to his knee, and lifted her upward. At least his hands were occupied and could do no damage to Hardwin.
“Matthew,” Alex said. “If you are going to find someone to work in her place, you best get on with it.”
Hardwin opened his mouth. He shifted his feet. Finally, he spun around and stalked from the yard.
“I will get what ye need for that hand.” His maither took Alex’s offered hand and stood to her feet. She then turned and made her way to the kitchen.
Elizabeth moaned. Thomas tightened his grip.
West’s thick, white brows drew tight across his nose. “Thomas, I have no stake in Miss John’s future one way or the other.” He lowered his voice. “You, however, seem to have tender feelings for her, not unlike another we both once knew.”
The sweat leached into Thomas’ hands.
“You can thwart Hardwin all you like this day. You can convince the lass to rest in her cottage.” Arthritic fingers grabbed Thomas’ shoulder. “But once you leave on the morrow? Who will watch over her then?”
––––––––
THOMAS’ FEET POUNDED the brick pathway.
All the while, Alex’s words bounced and beat at him.
What was he to do with her?
With Hardwin?
He flung the door to the cottage open. He lay Elizabeth to the bed. He pulled her hand up and reached for the end of the bandage.
“Non. Sil-vous plait.” She tried to pull away. “The air causes pain.”
“Wheest, Lass. It needs a cleaning.”
“I can do it myself.” She jabbed an elbow into the mattress and lifted her chest upward.
“Let me do it this time.” Thomas pushed her back down. “Ye find yourself after the fainting.”
“Oh no.” Her face glazed with shock. “Is this kissing something that is done at all weddings?”
“Aye. ‘Tis an old custom.” He frowned. “I take it ye dinna do such in Nova Scotia?”
“We do not kiss even our children in public. Affection between men and women is not shared with others. And yet there were always lots of babies and children.” She slipped with this memory to a good place, and the smile was charming.
Her brow lifted. “Of course, if you were an English husband, you made a point of embarrassing your shy Acadian wife in public anytime you wished.” She sighed.
Ach! How he wished to be her Scottish husband. He would embarrass her all day long. By nightfall, she would melt in his arms. He would then love her till dawn and start all over again.
“Are ye pressing the fingers outward several times a day?” he asked.
“Oui. I know if I do not they may curl inward.” The words rushed through her teeth. “Tomorrow I intend to put a small board behind my palm to force ot to flatten.”
He winced. “Silly brought you some white willow bark tea. It should be steeped and ready by the time I am finished.” Thomas set the poultice to her palm.
“Hannah told me that the woman who is gifted with the wreath has to spend time with the young man.”
“Aye.”
“So I will need to find Matthew.”
He took a fresh rag from his lap. “Nae, ye need not. Ye are ill.” He lay the rag across the palm. “Ye had a hard seasoning several weeks back.” He began winding the rag around her hand and between the fingers. At least her tumble amid the rocks on the river on their way here had not scarred her palms. “Ye now have a serious injury to your hand.”
“But what of Matthew?”
“Do you wish to spend time with him?”
“Of course not.”
He stifled the groan. He wound the last of the rag to the top of her hand and tied the ends into a knot. “I am confused.” He lay her hand on the bed, then looked at her. “Ye were no interested in marrying him, but this day ye have encouraged his interest.”
She gasped. “I cannot believe you would think I had done such a thing?”
“Why else did ye leave me in the herb house earlier to go to him?”
“You and I have no future, Thomas.”
He looked away.
“And neither do Matthew and I. ‘Twas what I went to tell him.”
“And now ye wish to go to him again?”
“Only to tell him he needs to give up his notion of marriage to me.”
He grabbed the bowl with the last of the ground hemlock bark and oatmeal. He stomped to the bucket of water on the work table beneath her front window. “Well, it does nae need to be done today.” He went back to the chair and spun it around. He straddled the seat. His arms he balanced on the back. “When he comes, I will tell him ye rest and dinna wish to be disturbed.”
“You cannot do that.”
“Ye are too tired and ill to see him.”
“Oh!” The blast burst from her throat. “All three of you are swimming in the same trap of lobsters.”
“What?”
“Matthew refuses to listen when I tell him I do not wish to be courted. You insist on rescuing me instead of letting me do things for myself. When rescuing fails, you tell me what to do.”
His jaw ground tight. “And who is this third person who bothers ye so?”
“Monsieur Mackintosh. He is worse than you and Matthew.”
How was that so? “Why do ye call him Matthew? ‘Tis far too familiar.”
“When he agreed to help me, it only seemed right.”
Thomas ground his nails into his clenched palms. “What did he help ye do?”
She hesitated. “Something.”
“Why did ye no ask me?”
“You were not here!” She foisted him a withering stare.
“Ye are playing with fire, Lass. He is not a man to be trifled with.”
“And I am not trifling with him.”
“But ye are speaking of spending time with him still?”
“I am going to make him understand I want no romantic attachments.”
“Ye will nae succeed. He is too deeply smitten, and every look from ye raises his hope.”
“You should have thought of that before you lost the race.”
The shock tore through him.
“You have never lost before, but today you did so, and Matthew has won and gifted me with the wreath.”
“Ye seem to think if I had won I would have given it to ye.”
“You seem to think I would have been pleased if you had.”
My, he wanted to throttle her. He was nae certain he did not prefer the old, weepy Elizabeth. He could control her better. This new, unbreakable Elizabeth fought too hard, and without her tears, he could nae gain the upper hand.
“And no, Thomas, I did not expect the wreath from you. There are a number of women you could have given it to. But why did you lose?”
He lurched to his feet. He paced to the front window. He could not explain to her that she was the only woman he wished to give the wreath to, but he could not, and he would not win otherwise.
He would, in fact, never win another race again.
“Never mind. It matters not.” She sighed. “What does matter is that I now have to spend the evening with Matthew.”
He spun around to her. “The day, Lass. Ye will have to spend the day with him.”
Her brows furrowed. “I thought the woman gifted with the wreath was obliged to spend the evening?”
Ach! Why had he just not won? He could have given the wreath to his maither or even Issy. He would never have given Hardwin the upper hand.
“Hardwin is probably back here on his way with someone who will be working for ye this day.”
She frowned. “Monsieur West agreed to this?”
“Aye. I like Alex, but he talks with his pocketbook. Hardwin agreed to pay your wages this day, even if ye do no work, and he will pay the wages of the girl who replaces ye. Let me tell him ye will no be seeing him till this evening.”
The anger rifled across her face. “Non.” She swung her feet to the side of the bed. “You have helped enough. I must do this on
my own.”
Outside, voices rose and fell. His name was being called.
“So do not rescue me or seek me out this day.”
“Ach! Elizabeth,” he sighed. “I dinna wish it to be so.”
“But it is.” She lifted sad eyes upward. “And tomorrow you will
be gone.”
Mac stood in the doorway. “Thomas, we have been looking all over for you. Your brother is in a flithering.” He frowned deeply. “’Tis time to leave for the chapel.”
Elizabeth rose to her feet and eased past Mac and outside. Thomas did not try to stop her.
“Tom, ye do some dangerous things but coming to her rescue ranks right up there near the top. People are speaking of her fainting spell and of ye swooping in to rescue her.”
“I bother not for what other people say.” He stepped outside. He rounded the corner of the kitchen and collided with another man.
“By God’s teeth!” Hardwin exclaimed. “If ‘tis not the famous Thomas McQueen who, by the way, I beat in the Run for the Bottle.”
The crowd around them surged into a tight circle.
Hardwin cocked his head sideways. “When was the last time you lost?” A smile greased to his face. “Oh, ‘tis right. Never.” The laughter mushroomed upward.
Thomas clenched his fists at his sides.
Behind him, Mac hissed in a quick breath. “Nae, Thomas. Not now.”
Thomas was not certain he could help himself. “Your pride does no suit ye, Hardwin.”
The boy’s face flattened. “And how is Elizabeth?”
Unreasonable. Stubborn. “I changed her poultice.” But now that he remembered, she never drank the tea. “She is looking for ye now.” He nearly choked on the words. “But as for that race, I gave it to ye, and ye know it.”
The boy’s chest swelled.
“But if I had known ye were going to give Elizabeth the wreath, I would nae have, and I will be watching you every minute this day. If ye so much as lay a hand on her, or the lass gets frightened, I will see ye dinna finish your time with her.”
The twinkle in the boy’s eyes snuffed out. “You have blood on your hands, McQueen. You are no good for a lass like her.” The words were loud and obnoxious. A hush fell over the crowd.
Thomas grabbed the boy’s vest. He spun him around. The crowd parted. He slammed him against the side of the kitchen.
Rancid wind knocked from the boy’s lungs and wafted into Thomas’ face.
“When ye find your wife’s body scalped of her beautiful blonde hair and your child’s brains drying in the sun on the trunk of a tree, then we can talk about the blood I have on my hands. Until then, dinna lecture me on my choices.”
He let go and whirled around. Men skittered to the side. Mac closed in on his heels.
He had spent the last two years trying in one way or another to erase from his mind the day he had found his family mauled and murdered. Finally, in the last two months, he had begun to find some measure of peace, in large part thanks to Elizabeth Marie Johns.
In thirty seconds, Matthew Hardwin had undone all the ground he had gained.
And Thomas hated him for it.