The cabin had grown unusually quiet with Andrew taking an afternoon nap and his father working in the cabinet shop with his men. A thrice of days had passed since their last trip into the hamlet, and after finishing her mending, Shemaine tiptoed into the boy’s room to check on him. He was sleeping soundly, cuddled against the cloth rabbit she had made for him. His breathing was heavy and relaxed, and it did not seem likely that he would bestir himself any time soon.
Carrying a small basket of laundry to the stream in front of the cabin, Shemaine knelt beside a rock at the edge of the brook and began scrubbing the soiled knees of Andrew’s britches. The trilling of songbirds was a joyous and melodious celebration of spring, and with a sigh of pleasure, she sat back upon her heels and scanned the treetops, curious to discover what strange and marvelous birds inhabited this clime and filled the day with such a sweet symphony of song. Their warbling melded with the gentle burbling of the brook, as if conducted by a master musician. Small birds flitted from branch to bush or flew across the open spaces from one tree to the next, while overhead more determined flocks of ducks and geese steadily winged their way northward across the sky. Snowy egrets languidly traversed the heights as well or stalked about the river’s edge in search of food.
Inhaling a deep breath of fragrant air, Shemaine drank the serenity of the lush glade. Far beyond the wide-spreading boughs of pine and newly greening oak, fluffy white clouds sailed across an azure sky much like lofty ships at sea. On the opposite side of the stream from her, a young stag cautiously approached from the thicket, but upon spying her, he turned and, flagging his tail, bounded off in the direction from whence he had come.
Into this paradise, the muffled whinny of a horse intruded, provoking Shemaine’s curiosity, for the neigh drifted from the depths of the verdant forest instead of the corral behind the cabin. She peered intently into the leafy shadows until her eyes began to adjust to the gloom. Another nicker reached her ears, drawing her gaze directly toward the sound. Some distance off, she saw a saddled chestnut steed of rather questionable quality tethered to the branch of a tree. A feeling of unease began to creep up her spine as she searched for its rider. Her tension changed abruptly to alarm when she espied a large man in a light-colored shirt and dark breeches creeping through the trees toward her. For a young woman who had spent several months dreading the sight of that hulking form, it was nigh impossible for Shemaine to mistake Jacob Potts.
With a startled gasp, Shemaine pushed herself upright, bringing Potts to a sudden halt with her movement. His intent changed abruptly, becoming immediately more threatening. Bracing his legs apart, he extended his arms straight out in front of him and cupped his huge hands around the butt of a flintlock pistol, taking careful aim. It was frighteningly obvious to Shemaine what the man had come to do. He would kill her if he could!
Shemaine was painfully aware of her vulnerability, for she had absolutely nothing at hand with which to defend herself. Her only hope was to flee to safety before he fired. She started to whirl, but before she could lift a foot to make the turn, the explosion of gunpowder rent the peaceful cooing and twittering of birds, sending them flying helter-skelter from the trees and brush. In the very next instant a shot zinged past, slicing open a layer of flesh across her ribs as it went. Shemaine screamed at the pain inflicted upon her and clasped a hand over her left side, feeling an oozing warmth dribbling through her fingers. Frantically she scrambled up toward the cabin, throwing a frightened glance over her shoulder. Potts was busy reloading, but she knew he would soon follow in a zealous quest to catch her before she could make good her escape.
A shout drew Shemaine’s attention to the area in front of the cabinet shop, and she felt a surge of relief when she saw Gage and all four of his men sprinting out of the structure with muzzleloaders in hand. In the opposite direction the Morgans were racing down the building slip with weapons of their own. Apparently they had all heard the shot, her scream, or both, and perceived that something was amiss.
Potts glanced around to see the handful of men racing toward him through the woods and promptly decided it was time to leave. He bolted through the trees and, upon nearing the chestnut, dragged the reins free from the branch. Hauling himself astride, he turned the animal about to face Shemaine and shook a brawny fist as he bellowed at her.
“ ‘Tain’t over yet, bogtrotter! Not ‘til ye’re dead!”
Potts whipped the steed about and slammed his heels into the chestnut flanks, sending the horse racing recklessly through the trees. Realizing the tar would be out of range soon, Gage skidded to a halt and brought the muzzleloader to his shoulder. The density of the trees hindered him from taking a clear shot, and he was well aware that he would waste his attempt if he did not time the horizontal movement of the weapon to the rate of Potts’s speed. Swinging the rifle from a point behind his target, he squeezed the trigger as the bore passed in an imaginary line through Potts. Continuing the lead, Gage moved the sights well ahead of the tar to a spot between two trees. The tar had not yet reached that particular site when the gun finally discharged. A deafening roar reverberated throughout the glade as the lead shot zinged through the trees, meeting its mark just as Potts passed between the pair of oaks. A loud roar of pain evidenced the sailor’s wounding, and he slumped forward in the saddle as a large, dark blotch bloomed on the side of his shirt. The horse, confused by the shifting weight, slowed his gait, but Potts, now fearing the marksmanship of the colonial, pummeled the beast with booted heels, cursing savagely as he drove the animal to a faster pace.
Ramsey stumbled to a halt beside his employer as Gage received a loaded Jaeger from his German apprentice and took aim again, but the darkening shadows and the thickness of the forest obscured the rapidly diminishing target.
“He’s gone,” Gage muttered in frustration, lowering the rifle.
“But you vounded him, Mr. Thornton!” Erich Wernher boasted. “None of zhe rest of us could have done as well!”
Gage heaved a regretful sigh. “Aye, but wounding Jacob Potts is not nearly as beneficial to our existence as killing him.”
“I think yer woman is hurt,” Ramsey announced, directing Gage’s attention to where Shemaine stood clutching a hand tightly to her bleeding midriff.
Tossing the rifle back to the German, Gage sprinted swiftly across the space between them, now wishing he had killed Potts.
Shemaine stepped stiltedly toward him, trying not to wince as he came near. “I’m all right,” she managed rigidly. “ ‘Tis merely a flesh wound.”
Gage was not so certain. Blood had already soaked the side of her bodice and was beginning to darken her skirt near the waist. Gently lifting her in his arms, he spoke in concern, “We’ll see what damage has been done once I get you to the cabin.”
Shemaine winced in pain as Gage carried her up the path. To keep from crying out, she gritted her teeth as she clutched an arm tightly about his neck. Then she recalled the task that she had been performing before she noticed the horse’s whinny and issued a soft, fretful groan, drawing Gage’s anxious regard until she confided in some embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton. I’m afraid I left the washing by the stream.”
“Forget the clothes!” Gage bade her gruffly. “They can float away for all I care.”
Unlatching the front door, he shoved it wide with a shoulder and carried her through the cabin to the back corridor, where he set her gently on her feet. Turning her around so her injury faced the light, he went down on one knee beside her and plucked at the blood-soaked cloth. The gown was still intact except for two small rents where the lead ball had gone completely through her bodice, but he was hindered from seeing the wound or the source of the bleeding. Taking hold of the fabric, he would have ripped it apart, but Shemaine stumbled away, immediately incensed that he should consider such a thing.
“I do not intend to stand here like a helpless twit and let you tear off my clothes, Mr. Thornton. I’m sure the gown can be washed and easily mended as it is, and I will not see such a serviceable garment ruined beyond repair.”
Gaze sighed in vexation. “There are other gowns in Victoria’s trunk, Shemaine, and I give you leave to take what you like of them.”
Though he reached toward her again, Shemaine stepped beyond his grasp, stubbornly shaking her head. “I’ll not impose upon your generosity, Mr. Thornton. You’ve given me far too much as it is.”
“Take the gown off, if you must!” Gage urged testily. “But I’ll not rest ‘til I’ve seen to your wound.”
“And that I will allow you to do, sir, but only in a manner I will feel comfortable with.” Shemaine peered up at him as she softly suggested, “If I may have a loan of an old shirt, perhaps one that opens down the front, then I’ll be able to accommodate you more readily.”
With a frustrated growl, Gage left her and, after a moment, returned from his bedroom with a homespun shirt. “You can put this on while I get some water from the well.”
Shemaine accepted the garment from him and waited as he took the pitcher from the washstand and strode out the back door, closing it behind him. Unfastening her bodice and chemise, she slipped them from her shoulders and then gritted her teeth against the pain as she pulled the cloth away from the wound. She cast an anxious glance over her shoulder to reassure herself that Gage was nowhere in sight as she lowered the garments to her waist. Ever so carefully, she slipped into the shirt, fastened it between her breasts, and rolled up the long sleeves to free her hands. While she waited for her master’s return, she found an old sheet in the storeroom and began making bandages.
A quick rap of knuckles against the back door preceded Gage’s entrance, and Shemaine waited self-consciously as he poured water into the washbasin and fetched more from the hearth to heat it. When he returned to her side and pulled the shirt up from her ribs, she turned her face away, blushing as she folded her arms carefully around her bosom. Without such precautions, the shirt would have allowed a liberal view of everything beneath it, for it was like a tent enveloping her.
Wetting a cloth, Gage gently swabbed and cleansed the bloody gash until he was able to determine the extent of her injury. He was relieved to see that it wasn’t as severe as he had first thought, only a laceration across a rib, deep enough to cause profuse bleeding, but hardly life-threatening. The only hazard would be if it became infected, but he intended to prevent such a likelihood by the use of the malodorous balm.
“It’s not serious,” he announced with relief, “but ‘twill require a tight bandage to stem the bleeding.”
Gingerly Shemaine pointed toward the strips of cloth she had wound into neat rolls, trying not to show how much his careful ministering had hurt her. “Will those suffice?”
“Aye, they’ll do nicely. Now lift up the end of the shirt and hold it out of my way,” he instructed. “I’ll have to wrap the bandages around your waist to keep them snug, and I can’t do that fumbling blind beneath the shirt.”
Gage left Shemaine to consider his directive as he went to fetch the noisome salve. When he returned, the ends of the shirttail had been gathered together and were neatly knotted between her breasts, leaving her midsection bare. He couldn’t help but admire the results, for the soft homespun cloth molded her bosom to perfection, hinting of the soft nipples and the youthful firmness of the full curves. Her waist was incredibly narrow, and though he could still count nearly every rib she had, her silken flesh stirred his admiration in ways similar to what he had felt the night the snake invaded. Except for her recent injury, her skin was just as delectable as it had seemed that evening.
“You’ll have a slight scar after this to remember Potts by,” Gage warned, placing his tall stool beside her and setting the container of emollient on top of it. “But it shouldn’t pucker. Once the redness fades, you’ll hardly notice it.”
“Do you have to put that ointment on me?” Shemaine wrinkled her nose in distaste as he opened the crock. “It smells awful.”
“Aye, but ‘twill help heal the wound and prevent infection,” he argued, glancing up at her profile in time to see the comical face she made to exaggerate her aversion. Her protestations were as winsome as those of a young child trying to cajole her parent. Though he leaned near that visage, she stared straight ahead, silently admonishing him by refusing to acknowledge his proximity. “And I’d prefer not to take any chances with such a valuable possession. You suit me well, Shemaine O’Hearn, and I’d rather not lose you. ‘Twould be impossible to find another bondswoman as beautiful and talented as you are.”
“You’re only being generous because I’ve been hurt,” Shemaine complained glumly, then caught her breath in a sharp gasp as he began to wash the torn flesh again. Feeling suddenly light-headed and nauseous, she swayed on her feet.
Gage hurriedly slipped an arm around in front of her as she slumped forward, and secured his hold on her with a hand on her far hip. The pressure of her scantily clad bosom against the inside of his arm was unsettling to his manly senses, so much so that he dared not move a muscle lest she fly away again like she had that night after his kiss. Huskily he asked, “Are you all right?”
Weakly shaking her head, Shemaine gave the only answer she could as she continued to cling to him. She felt as listless as a rag doll, and it was a lengthy moment before her lethargy began to ebb. Gathering strength by slow degrees, she managed to push herself upright, but she was nevertheless grateful that he kept an arm wrapped around her, lending her support.
“I’m sorry. I really don’t know what caused me to feel so faint,” Shemaine whispered in chagrin, and met his gaze shyly. His face was so close, she could have stolen a kiss with very little effort. A strange thought indeed at such a time!
Managing to convey a casualness he did not necessarily feel, Gage suggested, “You should lie down and rest after I dress the wound.”
“But what about the washing? And the cooking? And Andrew? He’ll be awake soon.”
“My men will have to do without me for the rest of the afternoon.” Gage offered her a subdued grin. “I intend to be at your beck and call ‘til sunrise.”
Shemaine elevated a lovely brow above a teasing smile as she searched his face. “So, you mean to do chores like any common servant, eh? Have you no ken, sir? ‘Tis I who should be at your beck and call.”
The brown eyes sparkled with teasing warmth. “And if I were to call, Shemaine O’Hearn, would you truly come to me?”
“Of course, sir!” she replied with a small dip of her head. “You bought me, and I must obey.”
“But what if you were free of bondage, Shemaine?” Gage pressed. “Would you still come at my call?”
Shemaine found the brush of his breath against her face especially pleasing. Still, she stared fixedly at the desk as she sought to emulate a crisp detachment. “But I’m not free, sir, and will not be for seven years yet.”
“Seven years.” Gage sighed as his eyes stroked her face. “ ‘Tis a long time for a man and a woman to live together under the same roof and not be wed or close kin.”
Cocking a brow, Shemaine eyed him curiously at very close range, wondering what he was getting at. If he meant to proposition her for her favors, then his timing was poor indeed. “I’ll be bleeding to death, Mr. Thornton, if you waste any more time talking,” she reminded him dryly. She was disturbed by his close attention, for she had not been able to forget his passionate kiss and its weakening effect on her. Indeed, her cot had become a place of torture of late, for she did little else but toss and turn as she sought relief from that burning desire that nearly consumed her. Feigning an impudence she did not necessarily feel, Shemaine inclined her head toward the salve he had left on top of the stool. “I hope you’re having second thoughts about using that awful concoction. ‘Twill certainly be all right with me if you ha—”
“I haven’t,” Gage interrupted. Stepping back, he spread the odorous dressing over her ribs, causing her to suck in her breath sharply. Taking up a bandage, he leaned forward and slipped his arms about her as he wrapped it snugly around her midriff. “Keep this on until morning, and then I’ll change it for a clean one.”
Shemaine rolled her eyes, looking up at him askance as she grumbled, “With more of that loathsome salve, I suppose.”
“I’ll use less in the morning if you abhor it so much.” Gage ripped the bandage slightly and then knotted it so it wouldn’t tear back any farther. It was certainly no unpleasant task to embrace his bondslave as he wound another strip around her waist and tied it off. Indeed, he was rather disappointed there were no more bandages left to apply.
“Potts will be more adamant about killing us now,” Shemaine gritted through a wince as she tried to accustom herself to the tight bandages. “He’ll seize upon his wounding as an affront to his pride and will hound us ‘til he catches us unawares. After his fight with the soldiers, you can believe he’ll be in a mood to annihilate us all.”
“Aye, and perhaps I’ll be more fortunate the next time and put a permanent end to his visits,” Gage rejoined gruffly. “I can understand now why you were so anxious about the man. He certainly seems intent upon doing you harm. Believe me, my sweet, we’ll get back to those shooting lessons as soon as you’re able.”
“This afternoon will not be soon enough,” Shemaine replied gloomily. She would never feel free again to roam the glade until Potts was either gone or dead.
Gage already knew what he must do, for the tar had left him no other choice. “If Potts is still in Newportes Newes, then I’ll find him and have it out with him. If he doesn’t take my warning seriously, I’ll have to kill him.”
“Morrisa will know where he is,” Shemaine replied, stepping gingerly away. “From the way Potts was hanging around the tavern, I doubt that much has changed since he did her bidding on the London Pride. In fact, it wouldn’t be at all out of character if Morrisa had encouraged him to come out here and kill me. ‘Tis what she has threatened all along.”
“Why does she bear you such a grudge?”
Shemaine’s brows gathered in a perplexed frown. It was something she couldn’t rightly answer. “I’m not sure I can lay the blame to anything specific, Mr. Thornton. True, I thwarted her efforts to rule over the women by encouraging Annie and the others to stand firm against her, but unless she’s demented, I can’t imagine that my refusal to submit to her dictates would be reason enough for her to want to see me dead.”
“Perhaps she’s jealous.”
“Oh, she wanted you, all right,” Shemaine readily acknowledged, subduing another grimace. “She vowed to cut me up if I left the ship with you.”
“Morrisa obviously considers herself a handsome woman and is intent upon having her pick among the men. She may resent being outdone by another woman.”
“I can’t quite lay finger to it, but I think there’s another purpose behind her motives. ‘Tis only a suspicion, but I’ve been wondering about her ever since she came aboard the London Pride.”
“Why is that?”
“Morrisa had never laid eyes on me before she was brought down to our cell in the hold. She had been at Newgate but in another section. After looking the women over, she asked which one of us was Shemaine O’Hearn. I didn’t care to identify myself at the time, and the other women played ignorant. Morrisa dubbed me ‘Bogtrotter’ and didn’t ask again. Later, she and I got into a fray because she demanded the food I’d been given. She pulled a knife on me, and I threw a pail of water in her face. The bosun came down to settle the squabble and called me by name. I rather gathered from the way Morrisa smirked that she had already figured out my name. She had certainly done everything she could to rouse the ire of Gertrude Fitch and Jacob Potts against me.”
“Who might have told her about you?”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would have talked to her about me. We were all strangers. Except for the gaoler and the bosun when they were taking account of the prisoners, there was only one other who ever asked me to identify myself outright and that was a turnkey at Newgate. The first time he came to my cell was shortly after I signed on to come to the colonies.”
“Did he ever try to harm you?”
“I’m not totally sure about that. I just know he watched me a lot.”
“Perhaps he admired your beauty,” Gage suggested, having seen her effect on some men.
Shemaine scoffed. “I really don’t think I was a particular favorite of his. Shortly before they came to take us to the London Pride, I was caught in the midst of a row between some of the prisoners, and I very nearly got my head bashed open when one of the toughs started beating it against a stone wall. The turnkey witnessed the whole thing but never tried to stop it. It was only when the gaoler heard the commotion and came to investigate that I was able to gain my release.
“Then, several nights later when everyone was sleeping, a noise awakened me, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the turnkey creeping toward the corner where I lay. He had a short rope in his hands, and the way he held it made me think he meant to strangle someone, whether me or a prisoner nearby I cannot say. The only way he could get to us was by stepping over the convicts sleeping on the floor of the cell. When he trod on a woman’s hand, her outraged shrieks brought the gaoler at a run. The turnkey gave him some lame excuse about seeing a rat. It seemed a feeble story to me. It certainly made the gaoler laugh. He jeered something about a fool trying to hang a rodent and told the turnkey to get out. The next day, I was taken to the ship, and I never saw the turnkey again.”
“Could the turnkey have been acquainted with the thieftaker?”
Shemaine lifted her shoulders in an attempt to shrug but immediately regretted the motion. She walked stiffly to his stool instead and braced a hand against it for support.
“Perhaps I’d better carry you upstairs so you can rest now,” Gage suggested. “You also might consider wearing a nightgown for the rest of the day. ‘Twould be more comfortable for you.”
“ ‘Tis unsuitable to wear nightclothes so early in the afternoon,” Shemaine argued. “It’s barely half past three o’clock, and your men are still here.”
“They’ll be leaving soon,” Gage countered, “and if anyone else should come, I’ll just have to explain that you’ve been wounded and need your rest.”
“Likely story, they’ll say,” Shemaine scoffed, and tossed her head. “From what I’ve heard from Annie, I’m sure some of the townspeople would be expecting to see me in my nightgown, but not because I’ve been hurt. Their imagination is far more indecent. I’m sure Mrs. Pettycomb has done her best to besmirch our reputations, especially after you took me to the soiree and had the audacity to dance with me while everybody watched.”
“I’ve heard some of the talk,” Gage conceded. “Mary Margaret thought we should do something to silence it.”
Shemaine’s soft brows slanted upward, conveying her skepticism. “And did Mary Margaret perhaps advise you just how we might go about accomplishing that deed, sir?”
His eyes flicked briefly upward to meet hers. “She said we should thwart the gossips by getting married.”
Shemaine was aghast that such a well-intentioned woman had so little diplomacy. “Well, that may be suitable for Mary Margaret to suggest, seeing as how she’s always seeking to make a match between couples, but did she take into consideration that you might not want to take a condemned convict to wife? I find it most disconcerting that she could even recommend such a solution to you. The impropriety of the woman! Truly, sir, I would be mortified to have you imagine that I may have put her up to suggesting such a thing. Why, the idea is so farfetched, it’s ludicrous.”
Gage lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “Actually, Mary Margaret wasn’t the first to conceive of the idea.”
Shemaine was dumbstruck, unable to imagine another who would be so bold. “Well, I don’t think Roxanne would have made such a suggestion, not when she’s made it apparent that she wants you for herself.”
“Nay, ‘twould hardly be Roxanne,” he affirmed with a chuckle.
“Calley, then,” she stated with conviction.
“Not Calley either.”
Shemaine looked at him in growing confusion. “Might I ask who took such liberty, sir?”
The door of the bedroom opened, and Andrew came out to the parlor dragging a rocking horse behind him. Gage went immediately to his son’s assistance before any damage could be done to the furniture. He lifted the boy into the padded buckskin saddle as Shemaine stepped to the door of the kitchen to watch.
Rocking back and forth, Andrew was soon lost in childish delight as he mimicked the cries of a teamster he had once heard. “Geeyup yair! Yah! Yah! Fastah, ya’ mules!”
Shemaine and Gage dissolved into laughter as they watched the boy, whose curls were still wildly tousled from his lengthy nap. For the moment, Andrew seemed oblivious to either of them.
“Another example of your many talents, Mr. Thornton?” Shemaine queried, indicating the wooden horse.
Gage dipped his head in a brief affirmation as he came back to her, but he was frustrated by the noise his son was making. Lifting a hand, he motioned for Shemaine to follow him into the back room again. As she did so, he put aside the crock of ointment and lifted her gently onto the stool. For a brief moment, he searched her face, recognizing her bewilderment, and sought to put her at ease.
“I told you when you first came here, Shemaine, that I’d be making a trip upriver to Williamsburg. Thus far, I’ve been detained from doing so, but yesterday I received word that my customer’s house is complete and he’d like his furniture now. If you’re feeling strong enough two weeks from tomorrow, I’d very much like to take you and Andrew with me when my men and I make the delivery.”
“I’m sure by then I’ll be able to go with you and look after Andrew, Mr. Thornton.”
“While we’re there, I’d like to take care of another matter of great importance to me . . . if you’re willing. . . .”
“If I’m willing?” Her eyebrows gathered. “What is there that I must consent to, Mr. Thornton?”
“I need to discuss this matter with you tonight, and I pray you will give me an answer posthaste, for I’ll not rest until I know one way or the other.”
Outwardly Shemaine seemed composed, but inwardly she quaked. She had noticed that Gage had started pacing restlessly about the narrow corridor, and she could only imagine that whatever he wanted to discuss, it was of a serious nature. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about keeping her. Potts’s attempt to kill her might have convinced him of the danger her presence posed to his small family. Carefully she asked, “What matter do you wish to speak with me about, Mr. Thornton?”
Gage stepped back in front of her, earnestly desiring to make certain truths known to her. “I wasn’t necessarily teasing when I told you once that I’d consider taking you to wife. Even before I ventured to the London Pride, I had given careful consideration to the idea of marrying again. I needed a nursemaid for Andrew, but I wanted a wife for myself almost as much. As I’ve told you before, there’s a serious dearth of young, marriageable women in the area. The ones who are here are eager to wed, as Roxanne has clearly demonstrated, but none has appealed to me. When I went to the ship, I never thought I’d be fortunate enough to find a woman who’d even suffice as a nursemaid . . . much less a wife. But I was wrong, Shemaine. You are much more than I had hoped to find.”
Shemaine stared at him, completely astounded by his revelation. “You want to marry me?” Her mind raced, trying to understand his reasoning. Surely he had taken the consequences of marrying one with a tarnished reputation into consideration. She could believe that he might have wanted to bed her because she was handy, but marriage had seemed out of the question despite his wont to tease her. “Why in the world would you want to do that, Mr. Thornton, when the very sight of me leaves honest people wondering what grievous crime I committed in England? Surely they’ve wondered about my incarceration and have made much of my indentureship to you. You saw how Samuel Myers behaved when he saw me at the dance. I was brought to this country in chains, sir, and if you take me to wife, you’ll be a marked man. The husband of a convict, they’ll hiss behind your back. No doubt Mrs. Pettycomb has done her best to tell everyone in the hamlet that I’m not worthy of being received by any respectable family, and I seriously suspect it would do me little good to explain to her or the other gossipmongers that I did nothing deserving of my arrest. How could you even consider inviting that kind of criticism upon yourself?”
Gage was just as incredulous. “Do you honestly think I care one whit about what that woman may say or think? Alma Pettycomb is so pure in her own eyes, she’s unable to see how utterly mean and malicious she really is. She feeds on the flesh of innocents, and I’m sure that one day she’ll reap dire consequences for wagging that long, serpent tongue of hers. Believe me, Shemaine, she isn’t worth your slightest concern. Nor should she hinder or influence any decision you might make. It should be done of your own free will without intimidation. The matter of our marriage is entirely between you and me, no one else.”
Taking her small hand between his, Gage searched her green eyes for some hint of a denial, but he found none. “Shemaine O’Hearn, I would be greatly honored if you would accept my proposal of marriage and become my wife.”
“You’d have no qualms about taking a convict to wife?” she inquired in amazement. It was almost as if she were waking from a long sleep, for the full realization of what he wanted was just now beginning to hasten the beat of her heart. “You wouldn’t regret our marriage after the fact?”
“I would be taking you to wife, Shemaine, and that’s all that matters to me,” Gage declared. “Here in the colonies you’ll find that rumors grow stale very quickly. Such epithets as ‘convict,’ ‘rogue,’ and ‘thief’ are short-lived unless there are frequent repetitions of offenses to remind people of one’s dastardly bent. Once wed, we’ll be like every other married couple around here.”
“Is that the way we’ll be?” Shemaine inquired timidly. For all of her wanton imaginings, when it came to presenting herself as a bride, she could only worry about her thinness and lack of desirability. “Will we share ourselves as other couples do?”
Now it was Gage’s turn to grow troubled and perplexed. “What are you asking, Shemaine? That I be something less than a husband to you?”
A crimson blush stained her cheeks. “I shouldn’t expect that of you, Mr. Thornton, but I’m dreadfully thin and . . . and not very pleasant to look at without . . .”
“Your clothes?” Gage finished for her, sensing her reluctance to continue. His eyes dropped briefly to her softly clad bosom, then returned to caress her face. He could only wonder how she was able to imagine herself as unappealing when he was certain she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. “If you were to insist upon abstinence in our union, Shemaine, ‘twould be better for us not to wed at all, for I could not endure seeing you near . . . wanting you . . . and not being intimate with you. I’m a man, Shemaine, not a monk. I desire you as much as any man can desire a woman. I think you must know that by now. If you’re bothered at all about being thin or weak, believe me when I say that it just doesn’t matter that much to me. I want you just the way you are! And if you should still feel frail when we’re married, be assured that my strength is enough for the two of us. I would take care not to hurt you and would nurture any tenderness you might feel. So I entreat you, my dear Shemaine, to consider me as a suitor desirous of becoming your husband in every sense of the word.”
“You do overwhelm a girl, Mr. Thornton,” Shemaine breathed, hardly able to keep her thoughts from imagining his wonderfully contoured body in sharp contrast to her thin form. The images of them lying together in bed began to rush upon her and were far more sensual than she would have cared to admit. Now that she had admired a naked man for herself, her mother’s rather embarrassed explanations about what went on between a husband and a wife were enlarged upon and elucidated in her mind.
Gage raised a hand and gently brushed his knuckles against her flushed cheek. “Will you be my wife, Shemaine?”
Shemaine remembered the pomp that had surrounded the occasion when Maurice du Mercer had voiced such a question, but for the life of her, she could not recall her heart thumping quite so wildly within her chest as it did after this man’s simple but stirring proposal. She considered what it would mean being married to a colonial and committing herself to staying with him long after the seven years on her original indentureship. She still yearned to see her family, but for reasons that were both clear and ambiguous, she could no longer feature herself returning to England and marrying an affluent husband there. It seemed more appropriate for her to stay and make a home with the man who had awakened the passion within her. If she did not love him at this time, she certainly desired him, and she could not continue living in the same house with him without seeking fulfillment as a woman. It was far better to marry than to try to bridle her cravings for the next seven years.
Slowly Shemaine responded with a consenting nod. “Aye, Mr. Thornton, I will be your wife . . . in every sense of the word.”
Gage became eager and lighthearted. “We can be married in Williamsburg,” he said softly. “By then, your side will be on the mend, and we can return by evening and spend our wedding night here in the cabin.”
Despite her efforts to appear calm, her voice quavered. “Whatever you think best, Mr. Thornton.”
Lifting her chin, Gage settled a gently caressing kiss upon her lips, as if afraid he’d hurt her with anything more passionate. When he drew back, he explored her face with shining eyes as he whispered, “Shouldn’t you think about calling me Gage now? After all, I’ll soon be your husband.”
“Gage.” His name came in a tremulous sigh as he lowered his lips to hers again, but this time his mouth slanted across hers in a devouring search, quickening her pulse until she felt the stirring of ardor in her woman’s body once more. His tongue slipped between her lips with provocative boldness, claiming the warm cavern with a possessive voracity that set her senses to flight and awakening a memory of an evening not so long ago. Of a sudden, she was eager for the weeks to pass.
“Daddee, Andee go preevee!” Andrew cried suddenly, breaking them apart with the effectiveness of a bucket of cold water. Racing into the corridor, the boy danced up and down in an anxious dither. Gage swept him up and was out the back door in a flash, leaving Shemaine fairly dazed with awe. Having previously been aroused by an ardent kiss from his lips and having found this recent one gentler but no less stirring, she was convinced that there was much more sensual zeal in Gage Thornton than even her dreams had portrayed. Indeed, she found herself growing increasingly exhilarated by the idea of being intimate with the man.
Was she dreaming again? Was this really happening to her? Would she soon be sharing a bed with Gage Thornton? Or would he return from taking Andrew to the privy and say that he had only been teasing her? Warts off a toad, more or less?