Two

“I won’t do it!” Conn Benton declared to the assembled Benton clan. “You can’t make me do it.”

“No one’s going to force you,” Horace Benton said in a conciliatory voice. “But you’re the most logical choice to marry a Winthrop woman. First of all, your land borders the contested property. Second, you’ve been a widower for long enough. It’s time you got married again.”

“But not to a Winthrop woman.” God, how he hated all Winthrops! They had murdered his wife when she was pregnant with their first child. He could never forgive them for that. Now it seemed he had been selected to marry one of them, to take her to his bed and get a child by her. They were asking too much. How could he bear to look at another woman, especially a Winthrop, when all he could see as he closed his eyes each night was his beloved Josie lying dead in a pool of blood?

He felt a frail hand on his sleeve. “It’s a chance for peace, Conn. It’s a chance to stop the killing.”

Conn looked into his mother’s troubled eyes. She had lost a husband, two of her three sons, and a daughter-in-law to the feud. She despaired of losing Conn, who had been more reckless with his life in the two years since Josie’s death. At first he hadn’t wanted to live. Now he lived only to kill Winthrops.

Could he give up his need for vengeance for the sake of his clan? Could he agree to marry a woman he hated before he even met her? Could he lie with a Winthrop woman, put his seed in her, and watch it grow, and not loathe the product of their union?

“I have to think about it,” Conn said at last.

“You don’t have much time,” Horace Benton replied. “The truce we agreed upon for the funerals lasts a week. The Winthrops want the wedding to be held before the truce is over.”

“What happens then? I mean, after the wedding?” Conn asked. “Does the truce continue, or what?”

“I suppose it must,” Horace said thoughtfully, stroking his beard. “A lot will depend on you and the Winthrop woman, I suppose.” Horace cleared his throat uncomfortably. “On how quickly you can get her with child.”

There had been some discussion about that. Both Conn and his brothers had impregnated their wives in the first months they were married. He supposed that was responsible, in part, for his being chosen as the sacrificial goat. He tried to imagine himself bedding a strange woman on his wedding night. What if she were ugly? What if she repulsed him? What if he could not . . .

Conn forced his thoughts away from failure. All women were the same in the dark, he thought grimly. He would manage to do his duty. That is, if he agreed to the insane proposition that had been made to him.

Horace cleared his throat again. “Well, Conn. I suppose there’s nothing else to be said. If you won’t do it—”

“I never said I wouldn’t do it,” Conn retorted. “I merely asked for some time—”

“There isn’t any time,” Horace said vehemently. “I need to give Jeremiah an answer this afternoon. Will you do it or not?”

Conn looked for some way to stall. “I want to meet the woman first.”

“What?”

“The Winthrop woman. I want to meet her before I agree to marry her.”

“That sounds sensible,” someone in the crowd said.

“In the church. At six o’clock,” Conn said. “I’ll give you an answer after I talk to her.”

“I’ll ask Jeremiah to bring the woman to meet you. I don’t think he’ll object. So long as you’re willing to give us an answer then.”

“I’ve said I will,” Conn replied irritably.

It didn’t give him much time to consider—it was already after four—but Conn welcomed the respite. He wondered what kind of woman would agree to such a harebrained scheme. It wasn’t going to work. But they would still be married when all was said and done, and likely hate each other’s guts.

His mother cornered him before he could leave Horace’s place. “Conn,” she said, “I want a moment of your time.”

Conn refused to meet his mother’s gaze. She had a way of making him feel guilty even when he hadn’t done anything wrong. “I’m in a hurry, Ma.”

Hester Benton knew her son well. She knew the pain he had suffered and perceived his righteous anger. She had left him alone for the past two years and seen him grow more and more bitter, watched him lose the laughter that had always sparkled in his eyes. The time had come for her to interfere. She couldn’t allow him to ignore this opportunity to set things right. Conn had never been a cruel man. He might hate the Winthrop woman when he married her, but he would not abuse her. Their union could end the horror of the past twenty years. And perhaps, when Conn held his son or daughter in his arms, he would be able to let go of the past.

“You have to do it, Conn,” she said in a quiet voice. “If not for your own sake, then for the sake of your nieces and nephews. Your brothers’ children deserve to live in peace.”

“It’s too late for that, Ma.”

“No, it’s not,” Hester argued. “The only thing preventing peace in Bitter Creek now is your stubbornness.”

“They killed Josie.” Conn swallowed over the thickness in his throat as he turned to meet his mother’s loving gaze. “I can’t forget that.”

“You may never forget,” Hester said, “but you can forgive, Conn. You can give peace a chance.”

“I’ll think about it, Ma,” Conn replied as he tore himself free of the compassion in her eyes. It was all he was willing to promise.