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The days seemed to pass too quickly and then not fast enough in Euan’s opinion. They were in the last weeks of waiting for the birth of their child, and to him, it was nerve-wracking. If she moved in the night and moaned, he was up instantly, ready to jump on the back of Jupiter and race to get Marie. Mrs. Stewart was a little offended she would not be allowed to aid in the birth of the newest generation of Campbells. She had to settle for being a helper in the room, even though she insisted she delivered hundreds of babies in Scotland.
“First, we let you walk and squat with each birthing pain to bring the bairn downward until he finally plops into my arms,” Mrs. Stewart explained. “Then we place the birthing bucket under you to catch the rest.”
There was an absolute look of horror on Ophelia’s face as the housekeeper spoke, and Euan had to calm her down upstairs.
She paced with a hand at her back. “I will not be squatting over a bucket, Euan Campbell, to bring our child into the world. That isn’t how it’s done, not anymore, and if you think that’s what we are doing, he will just stay in there if he has to.”
“Of course not,” Euan consoled and wrapped his arms around her. He rocked her gently, a move he found eased the pressure on her hips. “Mrs. Stewart is from the old country, and that was all they had at the time.”
“Plop into a bucket.” She shuddered. “Marie told me it will be painful, and I’m already terrified of that fact. Walking and squatting... Euan, we may need to rethink this entire thing.”
He chuckled as he kissed her temple. “Mo Ghoal, that ship has sailed. We can’t put the horse back in the barn.”
He consoled her, and then, after she was asleep, asked Mrs. Stewart quite nicely not to terrify his wife any more than she was.
“What’s terrifying about something as natural as giving birth?” Mrs. Stewart demanded. “I’ll have you know, Euan, that is how your ma and I birthed you.”
“And, if I recall, she was also scared witless,” Mr. Stewart commented as he passed by with dinner plates. “We all were.”
“Thank you, William,” Euan said.
“Aunt, the times have changed. Women want to give birth as comfortable as they can at a time like that,” Selma said. She sat at the table, making small dumplings from a mound of flour-covered dough.
“Women have become soft,” she grumbled.
“As so they should be,” Euan added. “You can comfort her, make her tea, be a mother to her, but no bucket. She’s threatened to keep the child inside her.”
Mrs. Stewart’s lips twitched. “Did anyone mention that is an impossibility? When that little one is ready to enter the world, there’ll be no stopping that one.”
“I’ll let her dream in her bliss for now.” Euan poured himself a brandy from the store they kept in the kitchen.
“The reason your mother was so frightened was the side of your head, boy.” Mrs. Stewart swatted at him with a cloth. “You had the largest head and apparently still do.”
He choked on a sip of brandy as Selma ducked her head to hide her laughter. Mr. Stewart’s loud roar of amusement was cut off by the sound of shattering glass and a whoosh. He knew that sound all too well—fire sucking in oxygen greedily was something never forgotten. With a quick glance at Mr. Stewart, they rushed out of the room with Mrs. Stewart and Selma on their heels. The window that faced the gardens on the landing on the stairs was covered in flames that also climbed the tapestries on the wall. It also blocked the way to the master bedroom...
Ophelia!
“I’ll get to the well outside!” Mr. Stewart dashed toward the front door.
“Euan!” The terror in Ophelia’s voice made his blood run cold.
“Do not move!” Euan shouted. “Go back to the room, love!”
He turned to Mrs. Stewart and Selma. “Wet blankets—if you have to, soak them in the wash water and bring them to me.”
“Euan, you can’t—” Mrs. Stewart tried to hold his arm to stop him from running up the stairs, and Selma dashed away.
He pulled his arm away. “I will not lose them! I’d fight the devil in the blasted flames if I have to!”
Selma returned with a drenched blanket. “Cover yourself, we’ll try to beat down the flames!”
“Ride into town, gather who you can, get the fire brigade!” Euan shouted the order while he threw the blanket over his shoulders and around his head, feeling the water drip into his scalp and soak his clothes. Without hesitation, he ran up the stairs and dashed through the fire crawling across the banister. It tried to grab at his form, and while he felt the heat, it didn’t burn his skin. Euan threw open the bedroom door and saw her leaned against the post of the canopy bed. Her hand cupped the bottom of her stomach and her face was a mask of pain. He pulled her into his arms.
“Euan, the fire... who?”
“I don’t know, Lass.” He lifted her head to look at her. “Are you all right?”
“It hurts.” Her lips trembled with fear and unshed tears.
“We are going to get you out of here,” Euan said briskly, wrapping the blanket around her.
“What about you?” Ophelia cried out. “You’ll be burned... Euan, you can’t...”
He kissed her hard. “I’ll be absolutely fine, love. Now, I’m going to lift you and carry you down the stairs.”
A low moan escaped her, and she doubled over again. There was no time to waste. He lifted her in his arms and hesitated for a moment at the door. The fire climbed to the roof, even as Mrs. Stewart used soaked cloths trying to keep it at bay. They coughed as the acrid smoke tried to fill their lungs, and he knew it would be no use.
“Get out of the house!” he yelled to them. “Now!”
They fled as he said a small prayer and dashed through the flames. He felt the hair on his arms sizzle and the flames try to catch the cloth that covered his back. But Ophelia was covered, and he moved quickly, running past the spreading fire and down the stairs.
“Is she all right?” Mrs. Stewart asked as he ran out of the manor door.
He tried to put her on her feet, but the pain wracked her body and she could hardly stand.
“I think... the baby... she hurts,” Euan said through his coughs.
Selma rounded the corner on the back of his horse and behind her, a mass of men followed her. They shouted for buckets and a water chain from the well went up as they moved to the back of the house. It could burn to the ground for all he cared. Ophelia was his only concern. The night was cold, and neither one of them were dressed to be out in the elements. Marie and John ran up as Euan sat cradling his wife.
“Is she hurt or burned?” Marie demanded. A low cry escaped Ophelia as Marie ran her hands over her body. “When did the pain start, Ophelia?”
“While I was asleep. I got up to tell Euan, and I saw the fire,” she gasped.
“We need to get her to the cottage,” Marie said briskly. “John, handle this, and we’ll get her there and warm.”
John nodded and dashed away. His voice carried over everyone as he coordinated putting out the fire.
“Can you carry her?” Marie asked.
“Of course,” Euan answered. There was no time to get the horse or carriage.
As soon as she was safe and warm and Marie told him his wife and child were okay, there would be hell to pay. The devil held no vengeance like his own, and Euan knew exactly who would feel his wrath.
Marie, Selma, and Mrs. Stewart moved ahead of his brisk strides. At one point, they ran, trying to keep up with him.
“We’ll have you warm soon, love. You will be just fine,” he crooned as he moved.
“Euan, who would do something like this?” Ophelia asked, and he felt her trembling.
“I’ll find out, love, of that you can be assured,” Euan said grimly.
At her cottage, the inside was as cold as outside because she had not lived there in months, and no fire had been lit for the winter. As Marie and Mrs. Stewart cared for Ophelia in the bedroom, he banked the fireplace high with wood and used kindling to start the fire. Selma worked on the potbelly stove, not only to get it burning but to get hot water and whatever else they needed to get rid of the chill from his wife. By the time he went into the bedroom, she lay in bed and Marie sat on the side of the mattress holding her hand. Selma entered the room with a foot warmer, and Mrs. Stewart tucked it under the blankets to warm Ophelia all the more.
“Euan, your clothes are still damp,” Ophelia pointed out.
“I’ll be fine, love,” he assured her and asked Marie. “Is it time?”
Marie nodded. “Just about. The contractions have slowed. The stress of the fire affected her body even more. She will rest a little easier, now; we have time yet.”
“I brought her some tea to help her rest,” Selma said. “Red raspberry leaf and lavender.”
“That’s good. It will help her sleep,” Marie answered.
“May I speak to her alone for a moment?” Euan asked huskily.
They silently filed from the room, and Euan knelt on the floor, took her hand, and kissed it.
“Euan, don’t go, stay here,” Ophelia begged. It was like she knew his thoughts.
“It’s not the house that needs to be answered for.” Euan’s voice was ragged. “They targeted the upstairs room. They wanted to hurt you, and I’ll not stand for it.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I don’t want you hurt, or to lose you.”
“Shhh, love, I won’t be alone,” he crooned. “By the time you wake up, I’ll be back, I swear. Now drink your tea and warm your insides. We can’t have you catching a chill.”
She sat up and drank dutifully, and Euan sat with her until she drifted off. Ophelia hadn’t had an episode of pain since she settled in the bed at the cottage. Euan bent to kiss her lips before he strode out of the room, and the three women waited expectantly in the sitting room as he closed the bedroom door.
“She’s asleep,” Euan told them.
“You’ll be going to find who did this then,” Mrs. Stewart said with certainty.
“Aye,” Euan answered. “To the manor and then to the constable. I’ll be back soon. Please take care of her.”
“You know we will,” Marie said gently. “Take my John with you.”
Euan gave a brisk nod and stepped out of the cottage in the same damp clothes he had stepped inside with. They had dried some, but the cold wind bit at his skin as he took the familiar road to his manor house. The fire was out, and people still milled around, many with questions. Who would try to burn a home down with its owners inside? Mr. Stewart saw him coming, as well as John, and they walked down to meet him.
“How bad is the damage?” Euan asked.
Mr. Stewart ran his hand over his wiry gray hair. “It was kept contained to the stairs, but they’ll have to be replaced, that’s a certainty. We won’t be going up there until it’s done. The back wall is stone, and it stayed strong but the damage to it from the inside will have to be fixed as well.”
“Did it get to any other rooms?”
John shook his head. “No, but the house will need a good airing and drying before anyone can live in it.”
“Me and the Mrs. can stay in the property in the guest house,” Mr. Stewart said. “I can oversee the repairs.”
“I’ll get Selma a room at the hotel, and she will be close enough to help Ophelia.” Euan hesitated. “The baby is coming, but she is resting for now.”
“And we go to find the bastard who did this and take it out his arse,” Mr. Stewart snarled.
“We all know Hansel’s hand is in this. He’s too much of a coward to do it himself,” John pointed out.
“We need proof—”
Footsteps in the gravel stopped his words. A smaller man Euan recognized as one of the shopkeepers in the town came up to them. He gripped his hat tight in his hand, and he could barely meet their eyes.
“Isaac,” John greeted him.
“John, Mr. Campbell...” He took a long breath. “You may want to talk to Homer to see what he knows.”
“Why Homer?” Euan asked. He had hired the man as a dockhand when the shipping company opened. He was short and burly with strong arms and a kind of bad attitude. But as long as he did his job, and took his pay, Euan had no quarrel with him.
“He came in drunk from too much of his brew he made,” Isaac explained. “Had more money than he should for a man who works the docks. I asked him how he became so wealthy, building his head up. He said breaking his back at the dock wasn’t his only bread and butter. Mr. Hansel hired him for a job that would pay him more than a few dollars.”
“Thank you for telling us.” Euan held out his hand and shook Isaac’s hand.
“Business is business, but you go after a man’s home and family, that’s a line no man should cross,” Isaac said firmly. “We all agree on that.”
“William, stay here. Get into the basement and bring up a few casks of the stout for the men to drink,” Euan asked him. “Secure the house and wait for me at the cottage.”
“I was looking forward to cracking a few skulls,” Mr. Stewart said.
“Maybe next time, old man.” Euan clapped him on the back. “I could use my old coat and some dry warm clothes and boots.”
“That I can do.”
It wasn’t too long until he was on the back of Jupiter wearing the same coat he had on when he rode into Kamouraska—the same day he met Ophelia. His mind turned to his wife. John rode another stallion from the barn, and they moved through the town. The night was still dark, but most everyone was up, waiting for their men to come home from the manor house. They’d be coming home with a belly full of strong ale, and Euan made a mental note that if anyone asked for help from him, he would be there to give it. They had all come to the aid of his family.
They found Homer in the little shanty house that he owned close to the river. It was set back into the tree line with a little clearing where he kept junk and crates. Euan slid off the horse, and John followed suit. There was no polite knocking. The heel of his boot connected with the thin door, and it slammed against the inner wall. Homer, who sat at a small table, reared back, and the old chair bent and buckled from the action. His ass hit the ground. Euan picked him up by the collar and proceeded to beat the man senseless. John caught his hand to stop the fierce punches that wailed on Homer like the rain.
“We do need him to answer to what he did,” John said calmly.
“Aye, but I’d rather beat him to death,” Euan snarled. He shook Homer until his teeth rattled. “Did Hansel put you up to it? You still stink of the kerosene, you fucking bastard. Tell me now, or I’ll be dragging you to the river and drowning you like a rat.”
Homer, who seemed to weigh his options and found any excuse he could come up with sorely lacking, spoke quickly through swollen lips. “He paid me. I had to throw the kerosene in the bottle with a rag lit! He wanted to burn you out. He said, ‘kill the slut and you would crumble.’ He would buy your business for pennies on the dollar and people would pay for not respecting him. Don’t kill me... Don’t kill me.”
Euan pushed him away in disgust and spoke in an even tone. “If you would, John, take him to the constable and have him repeat his story. If he deviates by one word, snap his neck.”
“Euan, maybe it’s not wise to do what I know you’re about to do,” John pointed out.
“If you get to the constable and then to Hansel’s house in a reasonable amount of time, you may save his life.” Euan got on Jupiter. “I’d like to hear anyone tell me it’s not my right to have my vengeance.”
With that, he gave Jupiter a quick kick to the sides and spurred his dark horse into a gallop, which turned into a full-out race as the horse moved like black lightning through the streets. If they didn’t get to him in time, he would bring death to Hansel. That was fully his intent. The pristine white house with a short picket fence and bushes bare of leaves, stark in the darkness, came into view. The small berries that would soon be red on the holly bushes were the only thing that had any color in a garden barren for the winter.
There was a light in a room, and whoever it was heard the hoofbeats of his horse. Euan watched the light go out.
That won’t keep my hands from around your neck, he thought grimly. The anger that coursed through him seemed to reverberate through Jupiter, who trembled and snorted, pawing his hoof against the ground. The latch on the gate was stiff and wouldn’t budge. Euan had no patience for it, and he shattered the wood with his boot.
“Hansel!” Euan’s voice was a roar, and he knew anyone living close by heard it. “Don’t hide from me. You tried to kill my wife, and I am here for you.”
Nothing, not a peep. The blinds didn’t even flutter. He climbed the four steps quickly. He was going to use the very same tactic used at Homer’s ramshackle residence to welcome himself into their home. Mrs. Hansel opened the door before he could give it a forceful kick. Dressed in her nightdress and cap with her housecoat wrapped tight, her eyes were wide and frightened.
“Mr. Campbell, whatever is the matter!” she cried out.
“Your bastard of a husband tried to burn my house down and kill my wife,” he snarled. “I’ll be having words with him.”
“He-he’s...” She could make no excuses for her husband, and Euan strode past her. He flicked a cold, disgusted glance at Bettina, who stood on the stairs. His face must have been monstrous because she shrank back in fear. He opened doors, finding the sitting room empty, then a small formal dining room bare. In the study, nothing moved, the dim light coming through the blinds just made shadows. Euan could feel the man’s fear, it was palpable. His boots echoed on the wood as he moved to another small door. When he flung it open, he found Hansel wedged between blankets and boxes.
“Coward!”
Euan dragged him out and didn’t hesitate to box him upside the head. Then, the punches began, to the face and the gut, until Hansel threw up when he fell to his knees.
“Please I—”
Euan choked his words off, dragging him across the floor by the back of his collar as Hansel’s pudgy fingers clawed at his neck trying to get air.
“I won’t kill you in your own house. I won’t make your wife clean up your blood.” Euan had gone past caring. At the door, he tossed the man off the top steps and watched him hit the second one and roll down onto the hard ground.
“Don’t you dare touch my father!” Bettina came up behind him and when Euan turned around, she almost tripped trying to get back.
“I’ll do more than touch him.” His voice was deadly. “This is now your mother’s house, and you will respect her as such. You will dote on her like she is the bloody queen because if you don’t, I will know.”
His attention was back on Hansel, who was trying to scramble away. Euan hauled him to his feet and wrapped his hands around the man’s neck. He had immense satisfaction in watching him claw for air. He tried to take Ophelia’s life, and now, his was forfeit. He didn’t even feel when John tried to drag him off the man or the constable forced his fingers to loosen their grip.
“Mr. Campbell, let go or I’ll have to arrest you too!” the constable said between gritted teeth.
It took John and the man both to get him off Hansel, who fell to his knees, gasping.
He pointed and spoke hoarsely. “I want him arrested! He tried to kill me!”
Euan surged forward, and John held him back. “If they’d let me go, I would finish the job.”
“You heard him.” Hansel staggered to his feet. “Take him to the jail.”
The constable instead dragged Hansel’s hand behind his back. “I think you’ll be visiting my jail before Mr. Campbell—a cot right next to your friend Homer, who told me quite a story.”
“The man’s a drunk. You can’t believe a word he says.” Hansel’s voice was still hoarse.
“That may be, but the money in his pocket tells a different story,” the constable said. “You have to stop marking the edges of your paper notes. That small H could be no one else but you, Sir.”
Euan watched Hansel get taken away. His head hung low, away from the people who now stood in their doorways. They watched the braggart and bully finally get what he deserved. While he still wanted to kill the man, his anger fizzled away.
“We should go to my wife,” Euan said, his focus now on the woman he loved.
“That we should,” John said. “He would almost certainly be dead if we arrived one minute later.”
“Aye.” Euan went to his horse and climbed on. With a quick nod to the woman who stood in her doorway, he told John, “I’ll get someone to fix Mrs. Hansel’s gate.”
Euan let the cool air ease his anger, and he took a deep breath to cleanse his soul. He wouldn’t see his wife bringing a child into this world with his anger present. He handed the reins to John who would lead Jupiter back to the manor stables and said, “Thank You,” before he went back inside.
He found Ophelia up. She wore a blue plaid dress as she walked back and forth in the room. Her eyes lit up with happiness when her gaze met his, and he moved quickly to pull her into his arms.
“Are you well?” He cupped her face and looked into her eyes.
Ophelia nodded and smiled. “This little one wants to come out and meet us. Walking helps the pain to ebb.”
Euan took off his coat, revealing the shirt he brought from his home in Scotland. One of the few pieces he had left that reminded him of home. With Ophelia at his side and both their hands on her stomach, he held on to the woman who gave his life joy. His Ophelia, who reminded him of the wildflowers of summer. She was going to give him the greatest gift a man could ask for: a child.