Captain's Bride (30 page)

The men turned back to back, their feet planted
squarely on a thin layer of snow. The sky looked cloudy, the
overcast hinting at a storm. A stiff wind sliced the December air
and molded Nicholas’s breeches even more closely against his
thighs. He stood a good three inches taller than McMillan, though
the brown-haired man was tall in his own right.

“Raise your pistols,” the sallow-faced man
instructed. Acting as Nicholas’s second, Mac stood tensely beside
him, his face ruddier than usual in the biting cold. The two
seconds walked some distance away to stand beneath a ghostly,
leafless sycamore. The woods around the clearing were eerily silent
except for the moaning breeze.

“I will begin counting.” The younger man’s voice rang
with a note of authority across the snow-covered clearing. “One.
Two.”

“Stop! Stop right where you are, both of you.” Glory
stepped from beneath a tree on the opposite side of the clearing,
pointing an ancient pistol at the men, her arms resting against the
sides of her swollen belly, the wind whipping at her heavy woolen
skirts. “If either of you take one more step, I’ll shoot, and right
now I don’t care which of you I hit!”

Nicholas felt the pull of a smile. As far as he knew,
she had no idea how to fire the weapon. But she’d surprised him
before, on more than one occasion. He’d learned from experience not
to underestimate her.

“Go back home, Gloria,” George McMillan instructed.
“When this is over, I’ll come for you.”

“Don’t you understand, George?” She started walking
toward them, the gun still pointing straight ahead. “He’s going to
kill you. You don’t know what he's like.”

“And you do?” Nicholas put in, just loud enough for
her to hear.

“I know enough to be frightened for George’s life. I
don’t want him harmed.”

“This is between Captain Blackwell and me, Glory,”
George said. “Please, just go back home.”

Neither man had moved. From the comer of his eye,
Nicholas saw Mac circling around the clearing. “Do as he says,
Glory,” he added, hoping to distract her. “It’s out of your hands.
Think of the child.”

“I’m warning you. Throw down your weapons, or I’ll
shoot.”

Nicholas almost smiled. “It might be worth it, just
to see which of us you’d aim for. But then, I guess there’s really
little doubt.”

“That’s a very good deduction, Captain, considering
what you’ve put me through these past long months. Now, both of
you, drop your weapons and move away from each other.”

The whistling wind hid the sound of Mac’s heavy boots
crunching on the snow behind her. He reached around her, grasped
her wrist, and the gun fired harmlessly in the air.

“Not you, too, Mac!” she cried, feeling completely
betrayed. “Can’t any of you understand? George McMillan is a good
man. He’s my friend. I can’t stand by and let him die.”

“Listen to me, lass. The cap’n’s a good man, too. He
only wants what’s best fer both o’ ye. Even if ye stop them now,
they’ll only meet another time. Come back to the carriage wi’ me.
Yer place is at home, waiting fer yer husband.”

Suddenly tired, and seeing his words as true, Glory
handed Mac the now-empty pistol. She let him lead her across the
clearing to the carriage and climbed up inside. Mac said something
to the driver, and the carriage rolled away.

Once she’d rounded the comer out of sight, Glory
ordered the driver to stop. Pulling her fur-lined mantle around
her, the hood up over her head, she awkwardly stepped to the icy
ground and headed back toward the clearing. She hadn’t been able to
stop them, but she wasn’t about to leave without knowing the
results.

“May we proceed now?” George McMillan prodded, his
voice laced with irritation. “The sooner we get this over with, the
sooner I may return to my fiancée.”

Nicholas worked a muscle in his jaw, but said
nothing. The men raised their weapons again. Backs to each other,
they began to step off the distance.

“One. Two. Three,” the second called out. “Four.
Five. Six.”

Nicholas tightened his hold on the pistol; the walnut
grip felt smooth against his palm.

“Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

Nicholas turned to face his opponent, saw the man’s
arm come up, tried to gauge the trajectory, then turned his body
slightly at the precise instant flintlock drove against steel.
Feeling a sharp sting in his left arm, he muttered an oath,
realized he hadn’t allowed quite enough for the wind.

Now it was his turn.

George McMillan stood ramrod straight. His face grim.
If he ran, his cowardice would be the talk of Boston. Nicholas
raised his gun, aiming the sleek metal barrel at his opponent’s
heart. McMillan didn’t move, just stared straight ahead. Nicholas
saluted the man’s quiet courage. Easing back the hammer with his
thumb, the ominous click loud against the early morning silence,
Nicholas aimed the barrel well above McMillan’s head—and fired into
the air.

Catching a movement beside a nearby tree, Nicholas
turned just in time to see Glory slump to the ground in a tangle of
black wool skirts. Cursing beneath his breath, he raced toward her,
Mac, George, and the sallow-faced man at his heels. Blood darkened
the sleeve of his coat and dripped onto the snow as Nicholas knelt
and placed his hand on Glory’s forehead.

“She’s just fainted, lad,” Mac told him.

“I’ll carry her for you,” George offered, his voice
soft. “You can take her home in my coach.”

After a moment, Nicholas agreed. George scooped Glory
into his arms and carried her toward his carriage in the distance.
Mac checked Nicholas’s wound, determined it was only superficial,
and they both followed George. When Nicholas reached the carriage
and opened the door, he found. Glory leaning against the velvet
seat, blue eyes open and watching him.

George pulled Nicholas aside. “I’ll ride back with my
second. Just send my driver home when you have no further need of
him.”

“Thank you.”

“Take care of her, Captain.”

“You have my word.”

George took a ragged breath, his eyes bleak, but said
nothing more. As he turned to leave, Nicholas stopped him.

“I want you to know,” Nicholas said, “if things had
been different, there isn’t another man I’d rather have seen her
marry.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Head held high, George turned
and walked away.

Nicholas climbed into the carriage next to Glory. She
didn’t even look at him. The carriage rolled away, the sound of the
wheels muffled by the thin layer of snow. Glory rode along in
silence, the rumble and sway of the carriage soothing her jagged
nerves.

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” she finally asked, her
voice no more than a whisper.

“If you knew me better, you’d know I don’t go around
killing people just for sport. The man only wanted to protect you.
I could hardly kill him for that.”

She turned to look at him, remembering the man she
had loved on the strand. A man she was certain would have felt the
same. For the first time she noticed his arm. “You’re wounded!”

“Is that wifely concern I hear?” He smiled, then
grimaced as he suffered a spasm of pain.

“I’d be concerned for any man who was injured, even a
rogue like you. Now, please, lie back and be still until we can
summon the surgeon.”

“I’m more worried about you. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“You’re sure?”

She felt unaccountably pleased at his concern, but
refused to admit it. “I’m sure.”

“From now on, madam, there’ll be no more traipsing
around in the cold. You’re to rest and take care of yourself.” He
touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “That’s an order.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You’re very good at
giving orders, Captain.”

“Nicholas,” he corrected. “And you’re very
bad
at following them.”

“I probably always will be.”

“Yes. But I suppose that’s one of the reasons I love
you.”

Glory’s eyes flew open wide. She rounded on him, pale
cheeks suddenly flooded with color. “Don’t you dare use that word
with me!”

“What word?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“
Love
. You, Captain, wouldn’t know the meaning
of the word.”

His own temper flared. “And I suppose George McMillan
would?”

“Yes, he would. George is a gentleman.”

“If McMillan is so damned wonderful, why aren't you
in love with him?”

Glory clenched her teeth. Refusing to look at him a
moment more, she turned away and gazed at the passing row of
houses. A door opened and a small boy darted out to fetch the
bottle of milk that stood beside the door, then scurried back into
the warmth within.

Nicholas turned her face with his hand, forcing her
to look at him. “It couldn’t be because you’re still in love with
me?”

Glory stiffened, angered even more. “Not a chance,
Captain Blackwell. I may have been young and foolish when first we
met, but I’m a wiser woman now.”

One comer of his mouth tilted into a smile. “Time
will tell, love. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

The week flew past in a flurry of activity. Glory
relayed the story Of the duel, and Aunt Florence assured her she’d
done the right thing in marrying Nicholas. Glory was just as
certain she hadn’t. She’d had no choice, she reminded herself. He
would have ruined her life again—George’s and the baby’s as well.
She hadn’t told Aunt Flo about his threat. Her aunt would only have
tried to intervene, and things would have been worse for everyone.
No, she’d made the only sensible choice. But the degree of
Nicholas’s ruthlessness made her feel more wretched than ever.

When the time came for her to leave Boston, it was a
sad farewell indeed.

“Here, now, there’s no need for tears,” Aunt Flo
chided, her own voice a little choked. “The baby’s due in a couple
of months, and I’ll be joining you in Tarrytown.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Flo.”

“Give him a chance, dear. Everyone makes mistakes.”
Glory slumped down on the tapestry sofa. “I don’t understand him,
Aunt Flo. Maybe I never did. I don’t trust him. I certainly don’t
love him anymore. Nor would I want to.”

Aunt Flo patted her hand. “My instincts tell me he’s
a good man.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“Time to go, love,” Nicholas called to her from the
doorway. “The carriage is waiting.”

She kissed her aunt’s translucent cheek, wiped the
tears from her eyes, and joined Nicholas in the foyer where he
wrapped her snugly in a fur-lined pelisse. In minutes the carriage
reached the wharf. Nicholas whisked Glory up the gangplank to the
deck of the
Black Witch
and into the warmth of the sumptuous
officers’ wardroom.

Brass and crystal sconces flickered on the wall as
Glory pushed open the door. Mac beckoned her forward and pulled out
a chair, seating her beside him at the long, carved mahogany table.
Gilded mirrors at either end of the wardroom reflected silver
candelabra that adorned an elegant sideboard. Memories of Nicholas,
their rescue from the island, and the unhappy time they’d spent on
board this ship threatened to swamp her. Even with Mac’s attentive
companionship, Glory felt homesick before they ever left the
harbor.

“Give it time, lass,” Mac advised. “He loves ye. Give
him a chance to prove it.”

“I don’t want him to love me, Mac. And I don’t want
to love him. He forced this marriage on me. I agreed only because
of the child.”

“Ye’ve a long life ahead a ye, lass. Dinna cheat
yerself outta lovin’.”

When Glory didn’t answer, Mac changed the subject.
They continued to renew their acquaintance while her trunks were
brought on board and Nicholas readied the ship to make way.

“What’s happened to Josh?” she asked. “I didn’t see
him when we came on board.”

“Lad’s been promoted to ship’s master. He commands
Black Diamond
now.”

“And Jago?”

“Dodd is Josh’s second mate.”

“So much has happened,” Glory said with a sigh. She
took a sip of her tea, then replaced the cup in its fine porcelain
saucer.

“Aye, lass. Some bad and some good.” Mac’s eyes moved
to the bulge of her stomach beneath her black bombazine traveling
dress. “Ye’ve grown up, lass. Ye were forced to do it in a bit of a
hurry, but ye’ve grown up just the same.”

Glory smiled a little forlornly. “I suppose so.”

Once the ship was under way, Mac led Glory to the
captain’s richly appointed cabin. She napped for a time, then
joined Nicholas in the salon for a quiet supper. Afterward, he
returned with her to the cabin. She hesitated only a moment before
stepping inside.

“Where will you be sleeping?” she asked, straining to
keep her voice even as Nicholas followed her into the lamplit
interior. The words struck an unpleasant memory of the first night
she’d spent in the room, of a battle of wills, and the humiliation
of her body’s response. She shivered at the thought.

“With you,” he said simply. But his eyes had
darkened, as if he could read her thoughts.

Her hand shook as it slid protectively to the life
that bulged at her waist. “Is your word so easily broken?” She
hoped he hadn’t noticed the tremor in her voice.

“I promised I wouldn’t make love to you until you
were ready. I promised I wouldn’t harm the babe.” He swept a
tendril of pale blond hair from her cheek. “They’re promises I’ve
every intention of keeping. But you’re my wife now. The sooner you
come to trust me, the better off we’ll both be.” He bent and kissed
her forehead. “Now turn around so I can unbutton your dress.”

Glory swallowed hard, a warm blush coloring her
cheeks. “Surely you don’t intend to watch me undress.”

“You’re my
wife
,” he repeated almost as if he
relished the word. “You carry my child. The changes in your body
are only natural. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” Before she
could protest, he turned her back to him and unbuttoned her bodice
and skirt. After helping her out of the top, he pulled the skirt
over her head. Next went the petticoats, layer after layer, until
she wore only her chemise and simple cotton drawers.