Rebellious Bride (27 page)

“We’re in the West, sir,” Jonathan said. “Things are different here, as we both have learned. I daresay I admire Lady Sherborn’s strength and tenacity. And her knowledge of medicine is remarkable. She’s not like most women. She would never be content to sit complacently and await the birth of her child. You worry too much, my lord. Lady Sherborn will do fine when her times comes.”

Jonathan was certainly perceptive. Of late, memories of Bea had haunted Rolfe’s thoughts. He feared a repeat of his first wife’s tragic delivery, and the possibility of losing Lillian frightened the devil out of him.

Rolfe shook his head. “I fear impending fatherhood has muddled my brain.”

Jonathan retained his reserved manner, though a smile tempted the corners of his mouth.

The door suddenly burst open, and Lil came charging in. “It’s a girl! A beautiful, healthy, chubby little girl! Marian and Bob Finley are beside themselves with joy.” Lillian shook herself out of her blue cape, Jonathan grabbing it from her. “Oh, Rolfe,” she said, grasping his hand and pulling him toward the parlor.

“Tea, madam?” Jonathan asked before she disappeared through the door.

“Yes,” she called out and peered around the door to add, “And some of those little sandwiches you make that taste so great. I’m starving.”

Jonathan smiled and nodded as she once again disappeared.

“Oh, Rolfe,” she continued without taking a breath, “you should see the baby. Round and chubby, crying up a storm, she’s magnificent.”

“What is her name?” he asked, guiding her without her realizing it to the sofa to sit.

Lil plopped down on the sofa with a minimum of assistance from her husband. Rolfe sat beside her, itching to caress her rounded belly to assure himself that she and the child were all right.

“Mary,” Lil answered. “Marian named her after her late mother.” Lil took a breath and sighed.

“This delivery wasn’t too much for you?” Rolfe queried and didn’t hesitate to do as he wished, touch her belly.

Lil smiled when his hand covered her protruding stomach. She liked it when he touched her there. She had worried that as she enlarged he would find her unattractive and keep his distance. She had quickly discovered that would not be the case. If anything, Rolfe now sought her out more frequently, their lovemaking taking on more depth and tenderness.

“Lillian?”

She was so lost in her thoughts that she had failed to answer him. “It wasn’t too much for me. The delivery went more smoothly than I had expected. Marian says she’ll have a bushel of kids, since it was so easy.”

“You don’t feel tired?” he asked, admitting to himself she showed no signs of fatigue. Her cheeks were rosy, her complexion healthy, and her eyes bright with excitement.

“Just hungry,” she corrected.

“Then I’m just in time,” Jonathan said, entering the room with a silver tray heavy with food.

Lil moved forward on the sofa and cleared off the table in front of her.

Rolfe laughed, helping his wife. “Hungry, did you say? Sounds more like starving to me.”

Lil jokingly punched him in the arm. “You forget, I’m eating for two.”

He barely felt her soft blow to his thick muscles, but he grabbed his arm, pretending to feel pain. “She hits with the strength of two.”

Lil shook her fist in fun. “Let that be a lesson to—”

The window erupted in a storm of shattered glass, followed by the teapot and then the picture of the English countryside on the wall exploded behind them.

Lil screamed, throwing her arms around herself to protect from flying glass and spewing hot tea.

Rolfe’s arms engulfed her, his body wrapped around her and carefully, though as quickly as possible, shoved her to the floor, shielding her completely with his body. “Jonathan, are you all right?” he called out.

“Yes, sir,” he answered. His voice trembled when he asked, “Who would fire a shot into the house?”

“I don’t know, but I’m damn well going to find out,” Rolfe said, his tone brimming with anger. He looked down at Lillian and saw that her complexion had paled considerably.

He lifted himself off her, his hand roaming her chest and stomach, assuring himself that she hadn’t been hit and that the worst damage she had suffered was a tea stain on her white blouse. “Are you all right?”

“I-I feel a bit faint,” she answered honestly, the fear of what could have happened filling her with dread.

“I’ll get a cool cloth and some reviving salts,” Jonathan said as he hurried from the room.

Rolfe stood, ready to lift her and carry her to the corner of the room, away from the windows and possible danger.

Lil raised her hand to his, and the color completely drained from her face. “Oh, Rolfe, I don’t think—”

He slipped his arms beneath her and moved her to the sofa, resting her head on the bolster pillow. His large fingers worked at the tiny buttons at her throat. He soundly cursed them for their refusal to cooperate and swore again when the top one broke free and flew across the room from his intense fumbling. He finally unbuttoned several to reveal Lillian’s pink lace camisole.

Jonathan rushed into the room and thrust the bottle of salts at Rolfe, who grabbed at it like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. He waved it back and forth beneath Lil’s nostrils and ordered her in a firm, no-nonsense tone to wake up. In seconds Lil drifted out of her faint.

“I’m moving you upstairs,” he informed her, barely giving her time to recover, caring at the moment more for her safety.

Lil could have sworn he flew up the steps, his movements were so fast and so fluid. After he had placed her on the bed, she felt much better— still a bit light-headed— but no longer faint.

Rolfe sat beside her, wiping her pale face with a cool cloth.

“What happened?” she asked, her hand slipping over her belly and rubbing it.

“You have pain?” Rolfe asked, his own hand following hers.

Their hands met and held as they both realized what they could have lost. Lil’s fingers entwined with his, and she squeezed hard, feeling his strength. Her pregnancy had toyed with her emotions, and tears filled her eyes.

Rolfe, clearly feeling his wife’s distress, reached out to her. He locked her in his arms, away from harm and away from her fears. He buried his face in the silky softness of her lavender-scented hair, breathing deeply of her sweet scent.

“I’m wasting my tears. I should be angry, not crying,” her muffled voice complained.

“I ‘m angry enough for both of us,” he informed her, his tense tone attesting to it.

Lil pulled away from him, her teary eyes wide, her lashes shining like wet spikes, and her temper riled. “What are you going to do about it?”

His spirited Lillian had returned, and that pleased him. “I’m going to find out what happened and take the appropriate steps.”

“What do you mean, ‘appropriate steps’?” she questioned, wanting retribution for this near fatal incident and wondering if her husband was capable of seeing that western justice was done.

Rolfe had every intention of discovering who had fired that shot and beating the living hell out of him. Lillian would never have believed him capable of such a manly act. She still considered him pompous, allowing others to do for him what he should have handled himself. She still doubted his ability to survive in the West. He would let her learn the truth about him on her own, and in the meantime he would enjoy the role he was playing.

“I will discover the culprit and turn him over to your father,” Rolfe explained haughtily.

Good lord, the English peer was back! Lil sighed. Where was that rough, almost uncivilized cowboy she spied from time to time? Had she imagined him? Was he a figment of her dreams?

She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts and facing the matter at hand. “Perhaps I should see to this.”

“No!”

Lil raised her head, and her eyes grew as rounded as silver dollars. He certainly sounded manly enough.

Rolfe stood. “You will rest, madam, while I tend to this matter.”

“My father—”

Rolfe cut her off before she could offer her father’s help. “Will be called when he is needed.”

“But I—”

“Will not hear another word from you,” Rolfe finished and added with a vigorous shake of his finger, “Rest!”

Lil sat staring at his retreating back until he disappeared out the door. He was certainly a puzzle—one minute stuffy and proper, the next as tough as rawhide. He had her completely confused, or perhaps she had herself confused.

Was she searching too hard for answers that were right in front of her? Was she too blinded by her feelings for him to see the truth?

She lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. She didn’t know enough about him. She needed to learn more, so much more.

“His brother!” she cried and clapped her hands in childlike discovery. His brother should arrive soon. She would speak with him—what was his name? She thought a moment, chewing on her lower lip.
Evan.
She would speak with Evan Sherborn and learn all about her husband and in turn—perhaps—bring love to her marriage.

~~~

Rolfe’s fury showed in his forceful strides. The cowhands who had gathered around the corral stopped stirring and mumbling when they caught sight of him. He was dressed like an English nobleman, looking intimidating in his highly polished black leather boots, charcoal trousers, matching coat, and white linen shirt. He carried no weapon, but the men had witnessed his superior skills with a rifle and gun and chose not to challenge him in any matter. They had learned quickly he was more than capable of protecting what was his, and that knowledge had earned Rolfe their respect.

“Did any of you see the man who fired the shot?” Rolfe asked as the cowhands circled him to hear his orders.

Most shook their heads; others mumbled. Jake, the skinny cowhand, spoke up. “The shot came from up there.”

All heads turned in the direction in which Jake pointed, to a group of trees that sat a few feet behind the house.

“That’s about right,” another agreed. “Jake and me ran up there as quick as we could, but we didn’t see nothin’.”

“We heard a rider, though,” Jake said. “Probably someone was passin’ through and saw a jackrabbit, thinkin’ it’d be right good for supper, and forgettin’ he was near a house, he fired his gun.”

The other cowhands laughed.

Jake smiled at his rapt audience. “Fella over in Brownsville done that and shot the local preacher. He nearly got himself strung up.”

Rolfe’s crisp tone wiped the smiles off the men’s faces. “I would think anyone would know better than to behave so stupidly.”

Jake shrugged. “The territory is free and open. That’s what draws folks here.”

“The territory may be free and open, but this is
my
land.” Rolfe’s words were direct as he issued his order. “I want you men to patrol the area around the house day and night until I decide otherwise.”

Protests rumbled quietly throughout the group of men.

Rolfe raised his voice over their grumbling. “You are all paid more than adequately for your services. If my orders are not to your liking, pick up your wages and be on your way.”

Not one man moved or issued a complaint. They all knew they’d never get the kind of wages elsewhere that Lord Sherborn was paying them.

“Jake, you’re in charge of the patrol. Work out a schedule with the men. They’ll answer to you, and you’ll answer to me.”

“Me?” Jake asked, pointing to himself in bewilderment.

“Yes, Jake, you,” Rolfe assured him. “Begin patrolling immediately. Work out a schedule by this evening and show it to me for final approval.”

Jake stuck his chest out, feeling the importance of his newly acquired position. “Charlie and Hedges, start the first shift up behind the house right now. Benny and... “

The words became a blur to Rolfe as he walked off, leaving Jake in charge. He didn’t like, one bit, the idea that someone could cross his land and fire a weapon, endangering his family.

This was the second close call for Lillian. The thought that she had been shot on the street had plagued him for months. He had finally accepted the fact that the incident was an accident, but this second occurrence caused his doubts to return in full force.

Rolfe turned the corner to the front of the house and saw Sam dismounting his horse. He walked over to him after receiving a sharp nod from Jonathan standing in the front doorway, a signal that Lillian was still resting, as he had ordered.

“Heard you had some trouble out here,” Sam said, walking up to him.

“News travels fast.” Sam offered him a smile. “That’s why we’re called Little.”

Rolfe laughed, needing a reprieve from his unsettling thoughts. “Come join me for a drink and I’ll tell you about the incident. Lillian is resting, but I’ll have Jonathan wake her shortly so you can visit with her.”

Sam shook his head, following Rolfe. “I don’t want to disturb her. She needs her rest.”

Rolfe laughed again, more strongly this time. “It’s those around Lillian who need their rest to keep up with her. She tells me she’s eating for two and has the strength of two. I swear she has the energy of two.”

Sam trailed Rolfe into the study, easing into one of the two morocco leather wing chairs grouped in front of the cold hearth. “That’s my gal,” Sam said proudly.

“Your gal just missed being shot today,” Rolfe said, handing Sam a glass of whiskey and slipping into the other chair.

“What happened?” Concern could be heard clearly in Sam’s voice.

Rolfe described the disturbing episode, holding Sam’s steady attention and finishing with “Jake tells me that things like this occasionally happen.”

“You sound as though you don’t believe him.”

“I don’t believe this was an accident.”

Sam nodded and rubbed his chin. “I can understand your doubts, you being a foreigner to these parts and not familiar with the West. But Jake wasn’t lying about that fella over in Brownsville accidentally shooting the preacher. The bullet whizzed right through the house while the minister was eating supper. It shattered a pitcher of milk before lodging in his shoulder.

“And you don’t find that odd?”