Bogus Bride

A deep shudder ran through her body, and she knew she should have kept her mouth shut Why was she so cursed with vinegar on her tongue? Because she felt indignant and resentful about a woman she had never seen, that was no perverse reason to attack Samuel.

Caitlin glanced down at the narrow gold band on her finger, and her mouth set in a contrite curve. Poor Samuel. The linkage of his name with this mysterious Zoe had obviously caught him off guard, and his wife had driven him away with her petulance and sharp words.

It was just that the shock had staggered her to the core and scattered her sensibilities. And now, in the aftermath, she was embarrassed by the viciousness of her attack, ashamed for the way she had spoken to him. The destructive power of words was as deadly as a gun, she mused.

She clasped the crucifix that hung about her neck and promised that she would do penance for her faults the first chance she had. A week of celibacy should do it, she thought with a revival of humor.

Caitlin let out a little giggle at this absurdity. In the intoxication of her rage, she’d forgotten that, in his youth, Samuel had often been the prodigious clown. He would become embroiled in any foolish scrape, so that his father had dared not contemplate which tales were true and which were false.

Unexpectedly, a vivid memory of Samuel came to Caitlin…. It had been the feast of Saint Francis of Assisi. The blessing of the animals.

Poppies red against the white altar cloth, sunlight fanning through the stained-glass windows, reflections of gold and delicate rainbow hues spilling like treasure on the gray stone floor, worn over the centuries to the sheen of polished pewter. It was stuffy and airless in the church, and Caitlin wished they would open the door.

Heads were raised during the singing of the hymns and bowed during the blessing. The ceremony seemed to go on forever, with every parishioner bringing along some creature to be prayed over. It was so boring, until Samuel let the doctor’s white mice out of their cage right in the middle of the church service.

Later, when all the fuss was over, he excused himself, saying he’d thought it’d liven things up. Caitlin grinned. It sure did.

Farmer Johnson’s wife fainted away right there and then, and silly Margaret Reade climbed onto a pew and held her petticoats up so high that all the boys could see her drawers. Samuel and the other boys crawled round under the pews, ostensibly trying to catch the terrified mice, while getting a great lesson in what women wore under those voluminous skirts.

Later, saintly Caitryn stoutly agreed that Samuel deserved a medal for liberating the poor dumb animals. At the time, she cowered in the aisle with the other girls, gasping in horror, as if a great wickedness had been committed. It was foolish Caitlin who was caught standing with the open cage clutched between her hands and a guilty expression on her face.

Caitlin could picture Samuel plainly the moment he realized the enormity of his stunt, and somehow the memory of it now made her smile. He’d been parchment-white, his freckles bright as threepenny pieces on his face. But with an unflinching, reckless, scornful courage, he’d taken the empty cage from her, taking full blame for his actions.

“That was very stupid, Cat. My old man won’t like it one bit. I reckon he’ll just about raise the roof!”

Caitlin had stood in great anger against the wall. “Don’t speak to me, Samuel Jardine!” She had found it difficult to speak, knowing he would be beaten for his actions. “There’s nothing I want to say to you!”

She found a bright side to this unfortunate recollection. People did not change. Samuel was as honest now as he had been then. Would he have sent for her after all these years if he had another woman? Of course not!

A sly thought intruded, instinctive and unbidden. But what was the basis of these allegations? Truth? Fabrication? Both? Neither? she asked herself angrily.

In what manner had Samuel contributed to the sordid gossip? Surely the rumor could not be all fabrication?

Part of Caitlin was appalled at these pernicious thoughts. It was irrational. She knew it. But knowing didn’t stop the aggravation seething inside her. Somehow it seemed disloyal to Samuel to even consider such wicked notions.

Well, then, don’t think about such things! she berated herself.

Common sense reasserted itself. She reached down, picked up the candleholder from where it lay in silent reproach by the door and returned it to the narrow shelf. There was no point in wasting energy in worrying over false accusations. Work was always a panacea.

She untied the ribbons beneath her chin, pulled the dainty bonnet from her head, and tossed the frivolous confection onto her brass-studded trunk. Pulling up her sleeves, she set about making the tiny compartment comfortable.

Try as she might, while she folded linen industriously, her mind was elsewhere. How many times, as a young woman, had she dreamed her dreams and wondered what would happen if they came true? To be touched, to touch Samuel, to savor the textures of his hair and skin…

Caitlin shivered deep inside herself. She glanced at the narrow bunks, one above the other. Surely they could never, never be shared? That could not possibly be, she thought. Could what she had been told about the marriage act happen here? The thought sent a tiny thrill of excitement down her spine.

And what of Samuel? The brown, piercing eyes, as hot as the flame burning in the altar lamp—ah! Had she not looked into their depths and there read love for herself? Or had that been the product of her own imagination, a sort of wishful thinking on her part?

Stronger and stronger within her grew the certainty that she had already learned why Samuel acted as he did toward her. Little things. Simple things. The knowledge lurked somewhere inside her, hiding. Perhaps if she had eavesdropped longer, or even listened to the banker…

Somehow Samuel’s hesitation in greeting her at the dock now seemed ominous. She had put his odd behavior down to his nerves. To her excitement. She had thought she knew every passing mood of his tough, masculine features, but now she realized she did not know him at all.

Try as she might, she couldn’t dispel the thought. All because she had overheard a stupid conversation that was not intended for her ears, and which Samuel had claimed was false.

No. Samuel had not said that, another little voice whispered in her head. Samuel had simply made the disclaimer that this mysterious Zoe was not his mistress.

If the woman was not his mistress, who was she? And why was this unknown woman’s flamboyant name linked to Samuel’s in such a dishonorable way? That was what she’d wanted to ask, but she couldn’t. She was afraid to know the answer.

The nagging sense of feminine impotence began to irritate Caitlin. She sought to counter it in the only way she knew. She got angry again.

Damn Samuel for compromising himself like this, she thought fiercely. The idea infuriated her. He always had been a powerful fool, but he was not a simpleton.

Caitlin’s back teeth clenched in sudden tension as she deftly inspected the bundle of bed linens. If only the bunks were a decent wide double bed, with high pillows and enveloping sheets and blankets. She tried to ignore the discomfiting thoughts that washed through her, leaving her stranded with cold, solid facts.

The truth was, she was wicked and selfish, part of her admonished, while another part resented his leaving her here, alone in the cabin—even if she had provoked him and told him to go. As he had done once before. The world slid out from under her again in a belly-churning swoop and shudder.

Caitlin’s sensation of déjà vu was so strong that for a moment she staggered, and she had to grab the upright edge of the mahogany-and-brass trunk in order to keep herself from stumbling over the floorboards. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

Once before, Samuel had left her, and though she knew the circumstances had been different, still he had gone at her command. Now, after all these years, was history about to repeat itself?

For an instant, Caitlin closed her eyes and thought of nothing at all. Then she recalled what Dr. Jardine had told her about loving Samuel, and his son’s determination to do any outrageous thing that he willed, with no care for the cost.

There are times, Caitlin, when you gain more by letting go, William had told her when Samuel left Cornwall. You are young now, but believe it or not, you will be glad Samuel has chosen his own path. It may be unfortunate, but one must at times make compromises, painful and uncertain though they may be.

Recalling William Jardine’s homily, Caitlin made a conscious effort to put aside her indignation. How could she speculate on Samuel’s former exploits? How could she believe a hot-blooded man hadn’t taken care of his needs? Better men than he had buckled under the strain of living in the wilderness.

Whatever she might wish, Samuel was a man among men, and he put his all into everything he did. He would get over her harsh words, she tried to convince herself. After all, there was no smoke without fire. And she hadn’t forced him into marriage, had she? He had no choice but to brazen the thing out.

It was all his fault, anyway. Let him straighten it out.

Another dark and disturbing realization struck Caitlin. It was just her pride that had been touched. It simply galled her pride to have her husband’s name denigrated. The Jardine name meant something in Cornwall. She meant to see that it remained that way.

With a shudder, Caitlin turned away from her thoughts, finished tidying the cabin, and glared at the door. She was angry at herself. She had never considered herself an intolerant woman, or an uncharitable one, and she found she was extremely discomfited by this sudden bitterness.

A noise at the door, footsteps and muffled laughter, tore her thoughts from the dark route they had taken. She straightened and went to peer along the dim passageway. Nothing unusual. Nothing at all.

Caitlin stared blindly in the direction her husband had gone. She wanted him—his closeness, his warmth, his strength, his immense desirability. How could she pretend otherwise? It had never, ever crossed her mind that she would travel three thousand miles to argue with her beloved Samuel within twenty-four hours.

She wanted to shout, in a frenzy. Instead, she must act the complacent little wife. She would not give the gossip-mongers the satisfaction of knowing they had created a rift between herself and her husband.

Devious adversaries demanded devious measures. Somehow, she must give Samuel time to consider and to reflect that she, Caitlin Jardine, was here, and that anything that had gone before was over.

Caitlin stood at the door, put on her bonnet and tied the broad green ribbons decisively beneath her chin. She had a plan. Her blood began to sing. It felt good to have a purpose again, to be caught up in stratagem and challenge, to have a cause to follow.

She would take one step at a time. She hurried past the cabin where they’d heard the laughter and wicked slander.

It was not long before she began to wonder if even one step at a time would prove to be too much. The moist, humid atmosphere wrapped itself around her like a damp towel as she stepped out of the dark passageway.

Above, the vast bowl of the sky, a breathtaking blue so lucid it seemed infinite, reflected itself in the sunlit water. It wasn’t just that it was hot; it was the humidity that made it uncomfortable. The deck smelled of humanity, and bilge water, and tar.