Marrying the Major

“He bucked me off!”

“Yes,” the major said gently. “He became tangled in a branch and startled.”

That voice … He could have gentled the wildest of creatures with that tone, the singsong of his accent. Suddenly she wanted to cry. She didn’t blame the major for Cairo getting spooked, but neither would she forget that she’d fallen. She’d trusted him and suffered for it. Not only could she have drowned, but also he might have been harmed trying to save her.

“Accidents happen,” she said bitterly. “I’m well aware of that.”

“Yes,” he said. “I apologize again. If you’ll allow me to walk you to the shore, we’ll rest for a bit while you dry off.”

She didn’t want to rest only to struggle through a long, tiring journey when the rest was over. She wanted to be safe and dry in a home of her own. She wanted an ordinary life in a place where she belonged. But she couldn’t have any of that. She only had herself. Ignoring his offered hand, she met his gaze. “Thank you, Major. But I can manage.”

She gathered her wet skirts and trudged to the shore, walking slightly upriver and feeling the tug of the current. He came up beside her but didn’t speak. After she’d gone twenty paces, each more draining than the last, he looped his arm around her waist. She felt secure. She felt protected. And she was madder than a wet hen that she wanted to be more than a governess, more than an employee and a woman who’d fallen in the river.

As they slogged through the current, Major Smith acknowledged Jon with a reassuring wave. Mounted on Grandma, Jon recrossed the river to fetch Bessie and the packhorses, leaving Caroline and the major to make their way to the shore. When they reached the bank, he stepped away from her. Except for Cairo tied to a willow, they were alone. Caroline shivered with the chill. As soon as Jon brought the packhorses, she’d put on dry clothes.

With his back to her, Major Smith opened the medical bag to check the quinine. She thought of the picture of Charles. He’d see it. Good, she thought. If he had questions, he could ask. If he had prejudices, she wanted to know it.

“Is the quinine safe?” she asked.

“Yes.” He looked deeper in the case. “Your photograph is unharmed, as well.”

Would he ask who was in the picture? Did he expect her to give details that were none of his business? When he turned and looked into her eyes, she felt like a private in the presence of a general, but she refused either to cower or snap to attention.

Major Smith spoke first. “I was an officer in the West India Regiment. Have you heard of it?”

“No, sir.”

“The West India Regiment is part of the regular British Army. It’s led by men like myself, sons of England—” he said England as if it tasted bad “—but the soldiers are locals from the Caribbean Islands. They’re free black men, Miss Bradley. I don’t know who the gentlemen in your photograph is or what he means to you, but I presume he is—or was—someone important to you.”

She’d been expecting rejection, prejudice. Instead she’d found another reason to like Major Smith. Wondering if the day could get any worse, she looked into his eyes and saw a loyalty that stole her breath, leading her to open her heart. “Charles was my husband. He died seven years ago.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“He was lynched,” she said before she could stop herself. “It was ugly and violent, and I saw it happen. That’s why I’m afraid of horses. The men who did it put him on a broken-down nag. Someone told me later they didn’t intend to kill Charles. They just wanted to scare him.” Her voice dropped to a hush. “They wanted to scare me, too. But the horse went wild. It bucked and Charles … died.”

Major Smith held her gaze. “I’ve seen men die. It changes a person.”

“Yes.”

“And I’ve lost my wife,” he added. “That changes a man, as well.”

Caroline nodded because she truly understood. “I’m sorry for your loss, Major Smith.”

“Likewise, Caroline.”

He’d left off the “Miss,” a fitting acknowledgment of the new accord between them. He also pronounced her name Caro-line. Most people called her Caro-lyn. It made her feel different from the woman she’d always been.

They looked at each other a long time, then both turned away to remember or think. Caroline was surprised at the sudden sense of kinship she felt with this man who had seemed at first to be so brusque and domineering. There was a kindness to him she hadn’t expected. It was enough to make her hope that this journey hadn’t been a mistake. Perhaps she truly had found a place where she could belong.

Still, she wouldn’t get her hopes up yet. She knew too well how badly it would hurt if they were dashed once more.

To her relief, Jon arrived with Bessie and the packhorses. Her sister slid off the mare, ran to Caroline and hugged her. “You could have drowned.”

“Or been trampled,” she added.

“Let’s get you in dry clothes,” Bessie said firmly. “Then you can put the scare out of your mind.”

Caroline agreed about needing dry clothes, but she doubted today’s ordeal would ever leave her thoughts. Somewhere between one side of the river and the other, she’d seen a new side of a man with whom she had believed she had nothing in common, a man from another class and another continent … a man who might finally be able to give her a home. It was a heady and frightening thought. Shivering, she went with Bessie to find a private spot to change. It was a long way to Wheeler Springs. She dreaded getting back on a horse, but she’d be fine with Bessie and Grandma. As for Major Smith and Cairo, the horse scared her and so did the man.

When the women were out of sight, Tristan thought of his own wet clothes. He was soaked to his thighs, but the sun and constant wind would dry the fabric. Feverish or not, he was more concerned about getting Caroline to Wheeler Springs without another incident. She’d most likely want to ride with her sister on Grandma, but Tristan had experience with both fear and horses. Fear had to be faced, and horses had to be controlled. Caroline had to get back on Cairo or her fear would fester. It had nothing to do with any wish on his part to keep the lady close, of course. No, he was convinced it was simply the logical response any employer might have toward a phobia on the part of a brave, stubborn, lovely employee. Turning to Jon, he saw his friend retying the bundle of clothing. “Caroline’s badly shaken,” he said. “But she needs to ride with me, at least for a time.”

“I suppose so,” Jon agreed.

“Of all the fool things,” Tristan muttered. “Cairo’s good in water. That branch came out of nowhere.”

“We almost had two women in the river.” Jon’s brows lifted with admiration. “I had to stop her sister from going in after her.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“I did.” Jon’s lips tipped into a smile. “You’re a good judge of character, Tristan. The Bradleys are exceptional women. I expected the nurse to be a dour sort, but she’s quite pleasant.”

Tristan thought about his plan to match his friend with Caroline. Jon and Bessie were closer in age and possibly in temperament. The nurse would make a fine substitute mother, but he wanted his children to have someone young and spirited, someone more like Molly … someone with the courage to buck convention. Molly had done it when she’d defied her family and joined him in the West Indies. Caroline had done it when she’d married a black man.

Normally reticent, Tristan wouldn’t have mentioned the photograph but he’d been surprised. He’d also been impressed by the defiant tilt of her chin. She was exactly the kind of mother he wanted for his children. If not for the malaria, he’d have been looking forward to riding with her on Cairo. Instead he found himself glaring at Jon.

His friend shot him a concerned glance. “You’re looking rather dour, yourself. Are you feeling ill?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re always fine,” Jon said, mocking him. “If you’re not up to ferrying a frightened woman, I’m sure the Bradleys would do well on Grandma.”

Common sense told Tristan to agree. Male pride made him frown at Jon. “If the day comes that I can’t handle a horse, I’ll be ready for the grave.”

“I didn’t mean the horse,” Jon said rather cheekily. “I meant the woman.”

Tristan glared at him.

“You seem to be getting along quite well,” Jon said too casually. “She’s quite pretty, though of course you didn’t notice.”

Of course Tristan had noticed, but a man in poor health had no business courting a woman’s affections. He was about to suggest Jon take Caroline on Grandma when the women approached from the bushes. Caroline had fashioned her hair into a braid and looped it around her head in a crown of sorts. The sun glinted off the dampness, giving it a sparkle. She’d put on an old calico, a gown he guessed to be comfortable and a favorite. She looked none the worse for wear. In fact, she looked lovely with flushed cheeks and a determined lift of her chin.

When the women reached the horses, she addressed him directly. “We’re ready, Major.”

“Yes, I see.”

She turned to Grandma, where Jon was waiting to help Bessie into the saddle. His friend lifted a brow at Tristan, questioning him about the riding arrangements.

Tristan cleared his throat. “You’ll be riding with me.”