The Bride

Now he went to her, squatting beside her as she attempted to awaken, rubbing her eyes with long, slender fingers, then, threading those same fingers through her hair, bringing it to some semblance of order. “I have no brush and my clothing is soiled,” she said softly. “Is there any way I can find something clean to wear?”

He wished for a moment he could wave his hand and create all she needed, bring to view the clothing she might wear, the hot water she might use for a bath. But there was no point in being foolish, he decided, for this morning was reality and what he considered was but a luxury he had no way of providing.

“We’ll stop in the next village and find you something to wear,” he said, compromising a bit. “There should be a general store, somewhere we can find food, perhaps a hotel or restaurant of some sort.” He bent to her and pulled the blanket from her, revealing the gray dress she wore, rucked up now about her thighs, exposing her legs to his view. She flushed, her hands moving quickly to pull the fabric down, unwilling to allow his eyes to dwell on her limbs.

“I’ll help you up,” he offered, clasping her hands in his and pulling her to her feet, rising before her as he did so. She swayed for a moment, and he held her firmly, lest she fall. “We’ll go downstairs into the barn, and I’ll send Manuel to see if the pump works at the watering trough.”

She only nodded, as if speech were beyond her this morning, and turned to climb down the ladder to the floor below. He followed her, watched as Manuel grasped her arm, helping her down the last rung of the ladder. Noting his quick look of reproof, Manuel shot him an apologetic glance and backed away, bowing a bit.

“I’ll see to the pump.” Scooping up a canteen from his saddle, Manuel went outdoors to where the pitcher pump was bolted onto the end of the trough. He allowed a cupful or so of water to trickle into the opening at the top and then took the handle in his other hand and put his strength behind his actions, pumping vigorously for a moment. In less time than she’d expected, Isabella saw a stream of water run out into the trough, and heard Manuel’s shout of success.

She went across the yard, bent low to scoop the water that flowed into her hands, then brought it to her mouth, drinking deeply of the clear liquid. Again she waited as a double handful filled her cupped palms, and again she drank. A third time, she bent low and splashed water over her face, running her hands through her hair, dampening the waves and curls to discourage their tendency to fly free of restraint.

With quick movements of her fingers, she braided the length of hair, twisting a bit of twine around the end of the braid. Her clothing was splattered with water, but she cared little for appearances, noting that clean water would certainly not harm the dirt she’d accumulated over the past twenty-four hours. Her habit was soiled, wrinkled and not fit to wear, but it was all she possessed for the moment, and until Rafael McKenzie could find something else for her use, it would have to do.

From the barn behind her, the men led their horses, saddled them quickly and waited for Rafael to mount his own stallion before they took their places. He swept himself up into the saddle easily, then looked to where Isabella watched him, her eyes wary of the horse who pranced and tossed his head.

“Come.” He held out his hand to her and waited. Lest she make him angry, she walked closer to the horse, leaving room for a quick escape should the animal offer her any harm. “Give me your hand,” Rafael said, the words an order he obviously meant for her to obey, for his own gloved hand reached for her.

He’d buried his head in the watering trough, and the result allowed her to see clearly the shape of his skull, the dark hair fitting closely to each curve of his head, his face gleaming in the sunshine from the water he’d splashed on every available surface he could reach. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his arms still damp from the bath he’d given himself, and she thought he was a man to be feared, his face sharp and graven, his jaw firm, his eyes deeply set and flaring with messages she did not comprehend. He wore a rough beard, showing no signs of a razor this morning, and she remembered the feel of his face against hers during the night, when he’d bent low and brushed her cheek with his own, his whiskers scratching against her skin.

A blush covered her cheeks, and she felt its heat sear her flesh, knew his amusement was directed at her as he snapped his fingers and held out his palm in her direction. “Come to me, Isabella. I grow impatient.”

Lest he be angered, she lifted her hand to his and felt his grip on her wrist. He lifted her, his other hand reaching to hold her waist, and with an easy shifting of his body in the saddle, he lifted her to sit before him, in the same position she had endured the day before. She moved a bit, trying for a softer place for her bottom, but there was no pillow of softness between her and the tough muscular legs he offered as a lap.

With a sigh of resignation, she leaned back against his chest and rested there as he would have her. A sound that might have signified satisfaction breathed in her ear and he picked up the reins, his horse moving to walk down the lane to where the tracks led to the next village.

He seemed to know where he was going and she decided there was no point in making a fuss today, or she might not find herself the possessor of clean clothing or food for her breakfast. If he’d left her at the convent, she’d have fresh clothing on today and have already partaken of the lukewarm porridge at the table with her peers. Now, it seemed she was a whole lifetime away from the convent, and the thought of what lay ahead of her today caused a chill to travel the length of her spine.

Chapter Five

“YOU’RE QUIET, ISABELLA. Have you decided to be a good girl today?” She thought his words were deliberately snide and glanced back at his face, hoping to catch a look of superiority on it. No such luck, she thought glumly, for he only smiled at her and squeezed her with his left arm around her waist.

“I’m hungry, and my clothing is dirty, and being a good girl is beyond my capabilities right now,” she said, as if it were his place to supply her needs and cater to her moods. And indeed it was, so far as she was concerned.

Ahead of them lay a quiet village, smoke rising from chimneys, the small houses lining both sides of the road as they neared the area where dogs and horses, accompanied by the men who owned them, lined the boardwalks before the stores. Hitching rails were handy and the reins of several horses were twined around the simple accommodations.

“We’ll go into the general store,” Rafael said quietly. “I expect you to mind your manners and be silent,” he told Isabella, lifting her down from his saddle and following her as she smoothed her skirts and tried without success to brush away some of the wrinkles. “Can I depend on you to not make a fuss? Or shall I leave you out here with Manuel?”

“You take a chance either way,” she answered, glaring at him. The man was treating her like a child and she was becoming more angry by the minute. “If you don’t take me into the store with you, I’ll make a fuss out here that will bring the law down on you, and you’d better believe me. I’m at the end of my rope and I don’t care what happens at this point.”

He bent his head and spoke softly, so that only she could hear his words. “You’ll behave yourself, or I’ll treat you as I would a child, and you’ll find yourself turned over my knee and your bare bottom will feel the flat of my hand.” He held her shoulders in his harsh grip and she lifted her gaze to meet his, finding no sign there of the man who had been so tender during the night.

“Do we understand each other?” he asked, and she could only nod.

Her eyes filled with angry tears and she shed her fear of him in that small movement. “I doubt that anyone has ever felt such hatred for you as I do now,” she whispered. Her shoulders straightened and she held her head high, almost as if daring his reprisal. It was not to be.

“I’ll take you with me, Isabella,” he said quietly, one hand on her forearm, holding her before him. “We’ll find clothing for you and food to last until tomorrow. Don’t make me regret trusting you this far.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over her face, noting the tears that still left runnels down her cheeks. One hand lifted to touch the salty drops and he wiped them with his index finger. “I think you cry from anger. Am I right?’

She pressed her lips together, fighting the recurrence of the tears that plagued her. Her head nodded once, a brief acknowledgment of his words.

He smiled, a compassionate expression that warmed her, and then he turned her to the double doors that opened into the general store. She stepped up onto the sidewalk and walked beside him, her arm in a grip that promised retribution should she not cooperate.

Rafael opened the door and she walked over the sill, his big body pressing against her back, then taking his place at her side once they had gained the open floor leading to the counter. A man stood there, his eyes half-lowered, his mouth pursed as if he did not like the looks of his customers, but was too smart and anxious for their coin to make a fuss.

“What can I help you with?” he asked, his voice gruff, his eyes intent on Isabella, no doubt wondering at the soiled and wrinkled clothing she wore. “Something for the lady?”

“My wife needs some clothing. We left her case behind and she has need of a skirt and blouse, or perhaps a dress.” Rafael, not at a loss for words, lied fluently, his smile obliging as he held Isabella close to his side.

“Any particular color, ma’am?” the storekeeper asked, his gaze still intent on Isabella and her dull gray garb.

She shook her head. “Anything will do. Just something comfortable for me to change into.”

He reached behind him for a glass bin, one containing dresses of various colors. One, a medium blue with white lace and a heavy flounce around the hem, was on top of the stack and he picked it up and shook it out before him.

“Looks about your size, ma’am,” he said nicely. “Would you like to try it on?”

Isabella shook her head, and held out her hand for the dress. Without argument, the storekeeper gave it to her and she held it up before herself, holding the waist against her middle and looking down to gauge the size.

“This one will do,” she said quietly. “It may be a bit large, but that’s all right.”

“Let’s see another in the same size,” Rafael said sharply. “She’ll need more than one dress.”

Without pause, the storekeeper brought out another dress, this one made of medium green fabric, with flowers scattered across the skirt and bodice alike. It had short sleeves and a full skirt, and Isabella nodded to Rafael, agreeing to its purchase.

He motioned toward Manuel. “Wait over there, please, Isabella,” he instructed her, nudging her in the direction he’d chosen.

Without pause, he drew a leather purse from his pocket and paid what the shopkeeper asked, speaking quietly as he watched the man fold the two dresses neatly and wrap them in a length of brown paper. Without pause, the storekeeper reached for another glass bin and slipped a garment from it, stowing it between the dresses before he tied the bundle with a bit of string.

“Now, food for our travel, if you please,” Rafael said, pointing at a large round of cheese on the counter. “Give us three pounds of the cheese and some of the smoked sausage in that glass jar. A couple of pounds will do.” He looked around at the food displayed on the countertop and motioned toward loaves of bread. “Three loaves of bread and that box of cookies next to the bread.”

“Mrs. Hancock bakes the cookies for us twice a week. Mighty good cook, that Mrs. Hancock,” the storekeeper said cheerfully. “Anything else, sir?” He finished wrapping the bread and tied the bundle off neatly. The cheese was wrapped in a bit of cheesecloth and then in a towel, and the sausage was put into a metal tin.

“Coffee,” Rafael said briefly. “A pound or so.”

He watched as the man measured out the ground coffee into a white cotton bag and tied the neck with a string.

“That’ll do,” Rafael said, paying again from his leather pouch.

From across the room where she waited with Manuel, Isabella shifted and tugged to free her arm from the other man’s grip. He looked down at her with a glance of warning, and as if Rafael saw and deciphered the small altercation he called out to her. “Did you want something else, sweet?”

She ceased her struggle and shook her head. “Just something to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“I’ve got sarsaparilla in bottles,” the storekeeper said helpfully. “Maybe the lady would like that.”

Rafael looked across at Isabella and she nodded. In moments, he’d offered it to her and she held the brown bottle in her hand, her brow furrowed with puzzlement. Smiling with understanding, Rafael took it from her and lifted the cap with a twist, then handed it back. She drank from the bottle—obviously something to which she was unaccustomed—and her tongue licked the final drops from her lower lip.

“Should have put it into a glass for you,” Rafael whispered in her ear, bending over to take the bottle from her and lifting it to his mouth for a swallow. “We’ll share,” he said softly, and his eyes sparkled with mischief as he drank from the place where her lips had so recently touched.