Lonesome Bride Read online

  He forced Caite upright and pointed her toward the wardrobe. Keeping the knife against her, he let go of her arm and swung the door open wide enough to reach inside. He tugged one of her dresses from the hook and tossed it at her, so she had to catch it or have it hit her in the face.

  "Yes, I'm carrying Jed's child,” Caite whispered, aware of the irony in her hushed tones. A single cry would alert the rest of the household, but she was too afraid to scream, lest Hammond's knife make good on his threat. If she had only her welfare to think about, she might have risked it, but the babe inside her womb deserved more caution. “Surely you cannot wish to marry me knowing that, Hammond."

  Hammond sneered. “Put the dress on, Caitleen."

  She began to do as he ordered, her heart thumping wildly. He had taken the knife away so she could pull the cloth over her head. She could strike him with something, and run out...

  "Don't think about screaming or running away, dear one,” Hammond told her. “I've got my blade pointed directly at that swelling belly of yours. One move or peep out of you, and you'll find yourself holding your babe long before you'd planned."

  Caite repressed a shudder, her blood turning to ice. Hammond meant what he said. She thought of how charming he had been at supper, and cursed herself for falling prey to his tricks.

  "In answer to your question,” Hammond continued calmly, as she buttoned her dress with trembling fingers, “I don't give a pair of prancing ponies about the bastard in your womb. Oh, I shall admit I'm disappointed I won't be the first to plant myself between those luscious thighs, but I'll still find some good use for you. It'll be several months before you start to swell anyway, and by that time, I'm sure I'll have moved to greener pastures."

  He smiled at her, his eyes cold. “Besides we may get lucky. The hard riding might be too much for you, then your delicate condition won't be a problem any longer."

  Caite's fingers clenched on the fabric of her skirt. His casual cruelty sickened her. “Why marry me at all, Hammond?"

  He leaned in close to her, so close she could smell the mint and whiskey on his breath. “Because I took everything else of value Desmond O'Neal had, and you're all that's left. You, and that house. By marrying you, I get both."

  "What makes you hate my father so much?” She asked.

  Hammond gave her a snide, cold grin. “When I was a younger man, your father promised to hire me in one of his shops. Promised to take me on as a partner. Instead, he ended up losing that shop in a poker game. Ironic, isn't it?"

  "That seems hardly enough reason to hate a person,” Caite said.

  "Because I didn't get that job, or that partnership, and therefore, the income, I was unable to ask for the hand of the young woman I wanted to wed.” Hammond's eyes went distant for a moment before he locked his glaring gaze on her again. “She married someone else."

  "She mustn't have loved you,” was all Caite could think of to say.

  It was the wrong thing. Hammond's lips pulled back in a silent growl, and he waved the knife at her again. “Shut up!"

  "No one will believe I went with you willingly,” Caite declared, lifting her chin at him. No matter how frightened she might be, she would never let him know it.

  "They will when they see the note you've left them, telling them how you changed your mind and eloped with me after all."

  Caite shook her head. “I will not write any such thing."

  Hammond tutted, pouting at her. “My dear, my dear. Must you be so tiresome? Must I explain the situation to you over and over? I'd given you credit for more intelligence than that."

  He punctuated every statement with the tiniest jab of the knife, each one coming closer to some part of her. Her arms, her chest, her belly all cringed away from the point of the blade. Hammond's pouting mouth thinned into a grimace.

  "You'll write that note, in your finest hand, or I'll cut you from throat to navel like a pig for slaughter."

  "You ... you would never get away,” Caite whispered sickly.

  Hammond's grimacing smile grew almost cheery. “That, my dear, is a chance I'm willing to take."

  * * * *

  Jed stared up at the stars. Sleep had been impossible with all the thoughts whirling around in his brain. He had given up trying finally, and come out here to lay back in the grass with his hands behind his head. Looking up into the night sky, seeing all those glittering points of light, sure had a funny way of making a fellow realize just how small he was.

  And how short life was, too. Too short to waste time being unhappy. Caite makes me happy, Jed thought. Happier than he'd ever been. Heck, even when they were fighting, just the sight of her smile could make his anger roll away like clouds after a storm.

  "I love her,” Jed announced to the night, to the scattering of stars. “I love Caitleen O'Neal."

  He had loved Patricia, and had not been loved in return. His fear of being hurt again had kept him from telling Caite the truth of his feelings. He had been willing to marry her, but not to trust her.

  As Jed looked up into dark-velvet sky, he realized just how puny and silly his fears seemed against the vastness of the heavens. I was a coward, he thought. Afraid to take a chance on the most beautiful and wonderful woman he would ever meet, and all because one woman had not had enough love in her to share any with him.

  It was time he stopped thinking so much about one woman who had not loved him, Jed decided, and started concentrating on making things right with the woman who did. Caite did love him. He was certain of that now. He had been blind and stupid to ignore the way her eyes shone when she looked at him, and the way her lips had curved into the smile she reserved solely for him. He had been too afraid to admit he saw those signs, but that would change.

  He would go back to Heatherfield tomorrow, with no excuses for doing so, either. He would return to find Caitleen and tell her the truth. He wanted her to be his wife because he loved her.

  * * * *

  Caite's hand shook as she dipped the pen into the ink, but she willed it steady. Hammond had already cursed her for ruining the first note with blotches of ink. The side of her neck just under her ear still stung from the prick of his knife.

  "Happy handwriting,” he growled. “Pretend you're so in love with me the words fairly write themselves."

  Caite took down the words Hammond told her. She had reconsidered, she wrote. Dear Drake had so charmed her, she had seen the folly of her ways and decided to go with him to Lonesome. She had not woken anyone because they were so eager to be off, and she did not wish to disturb anyone's slumber.

  As she signed the horrible letter, Hammond planted a kiss on her cheek. It took every ounce of will not to shudder at his touch. Instead, she handed him the note as calmly as she could.

  "Wonderful,” Hammond praised, scanning the words. “I especially love the part about how you had only just now realized how charming I was. It's a lovely touch."

  Caite said nothing. If the hate in her eyes had been bullets in a gun, Hammond would have been shot right through his forehead. As it was, he merely tutted at her again, clearly enjoying the way he was affecting her.

  "Come along, Caitleen,” he told her, forcing her into the kitchen.

  Instead of bringing the note as she had hoped, he left it in plain sight upon her desk. Not hidden, which would make the finder of it suspicious, but not where anyone would find it right away. Everyone had been so solicitous of her lately, it was more likely no one would even think to wake her before noon. No one would even know she was gone until then, and by that time, only God and Hammond knew where they would be.

  Hammond pressed one finger to his lips to indicate her silence. Caite, mindful of his threats against the child she so loved already, obeyed. The pair exited the house out the back door, Hammond carefully closing it behind them so it would not bang.

  There's not even a dog to bark and warn any one of our presence, Caite thought in despair as Hammond pointed her toward the barn. His fine white horse had been bedded dow