Christina Rich - The Negotiated Marriage

“Sometimes I wonder if you enjoy having the Northrops over.”

Camy’s eyes grew wide. “Absolutely not! Besides, Mr. Murray carried the rifle and the bucket of water. I tried to warn him about the trap, but he didn’t listen.”

“He doesn’t seem like the kind of man to take orders kindly.” The table groaned under Ellie’s scrubbing.

“Orders?” She had been quite rude to him, and she had demanded he stop when she could easily have told him about the trap. She wouldn’t be sitting here wounded, and Duncan wouldn’t be out coveting her land. Camy glanced at the weathered door and wondered if he’d decided to return to where he’d come from. Disappointment tickled her nose, as she’d like to interrogate the man Hamish had chosen for her. Was he a farmer or just a man hoping to tame the wild countryside? It was just as well, even if she worried over his shoeless feet and the bumps on his head. “I clearly thought to warn Mr. Murray, not give him orders.”

“As I recall—” Duncan’s voice rumbled into the cabin. A brisk wind blew in with him, proving the morning’s warm spring rain had given way to the cold.

Camy eased to a proper sitting position, careful not to cause any more discomfort than she already experienced.

“—you demanded me to stop.” Duncan Murray’s shadow loomed over her as he moved closer, quickening her pulse. The smell of rain and freshly churned earth danced around her with each of his movements. She’d make a year’s worth of pies to have her spectacles at this moment, to see the contours of his hardened jaw, to see how the rain fashioned his russet curls. Camy’s cheeks warmed as she sensed his gaze on her.

“I could not find Hamish.” He laid the rifle on Ellie’s clean table and received an irritated huff from her sister. “Where would you like the bucket of water?”

“Right here is fine.” Ellie snagged the rifle, her skirts swishing across the room. Camy heard it settle on the rack beside the door, and then Ellie once again began scrubbing the table.

“Don’t mind her. Ellie doesn’t like the Northrops and one of them is on his way.”

“I don’t dislike them, Camy. Well, not all of them.” Ellie’s voice softened to a near whisper and the scrubbing abruptly halted.

“Anytime we need a doctor, Ellie scours every nook and cranny.”

“Which seems to only be when Camy has an accident. I’ve considered sending her to live with the Northrops to save us all the bother.”

“I would never forgive you!”

“I know. And I would never wish it on anyone, not even Levina Smith.”

Camy smiled at Ellie’s teasing. Levina had done all she could to turn the eye of at least one Northrop, particularly Ellie’s former beau. “No doubt, Levina would enjoy residing with the doctors.”

“Does she have accidents often?” Although Duncan spoke to her sister, Camy sensed his gaze on her.

“Not Levina.” Camy giggled. “Never once have I seen her falter. She glides across the floor with the grace of a queen and sips her tea without an unladylike slurp.”

Certainly jealousy hadn’t taken a foothold in her thoughts. Not of Levina. Just because Camy couldn’t walk across the room with stacks of books on her head didn’t mean anything. There were plenty of things Camy could do that Levina could not. Embroider without poking a finger, cook and plow a field. Those were practical things, things that would allow Camy independence to survive without a husband, not foolish things like useless chatter about the latest fashions and the weather that caused a man’s eyes to cross and his mind to go numb in utter boredom. “Did I mention Levina bats her lashes in precise intervals?” Camy blinked and counted the required one, two count and blinked again for effect.

Duncan burst into laughter and then cleared his throat. “Exact intervals? Do ladies have a book for such things?”

“That, Mr. Murray, is a secret best kept.” Ellie’s mood lightened. “Besides, we’ve only heard tales of such a book.”

“Tales spun by Mrs. Smith and her daughters,” Camy mumbled beneath her breath.

“To answer your question,” Ellie continued, “Camy does have a way of finding trouble when none should be had.”

“Like today?” Duncan chuckled.

“Yes,” Ellie answered. “Although I must say this is a first, as I’ve never recalled her having an accomplice.”

“That is not so.” Camy dipped her head to hide the embarrassment staining her cheeks as she recalled the time her sisters talked her into climbing a tree. “What about the time you told me Red had climbed the tree and couldn’t get down?” She glanced at Duncan. “Red was an old tomcat, so old we made up stories about how he’d been on the boat with Noah. He couldn’t climb over a pebble, let alone up a tree. In my worry, I never once thought my sisters were telling a tale.”

“Oh, we weren’t. I promise. Red had climbed the tree like a spry wildcat. Of course that was after Mara had dunked him in the water bucket to give him a bath. How were we supposed to know he’d gotten himself down while we fetched you?”

“It sounds as if you’re quite the adventurer, Camy.”

“Quite.” Ellie laughed. “The exact reason the Northrops visit us often.”

“At least, I’ll be saved the sight of whoever attends me, even if I have to suffer their poking.”

“Oh. I found these.” Duncan lifted her chin with the pad of his thumb and then brushed the tips of her ears as he settled her wire rims into place.

Camy sucked in a breath as the lines of his face and the dusting of his dark beard came into focus. Or was it from the warmth of his fingers as they curved around her ears? The dark shadow gracing the curve of his jaw illuminated the gold flecks vibrating in the bed of his moss-colored eyes. Dark-colored curls clinging to his brow and curling near his collar dripped droplets of rain. She could have stared at him for hours, learning every detail, as if he hadn’t already been branded into her thoughts. He’d make a fine husband. Too bad she would never be agreeable to the idea.

He glanced at her wound and then rubbed his palm over his prickly jaw. “My apologies for what happened at the creek. I should have listened to your warning.”

A flutter swirled deep within her chest, a desire to have a husband as handsome as him, to be a wife. A mother. Her thoughts trailed into dangerous territory. She’d be a rabbit thoroughly caught in a trap if she didn’t remove Duncan from her presence. A rabbit chasing a carrot never to be had. No doubt, Duncan had plenty of ladies vying for his attentions, ladies much more efficient at balancing books on their heads. “My th-thanks.”

She tore her gaze from him and stared at the fire. Her heart cracked a little with each snap of an ember. Her faults would keep her from finding a decent husband, just as they had kept her and her sisters from having a father to love them and protect them. It had been one of her many accidents that had propelled her father to rid himself of his daughters. Did Hamish think to buy her a husband with her land because she couldn’t find one any other way? Camy wasn’t foolish enough to believe loyalty could be purchased. It had never worked with her father on the rare occasions he’d visited.

Duncan nodded. “Your spectacles must have flown off before you started downriver. I’m just glad I found them.”

“I cannot marry you.”

“I know.” He opened the faded blue curtains Ellie had made from one of their old dresses and propped his shoulder against the frame.

“Then why are you still here?”

Looking at her, he held her gaze for a moment. “I keep my word.” He glanced out the window. “It looks as if you have company.”