Emily French - Bogus Bride

She danced across the threshold on eager little feet and took in the room in one glance: the cracked stone floor, the peeling paper on the walls, the armchairs with the stuffing oozing from torn leather like purulent wounds, the shelves stacked with interesting bottles, and mysterious odds and ends strewn over the table. She glanced at William, at Samuel, then grinned and came forward with a little hop, skip and bounce.

Caitlin halted in front of Samuel. She made a sympathetic murmur, then hid her mouth behind one hand. “You sound as though you were on the losing end of the argument.”

Samuel made no attempt at reply. He froze inwardly. Green eyes. He had never seen green eyes before. He searched those bright, intelligent eyes, transfixed.

Tense silence fell.

Samuel realized that he was holding his breath and staring, and he let air out deliberately and breathed in again. A new voice, unmistakably feminine, distracted him.

“Cat?” A beat of silence, then the sound of feet approaching the door. The lyrical sound of a young girl’s soprano floated through the open shutter. “Cat? Where are you?”

Dark lashes lowered to partially conceal the green gaze Caitlin took a step, stopped, and said over her shoulder “It’s safe, Cait. You can come in.” It was her expression that told Samuel she was far from pleased about something

There was the sound of feet. Caitryn crept in like a frightened mouse. She was like an angel, a real-life cherub with fair ringlets, great blue eyes and dimpled cheeks. She looked at Samuel. Then she lowered her eyes from his face and quickly looked away, as if it hurt her to look at him.

Not so the bold Caitlin. That one took a step closer. She scanned his father’s rooms. There was a sense of reckless energy about Caitlin, a dynamic, almost rash force that Samuel later came to understand, was an intrinsic part of her nature.

“Oh, how disappointing. I thought there would be blood and guts everywhere. Being a doctor’s surgery, and all that.” The surprise in her tone was obvious.

Samuel made a soft noise of disbelief. William Jardine crossed his arms. He fixed a forbidding stare on Caitlin Her heavy, dark hair had escaped its ribbons and was lying tossed and untidy in joyous disarray across her shoulder. She did a little jig—like an intoxicated little bird.

William snorted and glanced around his chamber. There was a line, thin and deep as a knife cut, between his eyebrows. He stroked his beard. “It lacks a woman’s touch. My wife is dead. Which is why my son neglects his chores,” he replied brutally.

His heavy face looked as if it had been carved in wood, so still and stern it seemed. It was an expression that brought excuses immediately to Samuel’s lips.

“It is clean—only a little untidy,” Samuel said, bravado elevating his chin. He knew he sounded insolent, but he could not help himself.

Caitlin seemed not to notice the threatening atmosphere. She treated William with a casual irreverence that Samuel could only marvel at, and certainly could not hope to imitate.

“I am Caitlin Parr. This is Caitryn, my sister. The squire would not be averse if your son joined us for lessons, Dr. Jardine. He says all children should have regular lessons. Our tutor knows Latin and Greek, and Mama would see that he changes his shirt and bathes frequently. It would be good for him.” She spoke primly. Even at nine years, her clear brain led her to make an unerring attack upon the paternal sense of duty.

Samuel had stood there, crimson-cheeked with mortification. He studied the rather grim expression on his father’s face, and decided that the girl’s preposterous suggestion was being considered very seriously, as if there were some question about whether or not it would be accepted. He shrugged. It was all one to him. He didn’t care.

“Caitlin and Caitryn. Too much alike. Cat and Cait. Too confusing,” Samuel said, determined to be perverse. He knew he was beginning to sound rude, but he couldn’t help it. The green eyes bored into him. For a gleeful instant, he thought she was going to blow up.

“Would you come? I’ve always wanted a brother.” Caitryn smiled a smile that gripped Samuel smack in the middle. What sweet words. His shy, lonely heart lightened, lifted.

“Oh,” he said with soaring joy, forgetting his vexation with the angel’s older sister. “I’d consider it an honor to be your brother, Caitlin.”

“I’m so glad!” She smiled all over her little cherub’s face. “But you’ve mixed us up. She’s Caitlin. I’m Caitryn.

Caitlin gave him a furious look, as if she’d taken a grip on her resolve. She found an unexpected ally.

William’s voice was stern. “That’s settled, then! You need proper schooling, Samuel, else weakness of memory and confusion of brain will land you in a fine mess one of these days.”

Caitlin cast a glance at William. “If I am ever so quiet and well behaved, Dr. Jardine, can I come and watch, and—maybe when I am bigger—help you?”

Samuel almost laughed, seeing how disconcerted his father looked, as if he thought that the girl was an alien creature. He felt a flare of grudging admiration for her impudence.

To his surprise, William laughed. “I’ll think about it,” he said, but Samuel knew him well enough to see that he liked Caitlin’s bold approach.

And so, the Parrs took Samuel in, and Caitlin won over William Jardine with her high spirits and rebellious nature.

Grace Parr had been so taken with the life of King Henry VIII and his many wives that she had named her daughters after the ill-fated Catherine Parr. The similarity in pronunciation confused the child Samuel and, much to everyone’s amusement, he was forever getting their names mixed up.

The large, rambling house, hunkered by the edge of Bodmin Moor, had soon become a second home to the doctor’s son. His hair slicked back, his face scrubbed and polished, his jacket brushed, he’d visited the Parrs as often as possible. While Caitlin teased and tormented, Caitryn had smiled and soothed.

Samuel topped up his glass from the bottle of rye resting on the counter. He tried not to think ahead. Yet an unwilling dream enveloped him. He saw Caitryn waiting. He pictured her opening his letter with hope in her face….

He took a mouthful of the strong liquor, and wrinkled his nose. A voice in his head told him he had indeed had more than enough whiskey, but a louder voice cried out for more.

He made wet circles on the polished timber counter with the bottom of his glass. Why the hell was he thinking of the past now? It must be the whiskey. Too much grog made a man maudlin. And while drink was not one of his vices, he needed something to dull the pain.

In life, Samuel knew, one not only had to cross bridges, but one had to cross them at the proper time. Around went the empty glass. The trouble was, he had just burned his bridges. He shoved the empty glass toward Murphy with a violent motion.

Caitryn was the woman he should have married. Not Caitlin. Caitlin had been the bane of his life.

Damn, he needed time to comprehend the merging of past and present, to let the scattered pieces fall gently into place. Besides, he was in too far for backing out, now that he’d taken vows in front of the altar.

Samuel took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly, accepted the refilled glass. His bride had a lot to answer for! He could still remember his father’s anger that his son of nineteen years had endangered the lives of the thirteen-year-old Caitryn and her fifteen-year-old sister.

And it hadn’t been Samuel’s fault Even after all these years, the injustice of his father’s accusations still rankled. It had been Caitlin who suggested taking the dinghy over to the cove and exploring the caves. And it had been Caitlin who went gaily tripping off into the hollow caverns and twisted her ankle, the delay caused by rescuing her making it impossible to leave the cove once the tide had turned.