Gingham Bride Page 11

  She’d been the foolish one to believe in him and to think he didn’t look at her and see a good worker or a means to get something for nothing. Fresh fury flowed through her, growing stronger with each wave. So huge she became tall with it, strong with it. She curled her fingers around the smooth wood handles of the satchel so hard her knuckles burned. Anger made the pounding behind her cheekbone worse as she laid her ear to the door. Conversation floated through the ill-fitted boards.

  “I don’t like it, either, Maeve. But we’re better off than we were. We might not have the money, but we more than likely will get to keep the house and get a strong back to work around here. It’s the best offer we’re gonna get, considering she ran off the one man who would pay more.”

  “That girl cost us a good opportunity.”

  “And I won’t be forgettin’ it.”

  She wrapped a bubble around her heart to protect it from her parents’ words. She eased the satchel to the floor, packed and ready to go. All she needed was to wait for her parents to go to bed and Ian’s light to go out. The night silenced, as if waiting, and the enormity of what she was about to do frightened her. This was not her plan, running away when there was no train to whisk her away quickly and without enough money to see her far. Her stinging cheek and throbbing head reminded her of how serious it was to be alone in the world. If Ian had not come along—

  She blinked back the hot wetness in her eyes. She was not a girl given to crying or sentimental foolishness. She did not feel anything more than a distant gratitude for the man—really, and if that wasn’t the truth, then it would be. She would think of all his faults until this confused need to like him disappeared. She would do everything she could to forget the apology in his eyes back in the kitchen. It wasn’t working. Beneath her anger wasn’t really hatred at all, but recognition. They were two like souls, one who had lost his dreams and one who intended to find hers.

  All she wanted was a safe place to thrive. It has to be out there somewhere, right, Lord? The prayer rose up from the truest part of her spirit, from the place within her that no one could break. Please lead me toward it tonight. Please stay with me so I am not alone.

  The sky outside stretched as if to infinity, the darkly shining prairie vast. Although the storm had stopped, frost hazed the edges of the window panes, a sign of a bitterly cold night ahead. She had dressed warmly in three layers of woolen long johns. Surely that would see her through until morning. She did not know how far she would get, but if she and Flannigan rode until dawn they would be far enough that no one—not even Ian—would come after them.

  Time crept slowly until the voices downstairs silenced and the light in the barn faded. This is it, Fiona. She rose, gathering her courage. In the inky darkness, she seized her satchel, eased open the door and crept down the ladder. Her father’s muffled snoring from the next room told her the faint creak of the boards had not wakened him. She tiptoed across the icy floor, hearing every loose board. Her rustling skirts and the whisper of her movements echoed in the small, dark kitchen.

  Almost there. She took her shoes in hand and her wraps from the wall peg and faced her biggest obstacle: the lean-to door. The latch caught, and she laid her coat over it to muffle the sound. The door creaked open—she moved it slowly, inch by inch, until she could squeeze through—and then eased it closed. The latch clunked like a shot in the night. Her pulse stopped. But when she leaned her ear against the door, her father’s steady snoring continued to drone.

  Whew. Teeth chattering, she slipped into her coat, cinching the sash tightly, and sat down to yank on her shoes.

  Small hope steadied her as she waded through the luminous snow. Moonlight shone like a dark pearl, guiding her way to the still barn. Only one hurdle left—she surely hoped Ian was a sound sleeper. She opened the door with care and hoped the rush of icy wind would not be enough to wake him. She waited a moment until her eyes adjusted to the thick darkness.

  Down the aisle, the horses dozed. Their rhythmic, heavy breathing was a dependable cadence that hid the light pad of her shoes against the hard-packed earth. She set her satchel near the bottom rung and gripped the thin wood slat. The wood creaked faintly as it took her weight. A small sound, hardly noticeable. She eased her foot onto the ladder rung and climbed to the next board. One step closer to her freedom.

  “Where are you going, lass?” A voice rumbled like thunder out of the night. Ian McPherson, not asleep, not at all.

  Chapter Ten

  Her hand slipped, she lost her balance and her feet hit the ground. The shock of the hard landing traveled up her bones. It was nothing like the shock at seeing him emerge, hands fisted, brawny shoulders set, a man twice her size and strength. He could easily stop her.

  “You wouldn’t be heading up into the loft to get your running-away money, would you?” His footsteps marched closer, uneven and with the accompanying tap of his cane. “That wouldn’t be a satchel at your feet, would it?”

  “I’m not interested in having a conversation with the likes of you.” Not only had he traded her future for his, he was going to stop her chance to escape. Would he drag her back to the house and her father?

  Probably. But instead of grabbing her, he stopped. The lantern well eked open. He was taking the time to strike a match instead of stopping her. He must think she would be too afraid to run now. Or, more likely, that he had her trapped. Well, she was not so easy to defeat. She seized the handles of the satchel, slid them over one wrist and leaped onto the ladder. Rung by rung she rose into the rafters as the match struck and flared, casting light into the darkness like hope, a hope she would not lose.

  She could still get away. She felt the pull of his gaze as she tossed her satchel into the hay and tumbled onto the loft boards. She glanced over her shoulder—a mistake. He was a striking sight, bathed in the flicking orange light. Standing tall in that square-shouldered way of his, he appeared to be all that was good and right. A strange glow within her caught and came to life like a flame to a wick. Her eyes teared and she could not explain it. She did not like this man. In fact, she detested him. Ian McPherson pretended to be something he was not. Lying, when he ought to have told her the truth. Befriending her and telling her she was safe with him, when he ought to have admitted he was using her. He was a man she could never trust again.

  She had to do her best not to forget that. She hated the wish rising up within her. Foolish, that’s what her feelings were. A schoolgirl’s stubborn clinging to a fairy tale, one which could never be true. She wrenched away, stinging in deep places she had never known before—yes, she cared about him and her heart knew it. But her mind was more rational and smarter than her heart. She climbed to her feet, determined.

  “What are you going to do, Fiona? Run off into the night? Walk down the road all the way to town by yourself?” The sincere concern layering his rich baritone chased up the ladder after her. “You have no protection. Tonight you saw a bit of what can happen to a young lady alone in this world.”

  “I doubt Da’s friend is waiting outside the barn.” She scrambled over the beam, catching her hem in her haste. She winced at the ripping sound and dropped to her knees in the sweet, fragrant hay.

  “No, but there are plenty of men of his ilk in the world. Do you want to risk being trapped like that again? Or worse? Anything could happen to you. Lass, you do not know how much worse you could be harmed.”

  How did he get the perfect ring of caring into his tone? She marveled, pawing away shanks of dried grass. He was attempting to play on her fears, on the truth neither of them could deny. Was it smart to run off on her own in the dark? No, but it was better than the known danger here—the danger of losing her freedom and her dreams. She swept off the burlap and pried it off the floor, working as fast as her fingers could go.

  “I’m asking you to stay. I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let any harm come to you. I vow it, on my honor.”

  Why did her emotions respond? What was wrong with her? She pried up the boards wi
th a clatter. Why did she want to believe his concern was real? He was simply pretending he cared. That was the real Ian McPherson. Sure, he was sorry he had hurt her, but it hadn’t stopped him. Now he was trying to talk her out of leaving for his own sake, not hers.

  She hardened her heart and dug out the box. Wasn’t it odd that Ian wasn’t coming up after her? Why wasn’t he trying to stop her? There was no telltale squeak of the ladder, no groan of wood beneath his weight.

  “I know what you think of me, Fee, and I’m sorry.” His voice came from down below at the ladder’s base where he waited for her. “Come down and let me take care of you. Let me tell you what I’ve planned.”

  She hesitated, brushed by moonlight, feeling the luminescence against her cheek, and it was like the emotion within her, longing to be cared for. But that was only another one of her foolish notions and she could not give in to it. She hated that her fingers trembled too hard to open the box on first try, and it felt as if a sob lodged in her throat. Why did she feel torn apart? What was he doing to her? The sincerity in his tone, the affection in his words were like an unimaginable treasure that lured her; it was what she wanted most. But he was not a man she could trust.

  She wedged open the lid. It was too dark to see. Her pulse fluttered wildly. Was her money gone? She bit her lip, forced her hands to stop shaking and held the box up to a slat of moonlight slanting between the boards.

  The sock was still there, the contents of the box untouched, the locket glinting faintly in the starlight. What a relief. She grabbed her stash of money, and there was the picture he had drawn. An illustration of a girl and her horse, but on this night she saw something more. The swirl of the wind-driven snow, the stretch of the unseen prairie, the spirit of freedom that somehow came from lashing lines of ink on a page. Almost as if he understood. As if he knew her spirit’s longing.

  And if he knew that, surely he would understand. She had to leave. She stuffed her savings into the top of her satchel, the hay crackling beneath her step. “I have an offer to make you, McPherson.”

  “Do tell.” A smile crept into his tone; he thought he had won.

  She crept deeper into the mow. He still waited for her to come down the ladder. He must think there was no other way out of the barn. It did not feel right to trick him, but then wasn’t that what he had done to her? A few more paces brought her to the loading door. “You stay here with the land, and I’ll go where I please. Da will be rid of the expense of me, and you won’t be forced to marry to get what you want.”

  “Is that what you think? That I am using you to get the land?”

  “Why else would you accept Da’s offer?” She shouldered open the heavy door and prayed no boards would creak.

  “Have I said a single word about marriage?”

  “Not directly.”

  “And surely you do not think there will be a wedding tonight or tomorrow?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Then why the rush to leave? You will be safe here, lass. This is your home.”

  “And you’re using this for an argument?” The icy air felt welcome against her face. She gripped the rope and gave it a testing tug. “I’ve been hurt enough here. I shall take my chances in that big, dangerous world you are afraid of.”

  “Do you know what a boardinghouse costs by the week? What of your meals? What if you have trouble finding work? What will you do then? Your savings isn’t enough. It won’t see you far.” Caring rang like a true bell, perfect in pitch and honesty.

  A part of her longed to stay, if only for the promise of caring in his voice. As much as she longed to be truly cared for, she did not trust it. The rope held, so she transferred her weight. The door swung closed, bashing her in the shoulder. She bit her lip, ignored the pain and dug her shoes into the hemp. She had to stop thinking of Ian. She inched downward, gritting her teeth as the door bashed her again. She caught it and waited a beat, easing it closed with what she hoped was the smallest of sounds. How long would it take for him to figure out she was gone?

  Probably not long. She tossed her satchel. It landed with a muted thump in the soft remnants of hay left over from the morning’s feed. The platinum moonlight focused on her like a beacon so she went fast, sliding some of the way, going hand over hand the rest. No time to waste. She hit the ground, grabbed her satchel and ran. Was Ian still talking at her, waiting for an answer? Still trying to convince her that marriage was the best of her choices?

  Her breath rose in white clouds as she skidded to a stop at the first stall door—Flannigan’s. All she had to do was to release the latch, and the horse would come running. She’d catch a handful of mane, swing up onto him and they would be off, following the call of the prairie and the lure of the moon. She would be free.

  A footstep crunched in the snow behind her—Ian, larger than life and radiating fury. She stared at him, disbelieving. Was that really him and not a figment of her fears?

  “Going somewhere, lass?” His anger boomed in the empty corral, resounding against the flawless night.

  “How did you—”

  “I’ve done the same a time or two when I was a boy.” He wrenched the gate open and pounded into the silvered light. Every strong line of his powerful form and the curves of his muscles were highlighted; he looked like a knight of old, mighty and invincible—a very angry knight. “I’m not as dim-witted as you think.”

  The stars faded; the moonlight waned. Maybe that was simply her hopes hitting ground. She could run, but how far would she get? A few beats of his step and his hand curled around her nape, holding her captive by her coat collar and ending all possibilities.

  “Come back inside.” His command was not a harsh one.

  “I cannot.”

  “Planning on staying here in the corral all night, are you?” He did not relent, his grip on her steadfast. “You have to go somewhere or you will freeze. It may as well be with me.”

  “You could let me go.” She turned in his grasp, enough to show the plea in her eyes. Such immense sadness. It was what had struck him hardest about her.

  “If I did, do you even know where you would go?”

  “Far away as fast as I can.”

  “That’s no sound plan.” It pained him to say so.

  “I had a good one, but you ruined it.” Defiance painted her like the moonlight. “And that means you owe me. Please, Ian, walk away.”

  A smart man would not care so much. A wise man would lock away his feelings and never let them see light again. He felt sorely alone, although they stood together in the platinum night. “I cannot.”

  “I could give you half my money. It’s not much, but it’s something. To just look the other way while I ride Flannigan.”

  “No.” The thought of her alone in this world destroyed him. He reached deep inside for the courage to hurt her more and tugged her toward him. “You must stay with me, lass.”

  “There has to be something you want, some bargain we can agree to.” She dug in her heels. The frost clung to her dark hair and lashes, making her look like some lost winter sprite of ancient lore, a sweet bit of goodness too fragile to be captured for long. “You said we were friends, Ian. If you ever meant that, if you have any honor at all, then close your eyes and when you open them again, I’ll be gone. It won’t be your fault. You won’t know where I am. Please. I can’t do what you’re asking.”

  “You’re going to have to find a way to, my friend.” He softened his words, wanting to make her defeat easier. He did not like the agony taking her over inch by inch—the slump of her shoulders, the tuck of her chin and the way she drew inward just a little. Aye, but she was killing him as surely as if she held a dagger to his heart.

  He watched her gulp, watched fear flicker across her face. She came with him haltingly, her feet seeming heavy. For one moment the rebellion remained etched on her like starlight on the wild, endless prairie; the wind lashed her dark curls as if trying to blow her away from him. She was calculating her chances of esc
aping him, no doubt, measuring the dark corners of the corral and wondering if she broke his hold could she outrun him?

  “If you run, then I would be out the money I promised your father. It’s in a lawyer’s trust in Newberry.” He hefted her along, gently but firmly, and prayed his soft—and secret—feelings did not show. “I had a contract drawn up. Fortunate it was there was an attorney in town with the spare time to help me.”

  “Yes, lucky you.” She choked back a sob, but he felt it roll through her, pure agony as if straight from her soul.

  He was sorry for it. “It was Providence watching over you, lass. Your father’s back payments and fees will be paid, so that you won’t lose your home come month’s end.”

  “I intend to lose my home just the same. You can’t keep me here, Ian. You can’t watch over me every second.”

  “That’s not my wish.” He hauled her through the gate, leaving it open rather than release his hold on her. Not because he feared her escape but because he liked holding her close. Being at her side, knowing he was what stood between her and sorrow, knowing he could give her what she wanted most—he and no other man—made his sadness easier to abide. He loved the girl, aye. It was the first blush of emotion but it was love all the same—a love she would never feel for him.

  “I sold my saddle,” he confessed as they crossed the yard together. “I pawned my grandfather’s pocket watch and gold fob, which he gave me for my sixteenth birthday. Both had been his father’s. I had hopes of giving them to my son one day.”

  “And why are you telling me this? Using guilt to keep me here?”

  “I only want you to understand my sacrifice.” The path the moon made on the snow felt blessed, extraordinary, as it glittered and gleamed at their feet. Hard to believe there could be any shadows on a night like this, and ones so deeply dark. “I sold my riding coat, the one my grandmother sewed for me before her hands were crippled with arthritis. I found a buyer for Duchess’s unborn foal. I did all of that so no man would come along and try to hurt you. Try to break you.”