Lady Fugitive (19 page)

Rachel saw the gray eyes were moist. It
was clearly hard for Morgan to open up. The story was tragic indeed, and uncomfortably
close to her own present situation. It pained her to think about her father and
what lay ahead for her. Suddenly she didn't want to know any more about Anna
and their father's death. "You don't have your full strength back. We can
talk another time."

He paused and swallowed a drink.
"Anna met a man who took her away with him. I was on my first business
excursion. Boyd and I tracked the couple to a derelict townhouse in London. I
planned to talk sense into her and fetch her home. Seems I've developed a
history of following young ladies to London, begging them to return with
me."

She caught the note of irony. "She
wouldn't leave him?"

He focused on the flames in the coal
stove. "The bloke was married. Had been all along. Never intended to do
right by Anna. She found herself pregnant and couldn't face the shame. Couldn't
face
me
, according to the note she left. I cut her down from a beam in
the attic."

"Oh my God! How awful for
you."

"I should have been home with
her."

She let the silence stretch for a
moment. "I was home with Cletus. I couldn't stop him from drinking himself
to death." She gestured at his bottle. "No more than I can stop you.
Anna might have refused to listen if you'd tried to stop her from running away.
She believed the man loved her."

Sarcastic laughter welled from deep in
his throat. "What difference does that make? I love you, but you would
have left me."

"I'm not Anna."

"Nay, you're not. She was rather
like you, though. Stubborn, bright, determined to argue over the slightest
point. We bickered constantly. She was older, but I was the male and saw it as
my place to protect her. Still, I didn't when it mattered most. Like today,
with you. You'll have a scar the rest of your life."

She caressed his taut cheek muscle with
her palm. "You couldn't help food poisoning. No one's truly perfect,
Morgan."

"My father was, right up until the
day he died. Could do no wrong in Anna's mind. There was a void in her life
after his death. I couldn't...I didn't know how to fill it. I've speculated she
secretly longed to join him."

"Loved ones sometimes do feel that
way. You did for a time, remember? The night we went to the pub, you spoke
about your own grief and tried to lessen mine."

"You asked back in London if I'd
abandoned my family when they needed me. Now you know." Rachel cringed at
his bitter tone.

"I had to make this voyage with
you, Rachel." Now his eyes met hers. "I couldn't lose someone I cared
about again. You were going to spurn my proposal, and I know why."

Her voice caught in her throat. It was a
croak when she finally managed to squeeze out sounds. "How could you?
We've never talked about Carson City, or what happened before I came to
England. I meant to tell you—"

He silenced her with his lips over hers.
His kiss was intense, matching his mood. She wrapped an arm around his neck and
returned his kiss with all the longing in her heart, praying he wouldn't turn
away from her.

He finally broke the kiss, inhaling
deeply before he spoke in a husky whisper. "I don't care that you can't
conceive."

"Wherever did you get that idea?
I'm able to conceive. I've just been unlucky during my pregnancies. Medical
care's practically nonexistent in the West. Things might have been different if
I'd had a doctor or midwife."

"Damn it!" He came to his
feet, pushing her off his lap. "You asked about children and didn't like
my answer. Your talk of disappointing me, the comment about never bouncing a
baby on your knee. Married for years, but still childless. What was I supposed
to think? If that wasn't your reason for refusing me, what the bloody hell
was?"

Rachel hesitated. Would he continue to
protect her if he learned the real reason, or move to the crew's quarters and
leave her to fend for herself? What if he believed her guilty as charged? She
glanced again at Morgan's knuckles. He was in an unforgiving mood. It definitely
wasn't time for her dark confession. She grasped at straws.

"I wasn't anxious to remarry. I
thought you'd be like Cletus."

He gave her a look of pure disgust.
"Only a coward strikes a woman. I may not have proven it this particular
afternoon, but I do possess a modicum of intestinal fortitude. I'm nothing like
that foul wretch you wed the first time."

"I'm beginning to understand,
though I didn't know before. Or about...lovemaking."

Morgan snarled, interrupting what she
would have explained. "Oh, aye. Don't let us forget that. Every husband's
excessive male lust. Well, you've suffered enough at the hands of barbarians
today. I won't expect you to perform 'wifely duties' until you're recovered
from your shoulder injury and desire to be a loving wife to me." He took
another long swallow and turned away from her. "If indeed such a day ever
comes."

Morgan avoided Rachel as much as
possible the next several days. He stayed away from the cabin until it was time
to escort her to the ship's dining room or he was forced to return to the bunk
to sleep. He lay beside her each night, but made no move to touch her, as
though someone had erected an invisible wall between them. She debated with
herself about volunteering the truth, but he remained aloof. She held her
tongue, waiting for signs of a receptive mood.

They shared breakfast with the crew one
balmy morning. Morgan set aside his plate and cleared his throat. "I've
been thinking. It might be best if I sent you ahead alone to see your father. I
need to arrange several meetings in New York."

"Every day I become more convinced
my father will be gone before I reach him. I'm never going to see him alive
again."

"You don't know that."

"I feel it," she sighed,
abandoning her piece of toast. "You don't want to come with me to
Philadelphia?" 

"I never stopped to consider your
family situation when I arranged our hasty marriage. You shouldn't arrive in
the midst of a health crisis with an unexpected bridegroom in tow. I'll make my
way to Philadelphia after I conclude my trade activities. Unless you prefer I
sail home to England."

She started to reply, but all that came
out was a harsh sob. She couldn't stem the tears, and numbly let Morgan lead
her back to their cabin when he realized the remaining crew members in the
galley were all staring at her.

He locked the cabin door and offered her
a handkerchief from his large trunk. "You should have time to explain that
you've remarried—if you choose to maintain our relationship. Or you may decide
to file for annulment. I won't contest it. I know you're worried about your
father. I didn't want you fretting over our…over us. I need to speak to
Haversham about the cargo." He turned and left.

He doesn't truly love me
. The thought wouldn't leave her head. He'd married
her believing she was barren. And in the face of that consideration, he'd
steadfastly argued against annulling their marriage. Now, knowing she might
give him children, he was willing to give her up. He no longer sought intimacy.
She'd lost him.

By late afternoon Morgan hadn't
returned. She'd missed the midday rations, but when she finally opened the
cabin door to search for her husband, she saw at once why he hadn't returned.
The vessel was headed into a solid bank of immense black clouds. The
temperature had noticeably dropped and all around the apprehensive men were
lashing down kegs and barrels or checking sails and rigging. She asked a
deckhand to fetch her husband. Morgan returned to the cabin and immediately
began securing their belongings.

"It's going to be bad, isn't
it?"

He nodded without glancing up.
"Rough seas ahead, aye. Go sit in the chair by the stove. I'll get our
trunks stowed and be there in a moment." She watched him latch their trunks
and wedge them against one another to keep them from shifting. "We'll be
all right, Colonial. This ship and her crew have weathered the like before."

She waited beside the stove and eagerly
curled onto his lap when he took the chair. "Thank you," she sighed.
"You know I can't take bad weather. And I'm very glad you're here. I'd
have gone crazy facing this alone. I know it may be too late, but—" She
abruptly abandoned the attempt to talk and instead gave him an ardent kiss.
"I've missed you so much!" she murmured afterward, burying her face
against his shoulder. "You seem to have forgotten how much I enjoy your
arms and your kiss. I don't want you to go back to England without me."

"Ah, Rachel." He slanted his
mouth across hers. His arms tightened around her until she could barely
breathe. They were still locked in a passionate embrace when seawater sloshed
under the cabin door.

She scrambled off his lap. "Morgan,
the door! The ship must be sinking!"

He crossed to the window in two strides.
"No, it's not. The waves are just so high, they're breaking over her
bow." He dragged the bathtub out and set her trunk inside it. He wedged
his large trunk between the foot of the bunk and the end wall of the cabin,
then set his smaller trunk on top. "There. At least your things will stay
dry, no matter what."

The puddle of seawater spread toward the
stove. Morgan tossed several lumps of coal inside. "We can anticipate a
damned chilly night. Banking the fire should help dry out the flooring.
Hopefully there won't be much more water coming across the decks, but we'll
stay driest in the bunk."

She hesitated. "I'll need my trunk
to get my nightdress."

"You don't need one," he told
her, thinking he'd only peel it off her, anyway. He'd been waiting for a sign
from her. Her claim that she'd missed his attentions and her hot kiss were
enough to have him randy and ready. He watched her disrobe and slip into bed.
He turned down the lamp, leaving the cabin dark but for the glow from the
stove. He stripped quickly and climbed into the bunk to envelop her in his
arms.

"Please do what you did at the
cottage that day. Kiss me and make me forget about the storm," Rachel
whispered, shivering.

"Aha! So your sudden passion has
more to do with the foul weather than with me."

"Not completely. I have missed you.
It just took a storm and thunder to make me brave enough to curl up with you
despite your reluctance."

"Consider it dissolved. Were you
always so terrified of thunderstorms?" She was still trembling, but not
quaking as violently as before he'd wrapped his body around hers. Morgan
concentrated on her answer rather than the feel of her flesh.

"No. Something happened one night
in Oregon during a storm. I can't forget it, and now storms just seem to bring
the whole horrible episode to mind."

"One of those beatings from Cletus?"

She shook her head. "He wasn't
there. I was all alone and it had been pouring buckets the whole day."
Morgan wondered if she realized tears were trickling from her eyes. She seemed
almost in a trance. "It was dark when my labor started. I tried walking to
the neighboring farmstead, but the mud was so deep, I sank in it clear almost
to my knees. The pains were too bad. I called out for help, but no one could
hear me over the rain and thunder. Somehow I made it back into the house and
stripped off my muddy clothes, tried to build up the fire...If I'd had someone,
help...My daughter was born late that night. Dead."

"I'm sorry, sweetness," he
whispered, cradling her against his shoulder. "So damned sorry."

"I named her Sara. I held her to my
breast and tried to warm her, but she went cold. The rain stopped two days
later. I wrapped her in a blanket and buried her on the edge of our
property."

"Where was Cletus? Why wasn't he
with you?"

"He went to town for supplies. Of
course, the main supply we were low on was sour mash. He always forgot the time
once he found a card game or saloon."

Morgan swore softly under his breath. No
wonder she hated to see a man drink, he thought. He cursed Cletus Nash and
secretly agreed with her that the man deserved eternal damnation.

"My only reward for putting up with
Cletus would have been that child," Rachel hiccupped, "And she was
taken from me. I never forgave him, never spoke another civil word to him after
that. Sara was my second failure. I'd miscarried a year before. But it was
better that way. No child should have a useless, drunken father. He just stood
there when I told him his child had come stillborn. He just stared at me. It
meant nothing to him, except another excuse to crawl into a bottle."

Although he suspected she was right, he
tried to lessen her mental distress. "Perhaps he did care in his own way,
Rachel. It's hard to imagine any man not being affected by the death of his own
flesh and blood. Perhaps he didn't know how to show his feelings, or maybe he
simply had no better to give."

"He knocked me across the farmhouse
not a month later and blackened my eye. Kicked me face down in the mud because
his supper was cold. How could
that
be anyone's best?" She struggled
to sit up. "Why are you defending him?"