Rapture in His Arms (19 page)

“I’m waitin’ for a reply,” she heard him say through the maze of her thoughts. His hand tilted her chin up, and he gazed down at her with eyes dark and probing, a look so intrusive that she swore he might be able to read her mind. “I’m the best prospect for ye, Jillian, and ye know ’tis true. But I won’t be a husband without a wife. I intend to claim my husbandly rights to ye. I’m tellin’ ye this, just so ye know where I stand on the matter. I’m givin’ ye a choice, somethin’ ye didn’t have in the past. I know the marriage will be one of convenience, but ’tis for both our benefits. Ye need an able-bodied man and I want a family life. ’Tis a simple arrangement.” His breath fanned across her mouth like a wind-soft caress. “Will ye marry me? Just say aye or nay.”

“And if I refuse?” she asked him.

For a split second, he appeared disturbed by her question. He shook his shoulders and smiled sadly. “Then I’ll be leavin’ for good.”

Before he had finished speaking, Jillian’s body knew the answer, even if her mind didn’t. She swayed against him and could barely speak, so mesmerized was she by her own desire for him. “Aye—I’ll marry—you,” she whispered. “I’ll be your wife in all ways.” Donovan smiled a brilliant white smile that made her pulse pound. She was instantly gladdened when he claimed her lips again. Soon she would know what it was like to be made love to by this man, and she didn’t think she could stand the wait. But never did it dawn upon her that she might fall in love with Donovan Shay—even more than just a little bit.

Arriving in Jamestown by skiff on a warm June day, Jillian and Donovan discovered that the town was abuzz with the news that Governor Berkeley, who had declared Nathaniel Bacon a rebel, had now restored Bacon’s seat in the Council after publicly forgiving him and his comrades for their disobedience.

Jillian and Donovan visited Cyrus Witherspoon and informed him of their intention to marry. The news of their impending nuptials was greeted with enthusiasm by Cyrus and his wife. However, after they’d eaten a hearty meal, the conversation turned serious with the mention of Nathaniel Bacon.

“’Tisn’t over yet,” Cyrus gloomily predicted and puffed on his pipe while his wife filled his teacup. “Bacon hasn’t given up causing trouble yet, and William Berkeley is a fool if he thinks the quarrel with this hotspur of a boy is ended. I wager the time of adversity is just beginning.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” Jillian said, not caring for any of this unrest. “Perhaps Mr. Bacon has learned his lesson.”

“I doubt such a thing is possible,” Cyrus noted caustically. “Bacon is after personal glory. Other people’s lives mean very little to a true revolutionary, and Bacon is a true rebel—of the worst sort.”

Mrs. Witherspoon sat in a chair next to Jillian’s. “Aye, something awful is going to happen. The omens foretold disaster.”

“What do ye mean by omens?” Donovan asked after not having spoken for a while. Jillian noted that he’d sat quietly and listened to all Cyrus Witherspoon said with extreme concentration—a frown marring his forehead.

“At the end of last year,” put in the garrulous Mrs. Witherspoon without further prodding, “many saw a strange light streak through the sky. ’Tis well known that lights in the heavens prophesy war or pestilence. I saw not this strange phenomenon, but others did. And then thousands of pigeons blackened the sky and later, cicadas swelled out of the ground like a hungry horde and ate the leaves from the trees, only to disappear as quickly as they arose. Now, ’tis ominous for these happenings to come into our midst. Such omens mean hardship for all of us.”

“I place no trust in omens,” Donovan remarked with an indulgent smile.

Cyrus scowled. “It doesn’t matter if the events were omens of doom or not, Nathaniel Bacon has come to Virginia and stirred up rebellion. Be rid of Bacon and be rid of trouble. The governor is going to regret not having executed the man.”

Jillian’s face paled. Execution? She hadn’t thought things were so bad in the colony. She cast a fearful look in Donovan’s direction. Perhaps they shouldn’t have come to Jamestown at this time to be married. But with the threat of an Indian attack, she wanted to be legally bound to Donovan, to be assured that she could count on his protection. And this was why she had sought out Cyrus Witherspoon, a man known for fairness and a sterling reputation. He could entreat the rector at the church to perform the marriage that day without the usual posting of banns for three weeks prior to the marriage. Jillian didn’t think she could wait a full three weeks to marry Donovan, especially not with the unrest that filled the entire area. She felt something was going to happen. Perhaps the omens of which Mrs. Witherspoon spoke were only natural phenomenon, but Jillian sensed more than unrest. Something was about to explode.

Jillian placed her teacup on the table before her and spoke to Cyrus. “Do you think you might be able to persuade the rector to marry us today? I should be grateful to you for your help.”

Donovan came and stood behind her chair. “Aye, sir, as would I.”

Cyrus grinned, his attention diverted from the worrisome subject of Nathaniel Bacon. “I believe I can help you.”

Mrs. Witherspoon clapped her hands in glee, and a delighted smile broke out upon her lined but still-pretty face. “My goodness! We’ve a wedding to prepare for!”

Donovan gently placed his hands on Jillian’s shoulders. “Aye,” she almost disbelievingly heard him say, “our weddin’ day.”

Cyrus rose to his feet. “I shall speak to the rector in all haste.” He turned to his wife. “And, Rose, when I return, I expect to see the beautiful bride and handsome groom, standing before the hearth with hands joined.”

Rose dimpled. “Aye, Cyrus. They shall be waiting, and I’ll provide some of my finest apple cider, fresh made from the orchards behind our house to toast this happy day.”

~ ~ ~

With Rose Witherspoon’s help, Jillian changed into her best gown, a blue-and-white dress with a low but modest bodice and a wide, flowing skirt. She’d brought the gown from Cameron’s Hundred in the expectation that the rector might agree to perform the ceremony that day. But even as Rose helped pull the gown over her head, Jillian felt she must be dreaming. In a matter of minutes, she would be married to Donovan Shay. She’d be his wife. A shiver of fear and a strange feeling of pleasure shot up her back at the thought. By the time she arrived home, she’d no longer be Jillian Cameron but Jillian Shay. She’d have another identity—and a man who would insist on claiming his husbandly rights. She needed some motherly guidance on the subject, but she wouldn’t ask Rose Witherspoon. Embarrassment kept her from bringing up such a personal issue.

Rose helped her pile her chestnut curls atop her head and provided six freshly plucked red roses from the garden for her bridal bouquet. A gentle smile rose to her lips, “You’re a comely bride, my dear. Mr. Shay appears to be a kind man, and I wish you every happiness in your new life together.”

“Thank you, but I fear that this hasty marriage so soon after Edwin’s death shall bear the brunt of gossip and cruel jokes.”

“Oh, tsk, dear. Dwell not upon what people say. Other women have been in your situation, young and wealthy widows, who marry before their husbands’ corpses are cold.” Rose flushed, seeing Jillian wince at her directness. “I do apologize for my bluntness, but ’tis a fact of life in these parts and expected for people to remarry if they wish. ’Tis nature’s way of continuing the bloodline. Mr. Shay looks like a hardy and virile man. I would say that within a year, you’ll easily conceive a child by him.”

This time Jillian was the one who flushed, and Rose giggled nervously. “Have I gone too far with my loose talk? Mr. Witherspoon must constantly remind me to watch my tongue, but alas, ’tis hard for me. I tend to say whatever thing pops into my brain.” For a few seconds she watched Jillian, and then she patted Jillian’s hand. “If you have anything to ask me, dear child, anything at all about your wedding night, I shall endeavor to answer you in all honesty.”

“Mrs. Witherspoon, please, I—”

“Now don’t act shy with me. I’ve married off four daughters and believe me, I’m well versed in wedding night jitters.”

“But, ma’am I am a widow,” Jillian feebly protested.

Rose’s eyes held a softness. “Dear child, I knew Edwin Cameron’s first wife for over thirty years. She was a dear friend to me, and I was privy to a number of personal things. And you forget that my Cyrus was Edwin’s solicitor. Both of us knew the truth about Edwin’s—problem—and his marriage to you. Please don’t be embarrassed. I wish only to help you and set your mind at ease about what is to come when you marry Mr. Shay.”

A blush like a pink shadow stained each of Jillian’s cheeks. Rose wanted only to be helpful. And perhaps she did need another woman’s perspective on the matter. As it was, she, herself, was horribly ignorant about the marriage act. Jillian breathed deeply and forged onward with the question that was uppermost in her mind at the moment. “Will it hurt?”

“Probably,” Rose answered truthfully, but she tempered her response with a smile. “In time, there shall no longer be pain, and you shall not mind it if your husband is caring and considerate of you.” Rose lowered her voice conspiratorially, as if she conveyed a huge secret. “And great pleasure can be found in the act for you as well as your husband. But again, ’tis a man’s tenderness that determines whether the wife finds pleasure. Only a selfish man would take all for himself and give nothing to his wife. But I sense your Mr. Shay is unselfish and a gentle man. Aye, I predict your marriage shall be a happy one.”

Jillian wished she could be as confident about her situation as Rose Witherspoon.

From downstairs, Cyrus called up to them. “The rector is here, ladies.”

Rose flashed Jillian another smile and maternally hugged her. “’Tis time, my dear.”

“Aye—’tis time,” Jillian parroted, but she was so frightened by this new change in her life that she couldn’t force a wisp of a smile to her lips.

~ ~ ~

Barely ten minutes later, Jillian became Donovan’s wife. When he kissed her on the lips to seal the marriage vows, she trembled with some unknown and unnamed emotion. Her greenish-blue gaze scanned his face to determine if he’d felt what she had, and she knew from the look in his own dark eyes, that he had experienced the same thing. Now, she trembled anew, for their silent communication greatly unnerved her.

The rector congratulated them, and left minutes later. Cyrus and Rose hugged and kissed them, then toasted the union with a cup of cool cider. Ordinarily, Jillian would have praised the sweet taste, but she found she could barely taste the liquid, and was only fleetingly aware of Rose and Cyrus. Her whole attention was centered upon Donovan. But each time he caught her staring at him, she looked away, too embarrassed that he might read her wanton thoughts.

Jillian had expected to leave with Donovan and return to Cameron’s Hundred that evening. But night already was descending, and Donovan made no move to leave. A short time later Jillian understood the reason why when Rose whispered into her ear, “Cyrus and I shall stay at my sister’s home this night. We won’t hear of you both traveling in the dark on the river. The morrow is soon enough for you to return home. Cyrus has already spoken to your husband and he quite agrees with us. Tonight, you shall spend under our roof your first night as a married couple.”

Jillian made a movement to protest, but Rose held up her hand, brooking all denials. “We insist, dear. All has been taken care of. Fresh food and drink are in the pantry, and the spare bedroom was swept clean and the linens aired out only yesterday. Tonight, you must concentrate on being a good wife to a fine man. ’Tis your only duty this day.”

But such a duty seemed to lie heavily upon Jillian’s slender shoulders.

Jillian thanked Rose and Cyrus, as did Donovan, who looked a trifle nervous as they waited in the parlor while Rose gathered her belongings for her night away from home. Before they left, Cyrus kissed Jillian on the cheek and grinned sheepishly at her. “I’m a richer man this evening than I was this morning, thanks to your choice of husband, my dear. Thank you for marrying Donovan Shay.”

“Oh, Mr. Witherspoon, don’t tell me that you wagered I would marry Donovan!”

“Aye, I did.”

“But—but how did you know when I didn’t—”

“Child, I have eyes in my head. You forget that I paid a few calls to Cameron’s Hundred and saw you with Donovan. I also knew how much Edwin wished you to marry him, though he never told you. He hoped that after his death, you’d come to the knowledge on your own. And you have. And not only am I richer for it, but so are you. Have a happy life, dearest Jillian.” He cast a sidelong glance at Rose who was conversing with Donovan and whispered so only she might hear, “Don’t mention my winnings to Rose.”

“I won’t,” Jillian promised and stifled a giggle. Soon Cyrus and Rose departed. She waited in the center of the parlor, feeling awkward and ill at ease as Donovan barred the door behind the Witherspoons. This wasn’t where she had intended to spend her wedding night. She wished she was at Cameron’s Hundred in her own room, surrounded by the familiar furnishings and night sounds outside her window.