The Negotiated Marriage. Christina Rich

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СКАЧАТЬ his finger, crumbling the hardened brick and mortar encasing his heart.

      No wonder she was hidden out here in the woods—she was a danger to society. Most ladies of his acquaintance ran indoors at the first sight of a rain cloud, not to mention suffering from the vapors at a dunking in the river. She seemed to delight in it.

      She dropped her gaze back to his. A deep scowl appeared before she resumed her efforts to get out of the river. “Hamish will never sell this land. I’d guarantee a month’s worth of cooking and cleaning on that.”

      Too bad he couldn’t take her up on the cooking. It’d been a long time since he’d eaten anything other than beans. He had the funds to eat at Calhoun’s whenever he chose, but no sooner had he settled his napkin on his lap than a gaggle of females congregated at his table full of giggles, batting eyelashes and dinner invitations. Once the matchmaking mamas discovered he had no intention of courting their daughters, they rescinded their offers of dinner. Hot stew, fresh biscuits and homemade apple pie sure set his mouth to watering.

      No matter, it had been a small price to pay to retain his bachelorhood and save the world from the likes of him. He’d seen what happened to women who became slaves to marriage and their husband’s fists, to the children born of such unions. He’d been one of them, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistakes as his father, which meant he had to convince Hamish that any marriage he considered could be nothing more than words spoken before a minister. A marriage in name only.

      She finally pulled herself out of the water and onto the bank. She held her skirt up as if to examine the damage. The curve of her calf clad in wool stockings waved at him. He caught his jaw slacking and he snapped it shut as he shifted his gaze to the sun-kissed freckles gracing the curve of her cheeks. He grunted, disgusted with himself. He focused on a dark freckle above her nondescript wire-rimmed spectacles. He couldn’t afford the distraction of her natural beauty.

      Duncan shook his head. He needed to focus on his current task, and it wasn’t her.

      Although Hamish had it in him to knock Duncan in the head when he wasn’t looking, he more than likely hadn’t the heart to rid this place of squatters, not when they looked like her, doe-eyed and hapless. He was no old man with a soft heart; his heart had hardened years ago. He wouldn’t fall for her womanly charm, not that she meant to exude it. Obviously she didn’t, else she’d hold his gaze and bat her lashes like so many of the ladies in town.

      Nope. He wasn’t going to give her the chance. Once he hunted down Hamish, paid the measly amount of cash, signed the deed and hired the minister, he’d boot her right off his land. She shivered, as if she heard his thoughts, her arms tightening around her waist to ward off the tepid spring breeze.

      “You’re going to catch a cold standing there all day in wet clothes.” He started toward her with the intention of moving her away from the edge of the bank, but stopped himself. No doubt, if he touched her he’d catch the illness that had plagued his father.

      “I don’t sicken so easily.”

      He imagined not. Just as well. She was none of his concern, even though he wished she would move farther away from the edge. One slip and she’d be back in the water. He hadn’t had the urge to rescue a damsel in a long time, and he’d do well to pay heed to the dinner bells clanging in his head. He couldn’t allow the urge to take root. Wouldn’t. The rain quickened its pace. Turning from her, he headed up the path, away from the strings drawing him back toward her, away from the gleam in her milk-laden, coffee-colored eyes that he couldn’t quite comprehend.

      “Why are you looking for Cameron Sims?”

      He didn’t need to turn around and see the glare in her eyes, not when fire singed the back of his neck.

      “Mr. Murray, I demand you stop, right this minute.”

      Demand? Thankful she was definitely not the woman Hamish intended him to marry, he felt the knot of uncertainty that had been balled up in his gut release. She was neither biddable nor undemanding.

      “Mr. Murray, I’m warning you.”

      He had never been partial to brown eyes, but hers stirred emotions buried deep beneath a thick layer of mistrust, and if he wasn’t careful he’d find himself leg-shackled at the altar with a beautiful lady and a gun pressed against his spine. He flinched at the memory. “To marry her,” he muttered beneath his breath.

      “Mr. Murray!”

      Before he could shake off the memory, he found his foot lassoed and his body jerked upside down. The bucket and the rifle flew from his hands, hitting the ground. A loud crack split the air.

Chapter Two

      Her scream punched Duncan in the gut as the smell of gunpowder wafted around him. He twisted his upper body around to search for her. A plethora of green and brown clouded his vision as he fought against his spinning and throbbing head. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, hoping to gain his bearings, but no one object came into focus. “Miss? Miss!”

      Nothing. Inhaling a deep breath, he wrapped his free leg around the one caught in the trap and spread his arms out wide until his swinging, upside-down body slowed. Careful not to start the movement all over again, he craned his neck until he spied the spot where she’d been standing.

      She was gone.

      He muttered beneath his breath as the mound of yellow fabric bobbed downstream and around the bend. The report must have startled her, causing her to lose her footing and fall back into the river. He should have insisted she move away from the edge. He should have pulled her out of the water and held on to her until her feet were on firmer ground.

      Why wasn’t she hollering for help?

      Unless she couldn’t.

      He jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out his penknife. Swinging his body upward, he tried to grab hold of the rope above his foot and ended up renewing the back-and-forth motion. He tried again, and again. The sky, declaring war on his situation, began pouring buckets of rain, stinging his eyes. The rope bit into his ankle. If he were a praying man, he’d ask for a bit of mercy, but he’d discovered long ago that God, mercy and Duncan Murray had nothing to do with each other.

      Perhaps the good Lord would listen for the lady. “God, if you’re willing to bend your ear to a black-hearted Murray like me, not for me, for her.” The line attached to his leg jerked him upward, and then dropping, he started swinging again. “That woman needs some h—”

      The trap released from its mooring without him even making a jab at the rope. Like a wounded bird falling from the sky, Duncan fell, hitting the ground with a hard thud. His breath rushed out of him and he laid there stunned.

      A toothless, gray-bearded Hamish, in an oversize patched coat, hunched over him. Had the old man come to bash him in the head again?

      “Ye messed that one up, ye did.” Hamish squinted as he glanced toward the river. “Best go get her, as I ain’t none too good at swimmin’.”

      “You have some answering to do, my friend,” Duncan said as he rolled to his feet and ran down the path. He dove into the river, icy water engulfing him. He pushed through the water several paces until the current began to quicken and swirl around his legs, seeking to drag him under the surface. Unless she knew how to swim, it would be impossible for her to navigate the waters СКАЧАТЬ