Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
brIGIT
Elijah Allen, the man intended for my sister, did not speak as he guided me through the press of the dock, his hand never quite touching me, yet always near enough that I did not doubt he would steady me if the ground shifted or the crowd turned rough.
He moved with purpose, reading the chaos almost instinctively, steering us easily around people, carts, and animals.
I followed because it seemed the safest thing to do.
I took heed of the man walking just ahead of me as he cleared our way.
Men seemed to sense his authority and stepped around him without protest. He was tall and broad through the shoulders.
His coat was plain and dark, and his hat unadorned.
He wore no wig or lace to soften him, yet he carried himself as if part of the royalty newly separated from this country.
This was a man accustomed to being obeyed. And I had just placed my fate—and my sister’s child—in his hands.
The lie I had told rose sharply between my ribs. It had felt necessary in the moment, but now it tightened, a snare of my own making.
I could still undo it. I could stop Elijah, tell him the truth, press the intended dowry into his hands, and beg his forgiveness for the deceit. But then what? Where would I go? What would become of Patrick if I had no means left to survive at all?
“I thought it would serve us well to have some food and speak awhile.” Elijah’s words pulled me from my thoughts.
“Aye. That’s kind of you,” I answered, moving through the door he held open for me.
The tavern was dim after the glare of the docks, the air thick with smoke and the sour-sweet scent of spilled ale.
Elijah gave a brief nod toward the keeper as we sat, and bread and stew were set between us.
Two small mugs of ale were placed near Elijah’s hand.
Elijah pushed one toward me without comment.
I ate because it was expected, though my stomach was tight and my thoughts would not still.
Patrick broke the silence with a small, breathless cry.
Elijah’s gaze flicked to him at once, then back to me. “The correspondence never mentioned a child.”
It was not an accusation. Not quite.
Dread bloomed as his words settled. I had never thought to ask what had been explained in the letter from our parish priest, only what had been arranged. Perhaps he was not interested in a woman with a child.
“What were you told?” I asked, keeping my voice steady as I rubbed Patrick’s back to soothe him.
Elijah leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. “That a young woman had been compromised,” he said at last. “That her family wished to spare her further notice by sending her on to begin again.”
“And a marriage contract?” I pushed.
He nodded slowly. “Aye. If we found ourselves agreeable after meeting.” His gaze returned to the child, who was growing more fussy.
“I’m sorry,” I said, already reaching for my satchel. “He’s due to eat. I canna put him off any longer.”
“Aye. I’ll see if I can find you a room—”
“No.” The word came too fast. I forced myself to soften it. “He…he doesn’t eat that way.”
Elijah’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t argue.
From the satchel I drew a flask, a small tin cup, and a square of linen worn thin from washing.
A kind woman had shown me what to do on the ship.
My hands were steady as I poured the milk, dipped the cloth, and held it to Patrick’s mouth.
He latched eagerly, sucking with a strength that never failed to both hearten and frighten me.
“Goat’s milk,” I said quietly. “The babe came early. I’ve no milk of my own.”
It was not a lie. Not entirely.
Elijah’s gaze sharpened, taking in Patrick’s thin limbs, the way his fingers curled into the cloth. “He’s small.”
“Aye. But a fighter.”
“The journey is hard for grown folk.” He tipped his head to Patrick, who greedily took the milk from the cloth as I repeated my efforts. “Twill be harder for a babe.”
“So long as we have the goats, we’ll be fine.”
His brow was still drawn, as if unconvinced.
“It will be risky for travel. But if I leave you here, you would be at the mercy of strangers. I don’t have the coin to pay for you to stay until he grows stronger.
If I take you with me, I will do so as your husband.
Anything less would be irresponsible. Possibly dangerous. ”
I arched an eyebrow. “Is it the wolves I must fear,” I asked lightly, “or wolves in sheep’s clothing? Is your settlement so untamed?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Forgive me. I did not mean to be disrespectful.”
His expression didn’t change. “Definitely the men. The wolves keep to themselves.”
He let the truth sit between us. Men like Cormac.
“As my wife, you would have my protection. And I can promise to respect you. I hope that with time, affection will come. Are you agreeable?”
The hard truth pressed against my chest.
I looked down at the child in my arms, at the downy softness of his hair. At the way his blue eyes latched onto mine.
What did I really know of Elijah? He seemed an honorable man, but not openly affectionate. If I told Elijah the truth, he might feel duty-bound to uphold the legal contract and seek Cormac. If he chose not to, then I would have to ask him to carry the weight of deception on his shoulders.
Patrick’s safety or Elijah’s honor?
There was no clean choice, but there was only one that kept Patrick safe.
I could carry the lie as long as I must. Until Patrick was older. Stronger. Until he was known and loved for himself. Any future judgment, I would bear for his sake.
I lifted my eyes. “Aye. I will marry you.”