The Negotiated Marriage. Christina Rich

one to chase Da’s coattails everywhere he’d gone. She hadn’t been the one sitting beneath the stoop waiting for his return.

      Camy promised herself she’d never do it again. She’d never allow her heart to be owned by anyone other than her sisters. She had the land Hamish promised to give her. That was all she needed.

      “Mr. Murray, what is the truth as to why you’re here?”

      He halted his steps, his hold on her slackening. She could tell by the lighting that they’d reached the top of the path, and she could tell by his reaction that he hadn’t expected what was before him.

      “He’s come to marry you, lass,” Hamish said as he stepped past them.

Chapter Three

      “No! I have no need for a husband,” Camy said as she propelled out of Duncan’s arms.

      Although he felt a tad shaky on his own feet, Duncan grabbed hold of her arm and steadied her. He’d been both shocked and unsurprised at Hamish’s revelation, and he didn’t know which irritated him more, the fact that his friend hadn’t been completely truthful about the acquisition of the land until last night, or that the Lady Hamish intended him to marry hadn’t been told about the bargain. Either way, he wouldn’t wed an unwilling bride. “It seems we are in agreement. I have no need for a wife.”

      “Excellent. Wh-why are you here?”

      Duncan looked about him. Although the spring had yet to produce buds on the trees and the green of the grass had yet to sprout from the muddied land, the sight before him was more than he could have hoped for. In this Hamish had not exaggerated. A flat valley for planting gave way to gentle-rolling hills. Hens pecked around the yard. Several goats stood on top of a small wooden shed. A pair of oxen huddled beneath a lean-to. A hound as ugly as any he’d ever seen poked his head from around the door of a large barn before lying back down.

      “This.” Duncan motioned to the land stretched out before them.

      “Is mine.” Camy glared at Hamish. “You promised.”

      “You expected Hamish to keep his word?” Ellie crossed her arms.

      “My shoulder’s been shot, not my head, Ellie.” She turned toward Hamish. “You gave your word. A Sims always keeps his word, right, Hamish?”

      “Cameron, ye know I would if I could.” The old man glanced at his feet. “The river is thawing.”

      A look passed between the sisters. Eyes narrowed, Camy turned toward the small cabin and wobbled. Duncan swept her into his arms. Her limbs turned to stone. “We can discuss the situation after the doctor tends to your shoulder.”

      “I agree.” Ellie motioned for him to follow her into the small cabin.

      Ellie went directly to the fire and poked at the logs in the fireplace, stoking the embers to life. She placed a pot on a hook over the flames. “Sit her on the bed, if you will.”

      Camy’s cheeks took on a rosy hue. “I’ll sit on the chair.”

      Ellie glanced over her shoulder. Her brow furrowed; she seemed unware of the awkwardness. After a moment, she gave a quick nod. “Do as you please. However, Northrop will have you moved to the bed before he examines you.”

      Camy shivered. “All the more reason I will insist on sitting in the chair. I will not be perceived as a weak-kneed ninny. Besides, I could use dry clothes.”

      She had threatened him with a gun, demanded his obedience, received a bullet in her shoulder without so much as a bat of an eyelash and taken a dunk in the river. She was the furthest thing from a ninny, and his chest welled with pride at her courage. A shame he couldn’t marry her. Unlike many of the ladies who’d vied for his attention in order to appease their vanity, she wouldn’t demand his every waking hour, leaving him free to do as he wished. However, he feared her lack of dependence on him for her emotional well-being would only draw him nearer as she did now, intriguing him to get to know her even better. Realizing he was a little more reluctant than he should be about relinquishing her, he plopped her onto the nearest spindle-back chair.

      “Ow.” Camy teetered toward the table but caught herself with her good hand. She scooted toward the edge of the chair with her chin held high and her back straight as a plank. “If I was such a b-burden, you could have let me walk.”

      “My apologies.” Duncan’s cheeks flamed. “I should have been more careful.”

      Of course, he would do well not to touch her again. He wouldn’t wish to be caught in her womanly charm. He scrubbed his palm over his face and winced as he brushed his hand over his eye. The cabin grew a few shades darker and the air closed in. Duncan needed to think about how he could seal the purchase without her as part of the negotiation. He turned for the door. Swinging it open, he stepped into the mud outside.

      “Mr. Murray,” Camy called.

      His hand on the door. “Yes?”

      “Where are you going?”

      “To gather your belongings from the river.” He needed air. He needed to get away from her to regain his wits about him. He’d found many ladies attractive over the years, but none as interesting as Camy Sims. The very lilt of her speech tempted him with a desire to sit and chat about nonessentials, a temptation he hadn’t experienced in many years, since before his mother fell ill and lost the will to speak. He could imagine himself sitting across the table with her, sipping tea and eating biscuits, while she regaled him with some tale or another. All he had to do was agree to Hamish’s terms. And gain Camy’s acceptance to be his wife. Absolutely not.

      “It is raining. You have no shoes.”

      “Rain has never stopped me from enjoying the outdoors.” Glancing down, he held his arms out. “A little more won’t hurt me.” As much as he would enjoy a warm fire to dry his bones, he needed to walk, to think. Why had Hamish brought him out here to no more than a shack housing three sisters? To play on his charitable nature? The old man would find his charity didn’t extend to marrying a brown-eyed lass with tumbling locks as wild as his beloved Highlands. He had to find Hamish and be done with his business so he could remove himself from Camy’s presence.

      “You’ll catch your death if you’re not careful.”

      If he was not careful he’d catch something much worse than death, like her for a wife. He’d much rather marry one of the simpering young ladies who cared more for proper social graces than was necessary, as it would be easier to maintain his distance. Besides, he felt at home with his bare toes in the cool grass—a little mud would not make a difference.

      “I assure you I will be fine, Miss Sims. Besides, I wish to look for your father.”

      Deep lines creased her forehead. “My father? You’ll have a time of that. He’s not been seen ’round here in years. He left us with Uncle Hamish when Mara Jean was a tot.”

      “You cannot blame our father, Camy.” Ellie dropped a pile of clean cloths into the boiling water and stirred it around. “He had no means to care for three little girls.”

      Camy scowled. “Either did Hamish.”

      “Hamish had Naomi,” Ellie countered.

      “Even so, Da dinnae even try.” Camy’s voice wobbled.

      The soft lilt of her accent ignited the black heart confined behind the brick and mortar of his chest. Her words pummeled him like a battering ram. Her words were similar to those he’d said to his own mother after his father left them with a leaky roof, no wood for the winter and no food for their bellies. Even in her illness and after all his father’s abuses, his mother had continued to defend him, but Duncan knew the truth: his father hadn’t even tried. Duncan had done what he could, but there weren’t many folks willing to help the son and wife of a scoundrel like Ewan Murray.

      The pain of