The Negotiated Marriage. Christina Rich

that she wasn’t his wife. Yet. Where had that come from? She would never be. He pulled her hand down and rested their clasped hands between them.

      “Are you ready?” Northrop asked.

      Drawing in a breath, she closed her eyes and nodded. Northrop cleansed the wound once again and then inserted the probe into the wound. Tensing every muscle, Camy cried out and then pressed her lips into a hard line. She fell forward, her head resting on his shoulder. For a moment, Duncan thought she’d passed out, but the grip on his fingers and the tears warming his shoulder through his rain-soaked shirt told him otherwise.

      Benjamin sat back. The probe dropped into the bowl with a clink. “It doesn’t seem to have shattered the bone.”

      Camy pulled away from his shoulder as air rushed from Duncan’s lungs in relief. He hadn’t realized how much he feared she might lose her arm until this very moment. His closest friend during the war had lost his leg when bone fragments caused the limb to become gangrenous.

      “However, the ball is tucked in there tight. Camy, I know you don’t wish it, but I’m going to have to use the chloroform to dig it out.”

      Pulling her lip between her teeth, she shook her head.

      “I’ve seen grown men try, Camy. It’s too much to bear.” Ellie set another bowl of water on the table.

      “Your sister’s right.” Dr. Northrop rested his elbows on his knees.

      “I will not have my mind taken from me,” Camy argued, and then her voice quieted. “I know people have died. Ellie told me so.”

      “That is true. I’ve seen it myself,” Duncan said, worried either way, knowing Northrop had no choice. “Do you trust Dr. Northrop?”

      After a bit of hesitation, Camy nodded.

      “He seems competent. It is right as rain to be brave, lass.” Duncan smoothed a wayward curl from her forehead. “I’ve been shot before.” He pushed his sleeve above his elbow and showed her the scar. “I have another here,” he said as he pointed to the middle of his chest. “And here on my leg. Chloroform was not always available on the battlefield. As much as I dislike telling you, the fact is, the pain is too much, even for a woman of courage such as yourself.”

      Her brown eyes pooled with tears. He’d give every coin he had to trade places with her, to go back and choose not to be swayed by Hamish’s offer. “If it makes you more comfortable I will not leave your side and I’ll be here when you wake.”

      She blinked. One lone tear crept from the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. She lowered her chin and drew in a slow breath. She glanced at him, the hint of a smile curving her mouth. “This is not your business.”

      He patted her hand and smiled back. “As I said before, your business is my business until things between us are settled.”

      * * *

      “What things?” Miller ducked into the cabin, his bowler falling off as it skimmed against the frame. His straw-colored hair was plastered to his head, his hands were clenched at his sides and his face was ruddy. His bloodshot eyes, telling her he’d been drinking, narrowed when he caught sight of her hand held in Duncan’s. His glare deepened when he lifted his eyes to hers. “There is nothing that needs to be settled other than our marriage. The sooner the better, since it’s obvious you can’t care for yourself. What sort of fool gets herself shot?”

      Camy stared at Miller in disbelief. He’d called her many things over the last months, had insinuated even worse, but he had never outright called her a fool to her face. Her face must have reflected the sting of his words.

      As he unclenched his fist, Miller’s eyes softened. “I am sorry, Cameron. I don’t like you being hurt. If you would quit resisting the inevitable...why can’t you see that I am the only man willing to care for you?”

      Willing. Camy had heard his argument before. There was never a confession of love, but what did she expect when her own father hadn’t loved her? Did Miller always have to make her feel helpless? Worse, did he have to speak her fears aloud? No man wanted her. Her father had proved that when he left her with Hamish. Even Miller’s pursuit had everything to do with Sims Creek.

      Suddenly she felt tired and weak. She wanted to curl up in a corner and cry until all her troubles disappeared. The only thing keeping her from doing so was the warm palm anchored to her. Duncan gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before releasing his hold on her hand. The mattress shifted beneath his weight and released as he rose and crossed his arms over his chest. The loss of his calloused palm had her lying back against the pillow. She closed her eyes in hopes of keeping the tears from spilling. For good measure she covered her eyes with her uninjured arm.

      “First,” Duncan said, “I will remind you that you are standing in Miss Cameron’s home and that you would do well to respect all of the ladies of this house, even if they have an inclination toward accidents. Second, I have known Miss Cameron only a short time and I have concluded she is capable of caring for herself. She does not need a husband. Certainly not one who abuses her with his sharp tongue.”

      Despite the searing pain radiating throughout her upper body, and the ache in her heart, she felt giddy and had the urge to applaud Duncan’s performance. It was a performance, right? After all, he’d met her only a few hours ago, not enough time to judge her capabilities.

      “You have no right to tell me what she needs and does not need,” Miller argued. “I have courted her for nigh unto two years.”

      Camy snorted and felt Miller’s intense glare. His attempts at courting were akin to falling in a thornbush. His last attempt had landed him in the river near to drowning, and her under Mrs. Smith’s condemning eye for breaking the unspoken rule about a lady pushing a man into the river after he stole a kiss. A rule saying she was compromised and must marry. Camy had yet to discover if it was the river washing or the stolen kiss that deemed a lady soiled. But given that Mrs. Smith felt the need to act like a mother to the poor Sims sisters, the woman was adamant that Camy save her reputation and marry Miller. Much to Camy’s relief, Pastor Hammond came to her defense and spoke sound reasoning to Mrs. Smith, defusing the matter altogether.

      Duncan stared Miller down. “At this moment, Mr. Northrop, I have every right.”

      The cabin fell silent. The pop and crackle of wood as it burned in the fireplace and the drips of water seeping through the roof plopping into strategically placed pots were the only sounds. Slightly lifting her arm, she peered at the occupants in the cabin. All of them seemed to be holding their breath waiting for Duncan’s next words. Duncan leaned forward.

      Lord, please don’t let him say anything about Hamish’s proposition. Please. I’m in no position to argue with Miller.

      Although he was a head shorter than Miller, his fierce countenance caused Miller to shrink. “Miss Sims needs tending to without further delay.”

      Miller grunted. His cheeks looked as if he’d been attacked by rouge. “You’ve no business here. In fact, as I see it you should be in jail. Has the sheriff been fetched?”

      “Miller.” Ellie touched his arm. “Please, now is not the time.”

      “Outside, Murray.” Miller circled his fists in front of him, ready to fight Duncan. Duncan looked as if he pitied the younger man.

      Camy didn’t think Miller meant much harm. Only a year older than she, he was foolish and young, determined to get his way in all things. Mostly with her. And Sims Creek, the property adjoining his father’s. Miller’s father had coveted Sims Creek for years, even before the railroad’s interest, and it was obvious Miller carried on his father’s determination, but why, as it was decent farming land, nothing more? And Miller despised the idea of plowing fields and milking goats. Worse, he didn’t seem to like her much. He was always the first to tell her when her hair was unkempt. When the color of her dress was wrong. He even dared give her a tonic to do away with her freckles. Of course, she’d tried to scrub them away on occasion, but to no avail. She’d given up long