The Captain of Her Heart

  * * * * *

   

  Ritcherd entered the dining room to find his mother just starting her supper. “Looks like I’m just in time,” he said, noting the place set for him at the opposite end of the table.

  “You’ve missed most of the meals since you returned. I didn’t necessarily expect you for this one.”

  Ritcherd tried to ignore her tone, which was more caustic than usual. With a smile he said, “But you had a place set for me. You must have been hopeful.”

  Her scowl deepened and her voice tightened as she said, “I would have hoped that you’d want to spend a little time with me, now that you’re back.”

  Ritcherd sighed and leaned back in his chair. He wondered why he would want to be here any more than he absolutely had to when her attitude was so thoroughly repulsive. He had hoped that his years away would have eased the estrangements between them, but it was easy to see that his mother was still too caught up in her elaborate lifestyle. And her preoccupations revolved even more around the latest gossip and her pursuit of having the best of everything. He could tell she had something on her mind, and he would have no peace until he’d heard whatever it was. But he waited until the soup had been served and the maid left the room before he continued the conversation. Doing his best to remain civil, he stated, “So, I’m here. What would you like to talk about?”

  “George Morley is looking for you,” she said in a tone to indicate that his friend’s visit was not the most prominent thing on her mind.

  “I didn’t even know he was in the country.”

  “He hasn’t been, as far as I know, for quite some time. Perhaps he heard you were back.”

  “Perhaps,” Ritcherd said. “I hope you invited him to the party.”

  “I did.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to him then. Did he say what he wanted?”

  “No. But he’s been here three times. He says you’re never home. I tend to agree.”

  “What does George know?” Ritcherd chuckled, hoping to keep the mood light. But his mother didn’t change her expression in the slightest.

  “I want to speak with you,” Jeanette said sternly, and he could feel it coming. She practically slammed her spoon down on the table, but he had learned to ignore her dramatics.

  “What is it, Mother?” he asked blandly, certain that his nonchalant attitude made her even angrier—which in turn made him try all the harder to be nonchalant.

  “You’ve been seeing that tramp again.” She spat the words like venom.

  Ritcherd tensed but reminded himself to stay calm. “She is no tramp,” he said easily, and took an abundant swallow from his glass of wine.

  “You don’t see her the way I do. I know from a mother’s wisdom that she is no good for you. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “You might as well stop telling me, Mother. You should know by now that it won’t do any good.”

  “So I’ve heard,” she said bitterly.

  “What have you heard?” he asked with an expectant smile.

  “Tell me the rumors aren’t true.” She put her hands at the edge of the table and leaned forward. “Please, my son, tell me you’re not going to marry her.”

  Ritcherd knew she’d either been talking to Peter Westman or Mrs. Harker—perhaps both. But he had expected this—even wanted it. He wanted her to know, but he’d had no desire to tell her himself. Remaining collected he said, “You wouldn’t want me to lie to my own mother, would you?”

  “But why, Ritcherd?” she asked with disgust. “Why?”

  “Because I love her,” he replied with confidence.

  “She’s a servant girl. Don’t you see what this means for your future?”

  “I only know that I have no future without Kyrah,” he stated with conviction.

  “You must be mad. It only takes one look to see she’s no lady.”

  Ritcherd glared at her but answered coolly, “You don’t see her the way I do.”

  “She’s got you wrapped around her finger. Can’t you see a money-hungry tramp when she’s right under your nose?”

  “Yes, Mother.” He finished his drink and set the glass down abruptly. “I believe I can see a money-hungry tramp.”

  His gibe was totally lost on Jeanette. Her mind was obviously absorbed with this situation. Ritcherd scrutinized his mother closely and wondered if she knew that the angry contortion she commonly wore was becoming permanent, distorting her otherwise youthful appearance of dark hair and a slender figure.

  “Don’t you realize,” she said at last, “that there are other young ladies in the valley who would make a much more suitable wife for you than . . . Miss Payne?”

  “I think I can judge what is suitable for me,” he said adamantly.

  “And you really intend to marry . . . her?” she added distastefully.

  “I do.” He smiled at his own pun.

  “And what if I said you would lose your inheritance if you did?”

  “I’d say you can’t pull that one on me. I inherited everything when Father died. It’s all legal and proper, and you know it. And you’re a fool to even think that I wouldn’t know it. I have more right to this estate than you do. That’s why I don’t understand why you want me to marry some greedy snob who will spend it all.”

  Jeanette made no response. She obviously couldn’t dispute his reasoning. The conversation came temporarily to a halt as the servants entered to serve the main course. Ritcherd’s thoughts became lost in the simple meals he’d shared recently with Kyrah and her mother. It was little wonder that he far preferred the simplicity of Kyrah’s life—and the lack of contention and anger that went along with it.

  “Ritcherd,” she finally said, “I’m pleading with you. Don’t do this!”

  “I’ve made arrangements to post the banns on Sunday. And you have no justifiable cause to stop this marriage that you would dare admit to in public. Your snobbery regarding social classes would hardly stand up with the vicar, the way you claim to be a Christian and all.” He could see her seething but he didn’t care. “Let me make something clear, Mother,” he went on, “I am not going to let you bully me out of marrying Kyrah Payne because you’re too narrow-minded and self-centered to see her for what she really is. You’ve never even given her a chance. I don’t need your approval or your blessing. I will make her my wife. And soon. I’m announcing the engagement tomorrow night.”

  “Here?” she shrieked. “You’re bringing her here?”

  “However unfortunate for her, I am. But it will probably be the last time. I’m not about to sentence her to spend the rest of her life in this miserable place. You can live here until you die and then I’ll sell it. I hate this place!”

  “And I suppose you’ll move into that quaint little cottage with your wife and her mother,” she said with sarcasm.

  “That’s what I had in mind, as a matter of fact.” His mother truly looked shocked, and he wondered if she had any idea about the source of true happiness. Obviously not, or they wouldn’t be having this conversation. “Of course when children come along I’ll have to buy a bigger place,” he added. “But I’m not certain where I want to live yet, so for now, I’m quite content with that quaint little cottage.”

  “You must be mad!” she sneered.

  “Quite mad,” he replied. “I’ve lived under the same roof with you for the better part of my life. That’s enough to make any man go mad.”

  “Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?”

  “Nothing!” he said adamantly as he stood and threw his napkin to the table.

  “Not even if you knew you were breaking your mother’s heart?”

  “I believe that would only make my cause more pleasurable,” he said through clenched teeth. “If for no other reason, I will marry Kyrah just to prove my point.”

  He turned to leave the room and was almost to the door when she said, “I can’t allow this marriage to take place, Ritcherd. I’ll do whatever I have to.” Through al
l the years of arguing with his mother, he had never heard her use that tone of voice. It was completely devoid of her usual histrionics, cold and sinister in a way that made the hair bristle at the back of his neck.

  Ritcherd turned slowly to see her expression harden with a determination that was only intensified by something almost evil in her eyes. He wondered what kind of monster had given birth to him as he struggled to find his voice enough to say, “Are you threatening me?”

  “It’s up to you to determine if you’re going to put yourself—and Kyrah—in a position where such drastic measures would be necessary.”

  “Drastic measures?” he echoed in disbelief. “You are threatening me.”

  “You can think what you like,” she said. “But if I were you, I would seriously reconsider what you’re willing to do with your life—for her sake, if not your own. No girl is worth the kind of trouble she could bring to you. One day you’ll realize that—one way or another.”

  She left the room before he could even come up with a reply. He was so stunned that he could hardly see straight. He didn’t know how long he stood there, attempting to digest what had just happened. But once the reality settled in, he had only one tangible thought.

  It only took a few minutes to ride to the cottage once he had the horse saddled. But it was long enough for anger to consume him so completely that he was hard-pressed to even speak calmly when Kyrah answered the door.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as soon as she saw his face.

  “We need to talk,” he said. “Tell your mother we’re going out.”

  “All right. Just a minute.”

  Ritcherd was already in the saddle when Kyrah came out the door. Without a word he held out a hand toward her and she mounted behind him. She barely had a chance to take hold of his waist before he heeled the stallion to a gallop. She wondered what had gone wrong; something to do with his mother, no doubt. She wasn’t surprised that he rode to the church ruins, but when they’d been there for several minutes and he’d done nothing but pace back and forth, her nerves became raw.

  “What is it, Ritcherd?” she finally demanded. When he said nothing, she added with confidence, “It’s your mother, isn’t it.” He gave her a brief, sharp glance that told her she was right. “Let me guess,” she said. “Your mother’s gotten wind that we’re getting married, and she’s furious.”

  “Oh, she’s well beyond furious.” He finally stopped walking and stood to face her. “She actually threatened me.”

  Kyrah couldn’t suppress a little gasp. “With what?”

  “She didn’t say what. She just made it perfectly clear that if I went through with this, we would . . .” Ritcherd stopped when he saw the horror in Kyrah’s eyes. He scolded himself for not thinking this through before he’d said anything. Kyrah had always been frightened and intimidated by his mother. She didn’t need this new turn of events to add to her concerns.

  “We would what?” she demanded when he didn’t finish.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said more calmly.

  “It does matter. What did she say?”

  “She was vague, Kyrah. But it was still a threat.”

  When nothing was said for several minutes, Kyrah’s thoughts wandered into territory she had no desire to dwell on. But she wasn’t about to wonder. Drawing a deep breath, she said, “Maybe it would be better for everyone if we just . . .”

  “What?” he demanded, the anger in his eyes deepening.

  “You could help me . . . find work somewhere. We could still be friends.” Ritcherd was so stunned he couldn’t come up with any kind of response before she added, “Maybe it just isn’t worth it.”

  Consumed with unreasonable fury, he grasped her shoulders and almost shook her. “Don’t you ever say anything like that to me again. I would walk through hell in bare feet to have you in my life. We will be married, Kyrah. There is nothing she can do to stop it.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Kyrah said, moving away from him.

  Ritcherd watched her for a moment and had to ask, “Is it worth it to you, Kyrah? Is it worth what you would have to go through to be my wife?”

  Kyrah’s eyes mirrored his anger. “I would do anything for you, Ritcherd. Anything! But you have to learn that your anger will not solve this problem. You can’t battle it out with your mother like she’s some colonist battalion. And I have to know that you’re in this for the right reasons.”

  Ritcherd did his best to keep his anger from showing, but his voice still grated when he said, “I love you, Kyrah. There is no other reason.”

  Kyrah knew that he did, but she instinctively believed there was much more to this situation than she could ever understand. She could only pray that the bitterness he felt toward his mother wouldn’t end up coming between them. Beyond that, she couldn’t deny that she was afraid of what Jeanette Buchanan was capable of doing. Until they were married, the thought of being anywhere in the vicinity of that woman suddenly terrified her.

  “Let’s leave here, Ritcherd, tonight. We could be packed in no time. We’ll go to Scotland, or the continent, and get married right away. She’ll never be able to find us.”

  “I’m not going to let her intimidate me like that. I’m not going to run away like some frightened animal when she says boo.”

  “That’s pride talking, Ritcherd. You told me there was no place for pride in this relationship.”

  “And you told me that if people force you away from the things you love, you’re allowing them to have power over you.”

  “I was talking about gossip and cold stares. You’re talking about being threatened by a woman who has too much power for anyone’s good. She has too much time on her hands, and too much money at her disposal.”

  “She’s just a big bully, Kyrah. That’s all. She’s become obsessed with this, but it will pass. There’s nothing she can do to keep us apart, Kyrah, because I won’t let her.” He took hold of her shoulders again. “I won’t let her, Kyrah. I won’t!” She wondered who he was trying to convince as his grip tightened and his voice became more intense. “She wouldn’t do the kind of thing she’s implying. I know she wouldn’t.”

  “If you really believed that,” Kyrah said, “you wouldn’t be so upset.”

  “I won’t let her!” he repeated and immediately kissed her, as if that could convince her of what his words couldn’t. “I won’t!” he murmured and kissed her again.

  Kyrah could feel his anger and fear coming through in his kiss. And she eagerly accepted it, if only as an avenue to calm him down and help him think more reasonably. But before she had a chance to even grasp what was happening, she realized his passion was being fed by everything else he was feeling. She couldn’t help getting caught up in it. She loved him so much. How could she not want to be close to him this way? By the time she realized his affection was getting out of control, she was caught up in feelings so dizzying that she could hardly think straight herself.

  “Heaven help me,” he murmured and lifted her into his arms. He carried her only a few steps before he went to his knees in the grass and shifted his hold on her until she knelt to face him. He kissed her over and over, leaving her breathless with excitement one moment and clouded with trepidation the next.

  “Ritcherd,” she muttered, clutching his shoulders while his lips devoured her throat, “we mustn’t.”

  “I know,” he whispered and lowered her back onto the cool grass.

  Her desire to protest weakened with the increasing passion. She told herself that he surely wouldn’t allow this to happen—now here, not now. Not like this! He loved her. He respected her. Surely he would measure his concern for her above whatever madness was consuming him! Putting her trust in him, she became lost in the sensations of the moment. Nothing existed beyond Ritcherd’s kiss, his touch, his overwhelming presence.

  Ritcherd was overtaken by the sensation that he was drowning, slipping helplessly downward into a torrent of passion unlike anything he’d ever experienced. While
a tiny measure of logic reminded him that he had no right to be touching her this way, holding her as if she were already his, he couldn’t find the strength to curb this unfathomable excitement swirling around him. His logic died a quick and easy death as passion consumed him completely. Oh, how he wanted her! He loved her. He needed her. And it was evident that she needed him, as well. He marveled at her ardent response, and when he reached a moment of incomprehensible ecstasy, she held to him as if he had become her air to breathe.

  Everything became so still so suddenly that it was almost eerie. Even the air was still. Kyrah felt herself gasp and realized that she’d momentarily stopped breathing. She felt Ritcherd take a deep breath close to her ear, and the reality of what had just happened began to descend. She tightened her hold on him and squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to hold on to the perfect contentment of the moment forever. She tried to imagine that everything was as it should be, and all was well. But a deep foreboding crept into her. She’d never been prone to superstition, but she couldn’t deny the sudden fear that seized her every nerve, as if they had somehow cursed their future by acting so impulsively. As the shock began to settle, Kyrah fought back the sob that rushed to her throat, but it escaped as a sharp whimper.

  Kyrah’s cry startled Ritcherd to the realization of what he’d just done. The brief elation of the experience was quickly squelched by regret. He wondered at what moment he had lost control of his senses enough to allow himself to do this to her. Her lack of protest in the matter didn’t change his knowing that he was responsible. He squeezed his eyes shut in self-recrimination as Kyrah turned away from him, and he knew she was crying. He eased close to her back in an effort to offer some form of comfort. He thought of his promise to Stephen and groaned. He’d waited for her to grow up, but he’d still taken something from her that he was not entitled to have until he had given her his name. He pressed his face into her hair, wondering where to begin to make something like this right—if such a thing was even possible.

  “Kyrah,” he murmured, and she immediately turned toward him, clutching his shirt into her fists. “I’m so sorry, Kyrah. I . . . don’t know what happened. I just . . . Oh, Kyrah. What have I done?”

  Knowing she would never calm down until he did, Ritcherd forced himself to relax and urged her head to his shoulder, whispering gentle words. “It’s all right, Kyrah. We’ll make it right. I’ll post the banns on Sunday. We’ll be married before you know it.” When she didn’t respond, he rambled on. “I don’t know what came over me, Kyrah. I guess I’ve just spent so much of the last three years afraid I’d never see you again. And nothing frightens me more than the thought of ever being without you again. I just felt so . . . desperate all of a sudden. But I should have been stronger than that. I should have—”

  “Hush,” she whispered. “It’s done and we can’t undo it. Just promise me you’ll always be here. Promise me you’ll never leave me, Ritcherd, never! Promise me, and everything will be all right.”

  “I promise,” he murmured. “Oh, Kyrah, I swear to you, we will never be apart again. You will never go without again. I swear it by all I hold dear.”

  Kyrah sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, willing herself to believe him.

  Hardly a word was spoken as Ritcherd took her back to the cottage before he returned home. His night was restless as the reality of what he’d done haunted him. The pleasure and intrigue of the experience made him long to be with her again. But he knew that some measure of trust and respect had been lost between them, and he could only pray that one day she would forgive him.

  Ritcherd finally slept before dawn, and didn’t awaken until late morning. He freshened up and hurried to the cottage. Sarah answered the door, looking concerned.

  “Kyrah’s not here,” she reported. He couldn’t help noticing the blue evening gown hanging in the hall.

  “Where is she?” he asked, wishing it hadn’t sounded so terse.

  “She told me she needed some fresh air. That was over an hour ago.” Her voice softened as she asked, “Ritcherd, what’s wrong? She just didn’t seem like herself this morning.”

  Ritcherd bit his lip and attempted to swallow his guilt. He wondered what he could say. “I . . . uh . . . had a little trouble with my mother, and we were both pretty upset. I fear she has cause to be unhappy with me, but . . . everything will be all right, Sarah. I promise.”

  She showed a faint smile and motioned him toward the door. “You’d do well to go and find her, I think. It’s not long before she’ll be needing to get ready for that party. Hurry along now.”

  Ritcherd wasn’t surprised to find Kyrah at the church ruins, and mingled with the sorrow in her eyes was a blatant desire. He had little doubt that she was remembering, as he was, all that had transpired between them. Blended with the regret was an intense longing to take her in his arms and explore the experience all over again. But he knew that such madness would only deepen the heartache hovering between them, and he forced his eyes away in order to clear his head. Giving in to temptation and allowing his emotions to rule him had already brought more grief into their lives than he ever could have comprehended. He thought how ironic it was that their concerns over his mother’s threats had become swallowed up in their indiscretion.

  Ritcherd sat beside her and touched her chin, turning her face to his view. Tears cascaded from beneath her closed eyelids. He kissed them away and murmured close to her ear, “I love you, Kyrah. You must believe me when I tell you that I was wrong. And I am so . . .” his voice broke with emotion, “so . . . incredibly sorry. You must forgive me. We must go on . . . because . . . my life is nothing without you. I love you.”

  Kyrah opened her eyes and found his face close to hers. His sincerity was evident. She bit her tongue to avoid asking the question that had haunted her through the night. Would he have taken such a step with her if she had been the daughter of an aristocrat? And what made her believe that if it happened again she might somehow be reassured of his love for her? Knowing that such speculations would never change the circumstances, she took a deep breath and said, “I know I could have stopped it, but . . .” Her lip quivered. “I . . . didn’t think you would . . . really do it.”

  “And I shouldn’t have,” he murmured.

  “I can’t say that everything’s all right, because it isn’t. But . . . with time . . . I know it will be. It just has to be.” She managed a smile and touched his face. “I love you too, Ritcherd.”

  Ritcherd relished her embrace and silently thanked God for her understanding. He knew, just as she’d said, that it would take time. But they would be married in less than a month, and he would make it up to her. If it took the rest of his life, he would make it up to her.