The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) (41 page)

Kate paused, giving Lacey a moment of reflection. There were many terrible rows between her parents in that upstairs study, arguments little Lacey could hear well into the night as her bedroom was only three doors down the hall from what she'd begun to secretly call "the fighting room." She could not, however, remember the night in question.

"I ran outside to the garden," Kate continued, "threw myself to the ground, and cried till I could cry no more. When I finally looked up at the study window, is when I saw the flames and realized the room was ablaze. Near as I can figure, yer mum must have thrown one of her heavy crystal oil lamps at me. When I heard screams and realized yer parents were still in the room, I looked down and saw that I'd taken the key with me—I swear by the cross o' Christ I didn't knowingly take it from the lock."

"And so you left them there to die?" Lacey was gripping her lucky spur so hard, the shamrock had left a deep depression in her left palm.

"No, lass. I run back up the stairs to the study to save them, but it were too late. Ye were pounding on the door, yer poor little hand burned from trying to turn the blistering doorknob. I couldna get close enough to e'en try to fit the key back in the lock, so I grabbed ye up in my arms and saved ye best I could."

Memories of her mother's frantic screams assailed her, bringing with them a brief glimpse of the night in question. The key. Something about the key. Lacey dug at her fragile memory, gouging out clues, and she finally remembered fragments of the aftermath.

"I was found outside the castle by the firemen. They tended my burned hand, then opened the other to see if it were damaged, too. There was no burn there, but..." A wave of nausea rolled through Lacey. She swallowed, then swallowed again. "I was holding the key to the study. One of the men, Mr. O'Shaunnessey, I think, called me a very bad name, and then... then I think I must have passed out. I can not remember a thing after that."

"Ah, lass. 'Tis the reason, I think, they thought ye killed yer mum and da." Kate's eyes closed again and her brow furrowed with pain. "I searched the garden for that key later, but when I couldna find it, I thought I just lost it somewheres else. I ne'er knew ye had it all along."

Tears welling up in her eyes. Lacey dropped her gaze to her lap and the silver spur.

Her voice even softer now, Kate said, "That key, by the way, wasna the only thing I lost that night. The babe I was carryin' couldna stand all the excitement, I guess. I spent the next three weeks in the hospital recovering from the miscarriage."

Lacey still didn't know how she felt about Kate at that moment, but at those words, she couldn't stop the burst of compassion in her heart. "I feel bad for you about the babe, Kate, but I feel worse for myself. I spent thirteen years in that hospital thinkin' I was a madwoman—with the nurses thinkin' that, too. Now it seems that I didn't belong there a'tall."

Judge MacIver cleared his throat then, sounding as if he were about to bring the discussion to an end, but one sharp look from both Kate and Lacey changed his mind. Shrugging, he gestured for them to go on.

"No, lass," Kate said, picking up the conversation. "You didn't, but how was I to know what were in yer head? By the time I hired on there, ye'd been in a spell for two years. No one told me ye'd killed yer family. They just said you was a mute girl."

With a heavy sigh, Lacey leaned back in her chair and dropped her gaze to the floor.

"I come to work at St. Josephine's for only one reason, lass, and that was ye." Kate went on, her voice cracking now. "When I found out that ye was orphaned with no other family to take ye in, and locked up in the mad room of St. Josephine's, too, I felt my calling was with ye. I worked as a nursemaid for a confined lady a while, then used that reference to gain employment at the hospital. My only purpose was to be with ye and see that ye were well taken care of. I took ye on like the child I almost had, I guess, but I was glad to do it. I loved ye Lacey, and still do. I hope ye can find it in yer heart to forgive me someday."

With that, she spun in a slow circle and returned to her husband and child.

His own tone much less harsh than before, Judge MacIver turned to Lacey and said, "Let me see if I can get this straight myself. When you left Ireland, you were confined at the hospital and not free to go on your own?"

Her concentration shattered, Lacey did what she could to answer his questions honestly and clearly. "No, sir, I was not free to leave. Nurse Quinlin—Kate there—had to spirit me away in the night."

"In effect, you're saying that you ran away from the hospital?"

"Aye, sir, and come here with Kate because no man in Ireland would want an escaped mad girl as his wife."

"I see." He tapped a thoughtful finger against the bench. "So you came to Wyoming Territory and married the first man who'd have you without mentioning your previous mental history?"

"Aye," she admitted softly with a fair amount of shame. "That I did."

The judge glanced at Hawke, frowned and shook his head. Then he shouted to the guards at the back of the room. "I think we've done all we can in here. You may call in the jury and the gallery now. I'm ready to resume these proceedings."

Still fiddling with the little shamrock wheel on her spur, Lacey thought back to the questions the judge had asked of her, and in particular, to some of her answers. She glanced at Hawke, wondering what he thought of the exchange. His face was set and stony, unreadable, emotionless. As she stared at him, he stood up, gave her a long thoughtful look, then turned and walked out the door, fighting his way through the tide of incoming spectators.

Lacey's heart sank. Had he misunderstood what she meant when she said that she'd have married the first man who'd have her? She hadn't meant
exactly
that, but her poor mind was confused, lost in the puzzles of the past. Lacey thought of calling Hawke back inside, of begging him to listen so she could explain herself a little better, but then it was too late. Next thing she knew, the judge was giving the jury instructions to disregard her prior statement about killing her parents, and her interrogation was underway again.

After carefully explaining what Braddock had done to her in his office and how the gun had accidentally gone off, the case against Lacey Winterhawke finally went to jury. In less than thirty minutes, they returned with an innocent verdict, and Lacey was once again a free woman.

After the courtroom had cleared of spectators, and Lacey had attached the other spur to her boot, the Weatherspoons escorted her outside for a breath of fresh air. Shading herself against the bright afternoon sun, she glanced down the boardwalk to see Hawke standing alone at the end of the building. He looked as if he were staring a hole right through her, but she couldn't quite read his expression.

Desperate to get to him, Lacey turned to Kate. "There are many things we need to talk about, questions I have about my family, but I can not, well—"

"Go to yer husband, lass." Kate smiled indulgently. "Our wounds can wait a wee bit longer for the healing. I've a few things to explain to my own man, too." Then, cuddling her daughter in one arm, she hooked the other around Caleb's elbow, and the little family slowly walked down the street.

Anxiety building in her breast, Lacey started toward her husband. Not sure what he was thinking or feeling when she reached him, she awkwardly asked, "D-did you, ah, hear the verdict?"

"Every word." Hawke's eyes were guarded, suspicious. "I was listening through the window with Crowfoot."

Lacey glanced around, looking for him. "Where is the lad?"

"I asked him to wait up the street a ways so we could have some privacy."

Her uneasy gaze returning to Hawke's still-stony features, Lacey made an attempt to set things right. "I—I don't know where to begin, my husband. You must be very angry with me."

"I'm not angry, Irish." Hawke reached out and touched her cheek. "As for beginning, maybe you shouldn't even try. There's been enough said for one day."

"No, there hasn't. I have to explain what I meant when the judge asked me if I married the first willing man."

"No, you don't." An ironic grin brightened his expression a little. "I had a feeling from the first time we met that there was something wrong with you—why else would a pretty little thing like you want to hitch up with a man like me?"

"Because I was afraid when I first come here, Hawke. I suppose 'twas true the day I first met you that I'd have agreed to marry any man, but only so I wouldn't be a burden to Kate any longer. I didn't have the means to live on my own, or knowledge of any skills, so I thought if I married Caleb's neighbor, Kate's and my troubles would be over. I ne'er thought of the trouble I would be causing you."

Again he touched her cheek, this time with a gentle sadness. "You haven't been much by way of trouble, Lacey. You don't need to say any of this."

"Aye, but I do." She moved close to him, sliding her hand along the chiseled contours of his jaw. "I want you to know that by the time of our wedding, I already felt differently about the whole thing. I felt stronger as a lass on my own, but still hoped mightily that you'd marry with me. I was honored even then, Hawke, to think that someone like you would accept me as your wife. I still am." The stone beneath her fingers softened a little. "If you tell me that you don't want me by your side any longer, I will go away and ne'er trouble you again—but know, too, that if you ask this of me, you'll know my pain as your own, for my soul's within you."

One of Hawke's eyes twitched a little and his Adam's apple bobbed as if he were having difficulty swallowing. But he didn't speak. He couldn't.

Encouraged, Lacey went on. "All I want is to live with you at Winterhawke. If that be what you—" Then at once, she remembered. "Oh, Lord. The ranch."

Hawke shook his dark head. "I couldn't destroy it." His voice was husky, strained. "How could I? Winterhawke is your home as much as mine."

"And the horses?"

He smiled at last. "I couldn't turn the mares loose with such young foals, but I did release Phantom up in the Snowy Range."

"Oh, but Hawke—now he's lost to you."

Adding a chuckle to the smile, Hawke said, "Not really—In fact, I'm kind of looking forward to tracking him down again."

Daring to think that now maybe everything would be all right, Lacey let her head fall against her husband's chest. Instead of allowing her this moment of comfort, he gently took her by the shoulders and held her at arm's length.

"What happened at the doctor's office, Lacey?"

She suspected what he was asking about, but saved it for last. "Oh, 'tis wonderful news. Crowfoot can be helped."

"I already know that. What did the doctor say about you? Are you with child?"

"Aye, my husband." Lacey grinned broadly, aglow from within. "That I am."

"You don't look terribly upset. I thought you didn't want to have children."

"Aye, but that was because I thought any babe I bore would be born mad like me. The doctor told me that probably would not happen, but now even that does not matter—I was ne'er truly mad, so the babe is sure to be all right."

"That's what you've been so upset about?" Still confused, Hawke hadn't truly grasped the idea that he was to become a father. "What about the difficulties you'll have raising the children of a half-breed?"

"A half-breed? Oh, Hawke." Lacey knew exactly what he was referring to and why he couldn't get it out of his mind—he'd carried a burden not so unlike her own all his life, too. Tears welling in her eyes, she softly said, "My only concern was that I might be forced to give the man I love a mad child. I have told you many times before that your Indian blood makes no difference a'tall—in fact, I've grown rather fond of that side of you. Will you ne'er believe that of me, my husband?"

Hawke closed his eyes, and Lacey thought she heard him utter a low groan or growl.

"We are going to have a baby," she went on to say, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please try to find a way to be happy about this, husband."

Hawke abruptly released her, turned his back, and for a moment, Lacey wasn't exactly sure how he was taking the news. He took three deep breaths, his back heaving mightily, then he swung back around to face her again. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but something caught Hawke's gaze over the top of her head. Lacey glanced over her shoulder to see that several curious onlookers still stood on the boardwalk watching their exchange.

Without a word, Hawke turned Lacey toward him, lifted her off her feet, and carried her around the corner, down the alley, and to the back of the building where they finally found complete privacy. Again he opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead, reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew his ledger. After flipping the pages to a blank sheet, Hawke moistened the tip of his pencil and began to write.

Amused, Lacey watched him awhile, but finally grew impatient and snatched the ledger out of her husband's hand in mid-scrawl. He didn't object, but smiled that dazzling smile of his as she scanned the heading:
Loving Lacey.

The first entry in the
Reasons For
column read:

She's the only female in all of Wyoming Territory willing to marry a hard-headed man like me
.

Lacey glanced up at Hawke in surprise, met his gaze, and gave him a shy smile. Then she read entry number two;
Because I can't help myself.