The Bride Price (3 page)

Kneeling beside Mother Veronique, the girl entreated, “Please, Mother Superior, Hotel Ste. Anne is my home. Let me stay with you and I promise I will not be a bother.”

“You have never been a bother,
chère,”
Mother Veronique murmured in a voice choked with emotion. “You know I have prayed about it for some time now, my dear, but the answer is always the same. There is no room here. The orphanage continues to grow. We have known for a year or more that you must soon leave us.”

“Unless I take the veil,” the girl corrected desperately.

“Bryna, Bryna.” The old nun shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “You do not have the calling. You have said so yourself.”

“There are other things I could do. I have a little money I have saved from what he has sent me, and I am a passable seamstress. I will take in sewing.”

“You are gentle-born and convent-educated. Life is hard for a woman alone, and your choices are limited. You have no calling to the church, no place in commerce. You do not wish to be a governess, and you have no prospects for marriage in New Orleans. Perhaps this is for the best. I knew and loved your mother, and I believe she would want you to go to your father.”

Bryna buried her face in Mother Veronique’s lap. The coarse fabric of the woman’s habit did not muffle the misery in her voice. “He is a stranger. I do not want to go to him, Mother Superior. What will I do?”

The nun smoothed Bryna’s tousled hair and whispered comfortingly, “Do not cry, my child. Put aside your anger for a moment and listen to me. Though I cannot explain it, I believe this journey is but the first step of the path God has set you on. No one can know what lies ahead, but I think you must make a new life for yourself.”

Bryna lifted a pale, resentful face to her beloved guardian. “I will go,” she stated deliberately, “but I will leave my savings with you, because as soon as I am of age, I will return. Then I will make a new life. I will choose my own family. I’ll love them and they’ll love me. And we will never be apart.”

In a cramped cabin aboard the packet ship
Mab,
Bryna packed her belongings, moving woodenly between the bureau and her open trunk. A little while ago, the Pillars of Hercules, the mountains that straddled the Straits of Gibraltar, had been sighted. Now the journey, which had appeared frightening and long at first, seemed very short. Soon her old life would be over and her new one would begin. The past was the past, even last night.

“So there ye are, Bryna.” A feminine voice with a distinct Scottish burr interrupted her thoughts.

Straightening with a start, the girl turned to face her cabin-mate. “Aggie, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I canna say I am actually in. There’s scarcely room for two people to sleep in here at the same time, let alone to pack.” Agnes Moore chuckled. “Though I canna say it’s much better on deck wi’ most of the passengers oot and aboot.”

The middle-aged woman’s ample figure filled the doorway. Her pleasant face was pink from sun and wind. Gray-streaked strands of brown hair had been blown from her neat bun and floated on the breeze admitted by the open door. But Aggie’s impressive hat, trimmed lavishly with artificial fruit, did not stir, held in place by a huge bow under her double chin.

“Are ye well, lass?” She regarded her young friend worriedly.

“I am fine,” Bryna replied with a wan smile, hoping Aggie would question her no further.

“When I dinna see ye topside, I feared ye were peaked.” Although she did not voice it, concern thickened her already considerable brogue.

“I was just finishing my packing. You were wise to do it yesterday.”

“Not wise, just experienced,” the older woman insisted modestly. “I hope I dinna forget anything.” She pulled out her ever-present spectacles and peered through them, her nearsighted gaze sweeping the cabin before lighting on Bryna. “Ye’re not still nervous aboot meeting yer father?”

“Perhaps a little.”

“No need to fear, lass. True, Blaine O’Toole is a silver-tongued rascal. And I’ve told ye that he and my Gordon are rivals in the spice trade, but ‘tis a fine, friendly competition. Do nae worry, Bryna. Yer father is a good and fair man.” She nodded for emphasis, causing one of the wax cherries on her hat to slide forward and bob in front of her face.

Absently Aggie batted at the fruit with her lorgnette and concluded, “So leave off wi’ yer worryin’ and come up on deck. ‘Tis a glorious day, and if ye do nae come soon, ye’ll miss all the excitement of landing. Gibraltar is a wondrous place.”

“The captain said we wouldn’t dock for another hour,” Bryna protested, unwilling to leave the cabin yet. “I’ll be up long before then.”

“As ye wish,” Aggie agreed reluctantly. Her hand on the door latch, she paused. “Are ye sure nothing ails ye?”

“Nothing.” Bryna forced her lips to curve in a bright smile. But when the woman turned to leave, she could not keep from blurting, “Aggie, wait! Have you seen Derek ... Lieutenant Ashburn this morning?”

“So that’s it. Naoo, lass, I’ve nae seen him. I tried to warn ye,” she reminded the girl gently, “he’s nae one for good-byes. I daresay flirt and fare-thee-well is more his style.”

“I suppose,” Bryna whispered, certain she would die from misery.

Aggie looked at her shrewdly, but she asked no questions. Instead she cajoled, “Come up soon, lass. We’ll find a good spot near the rail. Perhaps ye might even see some of Gibraltar’s apes. Besides, a bit of fresh air will do ye good.”

Alone in the cabin, the girl tried to collect herself to go out, if only to please Aggie. She had become genuinely fond of the Scotswoman from the moment they’d met on the dock at New Orleans.

How painful the memories of that day were, even now. Bryna and Sister Françoise had waited amid a flurry of farewells as passengers boarded the
Mab,
a luxurious packet. While Mother Veronique spoke to the captain, nearly all the young wards of Hotel Ste. Anne fidgeted, sweltering in the hot Louisiana sun, eager for the spectacle of the graceful ship’s departure.

Her nearsighted eyes fixed on the ship at the end of the pier, Agnes Moore had marched past them, a massive hatbox dangling from her arm. At first sight she had looked stern and matronly, dressed in a traveling dress of stiff black bombazine, but on her head she had worn an extraordinary fabrication of ribbon and netting, topped by a stuffed bird that seemed to gaze intrepidly forward.

When the woman drew even with the captain and Mother Veronique, her head swiveled under the elaborate hat so the bird seemed to stare at them solemnly. The captain greeted the newcomer immediately with a polite bow and introduced her to the mother superior. After a moment both women, still conversing earnestly, walked toward the waiting girl.

“
Chère,
I would like you to meet your cabin-mate, Madame Moore.” Speaking in careful English, Mother Veronique gestured toward the woman. “Madame, may I present Mademoiselle Bryna O’Toole. She is traveling to Morocco to join her father.”

“I am pleased to meet yet Miss O’Toole.” Aggie rummaged in her reticule and brought out a lorgnette. Holding the lenses in front of her eyes, she looked the girl over carefully. “Much better. I can see naow. Ah, ye hae yer father’s eyes.”

“You know my father?” Forgetting manners for the moment, Bryna shot up from her curtsey and regarded the woman with surprise.

“Aye, we’re nearly neighbors. My husband owns a shipping business on Gibraltar, and we see Blaine every time he comes over from Tangier. He’s a charmin’ rogue, and I suspect I’ll like the daughter as much as I like the father.” The woman’s plain round face was suddenly transformed by a dazzling smile. Beaming, she folded her eyeglasses and returned them to her bag. “Just call me Aggie, my dear, and I will call you Bryna, if ye do nae mind.”

“Please do,” Bryna said promptly, warmed by Aggie’s magnificent smile.

“Do nae worry aboot Bryna, Reverend Mother,” the Scotswoman reassured Mother Veronique. “I’ll watch oer her as if she were one of my own, and we’ll get word to her father the moment we land.”

“Merci,
” the nun murmured gratefully, glad Bryna had already found a friend and a chaperone.

Turning to the girl, Aggie added, “I look forward to sharing a cabin wi’ ye, lass. Olivia, my next to the youngest, just married a young man here in Louisiana, and I dreaded the long, lonely trip home. I hae five living children, all of them daughters. My youngest, Cassie, is in Scotland visiting family, so I’m traveling alone, and I dinna ken what I would do withoot a bit of youthful companionship.”

“Merci beaucoup,
Madame Moore.” Bryna felt a rush of gratitude for the woman’s kindness.

“Aggie, dear, Aggie.”

Efficiently the woman recruited a porter to carry their baggage, then considerately waited nearby as the girl bade farewell to the only family she had ever known.

As the Mississippi’s current took the
Mab
downriver, the children jumped up and down on the dock and cheered. Bryna stood with Aggie at the railing, waving until the ship rounded a bend and the city disappeared from view. Then she stood still, looking out at the verdant riverbank, tears blurring her vision. Lovingly she fingered the locket she wore around her neck, a parting gift from Mother Veronique, which contained faded pictures of her parents and a lock of her mother’s black hair. She would treasure it forever.

At last her new friend stirred and patted her on the shoulder. “Come, let’s explore our living quarters, Bryna,” she suggested. “D’ye object to sleepin’ in the top bunk? We face a considerable problem, ye see, gettin’ me into an upper berth.”

“I do not mind.” Drawing a deep breath, the girl squared her shoulders and put on a brave smile. “Yes, let’s explore. I have never seen a ship’s cabin before.”

“Good girl.” The Scotswoman nodded encouragingly. “Ye must always be open to new experiences, for ye ne’er know which might be the greatest adventure of yer life.”

Bryna and Aggie were friends before the
Mab
had passed from the channel into the Gulf of Mexico. While they unpacked in their tiny cabin, laughing and bumping into each other with every move, they got to know each other. Soon Bryna found herself pouring out her story. When she had finished, the sympathetic Aggie seemed even more determined than before to protect her young charge.

Accustomed to caring for others, Aggie had no trouble keeping her word to Mother Veronique. As the mother of daughters, she was well practiced in the role of chaperone, and until Lieutenant Derek Ashburn boarded the
Mab
in Bermuda, she could quell the advances of an unsuitable admirer with a single disapproving stare through her lorgnette.

Bryna had been alone at the railing when Derek arrived at the Hamilton dock on Bermuda. Her breath had caught in her throat at the sight of him. Surrounded by a chattering bevy of females, the wives and daughters of his fellow officers who had come to see him off, he was dashing and handsome in his scarlet-and-black uniform. Raptly, Bryna watched as the British soldier made his farewells, bending to kiss the hand of each woman before he turned and strode toward the gangway without a backward look.

The young man was slender and well-proportioned. He carried himself erectly and his shoulders were lithe and muscular. Curly chestnut hair framed his rather aristocratic face and his hazel eyes were warm and amiable the moment they met hers.

Bryna realized with horror that he had seen her gawking at him. He was not yet aboard, and already he would think she was not a real lady. She ducked her head in embarrassment and quickly turned away, but he had seen the interest in her eyes.

Derek introduced himself to Aggie and her ward at dinner that very evening. Although the Scotswoman could not fault his behavior, she made it clear that she did not like him. Toward her, he was a gentleman, polished and courteous, but there was a hint of flirtatiousness in his manner toward Bryna.

The girl was flattered by his attention. For the first time in her life, she felt pretty. For the first time she was being courted, and for the first time she was in love.

Bryna was ecstatic to spend every waking moment with the young Englishman. During the days they strolled the deck endlessly, their heads close as they talked. In the evenings they played chess or talked in the salon, under Aggie’s watchful, myopic eye.

“Can’t we get away from that old dragon for a while?” Derek finally asked one day as he and Bryna walked around the main deck. “Our promenade this morning has been no fun with her sitting on that bench. This is the fourth time we’ve passed her, and she glares at me through those spectacles every time.”

“Aggie is not an old dragon,” the girl defended her friend laughingly. “She’s just looking out for me.”

“I don’t think she sees well enough to look out for you,” he muttered. Bending close, he whispered, “Try to get away after dinner, Bryna, and meet me on deck.”

“But what—”

“Please come. I want to talk to you.” His breath was warm and stirred the hair over her ear.

‘‘I’ll try,” she promised, trying to ignore the
shiver his nearness brought.

That evening Bryna excused herself from the salon early, pleading a headache, and stepped out onto the deserted deck. The wind was high and cool, whipping her skirt against her legs, and the moon had gone behind the clouds. The girl hesitated a moment for her eyes to adjust to the blackness and wondered whether Derek had changed his mind.

“Bryna.” She barely heard her name over the creak of the timbers and moan of the wind in the rigging. Her heart pounding, she turned and saw Derek standing in the shadows.

“You...you said you wanted to talk to me?” she stammered, suddenly ill at ease.

“I’ve been waiting for you, love,” he murmured.

Capturing her hands, he drew the girl into the shadows beside him. As Bryna looked up at him, she could not see his face clearly in the darkness, but she knew he was going to kiss her, just as certainly as she knew she should protest. But she did not.

When Derek’s mouth met hers, Bryna felt a pleasant surge through her body. She parted her lips tentatively and was gratified when his arms tightened around her. Then she gave up thought and experimentation, surrendering herself to blissful, unaccustomed sensation.