Chapter 6

6

"Have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to each other in marriage?" The priest's feather-soft question hit Enya with the force of a ton of quarried rocks.

Was she here freely and without reservation? No. But what choice did she have?

She stood at the prayer rail beside Captain O'Brien—Sullivan—and fought back a wave of tears that threatened to knock her to the ground.

"Yes." Sullivan responded first. Gone was the animosity she'd felt from him when she'd met him in the chapel moments ago. Instead, he seemed to have resigned himself to their marriage. She wasn't sure what had changed his mind, but Bellamy had clearly convinced the captain to marry her one way or another.

Even so, she didn't like that upon seeing her for the first time, he'd been immediately opposed to her. Why? Did it have to do with his list of qualifications for a wife? Had he really wanted someone quiet, boring, and plain? And was he really dissatisfied that she was none of those things?

After the way Bryan used to like showing off her beauty, especially around other men, maybe Sullivan's disinterest in her appearance would be a welcome change.

She hadn't paid heed to his appearance. In fact, she'd hardly given him a glance, only enough to see that he was brawny and muscular and to notice he had dark brown hair and brown eyes. He wasn't dashing or handsome like the men she'd been attracted to over recent years. Certainly not anything like Bryan, who'd been more dashing and handsome than most men.

Instead, Sullivan had a rugged hardness to his features, muscles from long hours of labor, and a swarthiness that came from spending hours in the sun. He towered above her with an imposing, tough aura. But at the same time, she sensed she had nothing to fear from the captain. When she'd asked her question about physical force, the abhorrence in his eyes had told her more than words that he wouldn't harm her or the baby.

The priest exchanged a look with Bellamy, then spoke again. "Miss Shanahan, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to each other in marriage?"

Beside her, Bellamy squeezed her arm and gave her a reassuring nod.

"Aye." She spoke the word required of her, though her heart rebelled against it.

"Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?" The priest asked the next standard question.

"I will," Sullivan replied without missing a heartbeat.

All she could think about was the last time she'd taken vows when she'd gone with Bryan to a little Protestant church in Hannibal north of St. Louis. Of course, the ceremony had been different than the traditional Catholic rite of marriage. But at the time she hadn't cared, had only been filled with excitement at the prospect of becoming Bryan's wife.

Again, Bellamy squeezed her arm.

"I will." Her answer came out softer than the last one.

"Will you accept children lovingly from God and bring them up according to the law of Christ and His Church?"

"I will." Sullivan's voice was deep and calm, almost soothing. Did his easy acquiescence mean he wasn't upset about her being pregnant? That he intended to raise her child as his own?

She nodded, and this time answered without Bellamy having to prompt her. "I will."

The priest turned the page in his book. "Then you may speak your vows."

Bellamy had obviously instructed the priest to make the ceremony as short as possible by having them state only what was absolutely necessary.

"Do you, Sullivan O'Brien, take Enya Shanahan to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love and cherish, till death parts you, according to God's holy ordinance?"

"I will."

Bryan's face floated to the front of her memory again. She'd loved the crooked grin he'd leveled at her while they were saying their vows, a grin that told her she was beautiful and desirable and wanted. In fact, he'd told her countless times in the days before their elopement just how much he wanted her.

It hadn't been until after they were married that she understood just how selfish his wanting had been.

She closed her eyes to block out the image of him on their wedding day and instead pictured his cold eyes on the morning he'd told her he was leaving along with his expressionless face when she'd pleaded with him to stay.

"Do you, Enya Shanahan, take Sullivan O'Brien to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death parts you, according to God's holy ordinance?"

Love? She didn't even know this man. Yet what difference did getting to know someone really make? She'd thought she'd known Bryan before they'd spoken their vows, but clearly she hadn't.

Besides, she didn't have any love left to give a man. Bryan had stolen it from her, and every ounce was gone.

Bellamy glanced at his watch.

"Enya?" the priest said.

She mustered up the last of her energy. "I will."

She could almost hear each of the men sigh in relief.

"Good." The priest made the genuflection of the cross. "Then I pronounce that you are man and wife. What God has joined together, let no one put asunder."

As the priest closed his book and took a step back, Bellamy grinned. "We did it with one minute to spare."

The men congratulated each another, and then the priest had them sign the marriage certificate. Once the deed was done, Enya sank onto the front pew, exhaustion overwhelming her.

She pressed a hand against her forehead. When she'd left the house for the meeting with the archbishop, she'd never expected her day would turn out like this.

What in the name of all that was holy had she done? Had she really allowed Da and Kiernan to pressure her into marrying a man she didn't know? And what was wrong with her that she hadn't made more of an effort to oppose them? The old Enya would have.

She closed her eyes and fought back the tears. The truth was, the old Enya was gone. She'd been broken and crushed, and now only a ghost of herself remained.

Even so, her ghost should have taken a stand against the hasty marriage. What if she'd gotten herself into a worse situation than she'd been in with Bryan? What if Sullivan took advantage of her too? What would happen when he got tired of her? Would he leave her like Bryan?

She doubted a man like Sullivan would run off in the same manner Bryan had. As a captain, Sullivan had too much at stake, had a steamboat empire to run. But that didn't mean he wouldn't cast her aside when he'd had his fill and didn't find her desirable any longer.

At such a prospect in her future, a part of her wanted to simply give up. She could admit—albeit, ashamedly—she'd already contemplated walking down to the waterfront and throwing herself into the swollen river.

But every time she'd deliberated ending her life, she pressed her hand against her stomach and knew if she did so, she'd not only have to stand before God for murdering herself but also for murdering her child.

She didn't just have herself to consider any longer. She was responsible for the life of another human being. No matter how bleak her situation might be, she had to do her best for her child. Because the truth was, the baby wasn't at fault for her mistakes and messes, and the baby deserved a fair chance at having a good life.

Another wave of tiredness settled over Enya, and this time she didn't fight it. She simply gave in and let sleep claim her.

She wasn't sure how long she dozed before a tug awoke her. Weariness clouded her thoughts, and her body felt flat, as if the life had drained from her.

"Enya?" came a voice, one she didn't recognize.

She couldn't answer, didn't want to wake up from the dreamless sleep that had claimed her. Peace, even in sleep, was elusive.

Strong arms slipped underneath her.

She tried to turn away, but she was simply too tired to resist. In the next instant, she felt those arms lifting her up and situating her so that she was curled against a broad chest, her head resting on a shoulder.

"Where to?" The question was directed to someone else.

"Our driver and carriage are waiting for us." The answering voice belonged to Kiernan.

Enya didn't raise her head as she was carried. She didn't want to rely on others, not even for something as insignificant as walking to the carriage. But she couldn't gather any feistiness to protest. Besides, the arms holding her were incredibly strong and yet incredibly tender.

Several moments later, at the opening of the church door and the cool air slapping against her face, she shivered and pried her eyes open. She found herself tucked closely against a wide chest. The wool coat with its double rows of brass buttons belonged to only one person—Sullivan O'Brien.

The darkness of night surrounded them, broken only by the pale light of the moon overhead. It was enough that she could see the outline of Sullivan's chiseled chin and jaw, the strong line of his cheek, and his broad temple.

As if sensing her eyes upon him, he cast a glance down at her face before staring straight ahead again.

He had nice eyes. Really nice. Long black lashes framed deep-set eyes. They weren't too large or too small, but well-proportioned in his weathered face.

"I can manage on my own now." The words didn't come out as forcefully as she'd intended.

He didn't respond, just kept walking.

"I don't need you to carry me."

"I realize that." His gaze flicked down to her again. "But we're almost there."

His tone said the matter was settled, and she didn't have the energy to insist on having her way.

A few seconds later as he reached the carriage, Sullivan stopped and waited for the coachman to open the door. She assumed he would put her down and let her enter on her own, and she was unprepared when he half climbed inside, still holding her, then gently lowered her onto the seat.

His presence was overpowering in the small space. And she expected him to delay, to take advantage of being close to her, to perhaps keep his hands on her. After all, they were married in the sight of God and man, and he had every right to linger.

In fact, in a short while, he'd crawl into bed with her and require her to fulfill her wifely duties. She wasn't na?ve any longer about what the marriage bed was like. Although Bryan's kisses before they were married had seemed to promise secret passion and delights, that was far from what he'd delivered, and the wifely duties had been more like a distasteful chore that she'd had to endure.

However, if she'd endured the chore once, she could do so again.

Instead of lingering, Sullivan backed away until his large frame filled the doorway. The darkness of the interior cast a deep shadow over his face, preventing her from seeing his expression. He hesitated a moment, as if he wanted to say something.

Behind Sullivan, Da and Kiernan were talking with Bellamy, and they didn't seem in any hurry, not anymore. Not now that she was married and the Shanahan reputation was saved from further embarrassment.

Several more long seconds of awkward silence settled in the carriage. Normally, she was good at engaging in lively conversations and putting people at ease.

But tonight, she was too worn out to make small talk with the man she'd just married.

Finally, he gave a soft thump against the outside of the carriage and started to pull back. "I hope you sleep well tonight. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sleep well? And see you tomorrow? She sat up, confusion adding to the haze already in her head. "Where are you going?"

He cast a glance behind him toward the waterfront before facing her. "I'm heading back to my steamboat for the night."

"Oh." Didn't he expect her to come with him? Or, at the very least, didn't he want to return to her father's home and stay with her there?

"I'll be by sometime tomorrow."

That was strange. But she wouldn't complain. Their union had happened so quickly, they could benefit from getting to know one another before ... everything else.

"Okay."

He hesitated again. "Good night."

"Good night."

As he moved away from the barouche, she was able to get a better view of him in the moonlight. This time she was struck by how solid and strong he looked. He held himself with authority, clearly accustomed to taking command of situations.

While part of her would always rebel against being controlled, tonight she only felt relief that someone else was making the decisions for her. She'd been floundering on her own for the past few weeks, trying to figure out how to survive. And it had been exhausting and frightening and unsettling.

Maybe now, she could finally begin to pick up the pieces of her shattered dreams and start to rebuild her life.