“What’s the exception? Are ye sure she doesn’t qualify?”
“Some women in her place would plead their belly, asserting they were with child, and thereby postponing their sentence for at least six months. But, once the child is born, it would be taken away and placed either with a family who wanted it, or in an orphanage, and the woman would be hanged, anyway.”
“Has she done that?” asked Gavan.
“No. In fact, when her lawyer suggested it, she punched him in the nose and assured him, and anyone else with earshot, that no man had ever laid a hand on her.” The judge shook his head. “She was a feisty thing.”
Of course, his Lizzie wouldn’t plead her belly and would be offended when someone questioned her virtue. She may have been living a life of crime, but she was not a woman without honor.
“With all due respect, Yer Honor, she isn’t dead yet,” he said with a bit more bite than he intended.
“No, she’s not,” Judge Abernathy said, checking his pocket watch. “But, come this time tomorrow, she will have left behind her mortal coil. Perhaps, if she repents, the Lord will accept her into His Eternal Kingdom, and she’ll know a peace there which eluded her here on Earth.”
There it was, the look of sadness on the judge’s face. Gavan was about to bet that the judge would welcome a way to avoid hanging a woman. This was just the opening he needed for his proposal.
“What if…” Gavan started, trying to figure out the best way to frame the question. “What if I could guarantee she’d never trouble you again?” Gavan saw the judge’s eyes soften and pressed on. “If I took her away from here to Bridgewater with me and made sure she never returned?”
“I don’t know what you have in mind, son, but I’d sooner see her dead than dishonored. I owe her father more than that; we were friends back in the day. Why don’t you join me in my office? I think you could use a drink, and I know I need one,” he said, hanging his head as his shoulders sagged under what seemed to be the weight of the world.
Gavan tapped down his temper. How dare the judge suggest he would not behave honorably where Lizzie was concerned?
Gavan followed the judge into his private chambers and watched as the old man removed his robe and, with it, his regal bearing. By the time he turned back to Gavan, the latter had poured them each a healthy dose of whiskey. There was more to the judge’s reaction than might necessarily meet the eye.
“Ye didna want her to die, either,” said Gavan, knowing it was a fact.
The judge nodded. “I knew the family. Terrible tragedy. Indian raid killed all but Elizabeth. Her parents were on the same wagon train as my bride, Beth. Fact is, Elizabeth is named for my Beth. By the time anyone knew about the raid, the Indians had taken Elizabeth. She lived with them for almost ten years.”
The judge sighed and shook his head as if trying to rid it of an old, painful memory before he continued, “By the time we got her back, she was damn close to feral. No one could handle her. My Beth had passed on, and I wasn’t equipped to take her in. She ended up in a state-run orphanage, until she aged out at eighteen. She had nothing, literally. Given her history, her only real choice was to become a prostitute.”
The man called Lizzie’s father a friend and suggested Lizzie should have become a whore? No wonder she’d become a rustler.
“Teaching? Religious house?” Gavan suggested.
“Nope. Neither wanted her, and Elizabeth wanted no part of being yoked to a way of life she didn’t choose for herself.”
“And she didn’t want to sell herself, so she began to steal from others.”
“That pretty much sums it up. I prayed she’d catch a stray bullet so I never had to sentence her to die.”
“What if I took her to Bridgewater with me?” Gavan asked, holding his breath. Now was the moment of truth.
“If I were a younger man, I’d punch you right in the nose. I’d sooner see her dead than made into a whore.”
Really? You’d have seen her sell herself instead of becoming a thief and, now that she’s facing the noose, you get up on your high horse about seeing her swing before becoming a prostitute.
Instead of saying what he was thinking, Gavan held up his hands, “You misunderstand. I’m nay proposing to dishonor the lass. I’m offering to marry her. Ye could perform the ceremony, yerself, so ye’d know it’s legal.”
“You’d marry her? Why?” the judge asked sharply, his bushy brows going up, looking Gavan in the eye, trying to read his intentions.
“Simple, I need a wife. Elizabeth has proven she can survive without a lot of frills and would be able to help on the ranch, if needed. Ye have to agree, she’s a pretty thing.”
The judge seemed to be considering Gavan’s proposal.
Gavan let it sink in before continuing, “Then, ye wouldn’t have to kill her.” He’d set the hook; he’d reeled him in and, now, for the sinker of guilt. “Do ye not think, if she’d had a chance at a normal upbringing, she’d have ended up married to a rancher? I’m offering her, and you, and the memory of her father, that happy ending.”
The judge inclined his head ever so slightly.
Gavan’s heart soared; he was almost home free.
“What if she won’t agree? How do I know you’ll treat her right?” he asked.
“You know the reputation of the men at Bridgewater. I served with Ian Monroe. As for her agreeing, I’ll see to that.”
“And you’d be willing to do that tonight? Marry
