Seamus stood to one side, Mary in his arms, watching as Maggie glowed with joy. “Ah, our girl will find her way back now,” he murmured. “She’ll have fits and starts, but she’ll find her way.”
Mary rested her head against his shoulder and nodded. “Aye. She’s an O’Rourke. I never doubted her for a moment.”
Chapter 12
Maggie stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, wishing she had a more beautiful dress. Although she knew she should be grateful for what she had, the cream-colored linen held stains on the bodice and the wrists, and she knew no amount of embroidery would hide the blemishes. Running a hand over the dress, she closed her eyes, dreaming of a different one.
As she envisioned her wedding day, all she saw was Philip. Waiting for her, with the hidden smile in his eyes that was only ever for her. She took a deep breath, conjuring his smell and how she almost felt light-headed at times, when she inhaled a lungful of his singular scent. She smiled as she imagined the laughter and joy she would feel tomorrow, when she stood beside him, accepting the well-wishes of the townsfolk.
A month had passed since their engagement, and the winter weather had already arrived in Montana Territory, although still early November. Dunmore had wanted to wait to hold the wedding until he was done with work for the season. He said he couldn’t imagine marrying the woman of his dreams and then leaving to ferry men around the Territory. With an impish smile, he had teased that, by waiting, he was guaranteed a five-month-long honeymoon.
Blushing as she recalled the ardent promise in his gaze, Maggie ran another hand over her dress, sighing again at the serviceable gown. At the soft knock on her door, she called out, “Come in.” Her sister, Niamh, poked her head in, and she smiled. “Hello, I didn’t expect to see you.”
Niamh grinned back. “I know. That’s why they call this a surprise visit.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked, pointing at her very extended belly.
“Like I’ll pop any moment.” She stared at her sister for so long that Maggie began to fidget. “You’ve been daydreaming.”
Flushing, Maggie nodded.
“Good,” Niamh said. “’Tis good to see that what you’ve been envisioning brings you joy.” She set a bundle on the bed and moved to face Maggie, setting her hands on her sister’s shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze. “There’s no shame in being scared for tomorrow, Mags.”
Maggie flushed, biting back what she would have said in protest. “You know what it is to be afraid to believe in the man you love. I feel like I’m betraying him, every time I have to battle fear. Every time he raises his hand to rub at a piece of hair or to cup my face, I’m preparing for a blow.” She flushed and ducked her head. “I only had a few days of abuse. I shouldn’t complain.”
Niamh spoke in a soft voice, her hands firm yet gentle at the same time. “You’ll never know how much I wish you’d been spared the suffering I endured.” Her hazel eyes clouded over with the memories of the time she had spent with her abusive husband. “It doesn’t take more than one blow for you to become cautious. And scared.” She looked at Maggie. “And he beat you far more brutally, again and again in a few short days, than I was beaten.”
“Niamh, I know you suffered,” Maggie protested.
“Aye, I did. I suffer now knowin’ that there are times I react without thinking, and that hurts Cormac.” She shrugged. “But he understands and loves me.” She swallowed and looked down, choosing her words carefully. “What I’ve discovered that is important, that is essential, in my marriage, is that I speak with Cormac. I trust him with my fear and my pain and my shame.” Her gaze glowed with her truth. “He’s never let me down.”
Maggie nodded and bit her lip. “How … How did you have the courage to … sleep with him?” She flushed at her whispered question, and she flopped her hand around, hoping her sister would understand her euphemism.
Niamh smiled, as she recalled the night a few years ago, when she finally became Cormac’s wife. “Oh, he didn’t touch me on our weddin’ night.” She smiled, as Maggie gaped at her. “Our brothers filled him with liquor, and he was too drunk to know up from down.” Her smile faded. “I began to believe he didn’t want me. Wanted nothing more than a woman who’d be like his sister.” She shook her head. “He proved me wrong.”
Leaning forward, Maggie gripped Niamh’s arm. “How’d you find the courage?”
Taking a deep breath, Niamh whispered, “Did Jacques … ?” At Maggie’s swift shake of her head in denial, Niamh let out a relieved breath. “Thank God.” She pulled Maggie close for a fierce hug. “I’ve lived with that fear for so long.” Rocking Maggie to and fro, she murmured, “You enjoy Dunmore’s kisses?”
Maggie pushed back and stared at her sister. “Of course I do, but I’m not so naive as to believe there isn’t more to it than kissing.”
Niamh giggled. “Well, there is a lot of kissing. And, if you enjoy his kisses, you’ll enjoy his loving.” She paused. “Trust him. And understand that the first time always hurts a bit. But then ’tis glorious.” She winked at her sister and then frowned. “Now tell me why you’ve donned such an ugly frock.”
Maggie groaned, as she ran a hand down her dress again. “I know it’s ugly, but it’s the only one I have in an acceptable color to get married in.” Her fingers flirted with the stain on the bodice. “Do you think you could embroider something here and hide this?”
Niamh glared at it, as though it were past salvaging. “No, I refuse to waste any of my valuable time on that article. Take it off.” Before Maggie could protest,
