“I do.”
“Good.”
She smiled.
Then noticed something else.
Books.
Only five.
A Bible.
A trapping guide.
A livestock medicine handbook.
A volume of Shakespeare.
And a children’s primer.
Sadi held it up.
Lucien turned red again.
“Planning ahead?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I thought…”
He stopped.
Sadi waited.
“I thought maybe you couldn’t read.”
Her eyebrows rose.
He immediately added:
“Cobb said you worked laundry.”
“And laundry workers are illiterate?”
“I didn’t know.”
“So you bought a children’s primer.”
“In case.”
Sadi opened it.
Her irritation evaporated.
Inside the cover, Lucien had written in enormous uneven letters:
For my wife, if she wishes to learn.
Sadi stared.
“I can read.”
“Good.”
“Very well.”
“Better.”
She looked at him.
“Can you?”
Lucien frowned.
“Yes.”
“Shakespeare?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Slowly.”
Sadi smiled.
“Tonight.”
“What?”
“You read.”
His eyes widened.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“The Bitterroot Beast is afraid of Shakespeare?”
“I hate you.”
Sadi laughed.
“You barely know me.”
“Long winter.”
That evening, Lucien read badly.
Very badly.
He stumbled through long sentences, mispronounced three words, and became increasingly irritated when Sadi corrected him.
She loved every minute.
At one point he snapped the book shut.
“This man uses too many words.”
“Shakespeare?”
“Yes.”
“History may disagree.”
“History didn’t have to listen to him.”
Sadi laughed until her stomach hurt.
Lucien stared.
Something softened in his eyes.
“What?”
she asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I know.”
Her laughter faded.
Lucien said quietly, “I like that sound.”
Sadi looked away.
No one had ever said that.
Not about her laughter.
At Oak Haven, laughter belonged to customers.
Workers stayed quiet.
She reopened the book.
“Continue.”
Lucien did.
The weather cleared two mornings later.
They left before sunrise.
Lucien saddled both horses, refusing to make Sadi walk the lower trail again.
She wore the rabbit-fur moccasins he had bought.
They fit perfectly.
She had not asked how he knew her size.
She suspected Cobb had given him details.
That thought made her angry all over again.
The trip to Oak Haven took most of the day.
By late afternoon, smoke rose from the town chimneys.
Children played near the church.
The place looked healthier than when Sadi left.
Of course it did.
Six wagons of meat.
Lucien rode directly toward the town hall.
People saw them.
Conversations stopped.
Mayor Silas Cobb emerged before they reached the steps.
He wore a wool coat too fine for a starving community.
Sadi noticed that now.
Maybe she should have before.
Cobb smiled.
“Lucien.”
Lucien dismounted.
Sadi did the same.
The mayor looked at her.
“Mrs. Holt.”
Sadi said:
“No.”
His smile faded.
“What?”
Lucien handed Sadi the folded agreement.
She walked up the steps.
Opened it.
Held it in Cobb’s face.
“What does this say?”
Cobb looked.
Then at Lucien.
“I don’t understand.”
Sadi’s voice sharpened.
“What does it say about my consent?”
People gathered.
Shopkeeper.
Blacksmith.
Boarding house workers.
Mrs. Finch.
Children.
Cobb lowered his voice.
“This isn’t something to discuss publicly.”
“Interesting.”
Sadi stepped closer.
“You discussed my marriage publicly.”
Cobb’s cheeks reddened.
“Sadi.”
“My name is not something you use when you want me obedient.”
Silence spread.
Lucien stood behind her.
Not in front.
That mattered.
Cobb glanced at him.
“Control your wife.”
Lucien’s expression changed.
Sadi turned slightly.
She knew what Cobb expected.
The giant husband to act.
Instead Lucien said:
“She asked you a question.”
Cobb swallowed.
Sadi lifted the agreement.
“You told him I volunteered.”
The crowd murmured.
Cobb looked around.
“This town was starving.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Children were hungry.”
“Still not an answer.”
“We had no currency he wanted.”
Lucien finally spoke.
“I wanted honesty.”
Cobb snapped:
“You wanted a woman.”
“Yes.”
“And we found one.”
Sadi’s face went cold.
“You found one?”
Cobb realized too late.
He tried again.
“You had no family.”
The words fell into the crowd.
Sadi nodded slowly.
“There.”
Cobb stopped.
“That’s why.”
“Sadi—”
“You chose me because nobody would object.”
“No father.”
“No brother.”
“No money.”
“No land.”
“No one whose anger mattered.”
Mrs. Finch covered her mouth.
Sadi continued.
“You took me from your washroom, told me children would starve if I refused, and called that consent.”
Cobb’s voice rose.
“What would you have had me do?”
“Let everyone die?”
Lucien stepped forward.
The movement alone made the mayor retreat.
Lucien’s voice remained calm.
“You could have told me no woman agreed.”
Cobb stared.
“And then what?”
“I would have left the meat.”
Silence.
The mayor blinked.
“What?”
Lucien looked at him as though he were stupid.
“I said Oak Haven needed food.”
“I did not say food depended on marriage.”
Cobb’s face changed.
Sadi turned toward Lucien.
“You would have given it anyway?”
“Yes.”
She stared.
“Why didn’t you tell them?”
“I thought they understood.”
Cobb almost shouted:
“You offered it as exchange!”
“I offered supplies and asked whether any woman wanted marriage.”
“Those were separate sentences.”
A laugh came from somewhere in the crowd.
Not humor.
Disbelief.
Cobb looked around desperately.
“You expect me to believe you would have handed over three thousand pounds of meat for nothing?”
Lucien’s expression hardened.
“For people not starving?”
“Yes.”
Cobb stared.
Sadi whispered:
“You truly are an idiot.”
Somebody laughed openly.
Cobb turned red.
Sadi lifted the paper.
“You sold something that was never yours.”
The mayor pointed at Lucien.
“But you married him.”
Sadi’s jaw tightened.
“Because you lied.”