“Naturally,” he agreed. He then went from crouching to sitting, his legs crossed, leaning over his knees in sudden interest. “How did you manage it?”
He puzzled her. While good-looking enough, she imagined—he wore his dark hair long, tied at the nape of his neck with a length of leather cord, and his dark eyes did hold warmth and intelligence—he appeared to be more interested in her escape than he was in anything else.
Another man might have asked her exactly how much money she did have, in case there was a reward for her return. Yet not a single spark of interest had entered those nearly black eyes of his when she had mentioned money.
“I did what I could,” she shrugged. “I would rather not think about it very much.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” He appeared to fall into deep thought, his forehead wrinkling. A high forehead, a proud forehead. She began to question his heritage. His high cheekbones and tawny skin spoke of Indian blood.
It mattered not to her, either way. It simply struck her as a matter of interest.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asked, looking straight at her with accusation in his voice.
She blushed. “I was admiring you, I admit.”
“Because I am a half-breed?” he snickered.
“I would never use that term,” she was quick to assure him. And it was the truth. Not only would she never speak it, she would certainly never do so with the amount of bitterness with which he’d uttered it.
He did not appear convinced, but did not pursue the matter. “You will need water, I imagine. Food. More wood.”
Yes, all of that sounded wonderful. And while he was at it, if he could draw her a hot bath…
He stood, the top of his head nearly brushing the rock above it. Her heart leaped into her chest.
“Where are you going?” she asked, prepared to follow him, if only she had the strength to do so. She fell back against the saddle with a weak sigh.
“Do not tire yourself,” he muttered, shaking his head in clear disgust. “You must save your strength.”
“For what?” she asked with a breathless little laugh. It all seemed so amusing all of a sudden. Every last bit of what she’d been through made her want to laugh.
He did not appear half so amused, choosing to bend and place a hand on her forehead rather than laugh. “You have a fever,” he muttered. “I must go and gather supplies. My home is further up the mountain. I will return soon.”
“No. Don’t leave me.” She reached for his hand just in time, clasping it before he could take it away. “Please. I don’t want to be alone out here.”
“If you could make it through what you’ve already managed, you can manage a bit longer.” He pulled his hand from hers before slinging a bag over one shoulder.
“Wait. Wait, please.” She found it difficult to concentrate. Perhaps she truly did have a fever. “How do I know you will return?”
He blinked, unmoving. “Because I say I will.”
“That means nothing. I do not know you. How am I to know whether you plan to keep your word or not?”
“Because I am telling you I will.”
Perhaps he was the one with the fever instead of her. He did not seem to understand what she meant. Either that, or he deliberately pretended not to understand. “I do not know you. I cannot trust your word. It is snowing terribly and is bitter cold.”
“I am leaving you with my coat. And it cost me dearly,” he added when she still looked skeptical.
“That isn’t good enough.” She nodded to his bag. “Leave the bag with me as well.”
“I will not.”
“Then you will take me with you.”
“I cannot.”
“Then I will throw this coat of yours in the fire,” she threatened, desperate now.
“That would only be to your detriment,” he grunted. “You might freeze without it, just as I might.”
“Please,” she whispered, eyes filling with tears. “Please, leave your bag so I will trust in your return. I beg you.”
He groaned, looking out toward the storm as if weighing his options. “A trapper is never caught without his bag and his weapons,” he muttered, his brow increasing this is frown deepened.
She could hardly bring herself to feel sorry for him when this was so important to her. “Please. My trust has been broken as of late and need something to hold onto to help me believe you.”
“So be it.” However, he took his coat from her. “I will not freeze and be without my tools.”
Though, to his credit, he said more would into the fire before venturing out. He looked over his shoulder. “I will return as soon as I can,” he promised.” Do your best to stay awake, no matter how fatigued you might be. And move if you can, though not too much. You must keep the circulation going.”
He did not need to explain why. If she fell asleep in cold such as this and the fire went out, she would freeze.
With that, he disappeared into the swirly whiteness, leaving her alone with the horse who carried her over so many miles, so valiantly. She nestled nearer the beast, sharing its warmth.
Waiting.
4
It seemed that whenever he forgot why he preferred solitude, he made the acquaintance of someone who reminded him just why life was better lived alone.
The woman was impossible. Demanding that he leave his bag with her, knowing nothing of how he depended upon what was inside in order that he might live.
And it mattered not that she lived on a ranch, or that her father had been a rancher. Her fine clothing told him she had spent her life in the city, that and her manner of speaking. She was educated, had more than likely spent her youth in society.
Nothing in the world appealed to him less the notion of spending his life among the members of society.
The snow fell heavily enough that it nearly blinded him, and he was glad that he had taken his coat back whenever the wind howled. It blew so, he nearly lost his hat more than once, though it was tied under his chin to keep it in place. He lowered his head, raising one arm in front of his face that he might protect himself from the worst of it.
His feet slipped, causing him to slide backward along the treacherous slope. He reached out blindly, grabbing for anything that might help him regain his balance, and was relieved to take hold of a piece of brush half-covered by the snow. Its roots went deep enough into the mountain to bear his weight while he regained his footing.
The woman did not have the first idea just how treacherous this journey would be, yet she had the nerve to demand he leave something behind to prove that he would return.
He could not go on thinking about her when so much of his attention was required simply to keep himself from being lost forever to the storm. He had not expected it to increase in strength this way, and he questioned for the briefest moment whether it had been a wise decision to leave her on her own.
No, he had needed to. She might starve or become even more ill for lack of food and water. Then she needed a blanket, as did the gelding.
As would he, waiting out the storm along with her.
What a fool he was, risking himself this way. He owed her nothing. In fact, he had already saved her life. She would be dead by now had he not pulled her from the snow and set a fire for her to warm herself by.
He might easily consider his duty fulfilled. He might build a fire in the shack and warm himself by it, allowing his body to become unfrozen bit by bit while the wind howled outside the door.
And by the time he returned for his bag, she would be gone.
Even the simple act of thinking this made him angry with himself. It was not his way to leave a woman in need, no matter if she was a stranger to him. No matter if she angered him with her stubborn ways.
It seemed to take an eternity for him to finally make the climb up the steep slope, but soon the shape of his shack made itself clear among the driving, blinding snowflakes. He might have wept with relief had he the strength to do so. And were he
not convinced the tears would freeze to his face in an instant.
Knowing he was so close to home gave him the strength he needed to push through.
He fell through the door and into the shack, slamming it shut behind him and taking a moment just to catch his breath without the icy wind stealing it from him. Merlyn neighed in the lean-to.
“Just wait,” he gasped, his eyes closed as he regained his bearings. “You will be out there soon enough.”
What to bring? That was the question.
He asked himself what he would pack if he were going out for an extended hunt. He rolled up blankets, then filled his pockets with dried meat. In Merlyn’s saddlebag, he tucked a pig’s bladder which he’d treated with layer after layer of grease to make it waterproof that it might be used as a canteen. It was full of cold, clean water, and he would be able to melt snow when the time came.
He gathered as much wood as his arms could hold and bound the sticks together in a clean sheet, tying it in a knot and hanging it from Merlyn’s saddle. The small sack of oats which he always brought along on their hunting trips was half-full, enough for both his beloved horse and for the gelding still recovering in the storm.
For the briefest moment, he considered once again reneging on his promise and waiting out the storm. Why should he risk his life for the life of a woman he did not know and with more than likely not care to know what the opportunity present itself? Why should he risk falling and injuring himself and freezing to death for her?
When he imagined what his father would think of him—what he might think of him then and there if it was true that the departed watched over those still living—it was enough to shame him terribly. Angus MacIntosh would certainly never have considered leaving a defenseless woman on her own, storm or no storm.
Though upon remembering what she had told him of her escape, he questioned whether she was truly so defenseless, after all. She had suffered already and had likely only escaped with moments to spare.
With that in mind, he was disappointed in himself. The girl needed him, especially after having been so badly treated. She had already narrowly escaped death. She deserved his assistance.
And so, he led Merlyn out of the lean-to back out into the storm. He regretted it in an instant, there was no time for regret. Regret would not get him back to her, and it would certainly not keep him from injury.
The horse was reluctant, to say the least, but he coaxed and urged his old friend into following behind him. He led the way, as he always did, choosing his footing as carefully as he could before allowing Merlyn to follow in his footsteps.
While moving down the slope was in some ways easier than climbing it, it came with its own dangers. Such as losing his footing and sliding down, down, down. Though he might easily have done that on his way up, as well. In fact, he nearly had.
Merlyn stopped, attempting to rear back on his hind legs in protest. Roan reached out to him, knowing instantly what the trouble was, and removed the ice which had formed around his nose and mouth. His breath was freezing, threatening to smother him.
“There. Now you can breathe, my friend,” he called out before continuing on. And on, and on.
In fact, they walked for so long that for a moment he feared they might have passed the point where he’d left her.
He stopped, looking this way and that, panic threatening to overtake his good sense. Had he gone too far? Should he double back and climb up this time?
He wished there was a way for him to know for certain, but wishing would get him nowhere. He might easily freeze on the spot while wishing.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, he drew in the deepest breath he could and cried out.
“Hello!” he shouted, the wind stealing his voice and carrying it away. It was no use. She would never hear him.
Then, a miracle happened.
“Here!” The sound was weak and soft. “I am here!”
He squinted into the snow, using every bit of his concentration and skill to locate the point from where her voice had come. The wind blew from north to south, crossing him from right to left, which made him turn to the right and look in that direction for her.
A flicker of light revealed the location of the fire, and he cleaned Merlyn’s muzzle before continuing. Once again, just as he had upon locating the shack, he found the strength to carry on once he knew he was going in the right direction and the journey would soon come to an end.
By the time he stumbled into the makeshift shelter, he was covered in snow from head to foot and nearly frozen.
She sat up, surprise and alarm overpowering her weakness and illness. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He managed to catch his breath, then laughed. “Exactly what is all right?” he asked as he put himself to work immediately. He took the wood from Merlyn’s saddle first, untying the knotted sheet with fingers stiff from the cold.
Only the thought of a warmer fire kept him going, forcing himself to move through the pain. He fed wood onto the fire, sighing in relief when it grew.
He then pulled out the canteen, handing it to her. “Drink,” he ordered before turning away to attend to other matters.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Water. Though you are in no position to question what I have brought you,” he muttered. My, but she was full of questions. Considering that he had risked his life twice to bring it to her, it seemed to him she had a great deal of nerve to question him at all.
His teeth chattering, he used one of the blankets to cover the gelding, then another to cover Merlyn. He, himself, had a fair bit of warming up to do.
The last blanket, thickest of all and the one on which he chose to sleep while camping out-of-doors, he saved. After feeding even more wood to the fire, he took the canteen from the woman and finished what was inside. He handed her a strip of dried meat.
“Eat,” he grunted before holding his hands over the fire to warm them thoroughly.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Venison,” he grunted.
Clearly, she saw how useless it was to question him, taking a bite and chewing it slowly. Her eyes were still glassy, too bright, and he hoped that food and water and rest would be enough to help her.
While she seemed to know just how to aggravate him, that did not mean she deserved to die.
“Were you injured? Beyond your rope burns?”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe so.”
He had seen exhaustion result in illness before, and hoped for her sake that that was the case now. Otherwise, there was little he would be able to do.
While his father had taught him a great deal about surviving in the mountains, he had been no medicine man. And Roan had never known enough of his mother’s people and their ways to know what to do with a sick woman.
There was one thing he knew to do, and he intended to do so once she finished eating. The horses were tended to as well as they could be. Once they rested and warmed a bit, he would make certain they were fed and watered.
With that, he settled in beside the sick woman whose name he had not yet learned and stretched out beside her on the hard rock.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, struggling to sit up.
“Rest yourself,” he growled. He was far too exhausted and far too cold even with the help of fire to argue. “Do you know nothing of surviving out-of-doors?”
“Does it seem as though I do?”
Fever or no fever, her sharp tongue had not been damaged. “We would do better to share the heat from our bodies, or else we might both freeze. The blanket will help us.” It was lined in beaver fur, thick and warm, and he sighed without intending to upon spreading it over the two of them.
Any protest she wished to offer died the instant the blanket settled over her. “My, that is nice.”
For once, he could agree with her. He positioned Merlyn’s saddle beneath his head and drew her as close as he dared. Would she strike him?
No,
she was not that much of a fool.
Now? All that was left to do was wait for the storm to break.
What would he do with her then?
5
The first surprise struck her when he returned. He might have promised, but that did not mean he had to honor his word.
After all, had she frozen to death she would not be able to hold him to it. Even she knew that, and even in her fevered state. And he might have returned after the worst of the storm had passed and then carried on with his life as if nothing had happened.
Yet he had returned, and he’d appeared all but prepared to collapse when he did. Caked in snow from head to foot, his face a dark red from the cold and wind. A wind which managed to find her even beneath this ledge.
But he’d managed it, which told her he spent his life out-of-doors. He was well acquainted with the mountainside and knew how to manage animals in the fiercest weather. That spoke to his patience, his skill.
And his sense of honor.
That was the first surprise.
The second came when he curled up behind her, sharing his warmth while taking some of hers. It did not take much time before conditions beneath the heavy, fur-lined blanket were quite comfortable indeed.
Though she might have been a great deal more comfortable were it not for the rock beneath her. But she was willing to settle for warmth, especially after shaking uncontrollably for much of the time he’d left her alone.
She’d shaken until her bones rattled, until her limbs ached, and then she’d shaken even more. Until she asked herself if it was possible to die from shivering.
Until she’d almost hoped it was possible.
Only the thought of her sisters, wondering what had ever become of her, had kept her from giving in to despair. Just as the thought of them had kept her going, as it had when she’d fled to the foothills, then onward up the mountain. Anything to put distance between herself and those fiends.
Now she was warm, delightfully so. She could relax for the first time since she’d climbed from the buggy to assist who she’d thought needed her assistance.
An Inconvenient Bride Page 3
