An Inconvenient Bride

by Blythe Carver

  Her eyes snapped open when he moved behind her.

  No, she could not relax. Not for a moment. Not with a strange man sharing such intimate quarters.

  She had never been alone with a man before. Rance, Lewis, Mason; none of them counted. This was entirely different.

  He was touching her, for heaven’s sake, and he smelled of tobacco, animal hide, sweat.

  To call it discomforting would be the same as referring to the storm raging around them as a snowfall.

  She cleared her throat. “What is your name? You never told me.”

  He was silent for a long time, long enough to give her the impression that he’d fallen asleep. When he spoke, he sounded pained. “Roan. Roan MacIntosh.”

  She would not have guessed he’d have a Scottish name, though she supposed it explained the subtle red highlights in his hair, even as dark as it was, it would have made him stand out among those of his tribe. If he belonged to a tribe.

  She supposed they might live in the mountains. It was possible.

  She decided to ask. It was easier to attempt conversation than it was to ask herself countless times whether it was truly suitable for her to be sharing a blanket with this strange man.

  “Do you live alone?”

  He didn’t answer at first.

  “You cannot live far from here if you managed to make it there and back with blinding snow in all directions.”

  “You are quite curious.”

  “I am. I’ve never known anyone who lived in the mountains.”

  “Are you certain it isn’t your fever causing you to be so talkative? You ought to sleep.”

  “You told me not to sleep.”

  “That was before you were warm. Now, you can sleep.”

  Goodness, but he did sound angry.

  She sighed. “Why will you not tell me? It would be easier if you would tell me.”

  “Easier?”

  “This.” She stiffened, feeling at once like an utter fool. “You cannot pretend this is an ordinary situation. Unless you happen to be in the habit of rescuing strange women and lying beside them, beneath a blanket, without the benefit of—”

  “Very well, very well,” he grumbled before her words got away from her.

  Good thing, too, for she might have said something truly regrettable.

  “I live alone, farther up the mountain.”

  “I thought you must. Why do you do that?”

  “Why does anyone do anything?”

  She rolled her eyes, glad she faced away from him. Did he take pleasure in refusing to be forthright? “Well? Why? Have you spent your life here?”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “I do not need to know anything. I would like to know. You can’t expect me not to care a whit for someone who behaved so bravely on my behalf, can you?”

  To her surprise, he grumbled and sounded downright uneasy when he replied. “Bravely? Do not flatter me.”

  “I was not trying to do any such thing. I deeply appreciate what you’ve done.”

  “Just the same. Do not tell yourself I was brave. I did what needed doing. Nothing more.”

  My, but he was a friendly sort. Though she supposed, given the situation, things could have been a great deal worse. “How does one make their living while living in the mountains?”

  “Trapping,” he grunted.

  “You’re a trapper? I’ve never met one of them before.”

  “Now you have. And you happen to be sharing a blanket with one who would like very much to rest now while he thinks about what we shall do next. Unless you have thoughts you would like to share in regard to that.”

  “You must know I have nothing to share in regard to that.”

  “I suspected as much.” He fell into silence which, even with her back to him, struck her as being rather sullen. Yes, the word sullen described him to a tee.

  Were she not wary of his sullen attitude and possibly angering him to the point where he would abandon her, she might have continued speaking.

  As it was, she decided to leave well enough alone.

  The fire was so nice. It placed her under a sort of trance, the dancing of the flames enough to calm the movement of her thoughts. She chose to turn her attention toward them, instead of turning her situation over and over in her mind. Questioning how long it would be before she could make it home.

  No, it was nicer to simply let go of her fears and of the guilt she suffered whenever she imagined what her sisters must be thinking.

  Until he moved again and reminded her of his nearness, breaking her pleasant trance.

  It was her turn to scowl now, as she craned her neck to look behind her. All she managed to make out was one smooth cheek and a bit of that hair of his. “Can you please stay still?”

  “Forgive me,” he grumbled. “You must find the rock more comfortable than I do.”

  “It is a sight more comfortable than the snow,” she reasoned.

  “Fair enough.” Then, he barely suppressed a chuckle. “Does it disturb you? My presence?”

  “As a matter of fact, it does. I am not in the habit of sharing a blanket with a man who cannot be bothered to hold a civil conversation.”

  He groaned. “As I said, I’m quite fatigued. And unaccustomed to showing good manners at a time such as this.”

  “It seems to me you are unaccustomed to showing good manners at any time.”

  “That could very well be,” he admitted. “A good thing for you, then, that rescuing you from the snow was not a matter of manners. Otherwise, you would be in terrible trouble.”

  She was not entirely unsure that she was not still in terrible trouble. Trouble could take many forms, after all. “In case you were wondering, my name is Holly. Holly Reed.”

  “I was not wondering,” he mumbled.

  This incensed her terribly, but she did not have strength in her to start a fight. “I had merely asked myself why you did not seem to care, seeing as how I told you of the reason why those men kidnapped me. The fact that they believed me to be in possession of a great sum of money.”

  “It is clear that you have no intention of allowing me a moment’s peace,” he mumbled, moving about a great deal. “Why would I care what your name is when you have already told me the men were in the wrong? Had they not been in the wrong, it still would not matter to me in the slightest what your name is or who your family happens to be. You may as well know that now.”

  She knew this ought to encourage her, or at least comfort her somewhat. The man was not a mercenary. She doubted he would even look for a reward after all he had done. This should have bolstered her spirits.

  Instead, it only served to increase her curiosity. What sort of man would not even consider reward after everything he had done? Unless he had already determined to conceal his interest in her financial standing. After all, she might find him entirely too interested and begin to doubt his motives.

  Or perhaps she simply gave him too much credit entirely. There was a chance he had thought of none of this. Perhaps he was the simple man he appeared to be.

  “Have you always lived alone?” she asked once her thoughts turned in that direction, wondering about the sort of life he led. He certainly dressed simply enough. And what sort of comfort could he possibly live in, here on the mountain?

  “Will you please cease asking so many questions? I am ill-accustomed to them.”

  “I am only curious about what we might find when we reach your home.”

  “That is quite presumptuous of you,” he pointed out. “I did not say you are welcome in my home.”

  This took her breath away. He might as well have struck her. “What do you suggest, then? Do you believe I ought to go on my way once the storm subsides?

  “Yes, I do at that. If the snow is not too deep, I have no doubt the gelding could make it through. Besides, snow always falls in the mountains first. There is a good chance he has not fallen elsewhere. It would only be a matter of making the descent.”
/>   She knew this ought to thrill her. The man made a good argument. There was a chance she could be on her way soon.

  If only she did not get the sense that he longed to be rid of her. She did not understand why this should upset her. After all, the man owed her nothing. They did not know one another and, outside of these rather peculiar circumstances, never would.

  Yet for some reason, she took personally the fact that he made such short work of being rid of her.

  “It is clear to me why you live alone,” she whispered, wrapping her arms about herself and leaning as far away from them as possible. “You have a very disagreeable way about you.”

  “That, I do.”

  He did not even aim to disagree. She had never known a person who did not at least pretend to be kinder or gentler or more agreeable then they were. Had no one ever taught him how to conduct himself while in the presence of a stranger? Had not his mother at least taught him basic manners?

  She would have rued the day her mother found out that she had ever been half so surly and disagreeable. Were she a child, she would have gotten the switch for it. There had been several such instances in her youth, though the abundance of petticoats she’d worn beneath her dresses had softened the blow somewhat.

  But it had done the trick. Her mother had instilled in all of the girls a sense of decency, at least. They had learned from an early age the difference between cordial courtesy and outright rudeness.

  This cur, on the other hand, had been spared such instruction. And as the adage went, a spared rod spoiled the child. It appeared to be true here.

  Were she not half so fatigued, she would have brought this up with him.

  As it was, however, she was far too weary to continue. Perhaps the short rest would help. Once she awoke, she could tell him exactly what she thought of his poor manners and his insolence.

  Yes, let him remember her the next time he behaved so dismissively toward another person.

  She was still angry when sleep overtook her.

  6

  Roan knew not when he had fallen asleep.

  He had not intended to do so, but had merely used fatigue as an excuse in hopes of silencing his companion. Never had he known a woman or man so determined to hear the sound of their own voice. No matter how he had dissuaded her, she had insisted upon prattling on and on.

  Not that anything she had to say made the least bit of difference, but most talkative people did not care one way or another if what they had to say was of great importance. They simply wanted to speak.

  Well, she had spoken her piece and then some. The sweet, blessed silence she’d fallen into had provided him nearly as much relief as the presence of the blanket they shared.

  It was while reflecting on the blanket’s softness and warmth that he must have begun to doze.

  Upon opening his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the presence of the wind. It had not quieted down in the least. This was a blizzard, nothing less. What marvelous timing the girl had.

  He could not begin to fault her for it. He could blame her for a few things—beginning with her incessant need to question him no matter how many times he tried to put her off—but he could not blame her for being out in the elements in the middle of a blizzard.

  Were it up to her, she would be home on her ranch. Wearing her fine clothing and practicing her fine manners. Drinking tea or coffee or whatever it was fine ladies drank while they did what fine ladies did.

  He would not know about any of this.

  Raising his head slightly, he gazed across the fire to where Merlyn waited patiently. Upon noting his movement, the horse raised his head in turn and blew out a snort which Roan took as a sign of his impatience.

  And he could relate to this, as he was feeling rather impatient, too. For all he knew, there were traps in need of his attention. He might as well have been in one of those traps himself, for there was little he could do at the moment but wait for the girl to awaken and hope she was in a better condition than she had been earlier.

  It could have been the fever which had inspired her talkativeness. He had seen fever before, had he not? In his own father, in fact. And in his mother before that, though he had been far too young to possess an understanding of what was going on at the time. He’d only known that Mama was ill and weak and that she had sweat a tremendous lot, wetting her hair and soaking the pillow beneath her head.

  The girl’s gelding snorted in response to Merlyn, and Roan turned to find it alert and sniffing around for something to eat. A good sign, one which warmed his heart considerably.

  He was careful to avoid waking her as he rose from the ground, tucking the blanket more securely around her sleeping form. Exhaustion had truly taken hold, leaving her utterly unaware of what went on around her. That was for the best. Especially since he did not possess the patience necessary to answer more questions.

  He whispered to the gelding, who seemed skittish and untrusting. He was a stranger, after all.

  Rather than force his attention on the horse, then, he merely lowered his hand and left it extended near the horse’s nose. He allowed the animal to take in as much of his scent as he wished, determining whether this strange man was to be trusted.

  It took time, earning an animal’s trust. Too many men forced their will upon the beasts, insisting on breaking the animal’s spirit to force it to fall in line.

  He preferred allowing nature to take its course. There was a reason all animals possessed the instincts they possessed. Those instincts kept them alive, protected them from harm. Who was he to believe himself worthy of discarding such ancient wisdom?

  After several long minutes, the horse lowered its nose to his palm and sniffed deeply, nostrils flaring. He patted its muzzle, then ran a hand along the side of its head and over the space between its ears.

  “What a fine one you are,” he whispered, smiling. He had always felt more comfortable with animals than he had with humans. He understood them better, and they asked for far less.

  He took hold of the sack of oaks and poured a small amount in front of the animal. After a few cautious sniffs, the horse ate almost greedily.

  “There, there,” he murmured with a fond chuckle. “Do not sicken yourself by eating too quickly, my friend. There is more for you, but you must first show me you are capable of holding down what I have already given you.”

  He then did the same for Merlyn, though he was a bit more generous. Merlyn had not suffered as the gelding had.

  Using his hands, he scooped up a great deal of snow and left it before both horses that they might have the chance to refresh themselves. It would not be enough, but it would have to do for now.

  They could not stay beneath the ledge much longer. Not with their supply of wood already dwindling, another handful necessary to keep the flames alive. It would only hold out for the rest of the day, perhaps through the night. No longer.

  Would the storm spend itself by then?

  He saw himself as having two options before him. The first was to wait until the following morning, by which time neither they nor the animals would have any more food, and the wood would be entirely gone. The second, to make haste as soon as possible and make the climb up to the shack.

  He did not much care for the notion of going back out there, but he knew there was no avoiding it. Regardless of when they left, they would need to leave eventually. The snow was already deep enough that he feared it might be too deep to move through even if he waited only another hour or two. He had never seen it fall so fast, so heavily.

  It was as if the girl had brought it with her.

  He shook his head at this foolishness, wondering what she would think if she knew such an idea had occurred to him. She would more than likely take a great deal of offense.

  Though he supposed suffering through her offended sensibilities was a sight better than trying to bury her in the ground that had most likely frozen by now.

  He looked down at her, noting the way she appeared to huddle again
st herself. Arms folded, fists tucked tight beneath her chin. He tucked the blanket closer around those fists, only leaving her face exposed.

  It was a fine enough face, he supposed. He might even call her lovely were the circumstances different and were it not that she infuriated him so.

  If not infuriated, at least frustrated. She did indeed frustrate him with her useless questions and her insistence upon learning every bit of his life.

  As if he were nothing more than an oddity for her to ogle in the absence of anything of greater interest.

  He had suffered more than enough ogling over the course of his lifetime, the son of a Scottish trapper who had become friendly with one of the tribes he’d met during the course of his travels. What a pair they’d made, turning heads whenever they had descended from the mountain to trade their furs for supplies.

  How rude people could be, staring out right at the young half-breed boy and his redheaded father with the heavy Scottish brogue. Many had been the time when a gossiping old woman had questioned his parentage and asked after his “savage” family.

  How it had pained him as a youth, once he had grown old enough to understand. His father Angus had always instructed him to ignore these people, referring to them as the ignorant fools they were. They knew nothing of what it meant to live an honest, hard-working life as a fur trapper.

  They also did not understand how common it was for trappers coming from Europe to accept a young Indian woman’s hand in marriage in partial payment for the goods they offered. That had been how his parents had first made each other’s acquaintance, during a feast held in honor of his father’s arrival near the area where the tribe made their home.

  Roan’s grandfather, the tribal leader, had offered his most beautiful daughter along with a handful of gold trinkets and other various treasures to both repay Angus and to curry favor with him. This was often the way such transactions were made.

  What would the citizens of Carson City or any other city know about that? They were afraid of the so-called savages who roamed the hills and the plains.