He shifted a glance at her where she plucked meat off the rabbit and nibbled at it in small bits. Her narrow hands and wrists were able. Shapely arms disappeared beneath the sleeves of her deerskin dress. She was sturdy like a sapling, but with the look of having born a child. Full breasts and ... The image of her back facing him the night she’d given birth now surfaced in his memory. Though she was fully clothed, Lachlan had to look away. He chewed on the meat and sucked off the bone.
The baby stirred and whimpered. In a flash, Wenonah was beside the child, shushing her. She drew Waaseyaa into her arms and laid a kiss on the velvety cheek. Then she turned away from the men and nursed.
An urge to walk over and lay a hand on her shoulder nearly overpowered Lachlan. Nab paid no attention, for which Lachlan was grateful. Yet he could hardly be still, and he could not hold onto the image of Moira. He wiped his hands on his pants and breathed a silent prayer that God would clear his thoughts.
Nab dropped a clean bone on his trencher and pushed himself to his feet. “I’d best be on my way. I can make it back by nightfall and give my report.”
“When should I expect ye to return?” Lachlan asked.
Nab glanced at Wenonah and jerked his head toward the door. “Why not walk outside with me if ye’ve the strength, and we’ll discuss it.”
Lachlan’s leg felt better after he’d rested and eaten. His limp was slighter than before as he followed Nab outside.
Nab walked a few paces clear of the cabin. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I don’t plan to rush my return. Yer no good to the king’s army until yer well. Bouquet can make do without ye for a while yet, I swear. I’ll carry word back that ye’ll be well enough by month’s end.”
Lachlan startled. “Month’s end? That long? I thought perhaps a week.”
“We’ll say two then.” Nab pulled in a breath and sighed. “Ah, Lachlan ... Can’t ye see what a chance ye’ve been given?”
“What do ye mean?” He thought he knew, but he wasn’t sure he could yet admit it.
“I mean her.” Nab glanced toward the cabin. “Both of them. She’s a comely lass. Surely the thought has crossed yer mind that she might be good for ye—a salve for yer heartache.”
Lachlan looked away. He wrestled with his memories of Moira. He’d loved her since she was but a girl of fifteen. He would always love her. Nevertheless ...
“I see the way ye look at her.” Nab drew out a pause then added with a deeper voice, “And the way she looks at ye. Yer not going to let her travel through the wilderness back to her people, are ye? Not when we’ll probably be stuck in this country for the whole of winter? Perhaps, by springtime, the war will be settled at last, and we can all get what was promised.”
Lachlan rubbed a hand across his jaw. They’d passed through countless miles of rugged country, some not unlike their own Highlands with its mountains and glens. They had been promised the option of returning to Scotland or receiving a land payment in the colonies. Lachlan studied the green forest about them. The stream trickled faintly in the distance. “’Twould be as good a place to put down roots as any, I reckon.”
Nab grinned. “Call it roots, if ye want. ’Twould be a good land for marrying and raising yer own bairns is what ye mean. A whole clan of wee McRaes.”
Lachlan felt a stab, but it didn’t prick as deeply as it used to. “If I found another woman foolish enough to marry me ye mean.”
Nab grasped Lachlan’s shoulder. “Now ye ken my meaning.” He lowered his hand and clasped Lachlan’s. “Fare thee well, McRae. I’ll be back before ye know it, and then ye’ll be certain, one way or t’other.”
“Two weeks.”
Nab shrugged. “Inside of three anyway.” He turned away and whistled a tune as he strode up the trail. “Or four!” he hollered. Then his voice echoed back in song as he disappeared through the trees.
“He looked high, he looked low,
He cast an under look;
And there he saw a fair pretty maid
Beside the wat’ry brook.”
Lachlan could not help but smile. He returned to the cabin just as the door opened. Wenonah stood inside the frame. A fair pretty maid indeed. Her lovely dark eyes caught his and caused his breath to tighten in his chest. Lachlan cleared his throat. “Nab has gone on. He’ll be back in time.”
She raised her pert chin and gave half a nod. One brow arched over her doe-like eyes. Lachlan’s heart kicked with a sudden longing, one he barely remembered. It was not the same as the lonesome ache he’d borne like a mantle for months over Moira. This craving was fresh and filled with something akin to hope—hope stolen from him for such a long time, he’d forgotten its pull. Now it tugged at him with yearning. Could feelings that had been driven only into dreams become real again?
He approached her and stopped a few feet away. “I owe ye further thanks.”
“What for?”
He took another step. “For offering to stay and tend me, when it is ye and wee Waaseyaa who need tendin. I’m sorry to keep ye from yer people.”
Her eyelids fluttered. “It not matter. My people, they ...” She shrugged.
Lachlan had known her so short a time. Were days enough? Were needs and loneliness enough? His heartbeat lost rhythm. “They what?”
She shook her head. “I know not what will happen when I return to my father’s lodge.”
“I suppose there’s no use tryin to guess the things we canna see. There is only what we can know of today.”
She nodded. “Yes, Lac-lan. So it is. You, too, return to the soldier fort and know not what will happen next.”
He didn’t like to think of it. He would return to soldiering. He had no choice. “Aye, but for now we will worry only about our next meal, and ye will only worry about our wee First Light of Dawn.” He offered her a smile, and her shoulders relaxed. Her lips spread too, moving him with her beauty. He cleared his throat when he realized he’d been staring at them. “Did yer husband have any traps or leave anything else that the Indians dinna take?”
She shook her head. “They take all his things. I make trap for fish and snares for rabbit.”
“Ye are a good woman.”
Pleasure teased the corners of her lips. She turned aside. “I show you.”
Lachlan followed her around the cabin to where the trapper’s woodpile must have stood. The ground was littered with wood chips and a few rotted wood chunks. Lachlan would have to come by a good ax once he received his parcel of land. A good ax and many other things. He thrilled again at the thought of these new ideas. When had he last laid plans of his own?
Wenonah showed him the trap she’d woven of sticks and reeds. As good a fish trap as any he’d seen. They could use some of the rabbit entrails as bait. “We’ll take it to the river later.”
She turned a demure glance his way, accepting his idea.
“Tomorrow morning I’ll take my Bess and see if I can hunt us some larger game.”
“You not walk far?”
“Nay. I’ll be careful of my leg. I promise.”
“Lac-lan must take great care. Bullet stay in leg. Must have chance to heal.”
The tiny cry of the baby came from inside the cabin. Lachlan placed a hand gently on the small of Wenonah’s back. “She’s calling for her màithair.”
Wenonah hurried off.
Lachlan turned up his palm and stared at is as she disappeared around the cabin. The feel of her dress lingered there. She was real. Living. As fine a woman as ... as Moira.
A sacred wonder filled him as he pulled in a deep breath. His lungs expanded, and his chest thrust out. The rich flow of his life’s blood rushed through his veins.
The following morning, Lachlan unwrapped his thigh and examined his flesh. The wound had closed. He carefully probed the spot where the bullet had settled deep in his muscle near the bone. Whether or not a surgeon would ever open the leg again to remove it remained to be seen. He doubted such would happen. He would likely feel the pain and pressure of it to
his dying day, but it would not keep him a cripple.
The leg ached as it did each morning, but he could gently stretch it now. He cast aside the medicinal dressing and wrapped only the light, clean cloth around his thigh. It was enough to protect the tender flesh from debris or snapping twigs while he hobbled into the forest.
Wenonah slept soundly with Waayesaa tucked in the crook of her arm, their foreheads touching. Lachlan moved near and took a long moment to study them both. His heart swelled. He could love this woman and her child, and perhaps he already did. He slipped out the door before he did something rash, like bend to kiss her brow.
Daylight barely touched the forest. Dew lay heavy on grass and fern, and it dripped from every weighted leaf. He stole over the padded ground, soundless despite his limp. Every dozen rods he stopped and listened as he made his way to the river’s edge. He followed the flow north until it came to a grassy glen spotted with deer droppings. He surveyed the area where hoof tracks carved sharp edges in mud along a well-worn trail that crossed through the middle of the clearing then disappeared again into the thick growth on the other side. ’Twas a fair good place to wait, and likely to yield game if he was patient.
Lachlan skirted the edge of the glen, keeping downwind from the trail. He found a recently fallen tree upon which he could sit. He barely needed to bend his sore leg and still remained hidden behind the foliage of the crown. Settling onto the rough-barked seat, he checked the powder in his pan, then he stilled. Silence lay thick about the land, broken only by the occasional rush of bird wings or the buzzing of an insect near his ear. The smell of earth rose from the ground mingling with the scent of foliage—spicy fern and damp leaves. He inhaled and released a slow, silent breath. Then again. For the briefest moment, Lachlan closed his eyes, savoring the dawn and life itself. Did Wenonah stir? Even now did she wonder where he’d gone? She would recall their conversation of last night. Would she prepare to break her fast? No, first she would bare her breast and suckle the babe.
He opened his eyes at the warmth of the thought squirreling away through his insides and lighting like down in his conscious, soft, tickling, welcome. Wenonah …
The tiny snap of a twig sharpened his senses. He refused to flinch, but his ears strained while he focused hard between the branches and leaves of the trees. Soon he spotted a brown leg, then two. His heart pounded, and his body tightened with anticipation. Every sound and movement magnified as a doe stepped further into view. Her head rose from the waves of grass, and she stiffened. One ear twitched. Then she bent her head again, and Lachlan raised his musket. Her head bobbed upward. Her shoulder muscles flinched. And Lachlan fired. Thick, acrid smoke clouded between him and his quarry. He turned off the tree trunk, pain in his leg forgotten as he sought for any sign of the deer. He stood still and waited until at last, he saw the thick grass move. She was down.
Lachlan’s breath rushed in and out with the throbbing in his chest. Perspiration trickled down his temple, even as the sun glinted its first bright rays through the dewy trees. The glory of it turned his heart to thanks and to Wenonah and to the wee babe named after the dawn.
Thank Ye, God. Thank Ye.
Chapter 10
“WENONAH!”
Wenonah jumped as Lac-lan burst through the door. She quickly pulled her dress closed. “Something is wrong?” Fear scattered her wits.
His face was flushed, but a smile spread across it, showing white beneath his dark beard and mustache. His green eyes were wide. “I’ve taken a big doe.” He gestured at his leg. “I’ll not be able to shoulder the weight yet. Have ye a length of rope?”
Wenonah nodded as her breath eased out in relief. She retrieved the rope from behind her bedding. A doe. She would smoke and dry the venison, and today she would put a loin on the spit for their supper. Her mouth watered in anticipation. “I come help too.”
His glance shifted warmly over her. “I’d be happy for yer help, but ye’ve Waaseyaa, and ye mustn’t overdo it.”
“Wenonah strong. Able.”
“Aye. I won’t argue with that. Ye’ve waited on me hand and foot, all while ye’ve had yerself and a newborn to care for, but I won’t have ye draggin the deer. Ye can come if ye want, but I’ll draw the load. I am well enough.”
His consideration touched her, and she agreed. Were he a man like Catahecassa, he would have expected her to handle the work alone.
Ten minutes later, with Waaseyaa in her cradleboard and Lac-lan carrying a pack Wenonah had retrieved from her cache, the two set out to bring back the venison. Wenonah smiled inwardly at the way Lac-lan strode through the woods, his limp not keeping him from pressing on to the task. She offered him her skinning knife, and he grinned in thanks as he took it and slit the belly of the animal.
The deer was cleanly shot, her hide barely damaged. Later, Wenonah would soak it in ash lye and prepare it for scraping. The skin would make a nice hunting shirt. Lac-lan’s shoulders stretched and bunched his waistcoat across his back as he worked over the deer. Wenonah sized him up. Yes, she would make him a shirt from this hide as a gift.
“Hand me the pack.”
She set it beside him, open at the top. Lac-lan carefully put the two long loins and heart inside. “This meat will feed us for some days, Wenonah. It’ll help ye keep yer milk up for Waaseyaa.”
Warmth spread through her to her fingertips at the expression of his thoughts. She doubted even Abraham Woolsey would have thought of her needs so.
Lac-lan soon had completed the dressing and had the hind legs bound together with the rope so that he might drag the deer back to the cabin. He tore off a clump of long grass and rubbed it between his hands. “I’ll hoist it in that oak tree on the north side of the cabin. That’ll make it easier to skin and quarter.”
“Wenonah cut meat.”
He shook his head. “I told ye—I’ll do the work. Ye can do the cooking.” One side of his mouth lifted in half a grin and he winked. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
She blushed and let a smile slip out.
“I might let ye teach me yer tricks for smoking the hindquarters.” He tossed away the grass and freed her of the inviting spark in his eyes as he shouldered the pack with the loins and heart. Grabbing the rope, he pulled the deer behind him.
Wenonah followed him with the baby. What would she do when he returned to the fort and left her? She had gotten used to him too. More than used to him in fact. Was this stirring he caused inside her alive in his own breast too? A stirring she did not wish to cease?
She studied him as he trudged ahead. Other than the effects of the injury that caused him to measure his steps, he was a strong man. Strong and broad-shouldered like an oak. His hair had begun to edge around his collar in a way that made her want to tuck her fingers beneath it. He was a handsome man too. Very handsome indeed.
Her heart fluttered, but this time she did not try to smother its wild beat. Then, with another thought, it nearly stopped. Did Lac-lan have a woman? He was a soldier, off to war. Did a wife wait for him somewhere far away in the land of his home? Perhaps Wenonah was wrong to welcome feelings for this man. Perhaps she should never have let them awaken.
Lac-lan paused when they approached the stream. He let go of the rope and dropped the pack to rest. Sweat coiled the dark strands of his hair against his brow. He lowered himself to the ground at the water’s edge and washed the rest of the blood off his hands and arms until they were clean. Then he splashed water on his face and dipped his head. He slung it back, and water droplets fanned out around him.
Wenonah giggled. If Lac-lan did have a woman waiting for him, Wenonah would have to open her heart and let him fly from it, but for this moment, she would hold him inside and revel in his presence.
He smiled up at her, his mossy green eyes squinting against the sunlight. “What are ye laughing at?” He cupped water in his palm and dashed it at her.
She squealed and scooted back. Then, after they’d both laughed, she lowered herself beside him.
&nbs
p; “Turn ’round.”
She eyed him for a moment then did as he bid. He gently wrestled the cradleboard off her back and propped the sleeping baby against a shady rock. Wenonah stretched her shoulders and bent to the water to wash the perspiration from her face and neck. When she turned to him again, he was looking at her in a way that sent her heart back to beating wildly. If ever she would know the answer ...
“Lac-lan McRae ...” She swallowed against the squeezing in her throat. “You have wife?”
The water danced a woodland tune over the rocks beside them. The sky held not a cloud above the fluttering treetops. All the forest was keen and alive—like Lachlan himself. Had he really been so dead for the past four years? Wenonah’s eyes, deep and questioning, dark and vivid at once, grasped hold of him without her touch. His breath eased out as they stared at one another.
“Nay.”
Her brow relaxed ... in relief? Did she want to know because ...
When he reached for her hand, she let him twine his fingers with hers. They were cool and still damp. Alive. Now he needed to draw another breath.
He studied their fingers. “I had a wife, but she is in the ground, like yer husband. Our bairn is with her. Her name was Moira, and she died givin birth to our son.”
Wenonah’s fingers tightened, and he responded. He lifted his face to hers, and the sorrow in her eyes reached out to him, touched him as physically as her hand holding his.
“I am sorry, Lac-lan.”
“’Twas long ago now, in Scotland. Much longer than the time that’s passed since ye lost yer man.”
The Highlanders: A Smitten Historical Romance Collection Page 14
