by Cait London
“MacGregor....” she began, then placed her fingertips to her aching temples. “I will deal with you later,” she managed weakly.
Outside, Regina turned away from the broiled trout, her head throbbing. She sipped her second cup of tea, nibbling on a hard, flat biscuit. A gray mare waited beside MacGregor’s horse, her saddle gleaming in the faint light. Using every drop of strength she had, Regina washed her face in the stream and walked toward the mare.
Placing her hand on the pommel, she leaned against the horse weakly and fought for strength to mount. In another moment MacGregor’s arms had lifted her onto his saddle and he’d swung up behind her. Taking care, he wrapped her in the soft cotton blanket they’d shared, tucking the shawl around her face as though she were Jack.
Hearing the horses whinny and the sheep bleat, she sank softly into sleep.
Twice during the ride she allowed MacGregor to help her to the bushes. She followed his soft whispers, drinking water from his canteen and nibbling the cold fish. Then he folded the blanket carefully around her again and lifted her to his saddle.
She awakened just as Pierre, holding Jack against his shoulder, stepped out of the bushes late that afternoon. “Ho! My friend, you have another bebe on your lap, mais oui?”
Sitting in the saddle while MacGregor swung down, Regina forced her lids open. He raised his arms for her and she found herself slipping down into them. MacGregor carried her to a lean-to, covering her carefully.
When she awoke, it was night and snow had begun to fall lightly. Both men sat near the campfire, watching her come toward them. A large rack of ribs roasted on the spit, and steam rose from a pot of soup. The horses grazed apart from the sheep, and Jack nestled in MacGregor’s arms, cooing softly. His small hand reached up, and the man kissed it, his eyes warm on her. A night bird flitted through the trees overhead, and sparks from a bead of pitch burst out of the fire.
Uncertain of both men, Regina tugged the blanket closer and sat on a log. Pierre cleared his throat. “The bebe has been good. He eats and sleeps and only cries for food.”
When Regina stared into the fire, fighting fatigue and her headache, MacGregor said quietly, “She’s got a bad head. Swilled apricot brandy until she pierced my ear with her mark, then dragged me into the lean-to. Tortured me, used me hard and fast, before she started snoring.”
Regina’s head pivoted to him. “MacGregor!”
In the firelight he grinned back at her. The ruby eardrop flashed against his dark skin, taunting her. “Yes, ma’am?” he asked innocently.
Thinking better of arguing the events of the night, Regina closed her lips tightly. They were tender, as was every muscle in her body. As though she’d strained against her limits. Bending her head, she hid the quick flush moving up her cheeks.
Venus moved close to the Frenchman, laying her gray head against his shoulder for a moment. “What is she wearing, Pierre?” Regina asked, noting the heavy skins encasing Venus’s narrow body.
Pierre shrugged and served her soup in a tin cup and placed a wooden trencher of ribs beside her. “She needs a coat. I make her one. Little pants and shoes, too, for bad winter.”
Warming to the big Frenchman, Regina smiled, instantly aware of the way MacGregor had tensed. She could sense his dark mood. “Thank you so much, Pierre. That was thoughtful.”
Without looking at MacGregor, Regina ate slowly, picking her way through her thoughts. “This is very good, Pierre,” she managed formally after tasting the gruel.
He shrugged, pouring coffee into tin cups for MacGregor and himself. “Sagamite. Hominy, meat, and dried pumpkin... a little dried plum for sweet.”
“We’re moving out at dawn,” MacGregor stated abruptly, his voice low and rough as he changed Jack’s cloth easily on his lap. “Pierre will take the horses to trade while we head on to my place for the winter.”
Regina fought to keep the spoon moving steadily toward her lips. She ate the gruel slowly, forming her words carefully. “I’m leaving, too. The nearest settlement would do.”
Pierre’s gaze skipped to MacGregor, then back to her.
“The settlements are not safe,” he said quietly. “Big trouble. The Bozeman Trail is closed, some forts now. The Sweetwater gold miners watch their backs. Much trouble since the Sand Creek Massacre. Red Cloud of the Oglala Sioux fights for his hunting grounds to the north. There is no peace between red and white now. The English will be hunting for you.”
“She’ll be safe. We’re heading on up to my cabin,” MacGregor stated quietly as he placed Jack against his shoulder. The baby’s black glossy head bobbed for a moment, then nestled down with a sigh.
He’d handled her in passion as easily as his baby, Regina thought, frightened by her emotions.
“Give me back my eardrop,” she shot back at him, needing his anger to feed her own. “I have the means to pay you now, and you shall have your due in the morning.”
“Damned if I didn’t last night,” he said, ominously spacing the words. He tossed a small knife in a beaded sheath to her. “A wedding gift from Little Bird’s woman.”
Regina turned the beautiful beaded sheath to the firelight, studying the intricate flower designs. “It is lovely. But they are mistaken about the marriage. You must give this back.”
“The hell I will,” he said quietly. Rising carefully with Jack tucked in the crook of his arm, he stared down at her through the smoke. Their eyes locked, and Regina shivered as she saw the determination in his. “See that she drinks her tea, Pierre. It settles her down.”
Then, his shoulders and back very straight, he entered the lean-to with Jack.
“My friend is wounded, chere,” Pierre murmured softly. “He thinks you dislike what he offers. This goes deep in a man’s pride. He can provide for you and the boy’s needs. Now you need the safety of his mountains.”
“Pierre, I am going with you,” she stated firmly. “Mr. Two Hearts has some idiotic notion—”
“He says you are married, ma chere,” Pierre stated quietly. “I see death in his eyes for the man who touches you. He wears your mark in his ear. There is danger all around. For now you have no choice.”
Regina tried to push away the sight of the single drop of blood she had sucked from MacGregor’s newly pierced ear lobe.
She closed her eyes, and behind her lids his dark intense expression as he moved over her in the night appeared. She swallowed, something running through her too strong and wild to deny. Looking down at her white trembling hand, the hand that had curled around him, stroked him, Regina murmured, “Rubbish. We were simply....”
She glanced at MacGregor, who moved toward the sheep bedded down nearby. Laddie and Venus moved at his heels like shadows. He crouched by a ewe, running his hand slowly across her ears and head as he had explored Regina’s face the previous night.
“I do not take a woman from my brother,” Pierre stated simply, rising to his full height. “He protects you from all others as well. A white woman cannot travel alone here, ma chere. Let him care for you until it is safer for you and the Englishman’s dogs are called off. By then...”
He shrugged, the fringe on his jacket dancing. “You stay with Two Hearts this winter. His bebe and perhaps the man need you more. You will be safe.”
“Rubbish. Mr. Two Hearts, indeed.”
“MacGregor wants his family safe, little one,” Pierre murmured. “His heart bears many scars, and he is frightened a little, I think. He gives what he can, and much has been taken from him,” he said before moving off into the night.
Regina sipped her tea, watching MacGregor move through the small flock and crouching beside each one. Flanking him, Venus and Laddie nuzzled his arm and licked his hands. When he had finished, he moved to the horses and began inspecting their hooves.
She’d seen men who knew animals, soothing them with gentle hands. Men who could settle a mare as she foaled or approach a dangerous bull and touch him easily. MacGregor’s ways weren’t hers, but animals sensed the security of
him, just as she had during the day.
She thought of his hands, gently holding her as they rode through the rocky pass, or the way his body tightened as he turned in the saddle.
Wrapping the cotton blanket around her, Regina sat near her sheep. Settling beside the goat, she allowed Venus and Laddie to lie against her. Surrounded by the animals’ heat, she stared up at the stars.
She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to feel small and alone, as she had as a child. She had always survived. Shifting slightly, Jennifer’s fearful face slid across her lids as she dozed, fighting sleep. Remember the legends....
Venus cuddled closer, whining softly. She stilled when Regina petted her.
Later, she felt herself being lifted and carried. MacGregor placed her inside the lean-to, tucking her into the curve of his body, and covering them both with the buffalo robe.
In the night he placed his hand over her breast and drew her closer. With his hard body pressed against her back, Regina dropped into sleep.
~**~
Chapter Nine
“The wind leaves the valley and lifts over the mountains here. When it goes up, the sand drops and makes those hills,” MacGregor explained later in the day as the stock drank from a meandering stream.
With the high, rugged Sangre de Cristos behind them, he pointed across the flats to another mountain range lying in the west. A flat sagebrush-studded expanse, swept by freezing winds and laced with snow, lay between the rising mountains.
“To the south lays Taos. Old Bents Fort is east across the Sangres. We’re headed west.” He scanned smoke rising in the distance, his face grim as he turned to Pierre.
The Frenchman nodded, the two tall men placing their hands on each other’s shoulders for a moment, their eyes meeting.
“I will get a good price for the horses. Je t’aime will serve your woman well,” Pierre said, patting the Indian pony he had given Regina. He swung up on Covington’s finest Arabian mare and began moving toward the grazing herd. He waved to Regina, who held Jack, then let the mare race with the other horses, moving south into the new wild land.
MacGregor nodded, his face grim. “That will put them off the scent. Horses with lines like those are easily spotted.”
The freezing wind swept around her, lifting the curling ends of her braid and playing with the fringes of her jacket and leggings. Beneath her soft moccasins the frozen sand made a crunching noise as she passed.
She glanced at the canvas sheet covering her saddle. MacGregor and Pierre had agreed that the ornate lady’s sidesaddle would be easily recognizable and should be hidden. MacGregor had saddled Pierre’s Indian pony, a small, tough brown-and-white mare, taking care to shorten the stirrups of a western saddle for her.
Jack fretted restlessly in her arms, his round cheeks flushed. “There, there, my lad,” she crooned, rocking the baby. “We’ll manage without your friend. He’ll come back to play with you.”
MacGregor slashed a dark look at her, noting the beaded sheath at her waist. The look held and warmed, his expression softening. “You’ll do,” he said quietly.
He pointed toward the barren flats, and Laddie stood up instantly. The dog barked excitedly, and Guinevere bleated immediately, her bell twinkling as she moved ahead of the sheep, her udders jiggling gently.
Jack cried softly, and Regina bent to kiss his cheek, frowning at the heat in the tiny body. “Shh, little MacGregor. We’re off.”
MacGregor watched his friend, following the way the horses ran into the sprawling freedom of the Taos land. “I’ll take Jack,” he said, watching her.
“I can manage. After all, we have a bargain, don’t we? Until we reach civilization?” The hot, possessive glance he threw her way tangled around her heart and stomach and left her trembling. As though he’d die to keep her at his side.
“Until I call it quits,” he stated flatly, watching her. “Like I said, my boy needs a woman, and you took the job.”
Regina straightened, setting her shoulders back. Another man had owned her mother and had tried to break her. Whatever the mountain man was—gunslinger or tender father—she couldn’t allow him to possess her soul.
MacGregor’s hard profile turned toward the flats, scanning them. “We’re not headed for the settlers. One look at those purple eyes, and there would be hellfire trouble. The duke’s trackers would be on our heels before the trail had cooled. You’re mine now. The same as Jack,” he said flatly, swinging up to his horse. “Are you riding or walking?”
Regina eased Jack aside and slipped her hand in her pocket.
“I want to give you this in return for my eardrop... payment for saving my life and helping me get back my saddle.” Walking to his horse, she lifted and opened her palm.
Glittering in the sun, catching the light in colors, and sending it up into MacGregor’s face, the diamond was a perfect cut, the size of a bird’s egg. The colors danced on his dark skin as he looked down at her.
“Glass. Payment for taking what is due me by rights?” His deep voice was too silky, a tone she had come to recognize as very dangerous, concealing a dark mood.
“There is more. I want you to take me to the nearest fort or settlement as soon as you can. Pierre—”
“You turned to him for help?” The question was hard and flat, demanding, startling her with the intensity.
“Of course. This morning you were in a devil of a mood—”
“You’ve been playing up to him, sashaying around him with that damned dishabille shawl around you. A thing like that can give a man a powerful need for the blankets.” MacGregor scowled down at her, his hand rubbing his shoulder.
“How coarse!” Regina trembled, wanting to slash out at him. “You’re saying that I offered my favors to him. What I am offering is payment for services—”
She caught her lip, wishing she’d chosen another word.
“Services,” he repeated slowly, darkly, as he straightened in the saddle. “You’re paying me for time on the blanket with that piece of glass?”
“No!” The cold wind sweeping across the flats didn’t cool her hot cheeks. “This is an African diamond, MacGregor. Worth many times over anything you may have. I’m asking that you take me to the nearest settlement. Once I’m on my own, I can manage.”
MacGregor leaned his forearms over the saddle horn and scanned the flats, tracing Pierre and the flock of sheep moving away in separate directions. Tall and rangy, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat, MacGregor suited the tough, dangerous country. His black eyes slashed to her suddenly, pinning her. “They’ll be after you for the stone now. There will be a price on your head and men who would take it.”
Jack began to squirm against her, and Regina held him closer. “I took what was mine. Lord Covington doesn’t know it’s missing.”
“You had it hidden, then, because you didn’t have it before,” he finished curtly. “Either way, he’ll be after you.”
“It’s part of my inheritance and my dowry, my wedding gift to my proper husband.”
MacGregor straightened slowly, his saddle creaking as he straightened his long legs in the stirrups. His smile wasn’t nice, more like a wolf showing his teeth at a helpless rabbit. “I reckon that’s me, Violet. Bring my son.”
Then he moved off slowly, leaving her holding Jack.
Jack slept soundly, snuggled against her as she followed MacGregor and her sheep. Tugging down her cap, Regina glared at his broad back, noting the times he rubbed his shoulder.
When he rode alongside her to take Jack, she glanced at him, then continued to ride, her head high. MacGregor’s hand reached out to press her thigh for a moment, his voice rough and low in the sound of the wind sweeping through the sagebrush and yucca. “Like I said, you’re a broody hen, tending your chick. Jack knows when he’s well taken care of. That’s good, because we’ll be traveling hard now so we can get to the cabin before the snow is too deep.”
“He’s not feeling well.”
MacGregor’s expression d
arkened. “I know. That’s why we’ll be pushing hard. Can those sheep keep up or do we leave them?”
Regina stared at him, tossing her braid behind her shoulder. “Laddie and I can make them keep any pace you set, Mr. MacGregor.”
His eyes flashed with pride, the satisfied expression of a man who had made the right choice. “That’s what I thought. There’s rawhide in you, Violet MacGregor, and that’s what my boy needs. Steel and the softness, too.”
The sleeping baby made smacking noises against her breast, and MacGregor’s black eyes swung to her chest. “Now, that’s a sight,” he whispered roughly, reaching over to lay his broad hand on her back. “My boy taking to his new ma. I like that place myself, smells like cinnamon bark.”
Was their lovely night in the lean-to a dream or a memory? Regina wondered, shivering as she met his dark gaze for a skip of a heartbeat. She fought the sounds and the feel of his heavy body resting on hers in the aftermath of passion.
Within moments of entering the lean-to after the raid, she’d risen to frightening heat, and MacGregor had entered her too slowly, too reverently. She’d taken him savagely, running through the heat in a fever, until....
Flushed with the memory or the dream, she followed Venus’s graceful sprint after a black-tailed jackrabbit.
By evening Jack began fretting in his sleep, and MacGregor quickly built a small pit fire, surrounded by rocks. While Jack’s milk heated, MacGregor fashioned a hut from the brush, protecting them from the sweeping wind. Too tired to care about fighting his possession, Regina stumbled into the protection and fed Jack while MacGregor cared for the horses and mules.
Venus crept into the shelter and lay against Regina’s leg. “My poor beauty,” she soothed, petting the greyhound as she rocked Jack.
Before dawn MacGregor lifted his son from her, talking softly. “We’re heading out as soon as Jack’s fed. Horses and mules are ready.”
By noon Regina clung to her saddle, her body stiff and cold. The wind penetrated the cotton blanket and her clothing, and they seemed no closer to the mountains.
