Mountain Magic

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  "I'll try not to," Caitlyn said with a smirk. "But it's awfully hard for people to control their thoughts sometimes."

  Jon growled and bit her on the neck, and Caitlyn smothered her laughter, so she wouldn't wake Silas. "Jon." She pushed on his shoulders, trying desperately to control her giggles. "Jon, stop it. You...can't talk..with my... neck in your mouth."

  "Ummmm." He licked a path up to her ear. "I'd rather have your neck in my mouth than words admitting to you how dumb I used to be."

  "You know," Caitlyn forced past a gasp of pleasure, "I think I'd rather that, too."

  "Well, at least I'm glad to hear that. But...." He kissed her briefly, then settled her more comfortably on his lap. "But you're right. I have to tell you about it."

  Jon spoke in a low voice, also aware that Silas lay only a few feet away. He explained how he and most of his friends looked at their futures always with the idea in their minds that a woman who would be a good match for their own social statuses would one day be their wife. Once in a while they mused that it would be nice to fall in love, but that wasn't necessarily a requirement. Bloodlines and an equally large fortune rated highest on the list.

  And evidently, Jon admitted, the women carried a similar list in their minds after they reached a marriageable age. Obviously, Roxie had. Luckily they hadn't announced a formal betrothment, the breaking of which would have been treated as a scandal when Roxie changed her mind and decided to marry Charlie.

  "Silas told me some of it," Caitlyn admitted into the silence when Jon appeared to be trying to gather his thoughts to tell her the rest. "Your step-brother got the entire plantation, and you were cut completely out of the Will. I guess Roxie wanted the brother with the money."

  "Yeah," Jon said ruefully. "And she charmed Charlie into having the wedding within a month of his father's death, even though he was officially still in mourning. Now I know why. She was already carrying my baby."

  "A seven or eight month baby is a lot easier to explain than one born in less time than that. Even if you were of a mind to do anything about it, it would be hard for you to prove the baby wasn't just early, like she told your brother."

  "This changes everything, you know," Jon mused. "Charlie wrote that the plantation's in trouble. Hell, I didn't give a shit when I rode away from there if went bankrupt within a year, and I was pretty sure that might happen. Charlie never could manage the money end of it. He was better with the crops."

  Caitlyn stiffened in his arms. "What...what do you mean by that?"

  "It's my son's heritage, Caitlyn. He's mine, but Charlie doesn't know that. He'll leave everything to his first born. I'll have to go back — see what I can do to make sure there's something for him to inherit some day."

  "I...see."

  "You better see this, too, Caitlyn. You're going with me. I want you to marry me, be my wife. You don't think I'm going to leave you behind, do you? Not after I've realized that all those friends of mine were wrong. You can find a wife you also love. I love you, Caitlyn. Marry me. Please."

  Caitlyn wrung her hands together in her lap, biting her bottom lip until she thought it would tear in two, fighting against the 'yes' she wanted to scream loud enough to wake up Silas and everyone or thing that heard. She couldn't. No matter how badly she wanted to be Jon's wife, she couldn't marry him.

  "Caitlyn."

  "I...can't," she whispered. "I can't."

  Rather than throw her from his lap in disgust, as she expected Jon to do, he chuckled and shook his head tolerantly.

  "Uh uh, Caitlyn, darlin'. You're not going to get by with that. I've bared my soul to you, and you're not clamming up on me without explaining why you're saying no to me, when I know damned well you want to say yes."

  Caitlyn shot him a sideways glance from under her lashes. Her mouth moued into a mutinous pout. At least he could have looked a little disappointed. Instead, he stared at her with that darned smirk on his face, waiting with a self-assurance that pricked her temper. She turned her head away, refusing to speak.

  "Caitlyn, didn't we just promise that we'd talk to each other about things? You're breaking your promise already."

  "We didn't say that," she denied. "You ordered me to. I didn't agree."

  "That's splitting hairs, darlin'." He picked up a handful of her raven hair and gently caressed it against his cheek. "And you've got such beautiful hair. I love your hair. Have I ever told you how much I love your hair?"

  Caitlyn clenched her jaws, and Jon released her hair to run a fingertip across her lips.

  "Talk to me, Caitlyn. Please, darlin'."

  Caitlyn shook her head in defiance. She couldn't tell him. Her secret was much worse than Jon's. It went to the very core of her womanhood. No man would want a woman like her for a wife, especially Jon. Maybe a mistress, but never a wife.

  "All right," Jon said with an exasperated sigh. "I guess I'll just have to try and figure it out on my own. Let's see."

  He cocked his head to one side and studied her. "Surely you aren't thinking of what I said when I mentioned what I used to look for in a wife. Caitlyn, I don't give a damn about how you've been raised or the fact that you don't have a large dowry to offer. I'm far from rich myself, though I've got enough for us to get started with, or will have after this trapping season. And the only bloodline I'm interested in is the bloodline our children will have from the two of us."

  Caitlyn's gasp of anguish told Jon that he had finally hit close to the mark of whatever distressed her. He took her shoulders and turned her to face him, but she wouldn't meet his gaze, shuttering her eyes with her lashes.

  "Caitlyn?"

  ****

  Chapter 26

  Caitlyn wrenched free and scrambled to her feet. Crossing her arms, she dug her fingers tight, trying to transfer the pain in her mind to her body. It didn't work. Her shattered thoughts swirled in her head, finally centering into a core of torment that nearly took her breath away.

  "Caitlyn," Jon said quietly. "I'm not going away. And you don't have to talk to me, but you will marry me. I'll just tell the preacher that you're mute and have a stiff neck, so you can't nod your head. At least the stiff neck part won't be a lie."

  A half sob of laughter escaped her, and Caitlyn lifted her chin. "It's not the bloodline part of it, Jon," she finally forced out. "I...I've been reading my mother's journal, and I want to give it to you to read, too. I guess I've got just as good a bloodline — probably better — than those silly southern belles you were trying to find a wife among back east."

  "I told you that didn't matter, sweetheart. I've known since the first time I saw you that there was something special about you. We'll have plenty of time to talk about that, though. Right now, I want to...."

  "Damn it, Jon," Caitlyn swore, facing him with her eyes flashing fury rather than firelight. "What's the whole point of what we've been talking about the last hour?"

  "You and me. Us."

  "No! We've talked about your son — a son that you love so much, even if you haven't seen him yet, that you're going back to make sure his heritage is safe for him. And look how much you love Little Sun! You even said that marriage was important to you because you wanted children of your own. They were even more important than the wife you chose!"

  "Are you telling me that you can't have children, sweetheart?" Jon asked, unable to keep a tinge of disappointment from his voice.

  Caitlyn bit her lip again and shook her head violently.

  "It won't matter," Jon soothed, rising to his feet and trying to take her in his arms. "There's plenty of kids who need a home...."

  Caitlyn swept his arms aside, and turned her tearful face up to his. "You still don't understand. It's not that I can't. I mean, I don't really know if a can or can't. It's that I won't. You want a wife who'll bear your children, and I won't have a child." She collapsed against Jon's chest. "I won't, I won't!"

  Jon rocked her against him, murmuring soothing sounds and dropping kisses on her hair. He held her until her shoulders
stopped quaking, then drew her back down in front of the fire. Cuddling her close, he stroked her back.

  "Does this have something to do with Reggie?" he asked, and Caitlyn nodded her head against his chest. "Can you tell me about it?"

  She shook her head negatively.

  "It's after midnight by now," Jon said, seeming to comply with Caitlyn's refusal to discuss her denial of child bearing with him. "Remember what day it is, Caitlyn?"

  She raised her head and swiped at her cheek, glancing across the shadowy room to the pine tree in front of the window. The lantern hanging from the ceiling, turned low, cast a subdued light on the Caitlyn angel that Jon had carved, now gracing the top of the tree. Yet here and there a sugar sparkle gleamed on a cookie dangling from a branch.

  Beneath the silent symbol of the season, the presents lay scattered — one from each of them to the other three. Though wrapped in brown paper, the only thing available, Caitlyn had tied a hair ribbon around each of her packages for decoration. Under the presents, she had spread the white fur from an albino wolf Mick had trapped one winter.

  "It's Christmas Day," she murmured quietly.

  "Yeah, Christ's birthday," Jon agreed. "You know, I've never been an overly religious man, though Charlie and I found our butts parked on a church pew practically every Sunday, and always on Christmas Day. I thought about something once, but the Sunday School teacher acted like I was blaspheming when I asked her about it."

  "What was that?" Caitlyn asked with a sniff.

  "I asked her if she didn't think Mary was awfully scared when she had her baby. I mean, Joseph evidently knew it wasn't his child, since I seemed to recall that Joseph knew about the immaculate conception end of it. And not only was Mary probably worrying that Joseph might leave her one day because of doubts about that, but she was in a stable. A cold stable, meant for animals to live in, without another woman around to help her in the birth."

  "She...she was awfully brave," Caitlyn admitted.

  "That wasn't all she was brave about, don't you think? The Sunday School teacher told me to shut up, but I thought about it several times. I'll bet Mary was scared to death that she wouldn't be a good mother to that baby."

  Caitlyn gasped softly, and Jon soothed her again with his hands.

  "I mean, this was God's child. And Mary was only a mortal woman. She must have been scared to death that she'd fall short of the expectations God had of her in raising His child. Maybe not be a good influence on him. That she might let something happen to the baby."

  "Oh, Jon."

  "Is that what you're afraid of, Caitlyn? That you might lose a child of ours, like you lost your brother Reggie? Do you think you should have done something to keep him from dying?"

  "You...don't know...what happened."

  "Just some of it," Jon admitted. "Silas knows the story that was told in the mountains when Mick showed up with you. You can tell me all of it whenever you want to. But you shouldn't be carrying that guilt with you now, sweetheart. Surely by now you realize there wasn't anything you could do. You were only what? Five or so?"

  Once again Caitlyn recalled how small she felt, curled up in that huge tree trunk — how helpless. How huge the warriors looked as they strode past her, toward her mother's hiding place. The one who had reappeared with her mother's scalp towered skyward, to her young mind almost reaching the tree tops.

  She remembered the smell of blood and quickly chased it from her mind by breathing deeply of the pine scent filling the cabin.

  "I can't help it, Jon. I'm...not really afraid of having a baby. Females have babies all the time — animals and humans."

  "It's the possibility of losing it after you have it, isn't it?" Jon asked.

  When Caitlyn nodded again, Jon went on, "There aren't many promises in life, darlin'. But I will promise you this. We'll wait until you're ready. There's ways we can...." Jon frowned at her. "Caitlyn, you already know some way to keep from having a baby, don't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't have made love with me."

  Caitlyn quirked her lips at him and peeked from beneath her lashes. "You mean you didn't just sweep me off my feet and over beneath the pine tree that day with your masculine charm? Wipe everything from my mind except my wanting you?"

  Jon rolled her onto the floor and covered her with his body. "I'll show you my masculine charm," he growled.

  She giggled wildly and thrashed under him, forgetting that Silas lay near. Jon kissed her neck while he wiggled his fingers on her ribs.

  "Stop," she gasped. "Oh, Jon, don't. I'm ticklish."

  He kissed her ear, kissed her eyes closed, and moved his hands up to her breasts. But when she reached for his face to try to pull him close for a kiss on her lips, Jon shook his head.

  "Uh uh." He moved his fingers back down to her ribs. "No more kisses until you say you'll marry me."

  "Jon," she pleaded.

  He wiggled his fingers just a tad. "Will you?"

  Caitlyn grabbed his hands to still them, her eyes twinkling merrily up at him. "What was the question again? And why?"

  "You little minx."

  Jon pulled her up and left her in front of the fireplace for a second to carry one of the chairs over from the table. Setting it down, he gently pushed her into the seat, then stood studying her in the firelight.

  Her hair fell gloriously down her back, raven black and shining even in the dim light. He hadn't even come close to capturing the beauty of her face when he carved the angel. It would take a master painter to portray those uniquely- Caitlyn features — satin curves of cheekbone and chin — blue eyes large enough for a man to drown in, outlined by a thick fringe of ebony lashes.

  A cute nose — he couldn't call it anything else, since it could wrinkle at him in mischief, or serve as a point for her to gaze across at him with haughty disdain. The lips, still pouting from her lost kiss, beckoned him almost beyond the bonds of his control.

  Caitlyn wiggled on the chair. "Jon, quit staring at me," she whispered, a tinge of embarrassment in her voice.

  "Hush, honey."

  One day he would have her portrait painted just like this. In front of a fireplace at night, the flickering flames shadowing her face with a beauty that tore at his gut. She'd be dressed in buckskin, the soft leather caressing her skin like a glove — like his hands longed to do right now. And there had to be a Christmas tree in the painting — a reminder to them both of this sacred night.

  He knelt on one knee.

  "Jon!" Caitlyn bent forward and tugged on his shoulders, trying to get him back on his feet. "That's not necessary."

  Jon took her hands and folded them onto her lap, covering them with his. "I love you, Caitlyn O'Shaunessy...."

  "O'Neal," Caitlyn interrupted. "I found out from my mother's journal that my real last name's O'Neal."

  Jon raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. "Damn it, Caitlyn. Will you shut up for a minute?"

  "Well!" she said around pursed lips. "If you're so intent on doing this right, I want you to use my real name. And I'd prefer that you didn't curse at me."

  Jon choked on a chuckle, then bowed his head for a moment. When he looked back at Caitlyn, she caught her breath at the depth of love shining from his blue eyes.

  "I love you, Caitlyn O'Neal," Jon said sincerely. "Will you marry me?"

  Caitlyn jerked her hands free and flung them around his neck. "Yes. Oh, yes, Jon. I love you! Yes, I'll marry you!"

  The force of her lunge threw them both back down onto the fur on the floor, and their muffled laughter skittered through the room as they tried to untangle themselves. When he at last freed himself, Jon quickly flipped Caitlyn beneath him. Hovering over her, he whispered, "I love you, Caitlyn, with all my heart," before he kissed her.

  Silas opened his eyes for a brief second, then winked at the wall in front of him. "Merry Christmas, my old pard, Mick," he whispered gruffly.

  ****

  Chapter 27

  As she had every morning for the past two and a half months, C
aitlyn reached from beneath the covers and picked up the music box on the bedside table. She wound the key and set it back. Crawling out of bed, she scurried into her clothing as the strains of "Greensleeves" tinkled through her room.

  And, as she did every morning, she recalled Jon's face on Christmas morning as he watched her tear eagerly at the brown paper around her present. Remembered her own joy and awe as she gingerly lifted out the music box, memories of the day she and Jon had found it crowding her mind.

  But the most precious memory was the remembrance of the sense she'd had of Jon's own pleasure in giving her the gift — not only the music box, but also a keepsake of her time with Mick. Her grief had mellowed now — replaced in part with her love for Jon. Paw would always be there — after all, what she had become was a reflection of Paw's raising. And she had become the woman Jon loved.

  She frowned and hesitated before pulling back the blanket over her doorway. She loved Jon, also — totally and completely. But he had his faults, that darn persistence of his being her main peeve.

  Well, not the persistence he showed in managing to find a stolen hour here and there for them to make love. That took a measure of ingenuity she just had to admire, especially during the blustery January and February days just past. The frequent blizzards kept Silas at the cabin more often, and Little Sun napped shorter periods as he grew.

  Silas didn't seem to see through the thin excuses Jon found to return to the cabin early — or stay behind for a little while on his scheduled days to run the lines. Carrying water for her from the lake on wash day always worked, though that day sometimes fell during a time lovemaking had to be denied. A day she feared she might become pregnant — a day during her monthly courses, which thankfully appeared each month.

  But she wished he'd forget about that darned journal. She'd left that world behind — as had her mother. Maybe one day she would want to visit Ireland. If so, she would do it anonymously, only to have a first-hand look at the relatives her mother had fled.