The Bearwalker's Daughter

by Beth Trissel

  Vaulting up the steps, worn but still sound, he called from outside the door, “Karin!”

  She didn’t answer. Likely she couldn’t hear him over the downpour. Balancing his load, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The light was little better in here, but he spotted Karin huddled on one of two stools in front of the black hearth. Gloom cloaked the few furnishings he glimpsed. The murky outline of a bedstead took shape built against the far wall. A table lined with benches stood in the room’s center; at her feet spread a large bearskin rug. Still unaware of him, she hunched in her mantle.

  Careful not to alarm her, he said, “Karin. It’s me.”

  She swiveled her head. Her hood fell back, her features lost in shadows. Even without clearly seeing her face, he sensed her relief at his coming. Uneasiness had displaced the daring she’d exhibited during their ride and her initial excitement at spotting the cabin.

  “You were so long in coming.”

  Her voice was small, as though she didn’t like to be in the bleak homestead alone. He realized how seldom, if ever, she’d probably been left on her own. Quite the opposite of him.

  “I’m sorry. I had to see Peki well-watered and rubbed down. I even found some hay for him in the stable. Who uses this place, your Uncle Thomas?”

  “Mostly, and other hunters. It’s so dark and cold in here. And empty. Not at all as I remember.”

  “I’ll soon have a fire going.” Jack walked to where she sat shivering in the penetrating chill. He piled the wood beside the hearth then squatted on the thick skin and peered at the grate. “Someone lit a blaze in here not many days ago.” Black coals and the remnants of burnt logs remained. “We’ll soon warm up.”

  “The others will worry if we’re gone overlong, Jack.”

  He liked the easy way his name fell from Karin’s lips and doubted she realized how readily she’d fallen into calling him that since they’d left the larger homestead. “They will know I’ve sought shelter,” he assured her, laying the wood in readiness for a fire.

  “I hope you’re right. I hate for them to fret.”

  What a sensitive nature she had. “I’ve gotten through untold battles and miles of wilderness. They know I can manage an outing in foul weather and bring you back safely.”

  “I suppose so,” she agreed hesitantly.

  “No suppose about it. You’re in able hands, Karin McNeal.”

  She considered and nodded. Then another concern seemed to trouble her. “But I shouldn’t be here alone with you, should I? ’Tisn’t proper.”

  He had scant patience for propriety. “Would you rather be out in that storm?”

  Wet hair plastered her forehead. “I’d far rather be with you, even if—” she broke off, as though starting to say more than she should.

  Smiling to himself, he peeled off bits of dry bark from the wood to make a small pile at the base of the kindling then drew the buckskin pouch over his shoulder by the strap. Lifting the flap in its center, he took out the small horn, the tip of a ram’s. He uncorked one end of the horn and removed an oval piece of steel, hollow in the center. Then he took a whitish piece of flint from his improvised container.

  Bent close to the little heap of bark, he struck the quartz-like stone against the steel. Sparks shone in the gloom and the flicker took life under his care. He blew gently. Smoke drifted up amid an encouraging crackle.

  “Lovely,” Karin murmured.

  Getting off the stool, she knelt beside him on the bearskin and rubbed her smaller hands together as he fed the flames. He savored her nearness, inestimably preferable to the company of warriors and soldiers.

  “I never learned to build a proper fire. It’s always just been there, only needing more wood. Even if it dies down, there are still hot coals.” Lifting her eyes to his, she smiled. “Thank you, Jack. The cabin doesn’t seem nearly so cheerless now.”

  He studied her in the mellow glow, wishing she wouldn’t look at him like he was some kind of hero. Her melting smile only heightened the piercing effect of her extraordinary eyes. How could a woman this sweet be so lethal, and how on earth was he to accomplish his purpose in coming here without having her hate him? That her relations and his would loathe him was a given. He didn’t relish that thought. Shequenor would also despise him if he didn’t rein in his galloping emotions.

  Seeking something to steady himself, Jack reached back inside the pouch at his waist and took out the pewter flagon he’d lifted from a British dragoon who no longer had need of it. He uncapped the top and offered her the first sip.

  “This’ll warm your insides. I refilled the flask with your grandpa’s whisky before we left.”

  “He doesn’t give me any.”

  “Oh, go ahead and take a nip. I’m short on hot tea.”

  “I’m allowed a little brandy.”

  “Fresh out, and I’ll bet you’ve never had rum.”

  Smiling at the look she gave him, Jack tilted the flask to her tempting mouth. She sipped, coughing. After she recovered, he pressed her to a second swallow and a third. He knocked back a hearty swig of liquid fire and thumped his chest.

  “Ahhh. That hits the spot. If I hadn’t left the house in such a huff, I would have brought my musket and hunted us up some dinner.”

  Her black brows arched above widened eyes. “Surely we won’t be here that long?”

  They would. Streams ran hard with all the rain and the one they’d forded to get here would be well up over its banks. Trying to appear nonchalant, he shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  He laid his tomahawk on the worn floorboards. Settling back on the bearskin, he propped himself on his good arm and stretched out his damp boots toward the flames. “Now, tell me why we’ve really come? It wasn’t only the rain that brought us.”

  “No.” She swiveled her head at the cabin. The flickering flames cast shadows over the dim interior. “I’m not certain, ’Tis just that I was born in this very room and Mama died soon after. Neeley says I took my first breath as she took her last.”

  Pity stirred in Jack, another emotion he’d done his best to keep at bay. “I’m sorry.”

  Karin continued solemnly. “I know little about Mama and next to nothing about my father. No one will speak of him.”

  “And you hoped to discover more by coming here.”

  “How else? You don’t mind my speaking of the past, do you?”

  Did he dare tell her how little he minded?

  “I’m not sure why Mama was so poorly,” Karin went on. “Uncle Thomas says fever, but I think it had to do with my father. Uncle Thomas said they weren’t wed, not properly, anyway,” she confided in hushed tones. Then her expressive features creased with hurt. “He must have left her with child and it broke her heart, which is truly terrible of him.”

  “Indeed. But perhaps he couldn’t help the separation,” Jack suggested.

  Softer warmth suffused Karin’s eyes. “I have often wondered that. But why?” She pressed a finger to her chin. “Maybe he was a sailor. A Spanish one.”

  If she’d suggested a British general, Jack could hardly have been more surprised. As it was, he nearly choked on the gulp he’d taken from the flask; it was all he could do to answer evenly. “We’re far removed from the sea, hundreds of miles from the nearest port. I’ve journeyed with men from all walks of life during the war, including sailors, and they spoke of the sea.”

  A mulish glint lit her eyes. “He could have traveled inland like they did.”

  “I suppose so,” Jack indulged her. “Why a Spanish sailor, though? Do you think them especially wayward?”

  She flushed prettily. “I do rather. Grandpa says the Spaniards are all pirates. But ’tis my hair and coloring, you see. Unusual.”

  Jack fervently agreed. “Indeed.”

  She dropped her gaze from his. “So it stands to reason that a Spanish sailor loved my mother and had to leave suddenly and was lost at sea.”

  He suspected this wistful conjecture sounded unlikely eve
n to Karin, although her imaginings intrigued him. “Anything’s possible if you cast all reason to the wind.”

  “I didn’t,” she argued.

  The pout at her mouth beckoned to him damn near irresistibly and he battled to keep his hands and lips to himself. “There is one other thing you might consider regarding your father.”

  She locked her eyes on his. “What?”

  “Whether your mother left anything of his behind. Say, some sort of gift,” Jack prompted, with something very particular in mind.

  Karin lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Neeley did say my father gave Mama a necklace, but I couldn’t persuade her to describe it. She said Grandpa wouldn’t allow Mama to keep it.” Karin brightened. “Pirate gold, maybe?”

  Where did she come by these notions? “I doubt even Mister McNeal in all his wrath would throw gold away.”

  “Oh, he didn’t toss it. Neeley said Mama hid the necklace before she died.”

  Jack sucked in his breath with a subtle hiss. Now this wasn’t whimsy, but something tangible.

  He mustn’t appear too eager. “If you were Mary McNeal, where would you hide a forbidden necklace?”

  Her brow creased in thought then Karin said, “Here in the cabin, I suppose. She was ill and heavy with child, so not given to long walks.”

  This time Jack applauded her logic. “Find the necklace and you’ll have a vital link to your father.”

  She eyed him closely. “You seem very sure.”

  “I am.” What luck. Jack could hardly believe his good fortune. The irreplaceable necklace might be hidden in this very room.

  Shequenor had been adamant in his desire for its recovery along with his daughter, almost as if his time on this earth were waning; and more, as though the necklace held some sort of magical power. Not that Jack believed in magic, but he respected Shequenor above any living soul—feared him too. He sensed an almost inhuman quality about the indomitable warrior.

  Perhaps if Jack prodded Karin’s memory, she might help him unlock the long-buried secret to the necklace. After that, he didn’t bloody well know, except to take matters step by step and scheme for all he was worth.

  She fixed on him with a suspicious light in her eyes. Her unswerving focus followed him like a sheep dog’s as he stood with forced casualness to remove his coat and hang it from a peg on the log wall inside the door. Then he returned to the fire and added more kindling. Flames snapped at the fragrant hickory.

  “Warmer now?” he asked.

  She nodded, her expression sharply contemplative, and untied the cloak at her delectable throat.

  He dragged his eyes from the tempting curve of her neck—how he’d love to bury his lips in that sweet skin—and lifted the damp mantle from her to hang it on a peg beside his coat. Aware of her gaze boring into his head, he turned and walked back to her. The scrutiny she targeted him with crinkled the corners of her eyes.

  No need to inquire the reason, even if he were in ignorance. All rushed forth from her in a torrent. “What are you not telling me? You’re concealing something, I feel it. And don’t say ‘tis only because you have more experience than I.”

  Leaning against one corner of the stone hearth, he considered her with a slight smile. “No fooling you, is there?”

  She absorbed his good-humored jibe as though unsure if he were serious or spoke in jest. “I think you could fool me plenty, if you have a mind to. But you won’t, will you? Did Sarah say something about my father?”

  Jack’s mother might’ve mentioned they were all sworn to secrecy by John McNeal, practically on pain of death.

  “Don’t keep me in the dark an instant longer. I beg you.”

  Her earnest entreaty nearly made him forget all else. He wasn’t a hard man, just independent, and hated having to manipulate her. “I shall tell you all I know in time, but it’s not everything you badly want to learn.”

  Breath escaped her in an exasperated whoosh. “Whatever you tell me is more knowledge than I possess now, Jack McCray. You, a near stranger, are better informed. Folks have put me off my whole life.”

  “For good reason.”

  “So they say. But how am I to determine the truth? Give me the chance to decide for myself. Please.”

  The light in her remarkable eyes reminded him of sunbeams dancing on lake water. Watching Karin, hearing her appeal, sent a peculiar pain knifing through Jack. Apart from Peki, he’d never mightily wanted anything. Even the tenacious battles he’d fought in that seemingly never-ending revolution hadn’t affected him as deeply, nor had he cared as much about the outcome as he did now. Hoof beats drummed in his chest and his manhood swelled with a whole intent of its own.

  God help him, this sweet girl utterly bewitched him. “You truly are irresistible,” he said.

  “Then answer my questions.”

  “I will. Karin. Trust me.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because deep down you know you want to.”

  She lifted her quivering chin. “Of all the sheer—”

  He knelt and covered her protesting mouth with his palm. “Hold on. Let’s find the necklace first before you give me the tongue lashing I no doubt deserve.” Or he claimed something that he didn’t.

  ****

  Jack slowly withdrew his palm from Karin’s lips. Why did his light touch feel so right, his low voice stirring to her shivery center? She was as heady as if she’d finished off that flask he’d pocketed. Maybe the fiery brew had affected her more than she realized?

  No. These sensations went far beyond a few swallows of whiskey. Tumultuous cannons fired inside, tumbling her into an uncertain world of red moons and shooting stars, her universe exploding. And there was no one to hold onto, except him. She almost grabbed his hand, and thought better of it.

  What, then? What should she do?

  In stillness, she kept her eyes fastened on his, colored the hue of the woods in summer. She couldn’t look away. Then a quavery sigh escaped her. “Oh, Jack.”

  Tenderness washed over his face. “Let me guide you.”

  “I suppose I must.”

  A smile lifted the corners of his masculine, deeply sensual, mouth. “Let’s begin with your mother. What else have you been told of her that might be of use? Let your mind journey back and the past flow through you.”

  Rain drummed on the roof and wood sizzled in the hearth as Karin ferreted out every scrap she’d ever heard, weighing some, discarding others. Then a memory returned like the whiff of a nosegay long since forgotten. It might mean something.

  “Neeley once said Mama sat curled by the fire much of the time in those last days, staring into the flames as if she saw something.”

  Jack eyed the glowing hearth. “Not something. Someone.”

  His insight took Karin aback. “You mean him?”

  “Probably.”

  She gestured at the bed built against the wall, its high back lovingly carved by her grandfather. “Neeley only just told me Mama died there where I was born.”

  “That’s why the bed was left behind when they moved,” he said quietly.

  She bit her lower lip. “I didn’t realize.”

  “You were a child then. How could you?”

  A red haze flashed through Karin like sparks set to dry leaves. “Someone might have told me sooner.”

  He looked bemused. “What good would that have done?”

  “I would know. And knowing matters.”

  Jack held up his hands. “So, now you do.”

  Crossing both arms over her chest, she said, “Of this I’m certain, Mama was kind and beautiful. Whatever she died of, ’twas a broken heart. Papa should have come to her, whoever he was. I would tell him so to his face if I could.”

  “Whew.” Jack drew back as if at a sudden wind. “You’re not such a milksop after all.”

  His exaggeration lessened Karin’s ire only slightly. “Well, it makes my blood boil. Why did he leave her to grieve herself to death?”

  “
If you want answers, begin by finding that necklace.”

  She blew out her breath in frustration. “Neeley says she cleaned this cabin from top to bottom and never found anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t meant to.”

  Karin sat up straight. “You think maybe I am?”

  “There’s nothing ordinary about you. Besides, Neeley may have looked everyplace save one. Where would you search?”

  She scanned the massive hearth rising from the floor. The smoke-blackened stones danced with light up between the shadowed beams overhead. “Might one of these stones be loose and the necklace tucked in behind a crevice?”

  “That’s the spirit,” he praised her. “Let’s try further down first.”

  Jack tapped his fingers over the gray-brown rocks, his magnetic presence a palpable force urging Karin ever nearer. She was all the more determined to resist. Leaning in, she brushed his arms and chest, so strong beneath his shirt. Only the barest touch, but a potent surge ran through her. She faltered, trying to conceal her acute awareness of him as they tested each stone not too hot to touch. She might as well try to ignore the room set ablaze.

  He smiled as if he knew. For pity’s sake! Had she no hope of keeping anything from this man?

  “Nothing here,” he said, getting to his feet.

  She rose and they worked their way up the sides of the hearth. He reached his hands high above her head.

  “Mama couldn’t have hidden anything up there unless she stood on a stool,” Karin pointed out