New Frontier of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 2)

by Dorothy Wiley

  As he patrolled, Sam scolded himself for his foolishness. He had no business even considering her. She’s probably more interested in Bear or William anyway. They’re both younger and longer on looks than he was. He was just an old soldier, nearly forty. She probably found his face frightening to even look at.

  Sam resolved to put her out of his mind. But his resolution, like most resolutions, was short lived and lasted only until he reapproached their camp again—until he saw her.

  CHAPTER 9

  Catherine stood by the cook fire about to get herself a cup of coffee. Her long hair hung unbound. Rich shiny black waves tumbled carelessly over her shoulders and back. He had never seen her wear her hair that way. As she bent down to the pot hanging from a rod above the fire, her voluptuous cleavage revealed itself. Sam felt his eyes widen and a twitch in his loins at the beguiling sight.

  She was a vision. He wanted to freeze this moment in time so he could just watch her. Mesmerized, he realized he had stopped breathing. He took a deep breath before he strode into camp, trying his best to appear nonchalant.

  “Join me in a cup of coffee Captain?” she asked, giving him a luminous smile as soon as she saw him walk up. “Jane is down there at the creek with John and the children fishing for our midday meal. I would think they would have tired of fishing, and eating fish, by this time, but they still seem to be enjoying themselves. Stephen and William are nearby watching them. I just finished washing my hair. It’s so thick it takes it forever to dry.” She felt it for dampness. “Almost ready to braid.”

  Sam wished he could touch the dark shiny tresses as well. What would her hair smell like? “You shouldn’t be here alone,” he scolded, “especially with both Stephen and William down there.”

  “They are all just a stone’s throw away and I’ve got my dagger and my rifle handy,” she said. “Besides, I knew you were somewhere nearby standing watch. She ran her long fingers through her damp hair.

  The motion caught Sam’s eye and momentarily distracted him. He wondered how her hair would feel wrapped in his fingers. Silken. Soft. Smooth. He could almost feel it. The thought nearly unraveled his self-control. He swallowed hard to stop the alluring images filling his head.

  “You seem a little on edge this morning, Captain,” Catherine commented.

  He stiffened at the question. “We must stay ever alert here. Danger has a way of surprising us, as you found out on the trail.”

  “I still can’t believe William and Stephen went after those two murderers. But for my husband’s sake, God rest his soul, and for Kelly’s rescue, I’m glad they did.”

  Sam understood the reason William and Stephen had to go after the killers. He lived himself by the same code. Only for him, it wasn’t so much a respect for the written law as the unwritten. Honorable men stand up for what is right and have the courage to do whatever is necessary to oppose wrong. Whatever and wherever. Good men don’t shirk that responsibility no matter where they were. It was the law of their father and it would be the law of their sons.

  Sam wondered if he would ever have a son. The unexpected thought surprised him.

  He laid his rifle aside and she put a hot steaming cup in his hand, but she was warming more than his hands. Her nearness caused his senses to leap to life and a pleasurable heat pulsed through his body.

  As she drew her own hand back, he got the faintest whiff of her fragrance. She smelled like lavender and maybe a trace of roses.

  What was he doing? He’d never noticed a woman’s perfume before. Good grief. What was happening to him? Sam tried to force his mind back to things that mattered. “Where did you get that dagger?”

  “That’s a long story.” She sat down on a nearby trunk.

  “I have the time. Can’t do much but cool our heels here until we get those land grants.”

  She eyed the dagger pensively, and then looked up into a nearby Cypress tree. A Mockingbird filled the silence with a charming piece of music. She waited for the bird to finish the last note before she began. “My maternal grandmother was from a long line of nobility in England. She was quite a woman. My grandfather, also of noble birth, gave the blade to her as a wedding gift. It has her birthstone, the sapphire, on the hilt and his family crest at the top. She was so beautiful he knew other men would have difficulty resisting her. So, he gave her the dagger making her promise that she was to use it on any man who touched her with the intention of violating her honor. If she did not, he promised he would use it on her. I know that sounds harsh, but he was a harsh man. Noble and courageous, but war hardened him.”

  Sam could relate to the man. “Tell me more about him.”

  “It wasn’t long before she was forced to keep her promise. She stabbed an Earl when he accosted her while my grandfather was on a hunting trip. The Earl lived but blamed her for the whole incident, saying she deliberately attacked and stabbed him in a fit of feminine rage because he would not accept her flirtations.

  “Because of this insult, grandfather challenged the Earl to a duel. As soon as the Earl was well enough to participate, they arranged the duel. Grandfather was a master swordsman, and swiftly killed the Earl with his rapier. As you know, gentlemen consider duels an acceptable method of resolving disputes. But for grandfather, it was a matter of honor, not just a dispute.

  “After that, things were never the same for them among the local nobility. There were always whispers behind my grandmother’s back about what evil minds thought really happened. It made grandfather so angry. One day he told them all to go to the devil, moved his family to the colonies, and set up his law practice and a bank in Boston. So, in a way, this weapon is responsible for moving my family to the colonies.

  “My grandmother gave the dagger to my mother as her wedding present, and keeping with the tradition, my mother, as a wedding gift, gave the dagger to me. And now, as you know, it saved not only my honor, but probably my life, out there in the middle of nowhere,” she said, pointing toward the east where she and her husband were attacked.

  Sam considered what it must have been like for her to have to kill one of the three men that murdered her husband and attempted to attack her. He was glad William and Stephen found and killed the other two, but he almost wished he could have carried out that justice himself. Not only were the men murderers, they were rapists. And he would have joined their pursuit of the outlaws if his healing broken ankle hadn’t kept him from it. It had healed well, but was stiff on occasion.

  “Did your mother have you make the same promise?” he asked, with a half grin tugging at his mouth.

  “No. She knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t hesitate to use it if I needed to. But she did insist on teaching me, as her mother taught her, how to use it. My brother and I would practice throwing our daggers for hours at a time.”

  Another one of those smiles spread across her lovely face. They were dangerous for a man who wanted nothing more to do with women. He could not help but be dazzled by them. They transformed her already comely countenance into something so radiant and stunning it stole his breath.

  He sipped the coffee to make himself stop staring. “May I see it?”

  Now her eyes smiled with a sensuous spark. “Only if you’ll agree to let me see your knife,” she bargained.

  It was the first time any woman had ever asked to see his most cherished possession. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him that she would want to examine it. “Of course,” he said, carefully handing his blade to her and then taking her dagger. Her nearness assaulted his senses, making every quickening heartbeat drum inside his chest.

  As he willed his heart to calm, he studied the extraordinary blade. The workmanship was exquisite. The hilt, cut from a semiprecious stone, displayed chiseled in scrolls and inlayed silver fittings. Two diminutive horse’s heads pointing in opposite directions formed the hand guard. Each horse had eyes made from tiny sapphires and bridles gilded with gold. The artistic armorer decorated the silver scabbard by chiseling each side with a magnificent cross. �
�It’s remarkable. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” He turned it over and the crest’s sapphire winked up at him. “This stone is nearly as…blue as your eyes.” He almost said as beautiful as your eyes, but stopped himself just in time. That was close.

  “Thank you, Captain. Your knife looks nearly as fierce as you do,” she said, appraising the weapon. “This is a fine-looking handle. Did you make it yourself?”

  “Yes, but that’s an even longer story. Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime,” he said, looking away. This was not the time to pursue that story again. He already regretted sharing it with Bear. He should have kept it buried forever.

  “Do you prefer the knife to your pistol?” she asked instead.

  “Yes, in most situations. It is always accurate, doesn’t require dry powder or loading. It’s quiet when there’s a need for stealth, and it’s unaffected by water if I need to swim a river or I’m caught in a storm.” The knife also served him in many other ways. He used it to skin and dress game, eat with, mend saddles and harnesses, cauterize wounds—often his own, and on one occasion to dig a grave for a fallen comrade.

  “I’m sure you’ll face all those situations and more in Kentucky. You’re like a knight clad in buckskin Captain. Something tells me you will face them without fear.”

  “Not so. Even noble knights felt fear. But a brave man must choose whether fear will make him strong or weak. Armor or buckskin, a man is only as strong as the courage of his heart.”

  Suddenly, those words held new meaning for him. Would his heart ever again be strong enough for love? Love takes courage. He’d learned that long ago. He clenched his fists, angry with himself. He was letting fear make him weak. He was afraid of the future because of the pain of the past. He was a coward when it came to love. A damn coward. Pure and simple.

  He turned his attention back to studying the dagger, not wanting her to see his face.

  Of all the failings a man could have, he disliked cowards the most. He called such men parasites who freeloaded off the courage of others. He scorned cowards more than an enemy. At least an enemy fought for his beliefs or his own motives. Like clouds without rain, cowards were men with vaporous souls. During the war, men who showed even a tendency toward cowardice did not last long under his command. They got mess duty or became someone else’s problem. He did not allow cowards to put the lives of brave men at peril. Warfare has rules.

  But so does life. He didn’t like feeling like a coward. Could he muster enough courage to love someone again?

  Sam offered the dagger back to her and took his knife. He studied the blade’s edge for a moment, still lost in thought. The war finally ended. His trust in the lessons of war and his big knife did not. Firearms were optional. The knife was not. It was the one thing in his life that never disappointed him. More than once, wrapped in the hands of a soldier’s courage, the blade had saved his soul, even as it claimed the souls of others. For pistols held only one shot, and a hatchet, once buried deep in an enemy, took precious seconds to withdraw. But the knife was quick and, when needed, savage.

  Like other tested soldiers, he discovered that when two men battle, when one must live and one must die, the victor is often the most savage. People like to think that victory goes to the most virtuous—but virtue often stands on both sides of a war. And even an enemy who holds no virtue at all can still kill you.

  But Sam didn’t want to think about war now. Just the opposite. He sheathed his knife and glanced up.

  She was staring at him. This time, he held her gaze—keeping his eyes locked on hers. They gleamed with an entrancing inner light and seemed to nourish some remote part of his soul. He drank it in, like a fine aged wine or smooth whiskey, savoring it, letting it reach his senses and linger. Again, he longed to smell and touch her freshly washed hair. He wanted to bury his hands in her tresses as he kissed those crimson lips.

  She gave him a half-grin that seemed to convey some secret knowledge.

  “You said courage comes from the heart. But, where does that courage come from?” Catherine asked.

  “Courage comes from recognizing and challenging danger. Fear comes from turning your back on threats and running from them.”

  Her mind raced, searching for understanding. What was going on in that enigmatic mind of his? Was he talking about Kentucky or something else? Did he sense peril now? “Are you concerned about dangers here, Captain?”

  “Danger is a part of life, the part that keeps us sharp. You can’t escape it. As I once told my brothers, danger has a way of finding us no matter our place or how many precautions we take. The important thing is to stay ever alert and to be prepared to respond appropriately.”

  “But, what if you don’t?”

  His eyes seemed to cloud with a hidden worry. “All life involves what ifs. What ifs can smother your life in the dust of doubt.”

  Again, his voice, rich and deep, stirred something within her. It was the type that compels others to listen. They also listened, she thought, because the Captain could parry with words nearly as skillfully as with his knife.

  She wanted to listen to him too. But he wasn’t saying what she wanted to hear. She needed him to say that he wanted her to stay in Kentucky. That he could find enough courage to see if the two of them could have a future here. What if he would never be able to? Maybe she should just give up.

  No, she wouldn’t let doubts smother her newfound dream. She would be patient.

  Sam yanked out his knife again and slowly turned the blade, a pensive look on his face. The cutting edge glistened menacingly, evidence of its readiness. “Life is much like this knife. If it’s rusty and dull, or if you’re afraid to use it, it’s nearly worthless. Sharp, in the hands of a man of courage, it can fight for life. Conquer life’s enemies.” Sam paused. A muscle on his jaw quivered before he said, “I, for one, do not intend to become useless and dull.”

  Without warning, Sam threw his knife. Her eyes followed the blade’s path across the campsite. It slashed through the air in the flicker of a second. Yet time suspended, froze with her heart, so hard was her concentration on the blade. The knife pierced a nearby tree, ignoring the strength of the big oak.

  The air vibrated with the thud of its impact. With the sound of its power.

  Then, she heard only silence, except for the sound of Sam’s words in her head. And, the red-hot fire changing dead wood to glowing embers.

  She plucked her dagger from its sheath and threw it. It landed nearly adjacent to Sam’s knife. “Neither do I,” she said.

  Sam could not believe his eyes. He stared at her dagger and his blade imbedded in the tree side by side. Yes, danger has a way of finding us no matter our place. She was dangerous and he recognized it. That knowledge turned and twisted inside his brain. It was pointless to deny his attraction to her. He needed to respond appropriately.

  If he didn’t, he just might become useless and dull.

  Without taking his eyes off their blades he asked, “What are your plans Catherine?”

  “I hesitate to continue to impose on your family, another mouth to feed, and another female to protect. You didn’t ask for that burden and I won’t impose on your family’s hospitality. It’s just that I have no one in Kentucky and with the only inn in Boonesborough full, I see no other options for now. I should return to Boston. But, after traveling for so long, I don’t want to leave just yet.”

  He turned to face her. “From what I’ve seen, you’ve been more of a help than a burden. As far as protecting you, you’re obviously quite capable of protecting yourself. All of us depend upon one another for strength against our enemies. There’s strength in numbers. You would add to that strength, not detract from it. I can speak for the others. You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need. You can write to your family and let them know what has happened. They can contact our brother Edward in New Hampshire and he can offer proof of our family’s good reputation.”

  “What about Stephen? He may not agree that it’s t
he right thing to do.”

  “Stephen will agree with me.” At least Sam hoped he would.

  “I’m still not sure Captain. Living in Kentucky with your husband is one thing. Staying with a group of men—four of whom are unmarried—that I have known for only a few weeks is quite another. What will people in Boston think? What about preserving my reputation?”

  “Reputations are made on the frontier, not preserved. Sometimes life forces a person to live by new rules. Life can be uncivilized and unpredictable. You’ve learned that already as much as anybody. We have to adapt—not live by rules that fit another place and another way of life.”

  “It’s all so bloody confusing.”

  “It’s simple really. It comes down to this. Do you want to live in Kentucky in this virgin wilderness? Are you suited to life in the west? Or, would you be more at home among polite society in Boston. If it’s the frontier, it’s time to make your own rules, your own life.”

  “I’ve never thought about it quite like that. I’ve always followed the rules of civil society. I just did what my father and husband wanted me to do—what they expected of me. They were my guardians and made every major decision for me. I never felt any control over my own future. At least….not until…this very moment.” She said the words slowly and deliberately, as if their meaning sunk in only as she spoke them aloud.

  “That’s what the wilderness is all about. Making your own destiny. And living it. Truly living it. That’s why I wanted to come here. I needed to feel alive again. And I do here. Don’t you feel it too? It’s almost an awakening. Here you don’t just live life, you have life to live.”

  “Life to live. I like the sound of that.”

  So did he, especially when she said it.