Busy planning a menu for Easter Sunday and studying the lush growth along the path, she had no warning until she heard the first deep throaty growl. Her head snapped up, but she saw only the bright green foliage and the rich dark shadows in the filtered sunlight. A shadow moved and she found herself staring into the small, ebony eyes of a bear.
The bear took two lumbering steps toward her, massive head lifted, nostrils flaring to catch her scent. Jagged teeth showed as it opened its mouth to issue another testy growl. Talons of fear dug into Ariah, sending her pulse soaring. The blood drained from her face and her body turned to ice. A scream rose in her throat and lodged there. In her peripheral vision she caught a blur of movement as something leaped onto the path between her and the bear.
A wolf!
For the length of one breath—stretched to eternity by tension and fear—Ariah thought the wolf meant to attack her. Her terror doubled. But the wolf was challenging the bear, not her.
The wolf lunged at the bear, its snarls answered by the frenzied growls of the larger animal. She thought surely everyone at the lighthouse station must be able to hear the racket. Yet no one came. The bear slashed the air. The wolf dodged and attacked the bear's flank, sinking its teeth deep into the tough hide. The bear spun about, breaking free. With a last growl it lumbered off.
The wolf watched his enemy retreat, lips drawn back in a savage snarl, before he turned to Ariah. She stepped back, braced to flee. To her surprise, he merely sat down on his haunches. His tongue hung out one side of his mouth and he almost seemed to smile. Baffled, she hesitated. He whimpered, turned and vanished into the dense forest.
Ariah's legs trembled as her terror slowly receded and she realized she was safe. She slumped to the ground and wiped perspiration from her brow and the back of her neck. Gathering herself together, she headed home as quickly as her wobbly legs could carry her.
Bartholomew was planting peas in the large vegetable garden when he saw Ariah bolt from the woods as though the hounds of hell were at her heels. He quickly got to his feet, instinctively aware that something was wrong. The moment she fell, he dropped the sack of seed and took off at a run, his heart in his throat. She dragged herself up, and fell again.
"Ariah, what is it? What's wrong?" he shouted as he rushed to her.
She cried out when she saw him, a small throaty cry that spoke of terror and relief. Her legs turned to mud; she stumbled and fell into his outstretched arms. "Bear . . .in the woods," she got out between pants. "A wolf drove it away."
"A wolf? Are you certain?" He knelt down and sat her on the grass, supporting her back with his knee. "Were you attacked? Are you hurt?"
He didn’t wait for her to answer. His hands flew over her body, feeling, testing, searching for wounds. Having assured himself she was unharmed, he pulled her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. "What happened?" His voice was calmer now. "You say the wolf drove the bear off?"
She nodded, still gasping from her headlong flight. He framed her delicate face in one large hand and kissed her with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.
"Oh, God," he murmured. "To think I could have lost you."
He kissed the tears away, oblivious to the fact that they were out in the open where they could have been seen by anyone.
"The wolf," she said, looking up at him, "it's starving. I could see its ribs, in spite of its thick fur." She could feel his heart pounding against her shoulder where she leaned into him. It matched her own racing heartbeat.
"Are you sure it was a wolf? I haven't seen one in these parts in ages."
His panic had faded but he experienced no compulsion to release her. She felt too good in his arms. Too right.
Ariah traced the sensuous curve of his mouth with a finger. "It was white with black markings and a bushy tail that curled up over its back. How did you get back here so fast? I sensed you there in the forest only minutes before the bear appeared."
He stared at her. "I haven't been in the woods for days."
"But someone's been watching me. I could feel it on the back of my neck. I thought it was you, but . . ." Her voice trailed off. If it wasn't Bartholomew watching her, who was it? Goose bumps rose on her arms and she shuddered.
He felt her tremble and drew her closer against him, his mind searching for an answer. If someone was lurking about in the woods, Bartholomew would ferret him out. And beat him within an inch of his life for frightening Ariah. But who . . .? Her uncle came first to mind, but she was safely married now, so the man was no longer a threat. Then it came to him. He might have chuckled if he hadn't known that fear would prevent her from sharing his relief.
"It wasn't me, little nymph. I suspect it was the dog."
"Dog?"
"Shortly before I went to Portland there was a shipwreck. One of the survivors had a dog aboard that looked like a wolf. It had a tail that curved up over its back. Part wolf, part Alaskan malamute, part chow, specially bred for a sled team. I had forgotten until now, we assumed it had drowned."
"And you think it was that dog that scared the bear away?"
"He's probably been foraging in the woods all this time. And not doing too well, from the way you describe him."
"There are rabbits and mice in the woods. You'd think a dog would do well enough."
"Not necessarily, if it's raised as a pet and unused to hunting his supper."
"But why was he following me? Why didn't he simply come to the station for food?"
Bartholomew shrugged. "He may have been hurt at first. Perhaps, after all he endured—the shipwreck and everything—he's a bit wary of humans now. He's been living wild for over a month."
She leaned into his strength as she considered the idea. "A dog. A pet dog," she murmured. She struggled to her feet. "I must find it. It saved my life. I can't let it go on suffering."
His mouth curved in a gentle smile. "I don't think you'll have any trouble. If he is the one who's been trailing you, all you have to do is let him come to you."
"I'll get some meat scraps to take with me." She started for the house.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
Ariah stopped and glanced back at him. "What?"
His smile broadened. "You're terrified of dogs."
"Oh." She frowned in confusion. "But this one saved my life. He could have attacked me today if he'd wanted to, or at any time in the last few days, if what you believe is true and he's the one who was watching me. Should I fear him?"
"No. Me, maybe, but not him." His voice had grown husky, his gaze heated as he came toward her.
She smiled, knowing that look, and loving it. "Why should I fear you?"
"Because I have an insane desire to lay you down right here and make love to you the way I've wanted to since the first moment I laid eyes on you."
Ariah glanced about and her smile slid from her face. "Oh, Bartholomew, what were we thinking to embrace here in the open like this? What if Hester saw us? Or Seamus?"
"I'm not sure I care if anybody sees us, especially Hester. Philotimo," he murmured, gently touching her face. "Honor I've let it rule me all my life. It bound me to Hester when I should have simply turned my back. And it kept me from taking the woman I love and escaping with her while I could."
Ariah merely stood there gazing at him. His words had been soft, so soft she wasn't sure he meant for her to hear them. Philotimo, Greek for honor. How ironic. It was honor that had killed her father. Honor—in the form of Uncle Xenos—that had threatened her life and sent her running to Oregon. Now Bartholomew was telling her that it was honor that had denied her the man she loved.
A tortured look entered his dark eyes before he shuttered them, and set her away from him. "Go and get your meat, little nymph, while I still have some honor left. We'll see if we can find your wolf."
For a moment she struggled with a desire to beg him to cast aside his damnable honor and run away with her, now, this very minute. But it would be wrong. He would never be able to live with
himself afterward if he abandoned the scruples on which he had based his life. They were his soul. He could learn to live without her, but no man could survive without his honor.
Chapter Twenty
"There she goes again. Just like yesterday, the little trollop."
Hester winced as she limped to the next window where she could see better past the assistant keepers' house. On the far side of the clearing, Ariah, in a cobalt blue dress, was vanishing into the forest. At least this time Bartholomew wasn't sniffing along behind her, like a dog after a bitch in heat. Hester had made sure of that by insisting he catch them some fresh perch for supper. With Pritchard at the light, Hester was alone at the compound, except for that old fool, Seamus, who was asleep. It was the chance she had been waiting for.
Hester stepped outside and looked about to make certain no one was around. Her feet and legs, especially the bad one, throbbed with pain as she hobbled across the lawn to the other house, aided by a broken broom handle she used as a cane. The blister on her heel had become infected, and the whiskey she had poured over it to cleanse it had done no good. She wasn't about to waste any more of her precious supply. The blister would heal eventually, and her health would return.
When no one answered Hester's knock next door, she opened the back door and slipped inside. This time she would get rid of that slut for good.
♥ ♥ ♥
Ariah found the forest dim and shadowy. Night rain had left the cape shrouded in mist so thick the tip of the bluff where the light stood was completely hidden. All that had been visible from Ariah's window that morning were gossamer wisps of gray, giving her the illusion of having awakened in a strange and alien world. Even the normal cries of the sea birds had been hushed, and an eerie, surreal quiet lay over everything.
The fog had cleared by mid-morning, leaving low hanging skies and a somber gray ocean that battered angrily at the solid mass of the bluff. Bartholomew had been accompanying her on her trips into the woods, armed with a rifle, but last night Hester had created such a scene over the matter that, today, Ariah had stolen away an hour earlier than usual to avoid causing more trouble.
She placed some food on the trail and settled down a few yards away to wait. Suddenly she realized she was no longer alone. There was no warning. The dog simply appeared, as if he had materialized out of the vanished mist.
He hovered hungrily over the food she'd brought, afraid to take his eyes off her long enough to eat. Ariah went stock-still. A wave of her old fear washed over her, and she fought an impulse to run. For an eternity they stared at each other, the half-starved dog and the woman, and in that moment, Ariah's fear fled. He needed her, and she him, for in spite of her crowded days, she was lonely. Only when she was with Bartholomew did she feel truly alive and happy, but those stolen interludes were painfully rare.
The dog snatched up a piece of gravy-soaked bread, his piercing gaze never leaving the woman.
"Good boy," she murmured softly. "Go on, eat your fill. I won't hurt you."
As if taking her at her word, he lay down with the food between his front paws and ate greedily. When the food was gone, he stood. Slowly, she stretched out her hand, praying she had been right in her assessment of him.
"Come here, boy. I won't harm you. Let me pet that lush fur and show you that I want to be your friend."
The dog cocked his head, listening, but made no move toward her. A reflection of her own searing loneliness stared out at her from the large sable eyes in the regal, black and white head. His ears twitched and his gaze shifted to the trail behind her. Ariah turned to see what he was looking at, seeing nothing. When she glanced back, he was gone.
"Ariah? Be ye there, lassie?" a voice called.
Old Seamus shuffled into view around a bend in the trail, the rolling gait of his bowed legs giving him the appearance of a man still struggling to get his land legs after months at sea. His corncob pipe protruded from the salt and pepper bristles of his mustache. Suspenders held up baggy trousers that had seen better days and not nearly enough soap.
"You plan on burnin' down the house?" he drawled without preamble in the blunt way he had. "Or was that fire on the stove accidental-like?"
Ariah's eyes widened with alarm. "The beans! But how could they have boiled dry enough already to catch fire?"
"No water on 'em fer one thing. Fire hot enough to melt the plaster off the ceiling, fer another."
"But the fire was low, and I put the beans way at the back."
Seamus harumped. "Weren't when I found 'em. An' ye left that doctorin' book ye're allus a-readin' right next to the blasted pot. Good'n singed it be now."
"That can't be. I left the book on the table."
She rushed toward home and heard him muttering as he followed. "Tolt Bartholomew that hen crowin' this morning boded no good. He never listens. It's them hellfast witch's modern doin's people a-gone so bilge-brained over. 'Lectric lights an' tele-a-phones. Bah! Come to no good, wait an' see if it don't."
"Did you put it out?" she asked, thinking of the fire.
"Don't do no good to put it outside, cussed old hen," he said indignantly. "She'd jest go on crowin'. Woulda kilt her, was it up to me, but Bartholomew wouldn't hear of it."
Confused, Ariah screwed up her face. He was always talking about superstitions and reciting old tales of bad luck or good. Her Greek relatives were the same way, but it was all nonsense to her.
"I meant the fire, Seamus. Did you did put it out?"
"O' course I did, lass," he shouted. "Ye think me a total fool?"
Ariah hid a smile. For all his idiosyncrasies and orneriness, she liked the old man.
They had nearly reached home when Bartholomew came toward them with a string of fish. "Brought you some fresh perch, Ariah. The fishing was good today. My bait can was full in no time." He nodded to Seamus who was lighting a match for his pipe by scratching the tip with a broken thumbnail.
"On the way back I noticed that the pheasant cocks are displaying for the females," Bartholomew continued speaking to Ariah. "I thought you might like to go watch them."
“I can’t now.” Ariah rushed past him up the steps onto the back porch. "I've ruined supper again. It's the third time this week. Pritchard will sulk all evening if I don't have something prepared on time, and Hester . . ."
Her voice trailed off and she cursed herself silently for bringing up the woman's name. It always angered Bartholomew to learn that his wife had been reprimanding Ariah. Torn between apologizing and explaining, she clamped her mouth shut and decided to do neither.
Behind her, as she ran into the house, she heard Seamus mutter, "Tolt ye that cussed hen's crowin' meant trouble, lad. Woulda burnt the house down if'n I hadn't a-woke up early and smelled the smoke."
"The hen set fire to the house?" Bartholomew said with laughter in his voice.
"No, dagnab it! Yer woman done it, sure as I'm a-standing here."
Bartholomew stalked into the house and silently surveyed the damage done in the kitchen, his mouth taut and grim. "Damn the woman! She's gone too far this time." He headed for the door. Ariah grabbed his arm, afraid of what he might do.
"Please, don't go yelling at Hester. She doesn't mean any real harm."
"You don't call this real?" He jerked a thumb at the mess on the stove and the blackened wall behind. "What if Seamus hadn't waked up in time? He could have died."
Ariah blanched. "No. I'm sure she wouldn’t have interfered if she hadn’t believed I'd be back before anything like that could happen."
He shook his head at her in wonder. "She doesn't deserve your kindness, Ariah. I told you once, never turn your back on her. There's a sickness in her you don't understand. Hell, even I don't understand it. And I'm not talking about her physical health, either."
He brushed a hand through his dark tousled hair and down the back of his neck. "Maybe it's my fault, I don't know. Maybe I should have tried harder to . . ." He couldn't say the words. And, deep down, he didn't really believe that learning
to love the woman who’d tricked him into marrying her would have made any difference. Hester would have seen such an emotion as a weakness in a man. A weakness she would have used to her advantage, to make his life even more miserable.
At the table where he'd quietly seated himself, Seamus cleared his throat. "What's ailing that woman was in 'er long ’fore you come along, lad. Don't be puttin' blame where it don't belong."
"I can't just let her get away with this either," Bartholomew countered. "Look at all she’s done to sabotage Ariah's housekeeping and make her look bad: the cayenne pepper, the sand in the bed, the spoiled meat in the stew she knew Ariah would be blamed for when we all became sick.”
Cursing, he punched his fist into the wall. “And Harlequin. She killed him, I know it. I've talked to the woman till I'm blue in the face. I've even threatened her." He shook his head. "She actually believes she's doing right, trying to ruin her own nephew's marriage. Who knows what she'll think up next? Somehow I've got to put a stop to it. Any way I can."
His face hard and implacable, Bartholomew slammed out the door. Ariah took one step after him, only to find Old Seamus standing in her way. "He's a good lad, lass. Let him deal with it as he sees fit. He'll not harm the woman, though the Lord knows she deserves it."
Ariah choked back tears. "But it's my fault. If I had never come here, none of this would have happened."
"Now there ye be wrong. Only difference 'tween now an' afore ye came was in who she aimed her poison at. Used to all fall on the lad. Sneaky, dirty, little things fer no reason anybody could name 'cept her."
The tears spilled over then, but she wasn't thinking of herself. She was thinking of Bartholomew and all he had suffered. Surely he didn't deserve such pain. How she wished she could make it up to him, soothe and comfort him with her love. The love she couldn't seem to feel for her own husband.
♥ ♥ ♥
Pritchard dashed into the house shortly after four that afternoon. He found Ariah in the kitchen, attempting to create a palatable supper for him, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
Forever Mine Page 24
