Seven Swans Bride

by Donna Dalton

  Fortune had smiled on them earlier, providing fresh meat for supper. She still couldn’t believe how quickly the major had drawn and shot his pistol when they jumped the startled rabbit. One bullet was all it took. Was that how he’d survived the War, quick reflexes and a quicker mind? He was gifted with both, that was for certain.

  He shook his head. “The two helpings I had earlier satisfied me. I will have more of that coffee if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” She tossed off the fur and picked up the coffee pot warming by the fire. She slowly pushed to her feet, not willing to upset the agreement she and her muscles had come to. If she didn’t move too fast, they didn’t complain.

  When she reached the table, he slid his tin cup toward her. “Thank you, Abigail.”

  Abigail. Her name passing over his lips felt like a sweet caress. A pleasing tremor trickled down her neck. She shook off the sensation and busied herself with filling his cup. Now was not the time for such madness.

  When the cup was full, she held up the pot. “It’s nearly empty. Would you like me to make more?”

  He set his pistol and rag on the table and reached for the tin cup. “No. This should hold me over for the night.” He blew on the coffee and took a sip. His intense gaze swept over her. “Are you feeling all right? I noticed you rose a little cautiously from the floor.”

  Her stomach roiled around the stew. Just her ill luck the man was observant as an eagle. Would he consider her unfit to continue the journey? “I...um...my legs are just a little tender from the ride.”

  “I figured you might get saddle sore, so I purchased some liniment from Gunderson’s before we left. It’s in my saddle pack if you’d like me to get it.”

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disturbed that he anticipated her having difficulties with the ride. She swallowed hard and glanced around the room. He wanted her to spread liniment on her intimate parts in this tiny space? With him watching? She’d go up into a bonfire of embarrassment.

  “I can string up a rope and sling a privacy blanket across it if that will help,” he offered.

  How was it he could read her mind? Was he aware of her unseemly attraction to him as well? Even now, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the patch of skin on display at the base of his neck where he’d unhooked his shirt buttons.

  She yanked her gaze away and waved a dismissive hand. “No need for that. The pain is not that bad. I’ll be back to rights after a good night’s rest.” With both her muscles and her wits.

  “It’s no trouble. My pack is over by my sleeping pallet near the door.”

  It would be trouble—for her and her silly body, especially with Mr. Eagle Eyes watching and listening. “No, thank you all the same. Go on with your cleaning. I’ll be fine.”

  She left the coffee pot on the table and returned to the hearth. The fire had burned down to short flickering flames that did little to cut the chill. She picked up a log from the dwindling stack. “There’s only a little bit of firewood left. I’m not sure it will last through the night.”

  He grunted. “I collected what I could find near the cabin before the storm got too bad. I’ll go out in a few minutes and look for more.”

  Her blood turned to ice. Go outside? In the middle of a snowstorm? What if he got turned around and couldn’t find his way back? He could freeze to death. Or those vicious wolves could return and find him an easy target.

  She tossed the log onto the fire, sending sparks skittering. “It’s far too dangerous for you to go out in such horrid weather. We’ll burn my crate, and then the picture frame if need be.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It is. The painting is all I care about. I don’t need the rest.” She wouldn’t let her mind wander to what else, or rather whom else, she was beginning to care about.

  “Abigail...”

  She rounded on him, her voice wavering despite her efforts to stay composed. “Please, Evander. Promise you won’t go out there tonight.”

  It was the first time she’d used his given name. He looked thrown out of kilter for a moment and then nodded. “All right. If it will ease your mind, I won’t go out until the storm lets up.”

  She sank onto the furs, relieved. “Thank you, it does ease my mind.”

  “Get some sleep. We had a long day, and I suspect tomorrow will be even longer. You’ll need the rest.”

  Sleep. Would that even be possible? His every move had her pulse playing hopscotch. But she had to try. He was right. She did need to rest and let her body recuperate. There was no telling how much snow would accumulate overnight. The ride tomorrow could tax her already strained muscles and make her truly unfit to continue.

  She snuggled into the furs. Heat from the fire bathed her face. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she slipped into the duskiness of sleep. An image surfaced of a handsome, dark-haired man in uniform. He pulled her close and played his lips over hers. His hands roamed her body, exploring places that screamed for his touch. She moaned in pleasure.

  The specter lifted his head, and eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea washed over her. Evander. His name poured from her, rolling off her tongue like silk. If this was heaven, she never wanted to leave.

  Something ripped into the dream, and the image scattered. She clawed up from the blackness and opened her eyes. The fire had dwindled to glowing embers. She’d been asleep for longer than she thought.

  A noise caught her ear. It sounded like something scraping at the door. Her heart shuddered. Was it wolves? She batted away the furs and shot upright.

  On the other side of room, a blanket covered mound shifted and rolled. A tortured muttering drifted across the short distance. “No. No. Hold the line.”

  It was Evander. He appeared to be having a nightmare. She pushed to her feet and scurried across the cold floor, ignoring the protest of her sleepy muscles. Upon reaching the pallet by the door, she dropped to her knees beside him.

  His face twisted in agony. “Rebs broke through. Too many. Can’t stop...”

  She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Evander.”

  He flinched at her touch. “No. Let me go. Need to help them. Dying.”

  She gave him a gentle shake. “Evander. It’s me, Abigail.”

  His eyelids snapped open. He stared at her as if she had two heads and a forked tail.

  “You were having a nightmare.”

  He blinked and blinked again. “Abigail?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Are you all right? It sounded as though you were dreaming about the War.”

  He sat up and rubbed his face as if trying to scrub away the memories. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. You would think after two years, I wouldn’t be dreaming about such things.”

  “Seeing men killed is not something most people can easily recover from.”

  He reached out and palmed her cheek. “You’re a special lady, Abigail Whitlock. Beautiful, caring, with an inner strength that is surprising and quite amazing.”

  “Evander—”

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers—gentle at first, and then more insistent, coaxing her with little nips and suckles until she responded. The dream kiss was nothing like this. She felt cherished. Desired. Treated like a lover, not as property to be claimed and controlled.

  She moaned deep in her throat.

  He pulled away, frowning. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  And she shouldn’t have responded so eagerly, so wantonly. Apparently, neither of them was in their right minds. “It’s all right.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “You were only seeking comfort after a dreadful nightmare.”

  “It was still wrong. I’m supposed to be your guide, your protector, not your accoster.” He shrugged out of her grasp. “You should get as far away from me as you can.”

  “Stop that. You have been nothing but a gentleman this entire trip. You are a good and kind man, just like your name.”

  “My name?”

  “Ev
ander means ‘good man.’ It fits you perfectly.” The tedious sessions of Greek and Latin studies at Mrs. Gresham’s were finally paying off.

  “A good man would not take advantage of a defenseless lady.”

  “I’m hardly defenseless. Besides, it was just a harmless kiss. It meant nothing.” If it meant nothing, why then were her lips still tingling? And why did a fire smolder in her lower belly? Her attraction to him appeared stronger than anticipated and would require a great deal more effort to tame.

  Chapter Four

  The cabin door swung open, and Evander and a healthy gust of chilly air plowed through the opening. Snow coated every exposed inch of him, from his scarf wrapped head to his boot-clad feet. He looked like a snowman come to life.

  Abigail tossed the last of the picture frame wood onto the fire and rushed across the room. “Your arms are full. Let me get the door for you.”

  He stomped snow from his boots and moved into the room, toting a large load of firewood. “Brrr. Sure is cold out there. The snow has let up, but the wind is still blowing hard—hard enough it could freeze the nose right off your face.”

  Drat. Not what she wanted to hear. She shut the door and seated the locking bar. “I suppose that means we won’t be resuming our trip today.”

  “Not likely. About a foot of snow fell last night, and with the wind blowing, you can barely see in front of you. Not to mention it’s creating three and four foot drifts. We’ll just have to wait until the wind dies down and the temperature rises.”

  A delay she couldn’t afford. But there was nothing she could do about it. She might be rash, but she wasn’t addlepated. Insisting they continue their trip in blowing snow and freezing temperatures would put both their lives in danger. Not a risk she was willing to take. Hopefully, they could make up the lost time elsewhere.

  Evander crossed to the fireplace and deposited the firewood onto the hearth. Snow sizzled as it rolled off the logs and met the heated stones. He tugged off his gloves and rubbed his hands in front of the fire. “Ah, that feels good.”

  His deep sigh rumbled through her. She banked the embers that flared inside her and retrieved a chair from the table. “You must be near frozen. Please. Sit. Warm yourself.”

  He removed his hat and unwound the scarf. His nose came into view—it hadn’t frozen off after all. And then his lips emerged, those wonderful, firm lips that had pressed against hers and turned her insides to porridge.

  “Abigail? Did you hear me?”

  Horse feathers. She had to get thoughts of that kiss out of her head. There was no reason to be dreaming of something that wouldn’t happen again.

  She grabbed the iron poker and jabbed at the fire. “My apologies. My mind was elsewhere. What was it you asked?”

  “I said I see you had to use your picture frame for kindling.”

  “Yes, you weren’t back, and the fire started dying down.” She poked harder, sending sparks flying. “I had to keep it going.”

  “I’m sorry you had to burn your sister’s gift. It took me longer than expected to find wood.”

  “It’s not important. I can replace the frame.” Too bad she couldn’t replace her body with one that didn’t burst into flames at the least provocation.

  He shrugged out of his overcoat and settled onto the chair with a grunt. “If you burned the picture frame, what did you do with the painting?”

  She propped the poker against the fireplace. A puddle had begun forming beneath his chair. Perhaps a little levity would help calm her flustered wits. She put on a genial smile and waggled her fingers at him. “Let me hang your things by the fire. The melting snow is creating quite the puddle. As much as I enjoy wading, I don’t think this is a suitable place for such an amusement.”

  He glanced down and grimaced. “Oh, of course. Sorry, I should have removed my coat by the door.”

  “It’s not a problem. A good swipe with a towel is all it needs.”

  She took the garments from him. Heat lingered in the inner lining of the overcoat. A yearning to burrow into it rose inside her. She slung the coat onto a wall peg instead. Her reactions were becoming quite a nuisance. Surely she could control them better than some silly, starry-eyed schoolgirl.

  She set the scarf and hat on pegs next to the coat and turned back to him. “You asked about the painting. I rolled it up and stowed it in my satchel. I expect it should be safe there.”

  His frown deepened. “I don’t see the crate wood. Did you burn that, too?”

  “I used that first since there was more of it. Once it burned down, I resorted to the frame.” She grabbed a log and tossed it onto the fire. “But now that you have fetched more wood, we shouldn’t have any trouble keeping a good, strong fire going.”

  “I suppose you did what you had to. I just wish you hadn’t been put in that position in the first place.”

  “It couldn’t be avoided. I’m not fretting over the loss, so neither should you.” His concern was touching. Other than her father, few men would be bothered about something as trivial as the loss of a picture frame.

  She replaced a thick log that had rolled off the stack. “Where did you find this wood? It looks dry and reasonably free of decay.”

  “There was a fallen tree about a hundred yards into the woods.” He bent over and began tugging off his boots. “Looked like it came down during the summer months. Some of the branches still had dried leaves on them.”

  One boot thudded to the floor, and then the other. He started peeling off his socks, revealing long narrow feet with high arches and slender toes. The sight seemed as intimate as if he’d removed his trousers.

  She moistened lips gone dry as a summer pond. “How fortunate you found a source of seasoned wood.”

  “Fortunate indeed. It should keep us supplied with firewood for the rest of our stay here.” He brushed wood chips from his trouser legs. “Provided I don’t chop off my foot with that rusted axe I discovered in the woodshed.”

  Her stomach churned around breakfast. She didn’t know what put her more on edge—talk of blood or seeing intimate male body parts. “Please be careful, Evander. I’m not much good with doctoring. Blood makes me squeamish.”

  “Well, well. The lady has a weakness after all.” His gentle smile rippled over her. “I shall do my best to avoid any bloodshed.”

  Blood wasn’t her only weakness. Now if only he could do something about those exposed feet of his. She snagged the coffee pot from the hearth. “I believe I’ll go gather some snow to melt for water. You look like you could use a good cup of coffee to warm your insides.”

  “It’s much too raw out there, Abigail.” He reached for his boots. “I’ll go get the snow for you.”

  She stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. His muscles quivered beneath her fingertips. Was he shivering from being chilled, or was he reacting to her touch? Best to believe it was the former—for her own peace of mind.

  “You’re shaking with cold, Evander. You stay right here by the fire. The last thing we need is for you to take ill.” She dropped her hand to her side. “It won’t take me but a few minutes to scoop up some snow.”

  He unholstered his pistol and held it out to her. “Fine, but take this. With the storm abating, those wolves might be back on the prowl.”

  She wagged her head and started for the door. “That gun won’t do me much good unless the creatures get close enough that I can hit them over the head with it. I never learned to shoot.”

  “What? Why didn’t you say so at the tunnel? I never would have left you alone.”

  “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

  “You’re going to be the death of me, Abigail Whitlock.” His words held a provocative bite as if he meant more than just her little white lie.

  He pushed to his feet. “No time like the present to learn how to fire a pistol. Put down that coffee pot and come over here. I’ll give you a lesson.”

  “Shoot a gun? Inside? I think the cold has turned you addlepated, Evander Holt.
”

  He snapped open the cylinder and removed the bullets. “We’ll practice without ammunition first. Let you get accustomed to holding it. Then we’ll go out on the porch for a quick round of live firing.”

  “Is this really necessary?”

  “It is. Now, come over here. Remember our agreement?”

  Mudpies. He had to rake up that old potato. She set the coffee pot on the table and crossed to stand beside him.

  He threaded the gun into her hand. Cold steel branded her palm while warm fingers scalded her skin. She braced against a shiver that had nothing to do with being chilled.

  “Since your hand is smaller than mine, you should probably use both of them around the grip. That will help keep the barrel steadier.”

  She laced both hands on the pistol grip. “Like this?”

  “Yes. Now keep your arms extended and lift the pistol until you can see down the top.”

  She lifted the gun until it was eye level. Oddly, holding a firearm felt comfortable, natural, as if it was an extension of her arm.

  “Pick a target on the other side of the room and aim at it. Adjust the angle until the sight at the end of the barrel lines up with the target and this sight near the hammer.” He tapped the two nodules on the gun barrel. “Got it?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Good. Now thumb back the hammer and slide your finger onto the trigger. When you’re ready, squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it.”

  She did what she thought was a squeeze. The hammer slammed down with a resounding click.

  “Hmmm, well, the ceiling would now have a drain hole in it. You pulled instead of squeezing. Let me show you.”

  He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her. His chest molded her back, and his thighs pressed ever so pleasantly against her buttocks. Tremors shot down her spine. Might as well feed those bullets back into the cylinder and shoot her. It appeared she had lost total control of her wits.

  He spooned his finger over hers, thumbed back the hammer, and guided the gun to eye level. “Got your target in sight?”

  His warm breath caressed her neck. She couldn’t breathe much less speak. She managed a nod.