Courting the Corporal

by Heather McCorkle

  “Michael led me to believe all men disciplined their wives,” she said. It made her feel profoundly ashamed to admit such a thing. But it was too late to take the words back.

  Rick shook his head. “He deceived you. None of the good men I’ve ever known in me life have held such beliefs. Women are the bearers and nurturers of the seeds of life. They are sacred and should be treated as such.” At the last, he looked down and away as if embarrassed to admit such thoughts.

  For a few moments the only sound was the soft steps of the horses’ hooves moving through the grass. “That’s beautiful,” Catriona finally said.

  The scruff of Rick’s beard moved into a semblance of a smile. “Me da’s words, but I believe them through and through.”

  “I think I would have liked your da.”

  The smile he gave her lit up his face. “He would have liked you, for sure,” he said. The joy faded slowly and his eyes shifted to the rock. “Me deepest apologies,” he said.

  “Whatever for?”

  “For misunderstanding you. You don’t like to be called Mrs. O’Brian because you don’t like being Mrs. O’Brian, I’m guessing.”

  Unable to speak, she just nodded. Part of her wanted to tell him the whole story. She tried, but fear paralyzed her lips. Only two other people knew the entire story and not because she’d chosen to tell them, but because they’d been there. Not that she’d have it any other way. They were the two people closest to her in the world.

  “True enough. I’m not ashamed of the name. ’Tis a good name, to be sure. Ashlinn is proof of that. I’m ashamed that I was Michael’s wife.” That much was easy enough to say. The rest she had to steel herself for. “All the ladies envy me, hate me, for marrying the finest catch in all of New York. Their opinion of him, not mine, though I certainly believed it at first.”

  As she spoke, her gaze traveled the massive rock formation to their right, seeking strength in its crags and crevices. Her words stilled when she saw something move up on a distant outcropping. A mountain goat, perhaps? No. Mountain goats weren’t that big. Hidden half in the shadows of the rocky hill, a painted horse of white and brown stared down at her. But it wasn’t just painted by the hand of God. This horse had a black circle drawn around its left eye and stripes down its neck. On its bare back sat a man with long, black braids of hair draped over a naked chest. Halfway up the hill as he was, she couldn’t make out much more, but she was relatively certain the things thrusting up from his head were massive feathers.

  “Indian,” she croaked in a hoarse whisper.

  “I know. Don’t look at him, just keep riding as if you didn’t notice,” Rick said in a low voice.

  Her heart pounded as though leaping from a starting gate. She tilted her head so the brim of her hat hid the man from her sight. Placid as ever, Rick’s big buckskin meandered closer as if on his own volition. But she knew better. The tension in Rick’s legs and back gave it away. His horse crossed behind hers and moved up between her and the hill. Rick’s eyes traveled over her in a calculating manner that wasn’t at all pleasant.

  “Stay sharp, be ready with that pistol just in case,” he said.

  “Why?” she asked, hating the high pitch her voice took on.

  “Just in case he attacks, we’re in his territory, after all,” Rick said.

  She did as he said, her hand straying to the pistol of a gun she wasn’t at all sure she’d use. Responding to the tension in her body, her horse perked his head up, ears going forward, and picked his pace up to a brisk walk. She didn’t slow him. If anything, she wanted to urge him faster, but she resisted. Beside her, Rick’s horse matched the pace.

  “Do you think that’s why he’s here?” she asked.

  Rick’s chest rose and fell with a massive sigh. “Aye. This was his land before we came.” The sadness in his tone made her curious about his past beyond the war.

  She needed the distraction to keep her from losing it and kicking her horse into an all-out gallop. “You sound like a man who knows,” she said softly.

  “We’re driving them out just the same as the English have been trying to drive us out of our land for centuries,” he said.

  A sudden pang of sympathy for the Indians tore through her, leaving guilt in its wake. Tears stung her eyes. “Oh God, that’s awful. I never thought of it that way.”

  “Aye, ’tis. But don’t go getting too sympathetic. Can’t have you hesitating if we have to fight them,” he warned.

  “Them?” she croaked.

  “I’ve seen three, two are just better at hiding.”

  On instinct, her gaze shot to the hill before she could stop it. The one she had seen was gone. Using the small brim of her hat to hide her face, she did her best to scour the hillside. Her hand strayed to the gun at her waist. Could she really use it? Cofield’s attack flashed in her memory. Delicate fingers wrapped around the walnut handgrip.

  “Bet the lasses wouldn’t scoff at me now for wearing breeches. This is a tale I will most certainly have to tell them. In fact, I think I should write to them and warn them to do the same, else—”

  “Shhh,” Rick interrupted.

  Her hand strayed away from the gun. She straightened a bit, eyes narrowing as they turned on him. “Why? I was whispering.”

  Rick’s eyes narrowed right back at her. “Even the softest sound carries out here. And ready that pistol, dammit.”

  Making a sound between a groan and a growl, she put her hand back on her gun. She literally had to bite her lower lip to keep from arguing. All manner of terrible outcomes began to play through her mind. Her heart beat faster and faster until her breath sped and sweat began to trickle between her shoulder blades. They rode in silence until they reached the edge of the shadow cast by Chimney Rock. The tension in Rick’s body eased and his shoulders dropped. His eyes looked out over the fields beyond the rock where dozens of dark shapes moved. She could hold her tongue no longer.

  Steering her horse as close to his as she could get without running into him, she leaned over and whispered as quiet as she could, “What is it?”

  “Bison,” he said through a grin.

  Her skin prickled as she recalled their last encounter with a herd of bison. “And this is good how?” She really hoped he didn’t have a similar plan in mind. It would take every ounce of courage she had to ride into another herd of those things. And a good dollop of stupidity.

  The expression of relief on Rick’s face as he turned to look at her made her worry a bit. “Because, the Cheyenne are here to hunt them, not us,” he said.

  The tails of six horses whipping in the wind as they galloped out after the bison herd confirmed his words. Seeing the distant grasslands swallow them brought a relief so powerful that she shuddered.

  “We’re in the clear. Best not to tempt fate, though. Feel like racing a bit?” Rick asked.

  She grinned back. Heels down to get deeper in the saddle, Cat took up her reins and squeezed her horse hard with both legs. The lazy gelding seemed to understand the urgency, for he transformed. His hind legs launched them into a gallop that had her grabbing for her hat. From somewhere behind her, Lincoln let out a joyful bark. A moment later, Rick’s gelding galloped up alongside her, his black mane flipping up in the wind he created. Green eyes flashing with excitement, he wiggled his dark brows at her. She rose to the bait and raced alongside him. The wind felt amazing after a long, hot day in the sun, and the rhythm of the paint galloping beneath her brought a soothing familiarity. The stress of the last few days slid away with the wind.

  A chance look in Rick’s direction at the wrong time brought it all scorching back. Tension pinched deep lines into the corners of his eyes and between his brows. From beneath the brim of his hat, he watched the retreating Indians. One hand clutched the reins, the other lay on the butt of his gun. Contrary to his words, he clearly didn’t believe they were safe just yet.
r />   Chapter 13

  Day Twelve

  After a sleepless night of listening to the ululating songs of the braves’ hunting party, Rick woke Catriona at the first hint of light and pushed them on. He couldn’t help it. The sounds had instilled in him an almost desperate fear of attack. Visions of old battlefields danced behind his eyelids each time he so much as blinked, making each sigh of the wind and groan of the trees prickle across his nerves. Though no native songs filled the next night, he couldn’t bring himself to build a fire or sleep then, either. The risk still felt too great. Between the natives and the risk of Ainsworth sending another man if Cofield didn’t check in via telegram, they didn’t dare slow down. On the third day they rode late into the evening until the only thing he could see of Catriona was the white patches on her paint horse.

  Finally, when she looked ready to fall from the saddle, he chose a suitable enough site between a few large boulders that would give them a defensible position. The horses dropped their heads to graze on the tall grass the moment he and Catriona dismounted.

  He patted his horse on the neck as he removed his saddle. “Apologies for asking so much of you, Ayegi,” he said to him.

  One hand in the middle of her back, Catriona stretched until things popped. “Ayegi, I do love the exotic sound of that name. Will you tell me about the natives you got him from?”

  His eyes locked onto the curve of Catriona’s backside as she bent to set her saddle on the ground. The way the breeches clung to her made him like them on her more and more. He knew the ploy well. She was trying to get him to talk, as she had been for the last several days. All manner of topics had poured from her as they rode across what remained of the Nebraska territory: the weather, what type of grapes grew best in what soil, when to harvest grapes, how to best fertilize, and on and on. He hadn’t minded. She had a pleasant voice that was high enough to be feminine, yet deep enough to be pleasing to the ears in a way that was almost sensual.

  She loved to talk, for sure, but he knew it was more than that. Silence made her nervous. He could tell by how tense she became when things were at their stillest. Always, her eyes scanned the horizon, and always she pushed on to the limits of her endurance. It pained him to see her afraid. He wished he hadn’t told her about Ainsworth’s men using telegrams to give him updates. But it was better to have her afraid than careless. Intelligent as she was, she would have figured it out eventually anyway.

  As they worked together to string up a line between two trees, he gladly focused on his knot tying. He took his time removing Ayegi’s gear. Once they tied all the horses to the line, though, he had no excuse not to look at her.

  She took her cap off and shook out her long, red waves. Golden rays of receding sunlight made her hair look like coals about to burst into flames. “Please, do tell me about them.”

  It took him a moment to remember what she had asked. Those eyes, that smile, they would not be denied. She deserved the chance for a distraction. He told her of the natives’ love for horses, how they often even brought them into their tents when the weather was bad. Eyes widening, she grinned like a lass before diving into a slew of questions. To keep that look on her face, he indulged her, telling her about everything from the women’s clothing, to the men’s headdresses. She squeezed every detail he could recall out of him with question after question. Once he could recall no more, she began chatting about everything she’d ever read on natives.

  While she talked, they set up camp together. The routine had become second nature, hardly requiring words between them. Which was good considering he couldn’t get a word in. But that was all right. Her lovely voice soothed him, and right now he’d take all the soothing his raw nerves could get. Anxiety over the possibility of being followed plagued him as much as it did her, maybe more. Darkness fell as he coaxed the flames of a fire to life. He hadn’t wanted to start one, but the braves were days away and they needed to cook the rabbit he’d caught on the trail today. He wouldn’t have done it, but their stores were running dangerously low due to how often they left the trail to shake any possible followers.

  After they finished their meal, Catriona sat staring at him from across the fire. He stared right back. With a view like that, how could he not? The way she cocked her head to the side and stroked her chin made him smile. She held his stare with a boldness that stirred his blood. Yellow flames crackled against the wood between them, softening her face with a lovely glow. Were it not for the slobbering and occasional crunch of Lincoln gnawing on a bone at his feet, the mood would have been quite romantic. Of course that made him extra grateful for the pup.

  Normally he could hold out indefinitely, but something about this woman made him intensely curious. “Out with it. What are you thinking?” he said.

  She looked down and away, hiding her expression behind a curtain of red hair. “I shouldn’t pry.”

  The prickling sensation traveling up his back told him he should have let it drop. But it was too late now. The sad tone of her voice pulled him in. “If you don’t ask, I’ll be subjected to that look for the next four weeks,” he said through a sigh.

  Her eyes narrowed and brows pinched together, but the curiosity didn’t leave her face.

  “Aye, that’s the one. Ask away,” he said.

  A smile flitted across her lips and the beginnings of a blush colored her cheeks. Both faded all too quickly as she met his gaze full on. “Did you meet my husband, before he deserted, I mean?”

  Pain raked across her face at the last words, but she held his gaze. Such strength floored him. Shaking his head, he broke eye contact for her, using the excuse of throwing another stick on the fire. “No. There were many battalions within the 69th regiment, and he wasn’t in mine.”

  Silence heavy as a wool blanket fell between them. Even Lincoln paused in his chewing, cocked head pointed in Catriona’s direction. She looked down and didn’t look back up. The pup dropped his bone, trotted over, and plopped down across her feet. The barest sniffle sounded as she scratched between Lincoln’s ears.

  “You shouldn’t feel ashamed. The man was responsible for his own actions. His shame shouldn’t be yours. Society has it all wrong in that aspect, in many aspects, truly,” he said.

  She swiped at her eyes before looking at him. It had grown too dark to read her expression.

  “Thank you,” she said. After a moment, she went on. “Most of the time I’m angry at him for deserting his fellow soldiers, his country. Other times I imagine how it must have been and a part of me understands. Countryman fighting countryman, brothers fighting brothers in some cases, or so I heard. It had to be terribly hard.”

  He could only nod in answer. Her eyes weighed heavy on him but he stared at the flames, unable to look at her. The words stirred up the images of bloody battlefield after bloody battlefield. A long moment of silence stretched out before he could get words out of his constricting throat. “It’s so much worse than anyone can imagine.”

  Catriona scooted close enough to reach over and touch his arm. The almost otherworldly warmth of her fingers served as an anchor that drew him back to the present. Her gentle eyes regarded him with so much concern that it sent a pang of longing through his heart.

  “My deepest apologies. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories,” she said.

  Trapped by the allure of her eyes, he couldn’t look away or hide the raw emotion broiling in his own. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if his pain reflected in her eyes or if it was her own. It didn’t matter either way. He had caused it either by bringing up something that hurt her to remember, or by causing her to sympathize with him.

  “No worries, ’tisn’t your fault. The memories are always there, waiting for me every time I close my eyes,” he said.

  Her hand moved down and took his. The small, delicate feel of it brought an almost overwhelming feeling of protectiveness over him. His fingers closed around hers.

>   The contact gave him the strength to go on. “Sometimes they consume me. A shout, the crack of a gun, or the sight of blood can bring the memories back so strongly that it feels as if I’m living them again.”

  Her free hand stroked his arm, and she nodded. “I’ve been through a trauma of my own. Nothing compared to yours, o’ course. I found when I’m trapped in the memories reciting the different grapes helps bring me out of it.”

  His brows rose at the possibilities. When the flashes came he had always been at their mercy. He’d never thought about anything being able to pull him back out of them.

  Catriona shook her head and looked down. “I’m sorry, ’twas foolish to mention.”

  She tried to pull her hand away but he held fast to it.

  “Not at all. I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

  A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “In that case, was there anything during the war that brought you comfort?” she asked.

  His free hand touched the harmonica in his pocket. “Aye, music.”

  “Next time it happens try to think of a song, or the sound of an instrument playing. Maybe it will help,” she said.

  “I will, thank you,” he said, giving the last two words the weight they deserved.

  He couldn’t tell her the episodes made it so hard to think that such a thing seemed nearly impossible. He couldn’t explain that they plunged him so deep into the memory that he was literally reliving it. But most of all, he couldn’t admit that they sometimes happened while he was awake. If he did, she would most certainly think him insane. Besides, maybe her advice would help. Maybe he’d be able to think through the next episode. It certainly couldn’t hurt to try.

  Hand still in his, she lay her head on his chest and relaxed beside him, her body deliciously close to his. “You’re welcome,” she said through a yawn.

  Though his eyes flew open wide and his breath caught, he did everything in his power to stay relaxed. Good sense and memories of what had happened the last time he’d let himself get this close to someone told him to pull away. His heart told him not to. The more he grew to know her and not just her social standing, the more he wanted to draw her closer. The turmoil ate him alive from the inside out. Her soft, rhythmic breaths soothed him and soon had him nodding off for the first time in two days.