“I know that you haven’t had a chance to confirm me family and social status, and I promise to give you ample time to do so. But I am compelled to ask, once you do and should you find them to your satisfaction, Catriona O’Brian, may I have your hand in marriage?”
After a gasp that nearly turned to a sob, she put a hand on her hip. “Patrick Fergusson, your family and your social status mean scarce little to me,” she teased, the effect ruined by a sniffle.
His head cocked to the side and she nearly laughed aloud at his resemblance to Lincoln. The confident man she had traveled with had morphed into this timid, unsure lad before her. She found it oddly charming.
“And that means…?”
Now she did laugh as she grabbed his hand. “It means that I wouldn’t care if you were the penniless rogue I thought you to be. ’Tisn’t your wealth or your family I want, but you.”
A smile pushed up his scruffy cheeks. “Then…”
She let the moment stretch out since he was making it so fun. “It means yes, you fool, of course I’ll marry you,” she finally ended his torment.
Rick let out a huge whoop that sent a handful of birds in a nearby tree into frantic flight. He launched to his feet, swept her up in his arms, and spun her around as he clutched her close. Laughing, she kicked her feet up and clung to him with all her strength. Lincoln appeared and began running circles around them, barking with enthusiasm. Finally, Rick set her down on her feet. She swayed a bit, but he held her steady. He cupped her face in both hands. After a long look, he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Arms around his neck, she pulled herself up and deepened the kiss into something that would burn away his lingering propriety. He groaned into her open mouth. Clothes soon began to fall on the grasslands of their new home.
Epilogue
Bone-tired not from traveling, but from the tedious company of their escorts, Deirdre walked deeper into the juniper trees. The moments she could steal for herself were precious few. Thinking her off answering nature’s call, the men hired to escort and protect her and Sadie wouldn’t come looking for her for at least another few moments. Most of the aloof brutes were likely catching a nap anyway. In this bloody heat it was almost impossible not to given the slightest opportunity.
The very thought made her tug at her cotton dress where it clung to her sweaty thighs. What she wouldn’t do for a hoop to keep the blasted material away from her. Or better yet, a brisk ride on her thoroughbred to get the wind moving through her hair. But, due to the dangers of the trail, her escorts were adamant about not letting her stray far from sight. As if she were a dog that needed to be kept at heel. Her jaw clenched.
Another week and they’d reach California. That kept her going when she wanted to strangle their escorts. She knew it was wrong to think ill of these men. They were friends of Sean MacBranain’s, men he had fought alongside in the war, men he trusted not only his own life with, but hers and Sadie’s as well. And they had proved true and good in every aspect. Maybe if any of them were interesting enough to be attracted to she would warm to them more. But the lot of them were too stoic, boring, or repressive for her tastes. She had tried to get to know them and weigh their characters for something more than a passing acquaintance. After all, she was ready for a romance that would sweep her off her feet. Clearly, it would not be with one of them.
The day’s heat lost some of its bite as she stepped into the shade of a large juniper tree. Letting out a long breath, she leaned against the twisted trunk. The rough bark scraped at her back, snagging at her dress, but she didn’t care. What she wouldn’t give for a river. Even a stream would do. Water wasn’t exactly plentiful in Nevada. The snap of a branch yanked her from her musings with a start. She slid around the tree trunk away from the noise. As much as she wanted this trip over with, she wasn’t ready to crawl back into a stifling wagon just yet. Bluish juniper needles brushed against her hair, catching in the long locks. She grabbed the branch before it could snap back and make any noise.
Oddly, no one called out to her. If it were one of the men, or even Sadie, surely they would have called out. A grunt filled with pain sounded close by, too close by. Deirdre froze. She broke through the paralysis to reach for the knife she kept nestled in her deep cleavage.
“Is someone there?” came a man’s raspy voice.
Her fingers closed around the small handle of the knife.
“Please, I mean you no harm. I need help.”
She remained silent and hidden. Something about the man’s voice made the skin on the back of her neck tighten. But did she dare judge a man on an undertone? It could merely be pain. Leaning around the trunk, she peered through the branches. A lone man in torn and bloodied clothes stood amidst the sage brush. He leaned heavily on a makeshift cane. Bandages that looked like they might have once been the sleeves of his shirt were wrapped poorly around his right calf. In a holster resting on a belt nestled a large handgun. Both the remains of his tattered shirt and his breeches hung on him as if he’d recently lost weight, or the clothes weren’t his. The pockmarked skin of his face ran a shade just north of death. Dark circles surrounded his squinty eyes.
The sight of him only confirmed what she had heard in his voice; he wasn’t to be trusted. Her little knife felt woefully inadequate.
“I know you’re there. I can see you through the tree. Please, help me,” he said.
Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to just leave the man. “Put the gun on the ground, step away from it, and I’ll come help you.”
Using the branch he had fashioned into a cane, he limped a few steps closer. “Oh thank you so much. You’re a Godsend. I—”
“Stop right there and put the gun on the ground,” she commanded.
Her gaze flitted about the tree, looking for anything that would work as a range weapon. Several sizable rocks lay about the tree. They looked volcanic, filled with holes that mean they’d be too light, but they’d have to do. Gaze darting back to the man, she bent and picked one up, having to feel around blindly in the duff to find it.
He stopped, free hand going up to show he meant no harm. “Sorry, I got so excited. I haven’t seen another soul for a week is all. Thought I was going to die out here alone,” he practically whispered.
It occurred to her that each time he spoke he had whispered, even when he’d grown excited. The skin on the back of her neck grew even tighter. The hand holding the rock reared back as he removed his gun from its holster. What she wouldn’t have done for a bow at that moment. What good was being a champion archer if she didn’t have a bow at a time like this?
But the man did as she commanded and lay his gun at his feet.
“Now take a step back,” she said.
She could call for help. Maybe she should. But she knew if he did mean her ill, he could be on her before anyone from the wagon train could reach her. Or worse yet, Sadie would be the one to reach her, then she’d be in danger, too. Her friend was still weak from heat exhaustion. No. It was better to take care of him herself. He took two small steps back. Emboldened by his obedience, she dropped the rock and stepped out from behind the tree.
The man’s beady eyes opened wide. “You’re even prettier than you sound,” he said, voice too eager for her liking.
Knife held down against her dress where he wouldn’t see it, she strode a few steps closer. Let him think she had abandoned caution. It would give her the edge.
His eyes traveled over her, feeling like the cool, slick hide of a snake against her skin. As she feared, they caught on her cleavage. “Name’s Cofield, in case you want to call it out later,” he said through a sneer full of broken and crooked teeth.
They lunged for the gun at the same moment. While he dove to pick it up, she prepared. The moment his hand closed around it, she brought her foot slamming down on both hard. Bones ground beneath the heel of her boot. He cried out. The second he looked up, she slipped
her knife beneath his chin, applying just enough pressure to make sure he knew it was there.
“Your first mistake was being a blaggard who would attack a woman. Your second was taking me for a daft fool. I’m not going to give you a chance to make a third,” she warned him in a voice that was as steady as her knife hand.
“You’re hurting me,” he whined. “Please, I’ve been attacked by bandits and wolves. I was just afraid.”
“Of a woman?”
“It was a woman who did this to me.” He pointed to a scabbed-over gash on the side of his head.
“A woman bandit?” she asked, raising her voice loud enough that she hoped the men from the wagon train would hear.
“Yes,” he insisted.
Shifting her foot, she ground her heel harder against the butt of the gun. “Let go.”
“You have my hand trapped.”
“Then pull it out. That or I’ll crush it, your choice.”
As he pulled, she felt him try to take the gun with him, but he couldn’t get it out from under her foot. Once his hand was free, she covered as much of the gun with her foot as she could.
“Crawl away from me, slowly.”
He shuffled backward on his hands and knees faster than she was comfortable with, but she let him go regardless. Gaze locked on him, she bent and picked up the gun. When her hand closed around the grips, he dove for her. She brought the knife up, but he blocked the arm holding it and bore her to the ground. While his hand wrapped around her one wrist, she slammed the butt of the gun into the side of his head. As he fell, she twisted so that he went face-first down into the sage and dirt. She scrabbled away and to her feet.
A brand new wound on the opposite side of his head from the other one bled freely. The fluttering eyelid that she could see soon disappeared in a wash of red. Though it was a lot, to be sure, she didn’t think it was a fatal amount of blood. Having grown up with a brother, she knew just because a head wound bled a lot didn’t mean it was that bad. The fact that the man seemed only half-conscious was another matter.
Footsteps pounded through the scrubby forest toward her. Gun held at the ready, she took a step back from Cofield—just in case—and turned in the direction of the steps. A tall Negro woman with skin that shone like brown porcelain plunged through the trees. She stumbled to a halt, barely remaining on her feet. Her gaze moved between the still Cofield and Deirdre. With a shake of her many braids, she shrugged off her shock and half-jogged, half-stumbled toward Deirdre.
Deirdre met her halfway, grabbing hold of her arm to steady her. “I’m all right, Sadie.”
“I heard you raise your voice. I knew something was wrong. Whatever happened? Who is that?” Sadie asked, only the barest hint of an accent in her voice.
Deirdre’s eyes narrowed at the man. “A fool who did not know whom he was tangling with. He called himself Cofield.”
Holding tight to Deirdre’s arm, Sadie leaned in the man’s direction. “Did you kill him?”
“Not sure.”
Sadie covered her face with one hand. “A fool indeed.” The exhaustion weighing each of her words struck a vein of concern in Deirdre.
“You shouldn’t be out here. You haven’t yet recovered from being out in the heat too long yesterday,” Deirdre said.
Two more sets of steps pounded their way. “That’s precisely what I told her, but she insisted she heard you—oh. Oh my, are you all right?” came a man’s voice.
A man old enough to be her father flanked by a tall, skinny man came through the sparse trees. The older man, Jack, approached the two of them. The skinny one, Sam, went to Cofield.
“I’m a fair spot better off than he is,” Deirdre said.
Jack held his hand out for the gun and Deirdre gladly gave it to him. She hadn’t the first clue how to use the damnable thing. But it did seem to work rather well as a blunt weapon.
“He’s alive, though knocked well and good out,” Sam called from where he crouched by Cofield. “What should we do with him?”
“Bollocks,” Deirdre murmured under her breath.
Sadie slapped her arm. “Deirdre,” she reprimanded.
Eyes opening wide, Deirdre asked, “What? He’s dangerous.”
“I only meant to mind your language.”
The half-smile on Sadie’s full lips helped sooth Deirdre’s raw nerves.
Jack ran a hand through his thinning, dark hair. He looked to Deirdre as he so often had during their journey west. While he was officially in charge of their wagon train, he had quickly learned that no one was in charge of Deirdre Quinn.
She shrugged. “Leave him here for all I care. He clearly meant me ill.”
Sam’s brow pulled down into a scowl that nearly made his eyes disappear. “He attacked you. He’s dangerous and should be handed over to a lawman for punishment.”
Eyes going wide, Sadie’s grip on Deirdre’s arm tightened. “Won’t it be dangerous to take him with us?”
Breathing out sharply through his nose, Jack flicked his wrist, popping open the cylinder of the gun that held the bullets. He spun it, mouth moving in a silent count of each bullet within, flicked it back closed, and pointed it at Cofield. “We’ve less than seven days to go. We’ll keep him bound. Go fetch some rope, Sam.”
With a nod, Sam rose and took off at a jog. A groan issued from Cofield. Not wanting to leave Jack alone with the man, Deirdre waited for Sam to return.
She nodded to Jack. “You seem to have this well in hand. I’m going to get Sadie back to the wagons.”
Jack nodded to her in return. “Of course.”
One arm going around Sadie’s back, Deirdre turned her in the direction of the wagons. The way her friend sagged against her proved the outing had been too much. She hated that she had drawn her out of the comfort and shade of the wagon. On the other hand, the bit of excitement had gotten her own blood flowing, and that was a welcome change. Deplorable though Cofield clearly seemed, at least he brought intrigue to their day. Regardless, she wasn’t about to let her guard down around him for one moment. It was going to be a long week.
Keep reading for an excerpt from the first book in the Emerald Belles series
Honor Before Heart
Risking it all for love and valor . . .
When Corporal Sean MacBranian awakens after being injured in battle, he is sure the luck o’ the Irish has run out on him. Or that he’s died and gone to Heaven. There can be no other explanation for the blond-haired, blue-eyed angel standing before him. But his “angel” is a truehearted lass named Ashlinn, and she wears a nurse’s uniform. Her tender ministrations have brought him back from the brink of death—and have given him a new reason for living.
Ashlinn knows their parting is inevitable; her handsome hero must return to the 69th infantry of the Union army, and there are no guarantees of his safe return. With most of her family already destroyed by the war ravaging America, she is sure she cannot survive another loss. Yet she feels powerless against the draw of Sean’s strong and steady heart. Neither time nor distance nor the danger of battle seems to lessen their bond. But when their secret letters are intercepted, the devoted nurse’s love will face the ultimate test . . .
Chapter 1
Not even the threat of rain heavy upon the Virginia air could banish the sickly sweet stench of death. The boom of cannons and rifle fire slowly trickled to a stop. That, or Sean’s hearing was going. A quick glance around revealed bodies of the dead and dying strewn across Malvern Hill, turning its green grass a brilliant red. Relief churned with the ever-present guilt of all he had done in the name of country and freedom this day. Turning his head up to the cloud-choked evening sky, he said a silent prayer for the fallen on both sides of the conflict.
Only soldiers in blue coats were left standing and not many of them down near the river where Sean was. It made him wonder how many of the 69th regiment had
perished this day. So many Irish brothers lost…no, American brothers, he had to remind himself. They were more than just Irish now. They were Americans, and had died as such.
The muzzle of his rifle drooped until the bayonet fixed upon the end of it touched the muddy bank of the James River. With General Lee’s soldiers on the retreat, it seemed they had won the day. But at such a horrible cost.
A rustling in the brush along the river pulled Sean from his dark musings. In the fading light, he couldn’t quite make out what moved within the tall brush. Whatever it was, it was close, no more than ten feet away. Though his heart hammered like a galloping horse, his hands were steady as he tossed his empty rifle aside and drew his saber.
“Damn beast!” a man cursed with a thick Southern drawl.
The voice came from much farther down the bank than the rustling brush. Sliding into a fighting stance, Sean split his attention between the direction of the voice and that of the rustling. From the brush emerged a furry shape that at first glance seemed the size of a bear. Wouldn’t that just be his luck? To survive such a battle only to be mauled by a bear. Huge brown eyes gazed out of a gray face that was decidedly canine. While the creature was over three feet at the shoulder, it was most certainly a dog. And it was a breed Sean knew well: an Irish wolfhound. He began to wonder if perhaps he had been struck on the head. Such a dog didn’t exist in America. He hadn’t seen one since he’d left Ireland over three years ago. Mesmerized by the creature’s curious eyes, he took a step toward it. Pink tongue lolling from the side of its grinning mouth, it moved toward him as well.
The click of a rifle hammer locking back froze Sean in mid-stride. From out of the brush, not five feet away stepped a soldier in a filthy gray uniform. Blood stained his left arm. His gap-toothed sneer inspired more contempt in Sean than it did fear. The end of the rifle barrel pointed at him was another matter altogether.
Courting the Corporal Page 24
