“They will follow.” Wolf took a deep breath. “These deaths will not go unavenged. But, hopefully, you’ll be far away by then.”
Caroline stepped close to him, so close she could smell his musky scent, the blood she gently wiped away. “What of you?”
Tucking his chin, Wolf watched her hands as she cleaned the wounds on his shoulder and arm. Delicate hands... strong hands. Hands whose touch could send him spiraling with desire. His eyelids lowered. “I belong on the frontier.”
Then that is where she belonged, Caroline decided. But she said nothing else as she tied off the bandages she’d wrapped around his wounded flesh. He pulled on his shirt, slung a rifle over his other shoulder and helped her into the canoe.
Moonlight shimmered on the water, made the bubbling foam appear iridescent. But still navigating in the dark, especially at a fast pace, was difficult. By dawn, a biting wind swooped down from the mountains, bringing with it a smattering of snowflakes. But they pressed on.
Except for an occasional called remark, Caroline and Wolf did not talk. She paddled, trying to give him a rest, but the current was strong, and soon he was at it again.
The countryside changed, flattened, and Caroline knew they neared the fort. The winter night descended, Wolf maneuvered the canoe toward shore, and Caroline sighed with relief. She was more tired than she ever remembered being.
“There is a cabin over that rise,” he said as he pulled the canoe onto the shore. “I imagine the Morgans are either at the fort or gone back to Charles Town, but it is a place to rest for a bit.”
Wolf was right about the cabin. It didn’t look as if anyone had lived there for a while. The front door hung from one leather hinge, and the room was full of leaves and debris. Caroline used a pine branch to sweep it out as best she could while Wolf fixed the door. He didn’t gather wood, for though it grew colder by the hour, Wolf didn’t think they should chance smoke from their fire being spotted. So they sat across from each other on a blanket and shivered while they ate the remaining foodstuffs they brought from the Cherokee camp.
“We should make Fort Prince George by midmorning.”
Caroline lifted her lashes, but she didn’t quite meet his gaze. “I’m glad.”
“I realize this has been very hard on you.” Wolf hesitated, wanting to bring up the subject of her baby... not knowing how to do it. She was looking at her folded hands again, acting shy and withdrawn; and after all they’d been through together, he didn’t know why she should. Except for the way he’d acted when he discovered she was with child.
“Are you cold?” A stupid question considering the circumstances. Of course she was cold, but she only pulled her blanket higher about her shoulders and smiled at him fleetingly.
“How about you? Are your wounds hurting?”
That and every other place on his body, but Wolf shook his head no and took another bite of dried venison. After he chewed and swallowed, Wolf took a deep breath. “Caroline.” She looked up then, and her beauty nearly made him forget what he was going to say. Even here in this rough, deserted cabin on the frontier, after the hardships she’d endured, she still reminded him of a perfect cameo.
Her features delicate in her oval face, her hair pale and flowing about her shoulders. Her eyes large enough for a man to lose himself in their depths. He leaned forward. “I do not care who fathered your child.”
Her lips thinned, and she suddenly found the woven end of her blanket worth careful scrutiny. “I see.” What had been in her mind to think that he cared for her?
“No. No, you do not.” Wolf reached out and grabbed her hands, tugging when she resisted. “I mean it makes no difference in the way I feel about you.” Now it was Wolf who couldn’t meet her gaze. “I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. I have been a bastard to you from the beginning.” He paused, a ghost of a smile curving his sensual lips.
“It is funny. I thought the worst thing was being a bastard. Now I know it is much worse to act like one.” His hands tightened around hers, and he searched her face. “I am sorry for the hurt I have caused you, and I would not blame you if—”
“It’s yours.” Caroline wet her suddenly dry lips. “You are the father of my child.”
“Caroline, I—”
“No, listen.” She pushed up on her knees. “You may say it matters naught, but it does to me. Anger and pride kept me from telling you.” Her complexion darkened. “I never even... I mean your father didn’t—” She squared her shoulders and faced him. “You are the only man I’ve been with,” she finally said, almost daring him to contradict her.
At first he said nothing, only sat there, his eyes dark, his expression unreadable. Then he pushed to his knees, reaching out for her shoulders. “I am glad,” he said before pulling her against him.
The wind still whistled through the pines and bare-branched oaks, the chill still seeped through the unchinked logs that formed the cabin. But Caroline and Wolf were no longer cold.
Their arms wrapped about each other, their hearts pounding as one, they settled down on the blanket. Wolf leaned on his free hand spreading her hair about her face. “Like moonlight,” he said, and they both smiled.
But Caroline’s faded as he traced the winged arch of her brow with his fingertip. “They will come after you, won’t they?”
He stilled for only a moment before resuming his caress. “Let us not talk of this tonight.” His lips brushed hers, then returned to press hungrily against hers. When he lifted his head, she was breathing heavily, but it didn’t stop her from questioning him further.
“You’ve told me the ways of the Cherokee. They avenge their slain warriors.” Her voice lowered. “And it was because of me that you killed them. That you were forced to choose between the Cherokee and me.”
“No.” He kissed her lightly again. “No, Nakwisi`usidi, Little Star. It was no one’s fault. Not yours, not mine. Not even Tal-tsuska’s. And I’m not concerned that I will be sought for revenge. Believe me, Caroline.” And he spoke the truth. For Wolf feared in his heart that war would come and bring so much death there would be no time for revenge. But tonight he would force such thoughts from his mind and think only of the woman he loved. The woman he must give up.
She sighed when his mouth traced a path across her delicate jaw. Her neck was as soft as a butterfly’s wing and tasted of the nectar they drank. He could not get enough of her.
Caroline moaned and arched toward his hand as he covered her breast. “Please,” she cried as she dug her fingers into the blanket beneath her.
In answer to her plea Wolf lowered his mouth to the top of her breast while his hand fumbled with the boned bodice.
“I shall do it,” she said, pushing up and unlacing the front of her gown. The light was dim, only what moonlight sifted through the chinks between the logs, but Caroline felt his eyes on her as she shrugged out of the bodice. She took a deep breath and untied the drawstring of her shift. Slowly the neckline yawned open, catching momentarily on the distended tips of her breasts before slipping to her waist.
She sat thus, naked from collarbone to hips, waiting for his reaction, letting her head fall back when his hand cupped one of her breasts.
“You are larger now,” he said, bending down to nuzzle one full globe. “Readying yourself to nurse my son.”
“Or daughter,” she teased as he took her nipple deep into his mouth, mimicking the future movements of his unborn child.
He left her ruched flesh glistening wet as he lifted his head. “Or daughter,” he agreed before sucking gently on her other breast.
Caroline tried to support herself, but all her bones felt as soft as hot tallow. He followed her down, feasting on her body, driving all thoughts but him from her mind.
Her fingers trembled as they wove through the thick black mane of hair. The locks were longer, as if he hadn’t taken the time to trim them. As if he hadn’t had the time to trim them. The why was obvious and painful, and she forced herself not to think of it, not to
think of the horrors they’d faced... the horrors yet to come.
She pulled him closer, arching up to meet his hungry mouth. When he lifted his dark head to look at her, passion flared his nostrils and tightened the bronzed skin across his cheekbones. But another emotion vied with desire, and not long after he rested his forehead lightly on hers, Caroline knew what it was.
“I am sorry,” he whispered, his breath hot across her face. “I am so sorry.”
“Raff... Wolf.” Her hands inched forward to cup the sides of his head. It took only light pressure for him to rise up so that their gazes met. In the grainy half-light his eyes shone dark as onyx, deep as a bottomless well, and her heart swelled with love for him. “I forgave you long ago. If not, I wouldn’t be with you like this now... I wouldn’t love you so much.”
Her admission brought his lips to hers in a kiss of such intensity that it didn’t occur to her until much later that he hadn’t responded in kind. But for now Caroline could only luxuriate in his mouth pressed to hers, the long sleek feel of his tongue as it invaded her mouth again and again, and the magic of his hands.
He untied the tabs of her overskirt, then her one remaining petticoat and pulled them off her body. The shift and stockings followed and then she was beautiful and naked. Her skin pale in the dim light, her stomach mounded by her child... his child.
Wolf touched her, his fingers fanning out reverently, cradling the baby he would never hold... would never claim. A pain so real he almost cried out tightened about his heart, but he ruthlessly shoved it aside. For tonight she was his. They both were. For tonight.
He tore himself away only long enough to rid himself of his clothes, then Wolf was back beside her, loving her, showing her, even if he couldn’t say the words, how he cherished her... loved her.
Tonight was theirs and he took his time, bringing her to climax again and again, with his hands, with his mouth, glorying in her pleasure and the sensual way she called him his Cherokee name.
His own body screamed for release, longed to be buried deep inside her, but he forced himself to resist until she touched him.
“Oh, Wolf.” He straddled her then, careful of his weight and thrust deep into her womanly sheath. When she arched up to meet him, his hands clasped beneath her hips, and his seed exploded into her.
Wolf rolled to her side, gathering her close and pulling the blanket around them, cocooning them in the warmth of their love.
“Wolf.”
“Hmmm?” He rested his hand on the curve of her stomach.
“What does that mean, what you said just now?”
His fingers stopped tracing the gentle slope of her body. “Beloved,” he said, realizing that’s what he had called her in the throes of passion. Beloved. He shut his eyes and wondered if he should tell her how very much he did love her. But then the vision of her leaving, sailing away from him for good, came to him and he faltered. It was better if they didn’t speak of such things.
He thought her asleep, her breathing was so even, her supple body was so relaxed, until she spoke again. “What should we name our child?”
Wolf swallowed. He should tell her neither of them should consider the child his. And he would... tomorrow. For now he simply shook his head, rolling over to face her. “It depends upon whether it is a boy or girl, I should think.”
“Mmmm.” Caroline yawned. “I thought we might name her after your mother if the babe is a girl.”
“Alkini? That is rather difficult for the English to pronounce.”
“Is it?” Caroline cuddled up to his side. “But I want our child to be raised Cherokee, too.” She propped onto her elbow. “I mean I know there is fighting now, but it will end someday, won’t it?”
“Yes, Nakwisi`usidi, someday.” Cupping her cheek, Wolf brought her head back to rest on his shoulder. “But for now, let us sleep.”
Except that he could not.
All through the night as she snuggled in his arms, Wolf thought of the future. Of his woman and child living across the wide ocean. Of them safe. She would have money from Robert’s estate. By dawn he had convinced himself it was for the best.
“Thank God, you were able to get through.” Lieutenant Coytmore pushed away from the desk and advanced on Wolf and Caroline. “And both safe, I see.” He grabbed Caroline’s hands. “Your brother has been relentless in his demands that I send a patrol out to find you. I tried to explain—”
“Where is Edward?” Caroline asked.
“I don’t know for certain. Perhaps Mistress Quinn’s cabin. I could send someone to fetch him for you.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll find him.” Her eyes met Wolf’s, and he nodded, then walked her to the door.
“See that you don’t leave the fort,” he said before she left the room.
When she was gone, the lieutenant sank into the closest chair, all presence of congeniality gone. And apparently most remnants of his good sense with it. “The blasted Cherokee have gone mad. Word’s come through that about thirty of them attacked Elliott’s trading house,” he said referring to a trader’s compound up river. “They killed nearly everyone, then set about looting and drinking rum.” He rubbed both hands down his face then looked up, seemingly unaware of Wolf’s hard expression.
“Seroweh led the warriors, and he’s supposedly sent runners with bloody tomahawks through the nations proclaiming war. Supposedly the pass between here and Fort Loudoun is filled with blood-crazed heathens, and I feel more a prisoner here than a soldier.”
“And what of your Cherokee prisoners?”
The lieutenant let out a loud sigh. “Those savages are more a ball and chain about my neck than prisoners. Not a day goes by that I’m not petitioned by one or another of them for their release.” His head fell back against the chairback, knocking his powdered wig askew. “They are such a bother.”
“I imagine they find their captivity troublesome as well.”
“What?” The lieutenant looked up, then dismissed Wolf’s remark with a wave of his hand. “I want to know what you saw out there. Not one of my scouts is worth a damn. Wait a moment. Where in the hell are you going?”
Wolf paused, his hand on the latch. “I’m taking Mrs. MacQuaid and her brother to Charles Town.”
“But... but what about the Cherokee?”
Wolf’s brow arched. “You seem to forget, I am Cherokee.” He left on silent, moccasined feet.
Caroline met him at the door to Mistress Quinn’s cabin. But before he could tell her that they needed to leave immediately—a statement that was bound to shock since he hadn’t mentioned the trip to Charles Town to her at all—she surprised him. Grabbing his arms, she pulled him out the door and around the side of the log cabin.
“Caroline, we don’t have time for this.” Wolf expected her to throw herself into his arms, but she didn’t. Her expression was grave.
“Logan is here.”
“Logan?”
“Yes. But he’s asleep right now,” she said holding onto his arm when he would have rushed back inside. “Edward brought him over. It appears your brother arrived at the fort last night, on his way to Seven Pines. He’d gotten word Mary was to have a baby.”
“I wrote him.” Wolf felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. “Does he know... what happened?”
Tears filled Caroline’s eyes as she slowly nodded her head. “Edward told him.” She reached for Wolf’s hand. “He was trying to solicit volunteers to go after us, and he didn’t know Logan was Mary’s husband.”
Taking a deep breath, Wolf tilted his head up toward the heavens, then back down to Caroline. “I will talk to him.”
“He’s very...” Caroline paused searching for a word strong enough to describe the emotion she saw in Logan. Rage didn’t come close to describing to Wolf his brother’s reaction to the news of his wife and child’s death. But she settled on the word, “Angry.” She hurried on. “And he blames the Cherokee.” Did he blame his mixed-blood brother, too? Caroline didn’t know, b
ut she felt she must warn Wolf of the possibility.
He only nodded. “I will talk to him,” he repeated.
“He’s drunk. He had a jug of something with him, and he drank almost all of it before he... fell asleep.”
“Passed out, more likely.” Wolf started toward the door, turning before he reached it. “You should try to get some rest. We are leaving in the morning.”
“Leaving?” Caroline rushed toward him as he lifted the door latch. “Where are we going?”
“To Charles Town.”
“But—”
Taking her shoulders, Wolf turned her into the cabin. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, and knew he shouldn’t. Still, he couldn’t stop his hands from lingering, from gathering warmth from just touching her.
“Please, Caroline,” he whispered into her silken hair. “Just do as I ask.”
Logan was flopped facedown, his feet and legs hanging over the edge of the rope-spring bedstead in the back room. Wolf wondered how Caroline managed to get him that far when he got a whiff of the rum odor permeating the room.
“Logan.” Wolf laid a hand on his arm. “Logan, wake up, it’s Wolf.”
“Get the hell away from me,” came the drink-deepened voice. “Just get the hell away from me.”
“I need to talk to you.”
The jug handle slipped from Logan’s finger and crashed to the floor. Rum poured out, seeping into the packed earth. Slowly Logan twisted around, raising himself on his elbows. His green eyes were bloodshot, but fierce in their stare. “Well, I sure as hell don’t want to talk to you.” His mouth twisted with hatred. “Damn Indian lover. Hell, you’re not just an Indian lover, you’re one of those murdering savages.”
Wolf said nothing, just continued to hold his brother’s gaze.
“Well, what the hell you looking at?” His words were slurred. “Haven’t you ever seen someone in mourning before?” He pushed to his feet, standing eye to eye with Wolf. “Your heathen people killed my wife and baby! Killed them, damn you.” His voice trailed off as tears filled his eyes and spilled over his dark lashes. Like a man unable to support himself any longer, he collapsed back onto the bed, his head falling into his hands.
My Savage Heart (The MacQuaid Brothers) Page 30
