Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02]

by My Heavenly Heart

  At first when she protested he thought she might be opposed to the spot, for he’d come close to taking her right there on the ground. But he could tell by the look in her eyes, though she wouldn’t quite meet his own, that wasn’t the problem.

  She pushed to her feet, gathering the tattered remains of her skirt about her, smoothing out the folds as if the silk weren’t burned and torn. Then while staring down her nose at a point over his left shoulder, she mumbled a few words about retiring to the cottage. Her hair whirled out in a billowing cloud of gold as she turned abruptly and marched inside.

  Leaving him with the damn shirts to rinse out.

  Logan grabbed them up and without any thought to his actions strode into the water. He didn’t stop until the cold water lapped around his waist, cooling that part of him she’d set aflame.

  ~ ~ ~

  This wasn’t working out at all as she planned.

  Somehow when she met Lone Dove and he suggested she come with Logan to the Cherokee village it seemed so logical. The Adawehis believed in her. Believed her.

  She even suspected that somehow he would help her.

  Which was why she was so eager to go, even though she knew Logan MacQuaid wasn’t. But that was before she realized how much walking was involved.

  Now she understood why Logan was so shocked to see her when she first arrived on the mountain. On her own she would never have found this place.

  “Do you suppose we might rest a bit?” Rachel dragged the back of her hand across her forehead, grimacing when she noticed the perspiration. The sun was warm and for all the work she had done on her cloak it was flung over her arm.

  “We just started,” he growled as he climbed over an outcrop of moss-covered rocks. He did reach up to help her over the obstacle for which Rachel supposed she should be grateful.

  She wished more than ever that she could fly.

  And that she’d never kissed him.

  He’d barely spoken a score of words to her since the encounter by the creek. She was too flustered to remember the shirts until he returned, soaking wet. He’d taken one look at her sitting on her haunches before the cape and yanked out his knife. For one horrible second Rachel thought he was going to test her claim that she was an angel.

  But he only squatted down and stabbed a string of holes where the skins overlapped. Then with some rawhide twine he laced the two pieces together. When he finished he looked up and Rachel glanced down quickly. She’d been staring at him wondering why he was soaking wet again when he already took his ritual morning bath, and wishing she knew what to say to him.

  Except that it seemed there was nothing to say. He showed her how to sew her cape without words and he spent the next few days existing beside her in much the same way.

  When she asked questions such as how far away the village was, or how long it would take them to reach it, he gave noncommittal grunts and left the cabin.

  His response to her request for a rest was the most he’d said to her in two days. And it wasn’t very satisfactory.

  “Perhaps you feel as if the journey is just begun, however I am tired.”

  He knocked away a pine branch and looked over his shoulder. “We need to make MacLaughlin’s Mill by late afternoon.”

  MacLaughlin’s Mill? Rachel hurried to catch up with him, stepping in her haste on a stone and sucking in her breath. She ignored the pain as best she could and grabbed for his arm. He swung around as if she burned him.

  “What in the hell are you doing rushing up on me like that? I’d have thought you learned your lesson the first time you did.”

  “Never mind that.” She stepped in front of him on the narrow path. “I told you I wasn’t going to MacLaughlin’s Mill. That is the settlement you told me about, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” His stance mimicked hers.

  “I told you I wasn’t leaving you. Not until I save your life. Though why I should even bother I don’t know. You lied to me, making me think you were taking me to the Cherokee town when all along this was your plan. Well, I won’t do it. I won’t go.” She crossed her arms and glared at him, showing her resolve. Pretending it wasn’t possible for him to pick her up and toss her across his shoulder to take her to MacLaughlin’s Mill without her consent.

  “Are you finished yet, or is there more venom to come pouring forth from your mouth?”

  She raised her chin. “I won’t go to MacLaughlin’s Mill.”

  “Fine.” He lifted her by her elbows, depositing her behind him on the path without so much as a by your leave. “Then the cow’s discomfort shall be on your conscience, not mine.”

  The cow? Mistress Ellen? What in heaven’s name was he talking about? Rachel pressed forward, past Henry who didn’t seem in a communicative mood, to latch on to Logan’s arm again. This time he didn’t appear surprised when he turned toward her.

  “What are you talking about? How will my refusing to go to MacLaughlin’s Mill harm Mistress Ellen?”

  She didn’t think he would answer her at first. He simply stared, something in the depths of his green eyes reminding her of when he kissed her beside the creek. But she didn’t think for an instant that he planned to repeat that. No, he was angry. The slight indentation of his dimples caused by the hard, straight line of his mouth told her that

  “First of all, I’m not taking you to MacLaughlin’s Mill. We are traveling through. And secondly unless I can persuade young Angus Campbell to make his way up the mountain and care for the cow, she’ll be getting mighty heavy with milk.”

  “Oh.” Rachel bit her lower lip. Her hand still rested on his arm and she made no attempt to remove it. “We didn’t discuss that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” Rachel shook her head and finally let her fingers slide off his sleeve. She had had a lovely conversation with the cow this morning but it hadn’t included what the animal would do while she and Logan were away. “Of course we shall have to see to Mistress Ellen’s needs.” She glanced up. “As long as you have no intention of leaving me behind in MacLaughlin’s Mill.”

  “I said I’d take you to Cheoah and I will.” Though he was as daft as she to do it, Logan finished to himself. And he did plan to leave her at the Mill on his way back home. There was no way he could spend the winter holed up in the small cabin with her.

  After their discussion she made no more attempts to make him stop for a rest, which is why he suggested it himself when they reached the shores of the swiftly running White River.

  “I can go on,” she said, though her feet were sore and her legs were tired.

  “There be no need. I’d always planned to rest here.”

  “So then Mistress Ellen will be all right?”

  “She’ll be fine.” Logan felt a bit guilty now that he saw her expression of concern for the cow. He had an arrangement with Angus about taking care of his animals, including the dog. There never was any real danger to the cow, except, of course, he had to let Angus know to head out for his place.

  He just hadn’t liked her accusing him of taking her to the Mill and leaving her. Hadn’t he said he’d take her to the Cherokee town? Did she think he wasn’t a man of his word? There were few things he had going for him to be sure, but his word was one of them, damnit. And he didn’t appreciate her acting as if it wasn’t.

  “You can sit down, you know.” She was just standing, leaning against a hemlock and Logan had an uncomfortable feeling he’d pushed her too far and too long. Especially when she looked up at him, a half smile curving her lips.

  “I fear if I do, there will be no getting me up again.”

  Logan glanced down at her feet, clad in those ridiculous blue and silver shoes. The heel of one was broken off and he knew they must be uncomfortable. “Rachel...” he began, only to stop when raucous barking pierced the afternoon silence. Logan twisted around. “What the hell is the dog up to now?”

  “Henry?” Rachel took a tentative step along the path.

  “Stay
here. I’ll fetch him. Most likely he’s treed himself a squirrel and won’t let up.” Except Logan never heard the animal sound this excited about a squirrel.

  Rachel watched as he ran off the path toward the sound of the yelping. She waited only a heartbeat before following. She knew. She just knew Henry was in trouble.

  Twigs and brambles caught on her clothing as she pushed through the woods, but she didn’t let that stop her. The closer she got to the sound the more concerned she became and the faster she pushed... regardless of her fatigue.

  And then she burst into an opening and knew what the problem was.

  Her scream had no effect on Henry or the giant bear he faced.

  Chapter Seven

  “Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.”

  — Hebrews 13:2

  “Get the hell out of here!”

  Logan flung the command over his shoulder as he raced into the clearing. The air seemed to vibrate with the dog’s yelping and the guttural snarls as the black bear reared up on his back legs.

  “Dog!” Logan yelled several times for the spaniel but to no avail. He still danced around in front of the enraged bear, hind quarters raised and teeth bared. But those teeth were no match for his adversary’s huge fangs or the claws that swiped through the air.

  The dog yipped and backed away only to foolishly attack again, more aggressively than ever. “Damn you, Dog!” Logan shouldered his musket and drew a bead on the bear’s black shaggy head. His finger tightened on the trigger just as the giant beast turned toward him. He sniffed, letting out an angry bellow and, ignoring the dog, began plodding toward Logan.

  At the same moment, from the corner of his eye, Logan caught a flash of silvery blue. She was racing forward, yelling something to the dog, ignoring the fact that the bear was no more than two rods away. “Rachel!” The break in his concentration was no more than a second, but that’s all the time it took the bear to lunge forward. The musket was torn from his grip.

  “Rachel! Rachel, get out of here!” Logan jumped back, barely missing a deadly pounding by a huge paw. In one fluid motion he unsheathed the knife from his leggings and leaped between her and the bear. “Rachel!” My God, she was coming right toward him, toward the angry, growling bear as if she were as mad as he thought her.

  “For God’s sake.” Logan sprang up from his crouch, pushing her away just as the hairy black beast pounced. He thrust forward, aiming the blade upward toward the bear’s chest, but something or someone grabbed his arm. He swung his head to see what in the hell she was doing when something hard exploded down over his head.

  “Rachel...” He tried to fight the darkness that closed in around him. She was going to be killed, torn to shreds by the vicious claws. “Rachel.” just before blackness overwhelmed him he thought he heard her talking. But he must have been dreaming. She couldn’t be fussing at the bear telling him to settle himself down this instant... could she?

  “Logan. Oh Logan, please don’t be dead.”

  Her voice drifted to him from the soft netherlands of unconsciousness. He felt her hands on him, soft and warm, and the sensation was almost enough to make him ignore the throbbing pain at the side of his skull. He imagined her there looking like an angel and he realized he must have died. For she was dead surely. So was the dog.

  Logan’s eyes popped open when something wet and cold flopped onto his face. “What the hell...?”

  “Oh, thank heaven, you are alive.” She grasped his shoulders with two hands, leaning down and kissing him soundly on the lips before rocking back on her heels. “I’m so glad.”

  He wasn’t dead. He was alive and so was she. And he’d be damned if the stupid dog wasn’t sprawled by his side busily licking at the drops of water dripping from the cloth she’d slapped onto his forehead.

  Logan pushed up on his elbows, grabbing at the wet rag and tossing it aside. He jerked his head around— grimacing at the pain that caused, searching for any sign of the bear. There was none. The clearing was calm. Birds sang in the poplar trees and he could hear the bubbling harmony of the river.

  “What happened?”

  “I fear you hit your head. Actually, it was the bear that hit it.”

  Logan forced himself to focus on her face. “And after that...?” he demanded.

  She shrugged. She actually shrugged as if the rest was hardly worth mentioning. “You fell and were unconscious for some time. How do you feel?”

  “Fine.” Logan dragged his hand down over his face. His first attempt to struggle to standing met with failure. It wasn’t until she linked her arm with his that he managed to gain his feet.

  “Are you quite sure you are all right? You took a nasty blow. And even though I realize you wish to reach MacLaughlin’s Mill as quickly as possible I think perhaps you should—”

  “Damnit, Rachel.” He pushed away from her clutches and scooped up the musket. “Where is that damn bear?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Logan glanced down at the dog who was busy growling and shaking the piece of cloth as ferociously as the bear might have shook him. And Rachel.

  “Where did he go, Rachel?” Trying to figure out what happened was making his head hurt worse.

  “Into the woods.” She pointed. “That way I think. But there’s nothing to worry about. He won’t be back.” She had hold of his arm again and this time Logan let her lead him to a fallen log. “I really think you should sit awhile. You have a rather large lump on the side of your head.”

  Logan reached up with tentative fingers, sucking in his breath when he touched the wound.

  “There, you see.” She whirled around, tapping her silver-toed shoe on the ground when she noticed the dog. “Henry, bring that here this instant. You know it’s for Mr. MacQuaid’s head. And I should think you’d be a bit more contrite. Your mischief caused a bit of trouble today.”

  While Logan watched in disbelief his dog stopped playing and trotted toward her, the scrap of fabric in his mouth. And he’d be damned if the lazy mutt didn’t appear remorseful. Logan blinked, shaking his head, only to call out when she slapped the newly dampened rag on his sore head.

  “Henry did not mean to cause so much trouble.”

  “And I suppose the bear did not mean to thump me on the head.”

  Rachel dabbed at his lump, wincing whenever he did. “Actually, I think he did.” She stepped back, tilting her head, regarding him. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “I suppose so.” Logan stood, pleased to see that his legs didn’t feel as if he were on board a ship. “We better be off.”

  ~ ~ ~

  His original intent was not to stay in MacLaughlin’s Mill for the night. But then he hadn’t planned on having a run-in with a bear either. And he still hadn’t figured out why Rachel and he and the dog too weren’t torn to shreds. Not that he was complaining, but he’d seen what an angry bear could do. And he’d have wagered a goodly sum that bear was angry.

  “This is it? This is MacLaughlin’s Mill?” Rachel stepped around him and stared at the few buildings that made up the village. There were several cabins, similar to his own, though generally larger, and the mill for which the place was named. It sat squat beside the river, its paddled wheel turning with the current.

  “The Campbells’ place is over there.” Logan pointed toward one of the crude, log cabins before starting toward it.

  Rachel had no choice but to follow. She kept her gaze forward but she knew several people watched her as she walked across the cleared area. Most of them called out a greeting to Mr. MacQuaid to which he responded in a much friendlier tone than he typically used with her.

  He raised his hand to the planked door, but before he rapped his knuckles against the splintered wood, he leveled a look at her. “These are good people. Decent hardworking people. I’d appreciate it if you’d mind yourself.”

  Rachel’s chin shot up. “Are you implying that I don’t know how t
o behave in society?” The very idea. She was known for her charming wit and gracious manner. Well, perhaps not known exactly, however she certainly got along with people. Unlike her accuser who lived by himself on a mountaintop and rarely spoke more than two adjoining sentences.

  “I am saying they won’t appreciate stories about being the queen’s lady and knowing the king.”

  “But I am one of her highness’s ladies in waiting. And as for the—”

  “Just keep it to yourself then, if you insist upon believing it.” Logan refused to be intimidated by her stare even though it had turned haughty with that certain tilt of her head that made it appear she stared down her nose at him.

  “Are there any other orders, Mr. MacQuaid?”

  “Nay.” He turned back and knocked, forgetting too late that he should have demanded she stop pretending to converse with the dog. But the door was swept open and Penny Campbell’s broad face was beaming at him, her work-roughened hands pulling him into the cabin.

  “Glad I am to see you Logan lad. It’s been too long. Malcolm will be glad you’ve come.”

  “We can only stay for the night, Penny,” Logan said, bussing her soundly on her cheek and watching the apples brighten in them.

  “Well ’tis grateful we are to have you for however long.” She paused as if realizing what he’d said and glanced around his shoulder toward the woman still standing in the doorway. The surprise that darkened Penny’s blue eyes was quickly blinked away and those same eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Oh, you’ve brought a guest.”

  Logan nodded, wondering what the older woman would think of his “guest’s” appearance. Rachel’s hair was a tangle of curls that brushing only seemed to make bushier. And her clothes... He hadn’t realized himself just how tattered and torn, not to mentioned burned, her gown was.

  But she held her chin high and curtsied when he presented her to Penny. Curtsied in a way that made him wonder if she had indeed practiced in the court of King George. Which was absurd. She glanced at him when he introduced her simply as Rachel Elliott and he wondered if she would insist upon keeping up her charade of being a Lady.