He thought it pretty. Somehow that meant more to her than all the compliments she’d received from the accomplished gentlemen of her acquaintance.
Chapter Eight
“Angels and ministers of grace defend us.”
— William Shakespeare
Hamlet
“She did not say for you to follow her.”
Logan turned, blocking the doorway to the Cherokee house he and Rachel were to share and folded his arms across his chest. The old woman who’d shown them to their lodging also gave Logan the Adawehis’s summons to come to the Town House. And she had clearly mentioned only his name. But as usual that didn’t seem to stop Rachel.
“But certainly the Adawehis wishes to see me also.” Rachel took a step forward, sighing when Logan didn’t move, only stood there, his jaw jutting out. She smiled. “Perhaps if I wait for you outside.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“But...”
“Rachel!” His arm shot out when she tried to skim around him. “Stay here.” He spoke firmly and meant every word he said.
As they entered the Cherokee town earlier this afternoon she turned to him, her expression apprehensive. “You mustn’t go anyplace without me,” she said. “I... I feel there is something amiss.”
He scoffed at her concern then, as he did now. Perhaps he shouldn’t have.
“Ostenaco has returned from Kaintukee.”
Logan sat across the ceremonial fire from the Adawehis and glanced up only to look away again. The Cherokee didn’t turn their eyes toward those they spoke to, and were often suspicious of those who did. But Logan hadn’t expected the news Adawehis imparted... even with Rachel’s dire warning. And he wasn’t pleased by it either.
“There are those who remember his deeds,” Logan said, knowing he was one of them.
“And there would be many would wish to take their satisfaction. But this is the season of the Ah,tawh,hung,nah.”
“The chance to begin anew,” Logan translated instinctively.
“Yes.” Lone Dove’s somber face bore the marks of many years. “It is our custom to forgive.”
“I do not think Ostenaco will forgive... or forget.”
The Cherokee’s eyes did meet Logan’s then, briefly. “We must hope you are wrong.” His body seemed to settle more deeply into the robes draped about his shoulders. “You have brought the Adan’ta Woman?”
Logan couldn’t help it. He studied the holy man through the haze of smoke drifting up from the fire. His knowledge of the Cherokee language was imperfect though he could carry on a rudimentary conversation. And he knew Rachel was being referred to as the soul woman. He leaned forward, resting elbows on knees. “I don’t know what she told you...”
“She told me nothing my spirit could not see for itself.”
“I don’t want you to tell her that Ostenaco is here.”
“Why is that? She may be able to persuade him to let the past lie only in our memory.”
“Rachel?” For God’s sake, what did she do to convince the Adawehis that she had powers beyond mere mortals? Ostenaco would chew her up and spit her out if she ever tried to reason with him. Just as surely as a bear—Logan paused in mid-thought, a vision of the bear looming over him, of Rachel rushing forward. He tried to swallow and couldn’t.
“It will be as you say. She is your woman.”
Which she most certainly was not. But this didn’t seem the time to convince the Adawehis of that. Even if it did mean he might be spared the frustration of sharing a cabin with her. His fingers nearly ached with the desire to touch her again. It would be a long week till he could take her back to MacLaughlin’s Mill, and leave her for good.
Logan walked back across the common area. Though the dancing wouldn’t start until tonight, there was already a sense of anticipation in the air.
Ah,tawh,hung,nah was a much heralded ceremony among the Cherokee. They looked forward all year for the opportunity to begin anew. Everything from their homes to the village square was swept clean. They burned old clothing and possessions, and danced, purged themselves, and forgave old trespasses.
At least that was the theory.
“There’s something wrong!”
Logan no sooner stepped into the cabin he shared with her before Rachel was on her feet, staring intently at him and seemingly reading his mind. He shook his head to dislodge that perplexing notion and to convince her she was wrong. “I was only thinking of the coming ceremony. I doubt it’s to your liking.”
“Why do you say that?” She approached him, her head tilted, her expression contemplative. “From the Adawehis’s description it sounds quite interesting.”
“Did he mention the black drink?”
She paused, folding her arms and clamping her mouth shut as Logan continued. “It’s a physic. One of the most powerful.” He thought he noted the blood draining from her cheeks and continued. “The purpose is to—”
“I am aware of what a physic is used for.”
“Ah.” Logan shut the door and leaned back against it. “Then I suppose there is no need of me to describe it to you, Your Highness.”
“None at all.” Rachel let her gaze travel slowly from the casually crossed ankles, clad in deerskin moccasins, up to the confident turn of his sensual lips. “What you may explain is why you are all of a sudden so anxious for me to be gone from this place.”
His mouth thinned, the dimples deepened. “I don’t wish...” He pushed his shoulders away from the door. “The hell with it. I was only trying to save you some unpleasantness.”
She didn’t doubt him there, but Rachel wasn’t sure he referred to drinking a physic. Which she had to admit didn’t sound appealing. But for some reason she knew this was where she must be.
“Lone Dove wishes to see you.” Logan realized there was no sense prolonging the inevitable. The Adawehis had requested a visit from her and if Logan didn’t send her someone would be knocking on the door soon. Besides, with her safely ensconced with the old man discussing... whatever it was they discussed... he could find Ostenaco.
She gave her hair a pat, which did little to tame the curls escaping from her braid, and opened the door, only to glance back, her expression pensive. “You will be all right, won’t you?”
“Damnation, woman...” Logan began, holding up his palm when she opened her mouth. “Do not tell me again how you were sent to save me. Just go off and visit with the Adawehis.”
Rachel was settled on a mat exchanging pleasantries with the Cherokee holy man before she realized Logan hadn’t answered her question.
~ ~ ~
Ostenaco was not to be found. He’d gone with several warriors on a hunt.
So, their meeting was to be postponed. Logan strode through the village, the dog at his heels, hoping he could return to the cabin before Rachel. He would just as soon not have to explain where he’d been. Not that he owed her any explanation, but it would just be easier if he could be lounging on a bearskin rug when she returned.
His luck was not holding today.
When Logan pushed through the door she whirled around, a frown marring the sweet perfection of her face. Their eyes met and Logan was annoyed that he was the first to look away.
“You didn’t find him then.”
That brought his gaze back to clash with hers. “What in the hell are you talking—” He cut his denial short. “Lone Dove said he wouldn’t tell you.” Logan let out his breath. “I didn’t want you to worry for no reason.”
Rachel moved forward until she was close enough to touch him. The tips of her fingers whispered across his cheek. “But I do worry about you.” Rachel pulled back her hand and turned away when she realized what she was doing and why. For that instant it had been Logan MacQuaid, not herself, that she cared about. Which was ridiculous. Keeping him alive was her way to return to her own life, to leave this miserable existence she was forced to endure.
She slanted him a look over her shoulder. “And you needn’t be angry wi
th the Adawehis. He didn’t tell me.”
“Then how did you find out?” Logan’s hands rested on narrow hips. “And don’t tell me some madness about talking to the dog.”
“Fine.” She whirled around to face him. “I shan’t,” Besides, Henry didn’t tell her, though she had suggested the dog stay close by Logan to help protect him. Rachel had simply known. She paused a moment. “Are you going to tell me why he wants to hurt you?”
Logan leaned back against the door. “What? No magic potion to conjure up the answer for you?”
Rachel folded her arms in imitation of his stance. “I’m not a witch, Logan.”
“Ah, that’s right. You are a lady-in-waiting to a queen... and an angel.”
Her chin notched higher. “It is not necessary for you to believe me.” She paused and tilted her head slightly. “At least I don’t think it is.” Giving her head a shake she continued. “I don’t think I’m really an angel. I don’t feel like an angel. But I was sent here to save you and I can’t return home until I do.”
“To London?”
“Yes.”
“And the queen?”
Rachel didn’t bother to answer. Those green eyes glittered with amusement. And it wasn’t difficult to understand she was the object. With an exasperated sigh she looked heavenward, hoping for some sign of what she was to do with him.
But, of course, there was none.
It wasn’t till later that evening that she broached the subject again. They had eaten a simple repast of cornmeal and rabbit, nicely scorched by Rachel who didn’t realize the mixture needed to be stirred at regular intervals. They’d barely spoken. Not even when the dinner proved disastrous. Now they lay on separate mats pretending to sleep. At least Rachel was. And by the amount of turning and “humphing” Logan did she assumed he was in the same predicament.
“I really should know whatever it is you’re trying to keep from me.”
At first her words brought only silence. Then Rachel heard the telltale rustle of the blankets. It was dark in the cabin, with only the soft glow of dying embers to light the room. But when she turned her head Rachel could see the outline of his upper body as he leaned on his elbow.
“What makes you think there is anything?”
Because I can feel your thoughts, she wanted to say but didn’t. And obviously she couldn’t “feel” him that well, for as much as she lay there and tried, nothing clear came to her. “If you do not wish to tell me that is one thing, but do not pretend with me.”
She knew he was looking at her lying there, though it was too dark to see his eyes. He was watching her and thinking of what to say.
“There’s a man here who has sworn to kill me.”
“Oh my heavens!” Rachel shot up and gasped, letting the bearskin slide down to her lap.
“Now, you see. This is exactly why I didn’t tell you before.” Logan sat up too but only to calm her as she came scurrying across the packed earth floor toward him.
“We must leave immediately. I’m sure the Adawehis will understand.” She paused as his hands came around her upper arms. “Or do you suppose we should stay and fight? I don’t know which would be best.”
“Neither.” His fingers tightened. “Listen to me, Rachel.” He gave her a shake. “Are you listening?”
“Oh... yes,” she said in a way that made him know she hadn’t been.
“This has nothing to do with you and you are to stay away from this man.” Another pause. “Do you understand?”
“Who is it? What is his name?”
“Rachel! Have you heard a word I said?”
“What? Of course. I’m hardly deaf. But how shall I know to stay clear of him if I don’t know who he is?”
“That’s the only reason you wish to know?”
He sounded skeptical. Even if she lied it was doubtful he’d believe her. And Rachel could hardly blame him. But she couldn’t stand by and let anything happen to him. She just couldn’t.
Her palms pressed against the hard muscles of his chest. Rachel could feel the steady beat of his heart as she looked directly into his eyes. “What is it between you and this man?”
“A warrior’s code of revenge.” Logan’s hands slid down her shift sleeves. “Hell, I shouldn’t blame it on the Cherokee’s creed, our own Bible states as much. ‘An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.’”
“What happened between you and him?” His hands cupped her elbows. She could feel his warmth through the lace.
“I killed his brother.” She lowered her gaze and Logan leaned back so he could see her face. “What, nothing to say? That’s not like you, Your Highness.”
“You must have had a reason.”
“Do I detect a note of doubt in my champion’s voice?”
Her head jerked up. “Not at all.” She let out her breath. “That doesn’t mean I don’t wish to know the entire story.”
“Well, you won’t hear it tonight. I’m tired and the dawn will come too soon as it is.”
“But—”
“You do realize you will be expected to bathe in the stream with the women, don’t you?”
“Yes, Lone Dove explained the ceremonies to me and you’re changing the subject.”
“Aye, that I am.” Logan twisted away from her and lay on his side, pulling the blanket over his shoulders. Perhaps if she moved away from him quickly he’d be able to keep from pulling her down beside him and making love to her until the sun rose above the mountaintops. “Good night, Your Highness.”
“I shall have the truth from you.”
“Sleep well.” Which was more than he would do. Her innocent touch ignited a fire in him that only the morning’s plunge into the river would abate.
She held her ground a moment longer, waiting for him to turn back toward her. But he didn’t and finally Rachel stood and returned to her mat. Yet she couldn’t sleep for the longest time. It was as if she could still feel the rhythm of his heart pulsing through her body. It was disconcerting. It was overwhelming. And it made her want to creep back to his mat and lie by his side.
To feel his heat again. To feel his body on hers.
Her moan sounded loud in her ears and Rachel clamped a hand over her mouth. She must stop thinking of him in that way. She was here to save him. To save him so she could return. So she could have her revenge.
“Mr. MacQuaid.”
“Oh, hell.”
Rachel ignored his grumbled reply. “There is someone I intend to kill.” She heard him turn over.
“Damnation, woman, what are you prattling on about?”
“When I return to London, I plan to kill Lord Bingham.” She let her head loll to the side so she could see the outline of his shape. “I shall have my revenge. He murdered my friend and her lover... and inadvertently me.”
“Christ.” How could he allow himself to forget just how insane she was?
~ ~ ~
The ceremony of Ah,tawh,hung,nah involved work!
Why should that surprise her? It seemed everything in this life did. Still, Rachel couldn’t help sighing, her hands akimbo when Logan described what she was to do.
“Why is this my task?”
“You’re the woman of this house.”
How could she find his smile so appealing when she was so angry with him? Rachel took a deep breath. “But this isn’t my cabin.”
“You are the temporary resident.”
“As are you,” she was quick to point out.
“Aye.” The dimples beside his mouth deepened. “But I’m a man.”
Something he hardly needed to tell her, although Rachel had no intention of letting it end there. But apparently Logan did. He started for the door, only stopping when her hand closed over his arm. “What are you going to be doing while I sweep out this... this house?”
“Having a talk with the Adawehis.”
“Talking, but—”
His finger touched the tip of her aristocratic nose. “You best get busy, Your Highness.”
Rachel looked down at the broom he handed her as if it might suddenly sprout wings and fly away... as she was wont to do. But neither she nor the thatch of straw bound to a stick with a leather thong seemed capable of such a magical feat. The only special powers she seemed to have were possibly understanding with her heart and the dubious distinction of communicating with animals.
Her eyes closed only to pop open when she heard the garbled snore behind her. She found a use for the broom. “Wake up you worthless excuse for a watchdog.” She swatted the bristles—not too hard—across the spaniel’s rump.
The animal gave a surprised yelp, then settled two mournful eyes on Rachel. But she refused to feel sorry for him. “I don’t care if you were dreaming of chasing the largest and fastest rabbit you’d ever seen... and gaining on it. Logan has gone off by himself and here you are snoozing as if his arch enemy couldn’t appear at any moment and murder him... and any chance I have of returning to England.”
After the dog left, with a contemptuous expression Rachel didn’t need heightened understanding to analyze, she studied the broom. Sweeping was the one chore Logan never requested she do... perhaps because he knew nothing of it himself. Memories of his dust-encrusted cabin surfaced and Rachel smiled. Mayhap she would clean his cabin a bit before she left him.
It didn’t take long for that charitable thought to disappear in a fit of dust-induced coughing.
Her cleaning seemed to have the opposite effect. Not only was the fresh feeling from her morning dip in the bone-chilling river gone, but the cabin seemed even grimier than before she started. Rachel backhanded her streaming eyes, smearing grit as she did, then glanced around to where a pair of Cherokee women stood staring at her. They must have entered when she was coughing, for she hadn’t heard them.
And now she wished her annoyance with Henry hadn’t kept her from shutting the door. Rachel found it embarrassing for them to see how inept she was. She sniffed, then scrubbed at her still streaming eyes.
“I—” She opened her mouth to give some excuse and stopped, biting her lip before admitting. “I don’t know how to do this. If you could show me, I’d be most grateful.”
Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] Page 12
