She opened her eyes and sat back down on the log. None of the many males in her life was going to show up to rescue her, to hug her, and tell her that everything was going to be just fine. Nor was she going to be able to run to her mother and pour out all her troubles to her. The truth was that if Cay went to any of them right now they could be arrested for having helped a murderer escape.
Tears came to her eyes, but she brushed them away and glanced down the old pathway. The man hadn’t been gone long, so there was no hope that he would return soon.
She jumped again when she heard something behind her, but she didn’t see anything, at least not a bear running down the hill intent on eating her and the horse. That the horse was quietly chomping on grass and seemed not to hear anything reassured Cay enough that she sat back down.
She would like to have a fire, but he’d told her no, fearful that someone would see it. It was cool and dank and very lonely in the forest, and the fire would give warmth and light and cheer—and she could use burning branches to keep the wild animals away.
Again she told herself to calm down, but her mind kept wandering. Maybe the Scotsman wouldn’t return. He could move more easily and faster without her. She’d not seen Uncle T.C.’s map, so she had no idea where he was to meet the explorers—not that it mattered to her. She was to stay somewhere else and wait, or to send someone to her family to come and get her.
Getting up, she went under the canvas cloth he’d set up for her and wondered if he’d meant it as a campsite just for her.
She wrapped Hope’s big cloak about her, put the hood over her head, and drew her knees up. Feeling the wool about her made her remember the last night at Uncle T.C.’s house. Cay knew she’d been so very brave, but then, she’d been angered by the way Hope had treated her, as though Cay were too young and frivolous to be able to do something as simple as what T.C. was asking of her.
“And she was right,” Cay said aloud as she sniffed away the tears that threatened to come. She needed to think of something good. She could think of . . . of . . . Of Hope’s request for a husband, she thought. That was good for a laugh. Hope was bossy, controlling, not always nice, and she sometimes said hurtful things. No wonder she wasn’t married.
Maybe Hope and the Scotsman should marry, Cay thought, and that idea made her relax, even warmed her inside. Since he seemed to expect women to blindly obey him, she imagined the arguments the two of them would have. Hope would demand that her husband take a bath once a year, and he’d tell her that she had to do whatever he told her to, even if it made no sense.
The images made Cay chuckle aloud. Stretching out on the leaf-covered ground, she worked to keep the amusing thoughts in her mind. The Scotsman was older than Hope—she guessed him to be in his early forties—but that was all right. At almost thirty, Hope couldn’t be too choosey about whom she found to marry her.
Gradually Cay began to relax enough that she drifted into much-needed sleep.
Six
When Alex returned with a big bag of hot food, he didn’t go directly to the campsite but went around it. He wanted to see what was there without blundering into something. When he saw the ruins, but no horse and no girl, he nearly panicked. It took time to calm his heart, which seemed to have leaped into his throat. She had taken the horse and left. Or no! Maybe she’d been found and abducted. Would he have to break her out of jail?
When the horse, tethered on a long rope, wandered back into sight, Alex was so relieved that he was embarrassed. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was going to be glad to see her for herself, not just because she was his responsibility. She was a link to his father, to Scotland, and to Nate, who was his best friend even though they’d never met in person.
Alex slowly walked his horse down the hill, holding the big bag out, and anticipating her joy when she saw the food he’d brought.
He dismounted, removed the horse’s saddle, and set the mare out to graze before he went into the little makeshift shelter he’d built for her. Lying on the leaves was the girl, and she didn’t wake when he stepped closer to her. From her tear-stained cheeks, he could tell that she’d been crying.
It looked as though, while he was away, her bravery had given out. He opened the bag and silently began to pull out the contents. First there was a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, then a thick gooseberry pie in a ceramic dish. Under it was a huge wooden bowl filled nearly to the top with beef stew with big chunks of meat, potatoes, and carrots, all swimming in a fragrant gravy. On the bottom was a single wooden spoon.
Alex dipped the spoon into the stew, and held it by Cay’s nose. It took a moment before she moved, but she seemed to come out from under the hood nose first, her eyes still closed.
He drew the spoon back and she followed it.
“Ooooh,” she said as she opened her eyes and reached for the spoon—but Alex pulled it back. Cay just sat there, looking at him in astonishment.
“Give me that!” She made a lunge, grabbed the spoon from him, and ate the stew. As she chewed, she closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Heaven. Pure Heaven.”
Alex reached to take the spoon from her, but she drew it away.
“Get your own.”
“I did get my own and that’s it. We have to share it.”
“Share a spoon?” She was aghast.
His long arm reached behind her and took the spoon while tossing her the loaf of bread. “Use that, and now who’s the ungrateful one? I guess you think I should have risked getting caught just to steal two spoons.”
Cay tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it in the bowl. It soaked up gravy, but it was difficult to get the meat; it kept falling off.
Alex watched her make several unsuccessful attempts at getting meat, then held out the spoon he’d used.
When she realized it was share or go hungry, she snatched it from him. “You have the manners of a barbarian.”
“And you have the appetite of a lumberjack. Give that back to me or I won’t tell you how I got this. I was nearly killed.”
“Did anyone follow you?” Cay asked, spoon halfway to her mouth.
He took the utensil from her. “I tell you I was nearly killed and your only concern is if you might get caught?”
Cay started to defend herself, but she saw that his eyes were teasing. “If someone followed you, I’d have to share the spoon with more people. You’re bad enough.”
“I guess a convicted murderer sleeping next to you is as much as you can take.”
Cay didn’t like his joke. It was too real—and too frightening. “I think you should tell me your side of what happened in Charleston.” She used her most sympathetic tone to encourage him to talk, but he barely looked at her.
“Hmph!” he said as he again took the spoon from her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that it’s none of your business.”
“I think that if I can risk my life for you, and if you—”
“Was that a bear?” he asked, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth.
Cay half rolled, half leaped, to move closer to him as she gave a little squeal of alarm.
“Naw, just the wind,” he said and continued to eat.
She realized he’d made it up about the bear just to get her to stop talking about the murder. “I don’t think you’re a very nice person.”
“All of Charleston would agree with you on that one.”
“A whole town that’s a good judge of character.” She had meant the words to sound light, but she could see by his face that she hadn’t succeeded. They ate in silence for a while, then she said, “Did you love her very much?”
“Aye, I did.”
Encouraged by his words, she went further. “How did you meet?”
“At a race.” They’d finished the stew and Alex reached behind him for the pie—which Cay hadn’t seen.
“Gooseberry? My favorite.”
“And what food wouldn’t be your favorite right now?” His eyes had lost their sad
, faraway look, and she was glad.
“Beef jerky, dried apples, and creek water with little bits of moss floating in it.”
With a chuckle, he used his big knife to cut the pie into quarters. “We’ll save some for breakfast. If you leave us any food, that is. Where do you put all that you eat, lass?” He looked at her, mostly hidden under the cloak, but there wasn’t much of her.
“Muscle,” she said, her mouth full as she licked juice off her wrist. “I am pure muscle.”
He laughed at that, and she liked the sound.
“How long did you know her?”
“Who?” he asked.
“Your wife. How long did you know her before you got married?”
“Three weeks.”
With her mouth open in shock, she stared at him. “But that’s not long enough to get to know a person before you commit yourself to marriage.”
“And who told you that? Your mother?”
“And my father.”
“And the pastor, too, I’m sure.”
She ate another bite of pie. “So I guess you’re an expert on love, too, as well as on how to hide from the law.” She thought maybe her remark would make him clam up again, but it didn’t seem to bother him.
“I know when I feel love, yes. So what did your mother tell you to do? Get to know a man before you marry him?”
“Of course.”
“As she did your father?”
“She knew him for years before she married him,” Cay said, narrowing her eyes at him. “You seem to know a lot about my family. Did Uncle T.C. tell you about us?”
“Some, yes. Do you think you’re finished now, or should I make another raid on the tavern? They might have a pound or two of beef left.”
“That’s enough, but I hope you plan to protect that half of the pie.”
“With my life.” She watched as he put the pie in its plate back into the bag, tied a rope around it, and hoisted it into a tree.
When he came back to the little tent, she asked him how he knew to do that.
“Always protect your food, lass. I’m surprised your Scots relatives didn’t teach you that.”
“When I visit them, I stay in a castle, not outside.” As she spoke, it began to rain and the air cooled. She pulled the cloak around her and drew her knees up. It had grown dark while they ate, and now she was isolated with this man she hardly knew.
“Are you going back to being afraid of me, lass?” he asked softly.
She straightened her spine. “Why would I be afraid of a weak old man like you? What were we talking about?”
“Your experience of courting,” he said quickly, his voice full of laughter.
“I’m glad I can entertain you, but, as a matter of fact, I went to Charleston to consider three marriage proposals.” She was pleased when he looked at her in astonishment.
“Three?”
“Did you think that men don’t want me? Just because you think I’m useless doesn’t mean—”
“Are you telling me that you can’t make up your mind which of three men you want to marry?”
His tone told her he thought this was an odd thing, maybe even that it was wrong, but she had no idea why. “Yes,” she said hesitantly. “They’re all good men, and—”
“But what about passion?” he asked vehemently.
Cay was glad the darkness covered her blush. “If you’re talking about what a man and a woman do when they’re alone, I can assure you that I know all about that. I’ve spent my life around animals and boys. They’re a dirty bunch of creatures, and by that I mean the boys, not the animals.” He was staring at her with his eyes wide. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Turning away for a moment, Alex shook his head as though to clear it. “Do any of the three men make your blood boil?”
“My blood boil? What a ridiculous thing to say. No, they don’t make my blood do anything except what it normally does. You know, I think we should get some sleep.” She stretched out her legs in the torn stockings and tried to compose her mind to go to sleep, but she’d had hours of napping and was restless. Besides, he still seemed to be waiting for an answer. “They’re all good men, and they can provide for my future and that of our children. I don’t see what’s wrong—” She broke off because he gave a snort of such derision that she raised up on an elbow to look at him. He had stretched out on the damp grass, with no covering over his thin clothing, his back to her. “And what does that mean?”
“Nothing, lass. Go to sleep.”
She sat up. “No, I want to know what you meant by your hateful little snort.”
“Snort?” he murmured, seeming to be amused by what she’d said. “It was no ‘snort,’ just a sound I make when I hear something so unbelievable that I can’t even understand it.”
“If you don’t tell me what you mean I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what, lass?”
She leaned toward him. “I’ll make your life miserable,” she said softly.
Alex turned to look at her, and she could see he was imagining ways she could use to carry out her threat. “I guess that means you’ll talk me to death tonight.”
“That would be the starting place.”
He rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head. “From what I’ve seen of marriage, it’s not easy, and the only way to get through it is if you love the other person.”
“I agree with that,” she said hesitantly, not understanding what his complaint was.
“So you love all three men?” He was looking up at her, as she was sitting and he was lying down.
“I could love them. For your information, I’ve had eight proposals of marriage since I was sixteen years old, and I’ve narrowed them down to three men who I would consider. It’s not like all I’ve had are three proposals and I’d take any one of them. The man who first offered for me was . . . Well, he was very unsuitable, and I didn’t include him.”
“Ah, so you chose three of them who you think you can love, and you went all the way to Charleston to decide which one it’s to be?”
“Yes,” she said, glancing at him, but not understanding what he was laughing at her about. “What is so funny?”
He seemed about to answer, but then he sat up and looked at her. “Lass, you need to feel passion.” When she started to speak, he put his hand up. “You should look at a man and feel that you’ll die if you don’t spend the rest of your life with him. Your heart needs to leap into your throat and stay there.”
“I think you learn to love someone. I know you believe I’m little more than a child, but I’ve seen some of your ‘passion’ marriages, and they never work out. One of my mother’s friends ran off with a man much younger than she is, and . . . Well, now they argue all the time. Their daughter is my friend and she spends half her life at my house rather than go home to be with her arguing parents.”
“How many children do they have?”
“Eleven.”
“They have eleven children but they argue all the time?”
Cay willed her face not to blush, but she couldn’t control it and hoped he wouldn’t see it. “They are not a happy couple.”
“Sounds to me like they do all right. It’s the ones who are polite to each other that are so unhappy.”
“That’s ridiculous. My parents are very polite to each other.”
He looked at her hard.
“Perhaps not all the time,” she conceded. “My mother is a bit headstrong, and my father gets a tad out of sorts about it sometimes, and there have been a few times when my brothers and I said we were going to leave home if they didn’t make up. But they love each other very much.”
“And they chose each other because they were a sensible match, did they?”
“My father was the laird of a clan and my mother was an heiress. Yes, I think they were very well matched.”
With another little snort, he stretched out on the ground, his arms across his chest and looking as though he meant to go to sleep. �
��They were the most ill-matched couple in all of Christendom,” he mumbled.
“I want to know how you know so much about my family.”
“T.C.—”
“I don’t believe that Uncle T.C. told you so much about us. Did he tell you about Bathsheba and him?”
“He mentioned her,” Alex said, but he didn’t turn over. “Was he passionately in love with her?”
“Insanely. My mother said that when Bathsheba married another man, Uncle T.C. nearly killed himself in grief.”
“I know that feeling,” Alex said softly. “I know it very well.”
Cay wanted to say more, even wanted to argue with him. She wasn’t especially sleepy, and the night around them, with the rain coming down, made her nervous. “And you loved your wife very much?” she asked softly.
“With all my heart and soul.”
“And you knew that in just three weeks?”
“I knew it in the first moment. Her eyes met mine and I was hers.”
“But you knew nothing about her, not her personality, not what she liked or disliked, what her hopes for the future were, nothing?”
“And I guess you know all about the men you’re considering marrying.”
“Of course.”
“Make lists, do you?”
Cay thought of her notebook full of her comparisons of the men she might possibly marry. She had compared ages, houses, backgrounds, whatever she could think of. She knew that marriage was a serious matter and she didn’t want to make a mistake. She wanted a marriage as good as her parents’. “Of course I didn’t do any such thing,” she lied. “I’m going to let my heart make the decision for me. Isn’t that what a bride should do?”
“If you’re asking me what I think you should do, I think you should lie down and go to sleep. We’ll leave early tomorrow, before light, so you need to get as much rest as you can.”
Reluctantly, Cay lay down on the hard ground and tried to still her mind, but it kept working. “Have you finished making a plan for me yet?”
The Scent of Jasmine Page 6
