Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] (16 page)

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 with 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.”

There was a moment when in unison they stopped staring at her and turned toward each other, saying something in the same language Logan had used with Swift Fox. Of course they didn’t understand English, Rachel thought. How foolish she was.

But before she could dwell on that the two women stepped forward, one reaching for the broom, the other taking Rachel’s hand. She couldn’t understand their words, but their tone was kind. They waited till the dancing motes of dust settled, then showed her where to begin and how to sweep without stirring the dirt. The older of the two handed the broom back to Rachel, smiling to reveal a gap where her front teeth should be and Rachel smiled back.

The women stayed with her, offering direction and words of encouragement and it wasn’t until they left and the cabin was reasonably clean that the reality of what happened hit Rachel.

She understood them.

Not their language, of course. It wasn’t as if she suddenly learned the Cherokee way of speaking or that they began verbalizing in the king’s fine English. They’d communicated through their spirits.

Just as Lone Dove said she must do with Logan.

Rachel couldn’t keep from bouncing on her toes at the idea that she’d actually done it. Oh, there were times when she caught a glimpse of what was in Logan’s spirit, in his heart. But never for any extended length of time. And it was never enough. But now she knew how... or at least had done it.

She was so excited she rushed from the cabin toward the Town House, ignoring the people who were dabbing the outside curved walls with white mud. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside. But when they did, Rachel knew she’d done something wrong. She imagined King George’s expression would be as scandalized if she burst into the throne room while he met with his ministers.

Logan sprang to his feet and Rachel had visions of him tossing her across his naked shoulder and hauling her from the building. But before he could do more than take a single step toward her, the Adawehis spoke.

“It is all right if the
Adan’ta Woman
joins us.”

Tension seemed to drift away like the mountain mist. The circle of brightly painted warriors settled back on their bottoms and Rachel couldn’t help the smirk that crossed her face as she glanced toward Logan. Which she regretted immediately for his expression told her no matter what the Adawehis said, she would answer to him for her disruptive behavior.