Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] (24 page)

He must have mistaken her sigh of frustration for one of fatigue for he stopped in the middle of the path, turning to face her. ’Tisn’t long now till we reach MacLaughlin’s Mill.”

She knew that. Though this was only the third time she’d traveled this mountain trail, she was beginning to recognize some of the landmarks. The crystalline waterfall that plummeted over rocks smoothed by untold gallons of water. The noise from it reminded her of the constant cascading of the creek over rocks at Logan’s cabin. At first she’d found the sound disturbing... annoying. But later the endless surge blended like threads of a tapestry with the chirping of birds and the whistle of the wind till it became almost soothing.

A slight frown curved her lips. Certainly she wasn’t becoming maudlin, homesick for that ramshackle cabin. It was crowded and smoky, hardly large enough for one person, let alone two. At Queen’s House such an eyesore wouldn’t be allowed to remain standing.

She sucked in air, breathing in the tangy scent of fir. Nay, if she was homesick at all it was for the manicured gardens and lofty halls of her home... her real home.

The path twisted about, climbing sharply over an outcrop of rocks and Rachel accepted the hand Logan held out to her. Instantly her pulse quickened. She studied him from beneath the fringe of her lashes as he pulled her up onto the flat ledge. What was it about him that made her heart flutter? He was as rough and rugged as the ragged peaks of the surrounding hills. Hardly the type of man she found appealing.

Yet there was no denying what he did to her, the sound of his deep voice, his touch, a flash of his moss-green eyes. He looked at her now with the same stirring sensuality as when she danced for him.

“Do you think...?” Rachel let go of his hand. “Do you think Mistress Ellen can make it up?” Henry had already scaled the rise and loped down the other side amid a scattering of loose pebbles.

“I imagine so. How do you think she came to be up there in the first place? He arched one dark brow as if to imply that the animal had a more plausible explanation than she did.

And of course after enduring the tough climb as she had, often with Logan’s assistance, it was obvious why he questioned her initial appearance at his cabin.

By late afternoon they crossed the last ridge and peeked down into the gap. The buildings of MacLaughlin’s Mill squatted at the far end beneath a canopy of chimney smoke. The harvested fields which were hacked from the pine and hardwood forest appeared like mismatched squares on a checkerboard.

Word of their arrival was out by the time they reached the outskirts of the small village. Angus, anxious to be home, left for the Mill day before yesterday, nearly as soon as Rachel and Logan crested the knoll behind his cabin. Now he ambled toward them, his gait seeming a bit lopsided by his missing arm.

“Hail to ye, Logan and Mistress Rachel,” he called. “My mother and I expected you hours ago.”

Logan grinned and Rachel was struck again by the easy relationship he had with the boy. He even reached out, ruffling the shock of coppery-colored hair. “Not all of us are as swift afoot as you Angus. Even when it is your ma’s cooking waiting at the end of the trek.”

The freckled face seemed to split open and a short chuckle erupted. Then he caught sight of the cow and his expression sobered. “You’ve brought Mistress Ellen.”

She had the boy doing it, too. Calling the cow by that silly name. Logan wondered if she’d fed Angus any nonsense about talking to the witless animal. Or it talking back. Forcing that thought from his head, he tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Seems as though she followed us down the trail. She must have grown enamored of you.”

Angus blotched red, then joined Logan in laughter. And Rachel stood as if rooted to the tangle of dried grass where she stood. Had Logan MacQuaid just uttered a humorous remark? True, it wasn’t near as witty as some of her gentleman friends at court, but it did have a certain appeal. As did the reticent man who said it.

Penny seemed as glad to see them as before and Rachel had the feeling again of being surrounded by a soft down comforter. It was almost bedtime before they had a moment alone together. The men, along with Angus, were out checking the stock, which now included a certain cow.

“So you’re off to Seven Pines, then.” Penny sat by the fire, straining to see the stitches she made in a pair of breeches. She glanced up and smiled shyly. “You’ll be liking Mistress Caroline.”

“Do you know her?” Rachel leaned forward, resting her idle hands on the rocker’s arms. “Logan tells me she’s the daughter of an earl.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t know anything about that. But she is sweet and quite friendly. Beautiful, too, though not so radiant as you, I should think.”

Warmth flooded into her cheeks and Rachel lowered her lashes. She, who’d heard more compliments about her appearance than she could possibly recall, was oddly moved by Penny’s unjaded observance.

They sat for a moment in companionable silence. A log shifted in the hearth sending a spray of sparks up the chimney. The accompanying crackle seemed to snag Penny’s attention for she glanced around, but then she focused again on Rachel.

“I had a talk with Malcolm, like you said.”

Her expression was so serious, Rachel hesitated to insist that she had no idea what she meant. Had she suggested Penny speak with her husband about something?

“It seems we were both festering the notion that our boy’s misfortune was our fault. Talking it out made us both feel a might better.”

“I’m glad.” Which of course she was. Rachel liked Penny, and though she didn’t know her husband well, he appeared a decent sort. But she still didn’t know why Angus’s mother gave her any credit for doing anything.

“We come to realize it was like you said. Nothing could have changed what happened. And we’re lucky to have our son. Lucky, too, that Logan MacQuaid happened by when he did.”

Had
she
said that? Rachel settled back in the chair.

“We’re both, Malcolm and me, grateful to you.”

“I’m...” What? Her usual glib tongue was failing her. She was truly touched by Penny’s words and still a bit confused by them. She remembered the story Penny told her about the Indian attack and their son’s wound, but failed to recall that she did or said anything other than a few words of sympathy.

Rachel was spared making a reply by the return of the three men. Angus came first, pushing open the door with his shoulder, seemingly unaware that there was no arm attached. Then came his father, sweeping off his hat and stomping toward the fire. Finally, taller than the rest and meeting Rachel’s eye for only a second, came Logan.

Rachel tried to pretend the shiver that raced through her body when he looked her way was caused by the flurry of chilled air that swept through the open portal. She knew better.

Her reaction to him was only one of the many mysteries she couldn’t explain about her present life... as she’d come to think of it. But like all the puzzles, the ability to communicate with wild creatures, the way she could sometimes look into other’s minds and hearts, she was certain her desire for Logan would vanish as soon as she accomplished her task. Whenever that might be.

Till then it seemed wiser to keep all her secrets just that. No one but the Adawehis believed her anyway. But as Rachel noticed Penny’s knowing appraisal of her, Rachel realized the other woman had read her thoughts. With a smile she inclined her head slightly toward Logan who was stripping out of his buckskin jacket, and nodded.

Rachel would have to work harder at keeping her attraction to Logan hidden.

Over the next few days her new resolve was easy to keep. They met no one on the trail. And Logan was not at his most lovable.

That was the only thing easy about those days.

The constant walking—even wearing, as she was, her new moccasins—was exhausting. “Have you never heard of a coach and four?” she complained one afternoon when it seemed as if they’d been trodding up and down over foothills forever.

“Is that what you’re used to Your Highness?”

He didn’t even glance around when he said it, a fact that made Rachel square her shoulders and pick up her pace. He’d treated her like this, with a sarcastic aloofness, since they left the Cherokee town... since Ostenaco captured her. And she was tired of it. Perhaps the Adawehis did suggest that she refrain from referring to her “other life.” But then he didn’t have to contend with Logan MacQuaid.

Rachel grabbed his arm. Obviously surprised by her actions he whirled around. Facing her. Looking her straight in the eye.

“As a matter of fact that is the way I traveled. In a well-sprung coach with soft leather squabs and liveried footmen to see to my needs. I’ve even ridden in the king’s royal coach, though admittedly not often. But there have been—”

“Shut up, Your Highness.”

Rachel wasn’t certain if it was his words or the feel of his fingers grasping her shoulders that made her gasp.

“I don’t wish to hear any more of this foolishness. Do you hear me?” The question, if indeed that’s what it was, was accompanied by a shake of his arms that freed more golden curls from her braid.

She imagined this was his attempt to intimidate her, but she didn’t feel intimidated at all. She felt angry and frustrated, and tired of this prolonged farce.

“I will speak of what I wish.” Her chin shot up. “Without the likes of you to gainsay me.” His green eyes hardened, narrowing till they seemed no more than slits of green glass, but she continued. “I am Lady Rachel Elliott, ward of His Royal Highness, King George the third. And I
do
live at—”

The rest of her words were swallowed up as his mouth slammed down on hers. The kiss hurt. She could taste his anger. His frustration.
His!
As if his problems could possibly compare to hers.

Lifting her balled hands she prepared to push him away, to pummel him if necessary. And she would have to, if not for the faint whisper of a moan. She wasn’t even sure which of them made the noise. But the sound brought with it a flash of memory. Of lying in his arms, feeling the weight of his body on hers... in hers.

Of their own volition her fingers uncurled. Before she could even form a rational thought her hands flung about his neck and her mouth slipped open.

He hadn’t shaved since they left Cheoah and near a sennight’s worth of black whiskers roughened his face, chafed hers. But she didn’t care. He was kissing her again, touching her as she’d longed for, dreamed of since the night she danced for him.

Perhaps she hadn’t realized what she longed for. Perhaps she tried to smother the memory beneath layers of annoyance. But there it was.

His lips were gentler now, though every whit as insistent as they moved over hers. He tasted, prodding with his tongue, catching hers between his teeth.

She felt his hand slide down her shoulder, then mold her breast, making it fill and swell beneath his touch. She quivered. She melted. Rachel’s back bent as her body arched toward him.

It was almost more than she could bear.

And then it... he... was gone.

Rachel stumbled back, nearly falling in the process. He might have come to her assistance except that he had already turned away. Had already started along the path. She watched his stiff back crisscrossed with his musket, powder horn, and their blankets in disbelief.

Unfulfilled desire strummed through her veins, making her feel hot, though the day held a chill. But that’s not what made her run after him. What made her shove him with both palms.

He was so large and solid, the blow affected her more than him. But she did have the satisfaction of seeing him turn, his face full of anger. “How dare you,” were the only words that came out.

His jaw clenched and he seemed to clamp down on his fury. “I apologize.” He whipped back toward the trail. “It shan’t happen again.”

For a moment she just stood, her mouth gaping open. He thought she was angry about the kiss. Rachel could barely keep from laughing. Silly, silly man.

Had he forgotten the way she danced for him... did her best to seduce him? Didn’t he notice the zeal with which she kissed him back?

He didn’t.

The thought came to her unbidden. Rachel closed her eyes and let herself feel. Let her heart feel.

He imagined he took advantage of her. That’s what he was thinking. That she was confused and frightened and more than a bit daft and he should be able to control his desires.

Rachel smiled when she realized how much he did want her. His goal was to get her to his brother and his wife without compromising her again.

Rachel called behind her for Henry to wake up and come along. Then she started after Logan. The poor man was going to have a difficult time achieving that goal.

~ ~ ~

He could use a drink.

Logan sat near the small fire he made in a clearing on the banks of a splashing stream and wished he had a jug. A swallow of rum would go a long way toward calming his desires... or perhaps it wouldn’t. Still...

He hadn’t had a drink since they left for Cheoah. And there were times he missed it. Especially now. “Do you want more?”

“What?” Logan stared over to where Rachel knelt beside the fire. She had done an admirable job of roasting the fish he caught earlier... at least they weren’t burned beyond recognition. Now she gazed up at him through the wavery smoke. “Nay, I’ve had my fill.”

Logan watched as she gave what was left of the trout to Henry, grimacing when he mentally thought of the dog by that name. Without even waiting for it to cool, the animal gulped it down, ignoring even Rachel’s lament that he might burn himself. He folded his arms. She could no more talk to animals than he could. He shoved from his mind the sight of her explaining why she was leaving to the cow they left at the Campbells’. All that scene did was reinforce his fear that she was mad.

He glanced up to see her watching him, her head bent to one side. He shifted self-consciously, then looked away.

“I’m not, you know.”

“Not what?”

She inched closer to him. “Ready for Bedlam. That is what you were thinking.”

Logan started to deny it, then realized she hadn’t worded it in the form of a question. And that was
exactly
what he was thinking.