Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] (26 page)

“We were. For Wolf it was like finding a bit of himself.”

Again Rachel’s senses were flooded by the warm, loving feeling Caroline had for her husband.

“Though they never knew each other before, Wolf and James have become friends. Anne, his wife, and I have as well.”

And they’d talked of finding Logan, of going into the mountains to search for him. But they didn’t know where he was or even if he was still alive. Logan’s life seemed to mean nothing to him. He even confided to Wolf that it might be best if he threw himself from the highest summit one day never to be heard from again.

“Are you all right?”

Rachel opened her eyes to find Caroline and the Cherokee woman Sadayi leaning over her. Caroline swished a handkerchief, stirring a flutter of air. “I rose to let Sadayi into the room and when I looked back you’d grown so pale and your eyes were closed.” She moved to the side. “Perhaps I should wake Logan.”

“No.” Rachel grabbed for her hand. “Please don’t.” She paused, her eyes locking with Caroline’s. “Please.”

Caroline didn’t know what to do, and Rachel could hardly blame her.

“I think it’s because I haven’t eaten for so long.” Rachel glanced toward the tray of food on the table beside her.

“I suppose that could be the problem.”

Though she doubted it
. Rachel picked up the cup of steaming tea in hopes of convincing her. She took a sip, then smiled. “I’m feeling better already.”

Rachel watched as Caroline and the Sadayi woman shared a look. The latter shrugged her shoulders clad in a bright calico, and backed out of the room.
Her feet hurt and she was anxious to rest them. Who knew why the skinny white woman swooned.

“I’ll stay with you while you eat,” Caroline said as she settled back into her chair. “Then you must get back in bed.”

She was still toying with the notion of waking Logan to find out if Rachel had been ill. Luckily, her concern for her brother-in-law, who also was tired, overrode her curiosity.

Still, Caroline watched Rachel like a mother might watch her child as she bit into a piece of fresh white bread. Rachel ate quickly... hungrily, devouring every bit of fruit and cheese, along with the pastry of meat and the other slice of bread. She tried not to connect with Caroline’s thoughts and she kept her own to herself.

Rachel allowed herself to be tucked beneath the covers when she finished, though it seemed more that she should be doing the favor rather than receiving it. It wasn’t until Caroline closed the door behind her, taking the light of the candle with her, that Rachel allowed herself to dwell on what she learned by reading the other woman’s thoughts.

Logan had contemplated throwing himself from the mountain, had considered killing himself. The idea chilled her more thoroughly than the quilt could counter.

Had she saved his life that morning when they first met? And if she had why was she still here?

But more importantly, why was he so overwrought by life that he thought his solution was to end it?

~ ~ ~

His head was going to explode.

Logan combed long, black hair from his face, wincing when his fingers caught in a wet tangle. God, why did he finish off the jug of rum after Wolf went to bed? Better, why did he begin drinking in the first place?

Logan pulled on his shirt, but rather than go back to the house, he slid his back down the length of an oak, finding the slight rise at the bottom an acceptable seat.

His brother woke him this morning to suggest they bathe in the river, a custom they started years ago when they both lived at Seven Pines... one that Logan had continued alone on his mountain. Professing a need to check on Caroline who was still in bed when he left, Wolf hurried back, admonishing Logan not to miss breakfast.

As if he could eat.

What was it about this place that made him feel as if his body was too big for its skin?

Surely memories of his father, of Mary, should have faded by now. Yet when he came here, it was as if it were yesterday that he left his wife in the care of a man he hated. As if he could turn his head and still see her sweet face, smiling at him, her eyes searching for something she could never find.

Dried leaves crackled, and instinctively Logan twisted around. But it wasn’t his dead wife he saw.

“You lied to me.”

Logan lifted his brow and leaned back against the bark. “I trust you rested well, Your Highness.”

She paid his insolence no heed, instead marching round to face him, hands planted firmly on hips. Her lips were thinned, her eyes narrowed... not one of her more endearing expressions. But Logan had to admit the rest of her looked fetching.

She wore a gown of blue silk, obviously Caroline’s. The skirts were a tad too short, showing a peek of deerskin moccasin, and the bodice a bit too tight. Logan’s gaze lingered on the enticing swell of creamy breast that showed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you considered throwing yourself off the cliff before? I wouldn’t be surprised if I did save your life the day I pulled you up.”

“Wolf has a loose tongue.”

“Don’t blame your brother. He didn’t tell me. And don’t change the subject of our discussion. I—”

“As far as I can tell, we aren’t having a discussion. And you did
not
save my life. You nearly cost it.”

“But if you were preparing to jump, I—”

“I wasn’t going to jump for God’s sake!” Logan pushed to his feet and grabbed her shoulders. “Perhaps my mind flirted with the thought during a couple of brief moments of insanity...” He glanced away, his voice low. “Or when I was too drunk to know better. But I’d long ago decided against it.”

He was looking at her now, his green eyes intense and she knew he was telling her the truth. But the question still remained. “Why?”

“Why did I abandon the idea?” His hands drifted down her shoulders and he turned away. “I haven’t the vaguest idea.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Rachel followed him to the river’s edge.

“Ah, I forgot. Your Highness can read my mind. Some special power you picked up in the afterlife. Perhaps you should tell me then.”

“You aren’t going to force me away with your sarcasm.” Rachel almost said she was immune to that, but it would be a lie. But she also could not tell right now what he was thinking or feeling, other than pain. And it didn’t take any special powers, as he put it, to figure that out. His stance was rigid as he stared across the waterway to the wall of pines beyond.

“You know l never could figure out why my father called this place Seven Pines. There are easily a hundred times that here.”

Rachel stared at his broad back, at the V of dampness soaking into his shirt from his wet hair and wished she could break through the wall surrounding him. Wished she could touch him. She breathed in slowly. “He must have had his reasons.”

The look he sent her over his shoulder sent chills up her spine. “My father had a reason for everything he did.”

A quick stab of loneliness and despair... his despair... raced through Rachel before he spoke again. When he did, she understood.

“My mother killed herself. Nothing as dramatic as leaping off a mountain, but she killed herself all the same.”

Blood. His thoughts... Rachel’s thoughts were of blood. Everywhere. Of seeing his mother lying on crimson sheets, her lifeless face pale and calm, serene amidst the surrounding horror.

Rachel wanted to run away, to hide her own face and beg him to stop reliving the horror, to free her from the pain. But she couldn’t. She’d wanted this. Wanted to know him.

Rachel stepped closer. Close enough to touch, yet she didn’t. “It must have been horrible for you... to find her like that.”

When he whirled toward her she wasn’t prepared for the anger contorting his features. “Find her. I didn’t find her. Hell, that would have been impossible seeing that he had locked her away.” His voice sounded all the more ominous because of his unemotional delivery. “He took me to see her. He explained it to me while I stood there, afraid to look... afraid not to. She was mad, he said, driven insane by my brother’s foolish actions... by my support for him.”

“How old were you?” Tears ran, unheeded, down Rachel’s cheeks.

“Twelve, I think.” He shook his head as if trying to recall. “Nearly thirteen. ’Twas 1746. The year my older brother was hanged.”

“But he wasn’t hanged. He’s not dead.” Now Rachel did grab his arm, so hard he jerked his head around, a strand of dark, damp hair snagging on the black stubble covering his chin.

“What is this, more talk of angels and hereafter?” He obviously didn’t appreciate her assertion.

“No, ’tis true. Caroline told me last night. He lives... his name is James, is it not?” At his nod, Rachel continued. “He is alive and living in Charles Town. With a wife and—”

With a sigh Rachel let her voice trail off. She was speaking to thin air anyway. Logan was stalking toward the house.

~ ~ ~

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell him.”

“There was no chance.” Wolf glanced up from his breakfast of cornbread and ham. His eyes met his wife’s, then dropped back to his plate. “I wished to, but was unsure of how to broach the subject.”

“You...? Unsure?” Caroline sipped her tea, not even bothering to finish her thought. It was a rather ridiculous notion given Wolf’s past and his current position as Commissioner of Indian Affairs.

Discussing difficult subjects such as unfair trade practices and treaty violations was what he did all the time. And he was contentious, some said brilliant, most agreed, outspoken. Surely delivering the good news that a brother long thought dead was alive and well should not have been formidable.

Pushing from his chair, Wolf went round to stand behind his wife’s. Her stomach made it impossible for her to sit close to the table and he smiled before resting his chin on her moon-spun hair.

“You were right about the rum. I should never have offered him a drink.”

“Oh, Wolf.” Rachel twisted till she could look into his face. “Did he do anything?”

“No. But I could tell it wasn’t a good idea—” Wolf’s mouth clamped shut when he saw his brother standing in the doorway. Caroline smiled beseechingly when he glanced her way.

“I mentioned James to Rachel last night.”

“Aye. And she told me.” Logan strode toward the table. “Was she speaking the truth?”

“Yes. I should have told you as soon as you came. Caroline was just pointing that out to me.” Wolf motioned toward an empty chair before resuming his seat, not surprised when Logan ignored the offer, choosing instead to pace the length of the dining room.

“He escaped from Scotland, and spent several years in the Caribbean.”

“Did Father arrange it?” Logan hated to admit even to himself that something in him hoped that was the case. That the man who he’d grown to hate had at one time shown a spark of kindness toward one of his sons. But the expression in Wolf’s dark eyes dashed that thought.

“It was other loyal supporters of Prince Charles, Logan.” Caroline’s voice was kind as she raised her bulk from the chair. “There are things that need my attention, if you gentlemen will excuse me.”

They both nodded and she moved silently from the room, meeting Rachel as she entered the hallway.

“Is Logan in there?” Rachel pushed toward the dining room, pausing only when Caroline’s hand came to rest on her arm.

“It would be best if we left them alone for a while, I think.”

Rachel opened her mouth to argue, then clamped it shut again. Her breath left her in a rush. “Perhaps you’re right.” Her eyes focused on the paneled wood. “I don’t know how to deal with him very well.”

“And do you? Deal with him, I mean?” Caroline guided them toward the parlor, stopping only to give instructions to Sadayi before closing the door.

“I suppose I do. At least for the moment.” She caught the knowing look Caroline passed her and shook her head so hard the caplet of curls came loose, several twisted locks falling down her back. “’Tis not what you’re thinking. Logan and I... well, I’m Lady Rachel Elliott, a ward of King George.”

Caroline stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown a second head, and Rachel wished she could take back her words. She didn’t need any advanced intuition to know what the other woman was thinking. And she hadn’t even mentioned drowning and being put back on earth to save Logan’s life... or the frustrating time she was having of it.

“Tell me about Logan’s father.” Rachel hadn’t meant her question as a means of changing the subject, but it worked perfectly. Caroline’s face drained of color and she fidgeted in her seat. Yet Rachel had to admire the other woman’s courage as she met her gaze.

“Did you know he was my husband?”

“Yes, Logan mentioned it once, though I doubt he remembers he did.”

Caroline nodded, then picked up her needlework from the small table to her right and began stitching. “My father’s death left us...” She glanced up. “My younger brother Ned and I, penniless. So...” She jammed the needle through the cotton fabric. “I agreed to marry a gentleman from the New World. No,” she sighed. “That’s not exactly true. I was very grateful for Robert MacQuaid’s offer of marriage. He promised to support Ned and care for me. What more was there to a marriage?” Her crystal-blue eyes met Rachel’s deeper ones. “At least that’s what I thought at the time.” She squirmed in her seat again.

“But once you met him...?”

“Actually, I knew differently before I met Robert.” Her smile was soft and Rachel felt that now familiar surge of love. “You see, I met Wolf before his father.”

Images flashed through Rachel’s head, some endearing, some that made her blush. With effort she was able to dim the thoughts coming from Caroline and concentrate only on her words.

“I can’t really describe to you what Robert was like. Cruel doesn’t seem to do him justice.” She gathered up her sewing and set it aside, not even pretending now to work on it. “He was hurtful.” Caroline stood, pausing to rub the small of her back before moving toward the window. “Yes, I believe that would be a good word to describe Robert. He hurt Wolf and me, and, from what I understand, James.” She turned to look at Rachel. “And yes, Logan.”