The Bearwalker's Daughter (12 page)

Eyeing her in a mix of amusement and perplexity, he pressed a kiss to her shivery palm. “I suppose I am, though forgive me if I’ve not yet schemed a means to this end.”

She put her audacity to constructive use. “If we can reach Reverend McCue before they catch us, we could be wed before anyone interferes.”

Jack stared at her, then threw back his head and laughed. “Hats off to you for sheer nerve.”

“Don’t you see? Once we’re wed they will have to accept us.”

He weighed her as he might an unwitting child. “Ever heard of annulment, or better yet, murder? You could speedily find yourself a young widow—”

“They wouldn’t dare,” she broke in.

“Maybe not so blatantly that you could prove it, but my untimely demise could be made to appear an accident. Even so, we shall still have to face them unless we flee to Shequenor and then we’ll have to face him. Which do you fancy?”

“Or Spanish pirates?” he teased. “Here’s a plan. What say we keep this betrothal to ourselves for the present? I shall win the race tomorrow and claim the purse, a fine start toward building a place of our own.”

The sudden transformation in his tone was striking. She searched his unwavering gaze, divulging only what he willed. There was far more to him than met the eye. “Should we exchange some sort of token?” she asked uncertainly.

His lips twitched with repressed smiles. “Apart from the sweet kisses you’ve lavished on me?”

Her mouth dropped open and heat warmed her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. Here, darling.” He reached into his pouch. “A betrothal bracelet.” He held out the shining silver band, skillfully hammered and embellished with curlicues and geometric designs.

She gasped. “Where did you come by this?”

“Your father gave it to me. I’m certain there’s no one he would rather have me entrust it to than you. Though its significance is a good joke on the old he- bear.” Jack smiled and slipped it around her wrist—too loose—and slid it further up her arm under her shift, squeezing it to fit. “Where none will see—”

Bam
! The door sprang open with such violence Karin thought it might be jarred from its hinges. She screeched.

“What in blazes!” Jack sat bolt upright, hand on his knife.

Had they conjured up Shequenor—again?

No. Grandpa’s bulk stomped in. Hard on his heels, was Joseph. Behind them in the darkened yard, she glimpsed two blowing horses. She almost preferred Shequenor’s unnerving visitation. She’d never seen her grandfather this ruddy with rage. Her throat seized up and she trembled so she could barely sit.

Not Jack. Clearly accustomed to battle, he sprang to his feet with the wariness of a wolf before an advancing pack of slathering hounds. “The stream is well over its bank. How did you get here?”

Her relations glowered at him. “Found a spot to ford as you could have done, McCray. I swear I’m gonna have your hide, finding the pair of you tucked up in here,” Grandpa vowed.

Jack countered, “I don’t know every inch of that water. See the scars on the door? We were attacked by a bloody great bear and are fortunate to be alive.”

“More fortunate still if you survive me,” Grandpa threatened in turn.

“And me,” Joseph ground out. “Leave off my girl.” His fist flew.

Jack had the foresight to duck, or maybe it was the warning Shequenor had given him. “She’s not yours, little brother.” He launched at Joseph with a punishing undercut to the jaw that sent him staggering.

Swiping at the blood trickling from his lip, Joseph shook off the blow and hurled himself at Jack. “What did you do to her, you thieving savage!”

“Savage, eh?” Jack clipped him on the side of his head in passing. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. But keep at me and I vow you will.” He spun around like a striking snake and sent Joseph thudding to the floor. “The lady is safe, warm, fed—”

“And ravished by the looks of her!” Undaunted, Joseph got to his feet and flung out another fist. “She’s flushed and her hair’s undone.”

“Jack!” Karin ran to him and thrust herself between the combatants. “I’ve not been molested in any way, Grandpa. Please don’t fight. I love him,” she forced past the lump in her throat.

Joseph cast her a look of scornful disbelief. “How can you love a man who fought at Blue Licks against his own kind?”

If Joseph had driven his fist into her gut, he couldn’t have caught her more unawares. She knew Jack was a Loyalist, but not this. Dismay seeped through her with the heaviness of lead. Crossing her arms over her aching middle, she appealed to him. “No. You didn’t fight at the Battle of Blue Licks?”

“You don’t no more,” Grandpa grunted. “Hellish as that battle was with hundreds of warriors and musket powder hazing everything like smoke from the fiery depths, Jeb Tate swears it was a white man who shot Peter.” An accusing finger pointed at him. “You.”

“Wasn’t it Jeb Tate or his old Da who shot me?”

“Even so. That don’t mean Jeb’s lying now.”

Jack’s mouth flew open. “I was a scout with the Queen’s Rangers at that battle. Two years ago. There were more than a few Loyalists and British regulars among the Ohio Indians. What makes Jeb so sure it was me who fired the shot?”

Grandpa blistered him with a scorching glare. “He’s not. But we just got the confession we needed. You bastard. Too many good men died that day, Kentucky militia and Virginians.”

“Too many died every damn day of that bloody war,” Jack fired back. “I had my fill ages ago. And the punishment leveled against the Shawnee after Blue Licks was severe, villages and crops burnt, women and children made to endure hellish suffering. Few of their tribe even fought in that battle—”

“How dare you defend those savages?” Grandpa broke in.

“It seems they’re the only people I have left.” Jack spun on his heels and snatched up his tomahawk. He slung it at his side and ripped his coat from the wall. “Time I made my way back to them, or those
Tories
farther up north in Canada.”

Joseph said nothing. Karin was too dumbstruck to speak. Chief Joseph Brandt was the most famous or infamous chief alive. Was Jack bent on antagonizing the men or did he take some perverse pride in his doings?

“Cunning man, Chief Brandt,” Jack wore on in the stunned silence. “Well educated, even went to London and met King George. Blamed for many atrocities he didn’t commit and some he did, but no one said war was pretty. Only, it’s not over in the frontier. Indians are being driven off their ancestral land by a hoard of settlers the British promised to keep at bay if they won the revolution. See now why the tribes were Loyalists?”

Grandpa quivered, sputtering, “You’ll rouse no sympathy for those blood-thirsty murderers here.”

“Nor will the greenhorns who venture in among the hornets they’ve angered,” Jack tossed back, and pushed past the two men who stood nearly immobile with outrage. He strode to the door. “Now raw settlers will bear the brunt of their fury. There should be treaties and they ought to be honored.”

Karin didn’t understand this man. Part of her despised what he’d done during the war and she itched to pound some sense into him, while a more vulnerable part yearned to feel his lips on hers again. She could do neither one if he walked out the door and mounted his horse. “Jack, wait. Please.”

“Don’t go.” She blinked at tears, ready to wrestle him to the floor if need be to delay him, aware of how ludicrous that thought was.

“Let him be, Karin,” Joseph ordered.

“No.” She’d fling her arms around Jack and hold on.

Sliding his thumb under her chin, he looked into her eyes. She couldn’t be sure with her blurred sight, but could have sworn he flicked her a wink. “It’s the only way, girl. Say goodbye to Mama for me and don’t fret. I’ll take care of
you
know
who
as I promised.”

Grandpa snapped his head at him. “What? Who are you speaking of?”

“Can you not guess?” A long look passed between them, and a grave expression came over the older man’s face. He stilled as Jack said, “I am not your avowed enemy, Mister McNeal, though you are persuaded I’m more fiend than friend. But I know one who would gladly see you dead and take what’s most dear to you.”

In seconds her grandfather’s entire demeanor had changed. For the first time in Karin’s memory, the hint of fear breached that normally impregnable gaze. Then he breathed out so softly she barely heard, “Shequenor lives.”

“Aye. Atrocities were committed on both sides, but the war’s over in these parts. We’re all Americans now. What say you?” Grandpa actually extended his hand.

Jack accepted his outstretched fingers in a handshake. “I never said different.”

Joseph gaped in livid disbelief from one man to the other. “You can’t mean to forgive him just like that.”

Grandpa rounded on him. “I do, by God. There’s a greater menace out there than your misguided brother. One only he has any notion how to battle. Poor fellow’s been off too long with the Indians. We’ll help him recall who he is.”

Karin doubted Jack was that malleable, but didn’t voice her assumption being far too astonished.

Discounting his thunderstruck brother, Jack said evenly, “Well, then. Let’s get on home before my mother worries her fair head over us, shall we? There’s a big race to ready for.”

Grudging approval in his eyes, Grandpa gave a nod. “So there is.” Apparently all was resolved between them. At least, for now. “I suppose you’ve been taught to ride as well as you fight?”

A smile curved Jack’s lips. This time he flicked her an undeniable wink—cheeky rascal. “Peki’s rested. Ride back with me, Karin.”

Before she could accept or refuse his cocky request, Joseph curled his lip like an affronted dog. If he’d had fur it would have stood on end. “She rides with me.”