The Bearwalker's Daughter (7 page)

Jack nudged the stallion and he jumped back over the crisscrossed rails. Hooves pounding, Peki drummed up the road. Karin’s giggle entranced Jack and tempted him to jump Peki over fences all day just to hear it. If she reveled in this no-holds-barred ride, she truly was her father’s daughter. But how in God’s name could Jack tell her about Shequenor?

Even if she didn’t bolt, and he felt certain she would if he didn’t first pin her down, John McNeal would horse-whip him within an inch of his life. Not only that, but Shequenor expected Jack to bring Karin back to his secluded hunting camp, at the very least for a visit, preferably forever.

“I allow you one full moon circle to bring her to me,” Shequenor had said.

Jack might as well try to kidnap the whole McNeal clan as to haul Karin off.

Bare fields stubbled with the remnants of harvested corn flew by on either side as he pondered his mission. Had knights of old ever been given such a quest? Going on a crusade seemed easy by comparison.

Damn it all. Wasn’t he supposed to rescue damsels in distress, not inflict suffering on them? Of course, according to Shequenor, Jack would be undertaking a rescue, but that warrior was not of sound mind.

As if in protest of his mutinous thoughts, black crows rose cawing from the earth where they were pecking for fallen kernels. Kicking up his hooves, Peki cantered on through the narrow valley shrouded in mist and hidden back in these blue-green mountains like a secret. Jack had to admit it was mighty fair here, like a piece of heaven. And not only because Karin rode with him, though that multiplied his pleasure tenfold.

Few outsiders knew of this valley’s existence, though he could think of one who did. Years ago, Shequenor raided back into these ridges with his war party and carried away Jack and the beautiful Mary McNeal. The warrior had given her, and her alone, his heart.

One fateful day when Shequenor and Jack were absent from the village, soldiers reclaimed Mary and the other captives as the result of Colonel Bouquet’s treaty. Shequenor learned of Karin’s birth and his young wife’s passing through his mystical talent for divining events, but didn’t dare return for his only child. The land grew too heavily settled and the frontier pushed farther west into the Alleghenies, Kentucky, and Ohio.

So the crafty warrior bided his time and struck a bargain with his younger adopted brother to send Jack in his place. Only Jack was totally unprepared to find his heart fast coming into danger from Shequenor’s enchanting daughter. Lusting after Karin was bad enough. Falling in love with her—out of the question.

Out
of the
questio
n
, he repeated to himself, and at odds with his independent nature.

In Jack’s hard experience, women were unreliable whether they meant to be or not. Take his mother, separated from him during his childhood, but he’d gotten over her and put the doting woman from his mind. Until now. Again, that unaccustomed pang of conscience. If having a conscience meant stabbing self-recrimination then he’d fare better without one.

“No. A small cabin.” She pointed up the road between the purplish foothills of the ascending ridges toward a darkened hollow. “That way.”

He guided Peki over the road that forked to the right along a little used track barely wide enough for a wagon to pass. Karin’s scarlet mantle made a vivid contrast to Peki’s roan coat. Lengths of her black hair whipped free from her hood as he spurted ahead.

Both woman and stallion were exquisite, and neither belonged to Jack. At least, not yet.

****

Laughing in the wind, Karin thought how exhilarating it was to ride over the countryside with Jack McCray. No man ever took her on such a gallop, though she’d ridden her mare hard enough when Grandpa wasn’t looking.

Water splashed the hem of her skirts as they forded a rushing stream and the horse scrambled up the muddy bank. She couldn’t imagine what had gotten into her to behave so daringly, and cringed at the thought of hearing that same question repeated in far stronger tones upon their return to the homestead. But for now…

Apart from lingering reservations about her bold escort, she felt freer than ever. Even with Jack’s arm locked around her triggering the most unsettling sensations. Unlike the others, Karin suspected he wouldn’t object to her speaking of her mother. Likely, not even her father. Though, of course, Jack could know nothing of either one.

Still, it was wonderfully reassuring to have somebody to talk to, especially him. And he’d promised to be on his best behavior. As for the old cabin, the quest to know more of her past had taken fire in her. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to share something of that and her birthplace with Jack.

What she expected to discover there, she didn’t know, only that she must begin at the beginning, the last point of contact with her mother. Perhaps Mary McNeal would guide her from above. Would her father also guide her from wherever he was?

Peki lurched to the side of the rocky path and jostled them. The road was rougher here than the dirt track they’d traveled earlier. Jack slowed the stallion to a trot and kept a firm hold on Karin. Bare chestnut trees towered overhead and hemlocks waved green boughs in the blustery breeze. Damp cold saturated the air and chilled her through. Her fingers were icy, toes numb. Pewter clouds darkened the western sky above the brooding ridges.

She had the oddest sensation as if something, or someone, waited beyond them—for her. Only hunters and trappers journeyed far back into these mountains, or foolhardy settlers in pursuit of Indian land. She had nothing to do with them, or they with her. And yet—

Did she hear a growl?
Ridiculous
, she told herself, shivering. But not only from the chill.

“We’re in for a right soaking!” Jack called. “Sure you remember the way?”

Not quite as certain as she’d been before. She peered at the hilly path winding further into the hollow. The way was dim and the trail veiled with mist. Trees crowded out the light back here even in summer except where they’d been cleared. All of that growth had reasserted itself, making it eerie among the hazy trunks. Even so, how difficult could it be to find her old home?

“The road veers again to the right. We’ll pass an ancient oak and see the cabin. ’Tis hard to believe my family used to live back here. It must lie four or five miles from our present home, and not easy miles.”

“When did the McNeals move?” Jack asked.

“Ten years ago. Grandpa and my uncles built again on the new site.”

They’d left their painful memories behind, or tried to, but Karin couldn’t seem to let go. Perhaps because she didn’t really know what hung over her from the past and never would unless she searched. Maybe Neeley was right—annoyingly so—and she needed Jack’s aid.

Familiar sensations welled in her from long ago as they wound near the abandoned homestead. She could almost smell the buckwheat cakes in the iron skillet and taste the wild strawberries from the best patch around. The spicy scent of sassafras rose in the wind. And then, through the smoky-white branches, Karin spotted the gnarled oak tree and gray stone chimney just beyond it. A rush of nostalgia flooded her along with yearning. After all these years, she was home.

She pointed. “There. I see it, Jack.”

He trotted Peki over the washed-out trail, halting him in the leaf-strewn grass and browned weeds outside the log cabin. “Someone’s kept the place up.”

“Uncle Thomas sees to it the cabin doesn’t fall to ruin.” She suspected it had to do with her mother, but he never said. How forlorn the place seemed. No smoke rose from the chimney in promise of warmth within. The windows, little more than slits, reminded Karin of eyes nearly shut. She hoped the old place wasn’t closed to the mystery she badly wanted to unfold.

Jack lifted her over the side of the horse. She slid to the ground to stand in the wet tangle. He dismounted and they both looked around. The rustic stable stood to one side of the overgrown yard, a bit ramshackle but serviceable. Surrounding evergreens provided some buffer from the icy wind, and then sheeting rain began to fall.

“Go on indoors, Karin. Watch your step. Boards on the stoop could be loose. I’ll see to Peki first and find you.”

What else might they find?

****

The deluge enveloped Jack and he couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction. Arms piled high with the wood he’d discovered in a musty corner, along with an ax, he dashed from the stable to the cabin. Someone, maybe Thomas McNeal, kept a supply of kindling ready in the event of a blizzard or flood.

Vaulting up the steps, worn but still sound, he called from outside the door, “Karin!”

She didn’t answer. Likely she couldn’t hear him over the downpour. Balancing his load, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The light was little better in here, but he spotted Karin huddled on one of two stools in front of the black hearth. Gloom cloaked the few furnishings he glimpsed. The murky outline of a bedstead took shape built against the far wall. A table lined with benches stood in the room’s center; at her feet spread a large bearskin rug. Still unaware of him, she hunched in her mantle.

Careful not to alarm her, he said, “Karin. It’s me.”

She swiveled her head. Her hood fell back, her features lost in shadows. Even without clearly seeing her face, he sensed her relief at his coming. Uneasiness had displaced the daring she’d exhibited during their ride and her initial excitement at spotting the cabin.

“You were so long in coming.”

Her voice was small, as though she didn’t like to be in the bleak homestead alone. He realized how seldom, if ever, she’d probably been left on her own. Quite the opposite of him.

“I’m sorry. I had to see Peki well-watered and rubbed down. I even found some hay for him in the stable. Who uses this place, your Uncle Thomas?”

“Mostly, and other hunters. It’s so dark and cold in here. And empty. Not at all as I remember.”

“I’ll soon have a fire going.” Jack walked to where she sat shivering in the penetrating chill. He piled the wood beside the hearth then squatted on the thick skin and peered at the grate. “Someone lit a blaze in here not many days ago.” Black coals and the remnants of burnt logs remained. “We’ll soon warm up.”

“The others will worry if we’re gone overlong, Jack.”

He liked the easy way his name fell from Karin’s lips and doubted she realized how readily she’d fallen into calling him that since they’d left the larger homestead. “They will know I’ve sought shelter,” he assured her, laying the wood in readiness for a fire.

“I hope you’re right. I hate for them to fret.”

What a sensitive nature she had. “I’ve gotten through untold battles and miles of wilderness. They know I can manage an outing in foul weather and bring you back safely.”

“I suppose so,” she agreed hesitantly.

“No suppose about it. You’re in able hands, Karin McNeal.”

She considered and nodded. Then another concern seemed to trouble her. “But I shouldn’t be here alone with you, should I? ’Tisn’t proper.”

He had scant patience for propriety. “Would you rather be out in that storm?”

Wet hair plastered her forehead. “I’d far rather be with you, even if—” she broke off, as though starting to say more than she should.

Smiling to himself, he peeled off bits of dry bark from the wood to make a small pile at the base of the kindling then drew the buckskin pouch over his shoulder by the strap. Lifting the flap in its center, he took out the small horn, the tip of a ram’s. He uncorked one end of the horn and removed an oval piece of steel, hollow in the center. Then he took a whitish piece of flint from his improvised container.

Bent close to the little heap of bark, he struck the quartz-like stone against the steel. Sparks shone in the gloom and the flicker took life under his care. He blew gently. Smoke drifted up amid an encouraging crackle.

“Lovely,” Karin murmured.

Getting off the stool, she knelt beside him on the bearskin and rubbed her smaller hands together as he fed the flames. He savored her nearness, inestimably preferable to the company of warriors and soldiers.

“I never learned to build a proper fire. It’s always just been there, only needing more wood. Even if it dies down, there are still hot coals.” Lifting her eyes to his, she smiled. “Thank you, Jack. The cabin doesn’t seem nearly so cheerless now.”

He studied her in the mellow glow, wishing she wouldn’t look at him like he was some kind of hero. Her melting smile only heightened the piercing effect of her extraordinary eyes. How could a woman this sweet be so lethal, and how on earth was he to accomplish his purpose in coming here without having her hate him? That her relations and his would loathe him was a given. He didn’t relish that thought. Shequenor would also despise him if he didn’t rein in his galloping emotions.

Seeking something to steady himself, Jack reached back inside the pouch at his waist and took out the pewter flagon he’d lifted from a British dragoon who no longer had need of it. He uncapped the top and offered her the first sip.