My Savage Heart (The MacQuaid Brothers) Page 5

  His stare made Caroline wish she’d kept silent. If he knew how he made her feel, like he could see through her clothing to the woman beneath, surely he would cease.

  “I wasn’t aware you wished conversation, Your Ladyship.”

  He was back to making her feel like unwanted royalty. Caroline ignored his sarcasm. “Oh, I should think anyone would appreciate a bit of company in this wilderness.”

  “Some find the forest companion enough.”

  “Do you?”

  Today there was no ribbon or leather thong holding back his hair. It hung wild and free. A lock of his midnight black hair blew across his cheek as he turned back toward her. His eyes were no less intense, but the ghost of a smile altered the effect on her. Caroline felt as if her bones had turned to water.

  “At times,” he admitted, “I enjoy the solitude of the trees and mountains. The song of the wind and screech of the raven.” He shrugged as if embarrassed by his own thoughts. “But then, there is much to be said for the company of a beautiful woman as well.”

  Caroline felt heated color blossom on her cheeks. She turned her head, pretending to assess the dense underbrush that lined the path, hoping he wouldn’t notice her unsophisticated blush. He wasn’t speaking of her, of course. No one ever implied she was beautiful. Nothing like her vibrant mother. Caroline was simply Caroline. Dutiful, dependable Caroline.

  Several minutes passed before she glanced back at him. He didn’t appear to have looked away, and Caroline nervously pulled her straw bonnet lower to shade her face. “You speak often of the mountains, but I profess, sir, to see none. The land is as smooth and flat as the water upon a lake.”

  “Here, perhaps. But to the west there are hills and valleys as far as the eye can see.”

  “It sounds breathtaking.”

  “Breathtaking, yes. But the frontier is an unforgiving place. Not for the likes of some.”

  Caroline straightened her shoulders. “You mean me. Not for the likes of me, don’t you?”

  “Had I meant you, I would have said it.” With that he urged his horse forward, leading the way as the path narrowed. To the right the thick stand of trees gave way to the murky waters of a swamp.

  There were alligators in the swamps they’d passed near Charles Town, hiding amid the cordgrass, and Caroline wondered if the same strange creatures inhabited this area. She was both repulsed and intrigued by the long, scaled animals Raff described to her. Though she’d yet to spot one, she’d heard its low bellow.

  She saw movement and almost called out to her companion. His words about Indian raids were still fresh in her mind. But when she shaded her eyes and looked more carefully, she discovered only a large turtle sunning on an up-jutting tree trunk.

  As the horses plodded along, Caroline was left to ponder her feelings. She was frightened, of course. But not as deeply as she would have thought given the talk of Indian savagery. She watched a redtailed hawk circle overhead. Could it be that she was equal to this strange but beautiful land?

  They stopped that night in the small hamlet of Congreve. Mistress Flannery was a much friendlier sort than Mistress Campbell was the previous night. She immediately took Caroline, who Raff introduced simply as Caroline Simmons, under her wing.

  “The Flannerys are good people who come from Ireland by way of Pennsylvania,” he’d explained. “They have an Irishman’s inborn distrust of the gentry.”

  So Caroline dropped her title, which wasn’t difficult. She rarely thought of herself as anything other than Caroline Simmons. It was only knowing that her title was what Robert MacQuaid was after, or when his son sarcastically called her “Your Ladyship” that she remembered it at all.

  The eight families living in the settlement decided that the arrival of Raff and Caroline was reason enough for celebration. Mistress Flannery—Jane, as she insisted Caroline call her—spread the word among the women that tonight they would eat a communal meal beneath the large sycamore that served as the village green.

  Caroline snapped beans with the other women as the men built a large fire. She turned her stool toward Jane to keep herself from watching Raff. They chatted mostly of the children that ran about the area, and of Mistress Dabney’s impending confinement.

  “Third babe in as many years,” Jane chided gently. And from the smile and blush that colored Betsy Dabney’s cheeks Caroline guessed this was a frequent refrain.

  Betsy leaned forward awkwardly over her rounded stomach to pull a fussing baby onto her nearly nonexistent lap. She handed him a bean which he immediately began to gum. “Sam and I like children,” she said in a soft Irish brogue.

  “If you be asking me, both of you are too fond of what it takes to make babies,” Jane retorted. This brought a deeper shade of pink to Betsy’s apple-round cheeks. But she didn’t deny the allegation even when the other women, laughing, took up the refrain.

  “Aye, and you have to say no every now and again to that brawny husband of yours.”

  “And who says ’tis Sam doing the persuin’? I’ve seen the two ’a them when they thought no one was about,” Mistress Andrews, the oldest of the women said. “Betsy here cannot keep her eyes nor her hands off him.”

  This brought a fresh burst of laughter from the group as Betsy sat her now-content child back on a small patch of grass at her feet. Caroline assumed the woman was embarrassed; but when she looked up, there was a smile on her pretty face. “I do believe ’tis jealous you are, Mistress Andrews.”

  “Jealous?” The older woman seemed genuinely amazed. “I’m through with rollin’ about in the bedstead and glad of it. I wager the rest ’a you feel the same if truth be known.”

  “I wouldn’t be sayin’ that.” This from a redheaded woman with more sunspots than fair skin on her face. “There be times when Jacob and I have a fair to decent time ‘rolling about in the bedstead.’”

  This statement brought such laughter that Sam, the tall, brawny husband of Betsy, called over, “What’s so funny over there?”

  None of the women answered, but his wife made a shooing motion with her hand, and he went back to carrying benches from their cabin.

  “Now that’s what you need, Mistress Andrews,” the redhead whispered with a nod of her curls. “That one would make anyone eager for the sun to set.”

  The other women, except for Mistress Andrews, readily agreed, and Caroline didn’t need to look up to know whom they were talking about. But she did anyway, and followed their collective gaze to where Raff chopped wood. The ax lifted and the muscles in his arms glistened. The buckskin shirt stretched taut across his powerful back as the blade bit into the log, cleaving it. Caroline’s mouth went dry.

  “Listen to us talking like a passel of randy men. And with a maiden among us.”

  Jane’s words filtered through to Caroline, and she turned back toward the women realizing they all stared at her. She smiled tentatively and resumed snapping beans, even when Mistress Andrew’s eyes narrowed.

  “Where’d you say you was off to?”

  “Seven Pines.”

  “She’s to marry Robert MacQuaid,” Jane said in a flat tone that seemed to end the discussion. Caroline sensed rather than heard any disapproval from the women, except for Mistress Andrews. She definitely made a disparaging noise, though Jane tried to cover the sound by bustling to her feet and announcing they had enough beans.

  It wasn’t until after dinner when Sam returned from his cabin with a violin that anyone spoke to Caroline except to ask her to pass the cornbread. “You mustn’t mind Mistress Andrews,” Jane said as she draped her arm around Caroline’s shoulders. “She hasn’t been the same since the Indians massacred her children.”

  The sun had set, and except for the low-riding moon, the only light came from the bonfire. Caroline watched the shadows dance across Jane’s broad, open face for a moment before she could speak. “They killed her children?”

  “Scalped them.” Jane shook her head. “Finding your young ones like that ’twould do strange things
to a body.”

  “When...” Caroline swallowed. “When did this happen?”

  Jane tapped her foot to the sound of the lively tune Sam urged from the violin. “’Twas years ago, in Pennsylvania, where we come from. The Iroquois.” She shuddered. “They’re animals. Not like the Cherokee... at least not like they used to be.”

  “What do you mean?” The children except for the older ones were abed. The fiddle music faded and off in the night Caroline heard the lonely cry of a wolf.

  “There have been some raids. My man is worried, but then you know how men are. I can’t believe the Cherokee would hurt us. I mean ’tis often they stop here to trade on their way to Charles Town. Still.” She took a deep breath, her thin breast rising and falling beneath the worn flowered stomacher. “I remember what it was like up north, the French always inciting those heathens.”

  “Is that what’s happening here?”

  “What?” Jane seemed to pull herself from deep thought. “Nay,” she finally said. “If we have Indian trouble here it won’t be the Frenchies that cause it. ’Twill be our own fault. At least that’s what my man says.”

  Before Caroline could ask what she meant, Jane’s husband, John, came over and grabbed her hands, pulling her up to join the other couples for a reel. To the tune of “Lord Alvemarle’s Delight” Jane and her husband joined hands and danced down the line.

  Their garments might be rough and faded and their dance floor, trodden earth, but as Caroline clapped her hands, she realized these dancers were enjoying themselves as much as any she’d ever seen at her parents’ balls. Perhaps more. Their laughter seemed to push out the boundaries of the small civilized settlement. It made Caroline more comfortable with her journey into the wilderness.

  Until she spotted him.

  Raff sat, leaning against the Flannerys’ cabin. His sprawl was loose-limbed and lazy with long legs spread, arms crossed. He appeared relaxed and at ease... until she noticed his eyes. Even with the space separating them, she felt their intensity, dark and fiery, directed at her. Swirling skirts, dancing legs and wisps of smoke from the bonfire intermittently blocked her view of him. But whenever the way cleared, it was obvious his gaze hadn’t moved. Neither had hers. Despite the distance, Caroline felt closer to him than she ever had.

  The pull was undeniable, and powerful. She wanted to turn away, but couldn’t. In her mind’s eye she saw him coming to her, reaching down, pulling her to her feet. Touching her.

  But he didn’t move. Nor did she. When the last strains of the fiddle drifted out over the sea of trees enclosing them, Caroline realized she’d forgotten to breathe. She did so now with a gasp as Jane flopped down on the bench beside her.

  “I declare,” she laughed, fanning herself. “Dancing sure can wind a person. But look at you, sitting there as calm as can be, and you just come from England. Teach us a new step.”

  “Oh, I really don’t know any,” Caroline insisted, but Jane was not to be denied.

  “Nonsense. You have two working feet don’t you? John, partner Caroline; and mind, follow her lead.”

  Pulled up by two work-roughened hands, Caroline had no choice but to join the dancers. They all turned to her expectantly, waiting to see the latest dance step from across the sea... and she had no idea what to show them.

  Her mind raced back to the last time she attended a ball. Attended was the wrong word. She and Edward had sneaked down from the nursery to watch her parents’ guests in the ballroom. But that was before her mother died and before Papa sent them off to the country.

  Still, though many years had passed, Caroline remembered forcing Ned to dance with her the next day as she hummed the tune learned the previous night. Even then, her brother’s world centered about his books, but he gamely tried to follow her lead.

  Now as Caroline looked at the expectant faces, she tried to remember the steps. Her glance strayed outside the ring of people, but now that she was the center of everyone else’s attention, Raff seemed unaware of her. He was involved in a serious conversation with one of the men.

  “’Tis not new.” Caroline pulled her focus back. “But ’tis always been one of my favorite dances. Mr. Dabney,” she said, turning toward Betsy’s husband. “Are you familiar with the tune ‘Goddesses?’”

  “Now let me see.” Sam tucked the polished wood under his chin, sliding the bow down to play the first few bars. “That what you’re talking about?”

  “Yes, that’s it.” She faced John Flannery. “Now for this dance, we stand in two lines men facing women.” She hesitated. “Do any of you know this dance?” To a person they shook their heads, so Caroline continued. When they were set and she’d talked them through the instructions, John called to his wife.

  “Come on over Jane, you’ve got to be learning this, too.”

  “I’ll just watch,” she said, though Caroline could tell the woman was dying to join the set.

  “Come along, Jane.” Caroline took her hand, pulling her into the spot to partner her husband as Sam Dabney began playing.

  “But what about you?” Jane held on to Caroline’s arm as she called to Raff. “You know how to do this dance?”

  “Oh, I really don’t think we need to disturb Mr. MacQuaid.” Caroline pulled gently, trying to extricate herself from Jane’s grasp. It did no good. Neither did her words.

  “Disturb him,” Jane laughed. “Why he’s not doing anything, are you Raff?”

  “Nothing as important as partnering a beautiful lady.”

  Caroline turned around to see him standing before her. She curtsied to his deep bow and accompanied him to the head of the line. The fire crackled, and Caroline’s heart seemed to beat in time to the lively music.

  Any doubts she had about Raff knowing the steps were put to rest when he took her hand, dancing her down the row. When they separated, she to lead the women, he the men, Caroline couldn’t stop watching him. He had a natural grace as obvious on the dance floor as when he rode a horse. Even in his deerskin leggings and shirt he seemed as masculinely elegant as any silk-garbed duke.

  When they passed close, right shoulder to right shoulder, he returned her smile. “You’ve done this before,” she said.

  “Perhaps a time or two.”

  The music forced them apart again; but through all the steps, Caroline could feel his gaze on her. She watched him, too, at first surreptitiously, then as the pace quickened, openly. The other dancers seemed to disappear, and it was only the two of them, meeting, touching, and pulling away, in a parody of life.

  Caroline wasn’t ready for the dance to end, for the loss of sensuality. The music stopped and the fantasy ended abruptly. Jane’s plump arm circled her shoulders, turning her away.

  “Now wasn’t that more fun than sitting on the side?”

  Caroline nodded, unable to trust her own voice. After dancing with Raff, Caroline could no longer deny the attraction she felt for him. It was real and strong, frighteningly so. All she could do was hope he never found out.

  It took them three days to reach the fort at Ninety-Six. Raff left her to rest at the home of a widow named Alexandra Trevor while he went to confer with the military commander of the fort. To Caroline’s delight, Mistress Trevor had a tub, which she allowed her to use.

  “You’ll have to be filling it yourself. My joints don’t take to me carrying too much water.”

  “I’ll do it gladly.” Fetching water from the creek and heating it at the fireplace seemed a small price to pay for ridding herself of all the dirt from the trail.

  She bathed quickly, worried that Raff would return at any moment. Besides, the sensual slide of the heated water across her skin reminded her too much of thoughts she was trying to suppress. Scrubbed and dressed in a clean shift, bodice and petticoat, Caroline felt like a new woman.

  But apparently she didn’t look like one. She was sitting by the fire, brushing her damp hair, when Raff entered the cabin. Caroline tried not to feel a stab of pique when he ignored her. “Mistress Trevor went to v
isit a neighbor.”

  “Hmmm.” He paid no more heed to her words than he did her appearance. “I’d planned to let you rest here a day or two before continuing but that’s not—”

  “I don’t need a rest. I’m perfectly capable of traveling more... now if you like.”

  “That anxious to reach your bridegroom, are you?” He glanced up then.

  Caroline’s back stiffened at his words. “It has nothing to do with that.” Then when her eyes met his, Caroline’s blood ran hotter than the fire at her back. She wanted him to notice her, but she wasn’t prepared for the power of his gaze when he did. Her clothing was perfectly respectable. Caroline had noticed that most of the women on the frontier forsook the cumbersome overgown and simply wore a long sleeved shift, boned bodice and petticoat. She chose to dress the same, saving her gowns for more formal occasions than riding horseback through the wilderness.

  But he made her feel as if she’d failed to cover herself at all. Yet she knew better, for her stays seemed so tight she could scarcely breathe. Her hand trembling, Caroline once again tugged the brush through her tangle of curls.

  “Allow me, Your Ladyship.”

  Caroline hesitated, maintaining her grip when he reached for the silver handle. Was he mocking her with that cool smile on his sensual lips? But then his long, brown fingers folded over hers, and she was lost.

  “If... if I don’t brush through it as it dries, my hair becomes...” Caroline finished the statement with a nervous shrug of her shoulders.

  “It appears we’ve already wasted too much time.” Raff inched his hand beneath the thick fall of sunshine blond hair. His knuckles brushed her warm neck.

  “I...” Caroline tried to calm the quiver in her voice. He stood behind her, his muscular thighs pressed against her back. “I never have been able to control it.”