| |
THOMAS THREW HIS FRUSTRATION into packing.
With Running Feather’s help, he undertook a last search of the cellar and gathered three more apples, another crock of peach cider, and some oatmeal. He layered two white wool blankets and an oil cloth into bedding for Elizabeth. His, which he had not washed, he rolled out and beat. All the while the rabbits roasted on the spit in the fireplace. Not even the aroma roused the lass, although if she slept he knew not.
He certainly hoped she did.
Now four hours later, with Running Feather outside by the horses and Elizabeth at the cemetery, he knelt before the trunk in the bedroom. He lifted the lid. The plaid lay to the top.
His father would be disappointed in the man he had become. Dougald McQueen had lost his home, his family, his very self, and like Elizabeth, at the hands of others. He had not, however, like Thomas, turned on humanity. Thomas had even turned on the lass more than once since finding her at the farm.
Why had William left it behind? Thomas pulled it upward, along with the belt. He would not now leave it for the savages to destroy, or worse desecrate, should they come.
Besides. He needed to feel his father ’s strength.
Desperately.
He lowered the lid, stood, and made his way out of the room. He closed the front door and hurried down the steps and to Dominic. He rolled the plaid and belted it to the back of the saddle.
He mounted the horse and turned to Running Feather.
“How long will Black Fox stay with family?”
“If William is to marry soon, I will stay for that. I will also see that Elizabeth is settled as promised. Then, I go. I have an end to begin.”
He reached his hand outward. The brave grabbed his wrist. Both men tightened their fingers.
“Wishemenetoo go with Black Fox.”
Thomas doubted any spirit walked with him, neither the Great Spirit of the Indians nor the Almighty himself.
Running Feather turned his mount around and spurred him toward the creek. Once in the water he slowed the horse and steered the beast west through the stream. The brave wished to erase all evidence he had been at Fearnought Farms, for which Thomas was more than grateful.
Thomas turned toward the cemetery. At the top of the hill Elizabeth stood, the red quilt wrapped around her shoulders, Fingal at her side. She had awakened on her own. She had not, however, appeared to have slept much if at all. She had handed him her bag and asked if she might take the red quilt to keep her warm while she visited the cemetery before leaving.
Now, he saw that it would have to go. ‘Twas worse than a Chesapeake lighthouse in a shifting, seething fog.
He kicked his feet into Dominic’s flanks. The horse moved forward. Overhead a cloud, white as a sepulcher, crawled before the sun and shaded him.
Elizabeth pushed her right-hand fingers up through the top of the red quilt she held together at her neck. She signed herself with a cross. She pressed her fingers against her lips and knelt to the ground. She lay her hand to the mound of dirt above Josué’s head.
She stood and turned. Thomas pulled Dominic to a halt at the base of the rise. The lass made her way through the gate. She closed it behind her and came his way, Fingal running ahead and back, around and behind.
At the bottom, she stopped. “Where is your sling?”
He jerked his head toward Dominic’s rear. “Packed. ‘Tis too hard to ride with it on.”
“And how is your throat? Do you need a last cup of tea?”
“’Tis fine, Lass.”
She nodded her head toward the house. “Am I to walk back to the barn with you for the wagon?”
The wagon?
Gràdhach Dia ann air nèamh. Dear God in Heaven.
How had he been so daft as to not consider how they would travel?
She shrugged. “Walking is alright. Josué and I did so. Although I must tell you I am not certain how far I can go today.”
She looked as if the Patapsco Road might be too far.
His limbs cracked like dry sinews. “We are not walking.”
The sun peeled from behind a cloud. She squinted her eyes. “But there is not an extra horse. So if we are not walking or taking a wagon . . .”
Her gaze fell to Dominic. It shifted to the saddle. It flew upward to Thomas’ chest. “You cannot think I am to sit next to you?”
“’Tis our only choice.”
Her eyes rounded. She whirled around and started walking.
He hauled his left leg over Dominic’s head and jumped to the ground.
Fingal barked, then raced in front of Elizabeth and stopped. She teetered forward. She thrust her arms to her sides for balance. Thomas sprinted into her path.
Her eyes widened. “First the dog. Now you?” Her palms lifted before her shoulders. “And do not touch me.”
“We canna walk to Baltimore Town. ‘Twill take too long.”
“You tricked me. You said nothing about riding together earlier today when I agreed to come.”
“Believe me, I just now realized it myself.”
“Je ne te crois pas.”
“Ye believe me not?” He clenched his fists. “I may be a lot of things, but I am no a liar.”
She stepped around him. “No matter.” She picked up the pace. “Josué and I made it this far walking. You and I can as well.”
He paced alongside her. “Josué and ye had not the enemy at your back.”
“’Tis better than the enemy riding with me.”
He jumped in front of her again.
She stumbled backward. “Stop doing that!”
“I am nae your enemy, and we have nae choice. ‘Twill take at least a week walking, but only two or three days on the horse.”
“I will not get on with you. Not only do I not like horses, but every time you touch me you hurt me.”
“I know. I am sorry. But I dinna mean to do so.”
“And that makes it better?”
His face flushed hot. He had no defense.
“You said yourself, your hands are filled with war. They may have been easy once, but they are not now so.”
“What if I promise to nae let the anger take my hands?”
“I have not seen that a promise would do you any good. You react without thinking.”
His ire deepened. Already, the nooning was past them. He looked back at Little Pipe Creek. If Running Feather saw any sign of warriors, would he come back and let Thomas know? Or would he assume they had gone by now?
He turned back to her. He could order her on the horse, or worse yet, force her. She would rebel, and he would have a fight on his hands. He would win, even if he had to tie her to his person and the saddle.
But he was nae willing to pay the cost, and he was unsure exactly how far his patience would hold.
‘Twould be easier for them both if she chose to ride with him. Once on the horse, he would worry about how much war strayed into his hands.
“Please, Elizabeth. Even now the Indians come our way. Every minute counts.”
Her face paled.
“Ye can even decide how to get on, either before me or after me.”
“You will have to touch me either way.”
“We are merely getting onto a horse.” He forced a smile to his face. “I fail to see how I can anger at that and lose my head.”
“You should not have angered the other times.”
“Perhaps, but as I explained—”
“War turns a man hard. I heard.”
The annoyance heated his head. “And for the record, ye and I are not at war.”
“Really? I am not so certain, Tomas.”
‘Twas the first time she had used his Christian name.
Tomas.
His heart jumped at the long o and the barely whispered s at the end.
He dampened his anger.
Her eyes narrowed. “If I do not get on, will you put me in that saddle and next to your person against my will?”
For some reason, he knew lying was not good with this lass.
“I will see that ye get on. ‘Tis the only way to keep ye safe.” His hand came up. “But just to make ye less wary, I will tell ye before I touch ye. That way, ‘twill be nae surprise.”
She leached him a cold stare. “Fine.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “But I swear, Thomas McQueen, by all that is holy and just, that if you hurt me with those hands again I will go to Baltimore Town, but I will walk so fast and so far ahead of you and that horse you will never catch me.”
He wanted to laugh, but for some reason, he could muster nae more than a smile. Their need to leave was too serious. The risk the longer they delayed too great.
“I understand, Lass.” He whistled for Dominic. He grabbed the edge of the quilt. “And this has to go. ‘Tis too bright. We will never slip through the trees.” He pulled it from her shoulders.
Ach! The red vest. That was little better. Why had he not thought to look for something else before they left?
She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her shoulders. “Josué’s coat,” she gasped. “I left it drying in the cabin. I must go back for it.”
Thomas threw his hand outward to block her path. “I packed it in one of the bags. ‘Tis dry enough for now.”
“Then I will wear it.”
“’Tis not dry enough for that.” He lay the quilt across the saddle. “We will need to set it out this evening.”
“I hope you do not intend that I use you for warmth.”
A chuckle eased past his throat. “Your honesty is refreshing, Lass.” He reached for the buckle holding the plaid in place. “Do ye make all the gentleman ye meet work this hard at earning your trust?”
“I do not meet that many gentlemen, Monsieur McQueen. Present company included.”
This time the laugh rolled from his chest. He pulled the plaid free and tossed it outward.
“And I will not wear that,” she said. “‘Tis too special.”
“’Tis too special for ye to steal.” He winked.
The blush on top of wind-reddened cheeks turned her face the color of an overripe cherry. Fingal raked his paw over his eye, then whined low.
A smile teased her lips with nae warning.
His gut warmed.
Thomas faked a frown at the dog. “’Tis a bit unnerving for ye to be more charming than me.”
The dog grinned. Thomas lifted the plaid upward and around her shoulders. “If ye dinna keep this on, I will tie it to your person.”
She pressed her lips tight but nestled into the plaid nonetheless.
He lifted the quilt from the saddle. “My father called it his fear nothing plaid. He claimed as long as he wore it he feared nothing. Not the cold heather of the Highlands.” He rolled up the quilt and set it atop the back of the saddle where the plaid had been. “Not the waves tossing the ship about on the ocean.” He secured the quilt with the belt. “Not this strange land, where he became a servant instead of the served.” And where he learned a man may never ease his sickness for home.
The latter, however, he dinna mention to her. She had enough fears to battle.
“He oftentimes let us wear it when we were scared.”
“I cannot imagine you would be scared of anything.”
“If only ye knew,” he whispered.
He grabbed the reins. “Now grip the pommel with your left hand.” She did as he said. “Put your left foot in the stirrup. I will lift ye upwards.”
The lass did as he bade. Thomas sank his fingers into her waist. His blood spun from warm to fiery hot.
What have I gotten myself into?
He hoisted her upward. She swung her leg over Dominic’s back and settled into the front of the saddle.
“Tomas, my skirt.” She lifted up an ankle covered only by a thin white stocking, the striped Acadian skirt having ridden well up over her shin.
“Dinna fash yerself.”
Her brows lifted.
“It means worry.” And he had certainly done harder things than keeping his eyes off a woman’s ankles.
He swung up and behind her and grabbed the reins. He turned Dominic to the path leading to the road. Before them, the house rose amid the trees.
She sighed. Her braid brushed his back. He nearly jumped from the horse.
“If I could never go back home, I could come to love someplace like this. ‘Tis worn but loved.”
How had the lass come to such in the few days she had been here?
He supposed marrying William was out of the question, but she should not have been so quick to dismiss Mac. Steady. Loyal. He was nae given to fiery bouts of temper. Mayhap, once they met, they would take a liking to each other and the matter would tend itself. If so, it would certainly ease Thomas’ worry over his best friend and the grief he had encased himself in.
It would also take the lass off Thomas’ hands.
Dominic breached the path’s rise to the road. The lass fell against his back. He grabbed her waist to steady her.
She gasped. Her fingers seized his wrists and yanked. “Let me go!” She lifted her leg over the horse’s head and twisted to the side.
Was she going to jump?
Thomas pulled Dominic to a halt. “Lass, I have hurt ye not.”
She stilled. Her breath burst from her chest in squatty gasps. “You are supposed to give me a warning.”
“I had nae time.”
“I cannot be worrying every time you touch me that a hurt is coming.”
Ach! What was he to do with her?
What will ye do with yourself?
“Go ahead. Jump.” He lifted his hands upward.
“You would like it if I did so. I could hurt my leg or break my neck. Then you would be free of me.”
He would.
And he would not.
“I am afraid of you, Thomas McQueen.”
“Well, Lass, that makes two of us.”
Her brows shot to her hairline. “You are afraid of yourself?”
Was he?
He certainly had fears, but were they of himself?
Ach! The lass twisted him into knots till he could nae think straight.
Leaves rustled. The hackles on his back rose and stung.
He looked right. A pine needle fluttered in an old spider web. He looked left. He lowered his gaze to the trail. Animal droppings baked in the sun. He lifted his gaze. A cold wind shuddered the tops of the trees.
He turned back to her. “Are ye going to jump?”
“No.”
He twirled his finger in a circle. “Then turn back to the front.”
She frowned and did so.
“And nae more talking, Lass.” He pressed his mouth toward her ear. “For even the trees have ears.”