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ELIZABETH GRABBED THE bowl and the rest of the shirt that was unused and stood.
His mood swings still took her by surprise. Were they driven by his secrets? And how could he be so gentle with her hands one minute and so vicious with the bowl the next? She had not even had a chance to ask about having a small light that night.
The fear jolted her. She picked up her speed. Her foot cantered sideways. Her body lurched to the right. Her hands flew upward.
The bowl clattered to the rocks. A small cry twisted from her throat.
“Elizabeth!” Thomas grabbed her arm. “Be careful.”
She steadied her feet, then sneezed. Again.
“Ach!” he swore. He loosened his hold and eased his hand down her arm.
Butterflies lifted in her stomach.
A desperation to kill every last one seized her, but she was too weak to further fight.
He pulled her alongside of him and toward the cave. He moved the roots aside and set her on the dirt floor where Fingal lay. He lifted the plaid from the ground, shook it out, and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Have ye seasoned yet?”
“I do not get ill. I did not even sicken on the ship even though I took care of everyone else.” She frowned. “’Tis been six months. Could I still do so?”
“’Twould be later than most.” He turned to the bags along the wall.
“I am certain once I rest I will be fine.”
He rummaged through what they brought, then came back and sat to her side. He handed her a bundled rag and a small corked crock.
“The last of the rabbit pie and some apple cider,” he whispered.
Her stomach accepted the food about as well as it would have a bag of rocks, but she knew not when the next meal would be, and she needed to keep her strength if she was to spend out her energy that night worrying about shadows that lurked in the dark.
What if, because I am so tired, I sleep and they take me.
Good heavens. She was no longer ten years old. She well knew the shadows were not real.
And yet, she feared the dark all the same.
“Tomas, is there really no way to light a fire? Even a small one?”
“I am sorry, Lass.”
“Is it because of your secrets?”
His hands fell to his lap. He focused on the river.
“I am sorry.” Had he not told her often enough to ask no questions?
He shoved a bite of pie into his mouth. He took his time chewing and swallowing. “On a night as dark as tonight we may well be seen with the smallest light.”
“And you are afraid the brave you killed was one of many?”
“Aye.”
“And he was tied to your secrets as is Little Swan?”
“Elizabeth—”
“I do not wish to know everything about you, Thomas McQueen.” The words rushed from her. “I have decided you are a dangerous man—”
“Oh, you have?” He glared at her.
“And we will part ways within the week. But that brave tried to kill me today because of you. How many more near scrapes will I be forced to endure because of the danger to yourself?”
He slammed the cork back onto the crock. He jerked to his feet and grabbed his rag. He slung the roots aside. He whistled to Fingal and tossed the last of his rabbit pie outward into the dark. He spun back to her. “I have nae secrets, Lass. I have been at war. I have a past that I dinna wish to speak of for it is brutal and unforgiving, and I have done things I deeply regret.”
He took her uneaten pie and tossed it out as well. “And any danger ye are in is because we are at war, and anyone traveling to Baltimore Town would endure the same.” He balled the rags and tossed them atop the bags. He lowered to his haunches before her. “But as for ye, Elizabeth Marie Johns, do ye fear the dark?”
Her mouth dried like thick linen. The last of the light slipped away.
If she said nothing, she would be enveloped in the darkness and the fear for hours to come. If she told, he would well think her weak and fearful.
He also might consider at least a little light?
“Pere and Grandmere were delivering twins near Pisiquid. Grandpere was helping the d’Entremonts build a new dike. Mama was with child. We were alone that evening. She said she was not feeling well. She went to bed to rest.”
He eased to his rear. He locked his arms around his bent knees.
Did she really wish to do this? And what choice did she have if she was to find something to help battle the shadows that night?
She dug her fingers into the plaid at her neck. “When she did not come to supper, I went to check on her. There was blood everywhere.”
His fingers slipped apart. His knees fell to the side.
“I can still hear the plink plink of the blood dripping from the sheet to the floor.” She winced. “Even the smells are still with me.” She focused on a thread of moonlight stabbing at the river. “I was convinced the shadows had taken my mother, and I spent the night terrified they were coming for me next.”
A heavy sigh crested his chest. “A Dhia, Ealasaid.”
“I became a fearful child. I am not certain when I finally found the courage to leave Papa, and then, Josué was always with me.”
“Because of the shadows?”
She nodded. “Even now that I am twenty and two years, I have to work to make them small and insignificant.” She bit her lip. “And I still sleep not in the dark.”
“What of the ship?”
“I would oftentimes sneak out and sleep on deck. One time I near got a strapping for doing so, but the next night I did the same.”
“And the night Josué died?”
“When it darkened, I stirred the coals to life.”
“And when I offered ye the chance to sleep in the room with me? Why did ye choose otherwise?”
“I was more afraid of you than the dark,” she whispered. “’Twas the first time that had ever happened. And even then, I focused on the few embers I could stir to life in the fireplace.”
He stood. He stepped to the wall and their things. He pulled out his cloak and Josué’s coat. He set both to the top of other bags to finish drying. He grabbed the bedrolls and turned.
“I will be sleeping here at the front of the cave,” he said. “I thought to put ye at the back, but welcome ye are to sleep next to me. I will be awake all night.”
He stepped past her, lowered to his knees, and set the rolls before him. He rolled out his bedding near the root teeth.
She should not sleep so close to him. In Acadia, her reputation would be ruined.
But this was not home. She had ridden all day with him and on a horse.
He had saved her life.
He turned. His brows lifted.
“Merci beaucoup, Tomas. I would feel safe beside you.”
He rolled her bedding out next to his. He reached for her hand and pulled her onto the top. Elizabeth lay to her side. Fingal lay at her back. Thomas lay to her front, his hands behind his head, his feet crossed at the ankles.
“Do you wish to have the plaid back?” she whispered.
“You need it worse than me,” he said softly. “Remember? As long as ye wear the Fearnought plaid, fear will flee ye.”
“I will not forget.” Although what good such a story would do her in a week’s time when he left to do whatever he had to do, and she had a job and a place to await her father, she knew not.
Sometime between midnight and dawn, she awoke to Fingal wedged between Thomas and her. The dog’s helpless whine spun in her ear. His tongue grazed her face. She pushed him away and lifted to her elbow.
A cry of agony strangled from Thomas’s throat. His arms thrashed in the air. He moaned and warred against his own shadows.
Her heart spun into knots.
So the man had secrets after all. Dark, dangerous ones.
And apparently, they were just as terrifying as hers.
––––––––
THOMAS REARED UPWARD. Elizabeth had a hold of his arm.
He turned from her. “Go back to sleep, Lass.” The words were hollow. Pinched.
Air. He needed it and fast.
He closed his eyes against the memories. His fingers tearing at fabric. Grazing flesh. Blood on the grass. Bodies torn apart.
Searching. Hunting.
God? Why did you let this happen?
Blood flooding both his hands.
Fire. Searing. The kind that purified a man’s soul. His screams dying in the flames’ wrath.
Elizabeth.
Watching. Waiting.
Gràdhach Dia! Nain!
His eyes flew open.
Why was she now in his dreams?
Nae, his terrors.
“I could start a small fire and make a tea to help you sleep,” she said.
“I need nae sleep.” ‘Twas what caused the problem in the first place. How could he have let himself do so? And while so close to her? Had she not come near to being killed because of him? Had his heart not ached at her fear of the dark?
Thank goodness his lungs were filling and his pulse slowed.
A brush of wind kissed the back of his neck. His father ’s plaid fell around his shoulders.
“Lass, ye need this to stay warm.” To stay unafraid.
“I think right now you need it more than me.”
She eased away.
His body cried for her to come back. To nestle against his back. To wrap her arms around him so that she could drive the demons away.
He railed against the helplessness.
I should rip the plaid off and insist she keep it.
But he had not the strength. Instead, he grappled the edges like a madman and cocooned himself in the folds.
He was a young boy again. Catharine was the girl whose pigtails he pulled in the chapel at Doughoregan Manor. His mother was the only and most important woman in his world.
He was the son and not the father.
Life was good.
God was real.
He had yet to lay eyes on the pearl rood or Elizabeth Marie Johns.
And the devil was not licking at his heels waiting to devour his soul.
––––––––
THOMAS NEVER WENT BACK to sleep.
He was nae certain, but he did no think Elizabeth did either.
When the first rays of light lifted over the horizon, he stirred.
He had nae wish to be with her any longer than necessary. She was as dangerous as Red Bear. She stirred not only feelings he had nae use for where he was going, but now she was in his dreams.
God only knew if he would ever get her out.
They grabbed a bite of cold rabbit, then packed. Elizabeth appeared to have withdrawn deep within herself. Did she regret sharing of her mother’s death and her fear of the dark? Or had Thomas’ night thrashings set her on edge?
Regardless of why, this peaceful, quiet Elizabeth peeved him. He was used to her arguing. He was used to battling his way around her. He very nearly started a row just to feel more normal.
Thomas lifted her to the saddle. His fingers lingered on her thigh. The warmth flooded his arm. “Are ye alright?”
A sneeze burst from her nose. “I am fine. I just need a good night’s sleep.”
He was not so sure. Her face had yet to flush into its color, and her voice was hoarse and crackly.
Another sneeze.
His nerves fracked tight. Was she quiet because she was not feeling well?
“Will we get to Baltimore Town today?” she asked.
He grabbed the reins and pulled himself up behind her. “Aye.” He lay the rifle between them. “We will travel hard and be there after dark, but we will be there.” He had nae wish to encounter Red Bear, and he needed to get the lass to his maither as soon as possible.
And away from him.
He slid his left arm beneath the folds of the plaid and tucked her waist against his belly. She twisted ever so slightly to look at him.
“I will no have ye flithering into the water,” he groused.
A smile slipped to her lips. ‘Twas sweet and inviting, and his gut jammed into his throat.
He heaved his heels into Dominic’s flanks. They crossed the river and in due time came out of the valley. The land cleared of deep woods and eased into flat tidal country. At no point did he feel threatened or watched. He saw no sign of Indians. At noon they stopped longer, eating the last of the rabbit Running Feather had roasted and drinking the last of the cider.
Sometime later, as the sun wore toward afternoon, she started shivering.
“If I could just get warm,” she moaned.
His heart dropped to his feet.
The weather had heated considerably. He had taken off his cloak a while back. She had yet to give up the plaid. If she was seasoning, she would shiver for several hours, then fever for more. The sweats would follow. Only after that would she rest with a weakness she had never known.
He could nae travel again until then.
He pulled Dominic off the trail. A half-hour later, as the trees sliced the sun’s last rays, he pulled up to a crusty, worn hunter’s cabin. The shutters crooked and bent on two windows flanking the front door. Chinks in the logs let in a good bit of cold on winter days. The roof had at least one hole in the lower right corner, but ‘twas better than being outside. A creek lay to its back. The front was hidden behind a line of trees and gnarling, twisting berry vines that would soon bloom thick with a sweet summer bounty.
‘Twas possible Elizabeth and he could be found, but not likely.
He dismounted. He pulled Elizabeth into his arms. He took her inside and set her before the fireplace. He went back for her bedroll. Once ‘twas flattened on the floor, she crawled to it and lay down. She curled to her side and shook.
He unpacked the rest of their things. He managed to find some scattered wood along the creek for a fire. He brought Dominic inside and to the second and smaller room. He gave the horse two apples and some oats, then filled a bucket with water from the creek.
Night hove over them even as her fever beat against his hands. He would need to get it under control.
His heart nearly stopped.
Two days past he had been as fearful of the war in his hands as she. Yesterday, he had battled the tenderness back into them, even as he had killed the brave and later washed her hands in the creek.
Today, neither of them had given his hands much thought.
But to now heal her with them? ‘Twould be worse than the violence he had fought them free of.
Woman will gentle the war fire raging in Thomas McQueen.
Was Running Feather right? Was it already happening?
And why should he help her? She had no family. Explaining to her father she had succumbed to seasoning as so many of the new arrivals ‘twould be an easy matter.
His palms sweated. His head exploded with the heat.
Why did she have to be so sweet and gentle? Why had he allowed himself to become so damaged?
If I fight the fever, she will invade not only my dreams, she will lock herself in my heart.
If she came to love him, the unbinding might well kill them both, for where he was going, and what he went to do, he had to do alone.
And he could nae come back to her.
He pressed his hand into the bucket of water. He grabbed the rag and squeezed the moisture free. He pressed the curls from her forehead and lay the rag to her heated flesh.
The tips of his fingers stung like a thousand bees. The fire shot up his arm and struck his heart.
“I canna lose ye now,” he whispered into the dark. “But one day I do hope, Lass, ye can forgive me for all of it.”