McCrory's Lady

by Henke, Shirl Henke

  McCrory refused to watch the confrontation between the big Kanaka and Nash. His stomach was never the best after a raid, anyway. He had already seen the sticky pink goo Kahoo found such a delicacy. Pinole was hard enough to eat when mixed with brackish water. McCrory swatted angrily at the swarming flies and stood up, grimacing in pain as he bore weight on his injured leg.

  “They's a doc in Chihuahua City. Best git that looked at afore it festers,” Lebo said, eyeing the slash on McCrory's thigh made by an Apache war lance.

  Colin scoffed. “Some doctor. He'd as soon poison me and saw off my leg as spit. “ Damn, but it ached like a bitch. In this heat and filth, he knew he was in mortal danger even now that the fierce no-quarter fighting was over. He finished tying his prizes to the scalp pole on his pack mule, then limped to the small stream that meandered through the Apaches' camp, intent on washing the wound with clean water.

  Death lay indecently littered around him, a whole village of Chiricahua Apaches. He had never gotten used to the slaughter. The Aussie's band of scalpers had swooped down on them at sunrise. By full light they had finished their fatal business. The enemy were all scalped, and their hairpieces had been tallied and placed on poles. The Apaches' Mexican slaves were readied to march to freedom, and the horses and mules had been rounded up for the drive to Chihuahua City.

  Quite a haul. Over l50 Apache scalps, 15 freed captives and at least 200 sturdy animals. The Sterling Mining Company who paid them would be pleased.

  Jeremy Nash, wearing a rakish grin and a flashy feathered bush hat, strode over and watched as McCrory washed the angry red gash. “Pour some of this onto the wound after you clean it out, mate.” He tossed a small leather pouch to the youth. “ ‘Ow long you been ridin' with me now? A year? Two? Funny. A bloke loses track, ya know.”

  “Nearly two years,” Colin replied as he poured a thin line of the yarrow powder onto the oozing gash.

  “You was 'ardly outta short pants when I found you in St. Louis.”

  “And out of the kindness of your heart, you took me under your wing,” Colin said lightly, tossing the sack back, his golden eyes meeting the shrewd slate gaze of the Aussie.

  Nash threw back his head and roared with laughter. “The scrawny young Scotty's gone and gotten cojones. Don't say I never taught you nothin', mate. A right tidy profit we made today. Them Brit swells'll bloody well pay up—in silver—for every scalp. Yer a rich man, Scotty.”

  Colin studied Nash 's toothy grin. “You must 've made a dozen fortunes by now. Why do you keep coming back to this hell?”

  The Aussie shrugged. “I was born on the Sydney waterfront. Me mum was a ‘hore. Got no desire to go home, mate. What about yerself?”

  McCrory shrugged. “Never knew my mother, but my father was the town sod. I always dreamed of coming to America. I admit when I landed in New York I never thought I'd end up in this godforsaken place. ”

  Nash chuckled. “You'll get used to it. I like it well enough. No rules, no coppers. Lots of whiskey 'n women—and all the silver I need to buy anything I want. You 'll get used to the killing, too, ” he added with a leer.

  “You 've grown to enjoy it, I think.” Shrewd whiskey eyes measured the Aussie. “But I never will. ”

  “Best ya get out then—before the nightmares start.” Nash's voice was hard.

  McCrory's eyes flashed away from the Aussie's level gaze. He tied off the wrap on his injured leg and they began to walk toward their mounts.

  The Aussie let out a low chuckle. “So, sweet dreams already began.” A smirk creased his beard-stubbled cheeks. “You see the bloody bodies, even smell the sour stink of yer own fear. ”

  “Actually, it's the flies I hate the most. Carrion eaters, gorging on the dead.” The heat enveloped him, blurring the Aussie's face in a wavering haze. Then everything faded to black…

  * * * *

  Exhausted and frightened, Maggie held him down and listened to his feverish ravings. Mostly disjointed phrases, peculiar comments about the Aussie—whoever that was—and complaints about blood and flies, which she supposed referred to his being shot. Later on he called out for Eden or Elizabeth. Every mention of his dead wife's name was like a dagger in her heart, but Maggie swallowed back her tears and kept bathing him with the cold towels.

  At one point when he struggled to sit up, she could find no other way to get him into a prone position but to lay her full weight on him. Finally, he seemed soothed, and drifted into a deep sleep.

  Around midnight the fever broke. Greatly relieved, Maggie sent Eden to bed, insisting the maid Rita could fetch anything she needed. Getting rid of Eileen was a bit more difficult.

  “I'll be fine,” Maggie said firmly.

  “Yer exhausted. The circles beneath yer eyes are wide as saucers 'n ye haven't eaten since morning,” Eileen scolded. “I'll not budge until you at least take a good hot bowl of stew.”

  “Bring the stew,” Maggie capitulated.

  After forcing down half of the rich beef and vegetables, she shooed Eileen out and turned back to the bed where her husband slept peacefully now.

  The housekeeper had been right. She was exhausted, but she did not want to leave Colin to be watched by any of the servants. Then an idea occurred to her. The bed was big and wide. Surely, she could lie down next to him without hurting him.

  Slipping off her clothes, Maggie quickly sponged her body and donned a nigh trail and robe, then climbed beneath the quilts with Colin and lay alongside him, feeling assured by the drop in his body temperature and the strong, steady beat of his heart. Sleep quickly claimed her.

  Colin awakened to darkness and pain. He stared at the moonlight bathing his room and recognized where he was—home safe at Crown Verde. Then, everything came back to him—the bushwhackers and being shot. He thought he remembered Maggie crying over him. The subtle essence of lilies of the valley touched his nostrils. He became aware of the soft curves of her body and knew his wife slept beside him. Colin tried to raise his hand to stroke her dark auburn curls, but the pain in his side prevented him. Wincing, he gave up and let sleep claim him once again.

  Softly, unaware he did so, Colin murmured her name and took comfort in her nearness. She stirred but did not quite awaken as he whispered, “Maggie...my wife.”

  Chapter Ten

  The sound of voices coming up the stairs awakened Colin the next morning. Thin streams of sunlight bathed the room. He could still smell the faint essence of lilies of the valley, but Maggie was gone from his side. The bed felt empty without her. He lay staring at the ceiling, feeling his side throb while he tried to sort through his tangled emotions.

  If not for the soft indentation in the pillow and the trace of perfume, he would have thought he had imagined that she had slept with him last night. Vague images of her bathing his body with cool cloths flashed through his mind. He thought he remembered her tears as she threatened him if he dared to die. He even vaguely recalled that she had thrown herself across him, pressing her soft curves against his heated flesh.

  “I must've been crazy with fever.” Then a horrifying thought dawned on him, causing him to bolt upright in bed. At once, the pain slashed wickedly across his side, driving the breath from his lungs as he fell back onto the pillows. Had he raved about his past, about being a scalper with the Aussie? What if Maggie knew?

  He had castigated her enough about her past. Even if he had spent all his respectable years in Arizona trying to atone for the sins of his youth, his own past bore no close inspection; but a man's morals were accounted differently than those of a woman. Anyway, he had left his sordid occupation as soon as he could escape it. She had chosen to remain in hers even though she was financially independent enough to quit whoring.

  His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and Aaron entered with Eileen. Perversely, Colin felt a stab of disappointment that Maggie was not with them.

  As if in answer to his reaction, Eileen beamed and said, “I told Miz Maggie not to be frettin' when I sent her down fo
r a good hot breakfast. She's done nothin' but stay at yer bedside since they brought ye in, scarce eaten a bite.”

  “Good morning, Colin. You seem much improved since yesterday,” Dr. Torres said with a smile.

  “Easy for you to say, Aaron. You aren't the one whose side's on fire,” Colin groused.

  “Let me take a look at the wound,” the physician said as he unfastened the bandages.

  “I'm not too full of holes to hold whiskey.”

  “A prime consideration for a Scot, I'm sure,” Aaron replied gravely, but mirth danced in his eyes as he gently rolled his patient over and checked the exit wound.

  Sweat beaded Colin's brow. Fiery pain lanced through him with every movement, but he made no sound as Aaron applied fresh bandages.

  “I'm goin' to tell Miz Maggie yer on the mend—and fetch ye some of the fine calves head broth I've been steepin' since yesterday. It's good and nourishin’,” Eileen announced.

  “Eating the boiled brains of a calf is enough to make me sick. Hell, Eileen, I'm already shot,” Colin protested.

  ”Ha! This from a man whose national delicacy is oat mush boiled in sheep's guts!” said Torres.

  “Haggis isn't a dish I fancy either,” Colin replied sourly.

  “I think you'd better capitulate, my friend,” Torres said with a chuckle as Eileen bustled away. When the two men were alone, his mood grew serious. “You were lucky, Colin. The slug missed your vital organs, and that young hand of yours knew how to slow the bleeding sufficiently to get you home. Your wife did a splendid job—she has a fine level head on her shoulders. Followed my instructions to the letter.”

  Although Aaron did not pry, Colin could sense his friend's curiosity. After fifteen years as a widower who had avoided matrimony, his second marriage was quite a surprise. “Maggie helped me with Eden,” he said guardedly, knowing the doctor had heard the gossip. “My daughter needed a woman's caring after what she'd been through.”

  “Has Eden been physically harmed?” Torres asked with concern.

  “No, thank God...but she was hysterical when we found her. The scars are in her mind—and no one in this highly respectable community will give her a chance to heal,” he added bitterly.

  “I know how vicious gossip can be, how it feels to be an outsider. But it's more difficult for a woman,” Aaron conceded. “At least, she didn't make the mistake of marrying that spineless Edward Stanley. Now, everyone knows the stuff he's made of.”

  Torres's words had a familiar ring to them. “My wife said that very thing,” Colin admitted grudgingly.

  Just then Maggie walked through the door, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl on it. My wife. Her heart lurched in her chest, and the broth spilled as she set down the tray.

  “It seems you've pulled him through the worst of it, Mrs. McCrory. I’ll leave him in your capable hands,” Aaron said with a smile.

  “Not if she's going to feed me that swill,” Colin interjected, scowling at the bowl.

  “It's a clear beef consommé. Just don't think about where it came from,” Maggie replied.

  “It's calves' brains.”

  She looked down at the stubborn set of his jaw. “Maybe you could use them. You sometimes act like you don't have enough of your own,” she said sweetly.

  Aaron chuckled. “I think it's time I was about my rounds. I'll be back in a few days to check on your progress, Colin.” He turned to Maggie and said, “Keep him in bed until then. I know he'll be champing at the bit to be out and about before he's had a chance to heal.”

  “If a man wants some decent sustenance around here, he has to go out and get it himself,” Colin said testily as he tried to sit up. The effort cost him dearly.

  At once, Maggie's hands were on him, pulling gently on his arm and plumping pillows to support his back. The doctor's chuckling farewell echoed down the hall and the two of them were left alone. Maggie's thigh brushed intimately against Colin's, reminding them both of the past night.

  She looked at him uncertainly, wondering how much he remembered about their sleeping arrangements. “You really must eat the broth,” she said, turning to pick up the bowl as she willed her hands to stop trembling.

  Colin noted her reaction and misinterpreted it. “What did I say last night when I was fevered?” he asked softly.

  Her cheeks flushed and the broth sloshed onto the tray. “Nothing much that was coherent. You called for Eden...and Elizabeth.” The last word came out in a whisper.

  “That's all?”

  She raised the spoon to his mouth. “Nothing else made sense. Here, take a sip.” He noticed how she avoided his eyes as she plied the spoon. Glaring at the broth with distaste, he said, “It's my side that's injured, not my stomach. I want a steak.”

  “If you're lucky—and eat this without giving me any more trouble—I'll see about some soft-boiled eggs for lunch,” she replied, nudging the spoon at his lips.

  He sipped, then made a face. “That tastes putrid.” He swallowed, then studied her as she continued to feed him. What did you really hear, Maggie? “Were Eileen and Eden here—when I was feverish?” God, please don 't let Eden know!

  She blushed again. “No. Eileen and I felt Eden was too upset seeing you unconscious and bleeding. Eileen brought me the cold towels that I bathed you with, then I sent her to bed. She's getting too old to be running the stairs that way. I stayed the night with you.” Her eyes met his, waiting for a reaction.

  “I know,” he replied. “I owe you another debt, Maggie.”

  “I don't want your gratitude, Colin.” She dipped the spoon into the empty bowl with a clank and stood up to replace the dishes on the tray.

  “What do you want, Maggie?” His whiskey eyes studied her, but already he was growing fuzzy-headed. His side throbbed too wickedly for him to think clearly.

  She could see that he was tiring. Ignoring the discomfiting question, she removed several extra pillows from behind him. “You need to rest now.”

  He started to protest, then gave in to the fatigue hovering over him. As soon as his eyes closed, she released a sigh of relief. How could she answer him? I want you to love me, Colin. No, she would never abase her pride before him again. He'd trampled on it enough already, calling her a whore, trying to buy her off. He would never love her. She turned and left the room in silence.

  Colin lay in the twilight world between sleep and wakefulness, feeling oddly alone. He did not approve of her and he certainly did not trust her, but he did desire her. Just the scent of her made him ache with sexual frustration in ways he never had experienced before, not even for Elizabeth.

  Especially not for Elizabeth, so chaste and ladylike, so far above him. He had worshiped Elizabeth, but always felt guilty about making sexual demands on her. Not that she had ever refused to do her wifely duty, but it had been a duty. As soon as she had been pregnant both times, she had expected him to quit her bed, and he had done so. He'd been a faithful young husband then, not questioning the proprieties, certainly not betraying his marriage vows with harlots.

  As Colin drifted off into a troubled sleep, he thought it exceedingly aggravating that his lust at forty should be so much more firmly engaged than it had been when he was a randy lad of twenty-three.

  * * * *

  Maggie and Eden shared a simple meal with Eileen in the kitchen that night. Then Eden went upstairs with her father's supper, leaving the two older women alone.

  “And it's that tired ye look. Off ta bed with ye. I've been cleanin' this kitchen for near twenty years without help.”

  “I don't feel like I could sleep, Eileen. I need to keep busy,” Maggie replied as she scraped plates and placed them in the dishpan.

  ”Yer goin' to spend the night with him again, aren't ye?”

  “Am I so transparent? The only way he'll tolerate me in his bedroom is when he's too ill to protest.”

  The housekeeper gave a snort of disgust at the density of younger people. “He wants ye in his bed, right enough. The fool just isn't knowin'
it yet. Yer not exactly helpin' the matter, actin' so proper 'n standoffish.”

  “I'm sure you're mistaken,” Maggie said, refusing to believe that what she wished so desperately could be true.

  “I've known Colin McCrory since he had scarce passed twenty years. He wants ye but he's afraid to admit it.”

  “He's afraid consummating our marriage will tie him to me for the rest of his life,” Maggie said baldly. “We agreed to get an annulment after Eden's life is straightened out.”

  “He no more wants that than ye do, but the only way to prove it to the likes of himself is to make it impossible for him to resist his own nature.”

  “You mean seduce him?” Maggie asked, shocked at the calm way the old woman said it. “He'd hate me for it—if I could even succeed.”

  Eileen chuckled. “Oh, ye'll succeed all right. And he won't be hatin' ye at all. That's the only way to be bringin' a man as stubborn as the mister to his senses.”

  Maggie twisted the gold band on her finger, almost daring to hope. “I'm nothing like Elizabeth.” She played devil's advocate.

  “All the better. The mister is a real man who needs a real woman to stand beside him. Don't be misunderstandin' me when I say that. I loved Miz Elizabeth. She was kind and good and sweet—but she never had the passion her man needed. He put her on a pedestal and worshiped her from afar. That's not the way of a real marriage. It should have fire.”

  Seeing the look of fond remembrance in Eileen's eyes, Maggie said, “You've been married, then.”

  “Aye. Johnny 'n me, we had lots of good years. He worked for Miz Elizabeth's family, too. I was her maid and he was their groom. When she married the mister, Johnny took a job breakin' horses at Crown Verde. He died of the influenza a few years after Miz Elizabeth was taken.”

  “How much tragedy has occurred in this beautiful place,” Maggie said sadly.

  “The past is past, the good and the bad of it. I only dwell on the good—and me time with Johnny O’Banyon was good. Me only regret was that I couldn't give him babes. I miscarried two. Then there were no more.”