The Officer and the Traveler

by Rose Gordon

  McCorkle screamed at the pain of the rope burn his flawless face received at Gray’s action.

  Gray felt no sympathy. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  Gray placed his booted foot on the man’s chest to hold him still. “Tell us what you know.”

  McCorkle hesitated and Gray pressed down harder on the man’s chest. “Will I go to prison?”

  “We’ll let the Indians take you if you don’t start answering your superior,” Gray snapped, grinding his heel in the man’s sternum.

  “All right,” McCorkle wheezed.

  Gray took enough weight off the man’s chest for him to catch his breath then waited.

  “The four of us did nothing. Nothing. I tell you.”

  Gray looked down at the man’s empty gun holster around his waist and a sinking sensation filled his stomach. The Indians had taken their guns. This might not end quietly or peacefully. “Then why were you out there with your gun?”

  “Protection.”

  “From who?”

  “The Indians,” McCorkle said, blinking.

  Gray nearly kicked the insolence out of the man. “What is your role in all of this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I was told just to wait in the woods and if I hear an ambush, I’m supposed to fire my pistol.”

  Gray muttered a curse at McCorkle’s stupidity. “What were you waiting for?”

  “I don’t know, I was just told to wait.”

  “By who?”

  “General Bridges. He sent a note asking me to wear this mask and wait on the side of the road for protection during his arrival tonight.”

  “Do you have the note?” Gray barked. Without waiting for McCorkle’s answer, Gray began searching his pockets for paper. He’d long ago deduced that the note he’d received had been written by his father-in-law as part of his harmless scheme to keep him occupied and out and of sight until it was safe to assume the men had left for the night. McCorkle’s note, however, held far more interest to him right now. He’d sent and received enough correspondence with General Bridges and his men over the years to recognize his handwriting. Gray found the folded paper, opened it and scowled. “That wasn’t from General Bridges.”

  McCorkle let out a little squeal of distress and Gray walked off, shaking his head. McCorkle had never been one to demonstrate the ability to act without being given orders—no matter whom they were from nor the stupidity they contained. If he was foolish enough to put on a mask and ride out into the middle of Indian Territory in the dead of night and fire his gun if he suspected an ambush while waiting for a general from a nearby fort to travel to Fort Gibson at night, then the best place for him was prison. At least there he’d be told what to do, when to do it and he’d be reasonably safe.

  Gray turned his attention back to the chief and his daughter who were still shouting at each other, then walked to the other men lying on the ground, still bound. Lt. Lansky was the first one he reached. He removed that man’s gag the same way he’d done with McCorkle. “What’s your reason for leaving the camp?”

  “We always go along,” Lansky said.

  His companions nodded in agreement.

  “Always?”

  “For almost two years now, we’ve been riding out as protection.”

  “Protection for who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Colonel Lewis snapped. He turned toward the others. “Do you know?”

  Both of them moved their heads side to side, their eyes wide and full of fear.

  “He always wears the mask,” Lansky said.

  “How does he compensate you?”

  “Tobacco.”

  Gray sighed. That didn’t tell him much of anything. All of the officers ranked captain or higher had a key to the commissary where the tobacco was stored. All they had to do was steal some to use as payment.

  General Davis muttered a curse and asked the translator what else had been said.

  “She says that Soft Dove has run away with her—” he made a rolling hand gesture as if to think of the English word for what he wanted to say.

  “Captor,” General Davis said at the same time that Colonel Lewis suggested, “Lover.”

  The translator nodded excitedly and pointed to Colonel Lewis. “Yes, she ran away with her lover.”

  Run away with her lover. A lead weight settled on Gray’s chest as those words rang out over and over in his mind. Michaela had been right once again. This entire elaborate scheme tonight was the product of a love affair. How stupid was he for automatically dismissing her notion that it involved one of the soldiers.

  The translator continued to speak, explaining something about how her father was furious and the men were talking about chasing them down and demanding satisfaction. Gray didn’t care what they did. Nor did he care what happened to McCorkle for being so foolish as to act on irrational orders given via a scribbled, unofficial missive. He couldn’t even force himself to care who the man was behind everything. The only thing in this world he cared about was standing just beyond the firelight: Michaela.

  ***

  Michaela squinted in the direction of the men. It was so dark she hadn’t been able to make out who was who in the moonlight. But her heart told her all she needed to know: Gray was not one of the four captured men.

  Next to her, Sarah’s body grew tense. “I must get closer to hear what they’re saying.”

  “You cannot go alone,” Michaela hedged.

  “We’ll all go,” Aunt Lucille said weakly, joining them.

  Hesitantly, Michaela began to walk with them toward the men. “This is close enough,” she said. “We can hear them here.”

  “No, closer.” Sarah continued to walk closer, Michaela and Aunt Lucille right behind her.

  The rough masculine voices that were calling out sent chills up Michaela’s spine. She’d give almost anything to go back inside. There were more men there now than there had been originally. She searched the tableau in front of her for any sign of Gray. Perhaps if she could see him, she’d feel safer knowing he’d hear if she screamed. She closed her eyes for a second. Did it really matter? He’d come after her if she screamed of course. Obligation demanded that he did. But what of his heart? Would she never truly own it or would it always be duty and honor with him?

  She found him then. He was stalking over toward the masked man. She held her breath in anticipation as he reached down and yanked off the disguise.

  He then shoved his booted foot on the man’s chest and asked him a question that Michaela couldn’t hear. Receiving no opposition from the other ladies, Michaela led their trio closer.

  She wasn’t as close as she’d like, but she was as close as she dared to go, lest they be discovered. Gray’s loud voice carried just enough for it to sound like a whisper to Michaela. But it was enough.

  Beside her, Sarah gasped. “It’s Amos.”

  “I don’t think that’s Amos, dear,” Aunt Lucille said. “Amos’ hair is black.”

  “I know it’s not Amos on the ground. Amos is the one who set that man up,” Sarah said. “He mentioned a note and being asked to wear a mask. Two days ago, I had to sneak over to Amos’ office in order to get money buy items at the Sutler’s store because Charles refuses to allow me to put my items on Amos’ accounts. Anyway, when I opened the drawer he keeps his money in, I saw a mask just like that shoved in the back of the drawer.”

  “Are you certain?” Michaela didn’t mean that to sound as rude as it did, having a black mask in his drawer didn’t make him guilty. Surely with more than a thousand men out here, more than one could have had a similar mask for one reason or another. Besides, with only the moon and a few torches giving off light, it was too hard to see much of anything specific. All thoughts of the mask and who it belonged to disappeared when she saw Gray abandon his stance by the accused and walked over to the other three.

&nb
sp; “It has to be him,” Sarah said. “He’s nowhere to be seen. He said this morning before leaving for whatever it is he does on rounders days that he wouldn’t be home for dinner that he was going to make his watchtower rounds. If he were doing that, surely he’d have taken notice of all of this by now.”

  “Perhaps we need to get closer and you’ll see him then, dear,” Aunt Lucille said in her typical caring tone.

  Sarah let out a deep exhale, all eyes on the exchange between the soldiers. “I’m not wrong. I know it’s him. I just know it.”

  “But that makes no sense. Why would he frame someone for a crime? Is he that desperate to keep Soaring Eagle content he’d stoop this low?”

  “She says that Soft Dove has run away with her lover.”

  The words of the English-speaking Cherokee hit Michaela like a brick to the toe. She couldn’t say why exactly, but those simple words confirmed Sarah’s earlier statement: it was General Ridgely. It had to be. It all made sense: General Ridgely’s absence, the uninformed man in his place, even Sarah’s vanishing medicine within days of Soaring Eagle’s first appearance and why the sores started coming back just days later. He’d probably given it to Soft Dove, especially if she were pregnant as Gray suspected.

  Above one of the flaming torches she locked eyes with Gray—a strange play of expressions crossing over his face.

  Michaela was vaguely aware that Sarah had said something about going to speak to the colonel and from the corner of her eye could see Sarah and Aunt Lucille walking toward him as everything else faded away except the intense expression on Gray’s face as he came her way.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Gray murmured something he’d hope would pass as an apology to Mrs. Ridgely as he brushed past her and Mrs. Lewis in his pursuit of Michaela.

  Someone reached for his arm, and he shook the hand off. His only priority was who it should have been from the start.

  “Are you ready to go home?” He studied his wife’s face while he waited for her answer, hoping she’d at least offer him a smile. That would be a start.

  “Of course,” she murmured with a touch of a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. Forget that, it barely spread her cheeks.

  “I have something to tell you,” Gray whispered.

  “Good. Because I have something to ask you.” She placed her hand in the crook of his arm.

  “Oh you do, do you?”

  “Now isn’t the time,” she said a moment later.

  The walk back to their room seemed almost like an eternity as he searched his mind for the right thing to say to her once they arrived.

  When the time came, he had nothing. Letting her inside, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a kiss.

  She pulled away. “Gray, what are you doing?”

  “I lied.”

  “Lied?”

  “When I said I had something to tell you, I lied.” He couldn’t tell her, he needed to show her.

  “Oh. Well, I didn’t lie when I said I had something to ask you.”

  Why did he get the feeling he didn’t want to know what she wanted to ask? “You can ask whatever you want later.” His stomach dropped to his knees. That was his biggest problem. Later, later, later. He was always putting her off by discounting what she had to say or telling her he’d discuss it with her later. “I’m sorry. What was it you wanted to know?”

  She traced his collar. “It can wait.”

  “No, ask now.”

  She looked up at him, her face bathed in the moonlight that spilled in from the break in the curtains. “No. It can wait. It should wait.”

  “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

  “No. I just need your help.”

  “And you’re not so angry with me about earlier today that you still want to ask?” He held his breath in anticipation of her answer.

  “No, I’m not.” Her answer was so quiet Gray almost missed it.

  Gray reached for her hand and led her to sit down on the edge of the bed. He lit a candle than sank down to his knees in front of her.

  The uncertainty that covered her face caused his words to lodge in his throat. He knew he’d hurt her with his actions and wanted, no needed, to start over. He just hadn’t imagined it’d be so hard. He brushed back a fallen lock of her soft hair. His fingers were reluctant to release it. He itched to bury both of his hands into her mass of hair. Soon. First, he needed to show her exactly how much she meant to him.

  Locking gazes with her, he raised his hands to that delicate bow at the top of her bodice and slipped it free.

  She swallowed and pushed his hand away. “Don’t.”

  ***

  “Don’t?”

  Tears stung Michaela’s eyes as she nodded her confirmation, not trusting her voice. She blinked back the tears. All the advice she’d received tonight from the other ladies was irrelevant. She couldn’t scorn him as a way to punish or entice him. Nor did she have interest in making herself available to him and seduce him into her bidding. Her body’s response to him wasn’t something she could control. It was natural. Something about him and him alone melted her and drew her to him all at the same time, always craving more of that feeling he ignited within her until she embarrassed herself—something that would likely happen if she didn’t stop him now.

  If she let him help her undress, an innocent enough task, she was certain the pattern would continue: overwhelming feelings of love and desire for the blasted man would well up inside her and she’d become so lost that her body would react to him and he’d once again be reminded what a shameless wanton she was.

  Still kneeling in front of her, he lowered his hands to rest on her knees. “Michaela.” His voice was both husky and raw, matching the naked emotion in his hooded blue-green eyes. He moved his hands slowly from her knee up along her thigh and to her waist, his touch scorching her even through multiple layers of clothing.

  Her breath hitched and anger boiled up inside her. Was he trying to provoke her? Did he intend to embarrass her? She covered his hands with hers set to push him away again.

  “Trust me,” he whispered, leaning his face closer to hers. “Please.”

  Then, he brought his lips to hers.

  She stilled, a war raging inside her between the feelings she could hardly resist and the truth she knew.

  “Kiss me,” he murmured against her mouth. He idly rubbed her sides just above her hips with his strong fingers; his warm lips still moving over hers.

  With every touch, a little more of her resolve melted. She firmed her lips to strengthen it, but when he framed her face with his big hands and licked across her sealed lips, she gasped his name.

  Gray immediately took advantage of the edge she’d just afforded him and parted her lips with his, drawing her bottom lip between his lips and gingerly sucking it into his mouth. Her blood ran hot and cold at the same time and she gripped his shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” she breathed, pulling away.

  Gray brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones. “Loving you.”

  Blood thundered in Michaela’s ears, her body going numb. “Wh-what did you just say?” Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly.

  Gray’s throat worked. “I’m not good at finding the right words, Michaela.” A frown touched his face. “At least not where you’re concerned. I always say the wrong thing to you, so let me show you what you mean to me another way.”

  “Another way?”

  He nodded and moved his hands down to the buttons on the bodice of her dress. “Yes, a way that I think we’ll both understand.”

  Instinctively, she covered his hands with hers once again, but this time she didn’t push him away. Not yet. “You don’t think I’m—I’m—I’m fast?” she whispered, blushing.

  “No.” He pulled his hands out from under hers and continued to work the buttons on her bodice. “I think your reactions are perfectly normal for a woman in love with her husband.” A chill ran over her and it had nothing to do with the fact he’d just undone
the final button that was right above her waist. He knew that she loved him? His eyes stayed locked with hers, and he gripped the caps of her sleeves then pushed the top of her gown from her shoulders. “Which is certainly to my good fortune since my feelings for you are exactly the same.”

  A shiver skated down her spine at his declaration.

  At his urging, she clumsily stood and allowed Gray to continue undressing her with the same deliberate care he’d exhibited on their wedding night. When she was clad in only her chemise, he stepped back and raked her with his gaze. Another shiver stole down her spine. This one not nearly as delicious as the last. Was he about to change his mind again and humiliate her once more? Suddenly, her chemise didn’t seem like enough and she felt very cold and vulnerable.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever lain eyes on.”

  The longing in his voice washed away every ounce of her vulnerability and doubt. She boldly took a step toward him. “I believe you’re a bit overdressed, Captain,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his.

  He let out a groan and cupped her face with his hands. A good sign, she’d say.

  Not breaking their kiss, she began undoing the buttons that went down the front of his shirt. When she was halfway down, she reluctantly moved her lips from his and kissed her way down his chin and to his neck then onto the skin of his chest she’d just exposed.

  She took a measure of pride in the way his skin leapt and tightened under her kisses. Then another when he growled in what appeared to be frustration at her going so slow. She bit back a smile and continued until he couldn’t take it any longer and ripped his own shirt off.

  Michaela cast him a coy smile and put her hands on his shoulders. Without a hint of shame or modesty, she moved her hands over his muscled shoulders and chest, taking time to learn every groove and plane. Slowly, she moved lower.

  Gray’s rippling muscles flexed and she pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry. I momentarily forgot about your injury.”