Hunter ignored Jon's ranting. He always got like this when he had too much to drink. "She has been secretive about who she really is, hasn't she?"
Jon swept off his cocked hat and ran his fingers through his black hair. "Maybe she's an heiress, in which case," he added thoughtfully, "I might marry the wench, myself. The two of us would make a fine couple in London town. Hell, if her papa's got a title I might yet find my way into the queen's drawing room. Imagine that!"
An owl flew overhead and Hunter watched it soar. "So you're still determined to go back to England?"
"I told you. I've had enough of ticks, the hard ground for a bed, and no decent wine to drink. I'm ready to go home."
"Even now that you've found your mother?"
"She could be lying."
"Why would she, Jon?" Hunter turned to stare at his friend's masked face. "She wouldn't. She'd have no reason to. She-Who-Whispers-To-The-Wind is your mother and you blessed well know it."
Jon glanced down at his boots. "I asked her about my father. She said it didn't matter. She loved him, but they were too young, too different. She said he went back to England shortly after I was born."
"She gave you no name?"
"No. Creeping Turtle made some explanation about speaking the name of the dead or those long gone. Another silly Shawnee superstition."
Hunter sighed, crossing his moccasined feet, his back still planted firmly against the tree trunk. "Would that I could have been born to She-Who-Whispers-To-The-Wind and not you. Think about it, Jon. You should have been Rordan's son, not me. You're perfectly suited for the life of a lord. You're all he wanted in a son, all I'm not. Me, this is where I belong. It's funny that such a twist of fate could leave a man so torn between two worlds."
"Ah, hah. So you have thought about your father. I thought maybe you'd come to your senses. I thought maybe you just needed a little time to play the wild man and then you'd be ready to go home and take up your duties. It's what your father did, isn't it? He came here, knocked around with the savages for a few years and then he went home and married the woman his father had chosen for him."
Hunter smiled ironically. "I'd say that's out of the question, wouldn't you? I practically left Mary Lambert at the altar. By now she's long-married with a handful of runny-nosed earl's children."
"So your father will find you another maid. With the lot you'll inherit any man would pay well for you to take his daughter."
Hunter sighed. "Christ's bones, Jon. I know that once I deal with Laughing Rain's killer I ought to go home. I've already caused my father too much pain, but—"
"But what? You've played Indian. You married for love, something few ever get a chance at. Now it's time you saw to your duties and left this all behind."
"You just say that because you don't want to go back to England alone."
For a long moment Jon was silent, but then he spoke with a gentle, open honesty Hunter rarely heard in him, but knew him capable of. "I'm saying that, because that's the best thing to do. You know it and I know it. I'm saying it because I love you like a brother."
Hunter stepped away from the tree, rubbing his temples. He was tired. Too tired to think now. Tomorrow he would make ready to leave the Shawnee camp. The following day he and Jon and Alexandra would set out for the fort in Penn's Colony. In a few weeks' time he hoped this nightmare with Laughing Rain would be over. Once he saw her death avenged, then he would be able to make a responsible decision about returning to London with Jon. In the meantime he had to concentrate on finding Blue-Green Eyes. He didn't have energy or time to worry about his father or the dark-eyed Alexandra who haunted his dreams.
"Good night, Jon," he said softly. "See you in the morning."
"Don't wait up for me," Jon called after him. "Got myself a widow waiting on me in her wigwam."
Hunter laughed, his rich voice echoing in the trees. He waved a hand over his shoulder and was still laughing as he walked around a wigwam and lost sight of Jon.
It was early morning, barely daylight. Alexandra, Hunter, and Jon, had their belongings packed on the mule and were ready to set out for Penn's Colony and the fort the shaman had directed Hunter toward. A small group of Shawnee well-wishers huddled near the edge of the camp, bidding farewell from the folds of the blankets they wore around their shoulders.
She-Who-Whispers-To-The-Wind stood beside her son, Creeping Turtle. She spoke softly, directly to Jon, even though it was necessary for Creeping Turtle to interpret. Alexandra stood back, beside Hunter, listening.
"Our mother wishes you a safe journey and happiness the rest of your days," Creeping Turtle repeated after his mother. "She says she will pray for her son who was once lost, but is now found."
Jon scuffed one booted foot on the frozen ground. When he spoke, his breath formed clouds of white in the frosty morning air. "Tell She-Who"—He looked to Hunter, then back at the old Indian woman—"Tell my mother I thank her for her prayers and . . . I thank her for giving me an identity. For that I will always be grateful."
Creeping Turtle translated quickly and tears welled up in his mother's eyes. She stepped up to Jon, raising her arms. He lowered his head to allow her to drop a leather necklace over his head. His hand went to the perfectly shaped black stone that hung from the leather string. The old woman spoke again.
"Our mother says she picked up a jagged black stone the day her first-born son disappeared," Creeping Turtle translated. "She carried the worry stone in her bag all these years and each time she thought of the son she had lost, she rubbed the stone. Now it is worn smooth with the love of a mother's hand. Wear it, and it will protect you as she was unable to protect you that terrible day you were lost to her."
Tears came to Alexandra's eyes, but she didn't brush them away. Hunter rested his hand on her shoulder as they watched Jon lean forward and kiss his mother's dry cheek.
"Let's be on our way," Jon said gruffly, turning away from his mother and brother. "If we must journey to Penn's colony, let's make haste. I can smell the blasted snow in the air." He brushed past Hunter and Alexandra, obviously touched by his mother's gift, but not wanting anyone to know it. "You know how much I hate the damned snow!"
Alexandra smiled to herself as she waved to Creeping Turtle and his mother and to Judith who stood behind them. "Thank you," she said, "for the hospitality you showed me. I'll never forget your kindness."
Judith stepped forward, carrying a rabbit-pelt cloak with grey foxtails hanging from the collar. She draped the beautiful cloak over Alexandra's shoulders. "May the God Wishemoto guide you in your journeys," she leaned to whisper in Alexandra's ear, "and in love. He's a good man, Alexandra. Don't let him go."
Alexandra felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. "Thank you for the cloak," she whispered, kissing Judith on the cheek. "I've never owned anything so fine, nor so beautiful. To be sure, I'll treasure it always."
Judith stepped back into the crowd of those who had braved the cold of the early morning to say good-bye to the visitors. The shaman and his wife pushed their way through the group. He-Who-Wishes extended his wrinkled, suntanned hand to Hunter. He spoke a few solemn words in the Shawnee tongue, and then turned and walked away.
Alexandra could have sworn she had heard her name spoken. "What did he say?" she asked Hunter as they waved farewell to the villagers and started after Jon.
"Nothing of importance," Hunter mumbled gruffly. "Now let's get going. We've a long day of traveling ahead of us."
Alexandra watched him walk away, confused by his gruffness. Deciding that the man was impossible to figure out, she ran to catch up with him and Jon, her new rabbit cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
The campfire flickered, casting long fingers of light across the faces of the weary travelers. Jon had already turned in for the night, rolling up in a bearskin near the fire with a flask of whiskey nestled in his arms.
Alexandra and Hunter still sat up, staring into the depths of the flames, content to listen to the quiet sounds of t
he surrounding forest. It had been a long, but pleasant day of travel and both seemed to be reluctant to let the day end.
Alexandra held a pewter cup of brewed tea in her hands, rolling it between her palms to savor the warmth. Hunter was stretched out beside her smoking an Indian pipe given to him by Creeping Turtle. They had talked all day long as they walked, mostly about unimportant things, but somehow the day's conversation had drawn them closer.
Alexandra found that despite Hunter's wild ways, she liked him. He was quite a story-teller, making her laugh as he told about his years at Oxford, and touching her heart as he told about the Shawnee and their ways. He was a man who seemed to live each moment to its fullest, something she found quite admirable, something she had vowed to begin doing herself.
Hunter rolled onto his side on his deerskin sleeping mat and pushed up on one elbow so that he faced Alexandra. "Tell me something," he implored softly. "Who are you . . . really?"
She took a sip from her cup, savoring the taste of the herb tea he had brewed for her. "You know, the reason I didn't tell you two rogues to begin with was that I feared if you knew the truth you'd hold me captive for ransom."
"So now you know differently."
She turned to look at him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I know no such thing. The fact of the matter is that now that I know you, I'm certain I shouldn't tell you who I am."
He scowled. "Why would I do such a thing?"
"The same reason any other man would. To line your pockets with coin."
"Money means nothing to me, Alex. I've more than I could spend in a lifetime already and I've yet to inherit."
"So you tell me," she teased.
"I'm serious. I want to know who you are." His hazel eyes narrowed. "Who's looking for you at this very moment? Who weeps for your return? A mother? A father? . . . A lover?"
She turned back to gaze into the flames, suddenly sad. "No one," she whispered.
"No one? I find that hard to believe."
She felt him rest his hand on her knee and she was touched by his gentleness. "No one," she repeated. "I told you. Twice I was meant to wed. Neither time it came to be. My father sent me to the Maryland Colony in disgrace. My aunt and uncle were supposed to marry me off to anyone they could find willing."
He chuckled and squeezed her knee. "Surely it's not all that desperate. I mean, you seem a suitable enough match for a man. Your teeth are decent, you're not sickly. I've yet to hear you howl at the moon."
She smiled. She knew he was trying to make light of her situation and she appreciated it. "It seems my rejections have marred my reputation. That and my sharp tongue. Not an eligible man of my station in London would have me, or so my father said when he put me on the ship to the American Colonies."
"Your father? And who might he be?"
She turned to study his face. The firelight played off the planes of his high cheekbones and set the red hair that brushed his shoulders aflame with red light. "Why are you suddenly so curious? You looking for a wife?"
God Almighty! The moment the words came out of her mouth, she was sorry for them. She didn't know what could have possessed her to say such a thing. If Hunter was the man Jon hinted he was, he certainly wouldn't be interested in her.
Alexandra lowered her lashes, waiting to hear his laughter ring out, waiting for the mortified embarrassment she knew was coming.
But Hunter didn't laugh.
After a moment he said, "Actually Jon says that after I see to the man who killed my wife, it's time I think about returning to my responsibilities in England. I suppose responsibilities include a wife."
Relieved to have the chance to turn the conversation to him, she looked up at his face. "And what do you think of these responsibilities?"
He sighed. "Good question." He brushed his fingers across the rabbit fur of the cloak that lay across her crossed legs. "I left suddenly, hurting my father a great deal."
"And now you're sorry?"
He shrugged. "Not sorry that I came here. Not sorry that I loved Laughing Rain."
Alexandra heard his voice tighten as he spoke of his wife, but then he went on.
"I, am sorry that I left in the manner I did. I should have told my father I wasn't ready to marry the woman he'd chosen for me and settle down. I should have told him I wanted to come to the colonies as he once had. Christ, I was nearly thirty years old. I should have had the guts to face his anger instead of running."
Alexandra covered his hand with hers. "Mary Alexandra Lambert."
Hunter felt his heart fall. He looked up at her, certain he'd heard incorrectly. He entwined his fingers in hers. "What did you say?"
She was smiling down at him. "I said Mary Alexandra Lambert. You wanted to know my name. I just told you. My father is the Earl of Monthrop."
"Mary Lambert," Hunter murmured beneath his breath. Christ, it couldn't be! The odds were one chance in a million that this could be the woman he had been betrothed to! He was too stunned to speak.
"My father? Do you know him?" he heard her say.
Hunter looked up to see her staring at him quizzically. "Your father is the Earl of Monthrop?" He thought of the short, stout Earl of Monthrop and his sour disposition. Hunter had never thought much about little Mary Lambert he'd left behind without having ever met her. He just assumed her father had married her off to some other reluctant earl's son. But suddenly he realized the travesty of his deed. Suddenly he had a face to go with the name. That night he'd not appeared at the betrothal party, it was Alexandra who had been left with the shame of abandonment. It was Alexandra who had been left with the anger of her father and his own father's most likely as well.
"Hunter, I said, did you know my father?" he heard her say again.
He glanced back at her innocent face feeling like an ass. "Why yes, yes as a matter of fact I met him once. Pleasant gentleman," he lied.
She laughed, withdrawing her hand. "Must not have been my father you met, then."
For a moment Hunter didn't know what to say. He knew he should tell her the truth of who he was, what he'd done, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he reached for her hand, taking it in his larger one.
When he spoke again, his voice was light and teasing. "I don't know, maybe there's something to your suggestion."
"What suggestion?"
He grasped her arm and pulled her down until she was stretched out beside him, facing him. "The two of us wedding."
"Us marry?" Alexandra sputtered. "I never suggested such a thing! I was being sarcastic and you well know it!"
Alexandra looked surprised, but she couldn't possibly have been as surprised as he was when he realized what he'd said. God's teeth! He wasn't going to marry this chit. Laughing Rain was his wife. She would always be his wife. He'd let her go into the forest alone and now she was dead. He didn't deserve a woman like Alexandra. He didn't deserve any woman.
"Us wed," she went on. "That's absurd."
"Of course it is." He laughed, brushing his fingertips beneath his chin. "Imagine you and me in a big stone house in London. You shouting at me from the banister like a fishmonger's wife."
She laughed at him. "And you dancing round my cherry dining table stark naked save for a feather headdress!"
Her voice rang in his ears and suddenly he felt the urge to kiss her laughing mouth. Before he reasoned himself out of it, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.
Her laughter ceased and for a moment she lay very still, staring up at him. "I thought we weren't going to do this again," she whispered, making no attempt to move away.
His hand found the dip of her waist and he pulled her a little closer. He kissed the tip of her nose. "Who said?"
"The other night, remember? We . . . we agreed it wasn't a good idea."
"Feels like a good idea to me," he answered, kissing her again, this time on her trembling lips. "Tastes like a good idea."
Her eyes drifted shut. "Exactly," she breathed. "Exactly why
we shouldn't. Feels too good."
Hunter threaded his fingers through her fresh, clean hair and brought his mouth down on hers. She sighed against his lips.
God in heaven, she was sweet I Her lips were so soft and yet as she pressed her mouth to his, he tasted a fire in her kiss that shot shivers of pleasure through his body. Already he could feel a stirring in his groin. How long had it been since he'd felt this heat?
"Alexandra," he whispered. "Alex."
She rolled onto her back and he pressed her into the deerhide sleeping mat. He caressed her cheek with his fingertips as he touched her upper lip with the tip of his tongue.
She laughed, stroking his shoulder with her hand as she lifted up to kiss him back, her tongue touching his in innocent enthusiasm.
Hunter heard himself groan.
Laughing Rain had always been a willing lover, soft and yielding, but she'd been passive. He'd made love to her many times, but never made love with her. This woman, this woman here in his arms was rising up to meet him, to take pleasure as she gave it. As Hunter thrust his tongue into her mouth, caressing her breast with his hand, all thoughts of his dead wife blew from his mind like the leaves blown free from a rocky crevice in an autumn storm. All that seemed to matter at this instant was Alex and her sensual mouth, her inquisitive touch.
He kissed her again and again, exploring the soft pale flesh of her shoulders and neck, tickling the lobes of her ears with his tongue, tasting her mouth, unable to get enough of her. She moaned softly in his arms, arching her back to meet his every move, beckoning innocently with the pressure of her hips against his groin.
His fingers found the knot of her tunic belt and he tugged on it until it came free. Kissing the hollow of her throat, he slipped his hand beneath the butter-soft leather and caressed the full roundness of her breast.
Alexandra moaned softly in his ear, sending shivers of desire through him.
"Hunter," she whispered. "I shouldn't be doing this; we shouldn't."
"Want me to stop?" he forced himself to say, though all he could think of was touching her nipple with the tip of his tongue.
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