Wild Dawn

by Cait London

  Fearing for Regina, MacGregor demanded that she recognize and accept him as her husband. He snarled and coaxed and kissed her until she clung to him. Yet she refused to unleash his gun hand, to send him out as her protector.

  Regina denied his possessive demands aloud, then hid her tears at night.

  She ached for MacGregor, yet could not drive the fear of being possessed from her. The arrival of her father threw the past at her every day. She awoke at dawn with tear-swollen lids and Jennifer’s whisper echoing in her ears.... Remember the legends. The Mariah Stone has the power... the man who possesses....

  Once cruelly possessed by the marquess, Regina now fought MacGregor’s demands with a strength born out of fear.

  Yet she could not deny his sweet kisses, nor his claim to her babe.

  ~**~

  In the hot July sun Pierre lifted the dipper of water over his head, dribbling the water down his sweaty body. Lilly traced the sheen covering his darkly tanned chest and, drawn to the water beads, reached to trace a tiny rivulet. When Pierre trapped her finger, bringing it to his lips, the girl blushed and lowered her eyes.

  “Ma belle,” Pierre whispered huskily. “Will you stay with me tomorrow when Two Hearts takes Violet to Primrose?”

  Lilly looked away at a deer drinking from the stream. “Miss Violet says one must be a proper lady, even in the American wilds. Is this proper?”

  Lifting her to his eye level, Pierre kissed the tip of her nose. “Chere. There is no time for us. How can I ask you to be my wife when we have no privacy?”

  Lilly’s dark eyes widened. “Ah!” she exclaimed softly, placing her small hands on his bare shoulders. “You would ask me this after Madame Joy’s use of me?”

  Her expression clouded instantly. “I cannot. I am not pure.”

  He lowered her carefully to her feet. “You are my beautiful, sweet Lilly.... Stay with me tomorrow, mais oui?”

  ~**~

  MacGregor lifted Regina from her sidesaddle carefully. Holding her against his chest, he frowned. “How do you feel? Riding a horse for miles...”

  “Divine.” She glanced at the busy, dusty street filled with curious onlookers. “MacGregor, put me down. Jack’s entering the dry goods store....”

  “Damn.” Carrying her easily, MacGregor stepped into the store. After gently placing her on her feet, he scanned the barrels and displays for Jack.

  “Injun squawbaby,” Tall Tom muttered in the shadows. Then Jack began to cry loudly. “Hey, storekeep. What are you doing letting redskins run around in here?”

  Agile, despite her slightly rounded stomach, Regina moved quickly through the narrow passages of barrels. MacGregor’s bulk slowed him, and he was left to follow in the wake of her flying skirts. A loud whack preceded Jack’s terrified screams.

  Regina ran into the back room to see Jack dangling from Tall Tom’s outstretched hand. Balanced on the back two legs of his chair, Tom spread his free hand on the table next to a Bowie knife. He shook Jack like a cat playing with a mouse. “I’ll fix this brat good. So he can’t spawn any more red blood,” he drawled.

  “I daresay you won’t,” Regina hissed near him. The Bowie blade flashed and his little finger lay apart from his hand. Regina’s furious eyes slashed at him as she cuddled Jack against her.

  Then MacGregor’s hand wrapped around Tom’s throat to lift him to his feet. Slamming a series of hard blows to Tom’s face and stomach, MacGregor forced Tom against the wall.

  Regina quickly carried Jack out into the fresh air. “Da!” the baby cried, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks as he clung to her.

  Soothing Jack while she trembled with rage, Regina looked up into the marquess of Fordington’s cool amethyst eyes. “The gracious Lady Regina Mortimer-Hawkes comforting an Indian child,” he murmured. “How droll.”

  The marquess’s gaze wandered down her loose gingham blouse to the swell of the baby. “Dressing as a peasant now, my lady?”

  “Father!” She hugged Jack closer, protectively.

  Dressed in tailored hunting clothes, Mortimer-Hawkes tapped his riding quirt rhythmically against his polished Hessian boots. He smoothed Jack’s glossy hair with his glove and smiled down benignly at Regina. “I have come to collect you.... When we are in private and settled in our own estate, you may call me Nigel, my dear.”

  In the brilliant sunlight her father’s eyes were a shade of pale amethyst, set in puffy lids. His sallow skin hung loosely on the bones of his still handsome face. She had forgotten his strong, perfumed scent and the way her body tensed near him. “I will not be returning to England,” Regina stated sharply.

  “We shall see,” he murmured softly, his smile widening with certainty.

  He motioned for a heavily loaded pack train to proceed without him. Ten men, ranging from western toughs to burley English servants, waited impatiently on horseback. The marquess dismissed them with a casual wave of his hand. “What is this I hear about your breeding?”

  MacGregor stepped into the sunlight, his hand resting casually on his gun butt. The same height as the sleek Englishman, MacGregor’s heavier, powerful body made him appear taller. Regina caught his fresh soapy masculine scent and inhaled deeply, needing his comfort to her shaken senses.

  Both strong men, they faced and gauged each other like knights preparing to battle. They towered over her, striking her with their differences.

  Respected on the frontier, MacGregor’s reputation had not been built on greed or fear, as had the marquess’s.

  Cruelty marred her father’s features. Hatred flickered for a moment before he shielded it.

  MacGregor’s hand soothed Jack, then swept lightly down to rest at the small of her back. That instant she realized how often and how gently MacGregor’s dark, calloused hands touched her. The marquess’s slender fingers had left a trail of pain.

  MacGregor feared for his child and for her, while her father enjoyed tormenting.

  She leaned slightly against MacGregor, needing his strength and Mortimer-Hawkes watched the play, his mouth tightening.

  Mortimer-Hawkes’s gaze strolled down MacGregor’s muscular body, lingering on the gun lashed to his thigh. “Ah, yes. This would be Tall Tom’s nemesis, the indomitable Mr. MacGregor. Your current paramour.”

  Regina’s eyes flashed up at him angrily. “Lovely term, paramour. My lover is a better term, Father,” she thrust at him coolly, then continued. “MacGregor, this is my father, the Marquess of Fordington, Lord Nigel Mortimer-Hawkes. His title does not require a bow.”

  She stepped away from MacGregor slightly, lifting her chin and facing the marquess. “He wants me to return to England with him. I will not.”

  Amethyst eyes met and clashed as Regina patted Jack’s back. The baby sniffed; wet with tears, his face pressed against her throat. “Father, this is Mr. MacGregor and his son, Jack. Mr. MacGregor is the father of my child. I highly respect him. He is an honorable man.”

  Her last sentences emphasized how she did not respect her father or consider him to be honorable.

  For a moment, the marquess’s eyes flashed, revealing he understood the verbal slap. Adept at that game, he smiled coldly. “How remarkable. The man who sired my daughter’s babe also spawned a child by an Indian squaw. How many more children share the same sire, MacGregor?”

  Regina stepped quickly between the two tall men. “That’s enough, Father—”

  “A fine, cultured specimen of noble blood, I’m sure,” Mortimer-Hawkes prodded, angered by Regina’s fierce protection of the man.

  Mortimer-Hawkes’s slashing eyes slid from MacGregor’s ear to Regina’s matching ruby eardrop. He understood full well how much she valued her mother’s earrings and the oaf was wearing one, matched to hers! The Englishman quickly shielded his fury, just as Tall Tom slumped against the door frame.

  Blood seeped through the cloth wrapped around his hand, and he thrust out the other palm, opening it to reveal his severed little finger. “The bitch got my finger this time,” he mumbled t
hrough swollen, bloody lips.

  MacGregor’s hand tightened on his gun butt. Regina’s slender fingers touched his, and a dark knowing look passed between them. The marquess’s narrowed eyes lingered on the thin gold band when Regina’s hand slid away.

  He smiled tightly. “I shall take pleasure in correcting Tall Tom. He can be so gauche.... You’re invited to tea at any time, Regina. My hunting lodge will be quite comfortable should you want to visit without your entourage of half-breeds. I’m sure he has little use of you while you are breeding anyway. Though with your wealth, I can understand his motives.”

  Against her back MacGregor tensed, moving slightly toward the marquess. Regina quickly passed Jack to him. “There now,” she soothed the baby while staring up at MacGregor’s taut expression. “We’ll be just fine, my love.”

  Nestled safely in his father’s strong arms, Jack murmured, “Da. Mama.”

  He shuddered with a last heavy sigh and stared at her with MacGregor’s black eyes and sooty lashes. Her baby moved then, a tiny limb seeking more room and reminding her that MacGregor would love his children deeply.

  Love. MacGregor loved her with his eyes and body, though he didn’t say the words. MacGregor did not possess... he loved and he protected.

  Startled and filled with emotion, she placed her hand lightly on MacGregor’s tense shoulder.

  Slowly MacGregor’s black eyes lowered to hers.

  “My love. My love, my dear Mr. MacGregor,” she repeated in a whisper and kissed Jack’s cheek.

  The marquess suddenly slapped his thigh with the riding quirt. Then, taking his time, he bent to kiss Regina’s cheek. She reacted instantly, jerking back, her face pale.

  MacGregor savage expression said he would act soon, and when he attempted to pass Jack to Regina, she refused.

  “My dear, you are exquisite. You’ve positively bloomed,” Mortimer-Hawkes whispered in a sensual drawl. “Just as exotic and beautiful as your dear, departed mother. My sweet Mariah. We shall have a marvelous welcome-home party when you and the baby return to my estate.”

  When he straightened and stepped back, the marquess’s cold eyes met MacGregor’s flat black ones over Regina’s head. The Englishman’s tone caused Regina to shiver. “I shall see you soon, my dear. Soon.”

  ~**~

  That evening MacGregor’s open hand slammed against the log wall of the new room. “Violet, a man takes care of his family. He doesn’t let anyone, not even her father, insult his wife.”

  “MacGregor,” she warned tightly, pressing her hand against her stomach. Once started, MacGregor’s child had stirred again, the tiny limb reminding of how she and Jack badly needed their father, as did she. “There will be no fighting.”

  He lowered his face to hers. “I’m asking you proper to share my bed. I’m asking you to bend that stiff neck and let me pay for our needs.”

  He tossed his saddlebags on to the rough bench between them. “There’s coin and nuggets in there. You do with them as you will. You’ve got a fine head for figures and business, but when it comes to common sense you’re a far step below reasonable,” he stated in a low roar, placing his hands on either side of her head.

  Hoarse with emotion, his voice deepened. “You carry my baby, Violet MacGregor. He won’t be treated like a bastard because you deny our marriage vows.”

  Regina looked up at him and arched a fine eyebrow. “I said, there will be no fighting.”

  MacGregor stormed and ranted and yet she did not fear him as she had her father. She grinned impishly up at him, startling him. “Are you quite finished tossing out your orders, m’lord?.... ‘He,’ you say. What if the babe is a girl?”

  Distracted from his tirade, MacGregor’s lips parted as he blinked twice.

  “A girl... ?” He frowned, startled at the thought and raking his fingers through his hair. “I reckon that would be even better. One with your curls and eyes, sweet to cuddle....”

  Then in a changing mood, MacGregor tilted his head arrogantly. “You smile and I forget my own name, but not this time. A girl needs the protection of a father’s name even more than a boy out here. A lover, you called me. ‘My love,’ you said. Was that all play for him? You wear my ring, yet deny my rights before the entire countryside. A metis, they call me... a breed. Has the English lady a poor pet dog following at her skirts? Or a man who protects her and shares her bed every night?”

  His fingers tightened on her jaw, his frown savage. “Tell me, Lady Mortimer-Hawkes MacGregor... does the uncouth breed amuse you?”

  “You know I don’t think that—”

  Moving closer, MacGregor ran his fingers around her jaw. They trembled as they moved slowly across her lips. “Think about loving our baby and Jack and me. I want to know one thing.... Do you want to go with your father?” he asked unevenly.

  “I will not return with him,” she answered adamantly.

  MacGregor studied her for a moment, then bent to brush his lips across hers. “Then stay with me, Violet.... Call me ‘husband’ for the world to hear.”

  The next breath she stood alone in the moonlight.

  ~**~

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Marquess of Fordington braced his boot on a log and drank the last of his finest brandy. An antelope herd moved across a meadow, the white markings eerie in the moonlight. The marquess followed their progress into lush pines, his thoughts on MacGregor.

  “My mortal enemy. Only one of us may possess the Mariah woman,” he said quietly, tossing the silver flask aside and dabbing his lips with a linen handkerchief. “I will own Pagan and your child in the end, Mr. Two Hearts MacGregor.”

  The baby growing in Pagan’s womb carried MacGregor’s Indian blood. She’d spread her thighs and allowed MacGregor to crawl between them.... She wore the savage’s cheap ring, protecting MacGregor with her body in Primrose.

  Mortimer-Hawkes’s handsome mouth thinned as he brooded. “Typical of the frontier breed. Illiterate, crude buffoon. Pagan has a history of being difficult... toying with sheep and mingling with the peasants. She is simply playing games. She couldn’t possibly love this lout, MacGregor.”

  He closed his eyes, hating the sight of Regina’s slender fingers touching MacGregor’s powerful shoulder. “The man is a savage, barely tethered by manners. Spawned by ancestors barely removed from animals, the bastard’s lineage hardly compares with English nobility.”

  In Primrose he’d seen a passing woman stare at MacGregor with open hunger. The younger man’s rugged, savage appearance would captivate any woman, Mortimer-Hawkes decided darkly. Once, he had been just as strong, just as devastating to female hearts, and he’d taken his pick of warm, pleasing beds.

  MacGregor walked with an arrogant saunter, like a mountain cat prowling his domain.

  Mortimer-Hawkes recognized the way MacGregor’s hand rested easily on his gun, the tense coil of his lean brown fingers. The younger man’s deep-set eyes had ignited when Mortimer-Hawkes kissed Regina’s cheek, then changed to the flat black eyes of a man who had killed and seen hell. He had the dangerous look of a wolf, protecting his mate to the death. Yet Regina tethered him easily with the light touch of her small hand.

  Mortimer-Hawkes laughed aloud. “My fine MacGregor, you are the possessed. I shall have the Mariah soon enough.... Rather than kill you quickly, I choose to show Regina how you cower from your superior. A beating should do nicely.... Yes, a quick death would not show your weakness....”

  ~**~

  Mariah... Mariah.... Jennifer’s eerie wail slid through the quiet cabin. Regina turned on her bed, stretching out a hand for MacGregor’s solid body, and found nothing.

  “You are Mariah. Blood of my blood,” her mother’s whisper echoed in the night. “I am Mariah... you are Mariah. The stone’s power is nothing without the woman who owns it. Nigel knows the secret of Mariah. He knows that he must have the woman and the stone to keep his wealth and great power. He must possess me... he must own you, my beloved daughter. You must not be owned....”<
br />
  “Shh,” Jennifer crooned from the past, stroking Mariah’s long black hair. “The marquess will not harm your daughter, Mariah. I will see to it.”

  “He will kill to keep his power....”

  Mariah’s deep sobs became the heavy beat of Regina’s heart.

  In the next instant she sat up, instantly awake, her heart pounding violently. Damp tendrils clung to her cheek, her gown wet with fever. “I am Mariah” she whispered into the shadows. “I am Mariah. My father will kill MacGregor to have me.”

  ~**~

  Three days later Regina leaned against the cool, shaded cabin wall.

  In the hot afternoon sun the men strained to fit another log neatly into place. The two bedrooms and a kitchen grew slowly around new wooden floors. Taking pride in his labors, MacGregor patted Tiny on the back. MacGregor’s white teeth slashed across his darkly tanned face as he grinned. Her ruby eardrop caught the July sun, sending out a brilliant shaft of red light.

  She touched the gold ring on her finger. She’d wounded his pride in Primrose. Now each time she approached him, MacGregor stared coolly down at her with rigid, masculine disdain.

  His baby kicked within her, and she soothed the movements with her palm. If MacGregor stayed, the marquess would kill him.

  Jack ran to his father, lifting his arms. MacGregor chuckled and tossed Jack lightly, settling him on his bare shoulders as he talked to the other men. He pointed to a beaver dam, then to a lush meadow where they planned the new garden for fall planting.

  Lavender plant starts grew near the new rail fence, the large purple heads drooping slightly in the hot sun. Garlic and winter onions shared the fence, protected from Rosebud and the goat. The sheep grazed in a high meadow tended by Laddie.

  Regina inhaled and savored the scent of new lumber, enjoying the sweep of sunflowers rising over a rounded hill.

  She twisted MacGregor’s ring and watched Lilly cook the evening meal over an outside fire. This was her dream, a new land and a new life. In three months time she’d give birth to MacGregor’s child. Wrapped in her love and MacGregor’s, the new baby and Jack would never know the torment of their parents’ lives.