by Beth Trissel
A popping in the fire caught her ear and she turned her head to the side. Then Jack saw it—the mark on her neck he’d missed. That strawberry-colored half-moon branded her as Shequenor’s daughter as surely as if he’d held a fire iron to her baby skin at birth. Hadn’t the warrior the very same mark on his shoulder?
If resisting temptation here and now were part of Shequenor’s test, Jack would not fail. Sitting farther back on his heels, he drew husky breaths to steady the hammering in his heart and his groin. This was the toughest thing he’d ever done, the hardest battle ever fought, bar none.
Unaware of his struggle, Karin reached for him. Closing her arms around his neck, she drew him back down to her…like sliding into the irresistible warmth of a heated spring.
Maybe just one more kiss.
Poised above, arms wrapping her, he settled his lips over her wanting mouth. Senses reeling, he pressed her for more, his tongue dancing against hers in an age-old rhythm.
****
Reeling under the delights of Jack’s mouth, Karin struggled to reason with the shred of propriety she had left. What on earth had possessed her to pull him back down over her like a lover?
She knew little of the sensual exchange between a man and woman, but this much was inherent in her gesture, her utterly wanton gesture. No one had prepared her for the brazen need mounting in her, or the shivers prickling to the most unladylike parts of her anatomy. There was nothing well-mannered in the searing desire driving her ever nearer to him, so shamefully wrong. And yet, gloriously right. Her lips melded perfectly to his beyond anything she’d ever envisioned. His tongue flirted with hers in some primal rite that she’d known nothing of until now, while her heart drummed out a rhythm urging her against his heated body.
Did Jack feel the same beat swelling inside him, as unstoppable as the swiftest current? How splendid he was, so warm and solid, all carved muscle. Not stifling in any way, but tender and protective, as though he were shielding her from the world. And she knew he would.
Had there ever been such a man?
A flood of new sensations charged through every fiber of her being in response to his closeness. What stark emptiness would overwhelm her if they must part. And yet, this lovemaking couldn’t go on, for that’s what this was, wasn’t it?
Good heavens. She must behave properly. But she had no will to comply, no heart for the refusal slammed at them from her grandfather and bizarre man-bear father. Only Jack understood. Only he could support her in this strangest of all possible worlds.
“Jack.” She whispered his name against his mouth. “You’re so grand. Far more than any man I know.”
“You don’t really know me, sweetheart.”
She looked up into his face, each rugged line strong and perfect in the golden glow of the fire. “Oh, but I do. Before you first came, I heard you in the wind.”
“And what did I say?”
“Not words actually, but you sounded so inviting.”
Smiling, he kissed her again in an arousing flow of lips, and then asked, “Like that?”
“Very,” she managed, winded with the most thrilling sort of breathlessness. “Jack...I love you.”
He paused. “I think perhaps you’ve had a drop too much.”
That might account for the instability of the room. “Maybe so, but I meant every word.”
He pressed his mouth down over her neck. “But will you still tomorrow in the bold light of day?”
She shivered with the exquisite tingles he elicited. “You look especially good in the day. A noble knight.”
He chuckled. “Now I know you are intoxicated.”
“Not too much to know my heart.”
She searched his eyes. His green gaze caressed her. “And what does your heart say, my lovely?”
“Not to let anyone part us. Not Grandpa, not Shequenor.”
A groan escaped him at their names. He seemed to battle some debilitating emotion. She wondered if it were the same pounding sensation rendering her nearly witless.
He rolled over, wincing slightly as his injured shoulder brushed the floor, and lay on his back on the fur. He cradled her against him with his good arm. “Ah, Karin. Yesterday, you declared me too bold. True enough. Yet now you want me to claim you?”
“In the most honorable sense.”
Breath escaping him like a winded runner, he buried his face in her hair. “What are you asking?”
“Marry me.” Where the sudden invitation came from, she didn’t know, but meant it from her soul.
He lay perfectly still apart from the rising and falling of his chest. Then lifted his head and targeted her with the full force of his eyes. The effect was dizzying.
“Are you proposing?” he asked in plain disbelief.
Dazed at her daring, she said, “I suppose I am.”
He smoothed tendrils from her cheek with slow, wondering fingers. “You realize no one will approve?”
“Not so. Neeley and your mother might.”
“They’re not the folks I’m concerned about. Not that I wouldn’t gladly take you to wife, mind.”
She closed her hand around his warm grasp. “Are you accepting, then?”
Eyeing her in a mix of amusement and perplexity, he pressed a kiss to her shivery palm. “I suppose I am, though forgive me if I’ve not yet schemed a means to this end.”
She put her audacity to constructive use. “If we can reach Reverend McCue before they catch us, we could be wed before anyone interferes.”
Jack stared at her, then threw back his head and laughed. “Hats off to you for sheer nerve.”
“Don’t you see? Once we’re wed they will have to accept us.”
He weighed her as he might an unwitting child. “Ever heard of annulment, or better yet, murder? You could speedily find yourself a young widow—”
“They wouldn’t dare,” she broke in.
“Maybe not so blatantly that you could prove it, but my untimely demise could be made to appear an accident. Even so, we shall still have to face them unless we flee to Shequenor and then we’ll have to face him. Which do you fancy?”
“Neither prospect holds any delight.”
“Thought not.”
She brightened. “Let’s live like gypsies.”
“Or Spanish pirates?” he teased. “Here’s a plan. What say we keep this betrothal to ourselves for the present? I shall win the race tomorrow and claim the purse, a fine start toward building a place of our own.”
“Then we’ll race to Reverend McCue’s?”
He chuckled deep in his throat. “You have no idea what you’re inviting to your marriage bed. I’m half wild.”
Sucking in a giddy breath, she said, “Given half the chance I suspect I may be too.”
Low laughter shook him. “The perfect match.”
“Jack, do be serious for a moment.”
“I am. Completely.”
The sudden transformation in his tone was striking. She searched his unwavering gaze, divulging only what he willed. There was far more to him than met the eye. “Should we exchange some sort of token?” she asked uncertainly.
His lips twitched with repressed smiles. “Apart from the sweet kisses you’ve lavished on me?”
Her mouth dropped open and heat warmed her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. Here, darling.” He reached into his pouch. “A betrothal bracelet.” He held out the shining silver band, skillfully hammered and embellished with curlicues and geometric designs.
She gasped. “Where did you come by this?”
“Your father gave it to me. I’m certain there’s no one he would rather have me entrust it to than you. Though its significance is a good joke on the old he- bear.” Jack smiled and slipped it around her wrist—too loose—and slid it further up her arm under her shift, squeezing it to fit. “Where none will see—”
Bam! The door sprang open with such violence Karin thought it might be jarred from its hinges. She screeched.
“What in blazes!” Jack sat bolt upright, hand on his knife.
Had they conjured up Shequenor—again?
No. Grandpa’s bulk stomped in. Hard on his heels, was Joseph. Behind them in the darkened yard, she glimpsed two blowing horses. She almost preferred Shequenor’s unnerving visitation. She’d never seen her grandfather this ruddy with rage. Her throat seized up and she trembled so she could barely sit.
Not Jack. Clearly accustomed to battle, he sprang to his feet with the wariness of a wolf before an advancing pack of slathering hounds. “The stream is well over its bank. How did you get here?”
Her relations glowered at him. “Found a spot to ford as you could have done, McCray. I swear I’m gonna have your hide, finding the pair of you tucked up in here,” Grandpa vowed.
Jack countered, “I don’t know every inch of that water. See the scars on the door? We were attacked by a bloody great bear and are fortunate to be alive.”
“More fortunate still if you survive me,” Grandpa threatened in turn.
“And me,” Joseph ground out. “Leave off my girl.” His fist flew.
Jack had the foresight to duck, or maybe it was the warning Shequenor had given him. “She’s not yours, little brother.” He launched at Joseph with a punishing undercut to the jaw that sent him staggering.
Swiping at the blood trickling from his lip, Joseph shook off the blow and hurled himself at Jack. “What did you do to her, you thieving savage!”
“Savage, eh?” Jack clipped him on the side of his head in passing. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. But keep at me and I vow you will.” He spun around like a striking snake and sent Joseph thudding to the floor. “The lady is safe, warm, fed—”
“And ravished by the looks of her!” Undaunted, Joseph got to his feet and flung out another fist. “She’s flushed and her hair’s undone.”
Jack deftly wove between the blows. “I didn’t pull it down.” He caught Joseph full in the midriff.
The younger man doubled over with a rush of air. “Maybe not—but you bloody well enjoyed yourself at her expense.”
“I’ll not have it, McCray.” Grandpa walloped Jack in the jaw.
Stumbling back, he rubbed at the fast-reddening mark on his chin. “Ask her yourself if she’s been violated.”
“Jack!” Karin ran to him and thrust herself between the combatants. “I’ve not been molested in any way, Grandpa. Please don’t fight. I love him,” she forced past the lump in her throat.
Joseph cast her a look of scornful disbelief. “How can you love a man who fought at Blue Licks against his own kind?”
If Joseph had driven his fist into her gut, he couldn’t have caught her more unawares. She knew Jack was a Loyalist, but not this. Dismay seeped through her with the heaviness of lead. Crossing her arms over her aching middle, she appealed to him. “No. You didn’t fight at the Battle of Blue Licks?”
Jaw tight, he said, “I told you, you don’t know me.”
She sagged under the weight of her ignorance. “Jack, how could you? All those men fell. Your cousin, Peter—”
He jerked. “I have a cousin?”
“You don’t no more,” Grandpa grunted. “Hellish as that battle was with hundreds of warriors and musket powder hazing everything like smoke from the fiery depths, Jeb Tate swears it was a white man who shot Peter.” An accusing finger pointed at him. “You.”
“Wasn’t it Jeb Tate or his old Da who shot me?”
“Even so. That don’t mean Jeb’s lying now.”
Jack’s mouth flew open. “I was a scout with the Queen’s Rangers at that battle. Two years ago. There were more than a few Loyalists and British regulars among the Ohio Indians. What makes Jeb so sure it was me who fired the shot?”
Grandpa blistered him with a scorching glare. “He’s not. But we just got the confession we needed. You bastard. Too many good men died that day, Kentucky militia and Virginians.”
“Too many died every damn day of that bloody war,” Jack fired back. “I had my fill ages ago. And the punishment leveled against the Shawnee after Blue Licks was severe, villages and crops burnt, women and children made to endure hellish suffering. Few of their tribe even fought in that battle—”
“How dare you defend those savages?” Grandpa broke in.
“It seems they’re the only people I have left.” Jack spun on his heels and snatched up his tomahawk. He slung it at his side and ripped his coat from the wall. “Time I made my way back to them, or those Tories farther up north in Canada.”
“That’s a hell of a journey,” Grandpa began.
“I know my way. I’m a scout, remember?”
“You can’t go off like that. Your mama will cry her eyes red and I want them clear and bright.”
Jack thrust his arms into the sleeves. “Then maybe you’d like to tell her I fought with Chief Brandt for a while.”
Purple splotches mottled the red in the older man’s thunderous countenance. “That Mohawk devil?”
Joseph said nothing. Karin was too dumbstruck to speak. Chief Joseph Brandt was the most famous or infamous chief alive. Was Jack bent on antagonizing the men or did he take some perverse pride in his doings?
“Cunning man, Chief Brandt,” Jack wore on in the stunned silence. “Well educated, even went to London and met King George. Blamed for many atrocities he didn’t commit and some he did, but no one said war was pretty. Only, it’s not over in the frontier. Indians are being driven off their ancestral land by a hoard of settlers the British promised to keep at bay if they won the revolution. See now why the tribes were Loyalists?”
Grandpa quivered, sputtering, “You’ll rouse no sympathy for those blood-thirsty murderers here.”
“Nor will the greenhorns who venture in among the hornets they’ve angered,” Jack tossed back, and pushed past the two men who stood nearly immobile with outrage. He strode to the door. “Now raw settlers will bear the brunt of their fury. There should be treaties and they ought to be honored.”
Karin didn’t understand this man. Part of her despised what he’d done during the war and she itched to pound some sense into him, while a more vulnerable part yearned to feel his lips on hers again. She could do neither one if he walked out the door and mounted his horse. “Jack, wait. Please.”
The flash in his gaze softened as his eyes settled on her. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be seeing you.”
She ran to the door and squeezed between him and the frame. “Not if you leave.”
Regret tinged his expression. “I must.”
“Don’t go.” She blinked at tears, ready to wrestle him to the floor if need be to delay him, aware of how ludicrous that thought was.
“Let him be, Karin,” Joseph ordered.
“No.” She’d fling her arms around Jack and hold on.
Sliding his thumb under her chin, he looked into her eyes. She couldn’t be sure with her blurred sight, but could have sworn he flicked her a wink. “It’s the only way, girl. Say goodbye to Mama for me and don’t fret. I’ll take care of you know who as I promised.”
Grandpa snapped his head at him. “What? Who are you speaking of?”
“Can you not guess?” A long look passed between them, and a grave expression came over the older man’s face. He stilled as Jack said, “I am not your avowed enemy, Mister McNeal, though you are persuaded I’m more fiend than friend. But I know one who would gladly see you dead and take what’s most dear to you.”
In seconds her grandfather’s entire demeanor had changed. For the first time in Karin’s memory, the hint of fear breached that normally impregnable gaze. Then he breathed out so softly she barely heard, “Shequenor lives.”
“Oh, yes. He’s very much alive and on the prowl.”
Sworn to secrecy, Karin listened in silence.
Grandpa lost the red hue that colored him only a short time ago. “God help us.”
“Pray hard. This time he’s gone mad,” Jack added.
“Crazed savage. Hold on, McC
ray. I may have been too hasty in my judgment of you.”
The world as Karin knew it had turned on its head.
Jack weighed the abrupt alteration as if he’d anticipated it. “That so, Mister McNeal?
“Aye. Atrocities were committed on both sides, but the war’s over in these parts. We’re all Americans now. What say you?” Grandpa actually extended his hand.
Jack accepted his outstretched fingers in a handshake. “I never said different.”
Joseph gaped in livid disbelief from one man to the other. “You can’t mean to forgive him just like that.”
Grandpa rounded on him. “I do, by God. There’s a greater menace out there than your misguided brother. One only he has any notion how to battle. Poor fellow’s been off too long with the Indians. We’ll help him recall who he is.”
Karin doubted Jack was that malleable, but didn’t voice her assumption being far too astonished.
Discounting his thunderstruck brother, Jack said evenly, “Well, then. Let’s get on home before my mother worries her fair head over us, shall we? There’s a big race to ready for.”
Grudging approval in his eyes, Grandpa gave a nod. “So there is.” Apparently all was resolved between them. At least, for now. “I suppose you’ve been taught to ride as well as you fight?”
“By the very best,” Jack said.
Joseph bristled to life. “No man outrides me.”
“Karin did,” Grandpa scoffed.