The Bearwalker's Daughter

by Beth Trissel

  No woods. No wolves...only the silvery stream of light. He gulped in shakily. He must have been dreaming. What else accounted for his sudden assault? And yet, those images seemed so unalterably real. He almost looked to see if red still colored his shirt and his attacker was sprawled at his side. He’d better get hold of himself. Still, it nagged at him that something more, something sinister, lay behind the dream.

  Was he that rattled from the day’s harrowing encounter, or was Shequenor tormenting him for refusing to comply with his demand?

  That seemed more likely. His adopted brother, now adversary, wouldn’t back down easily just because they’d reached the relative safety of the McNeals’ fort-like stone house. Jack sensed the dark force couldn’t enter here, partly because of Neeley’s ministration with the sacred herbs and because these were God-fearing people, but uneasiness gnawed at him.

  He sat up and his heart beat out a warning. No. Shequenor wouldn’t retreat. He’d find a way. And Jack should never underestimate his cunning opponent.

  Sudden dread gripped him. Karin!

  Clamoring to his feet, he lunged to the railing at the edge of the loft. He bent over it and stared below. Shadows lay heavily in the room where low flames left portions of the generous space unlit.

  He spotted her dressed in her white shift, poised before the door. As if she heard something, or someone, calling to her, she walked closer. Her stocking feet made only the faintest creak on the floor.

  What in heaven’s name was she thinking? She couldn’t possibly go outdoors in this bitter night.

  “Karin,” Jack summoned, loudly enough to attract her without waking the entire household.

  She didn’t even turn her head.

  “Karin,” he said more loudly.

  Heedless of him, she didn’t seem to hear but hearkened to some inner voice. Reaching out her hand, she slid the bolt and swung the door open. Gusts of wind tossed her hair all around her, but even the cold didn’t seem to snap her from this trance-like state.

  She was going out that door!

  Climbing from the loft would take too long. Jack vaulted over the rail and dropped down onto the protesting boards like a panther springing from a tree to the forest floor.

  “Karin!” Crying her name, he galloped across the room and caught her just as she stepped outside. Snagging her around the waist, he jerked her back into the room and shut the door. He slid the bolt. “Are you crazy?” he asked a little roughly in his fear.

  No answer.

  Keeping a grip on her, he turned her toward him. She tilted her face up at him, seeing, yet not seeing.

  “What in the world? Karin, it’s me, Jack.”

  Her eyes held the glazed stare of a sleepwalker. How cold she felt, and yet she seemed oblivious of it. “You can’t go out there. You would freeze to death.”

  “I’ll need my cloak.” Her voice had no expression.

  “You’ll need a sight more than that.”

  “My shoes—”

  “You are not sticking a toe outside.”

  “He wants me to come to him.”

  Had Shequenor bewitched her, put a spell on the entire household? No one awakened at the commotion he’d caused. “Good God, Karin, you aren’t going anywhere without me.”

  “Come with me, then.”

  Those weren’t her words. Shequenor had prompted her to say that. “No. We are staying right here in this valley. Not going deep into those mountains.”

  “We must.”

  Jack gave her a shake to try and jolt her from this enchantment. “Look at me.”

  She stared unblinking into his face.

  “Not like that. You know me, damn it.”

  Her dimly seen expression was purely dazed. “You belong to me now, not him.” At all costs, Jack would avoid using his name.

  She seemed lost in a dream.

  “Fight this, Karin. He has some sort of power over you.”

  A faint moan escaped her as if she heard him and struggled, but wasn’t succeeding. Her slender body shook beneath her shift.

  Jack clutched her to him. “Wake up, darling.”

  Thank God, he’d roused when he had. No one else in the house made a sound. They must be sleeping like the dead, or equally bewitched. He swung her up in his arms and bore her across the room. His one thought, to get her away from that door and back into coherent rapport with him. But where should he take her?

  Unless he threw Joseph out of his room, and that didn’t strike Jack as wise, he had nowhere else to go but back to his ill-equipped quarters. He badly needed his own place, he thought, and climbed up the ladder with Karin in tow. Like one in a trance, she offered no resistance.

  Jack gently laid her on the deerskin that formed the base of his bedroll. He knelt beside her and circled his hand to her cold cheek. “Karin, come back to me.”

  She gazed up at him, trembling, in the milky light without any real awareness in her face. What did he have that could possibly compete with Shequenor’s bizarre hold over her?

  He covered her with the blanket and lay down beside her. Sliding beneath the cover, he drew her snugly against him and buried his face in her hair. The silken cascade smelled so sweet. She was utterly desirable, so close, and yet so distant.

  Then she sighed against his neck and whispered, “Do you hear the music?”

  An odd question, but at least she’d spoken to him. “No, sweetheart. What sort of music do you hear?”

  “Flute. It sings in the trees. Do you see them?”

  Not the trees, but Jack envisioned the finely carved instrument in Shequenor’s lodge. He was a master of the melodic woodwind.

  “The moonlight is bright on the snow. ’Tis lovely. Listen...”

  She must be in the same place Jack dreamt of, minus the wolves. Shequenor had tried to detain him there while using his unearthly power to transport Karin in her mind. Did that madman actually mean for her to go off into the night? Would he risk her death to obtain her, or somehow whisk her away?

  Jack didn’t know, only that he must get past the melody singing in her mind to reach her. Pressing his lips to her ear, he softly blew. “I’m calling you, Karin. Listen to me.”

  She shivered at his whispered entreaty. He’d touched a sensitive part of her. He could do far better than this.

  Tightening his arm at her waist, he pulled her nearer. She came, whether willing or placid, he couldn’t be certain. Lowering his head, he settled his lips over her cool mouth. At first, she remained passive beneath his tenderness. He drew harder on her lips, determined to coax a response. Warmth slowly came into her chilled mouth, and then she lightly pressed his in turn.

  A thrill rippled through him. This, Jack had over Shequenor.

  He tucked his mouth over her lower lip and then her upper, tugging sensuously at her until she fully surrendered. Rolling over with her in his arms, he stopped just above her. The moon seemed brighter as he kissed her as she’d never been kissed before. Cupping her face between his hands, he poured his soul into her upturned mouth.

  Music sang in his heart of his own making. God, let her hear.

  When she came back to herself, Jack couldn’t be sure. It might’ve been when she gasped his name, or leaned into his kiss for more. He groaned with relief and delight, but must ease back and let her catch her breath. He released her lips and held her to him, willing her never to leave his side. Though there’d be hell to pay, if the McNeal men or Joseph found them like this.

  “Karin—” He panted like he’d been battling wolves.” “I must return you to Neeley.” He’d sleep outside the door and guard her.

  “No. Let me stay with you.”

  She was wonderfully warmer now. Jack fought the tremendous urge to strip off her shift and clutch her bare in his arms...to know all of her. She was so infinitely vulnerable. It would be all too easy.

  Lifting her hand to his face, she trailed her fingers over the whiskers stubbling his chin. “Let me stay awhile.”

  “I want yo
u to stay forever, but we are not yet wed.”

  “We’re betrothed.”

  “Yes. But only with Neeley’s blessing, not your grandfather’s or anyone else’s.”

  Karin covered his mouth with her fingertips. “We shall keep this troth between us and steal away to be wed at our first opportunity, as we planned.”

  “You remember the plan?”

  She seemed puzzled. “Of course. Don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes.” Only now it included keeping a sharp eye on Karin and his nose to the wind. With Shequenor ever on the lookout, Jack must be wary and ready. Fortunately, he’d been taught by the very one who now sought them.

  ****

  “Why in blazes are you lying before her door?”

  Startled at the gruff query, Jack opened heavy eyes and blinked sleepily up at John McNeal who loomed over him. “I discovered Karin sleepwalking right out the front door last night.”

  Reddish-gray eyebrows arched in the older man’s face. “She’s never done that afore.”

  Jack ran a hand through his loose hair. “She was answering a call.”

  Mister McNeal scratched his ear. “We’ve chamber pots a plenty for that.”

  “Not a call of nature. She heard a strange summons and followed,” Jack said significantly. “She would have gone out in her shift and stocking feet.”

  Consternation narrowed the blue eyes fixed on Jack. “Into that biting cold?”

  “And not noticed. She couldn’t refuse him.”

  “Him?”

  “Shequenor has peculiar powers.” Jack kept his voice low, hating to utter his name for fear of conjuring him from the shadows.

  “He can work enchantment?” Mister McNeal asked in a hushed tone, evidently with the same dread.

  “More than you know.” Jack sat up a little stiffly after his exploits in the night and gingerly tested his shoulder. “And he wants Karin back.”

  “Never had her in the first place,” Mister McNeal snapped.

  “Try telling him that.”

  “Someday I just may, the bloody devil. We must watch her every moment.”

  “I am doing so.” Jack was fortunate he hadn’t broken an ankle vaulting from the loft.

  “So you are.” He studied Jack, seeming to want to ask something, and then hesitated. Finally, he spoke, “How do you know him?”

  “I was adopted into his family. He’s my older brother.”

  “So you are well acquainted?”

  “Better than most,” Jack allowed.

  A sage eye appraised him. “That savage sent you here for her, didn’t he?”

  Jack gave a nod. “I never expected what I found.”

  “She’s a rare one, right enough.”

  “I would do anything to protect her, sir. I swear it. I want to wed her.”

  “Humph. Do you now?”

  “Karin agreed to our betrothal,” Jack pointed out, realizing how little weight that would bear with this man.

  “The girl’s not your challenge. Least ways, not yet. Have to prove yourself to me first.”

  He’d already heard that from a more unusual source. “How? Name the task.”

  “Start by winning that race. There’s a fee to enter, but as you doubtless have no coins, I’ll pay your way.”

  “Thank you. That’s very decent of you, sir.”

  A wicked glint lit his gaze. “You may not say that after the run. You’ll have to fight like Old Hob’s on your tail to beat your way through that mob of riders.”

  “I’ve been doing that for years,” Jack scoffed.

  “You’ve not come up against these lads before. And don’t think for a moment Joseph’s forgiven you.”

  “No. There’s one other problem,” Jack admitted.

  The older man slanted quizzical eyes at him. “What might that be?”

  “Peki isn’t actually my horse.”

  “Who does he belong to, man?”

  “Him.”

  Mister McNeal shook his head wonderingly. “You just took off with that fine animal?”

  “We had a bargain,” Jack conceded.

  “Ah. I see now. One you failed to keep.”

  “And have no intention of keeping.”

  Weathered features cracked in a faint smile. “You stirred up the hornet’s nest right enough, Jack. But, my hat’s off to you if you can win against such odds.” With that, he walked away.

  It occurred to Jack that the normally taciturn man had actually smiled and called him by his first name. The world had indeed turned upside down. As for the race, he’d win it and revel in the respect he’d gain. Unless, uneasy thought, Shequenor sent those blasted wolves after him again.

  Chapter Eleven

  A breeze stirred the trees along the purplish ridges jutting up on either side of Karin. The gale had blown itself out and the sky was so blue this afternoon it seemed to arch across the heavens forever, as she assumed the mountains rolled infinitely over the land. But the air had an edge like a honed blade, with the hint of snow in its teeth. She was glad of her scarf, cloak, and the extra petticoats beneath her crimson skirts. Bundled against the chill, she joined the buzzing swarm of men, women, and children gathered for the race.

  Folks came from all over the valley and darkened hollows back in the ridges, and farther. She didn’t recognize some of them. Newcomers and wilder sorts of mountain men swelled the excited ranks. Word of this annual harvest run must have grown with the size of the purse. There’d be trouble soon, she wagered, and strained to glimpse the course beyond the heads and shoulders lumped in front of her.

  Men wearing long jackets, heavy waistcoats layered over wool shirts, or thick hunting shirts alone, donned with caps, scarves, and wide-brimmed hats, blocked her view. Women clustered beside them in caped and hooded cloaks. Only the roughest females made do with blankets pinned about their lanky frames, their men in shirts of dressed out deerskin.

  The hues of clothing in this host were as vibrant as autumn leaves with the abundance of natural dyes available. These able people could turn their hands to dying and weaving durable cloth as Neeley and Sarah often had, and they appreciated color. Some of the more well-to-do wore store-bought cloth from the dry goods store grandpa journeyed to twice a year. Purchases there all depended on how well their crops and livestock had fared and the toll the latest war had taken.

  Thank God, they were relatively at peace now, though that could change abruptly with the next British or tribal invasion. Only babes were entirely unaware. But today, all was forgotten in anticipation of the race.

  Sarah hunched beside Karin muffled in a crimson scarf and mantle made of finest wool, the same as Karin’s. The genteel little woman liked to stay by the hearth with her sewing and a hot cup of tea, but she’d accompanied her.

  “I do hope they don’t brawl,” Sarah said.

  “Best not look, then.”

  “I can’t stand here with my eyes shut. Besides, your grandfather says I’m to keep close watch on you, and Jack was insistent. So don’t stray, lass.”

  “Just near enough to see.”

  “We jolted all this way in that wretched wagon over washed-out roads, so we might as well view the race, though it will likely be a rough display.” Sarah waved her ahead. “Go on. I will follow you. I do wish Jack would have given himself time to heal.”

  Considering he’d battled his brother and outridden wolves among other happenings since his injury, Karin wasn’t too concerned. “I changed his dressing. He’s mending well.”

  “He would be out there racing either way, wouldn’t he?” Sarah said.

  “Doubtless.” Rowdy onlookers jostled Karin as she squeezed through their bulk among scents of wood smoke, cooking, and unwashed bodies.

  Men emanated pungent tobacco and male musk, some overpoweringly so. Unbearable, if she’d been confined with them indoors. Still, their stink made her eyes water. She realized she’d been spoiled by the sweet herbs Neeley used in everything and the cleanliness Sarah promoted in the ho
usehold. And Jack, my but he smelled good, manly, but appealing...

  Sarah seemed to realize Karin was daydreaming and took her firmly by the arm to direct her. “Step aside, please. Let us pass,” she requested in a polite, no-nonsense tone.

  One amply endowed matron probed Karin with beady eyes from under her wrapping. She nudged her robust companion. “Let ‘em through, Elvy. Them’s McNeal women,” she gushed with a respectful nod.

  The two scuttled aside like wooly ewes and the rest of the horde parted. Their deference made Karin even more aware of the reputation her grandfather and uncles commanded. Part of her glowed with pride in these self-made men. The McNeals came as near to gentry as anyone in these mountains.

  Realization stung her. She’d taken such esteem for granted. Could Jack ever elicit the same high regard after his actions during the war, and how would she cope with the scorn heaped on her once their betrothal were known, or worse, after they’d wed? Somehow, he must gain their respect.

  She paused at the border of the meadow, bent and browned by frost and trampled under the hooves of several dozen impatient mounts. The wide swathe of turf stretched out before her in a two to three mile track that must be crossed, the old sycamore at the far end rounded in front of appointed witnesses, and the same field covered again back to the starting line. First rider back, won. Simple in itself, but only if you raced alone.