"I tried to run away," Cassandra admitted after a moment. "That's why the Kiowa marked me."
She didn't tell the wide-eyed child that it had hurt far more to be considered Little Otter's property, to know that once the women had tattooed her, she would carry the mark of her servitude for the rest of her days. With the tattoo marring her face, she could never truly belong to herself again. That realization sliced more deeply now than ever before because she wanted so much to make a new life with Meggie and Drew.
"It's not good to run away," Meggie pronounced solemnly.
"Sometimes it is," Lila corrected her, breaking into the conversation from across the room. "Sometimes a body needs to run—when there's danger or something's hurting too bad to do anything else."
Cass looked up, surprised by the woman's defense. But before Cassie could thank her, Lila had turned back to the fire.
"Looks to me like this here tea is ready. Does that mean we can find out what kind of treat Miss Cassandra brought you?"
With a smile and a flourish, Cassie flipped back the towel she'd put around the fried cakes to protect them from the snow.
"Oh, I do like fried cakes!" Meggie exclaimed, settling herself at the table and waiting for the women to do the same. "Don't I, Lila?"
Though there wasn't all that much conversation as they ate, a good deal of the constraint Cassie had sensed when she arrived had evaporated. Lila was gentle and firm with her young charge, correcting her when she tried to dunk a piece of fried cake into her milk and tea. She encouraged Meggie to talk about the snowman all the laundresses' children had built earlier in the week, about how she was learning to write her name, and about how her father sometimes let her ride up in front of him on his big bay horse.
While Lila was clearing the plates away, Cassie dug into her bag of tricks. She bypassed the top the major had whittled, the paraphernalia she'd brought to play the moccasin game, and pushed aside the ball of string and the big black buttons for making "hummers."
At the bottom of the bag was the doll she'd been working on all week. She had fashioned it from doeskin—stuffed the body with batting, embroidered eyes, a tiny nose, and a rosebud mouth. She had attached thick, pale skeins of horsehair clipped from the tail of the major's palomino and dressed the doll in a blouse, a jacket, and a skirt made from scraps she'd found in Sally's rag bag.
With a pleasant feeling of pride and anticipation, Cassie took out the doll. The little girl didn't seem to have many toys, so surely she would welcome—
"No-o-o-o!" Meggie howled when she saw the doll. "No! No! No-o-o-o!"
Cassie's bright hopes turned to ashes in her chest.
"Meggie, look," Cassandra said as calmly as she could. "She's a nice dolly."
The little girl slapped at her, nearly knocking the doll out of Cassie's hands.
"No-o-o!" she screamed.
"Meggie," Lila interceded. "Meggie, all Miss Cassandra wants is to give you the doll. Won't you take it?"
"No!" she howled again, tears spilling from those big gray eyes. "I don't want it!"
Lila hitched Meggie up onto her hip. The child clung to her like bindweed. "What's the matter, dumpling? Why don't you want the doll?"
"Mama," she sobbed.
"You want your mama, sweetheart?" Lila asked, trying to interpret the child's distress. "You know that your mother has gone away to live with God in Heaven. Your papa has explained all that."
"Mama," Meggie wailed.
"What about Mama?" Cassie asked.
"Mama's not in heaven. You shrinked her!" she accused before burying her face in Lila's neck.
Lila and Cass exchanged startled glances.
"Of course I didn't shrink her!" Cassie began. But then, seeing the color of Meggie's hair, Cass could well imagine that Laura Reynolds's might have been this same pale, white-gold. It was because of Meggie's fairness that Cassie had asked to clip the strands from the tail of the major's horse.
"The doll wasn't meant to look like your mother," Cassie went on. "It was supposed to look like you."
"Then—" Meggie snuffled, glaring at Cassie from one red-rimmed eye, "then why is she—she wearing Mama's dress?"
Her mother's dress? Cassie thought back to the fabric she'd used. It had come from a pretty but well-worn gown. One, now that she stopped to consider it, that would have been far too small to fit Sally McGarrity's more generous curves. Was it possible that she had inadvertently used a length of cloth that had once belonged to Laura Reynolds?
"I'm sorry," Cassandra said, feeling her own throat tighten. "I—I didn't dress the doll like your mother on purpose."
"How do you suppose that happened, then?" Lila challenged, speaking loudly to make herself heard above Meggie's wailing.
Cassandra told her.
"Good Lord! Do you really think that's it?" Lila's big, rough-skinned hands were rubbing circles on Meggie's back.
"I can't imagine anything else. Drew must have given Sally his wife's old things."
"And to think Captain Reynolds told this poor little tyke that once he married you, you'd be taking her mother's place."
"Is that what he told her?" Cassie gasped. "Then what must Meggie be thinking?"
Going around behind Lila, Cassie tried to look into Meggie's face, tried to take her hand. Meggie mewed at her and curled up tighter in Lila's arms.
"Meggie," she began, trying to think what was most important to say, "I want you to know I didn't do anything to make your mother go away. I haven't come to take your mother's place. I will be marrying your father. I will be coming to live in this house. But all I want is to be your friend.
"I'm going now, and I'm taking the dolly with me. I'll keep her safe for you. If you decide you want her, all you have to do is ask. All right?"
If she expected any sign that Meggie had understood, Cassie was destined to be disappointed. She tucked the doll into her bag and quickly gathered up her things.
Lila waited as Cassie flung on her cloak. "I'm sorry about this," she said, her voice gruff and deep.
"No sorrier than I am," Cassie answered.
"Meggie's a good child, really," the laundress continued. "Coming all this way, losing her mother, not having anyone to count on has been hard on her."
"I imagine it has."
"I think you marrying the captain will be good for her—for her and the captain both. They're two lost souls."
Cassie had sensed that somehow Drew had lost his way. She just wasn't sure she was the one to guide him back.
"You have a good heart," the laundress continued, surprising both of them with her candor. "Just keep in mind it takes time to make a difference in someone's life."
Cass looked into Lila Wilcox's eyes and saw unexpected acceptance there, understanding, and what might be the beginning of a friendship.
Cassie gave Lila one of her rare smiles. "That sounds like good advice," she said. "I'll do my best to take it. And, Lila, thank you."
"I just want to see them happy," Lila said, opening the cabin door for her to leave.
"So do I," Cassandra assured her. "So do I."
Chapter 9
Every girl dreamed of the day she would marry her first love. Cassie had started dreaming about marrying Drew when he had carried a slingshot instead of a cavalry pistol and stolen ribbons from her hair. Now that Drew had asked her to marry him, every one of those girlish fancies came rushing back.
She had seen too much of life to imagine Drew still cared for her. Years had passed. He had been married to someone else. She had changed in ways that neither of them wanted to face. Though he might still feel the pull of that old attraction, Drew's decision to make her his wife was a practical one—based in reason not romance. Yet when she took her place before the minister in the McGarritys' tiny parlor, Cassie felt a reckless surge of hope.
She wanted this marriage to work. She needed to find a bit of peace by being part of this man's life, and she hoped by some stray miracle they could find a way to love each other.
"Dearly beloved," the parson began. "We are gathered together in the sight of God and this company to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."
The members of "this company" were decidedly sparse. Because Drew had been concerned that Meggie might not behave in an appropriate fashion, he had gone ahead and made arrangements for her to spend today and tonight with Lila Wilcox. Cassandra had asked Sally to send a note to Hunter Jalbert, thinking he might relent and come to befriend her. But word came back through one of the corporals that Jalbert had ridden out again on army business.
So it was that when Cassie and Drew stood up before the minister to pledge their lives, Major and Mrs. McGarrity were the only witnesses.
"Will you, Andrew Scott Reynolds," the parson intoned, "have this woman, Cassandra Claire Morgan, to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and keep thee only unto her, for as long as you both shall live?"
"I will," Drew responded.
The minister turned his gaze on Cassie.
As she repeated the words, she stared at the handsome man she was taking as her husband. In his full-dress uniform, Drew was all buffed and brushed and shiny, all serious and intent. All closed up tight within himself. She wished she could find some hint of emotion in his eyes. Instead they were as cool and impenetrable as silver mirrors, reflecting back her own fragile hopes and towering uncertainties.
As Drew repeated the rest of his vows, she wondered if he understood how much she wanted to please him. To that end she'd packed all of Sweet Grass Woman's belongings in a battered trunk. She had dressed for her wedding in a white woman's full regalia—a borrowed gown of watered silk, a laced-up corset and horsehair hoops, stockings and ribbon garters, and the excruciatingly pointed, shin-high boots. She was as proper—and as uncomfortable—as she had ever been in her life. She just hoped that the changes she was making in herself would mark today as a new beginning.
Once Drew had spoken his vows, Cassie clasped his fingers tightly in her own and pledged to love and honor and obey him, to care for and comfort him for the rest of his days.
Then Drew produced a plain gold band from his pocket. He turned one of his rare, sun-bright smiles on her and eased the circlet of gold onto Cassie's finger. "With this ring I thee wed," he whispered.
Cassie went warm all over.
But the ring caught at Cassie's knuckle. Drew wiggled and turned the narrow band, trying to force it on.
"Oh merciful heavens!" the parson breathed.
She could sense Sally's dismay and Ben McGarrity's growing impatience. But most of all Cassie saw Drew scowling down at her as if he were only now seeing in those strong, capable hands, who she was and what she had become.
Cassie pulled her finger out of his grasp and twisted the ring in place. "We can proceed now," she suggested pointedly.
The parson mumbled his way through the final blessing and declared Drew and Cassandra man and wife. Sally rushed over to envelope Cassandra in a hug. The major reached across and shook Drew's hand.
It wasn't until McGarrity and his wife had turned to sign the marriage certificate that Drew approached Cassandra. "I suppose it's time I kissed my bride."
The kiss he gave her was perfunctory, but his mouth clung to hers just long enough to remind her that she would be lying with him tonight, that they would be making love. The thought of that spawned a tight, fluttery anticipation in Cassie's throat.
Major McGarrity's striker and Sergeant Goodwin had contrived to provide the couple with a wedding cake and a few glasses of punch. Still, without the toasts and music and dancing, the celebration didn't last long.
Drew and Cassie took their leave and made the walk down Officers' Row just as the sun was melting away. If word of the captain's wedding had gotten out, there was no sign of it. Men returning from afternoon assembly brushed past them, but no one stopped to offer congratulations. Cassie knew that most of the people in the fort disapproved of her, but she had hoped that someone would wish Drew well.
Once they reached his quarters, Drew set about the business of lighting the lamps and replenishing the fires. While he was busy, Cassie took more careful note of her new home. The layout of the cabin was more or less the same as the McGarritys', with the front door opening into the parlor, a bedroom through a curtained doorway to the left, and the kitchen attached at the back of the house.
Though it hardly seemed possible, Drew's accommodations were even more spartan than the major's. There was nothing in the parlor but a chair, a china mantel clock, and a scarred campaign desk. Having no desire to inventory the furnishings in the bedchamber, Cassie wandered into the kitchen and set the remains of their wedding cake on the table.
She sensed Drew's entry into the room in the same way a compass knows which way is north. She turned and watched as he tended the fire, seeing how the orange glow of the flames threaded his hair with copper and gold. Cassie stood watching Drew and felt as if she had been waiting for this moment all her life.
Only when he turned away from the fireplace did Drew seem to realize she was there. "You haven't taken off your cloak," he said, coming toward her.
"I—I've hardly had a chance."
"Then why don't you let me help you?"
Cassie's fingers stumbled over the braided fastener at the throat. Drew waited in silence then swept the heavy garment from around her shoulders. He dropped it onto the bench beside them, where it pooled and shifted, sliding to the floor with a whisper of silk.
It was the only sound in the quiet room, the only movement.
Cassie stood with her heart beating high in her throat, more aware of Drew than she had ever been of anyone. He stood over her, tall and broad and vital, smelling of bootblack and tobacco, of wool and cedar and cold winter air. Of strength and assurance and security.
She wanted to reach out to him, but she didn't have the courage. It had been years since she'd made love, years since she had truly given herself. She wasn't sure she remembered how to do that, no matter what she'd promised. Could she respond to Drew? Would she reveal too much about her past as they made love? Would she know how to please him?
As if sensing her doubts, Drew breached the distance between them. He curled his hands around her shoulders. He whispered her name, as if he were calling her back to a time when life was simple and their love was all that mattered.
He lowered his mouth and kissed her, brushing her lips as if she were a giddy girl, and he a shy, inexperienced boy. He kissed her as he had that day down by the creek, as if they had all the time in the world to explore what they'd discovered together.
He drew her closer with nothing more than the invitation of his mouth. Their kisses flowed one into the next with only a slow withdrawal and a gradual deepening to mark the completion of one and the beginning of another. He raised his hands to cup her face, his palms broad and warm against her.
But beneath the brush of his fingertips the tattoo throbbed, reminding her of who she was and what she'd been, reminding her that she was ugly when she wanted to be beautiful.
Drew must have sensed her uneasiness, for when he raised his head, his eyes were dark with confusion. "Cassie?" he murmured. "What is it, Cassie?"
A cold, deep sadness spread inside her. Things weren't the way they should have been. Yet for this one night she wanted to pretend they were.
She longed to imagine that they had been married with their families looking on, that they had come home to a house Drew and his brothers had built, that they were looking to a future blessed with love and joy and children.
For this one night she needed that.
Cassie reached for Drew and gave herself up to pretending. As if he understood, as if he needed the pretending as much as she, Drew swept her up in his arms and carried her off to the bedchamber.
The room was small and chill, with the colors of sunset spilling across the foot of the bed. By that faint roseate glow, Cassie could see that the pillows had
been fluffed, that the sheets had been turned back and sprinkled with lavender. Two fat beeswax candles, a bottle of wine, and two stemmed glasses sat on the rickety nightstand. Someone—probably Sally—had done her best to turn this barren room and this rusty iron bed into Cassie's bridal bower.
Seeing that, Cass went still inside. Once, she might have dreamed that her life with Drew would begin with soft, smooth sheets that smelled of lavender, with candles and wine, but she wasn't sure she could pretend she deserved all this.
When Drew lowered her to the edge of the bed and stepped away, she was afraid he meant to leave her there.
Instead he began to remove the intricate trappings of his uniform. The rasp of leather and the faint jingle of buckles as he unfastened his sword belt and scabbard set Cassie's nerves on edge. It seemed to take forever for him to unwind the red mesh sash that encircled his waist. It took longer still for him to tug off his cavalry boots.
When he was done, he paused to look at her with puzzlement in his eyes, almost as if she was a gift he'd asked for long ago and didn't know what to do with now.
Though she was quaking inside, Cassie lifted one hand in invitation.
Drew smiled and padded toward her.
"Oh Drew," Cassandra whispered. "I—I want to thank you for agreeing to this. For marrying me in spite of everything."
He laid his palm against her cheek, against the tattoo as if he were blocking out that part of her life.
"Oh, Cassie, no," he said on a sigh. "After all you've been through, you should have whatever you need. I only did what was right by taking you as my wife."
Cassie swallowed hard. She had wanted to be more than a responsibility, more than an obligation to the man she'd loved for as long as she could remember.
As she sat silent, wondering if she could tell him that, Drew's hands found their way into her hair. He plucked the pins from her chignon one by one and let the thick, buttery-brown coils spill down her back. He tangled his fingers in those loosened strands and sought her mouth. He closed his eyes and nibbled at her. He sipped and tasted. He lingered and savored, and when he raised his head, Cassandra could hear the uneven cadence of his breathing.
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