“I was able to have an audience with Governor Lyttleton immediately and saw no reason to delay. Besides, as I just explained to your daughter, I’m escorting Lady Caroline to Seven Pines. She’s to be Robert’s wife.”
Caroline didn’t imagine the slight lift of her host’s bushy white brows when Raff introduced her. But George Walker was extremely considerate and polite.
“You must be tired, my dear,” he said as he took her hand. “Rebecca will show you to your room. As soon as you’ve freshened up, we’ll eat.”
After thanking him, Caroline began to follow an obviously reluctant Rebecca up the stairs. The girl fairly bounced when she walked, and Caroline thought she must look very drab and listless in comparison as she clutched the banister.
Below, in the hallway, George Walker clasped his friend’s shoulder. “’Tis glad I am, that you’ve come. And not just because Rebecca wonders constantly when you’ll arrive.”
“I do no such thing,” Rebecca called back, stopping so abruptly that Caroline almost bumped into her. “Papa, don’t you dare tell such tales on me.”
Rebecca turned, hands akimbo, and glared down at the two men standing shoulder to shoulder below stairs. Her cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes sparkled, and in that instant, Caroline realized why. Rebecca Walker was in love with Raff MacQuaid.
Since she had little experience with romance of any type, Caroline wasn’t certain how she knew. But know, she did. She glanced around, to see if she could discern if Mr. MacQuaid was privy to this tidbit of information, and her breath caught in her throat.
She’d thought of her future stepson as imposing and unmistakably masculine, in turn broodingly quiet and angry, but as she stared at him now, she appreciated how handsome he was. His hand rested on the rounded newel, as he grinned up at Rebecca. Then his piercing stare shifted, meeting Caroline’s, and she felt as if all the air was sucked from her body.
Rebecca flounced about, continuing the climb up the stairs, and Caroline had no choice but to follow.
Dinner that night was delicious; Caroline hadn’t realized how hungry she was. But afterward, when she would have preferred to climb into the soft down-filled bed and sleep, she adjourned to the drawing room with Rebecca while her father and Raff walked outside. Rebecca’s vibrant mood vanished, and she sullenly stared out the window, answering only briefly Caroline’s attempts at conversation.
Finally giving up, Caroline sat ignored and uncomfortable in one of the Queen Anne chairs, wondering when she could politely excuse herself. She’d just about decided she’d endured the woman’s silence long enough when Rebecca turned, her dark head cocked to one side.
“He hates his father, you know.”
“I beg your pardon?” Caroline wasn’t sure if she heard correctly. For the seemingly unsolicited statement made no sense.
“Raff. He can’t tolerate Robert for the way he treated his mother... and the rest of the Cherokee.”
Not knowing how to respond, Caroline studied the hands folded in her lap.
“He’ll hate you, too. I know he will.”
Caroline swallowed. “I don’t think any of this is your concern.”
“Oh, but everything about Raff is my concern.” She smoothed the swaying skirts of her brocaded gown. “I thought you should know that he’ll never care about you... because of his father.”
“’Tis very... kind of you to tell me.” Caroline stood, not quite knowing what to say. She smiled, hoping to relieve some of the tension she felt emanating from the girl. “I’m very tired. If you’ll excuse me, I think I shall retire.”
“That’s splendid. And don’t worry, I’ll make your excuses to Raff and my father.”
With a nod of her head, Caroline left the room, closing the door behind her. The hallway was airy, the door leading from the back of the house open, and Caroline couldn’t resist walking toward it. A breath of fresh air might clear her head and help her make some sense of Rebecca’s remarks. It wasn’t until she paused in the doorway that she realized Mr. Walker and Raff were nearby.
She couldn’t see them in the darkness, but though they spoke in hushed tones, she could hear them. Caroline was about to turn back inside when something her host said caught her attention.
“You think there will be war then between the Cherokee and the English?”
But it was Raff’s response that sent a shiver up her spine.
“Lyttleton sends talk of compromise. But I think it is too late.”
Two
War.
Caroline took a deep breath and stepped back. She was assured by Mr. Chipford that the Carolinas would be spared the bloodshed that had plagued many of the other colonies. But that opinion obviously wasn’t shared by Raff MacQuaid. He talked as if outbreaks of fighting would soon be common on the frontier. And that’s where they were bound.
Caroline was so intent upon listening that the deep bong of the tall case clock in the hall was startling. Her small gasp was loud enough to interrupt the conversation on the porch.
Caroline stood frozen with indecision as footfalls headed her way. And then Mr. Walker came through the door, and it was too late for retreat.
“Ah, Lady Simmons, were you seeking us?”
“Yes... yes, I was,” Caroline lied, silently thanking her host for providing the chance to explain away her obvious eavesdropping. Her gaze shifted up to meet Raff’s as he followed Mr. Walker into the pool of light from the brass sconces lining the hallway. It was obvious from his expression that he didn’t believe her. Caroline cleared her throat. “I wished to... to...” Caroline forced her eyes from his dark stare and focused instead on Mr. Walker’s jovial face. “To retire.”
“Of course, you do, my dear. You must be exhausted. I know how Raff rides, never taking into consideration that the rest of us aren’t his equal on a horse.”
“Oh, Mr. MacQuaid was very kind during the journey.” Caroline felt compelled to defend her future stepson, despite the fact that he still stared at her with enough intensity to make her uncomfortable. He made no comment, and all Mr. Walker did was laugh, a deep booming sound as he took her hand and accompanied her to the foot of the stairs.
“I hope you find everything to your comfort, Lady Caroline.”
“I’m sure I shall. Thank you.” Caroline rested her hand on the smooth banister, anxious to make good her escape upstairs. But she hesitated. Glancing around she smiled, first at her host. “Good night, Mr. Walker.” Then at Raff who’d followed her to the stairs. “Good night, Mr. MacQuaid.”
She didn’t wait for any response, which from the older man was pleasant, from her future stepson nonexistent, before turning and hurrying up the staircase.
“Are you trying to frighten the girl to death?”
Wolf rested his hand on the newel, staring at the top of the stairs long after Caroline disappeared down the hallway. Then he turned to his friend. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Simply that your expression when you look at her is so fierce I’m surprised the thought of you being in her household doesn’t send her running home to England.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. First of all, I won’t be part of Her Ladyship’s household, and second, this is the way I always look. Indian blood runs dark.” Wolf pasted a smile on his face and clasped his friend’s shoulder. But he couldn’t help wondering if he was still trying to dissuade Caroline Simmons from going to his father.
He’d heard her in the hallway long before the clock struck nine. She was listening to his conversation with George and perhaps because of that he’d painted the prospect of war as grimly... as truthfully, as he could. He hadn’t exaggerated. Unless something was done quickly to stop it, war between the Cherokee and the English of South Carolina appeared a reality. But was he trying to scare her off? To spare her the unpleasantness of wedding his father? The idea still puzzled him as he entered the parlor and Rebecca rushed across the floor to meet him.
How could she have
been so stupid and ill-mannered?
Caroline leaned against the door, trying to calm her racing emotions. She’d been caught listening to a private conversation, and she’d been caught by Raff MacQuaid. Caroline shut her eyes. She could clearly visualize the expression on his dark, handsome face as she lied. It was not something she cared to see again. It was as if his eyes could bore straight through her... find her innermost secrets. And it was terribly disconcerting.
After taking a deep breath, Caroline walked to the window and stared out at the night. She should be concentrating on the things she’d heard, not Raff’s reaction to her. But she couldn’t quite separate one from the other.
Especially when everything about him... about everything was so disturbing.
“He hates his father. He’ll hate you, too.”
Caroline couldn’t stop thinking of Rebecca’s words. If Raff disliked his father so, then why had he come to fetch her?
With a sigh, Caroline sank onto the window seat and pressed her forehead against the cool pane. Her breath marbled the window. She’d never felt so alone, not even after her mother died. At least then she had Edward and her home. Now she was in a strange land, where war was a real threat and her only companion was a compelling man who seemed not to like her at all. Was it because she was to wed his father?
Exhaustion overtook and while still trying to decide if she had any options at all, Caroline fell asleep.
In the middle of the night she woke with a start. Though the flame of the bedside candle sputtered in the hot tallow, it emitted enough light for her to see she wasn’t alone. Her scream was muffled by a large hand held firmly over her mouth. Caroline’s eyes widened in panic even though she now recognized Raff MacQuaid.
As disturbing as his presence in her room was, his touch still caused her light-headedness. Nothing in her twenty-two years prepared her for the depth of the emotions he caused her.
“There’s no reason to be frightened. ’Tis only me.”
Though the words were meant to be reassuring, it was his tone, soothing and smooth as silk that made her nod her head when he asked if he could remove his hand.
“What are you doing in here?” she whispered. A quick glance toward the door reaffirmed that it was shut. She may not have had much guidance in the ways of the world, but Caroline knew it wasn’t acceptable for her to be alone with a man in her bedroom. Even if she was betrothed to the man’s father.
“I came to tell you when we would be leaving in the morning.” Not entirely a lie.
“Still...” Caroline shrank back against the window, wishing she didn’t feel so drawn to him. His scent. The magnetism of his dark eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Wolf shrugged and sat beside her, sensing the slight shiver that ran through her. The window seat was small and his hip pressed against her drawn-up knee. He could feel her warmth through the layers of petticoats. “I saw the light beneath your door, but when I knocked there was no answer.”
“I heard no knock.”
Fine white teeth showed against his dark skin when he smiled. “You were asleep.” Wolf’s fingers touched the collar of her gown. “Still dressed.”
Caroline wondered if he noticed her racing pulse.
“And sitting by the window,” Wolf continued, shaking his head. “Don’t you know what’s said about the night air? I wouldn’t want you catching your death. What would my father say?”
“What would he say about your being in my room?” Caroline didn’t know what made her so bold, but she was rewarded by another smile, this one somewhat wicked.
“Does it matter?”
Before Caroline could think of a proper response to him his hand moved up to her hair. “You didn’t even take down your curls.”
Goodness, she had to stop him from touching her, or soon she wouldn’t want to. Caroline pulled away, but the hours of sleeping, her head awkwardly bent against the chilled windowpane had taken their toll. She sucked in her breath as her stiff neck rebelled.
“What is it?” His fingers curved around her throat.
“Nothing... really.” There was no place to go to be away from him. She’d squeezed back in the corner as far as she could, and his large body blocked her escape into the room. “Don’t. Please don’t do that.” His fingers massaged the sore tendons from her ear to the lace bordering her shoulder. Against all common sense, Caroline let her head drift to the side, giving him free access to her slender neck, belying her words of protest.
His hands were strong, the pads of his long fingers roughened, but his touch was gentle... soothing.
“Is that better?”
His voice, low and sensual, coaxed Caroline’s eyes open. His touch relaxed her at the same time it excited. She cleared her throat, trying to regain control of a situation gotten too far out of hand. “Yes, that’s much better, thank you.” Abruptly she forced her feet to the floor, pushing past him, putting space between them. “You wanted to tell me what time to be ready in the morning.” Caroline lifted her hand to her cheek. Somehow he’d removed the wooden pins from her hair, and it now hung free past her shoulders.
“I did.” With her hair down and her color high, her blue eyes still languid from his touch, Wolf found it difficult to look away from her. Perhaps he was under the spell of his own seduction. Who wouldn’t be attracted to a woman so easily excited. “Plan to rise early. It’s best if we leave by dawn.”
“Because of the impending war?” The question was out before Caroline could stop herself. But there was no use pretending she hadn’t overheard his discussion with Mr. Walker.
“No. Simply because I want to get as much traveling in by daylight as we can.”
“Oh.” Caroline twisted her fingers and began pacing the width of the room. He still sat on the window seat and though he made no comment about her question, she felt as though she should explain. “I didn’t mean to listen to your conversation with Mr. Walker.”
There was enough light in the room for her to notice the skeptical arch of his brow. Caroline rearranged the silver handled brush and mirror on the mahogany dresser. So much for her halfhearted attempt to apologize. She turned to face him. “Is there to be a war between the Cherokee and the English?”
“I think so. France and England seem unable to leave well enough alone.”
“And what is ‘well enough’?”
Wolf settled back against the window. “Excellent question. And one too complex to answer quickly. Perhaps we can discuss this issue in detail if you’d like me to stay.”
He sounded almost as if he expected her to agree. But with the distance between them, Caroline felt more confident. She shook her head slowly, aware of the soft, swishing sound of her hair against her silk bodice. “No. I thank you for rescuing me from my uncomfortable bed.” She nodded her head toward the window seat. “But I think ’tis time you leave. If we are to be up before dawn.”
Wolf shrugged and settled back against the window, ignoring her annoyed expression. “The Cherokee want fairness. Fair prices for our skins. Fair prices placed on the goods they must buy.”
“From the English?” Caroline felt drawn in despite her contention that he leave.
“Or the French.”
“But... but I thought the English and Cherokee were allies. How can they wish to trade with the enemy?”
“The English honor the treaties as long as it serves their purpose. They send traders to the Cherokee Towns as long as it remains profitable to do so. When they decide not to trade, our women are left with no pots, our warriors run out of bullets for their rifles.” Wolf lifted his palms for emphasis.
Caroline left her position of safety beside the dresser. Like iron filings drawn to lodestone, she moved toward Raff. He shifted to the side so she could sit down. “Is that what has happened? Have the English stopped trading with the Cherokee?”
“That is one problem. The trade arrangement always was one-sided. Now... the Cherokee have learned to rely on the goods from England.”
Wolf’s laugh lacked humor. “The English understand what they’re doing all too well. What they don’t comprehend is the Cherokee. We will—” Shaking his head, Wolf pushed to his feet. “I was right before. This is a complex situation.” He resisted the urge to touch her before striding to the door. “But chances of war are great.”
Wolf opened the door, pausing to look back at her before shutting it behind him. She sat, picture perfect, framed by the rose damask drapes. “I will return you to Charles Town in the morning if that is your wish.”
“Why don’t you want me here?”
Wolf glanced up, surprised, as Caroline entered the dining room. He’d slept poorly, finally rising before the household and was now eating a breakfast of cold cornbread he found in the kitchen. The only light was a single taper burning in a silver candleholder on the table. He hadn’t expected to see anyone, especially Lady Caroline Simmons, this early.
Yet there she was, dressed for traveling, and staring down the length of the polished mahogany table at him. Her fingers curled, white knuckled, around the back of a Queen Anne chair. Wolf took a moment to finish slathering butter on his bread. With studied indifference he shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Caroline sounded skeptical. “Since Charles Town you’ve been trying to scare me away.” The realization hit Caroline sometime during the long sleepless night. “You’ve done everything you could to make marrying your father seem ill-advised. First in Charles Town. Now here with this talk of war. I wonder if any of it is true.”
That he made no response both angered and emboldened her. Caroline let go of the chair and moved toward him. “I received a post from your father before I left England. In it he said nothing of danger. Nothing of Indian wars.” Nothing about a half-blooded son. But Caroline didn’t mention that. “I think you knew I was listening last night, and you exaggerated all this to persuade me to return to England.”
My Savage Heart (The MacQuaid Brothers) Page 3