“Perhaps it is time you stopped trying so hard.” Raff began at her scalp and pulled the bristles through the rough silk of her hair. Her head fell back, and he allowed his gaze to drift down the front of her neck to where the stays pushed her breasts into his view. Her skin was creamy smooth and he forced himself to look away. But he couldn’t ignore the clean flagrance of her hair, or the feel of her curls as they wrapped about his fingers.
With each sweep of the brush, Caroline felt her resistance slipping away. She knew she should stop him, but she couldn’t summon the energy to do it. Her body seemed to lack a will of its own, falling back against his hard body.
He smelled musky, and the blend of that and her clean soapy scent was an erotic harmony to the senses. Her skin tingled and her nipples ached, thrusting forward against the fine linen of her shift. Every time the brush skimmed down, his roughened fingers touched her. And every time she longed for the contact to continue, to expand.
Her hair crackled with electricity and still he brushed. But his movements slowed. And then as if he read her mind, his touch lingered. He traced an imaginary line down her neck till his hand spread across her chest. Caroline thought her heart would stop beating when one finger dipped to the valley between her breasts. Her head fell back and to the side. And the touch of his lips, hot and moist, on the side of her neck was not unexpected.
“Would you like me to braid it?” The words, spoken against her skin, vibrated through her.
“Wh... what?”
“Your hair.” His knuckle rose up the side of one breast then the other, feeling them tighten before trailing his hand up to her chin. With his thumb he shifted her face to look at him. Her eyes were nearly as black as his, the blue a mere ring around the center. “Do you wish me to braid your hair, Lady Caroline?”
Caroline swallowed. “Can you? I mean... do you know how?”
“I’m Cherokee, Your Ladyship. There are times I even braid my own.”
She reached up then, the thick black hair too hard to resist. “When? When do you tame these wild locks?”
“When hunting.” Wolf knelt beside her. His lips were inches from hers. “To keep from getting myself tangled in the underbrush.”
“That’s wise.” Caroline’s fingers fanned over his chiseled cheek. He shifted forward, and she felt the anticipation of his breath across her face.
“Lady Caroline.”
“Yes.” The word was breathless.
There was the briefest contact, his lips to hers before he pulled away and stood. “Mistress Trevor is on her way home.”
“How... how do you know?”
“Her dog barks.”
Caroline listened, trying to hear over the blood that pounded in her ears. As he said, the elderly woman’s dog was yelping in the yard.
By the time the good widow pulled the drawstring to open the door, Caroline’s hair was braided, and Raff was seated at the hand-hewn table cleaning his rifle.
Four
By the time they started northwest toward Fort Prince George the next morning, a cold mist was falling. And Caroline had savagely brushed out the braid and wound her hair up beneath the straw hat. The weather might be foggy, but her mind had cleared. At least enough to realize she was falling under the spell of her betrothed’s son. And that she allowed him... nay wanted him to take liberties with her.
She’d spent the night tossing and turning, thinking of him asleep on a pallet by the hearth, wondering what she was to do. By daybreak as she listened to the soft patter of rain on the roof, Caroline came to the conclusion that she must reach Seven Pines in all haste. That’s why when Raff suggested she might wish to stay at Ninety-Six till the weather cleared, her answer was an emphatic “no.”
Thus Caroline was not only tired and stiff, but cold and wet as her mare plodded along the path behind Raff. He seemed not to mind the inclement conditions. His hair, free of its queue, hung past his broad shoulders. It seemed to Caroline that as they made their way deeper into the frontier, he lost layer upon layer of his civilized trappings.
Now she had no trouble recognizing him as an Indian. But the thought didn’t frighten her. Instead she found this metamorphosis from gentleman to savage fascinating. And compelling.
Realizing the direction of her thoughts, Caroline concentrated upon Edward, wondering how he was doing and if he missed her as much as she missed him. She’d written a letter to him, adding a bit every night, and left it with the widow Trevor at Ninety-Six. The elderly woman promised to send it to Charles Town the first time someone went that way. From there it would sail across the Atlantic. With a sigh, Caroline acknowledged that her brother might not hear from her for months.
“Do you wish to stop?”
“What? No.” Caroline insisted, waving him forward. “I’m fine, really.” Whether or not he believed her, Raff turned around in his saddle and kept going. Caroline pulled the blanket he’d given her more tightly around her shoulders, and head down, followed.
Late in the afternoon, he urged his horse off the trail. After dismounting, Raff came back to help her from the sidesaddle.
“Why are we stopping?” The rain fell in earnest now and cold water drizzled down her neck.
“Perhaps you don’t mind the weather, but I do. And I imagine the horses would prefer to be out of it.”
“But where are we going?” It seemed as if he was leading them into the depths of the forest. Beneath her feet, pine needles cushioned her step while wet branches slapped against her face.
“There’s a cabin up ahead,” was all he said.
But he was wrong. Caroline stood in the clearing under a rainy grey sky, holding the reins of both horses. Raff poked about the burned out shell that formed the perimeter of the cabin. All that remained intact was a stone chimney. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it Indians?” Caroline asked, cautiously inching forward.
“Could have been.” Though Raff saw no sign of a struggle... and no bodies. “Or lightning, or their own carelessness.” Raff moved back to Caroline. There was little to salvage from the cabin. What wasn’t burned was soaked.
“What are we going to do now?” As much as she dreaded being alone with Raff in a cabin, she looked forward to being warm and dry. It didn’t look as if she’d get either. Especially when Raff nodded toward a crude lean-to affair that had obviously been used as a barn.
It was crowded since Raff insisted the horses and not particularly clean horses, wanted out of the wet, too. But even though the shake roof leaked, Caroline decided it was better than standing in the rain. The fire Raff managed to start gave off more smoke than heat, but she reached toward it eagerly.
It made sense that they sat close together in the back corner, the only spot that was relatively dry.
“When we were in Charles Town,” Caroline began, after swallowing a bite of dried beef. “I heard Governor Lyttleton call you something.”
“Wa`ya.”
“Yes, that was it.” Caroline slanted him a look. “What does it mean?”
“Wolf. It is my Cherokee name. My English name as well.” Her puzzled expression made him smile. “Raff means wolf... actually wolf councilor.”
“Wa`ya.” Caroline said the word slowly, drawing out the syllables. “And is that how you are known? Wa`ya MacQuaid?”
“Wa`ya or Wolf is enough. It is the name given to me by my mother. It shows I am from her clan.” He didn’t add it was also how he thought of himself.
When a damp darkness closed in upon them, it seemed natural to lie down side by side. There was no touching today except where his body spooned hers. The ground was hard beneath her hip yet Caroline fell asleep almost immediately.
It took Raff longer to find his rest. His arm folded around her, and he nuzzled the damp, clean-smelling hair. But he didn’t have seduction on his mind. It was not yet time.
It made little sense considering the circumstances, but Caroline woke more refreshed than since she left Ch
arles Town. The day was bright, but cooler, the kind of crisp weather that reminded her of England.
Little was said between them as they ate a simple fare of fire-roasted fish Raff caught in the creek behind the burned-out homestead.
They made good time through the pine forests and spent the following night at another settler’s cabin.
“Don’t know what happened to cause the fire,” Patrick MacLaughlin said. “But the Clancys was long gone before it happened.”
“Then it wasn’t Indians.” Caroline turned from the fireplace where she was helping Patrick’s wife, Anne, by stirring the venison stew.
“Now I didn’t say that. ’Twas the Indians that drove them off. Leastwise that’s the way Mistress Clancy told Anne.”
“She couldn’t live here worrying about them all the time.” Anne looked up from nursing her youngest child.
“But I understood the Cherokee and the English settlers were allies.” Caroline’s gaze shifted to Raff.
“They are... for the most part.” Anne shifted the babe to her other breast. “But you just never know.”
“Besides,” her husband added. “It’s not just the Cherokee that needs watching. Other Indians use this land as a roadway up north. The Creeks. Chickasaw.”
“I suppose they figure it was their land before it belonged to the English.”
“Now don’t go taken on, Raff. You know I don’t mean nothing by what I said.” Patrick tamped tobacco into a pipe bowl. “I was just telling this here lady friend of yours how things are.”
“And I appreciate it, Mr. MacLaughlin.” Caroline ladled the savory stew into earthenware bowls.
“Course, I’m convinced things is gonna get worse before they get better.”
“Patrick.” Anne gave her husband a pointed look.
“Now Annie, I’m not sayin’ a thing, Raff here don’t already know. And I’m sure as we’re sittin’ here that he weren’t in on any of them raids.” He bent toward the fire and used a splinter of wood to light his pipe. He took a few puffs before continuing. “Word is that the Headmen are saying the whole thing is a mistake.” After taking the chewed end from his mouth, he pointed the pipe toward Raff. “But I hear tell them Indians was allowed to dance around with them scalps.”
Raff was angry, so angry Caroline noticed the way his hands clenched into fists. But he didn’t say anything to repudiate Patrick MacLaughlin’s words and the meal continued. But the next day as she and Raff stopped to water their mounts by the side of a fast running river, Caroline questioned him about it.
“What would you have me say?”
“I don’t know.” Caroline stripped leaves from a willow branch. “Did the Cherokee dance about with settlers’ scalps?”
“It’s possible.” Wolf cupped his hands, drinking deeply of the crystal water. Then he glanced up, shaking his head at her expression. “Does that bother your sensibilities?”
“Of course.” Caroline stepped closer. “Don’t you find it repulsive?”
When he pushed to his feet to tower over her, Caroline wasn’t sure what he would say. He looked at her a moment, then moved to gather the horses’ reins. “Scalps are taken by the settlers as well as the Indians. It’s not as one-sided as it seems.”
“Then pray tell me of your side,” Caroline said, for she truly wished to understand the new land that was to be her home. As usual she was unprepared for the intensity of the look he cast her way.
“My side,” he said. “I have no side. Or perhaps I have two sides.”
“I meant nothing by my choice of words.” Caroline moved toward the river and looked out over the land on the far shore. No longer was the landscape flat. Now an occasional rolling hill pleased the eye.
“You wish neat, tidy answers, Your Ladyship, preferably showing the Indian as villain.” Wolf glanced over his shoulder toward her. “I cannot give that to you.”
“As I recall, I asked to know the source behind the trouble. ’Tis not vindication for the English I desire.” She lifted her face to follow the gliding path of an eagle. “And I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
His brow arched as he turned toward her. “But that’s what you are. Lady Caroline Simmons, daughter of an earl, peer of the realm.”
Caroline met his stare. Her nostrils flared as she breathed deeply of the cool air and ignored the angry set of his jaw. “I prefer in this place to think of myself as Caroline Simmons.”
“Soon to be Caroline MacQuaid.”
“Yes...” Her voice was low. “Soon to be Caroline MacQuaid.”
Wolf took a deep breath, trying to quell the tempest that boiled within him. “You realize, of course, this marriage takes place only because you are the daughter of an earl.” His mount pranced to the side, and Wolf sidestepped to avoid the hooves. But he never took his eyes from Caroline’s face.
“I am aware of why your father offered for me,” she said as calmly as she could. He was purposely trying to hurt her. And though she’d long since accepted the reality of her marriage, the knowledge that Raff disliked her enough to hurt her was painful. Especially when there were times he could be so... Caroline scooped a leaf off the ground, and slowly examined its toothed edges.
Wolf turned back to the horses, pulling them toward the road.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Perhaps I have no wish to.”
Caroline stepped in front of him when he would have brushed by her. “And perhaps I have a right to know. It was your father who brought me here.”
He turned on her so quickly, cupping her shoulders in his large hands that Caroline gasped. “Never make the mistake of holding me responsible for my father’s actions, or him for mine.”
The horses, left untethered wandered toward a patch of grass. The river gurgled, its sound a sweet symphony of the wild. But Caroline noticed none of that. Her senses were overwhelmed by the man before her. By the power of his eyes. The secrets they held.
Her breathing was shallow, and she tried to control it before she spoke. “You really do hate him, don’t you?” He said nothing, just continued to hold her prisoner with his dark eyes, and Caroline continued. “Rebecca told me you did, but I didn’t want to believe her.” Caroline didn’t add that she didn’t want to believe it because of what else the girl said. “He will hate you, too.”
“Believe what you will.” Wolf released his grip on her and dropped his hands. “You say you want to understand the Cherokee.” He laughed then, a deep, humorless sound that made Caroline shiver. “You who are English and the daughter of an earl. Well understand this. Murder must be avenged... to restore the order of the universe. It is the Cherokee way. It is the English way,” he added with a slight lift of his brow.
“Are you saying the Cherokee attacked settlers in Virginia to seek justice?” Caroline lifted her hands toward him. “For what? When did it start?”
“I did not realize Your Ladyship was a student of history.”
Caroline’s spine stiffened at the sarcasm in his tone. “I simply wish to understand.”
“But Caroline, there is no ‘simply’ about it.” He took a deep breath that expanded his chest. “Laws of the nations—the Cherokee, the English—run deep, nearly as deep as their rivalries. The Cherokee agreed to fight the Shawnee not so much because they were allies of the French, and thus England’s enemies, but because of hatred of the tribe. But my people did not expect to be set upon by English colonists or to have their scalps exchanged for bounty by Virginia’s governor.”
Caroline stared up at him and swallowed. “Did that happen?”
“Yes.” Wolf turned away.
“But why weren’t those people punished, surely English law—”
“Applies to the English, Caroline.” Wolf glanced over his shoulder as he gathered the horses. She stood as if rooted to the spot, her brow wrinkled as she tried to understand. Wolf shook his head. “The warriors were on their way back from fighting the Shawnee when they lost all their supplies. They
were starving. They killed some cattle they found on open range. Cattle that belonged to the settlers. The warriors were set upon and massacred. Governor Dinwiddie sent an apology to the Cherokee Headmen. But in it he emphasized the warriors’ crimes against the Virginians.”
He led the horses onto the trail and Caroline lifted her skirts and scurried after him. “But it seems to me,” she said when she caught up, “that these are misunderstandings. Tragic, yes, but surely something that can be resolved if reasonable people on both sides—”
“Ah, but each side thinks theirs is the only reasonable position—”
Caroline’s hand reached up to his cheek. She could not help herself. “And you are caught in the middle.”
She thought he might kiss her then. And despite her earlier resolve to keep her distance, she wanted him to. Could almost taste him. But the passion that blazed in his eyes was soon shadowed. His sensual mouth curled at the edges. “Are you trying to mother me again, Lady Caroline?”
“No,” she whispered and dropped her hand. But the feel of his skin, roughened by a day’s growth of dark whiskers, stayed with her as they rode toward the fort.
Fort Prince George on the shores of the Savannah River, was nearly within shouting distance of the Cherokee Town of Keowee. Caroline’s prodding elicited a history of the fort from Wolf.
“When the Cherokee agreed to send warriors to fight the Shawnee near the Ohio River, the stockade was built to protect their families.” Wolf glanced over at Caroline as they sat on horseback looking down at the log fort. “They also constructed Fort Loudoun at the confluence of the Little Tennessee and Tellico Rivers and another in Virginia.”
“Did the Cherokee want them built?” Caroline couldn’t tell from his expression if he thought so or not.
“I suppose they did, though the cost was the service of Cherokee warriors to fight England’s enemies. The treaty also called for many acres of land to be given to the English, and it strengthened trade agreements.”
“This must have pleased your father.” Caroline realized her mistake of bringing up her betrothed as soon as she saw Wolf’s face. “I mean he is a trader.”
My Savage Heart (The MacQuaid Brothers) Page 6