Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02]

by My Heavenly Heart

  Rachel washed her hair, using the soft soap he gave her, then standing by the fire quickly washed her skin. When she was finished she pulled the shift on again and began combing the tangles from her hair. Which was not an easy task. It seemed to take forever and her arms were tired when she finished, but she was determined to finish dressing. How could she possibly save him if she were bedridden?

  The corset proved a problem.

  Rachel slipped her arms through the straps and held the boned silk to her breast. But the ties were in the back and despite several tries she could not lace it up. Rachel glanced at her gown... her only gown, then toward the closed door. Though she was naturally slender, had grown thinner still since her death, her ball gown would not fit about her waist unless she wore the corset.

  Her gaze strayed to the door again. She could hear him outside. The steady thump, thump of his axe. What to do. She’d never dressed herself before, and it appeared she could not now.

  With a determined step she marched to the door and pulled the latch. “Mr. MacQuaid.” He didn’t respond the first time she called, though the dog who was sleeping in a puddle of sunshine lifted his head. “Mr. MacQuaid!”

  The axe bit into the chopping block with enough force to make Rachel think he’d heard her quite well the first time.

  He turned, backhanding the sweat from his forehead as he did. “What do you want now?”

  Rachel’s lips thinned. He could be so... She couldn’t even think of a word to describe him. Did she have to ask? Couldn’t he tell what the problem was? But no, he just stood there his legs spread, hands on narrow hips and glared at her. He didn’t even have the decency to pull his shirt back on. His chest was broad and covered by a wedge of curly black hair and Rachel jerked her gaze away when she realized she was staring.

  “I can’t lace my corset.”

  He reached for the axe handle, giving it a hard tug. “Don’t wear the tortuous thing.”

  “I must. Without it my gown won’t fit.”

  “Hell and damnation,” he growled before swinging the axe back into the wood. “Turn around.” Logan grabbed the laces none too gently and studied the double row of silk-edged holes.

  “I believe the thread is to be laced through in a crisscross manner, though I must admit I’ve never done it.”

  “I can see what needs doing. Just stand still.”

  “As you wish, sir.” Rachel reached out to steady herself against the log wall. She tried to do as he said, but each time his knuckles skimmed across her thin shift her body gave a little jerk. She couldn’t seem to help herself. She could smell his musky scent, feel the heat from his body. Gooseflesh crept down her arms and she had to concentrate on breathing.

  For his part Logan could hardly keep himself from reaching around and cupping the breasts that pushed up from under the corset. His fingers felt thick and inept as he forced the ribband through a tiny hole. His hand brushed her skin and for a heartbeat he paused, only to begin again, jerking the laces through the eyelets with a vengeance.

  “Don’t break the thread. It’s the only one I have.”

  “Excuse me Your Highness. I’ve had sore little practice playing the lady’s maid.”

  “You needn’t snap at me.”

  That’s where she was wrong. It was either snap or throw her down on the ground and bury himself inside her royal body. And wouldn’t the high and mighty Princess just love that? Of course she wasn’t the only one who’d deplore his actions. Once his seed was spilled Logan knew he would regret having touched her. No, better to concentrate on what the hell he was doing and get it done.

  “Tie it off. No, pull it tighter first.”

  “Would you make up your mind!”

  “Pull.” Rachel sucked in her breath. “Yes, that’s it. No, why did you let it go?” When she received no answer, Rachel turned. Standing in the clearing was the savage who’d visited earlier. Beside him stood an old man with long white hair. She glanced up at Logan MacQuaid and could swear he blushed beneath his heavy growth of whiskers.

  Chapter Four

  “The soul is unwillingly deprived of truth.”

  — Epictetus

  Discourses

  “Lone Dove.” Logan realized he still held the laces of Rachel’s corset and let them slip through his fingers. At the same time he stepped in front of her, though he knew both Swift Fox and the Cherokee Adawehis had seen her... had seen what he was doing. “I am honored you have visited my home.”

  Hell, Lone Dove must be near four score. Logan assumed this Adawehis never left the Cherokee town of Cheoah. Lone Dove was their conjurer, a holy man to his people. Logan had never seen him outside the dark confines of the Council House. Yet here he was after climbing the west trail not even breathing hard and staring at a point near Logan’s left shoulder.

  A glance behind him confirmed Logan’s fear. She no longer stood behind him, but had moved to his side. And she seemed either unaware, or unconcerned that the corset, though untied at her waist, pushed her breasts up enticingly. She paid no heed to his glare.

  “I’ve come to make talk with your woman,” Lone Dove raised his arms, lifting the feather-adorned cape like wings.

  “She’s not my wom—”

  “You may present your friend to me, Mr. MacQuaid.”

  She stepped forward and lifted her hand as if she expected the chief to drop to his knees and kiss it. For all that she wore only a silky shift and corset, she held her head high and her shoulders straight. Logan watched the breeze shift the golden curls along her narrow back a moment before letting out his breath. She didn’t seem the least concerned by the old man’s birdlike mask.

  “Lone Dove this is Rachel Elliott.”

  “Lady Rachel Elliott,” she corrected. “I’m one of Queen Charlotte’s ladies in waiting. She’s King George’s wife, you know.”

  Logan tried to catch the holy man’s eye but he stared only at Rachel, which probably wasn’t that difficult to do. Logan had been hard pressed not to look at her when she came out of the cabin. Yet he wanted to do something, give some sort of signal to let Lone Dove know that she was not to be believed.

  But the Adawehis had taken her hand, and though he didn’t kiss it, he did envelope her dainty fingers in his. “I have not met your King George, but my mother’s brother traveled across the big water to his home.”

  “Oh, of course, I remember, the king met with several of your people at St. James Palace last summer. Your relative was all the rage.”

  “He enjoyed seeing for himself the things told to him by the Little Carpenter and other of our brothers who visited your land before. The large tower where enemies are imprisoned, the large stretches of land used for riding and visiting.”

  “Ah, yes I do believe they strolled through St. James Park. London is so lovely.” Rachel sighed. “Sometimes I miss it terribly. Perhaps you can visit me there. I could show you the Queen’s House. The park there is so beautiful. Her Majesty had a charming pavilion for the king’s birthday. And I could introduce you to King George. I’m sure he would—”

  “For God’s sake, Rachel.” Logan had heard enough of this. What if Lone Dove believed what she told him?

  “I beg your pardon.” She fixed a look on him that would make a lesser man, or one who didn’t know she was making the entire tale up, quake in his boots. Logan simply returned it.

  “I am old and fear it is too late for me to make such a journey. But I have come to talk with you. Come, we shall go inside.”

  Logan watched as she smiled up at the old man, a dazzling smile that lit up her face. Then together they entered his cabin and shut the door, leaving Swift Fox and him outside.

  He stood there a moment scratching his chin, then his eyes sought Swift Fox. “What the devil is going on here?”

  His friend only shrugged. “Lone Dove insisted he must come to this place to see her.”

  “Who? Rachel? But why?”

  “That I do not know.” Swift Fox squatted and reached ou
t to scratch the dog’s head. True to form the animal rolled over, offering up his speckled stomach to be rubbed.

  Logan rolled his eyes heavenward before bending to retrieve his shirt. He yanked it over his head, pulling his hair from the collar and prying the axe from its notch in the block before turning to the young Indian. “What did you tell Lone Dove about her?”

  “Very little.” An insistent whine reminded him he’d stopped his petting. “I said the woman had appeared from nowhere.”

  “Ah, shit, Swift Fox.” Logan swung the axe, cleaving a log in two. “Why in the hell did you tell him that?”

  “It is what you told me.”

  “I said I didn’t know where she came from. And I don’t. But she came from somewhere. She had to. And it wasn’t King George’s court.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “You believe me, then?”

  Rachel leaned forward and touched the old man’s hand. He looked up at her with eyes as black as the darkest night. Eyes that seemed to know more than a mere man.

  “I have no reason to doubt you and every reason to trust what you say.”

  “Thank you.” Rachel took a deep breath. They were seated on furs drawn before the hearth. Their legs were crossed much as she’d seen Logan MacQuaid sit when he visited with Swift Fox. Though at first she felt awkward on the ground, her reaction disappeared as she and the Adawehis conversed. And now to know that he didn’t think her tale ridiculous... to find he truly accepted what she said, was such a relief. “I never knew how difficult it could be to have someone not credit what you say.”

  “You speak of Logan MacQuaid.”

  Rachel nodded. “He believes none of it.”

  “You have told him?”

  “Not everything. But you saw the way he was when I spoke of home, of the king and Queen Charlotte. His response was the same when I explained I was sent to save him.”

  “Perhaps he feels he needs no saving.”

  “I don’t doubt that. Rachel sighed, leaning forward to rest her chin in the cup of her palm. “He thinks I nearly startled him to death.” Her tone grew softer. “He fell off the cliff when I yelled at him, but ’twas not my fault. I thought... think... he was about to jump.” Another sigh. “And I imagine Swift Fox told you of my attempt to save Mr. MacQuaid from him.”

  “He told me.”

  Rachel looked up through her lashes. “You’re very much the gentleman not to laugh.” Her smile was sad. “I think...” She bit her bottom lip, “I think a mistake was made. The only way I can return to my own life is to save Mr. MacQuaid’s. And I fear I can’t do that.”

  “You believe the spirits misjudged you?”

  “Yes.” She spoke the single word softly. When he made no response, Rachel glanced up at him. His walnut-brown face was wrinkled more than usual as he pursed his lips.

  “I do not think the spirits are confused. They do not err as we do. You will find the way to do what you must.”

  “I wish I were as certain as you.” She spread her fingers on the bear fur. “I don’t even know how to live here.” She glanced up quickly. “It is so hard to know what to do.”

  “The Adanti, my people, believe there was once only water and all the animals lived together in the sky.” As Lone Dove spoke his arms gestured to embrace the heavens. “It was very crowded so Sayunisi, the Water Beetle, dove into the water and found mud. He brought it to the surface and it grew to what is now the earth. Someone long ago,” his eyes met Rachel’s, “attached the earth to the heavens with four cords. That is our link,” he said. “Most of us only travel up. But I believe you have made the voyage back to earth. And I believe you will know what to do when the time is right.”

  “I want to accept what you say. What I was told.”

  His hands touched her shoulders. “I shall talk to the spirits. Ask them to guide you. But you must listen to your heart. To your own spirit, too... the spirit within you.”

  Rachel nodded. She would do as he suggested, but she feared... nay, knew, there was no spirit within her.

  ~ ~ ~

  “What the hell are they doing in there?” Logan tossed another chunk of wood onto the growing pile by the door. He’d been chopping nonstop for hours. At this rate he wouldn’t need to repeat the task for a fortnight.

  “I have said, I do not know.” Swift Fox lifted the cane flute to his lips and continued playing a series of notes that sounded like the call of a tanager.

  Logan was tired of hearing it. Or perhaps he was simply tired of wondering what went on behind the closed door of his cabin. He leaned on the axe handle a moment, then straightened. “I’m thinking I should go in there.”

  He’d taken only a few steps before he felt the hand on his shoulder. “The Adawehis will not like it.”

  “Nay? Well, I’m not liking it that she’s in there filling his head with nonsense.”

  “Lone Dove knows what is true and what is false.”

  Logan scowled, but he turned back, grabbing up the axe handle again with a vengeance. The Cherokee put great store in their Adawehis. Great faith in their powers.

  He’d seen these holy men interpret dreams and change the course of a man’s life. They sat at all the Councils, guarding against evil spirits, and they advised the chiefs during peace and war.

  It was not for him to tell Lone Dove who he could listen to. At least he didn’t plan to get in a wrangle with the holy man over it. Or over the woman. As soon as she was strong enough they would head down the valley. Let the good people of MacLaughlin’s Mill take care of her and her lively imagination... or her madness.

  Long shadows cast by the loblolly pines speared across the clearing by the time the door opened. Earlier the dog had opened his droopy eyes, stretched and trotted off into the trees to hunt something for his dinner. Logan could hear his excited yelp over the growling of his own stomach. His shoulders and back ached from all his chopping. And he wished he’d thought to bring a jug outside with him this morning.

  As the Adawehis and Her Highness stepped into the fading light Logan glanced down at his friend. Swift Fox had long since given up imitating birds to fall asleep, his head pillowed by a tuft of dried grass. So he missed the golden aura of light that seemed to drift above her head.

  It glittered and shone brighter than the diamonds at her throat. Logan blinked, opening his eyes slowly and it was gone. And she was staring at him with that expression. The one that seemed to imply she considered him no more than a peasant to do her beck and call. “’Twas a trick of the setting sun,” he mumbled, only to shake his head when Lone Dove asked what he’d said.

  The old man seemed very pleased with himself if the smile on his wrinkled face spoke true. “I have invited your woman to join us for the festival of Ah,tawh,hung,nah.”

  Logan’s eyes widened. “You’ve what?”

  “You are to come with her. To be her guide.”

  “I am honored of course. But I’m afraid ’twill not be possible. Perhaps Lady Rachel did not mention this, but she is leaving soon to return to her palace.”

  She did not find his sarcasm amusing. Rachel allowed her disdain to show for an instant before flashing Mr. MacQuaid a brilliant smile. “I’ve assured Lone Dove that I shall be here at the time of the festival and would be most pleased to attend.”

  Their eyes met and held: his not bothering to conceal their anger, hers unbrightened by the upward turn of her lips. It was the Adawehis who broke the deadlock of their stare. He stepped between them, drawing first her hand, then his into his own. When he spread his fingers their hands were linked.

  “Listen to your heart, Logan MacQuaid. It will not lead you astray.” Then he motioned to Swift Fox who was just now pushing to his feet and together they headed toward the path down the mountain.

  Rachel and Logan watched them leave, each deep in their own thoughts before suddenly realizing their hands were still entwined. As one they let go, pulling away till they stood more than a rod apart.

  Logan was the first to speak. �
�And what was that all about?”

  Rachel, who’d suddenly grown very interested in the lace cascading down her shift sleeve, glanced over her shoulder. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. MacQuaid?”

  “The invitation. How did you manage that, and why did you accept?”

  “I accepted because I’d like to go, of course. There rarely is another reason for me to endure anyone’s company.”

  Except for him. Perhaps she hadn’t come out and said it, but Logan knew what she meant. And he didn’t give a damn. He was more than tired of having her around... would be well rid of her. Unfortunately that glorious day didn’t seem close now.

  “I still want to know what you said to make him invite you. Whites are rarely included in the cementation ceremony.”

  “You’ve been before.” Rachel bent down as the dog bounded into the clearing.

  “How did ye know that?”

  “Well...” Rachel started to say that Lone Dove told her, but he hadn’t. At least she didn’t remember him saying it. But how else could she know? Rachel patted the dog absently on top his furry head. “The Adawehis told me, of course. Your dog caught a rabbit,” she added as much to change the subject as to explain the excited way the animal was prancing about.

  “How do ye know that?” Logan assumed the dog had tried, but was also fairly sure he hadn’t succeeded. After all, he very seldom did. And there wasn’t a scrap of rabbit hair to prove otherwise.

  He told me, didn’t seem an acceptable response, yet Rachel knew the dog had. But Mr. MacQuaid already thought her mad. Imagine what he’d make of a revelation that she could communicate with a dog.

  The dog already was sprawled in one of his favorite poses, on his back, his legs in the air, tongue lolling from his open mouth. If he did have anything to say to her, Rachel was certain she’d rather not hear it.

  With a shake of her head, which sent golden curls spilling over her bare shoulders, Rachel dismissed the entire thing. Yet she couldn’t help asking, “What is his name? I’ve never heard you call him anything but Dog.”