Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02]

by My Heavenly Heart

  He never knew if she planned to point out his omission for right then Angus came barreling through the doorway.

  “I thought that was you I saw from the fields.” He glanced apologetically toward his mother. “I have Papa’s permission to come check.” He grinned when she dismissed his statement with a wave of her hand. With the other she lifted a heavy iron kettle hung from a hook over the fire.

  “I’ve no doubt your papa will be here soon himself.” She set the kettle on a trivet and turned back. “Sit. Sit,” she said with another wave of her hands. “You must be tired from your journey.”

  Though the furnishings were crude, they were more plentiful than in Logan’s cabin. Rachel settled quickly into a chair near the homemade table. Logan, she noticed, did not. He was reaching up to a shelf above the hearth following Mistress Campbell’s instructions to lift down a china teapot. It was delicately shaped with gold scrollwork and it seemed so out of place in this cabin with its heavy wood furnishings and sturdy occupants.

  The teapot didn’t seem out of place in Logan MacQuaid’s large hands. Rachel watched as he passed the porcelain to the woman who quickly pressed it to her ample breast. Rachel thought him crude when first she saw him, large and coarse. But now Rachel knew different. He was tall and broad-shouldered true, but any bulk was muscle. And his hands beneath the work-rough calluses and scarred knuckles were those of a gentleman, long fingered and tapered.

  “Do you not like tea, then?”

  The silence clued her that something was amiss. Rachel’s gaze flew to Mistress Campbell’s face and she realized the woman had asked her a question... perhaps more than one. She also realized she was staring at Logan MacQuaid’s hands, and remembering what they felt like on her body.

  She felt herself flush. “Tea? Oh yes, I love tea. I haven’t had any in so long.” That was one of the myriad things not available on the mountain. “And I simply adore it. At home we take tea with the queen nearly every afternoon and it’s such a delightful—”

  “Would you like me to help you with that, Penny?”

  That was carrying the small teapot to the table. A chore the mistress of the house was more than capable of handling on her on. She shook her mobcapped head and continued to stare at Rachel, a bewildered expression on her round face.

  Logan’s glare was not difficult to understand.

  Rachel felt the heat of it to the soles of her blistered feet. So what if he didn’t want her to talk about her life... her real life. He didn’t believe her so he assumed no one else would. Rachel sighed. Chances that anyone would credit such a phenomenal happening were remote.

  For heaven’s sake, she knew it true... had lived it... and the more time that went by, the more she began to doubt it herself. If it weren’t for the memories of Liz, of the way she was murdered, Rachel might wonder if Logan was right to think her mad.

  At any rate, what would be accomplished by speaking of the past? So Rachel smiled sweetly, accepted a chipped pottery cup filled to the brim with fragrant, steaming tea, and held her tongue.

  “The teapot was all we were able to save when we made the trek here,” the woman said in way of explanation, or apology, for the crude mug.

  Her words seemed so heartfelt and sad that Rachel felt a strange empathy for her. It seemed they had both endured a journey to this wild land... that they both had regrets.

  Rachel held the cup as if it were the royal china and took a delicate sip. Her smile was angelic. “I do believe this is the finest tea I have ever tasted.” Her reward was the look of gratitude on Mistress ‘Campbell’s round face. And the softening of Logan’s scowl.

  The son, Angus, after his initial burst of words, was a quiet sort who still stood in the corner by the door. Rachel had glanced around at him once only to notice the way the lad looked at Logan. As if he admired him above all of God’s creatures.

  Poor, misguided youth, Rachel thought at the time.

  She was reminded of her earlier thoughts when Logan motioned the boy closer. “How have ye been doing, Angus? I’ve a favor to be asking, if you don’t mind.”

  “Do you want me to see to your place?” he asked as if he was being offered a dukedom.

  “Aye. There’s a cow up there who would be as grateful as I if you milked her.”

  “I’ll leave straightaway... may I, Mother?”

  “Wait a moment,” Logan laughed. “I think there’s time to eat a bite first.”

  His mother agreed and it was when the boy stepped up to the table to reach for the hunk of bread Penny sliced from a still warm loaf that Rachel saw he had only one arm. The other was no more than a stub, ending above the elbow, the skin rough and puckered.

  As soon as Rachel realized she stared her gaze jerked down to watch the steam rising from her tea. What could have happened to him? He wasn’t much more than a boy. Fourteen at most. She drank too deeply, burning her tongue in the process.

  Angus ate two more slices of bread and a bowl of stew, joking and talking with Logan the entire time before pushing to his feet and grabbing up his jacket.

  “We should be back in less than a fortnight.” Logan turned to the woman. “I’m sorry to be taking your boy away from you for so long.”

  “You know he would do anything for you.” Penny paused. “Malcolm and I would as well.”

  Do anything for Logan MacQuaid? Rachel could hardly believe her ears. She, of course, was stuck with him, trying to save his life, but these people were under no such obligation. Why should they care so much for this silent, moody man? Perhaps she would ask the woman if she ever got the chance.

  “I’ll stop and say my goodbyes to Papa,” the boy said as he bent down to kiss his mother’s rosy cheek.

  And then Logan stood, announcing his intention to go to the fields with Angus and give Malcolm a hand, and Rachel found herself alone with Mistress Campbell, who appeared as curious about Rachel as Rachel was about their relationship with Logan.

  “Would you like some more tea?” The older woman stepped toward Rachel. “Or something to eat? I was planning on waiting until they came in from the fields but if you’re hungry...”

  “No.” Rachel held up her hand. “I’m fine, really.” She glanced around the cabin. It was larger than Logan’s and, crude though it was, showed signs of a woman’s touch. There were curtains of striped fabric hanging by the windows. And a door leading to another room. Rachel imagined it was a bedroom. Probably with a real bed, unlike the pallet of furs Logan MacQuaid slept on.

  There was also a room or some sort of loft reached by a ladder. Rachel didn’t realize she stared at it until Mistress Campbell asked if she wished to rest. “You can have Angus’s bed since he won’t be needing it tonight.”

  “Thank you but I’m not tired.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Now that she was off her feet, Rachel found herself much more comfortable. “Your son,” she began before she lost her nerve. “He isn’t afraid to go up on the mountain by himself?”

  The woman looked up from peeling potatoes and smiled. “Angus fears very little.”

  “That’s good, I suppose. Yet, I would think...”

  “If your meaning because of his arm that he should fear more, it seems to be just the opposite.”

  “I didn’t mean...” But of course she had. Rachel glanced down at her lap. “What happened to him?” And why do you all adore Logan MacQuaid so, she wanted to add but didn’t.

  “His arm had to be cut off, amputated, it was. By Logan MacQuaid.”

  Rachel was certain her eyes were large as saucers.

  “’Twas during the wars.”

  “The wars?”

  Mistress Campbell looked at her as if she were quite ignorant. “With the Cherokee.”

  “Oh.”

  “We were on our way to Fort Prince George, because of the trouble, and we were spending the night at Sutter’s Ford when the Cherokee attacked. It was a small war party and the men, including my Malcolm, were well armed. The children and I were huddled, standing on a t
able inside the hearth. But then Malcolm called out for me to bring him a powder horn. Before I could move, Angus had scrambled off the table and was racing across the cabin.” She paused and Rachel wasn’t certain she would continue. But she picked out another potato, examining it a moment, then spoke again.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it, when one moment in time seems to change everything. When if you had all your prayers answered, it would only be for that one instant to be given back to you.” She looked up, her gaze locking with Rachel’s, the knife and half-peeled potato forgotten. “You see, I hesitated when Malcolm called. The musket fire and screams paralyzed me into letting my son almost die.”

  She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the memory. “The savages were repelled, but Angus was shot... he was in a bad way. Burning up with fever and the arm was festered.” She looked up and smiled. “And that’s when Logan MacQuaid happened by. On his way to kill the heathens, he told us, when Sutter invited him to sit a spell. He’d had his own losses and was out for revenge. But he took one look at Angus and stayed a fortnight.”

  “And that’s when he amputated your son’s arm?” Rachel realized she gripped the chair arms and forced her fingers to loosen.

  “Had to. If he wouldn’t have the lad would be dead singing with the angels right now.”

  Rachel wondered if people had the right idea about angels. She’d seen no heavenly chorus. But this wasn’t the time to debate the issue. Besides, there were other things she wished to know. “Didn’t you ever... I mean, his arm. Was there no other way?”

  “You would have had to see him. To see the boy. To see Logan when he did it.” The knife sliced through the potato. “There was no other way to save my boy.”

  She chopped another potato before she glanced up. “I don’t know what got into me, talking your ear off the way I did. It’s not like me at all.” She smiled. “Truth is some of what I said, I’ve never told another person. Malcolm and I never even talked about the day it happened.” Gathering up the quartered potatoes, she dumped them into a pot and swung it back over the stove. With a sigh she wiped her hands down the front of her apron. “I think we each blame ourselves for what happened.”

  “It’s no one’s fault. Not really.” Rachel pushed out of the chair and wrapped both arms around the woman’s ample shoulders. “Sometimes things happen. We don’t know why. But there is a reason.” She held her close. “There’s always a reason.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Looks like it’ll be an early winter.”

  Logan knelt beside the river, splashing water over his face and chest and grunted his agreement to Malcolm. It was nearly dusk and they’d been chopping corn husks for fodder for several hours. And he couldn’t help worrying what kind of mischief Rachel had accomplished while he was gone.

  “It be none of my business, Logan, but—”

  “She’s just a woman who wandered upon my cabin,” Logan supplied, knowing exactly what his friend was going to ask. Saving him the effort. “I don’t know how she got there. One minute I was alone. The next...” He shrugged into his shirt, smiling at Malcolm’s expression. “I’ll be the first to admit it sounds strange.”

  The older man scratched his nearly bald head, then stuffed a battered felt hat back over the remaining red curls. “You planning to take her to Charles Town?”

  “Nay.” Logan fell in step beside him. “I was thinking to bring her here, but then Lone Dove paid a visit and invited her to the cementation festival.”

  “The Adawehis asked her to the Ah,tawh,hung,nah?”

  “Unbelievable, isn’t it.” Logan stopped and turned to face Malcolm. He’d been a friend since the fall of ‘59 and was probably the only one Logan had who wasn’t Cherokee. Except of course for his half-brother Wolf. But then Wolf was part Cherokee himself. “I’m afraid she says some rather strange things sometimes.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Logan finger-combed his damp hair, taking a leather thong from his pocket and tying it back before figuring out exactly how to answer that question. He wished now he hadn’t spoken, friend or no friend. Anything he would say made her sound madder than a rabid dog.

  But Malcolm was looking at him, and Lord knew the woman was madder than a rabid dog. “She has this... fantasy, I suppose you’d call it, that she used to live with the queen.”

  “Of England?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then perhaps she’s saner than you or I. She left that hellhole, didn’t she?”

  Logan chuckled and slapped Malcolm’s rounded shoulder. “Do you think Penny made scones for supper? It’s been awhile since I’ve had something decent to eat.”

  “I thought since you’d gotten yourself a woman you might be faring better.”

  Logan just slanted him a wry look before lifting the latch. He’d hardly say Rachel Elliott, or whoever the hell she really was, had improved his life.

  When they reached the cabin, he noticed she’d braided her hair and twisted it around her head. The effect made her appear a bit neater, though as he sat down at the table Logan found himself missing the wild riot of golden curls. And then he discovered it wasn’t she who had dressed her hair but Penny. The older woman mentioned during supper how much she’d enjoyed playing lady’s maid to Rachel and Logan’s eyes jerked toward his companion. She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  As soon as the table was cleared he grabbed her wrist. “If you’d be kind enough to join me for a short walk,” he said, never giving her a chance to decline. It wasn’t until they were outside that she pulled her hand away.

  “What do you think you’re about?” she demanded.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing, Your Highness. What’s the idea of treating Penny as if she were your servant?”

  “I did no such thing.” Rachel stopped walking along the split-rail fence and turned to face him. “Penny is a sweet woman.”

  “So sweet you can take advantage of her.” He came to a halt also and stood looming over her. Behind them the sun illuminated the sky with its swan song of color. The passionate fire reflected in Rachel’s eyes.

  “I never—”

  “Then explain this.” Logan’s fingers toyed with a lock of golden hair that had come loose from the pins.

  “Penny braided it for me.”

  “Like a lady’s maid?”

  Rachel’s chin lifted. “Like a friend.” She tried to turn but his fingers opened, catching her chin and jaw, keeping her eyes fixed on his. She swallowed, wishing it didn’t feel as if the breath was sucked from her body.

  “You forget, I know you.”

  “You don’t know me at all,” came her reply. But the vehemence of her words lost its sting as his mouth descended to capture hers.

  He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Hell, he was angry with her and had been since Penny made that comment about a lady’s maid. The kiss deepened. Make that ever since she stumbled into his life, disrupting his peace and solitude. But he couldn’t seem to stop touching her and now she was in his arms and he could taste his anger blended with hers. And her arms were twined around his neck.

  His tongue thrust deep, attacking, retreating, making her knees weak. How could she allow this to happen again? Moments ago she hated him and his insolent comments. I know you, he said. But he didn’t. No one knew anything about her, yet he could dissolve her anger with a look, a touch.

  His lips tore from hers and for breadth of a heartbeat they stared into each other’s eyes, each with the same expression of bewilderment and desire. And then he was reaching for her again, his mouth hungry.

  It was the barking that made them jerk apart.

  Rachel turned guiltily, wiping her hand across her tingling lips, then reaching down to brush wrinkles from an overskirt too torn and frayed to hold a crease.

  Logan stepped forward calling toward Penny who was tossing a bucket of soapy water out the door. She looked up and waved, but Logan wasn’t foolish enough to think she hadn’t noticed them before... or that his voice was
unusually husky. He scowled and headed for the cabin only stopping when he felt her hand on his arm.

  “I asked her to show me how.”

  Logan glanced around, his expression puzzled.

  “To braid my hair.” Rachel shrugged. “I’d never done it before.” There was no reason to tell him that she usually did have servants to do such tasks for her. He wouldn’t believe her. But she didn’t want him to think it was in her nature to take advantage of a sweet person like Penny.

  He looked at her long enough to make her wish she hadn’t spoken, then nodded. “It looks pretty,” was all he said before leading the way back to the cabin.

  Malcolm sat next to the fire, a clay pipe cupped in his palm. He motioned for Logan to join him. Rachel settled on the other side of the hearth, beside Penny. She held the yarn as the older woman wound it into skeins. They talked of the frontier, of the hardships and pleasures, and her dreams for her son. It was warm and cozy and an evening like none Rachel had ever spent.

  She felt comfortable and relaxed except for the times she could feel Logan’s eyes on her. She tried to ignore him, not to meet his stare, and succeeded until she heard Penny say that she and Logan could sleep in the loft.

  Then their eyes flew to one another.

  “I don’t think... I mean—”

  “I’ll just make myself a pallet by the fire, if you don’t mind.”

  Both Penny and her husband had risen and were on the way toward the door that led to their bedroom. They paused and turned as one, looking first at Rachel, then Logan.

  They shrugged in unison. “If that be what you want.”

  Of course it was what she wanted. Rachel lay on the cornhusk mattress sometime later. She couldn’t seem to fall asleep even though she was tired. She wondered if Logan was awake on his pallet by the fire.

  It was a silly notion to think they would want to sleep together, no matter if Penny had seen that kiss. She was only here to save his life. It was not as if she cared for him. Yet as she lay there in the darkness with the slivers of moonlight slanting through the cracks between the logs, she couldn’t help thinking about what he said about her hair.