Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3

by Dorothy Wiley

  Bear awoke abruptly to the sound of rifle fire. John? Instinctively and instantly, he rolled to his side, while grabbing his knife and hatchet. A tomahawk slammed into the ground where he had been.

  Indians surrounded him, but he scrambled to his feet before they got a good grip on him. He put his hunting knife through the belly of the closest brave.

  The Indian’s eyes grew huge and glazed. He shoved the dying brave toward the others, causing them to fall back as they watched their companion’s horrible death. The dying Indian held his stomach, trying to hold himself together before collapsing on his side at their moccasined feet.

  Bear slammed the knife back into its sheath while pulling his pistol to defend against the other braves. Accustomed to fighting with both arms equally well, he shot one in the face and then used the hatchet to slash another, nearly cutting through the man’s arm.

  He whirled to stare at another brave lunging at him. He sidestepped just in time, spun, and swung the hatchet in an arc, slamming it into the backside of the Indian’s skull.

  He withdrew the ax and, as he raised it, another Shawnee wielding a knife came at him. The brave’s blade ripped through his hunting shirt and etched a path across the skin of his chest. Blood spurted down his torso in a nearly perfect horizontal line. If he had not been so tall, the wound would have been across his neck. But the surface wound only vexed him. He stood taller, thrust his wounded chest out to his two remaining attackers and, teeth bared, growled at them.

  They stepped back, prancing around him in a circle, one holding the knife dripping with Bear’s blood, the other a hatchet. He was so much taller, they could not get anywhere near his head. Then the two braves positioned themselves on either side of him.

  Bear took a firm grip on his own weapons as Gaelic curses spewed from his mouth.

  John fought with all his might but could not fend off his two attackers. Drowning in a flood of increasing fear and shock, before long he would be unable to breathe. One Indian sat on his legs and made it impossible for him to dislodge the brave kneeling across his stomach.

  He repeatedly flailed his limbs and thrashed about, but the braves quickly tied his hands and feet with rawhide. One of them straddled his stomach and snatched John’s knife out of his belt.

  Horrified, he suddenly realized what was coming and with all his strength writhed from side to side, trying to get away. But the brave only rode him like a wild horse. When John’s strength gave out, the Indian smirked, seeming amused. Then the brave moved the knife closer to his face. He tried to bite the hand that held the knife.

  Quick anger rose in the brave’s eyes before the Indian slapped him hard.

  He gasped, panting for air, his heart jumping in his chest.

  The smack unnerved John and sheer black panic swept through him. He choked back a cry.

  Frantic, he wildly sought out Bear. Where was he? He peered, wide-eyed, over his shoulder behind him. Bear was engaged in his own vicious battle. They were hopelessly outnumbered.

  Overwhelming dread filled John as he realized they were both going to die.

  God, he prayed, take care of Little John. Grief and despair stabbed at his heart.

  The Indian seemed to enjoy watching his utter terror.

  He could stand it no longer. He closed his eyes and prepared to meet his maker. Then he screamed as the blade slowly began to lift his scalp.

  Chapter 20

  Catherine glanced nervously at Sam as he rode beside her. This morning he had agreed to escort her to town so that she could see a lawyer or the Judge to go over her late husband’s will and papers. Sam said he would get his horse shod while she was taking care of her business in town.

  She liked riding beside him, but she found his nearness both exciting and disturbing. He was so ruggedly handsome, especially now that he was clean-shaven. And everything about him radiated strength. She would feel safe anywhere with him beside her.

  What made her nervous was that her thoughts kept returning to the night before when he had held her in his arms and kissed her as no man had kissed her before. Not that she had that much experience with kissing, but Sam’s kiss was in a league of its own. It stirred such desire in her that she wanted nothing more than to have him kiss her again. And then again, and again.

  But he didn’t and abruptly suggested that they should return to camp. It had taken all of her will to turn and leave, letting him follow behind her in silence the short distance back to camp. With every step, she had experienced a gamut of perplexing emotions. All her loneliness and confusion rushed through her, chased by an overwhelming yearning for love and an intense desire. With him following so closely behind her, she had to silence the screams of frustration at the back of her throat.

  What else could she do to get Sam to take a chance on loving her?

  When they had reached their camp, he had simply taken out his pallet and laid down without saying another word. With everyone else either already asleep or getting ready for bed, she had no choice but to climb in her wagon, remove her special gown, and try to do the same.

  She had worn one of her finest gowns that evening and taken extra care with her hair. And although he took notice and complimented her appearance, he seemed content with a brief conversation and one kiss. Because his kiss sizzled with passion, his abrupt change in mood puzzled her.

  She had hoped for so much more. She wanted to tell him she loved him. But the opportunity was lost.

  As she rode, her mind fought through the cobwebs of a night of little sleep. Tormented by chaotic thoughts about Sam and her future she was unable to fall asleep for hours. As she tossed and turned, she forced herself to think ahead and plan. She finally decided she needed professional advice about what her husband’s papers revealed and would talk to a lawyer the very next day.

  If only she could get expert advice about that astounding kiss. Even more so, about why Sam had not kissed her again. Instead, he had quickly put a shield between them and that baffled her.

  Now, as they rode to town, Sam boldly met her gaze. What, for heaven’s sake, did that look in those captivating eyes of his mean? Did he suspect what she was thinking? She pulled her horse to an abrupt stop, tired of this emotional limbo.

  As she did, Sam tugged on Alex’s reins, stopped, and turned his mount toward her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  The confident set of his broad shoulders, his commanding manner, and obvious inherent strength were almost more than she could handle. Her pulse quickened with desire.

  “Yes. I mean no. What I intended to say was…what I intended to ask was…,” she tried. “Oh for pity’s sake. Just forget it.” She felt her face flush and her lips purse with anger. Or was it frustration?

  “If you’re thinking about last night—about that kiss—I wouldn’t blame you. I should beg you to forgive me for being so brash, but I won’t apologize for it.” There was a slight hesitation in his eagle-like eyes, then he said, “It was perhaps the most pleasant thing I have experienced in many years.”

  Her anger instantaneously cooled.

  “But, it was just a kiss, Catherine.”

  Her anger immediately flared again.

  She sat back in the saddle, affronted. Just a kiss! For heaven’s sake. It was not just a kiss. It was more than that and he knew it. Why was he acting so distant? She had had just about enough of his acting standoffish. “You’re right, of course, Sir. It was just a kiss. It meant nothing. Shall we proceed?” She nudged her horse to a swift trot and took off, leaving Sam behind to follow her.

  She kept her mount well ahead of Sam. She damn sure wasn’t going to let him ride next to her and let him see the angry tears that kept threatening to fall from her eyes.

  A few minutes later, they reached Boonesborough, and she wiped the back of her glove against a tear that had escaped.

  Sam stopped at the office of the Land Speculator to have Mr. Wolf direct them to the office of an attorney.

  Catherine waited outside, mounted on her
horse, and still fuming. But as Sam came back outside, she took a deep breath and tried her best to appear unruffled and to stifle her ire.

  “Mr. Wolf tells me Walker Daniels, a lawyer from Louisville, is in town. His office is next to Henderson & Co. trading post, just down the street,” he said.

  He remounted and they located the office. After verifying that Mr. Daniels was in his office, Sam helped her dismount and then said, “I’ll leave you here to discuss your affairs with Mr. Daniels. As soon as I finish my business with the blacksmith, I’ll come back and see if you’ve finished.”

  “Thank you, Captain Wyllie,” she said, deliberately not calling him by his given name. If he wanted to keep things formal, she was happy to oblige him.

  “Catherine, don’t take my actions as indifference,” Sam said. “I have the highest regard for you and your friendship holds the greatest value to me.”

  His eyes and voice displayed concern, but she saw no evidence of anything more.

  A jumble of confused thoughts beset her, fusing together in a surge of indignation. “I don’t know how to interpret your ‘actions’ Captain.” Or what ‘highest regard’ means! “But this is not the time or the place to discuss this,” she said. Striving to conceal her inner turmoil, she looked away. A war of emotions raged within her. She wanted to punish him and make him want her at the same time.

  Crossing his arms and widening his stance, he said, “You’re right, of course. If you finish before I do, please wait for me inside the attorney’s office. I don’t want you exposed unescorted to some of the men of Boonesborough.”

  Who did he think he was? He had no right to tell her where to wait. With a disbelieving shake of her head, she turned abruptly, picked up her skirt, and opened the door to Mr. Daniels’ office before nearly slamming it behind her.

  Torn by conflicting emotions, Sam stared at the banging door, feeling his eyebrows squish together. Baffled, he shook his head. Stephen was right. The actions of a woman can definitely befuddle a man. As he walked Alex toward the blacksmith’s, he puzzled over their conversation that morning.

  Clearly, the kiss had meant more to her than he assumed. He had not intended to kiss her, but he had been helpless to resist her beauty and those inviting lips. What did she expect looking like that? She was dazzling.

  In truth, the taste of her had shocked him to his core. He grinned, just remembering the feel of her lips as she returned the kiss with far more fervor than he expected. His instinctive response to her eagerness was powerful and he had not anticipated one kiss to inflame him that quickly or as intensely.

  He had forced himself to cut it off after that. If he hadn’t then he might have taken them where they did not need to go. She wanted love and marriage—he wanted neither.

  But he enjoyed being with her. He liked talking to her. He fancied looking at her. He admitted to some affection for her and he couldn’t deny the strong attraction. But that was all his heart would permit. No more. Not yet.

  After Catherine finished with the lawyer, she went next door to Henderson & Co. William, who seemed to have learned everything there was to know about Boonesborough, had told her that Daniel Breedhead, an enterprising businessman, owned the store and he suggested she might enjoy visiting the shop while she was in town. William explained that Breedhead made purchases of merchandise in Philadelphia, which he then transported across the mountains in freight wagons to Pittsburgh, and thence by boats to Louisville, the site of his first store, and lastly, again by wagon to Boonesborough. His stores were the first in Kentucky that sold foreign goods.

  As soon as she opened the door, she sensed a pleasing mixture of fragrances—cinnamon, coffee, honey, rum, pepper, and leather. The shelves of the well-stocked store brimmed with an enticing array of commodities. Her eyes widened at all the wonderful choices. What to buy? The inevitable dilemma faced by women shopping in stores everywhere. Finding something pretty to purchase was never her problem. Narrowing her selections down often proved difficult and she frequently solved that conundrum by just buying them all. Her bedroom in Boston overflowed with hat boxes, gloves, hair combs, shawls, slippers, boots, and other items, crammed into every nook and corner.

  If she stayed in Boonesborough, and that remained to be determined, she would arrange to have all her pretty things shipped to her. What she didn’t need she could share with Kelly and Jane.

  Catherine began to stroll around, picking up items now and then to inspect them. A pair of tin wall sconces caught her eye. No point buying them though until she had a home to put them in. She wondered how long that might take.

  “Good morning to you Madame,” a kind male voice said.

  She glanced up to see a tall, slim, well-dressed man addressing her. His carefully groomed hair was as black as hers. And his green eyes seemed to widen as he scrutinized her.

  “Good day,” she responded.

  He gave her a cloying smile and then said, “Is there something specific I can help you locate?”

  She suspected that this was Daniel Breedhead. “No, I am just familiarizing myself with what your fine store offers.”

  “We offer the best of everything that I am able to acquire and transport. Every year, our inventory grows larger. In fact, next year I plan to double the size of this store. And I’m sending more and more goods back from here—tobacco, salt, corn, furs, and other commodities needed in the states.”

  “Henderson & Co. Where does that name come from?” she asked.

  “It was the late Judge Richard Henderson that chose Daniel Boone in 1775 to lead a party of axe men to clear a path through the Cumberland Gap. The store is named in honor of him,” he answered. “Please let me know if I may be of any assistance to you in any way,” he said, before turning back toward his paperwork.

  “Have you any new books?” she asked.

  “Indeed. They are over here,” he said, leading her to a long wooden shelf in the center of the crowded store.

  Catherine heard the store’s door open and looked behind her. Sam ducked his head and entered. She turned back and pretended not to notice.

  “I have a fine assortment,” the man said, pointing to the full shelf. “Perhaps you might enjoy ‘Poems Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect’ by Robert Burns, or ‘The Age of Reason’ by Thomas Paine. And if you enjoy cooking, I have a copy of ‘The Accomplished Gentlewoman’s Companion Cookbook.’ It contains an excellent recipe for Apple Tansey that will make your mouth water.”

  “What’s this?” she asked, picking up ‘A Vindication of the Rights of Woman.’

  “I thought I would find you here,” Sam said, coming up behind her. He pointed to the book in her hand. “That book was written by Mary Wollstonecraft about five years ago. A thought-provoking book, she argues that instead of viewing women as society’s ornaments or property to be traded in marriage, women ought to have the same fundamental rights as men, including an education.”

  “So you are familiar with this work, Sir?” Breedhead asked.

  “Indeed,” Sam answered. “I’ve read it.”

  Catherine could only stare at Sam, his profile strong and confident. So this book was the source of his enlightened views.

  “Daniel Breedhead,” the man said, extending his hand.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. I’m Captain Sam Wyllie, recently relocated here from New Hampshire.”

  “It is a delight to meet a well-read man. Here in Boonesborough, I fear that occasion is rather rare. Yes, the book was surprisingly well-received and recommended to me by a publisher in Philadelphia. I have not yet read it myself, but my understanding is that the author claims that women are essential to the nation because they educate its children.”

  “More than that, she also believes that with an education of their own they can contribute to society and be more interesting companions to their husbands,” Sam added.

  “Rather than mere wives?” Breedhead asked.

  “A woman is never ‘mere’ regardless of their educatio
n,” Sam answered.

  “I will take all four books,” she said, still stunned by Sam’s familiarity with the book. So, he reads books too. This unpredictable enigmatic man surprised her yet again. What else could he do?

  “And I’ll require enough candy to keep three children happy for a while,” Sam said.

  The man wrapped up a nice assortment of candy and they paid for their purchases.

  As they turned to leave, she stopped and asked Sam, “Why did you read Wollstonecraft’s book?”

  “I make it a point to read as many books as I can get my hands on. Jane enjoys reading as well and she passes books on to me, including that book. After reading it, I decided the book was one reason Jane exhibits such a strong spirit.” He regarded her with amusement, before adding, “Perhaps Stephen needs to read it as well.”

  She looked up at him with wonder. It amazed her that this hardened soldier should have such enlightened views of women—so unlike her departed husband, who thought women incapable of making decisions on their own, except perhaps those regarding fashion or food. Even in those areas of her life, the man often felt compelled to supply her with his patronizing opinions. After her husband’s murder, when she was confused about what her proper course of action should be, Sam had encouraged her to decide her own destiny.

  He was a complex man, an ever-changing mystery. After all this time, she was still learning new things about him. She was also still annoyed with him, but despite herself, she just could not stay angry with him.

  “You are a puzzling man Captain,” she said. “Here. I bought this one for you.” She handed him the book of Burns’ poetry. Perhaps the book by Scotland’s romantic bard would inspire Sam to look more favorably on love.

  Chapter 21