Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] (3 page)

He glanced about the clearing again as if he expected someone to come leaping out at him, then seemingly satisfied, sheathed the knife down the side of his soft boots. “I’ll have an honest answer from you now, woman,” he said, his grip tightening around her arm. Without waiting for her to speak he pulled her toward a rough log dwelling.

She’d barely noticed it before when she was looking for the rope. At the time her mind was filled with what might happen to her if she failed to save him. Now she studied the structure with a somewhat detached interest.

The building was small and crude, the wood not even planed but still covered by thick bark. These logs were piled one atop the other to form the walls, though one side was almost entirely covered by a stone chimney. Facing the cliff was a door made of naught but a few planks of wood. It stood ajar.

Without ceremony he yanked her through the portal, giving her a shove that sent her sprawling onto a thick pile of furs. Dust puffed into the air and Rachel sneezed delicately.

The creature didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy checking the charge in the flintlock rifle he grabbed up from beside the door. He turned toward her and Rachel almost laughed. Did he honestly think to frighten her with a gun? She who had already drowned in the lake behind Queen’s House? It was Liz who’d been shot, Liz and Geoffrey. The smile that played at the corners of her mouth disappeared as the explosive sounds echoed through her memory.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

The sharp edge to his question filtered through to Rachel and she blinked, taken aback by his nearness. For now he squatted in front of her, close enough for her to notice his eyes again, to feel the warmth of his rum-laced breath. The rifle lay at an angle across the buckskin molded over his thighs. His hands clasped her shoulders and though they were still now, Rachel had a feeling they’d been shaking her moments ago.

She reached up to straighten her wig and her fingers brushed the slope of her cheek. It surprised her to find the smooth skin wet with tears. Rachel took a deep breath. “There’s nothing amiss with me that leaving your odious company wouldn’t cure.”

He studied her a few moments, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched beneath a layer of dark whiskers. Pushing himself up, he strode toward the door, glancing back only long enough to say, “I don’t recall inviting you for a visit.” Then he peered outside, cradling the rifle loosely in the crook of his arm. But Rachel didn’t doubt he could bring the weapon to his shoulder and pull the trigger faster than she could snap open a fan. At least he wasn’t aiming her way. He seemed intent upon watching for someone outside.

Foolish man.

If there was anyone out and about, they had nothing to do with her. She’d arrived here... Rachel tried to remember exactly how she did get here, wherever here was. She could recall the light and the angels telling her to save a lost soul, then a whirling vortex of sound and colors. There was never any doubt in her mind that the man by the door was the one she was to rescue.

Though to be sure, she couldn’t imagine why he was worth the bother. He was hardly a prince or even a man of any consequence. His manner of dress was strange to her, animal skins wrapped tightly about his feet and legs, more skins forming a loosely draped shirt. Certainly not the trappings of a gentleman.

Nor did his manners show signs of breeding. His voice had neither the soft melodic cadence nor the ease of speech she was used to. He was gruff and unappreciative of her sacrifice for him.

Rachel took a deep breath and wrapped her arms about her waist. She was cold and uncomfortable. The low burning fire in the hearth gave off more smoke than heat, filling the small cabin with a haze that burned her eyes. She was more than ready to leave.

But how?

She had saved his miserable life. Why wasn’t she gone from this place? Rachel sucked in her cheeks and looked up toward the ceiling. Ignoring the blackened rafters hung with more animal skins, she whispered under her breath. “Take me back... please.”

“What be you mumbling about?”

Rachel’s head snapped down, her eyes locking with his. “I don’t mumble.”

“Nay, of course you don’t.”

“I don’t.” Rachel turned her face away, then looked back quickly. “Where are you going?” He opened the door wider and stepped through, still carrying the rifle.

“I’ll be taking a look about for your friends,” he said, ignoring her assurance that she came alone.

At least he was gone.

Rachel took a deep breath and, gathering her skirts, stood. Now all she had to do was... Hugging herself, Rachel pursed her lips. Whatever was she supposed to do? Certainly God knew her task was complete. He knew all, didn’t He? Then why wasn’t He putting her back in her real life? Or at least returning her to those two meddlesome spirits?

The cabin was small. No more than ten paces took her from end to end, from hearth to window. She measured the dwelling several times before inspiration struck her. “Of course.” With a sigh of relief Rachel returned to the disheveled pile of furs and dropped to her knees. She took a moment to spread her silver and blue skirt about her.

How could she be so foolish... so irreverent to think she could speak with God or His angels standing up. Piously she folded her hands. Her wig cocked forward over one brow as she bowed her head.

“Blast this—” Rachel bit off her blasphemous words, glancing nervously toward the crude ceiling before impatiently setting her hairpiece to rights. Then she lowered her head, squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to clear her mind of all but the purest thoughts.

“God in Heaven, hear my humble prayer.” She paused, waiting for the Heavenly Spirit to flow through her. It didn’t. Perhaps it wasn’t necessary. After all, she was one of God’s instruments. An angel herself. An angel returned to earth to do God’s work. Buoyed by that thought, Rachel continued. “I have done what you asked of me.” And not without considerable hardship and—Perhaps she shouldn’t complain of the inconvenience. “I have rescued your... your... lamb.” Somehow she found it difficult to describe the man she saved as a lamb. A bull, perhaps. Or a bear. Rachel choked down a giggle, deciding it didn’t matter how she referred to him. The Lord knew whom she meant.

“As you can tell, I have completed the task described to me and wish to return home.” She paused. “To Queen’s House, if you please.” A smile curved her lips. That appeared to be everything. But her “amen” was drowned out when the aforementioned lamb burst through the door.

“Where in the hell did you come from?” Logan slammed the door behind him. “You heard me wench, I want an answer.” This last was spoken in a more subdued voice as he realized what she was doing. Though certainly no saint, he drew the line at interrupting someone’s prayers. Except that he wanted some answers and he wanted them now.

She seemed to be finished anyway, for she stood, facing him, her chin raised in that haughty way she had as if she did him the most wondrous favor deigning to receive him. Except crude and primitive as it was, this cabin was his. She’d shown up on his mountain,
his
mountain, without so much as a by your leave, and he couldn’t find a footprint or a broken twig to indicate how she got here.

And now she looked at him as if to say he could die and shrivel up before she would answer him. All from a slip of a woman with a skirt full enough to hide a scalping party. And hair that would do any warrior proud... if he displayed it on his scalp pole.

Logan took a deep breath and tried again. “I’ve done a wee bit of tracking in my time and I can’t find any sign that you came by way of the path.”

“I didn’t.”

“There be not so much as a crushed leaf or a disturbed spiderweb in the forest.”

She merely shrugged shoulders that shone pearly white even in the dim light from the smoldering fire.

“Well now if you didn’t come up the path nor through the forest, that leaves but the face of the cliff out yonder, and we know since you pushed me—”

“I did not push you.” Rachel folded her arms. “I saved you.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Because ’tis true. You were going to jump off the edge.” Why else was she sent?

He only shook his head while he rested the rifle back against the wall, and crossed his arms in a masculine mimicry of her stance. “I was but standing there admiring the view before you came.”

Rachel paused. “I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged as if what she believed or did not believe was of little concern to him. “Now, how did you get here?”

“You tell me.” Rachel stuck out her chin. “What way is left?”

“Well, as far as I can tell there’s but to come flying down from the sky like a...” A strange light shone in her eyes and Logan could barely get the word “bird” past his lips. Then she looked away and he let out his breath on a ragged laugh. “Now you’ll not have me crediting that, wench.”

“Credit what you like.” She turned her back to him. “’Tis all the same to me.” Two could play at this game, Rachel thought with a smirk. Then she remembered where she was. Why was she still here? Why?

“Who are you?” Logan realized there was more puzzlement than command in his question, but he couldn’t help himself. He saw something. In her eyes. In the expression on her face, that made him question his own judgment.

But then that was hardly a new predicament. Still...

She glanced at him over her shoulder, the tilt of her rounded chin still arrogant. “I told you did I not? I’m Lady Rachel Elliott. A ward of the king. One of the queen’s ladies in waiting.”

“And that would be Queen... ?”

Rachel whirled around on a sigh of exasperation. “Her Royal Majesty Queen Charlotte, of course.” Was the man such a pudding head not to know his own sovereign?

“Ah,” he said, leaning his brawny shoulder against the wall and crossing one ankle over the other. “Of course.”

She didn’t like his tone. Rachel’s body tensed and she stared at him through narrowed eyes. He was mocking her and nobody,
nobody
, did such a thing without chastisement. Yet there didn’t seem to be anyone about to mete out her punishment. And she certainly couldn’t do it. He loomed over her and he obviously had no respect for her station.

It was nigh time she returned to her own world.

Rachel sucked in her cheeks. Perhaps she was to find her own way home. Of course. How silly of her not to realize that before. She would have this creature take her to the Queen’s residence and all would be as it should be. His eyes widened when she gave him her most gracious smile. “If you would be so kind as to escort me to Queen’s House, I will—”

“I’ll not be going anywhere till spring, Your Highness.”

“Till spring. But... but ’tis barely autumn.” His response to that was a mere shrug. “I must return to my home.”

With a lazy motion he shifted away from the door, offering her an unobstructed exit. Rachel hesitated before pride lifted her chin. Fine. She would go alone. Her gaze drifted to the wild, untamed land framed by the open doorway. After taking a hesitant step she paused. “Would you be so kind as to direct me toward London.” She heard him laugh, a deep, booming sound, but when her eyes found his face it was sober.

“Head east,” he began, “once you cross the mountains you shouldn’t have too difficult a time... till you reach the sea.”

“The sea?”

“Aye, the Atlantic Ocean stands between you and London but—”

“That’s impossible.” Rachel clenched her hands together and twirled away, her skirts floating out about her ankles. But it only took a moment before she twisted back. “Where am I?” When he didn’t answer immediately Rachel lurched forward, catching the front of his buckskin shirt in her fists. Shaking did more to dislodge herself than him, but that didn’t stop her. “Tell me where I am.” But though she demanded to know, the knowledge seemed to fill her with despair.

“The colony of South Carolina...” she repeated his answer. As her voice trailed off she let loose of his shirt. She paced the cabin again before facing him. “Then I was obviously mistaken about finding my own way home. They will come for me.”

“They?”

Rachel expelled her breath in an unladylike sigh. Discussing this with him was becoming a bore. She would just tell him and be done with it. Mayhaps then he would leave her alone to await... She wasn’t certain what would happen, or when. But she did know
something
must. No fate could be as cruel as leaving her here.

“I was sent to save you,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “By angels.”

If she expected him to be awestruck by her announcement, she was sadly disappointed. His first reaction was a booming laugh that tightened her lips. The next was to grab her shoulders in his crushing grip.

“I’ve had enough of your lies, wench. It will be the truth you’ll be telling me.”

“You doubt heaven exists?” For the first time she was frightened of him. His anger seemed a palatable thing.

“Nay. I’ve no doubt there be a heaven... and a hell.”

“Then why must you mistrust me?”

He yanked her up against his hard chest. “An angel you might resemble, but I know better. For if someone sent you to me ’twould be no messenger from God. ’Twould be the devil himself.”

Rachel stared into the hard green eyes and nearly believed him.