Frontier Highlander Vow of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 4) (11 page)

For propriety’s sake, he sat across from her, even though what he wanted to do was swing her into the circle of his arms, and have her sit next him. Or perhaps on his lap. The delightful thought made him smile at her.

He’d spent a restless night lying awake wondering what it would feel like to hold her against him. When he did finally sleep, he
was
holding her in his extremely pleasant dreams.

He sat his rifle down beside him and bent his long legs at the knees to fit the width of the wagon, being sure not to touch her. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off or offend her.

“How are the scratches on yer arms this mornin’? Better?” he asked.

“Aye, Kelly’s ointment has already started them toward healin’,” she said. “They’ll be just fine in a couple of days.”

“Did ye sleep well in the loft?” he asked, trying his best to make polite conversation.

“Indeed. I was so exhausted, I fell asleep directly and slept quite well.”

He noted her eyes dart down as though she wasn’t being completely truthful. Perhaps she’d spent a restless night too. He almost hoped she had and that the reason was the same as his.

For a while, they just sat in comfortable silence behind William and Kelly listening to the two chatter, but only able to catch a few of their words here and there, with the noise of the wagon and horses.

But sitting this close to Artis was proving a challenge. Her beauty was overwhelming. When she nervously moistened her dry lips, a tremor heated his groin. He was dismayed at the magnitude of his desire. He hardly knew the woman. Yet he already felt a tangible bond between them.

His heart seemed to beat faster with each turn of the wagon wheels. By the time they reached town, it would be racing. Clearly he was physically attracted to her—more so than he could ever remember being with a woman. But he knew virtually nothing about her, save for the fact that she was raised in the Highlands. He needed to get to know her better.

“Artis, what made ye leave Scotland?” he asked, trying to keep his voice gentle and soothing, remembering how she’d reacted to Kelly’s question the night before.

Anger flashed in her eyes. An inner fire hardened her exquisite features, followed by raw hurt. Her mouth tightened, but she said naught. She lowered her head and studied her calloused rough-skinned hands.

Where had she worked so hard that her hands would appear as hardened as a man’s?

“Sometimes talkin’ about a pain will lessen its ache,” he said. He
quirked an eyebrow at her questioningly, trying to get her to open up to him.

She peered up at him, her face full of remoteness, and then her eyes seemed to see something horrific. He could almost see her troubled spirit fighting to control her emotions.

“Were ye forced to leave by the clearances too?” he asked. “I heard that they have gone on for some time.”

“Aye, durin’
Bliadhna nan Caorach
, ‘the year of the sheep’.”

“I’ve heard others call it that. What happened to your parents?”

“Da died of a fever the year before the clearance. The Sutherland estate factor killed my mother right in front of me.” She paused to regain control of her emotions.

“Och, lass, I’m so sorry. What was the bastard’s name?”

“Steller.” She hissed the name. “I know he murdered her because I would not accept his attentions. If I’d been more agreeable to him, she might still be alive.”

He heard guilt in her tear-smothered voice.

“Not only did he kill her, he and his henchmen set fire to our home, our village, and many other townships along the Strath. My dear aged Uncle was caught in his blazin’ home. Some of the men plucked him from the fire, but he died shortly afterward.”

“How long ago was this tragedy?”

“Seven years.”

“Oh, Artis. I’m sorry for all yer sufferin’. Tis clear it still pains yer heart even though it’s been some time.”

Her anguish evident on her face, she said, “It will always pain me. Because I have done naught to appease my anger. If I could, I would go back to Scotland and kill him. That would ease my pain.
An Diabhal air na Sutharlanaich
.”

After damning the Sutherlands, she crossed her arms in front of her, and stared off into the forest. Her blazing eyes filled with moisture, and hate.

“And I would go and do it for ye—if it were the right thing to do. But it is na.”

“Aye, it is.”

“Artis, ye and I are descendants of a race of whom we have abundant cause to be proud. We are not murderers. But this Steller is. And,
‘…there is nothin’ covered that shall not be revealed, neither hid, that shall not be known.’
When the time is right, Steller will pay for all the evil he committed. I promise you.”

“But he stole my home and land and the land of many others. Our beloved Highlands will become a howlin’ solitary wilderness, from which our pride and love are fled forever!”

“Aye, he and others like him did steal our land. And the passionate notes of the bag-pipes will be replaced by the bleatin’ of sheep. But we did na lose what is most important. We carry the pride of our ancestors and our love for Scotland with us in our hearts. It is na left back in the Highlands. The Almighty sent us both here for a reason. It’s yer duty to learn what that reason is.”

“He certainly put me on a cruel path to get here.”

Bear was glad Artis opened up to him but wanted to know more. “Where have ye been for the last seven years?”

“When I arrived, I was forced into indentured servitude.”

“Did ye work on a farm or in a household?”

“On a large plantation in Virginia, near Roanoke. I worked in the fields and in the stables. At the end of my contract, the planter I worked for gave me a deed to land located here as my freedom dues.”

Coincidentally, they were passing by Artis’ land at just that moment. “Tis a grand place,” Bear said, gazing around at her magnificent trees and
lush grass covered land, brushed by the brilliant rays of the morning light.

“It is beautiful,” she replied reverently. “Someday I hope it will be a happy home too.”

“Fear not, it will come to pass. God is never deaf to the desires of your heart.”

Reaching out, he took her hand in his and kissed the top of it. He could see her uneven breathing in the rise and fall of her chest as he gently caressed the top of her hand with his thumb until her eyes no longer held heartache. Until they filled with life, warmth, and unspoken desire.

After a moment, he asked, “Artis, do ye think ye could let yer land truly be yer
freedom
dues? Can ye let the beauty ye see before ye heal the bleeding wounds of yer past?”

Artis stared at him, her mouth hanging open, her eyes glittering and thoughtful.

Could Artis let her land release her from her tragic past? Would she claim the happiness she deserved? “Let the future free ye of yer sorrow and release yer life to happiness,” he urged.

Her face showed some indefinable emotion. A few tears slipped down her pink cheeks. She quickly swiped them away.

“Weep na more, my lady,” Bear said. “Today, yer life starts anew.”

Chapter 12

Roberts Plantation, Roanoke, Virginia

S
teller felt every one of the three hundred miles he’d traveled in the muscles of his aching back—now as hard as solid rock—as he turned his weary horse onto the road leading to the plantation’s main house.

A wide green expanse welcomed visitors to the sprawling farm. He passed a fine-looking black stallion nibbling on verdant grass. He decided it must be the stud for what looked like blooded mares grazing with the big horse in the fenced pasture.

He decided he’d switch his horse for the stallion on his way out. He still had a little sweet feed left and he’d use that to coax the beautiful horse close enough to slip a bridle over his head.

In the distance, he saw rich river-bottom land and hilly pastures. He also noticed that the plantation supported a large-scale tobacco and corn crop.

As he neared the two-story main house, painted white and trimmed with black shutters, he could see dense woods directly to the rear of the enormous home. A handful of outbuildings stood some distance from the house. Two of them appeared to be simple frame buildings that perhaps housed servants and slaves. The board buildings were no doubt icy cold in
the winter and blistering hot in the summer.

Was that where Artis had lived for the last seven years? He hoped so. Residing with the African slaves and other servants was all Artis deserved after all. At least he had been given private quarters in a fine mansion, even if his bedroom was in the home’s attic.

He took the stairs leading up to the porch two at a time and knocked. A dark-skinned male servant answered the door and, after Steller asked to speak to Mister Roberts, ushered him inside. The servant told him to wait and proceeded down the hall, on the right side of the carved staircase, to a set of double doors with brass handles. The servant disappeared inside.

So that was where Roberts was. If the plantation owner refused to see him, at least now he knew where to find him.

After a moment, a short man, with a belly that threatened the strength of his silk vest’s buttonholes, strode up. “I’m Morgan Roberts. How may I be of service to you, Sir?”

“My name is Patrick Steller. And I am lookin’ for my wife. I was told she was indentured to ye seven years ago. I am hopin’ she is still here.”

“I don’t remember having a servant by the name of Steller,” Roberts said, wrinkling his forehead.

“Perhaps you knew her by her maiden name—Artis MacKay.”

“Yes, indeed. Artis was a faithful and cooperative servant here until recently.”

“Where did she go?” Steller asked, a little too anxiously and forcibly than he wanted to sound.

“Before I tell you, I must have proof that you are indeed her husband. Do you have your marriage license?”

“Nay, it was lost on my voyage here,” Steller lied. “I assure ye, we are indeed married. But on the day of our weddin’, the Highland clearances caused us to become separated. Wealthy landowners sent both of us to the colonies, but on different ships. I just finished servin’ my indenture in
Wilmington.”

Roberts peered deeply into his eyes. Steller tried to keep his expression calm and nonthreatening.

“Come into my office,” the planter finally said.

He followed the man, down the carpeted hall and into a magnificent room. He could tell that the portly fellow was a pampered child of fortune.

Roberts sat down behind his ornate desk, looking as if he needed the piece of furniture for protection. When Roberts hauled out a pistol and laid it upon his desk, he realized he’d seriously underestimated the man.

“I don’t know who you are or what you want with Miss MacKay, but I will not give you the location of her whereabouts without proof of your relationship to the woman. I suggest you go find that proof and bring it back to me.”

Steller glanced around the room. It contained an impressive library of perhaps a thousand volumes. A portrait of a distinguished looking man, probably a Roberts ancestor, hung above the brick fireplace. This farmer was wealthy and a gentleman. He was used to people following his orders without question and he expected Steller to just leave without pursuing the matter further.

He would soon learn otherwise.

“Ye have an extraordinary library, Sir,” Steller said. “Ye must be a well-educated man. And I can see that ye keep careful records, judgin’ from the numerous ledgers on the shelves behind ye. I’m certain one of those account books contain yer slave and servant records. Would ye be so kind as to show me Artis’ signature. Then I will know for a certainty that the Artis MacKay who worked for ye is indeed my dear wife.”

Steller wouldn’t recognize Artis’ signature. He’d never even seen it. But if he could get Roberts to open the correct ledger, he was certain he could find out where she went.

Roberts hesitated a moment, and then stood. Instead of grabbing a
ledger from the shelf behind him, he picked up his pistol. “I must ask you to leave now, Sir. You have over stayed your welcome.”

“I think not,” Steller said. He picked up a hefty brass candle stand, holding a burning candle, from the left side of the desk. “What would a fire do to this fine library? What would the flames do to your family in the rooms above? Do you have young children? Or perhaps an elderly parent?”

“You can’t be serious!”

Steller moved closer to a stack of papers. “Do ye really want to risk shootin’ me? These papers will make excellent kindlin’ as will this fine wool rug beneath my feet.” He picked up the matching brass candle holder on the other side of desk, its candle also burning brightly. “I assure you I am serious—
deadly
serious.”

He held one of the candle holders closer to the papers. I few drops of hot wax dripped off the candle and onto the papers.

“Please no, I beg you not to.”

Roberts sounded contrite now and the hand that held the pistol was shaking slightly. The wealthy man sat the weapon down again and frowned in exasperation. “What do you want with her?”

Steller sat one of the candle holders down, went around the desk, and slapped Roberts, hard. So hard, he could feel the burn in his own hand. “That, Sir, is none of yer business.”

The force of the blow caused the man to bend over on his side. He slowly raised up, holding his hand against his cheek. “You, Sir, are nothing but a thug,” he growled.

“Tell me where she went, you bastard, or I’ll change your home to smolderin’ cinders. Believe me, I have some experience with that.” He put a thin mirthless smile on his lips.

Recognition and then shock shown in the man’s eyes and sweat popped out on his shiny forehead. The farmer’s round face became grim. “You’re the one who murdered Artis’ mother, aren’t you?”

“It was na murder. The stubborn old witch refused to leave her home. I had na choice.”

“There is always a choice.”

“Then choose to tell me where Artis is, or ye will watch yer home, and all within it, burn to the ground.”

Chapter 13