Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (7 page)

“Rosemary?”

A shiver had Millie glancing up, wondering how many times Ilene had called her by that name and she hadn't answered.

“Someone is knocking on the door. Would you like me to answer it?”

Chapter Six

T
he tea To-She-Wi delivered was a magical elixir, and after sharing the pot with Ilene, Millie was much more prepared to be shown about her new home—and
see
it this time with a clear mind. The house had all the comforts of her Richmond home, and more, for Seth's clothes hung in the room across the hall from hers.

Back downstairs, in the hall beyond the staircase, Ilene pointed into a windowless room. “I saved this for last. It's the bathing area. It was my idea, as was the bathing house for the men living in the barracks. Men just don't think of such things, yet they use them as regularly as women,” she said. “Most of the year, just leaving water on the back porch will heat it enough to use. Of course, Briggs always has a stove going, and will heat water if you don't wish to start your own fire.”

A large tub, bench and small dressing table filled the room, and the thought of the private area was welcome. Yet other things were filling Millie's mind. “There's barely a tree out here,” she noted. “Where does the wood come from?”

“The Wichita Mountains are fifteen or so miles from here. Troops of soldiers are regularly deployed to gather enough wood to last a couple of months.”

“Is that where the Indians live?”

“Sometimes. Most of them still move from place to place every few months or so.”

“Why?”

“Let's return to the kitchen,” Ilene suggested. “I added more water to the teapot so we can have another cup.”

Millie followed, and once seated, sipping the tepid, weak but still refreshing tea, asked again, “Why do they move around?”

“It's their way of life.” Ilene shrugged as she held her teacup, but her face and tone held compassion and understanding. “They used to follow the buffalo, and now some follow the cattle drives, gathering chips and whatnot for fuel.”

“Chips?”

“After the cattle defecate, the sun dries the piles hard and they burn quite well.” Ilene smiled, setting her cup down. “It's not as unpleasant as it sounds. The Indians also cut tall grass and twist it into small bundles to burn in their fires.” She sighed then. “They aren't bad people or evil, they're just like you and me, and the rest of the world. Families with babies and children to take care of. But unlike a lot of us, their entire way of life has been unbalanced. For the most part, they're trying very hard to adjust. The buffalo used to provide them with almost everything they needed.” She shook her head as if confused or disgusted. “And now the army sends them flour.”

“That's bad?” Millie asked.

“Well, yes, they don't know what to do with flour and baking powder. They've never used it before. They don't have ovens, just open fires.” Ilene pushed her cup away and folded her hands upon the table. “That's why Seth is going to Washington in person next month. To insist that the provisions sent out here are ones the tribes can use. Things that will feed their families. It used to be the cattlemen would give the Indians a few head of cows to cross their land, but now they bring bottles of whiskey to trade instead. A very sad thing for sure.”

Millie pushed her cup aside, as well, no longer thirsty. Seth's trip to Washington was imperative. She understood that and couldn't ask him not to go, but she had to find a way to postpone it.

“Don't frown so,” Ilene said. “I know Seth will make progress. He can be quite persuasive.” She reached over and laid a hand upon Millie's. “And I'm so glad you're here for him.”

Millie had no idea how to respond, so she simply nodded. “Thank you.”

“Did your sister go off to school, or marry?”

Her blood turned cold. “My sister?”

“Yes,” Ilene said. “Seth said you have a younger sister, that you had to take care of her, raise her. That's why you never came out here before.”

“He did?”

Ilene patted her hand. “Last winter Seth was very ill. That's when I discovered he was married. I wrote you a letter. I know I'd have wanted someone to tell me if Jasper was ill.”

Millie's heart was pounding as she thought of Seth, so strong and healthy, becoming ill. It seemed almost impossible, and frightening at the same time. “I—I never received a letter.”

“That's what Seth assumed once he was better. And that's when he told me about your younger sister. Millie, isn't it?”

The lump was too large to swallow around. Would the lies never end? Millie nodded and reached for the tepid tea.

* * *

Seth was still at the headquarters building along with Jasper Ketchum and several others, including the Indian Per-Cum-Ske, when Millie carried a lamp up to her room and prepared for bed. Ilene had returned and they'd eaten together the meal To-She-Wi had delivered. Millie had worked hard to keep the conversation off herself. Had to. Confusion was overwhelming her mind. She knew she wasn't Rosemary, but she couldn't help but wish she was. Pretending Seth was her husband—speaking of him as if he was—was so easy and enchanting. It was as if she'd landed in the life she'd always imagined having, except she wasn't herself. She was a Millie-Rosemary person who didn't even exist.

Flopping onto the bed, she lay on top of the covers wearing just her nightgown. The weather hadn't cooled off yet this evening, and even with the window open, the room was hot. Or maybe it was just her body. When it wasn't heated by thoughts of Seth, it was boiling with all the things Rosemary hadn't told her.

If Millie had seen Ilene's letter, she'd have come. She'd have taken care of Seth.

The rolling of her stomach said that wasn't true. Rosemary would never have let her, and the chance she'd have come upon Ilene's letter was next to nil. Not only would Millie never have read someone else's private message, she was often away from home when correspondence arrived. Either staying clear, not wanting to know who was visiting her sister, or on an errand for Rosemary. Returning a garment to the dressmaker that didn't fit quite right, or a hat to the milliner, or...her eyes went across the room, to where her boots sat upon one of her trunks...shoes to the shoemaker.

She pressed a hand to her chest, where it felt as if someone was stitching up her heart and pulling the string tight, telling her once again how selfish she was. Focusing on the boots, she tried to think other thoughts. The heel was as good as new. It hadn't given her any problems, and every morning, when she pulled the boots on, she was reminded of her mission. Yet it didn't stop her from wishing things were different.

Sighing, she turned her gaze to the window, wondering again when Seth would return. To-She-Wi had said he'd eaten. All the men in the meeting had, and that was comforting, but not as soothing as the way he wished her a good-night. She'd wait up, as long as it took, to hear those words again tonight, too.

Without much effort, her mind pulled up a picture of him standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he had back at the cabin. His grin would be a bit cockeyed—showing his dimple—and sweet, and he'd say the words softly. Not necessarily a whisper, but in a low tone that was like a lullaby. Kissing entered her mind again, and she could almost see him walking across the room, sitting down on the edge of her bed.... A sigh left her chest, and she let her mind wander, creating a most pleasurable dream.

A thud, thump, or some such sound tugged her from slumber. Blinking, she fought to chase away the groggy thickness in her mind and vision. The flame in the lamp still flickered, and she reached for it, wondering when she'd fallen asleep.

Her hand stalled as she sat up. Fine-tuning her hearing, she waited for another sound, something to let her know Seth had returned.

The quiet was interrupted by an odd, faint scratching. Flipping her legs over the edge of the bed, she scanned the room, noting one boot on the floor.

She was halfway across the room when she noticed the other boot, still atop the trunk, wobble. She took another step, but froze as a tiny head popped up over the top. Her heart jolted, throbbed against her rib cage, and then the snake noticed her. Or she realized it was a snake. Either way, it hissed and she screamed.

In a single bound she was back on top of the bed, screaming the only name her mind knew. “Seth!
Seth...!
”

Shrugging out of his coat, having just walked into the house, Seth left the garment in his wake as he flew up the stairs. The terror-filled screams sent ice pumping through his veins.

He shot down the hall, and rounding the corner into her room, slid to a stop. She stood on the bed, up against the wall near the headboard. The lamp beside her bed flickered in the darkness, turning her thin nightgown gossamer and silhouetting a shape beneath that stole his breath away.

Another scream, his name, pierced the air. One of her trembling arms was held out, pointing toward the far side of the room. He saw it then, the bull snake. A young one from the size of it. They all had bad attitudes, and this one was no different. Reared up, forming an
S
with its body, it lunged forward while backtracking across the top of the trunk. He was thankful such a minor thing was the cause of the commotion. For a moment he'd imagined one of Per-Cum-Ske's braves climbing through a window. The man had been too curious about her, and that had got Seth's goat early on in the meeting.

He crossed the room, snatched up the critter by the back of the neck and tossed it out the open window. A brave would have needed a ladder to enter her window, and none were left lying around. Turning back to assure her all was fine, he felt his heart jolt again. Not only was her gown see-through, her face was colorless.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “It's gone.”

Still cowering near the wall, she shook her head.

“It's gone,” he repeated, walking slowly to the side of the bed and holding out a hand. “Come here.”

Her head didn't move, but her eyes did. “Seth?”

“Yes, it's me. Come here, sweetheart.” The endearment rolled off his tongue without thought as he took her hand and tugged her toward him.

She crumpled onto her knees and latched her hands around his neck. Catching her with both arms, he pulled her forward, held her trembling body against his chest. “Shhh,” he repeated as his insides filled with unfathomable warmth. “It's gone.”

“It was huge,” she gasped.

“No, he was just a little guy,” he teased, hoping to ease her fears. “And he's gone now.”

“Where'd it come from?”

He shouldn't be enjoying holding her, for she was scared, but she felt so good pressed against him like this. Just the thin cotton of his shirt and her gown separated his chest from her breasts, and that had his blood pulsing. Running a hand down the length of her hair, stopping to press his palm into the small of her back, he answered, “It must have been left over from one of the crates or barrels.”

“What did it want?”

She was calming down a touch. Her breath was no longer coming out in tiny gasps, but he continued to run a hand up and down her back. “A mouse or two, I'd suspect.”

“I don't mind mice.”

Her voice was so tiny and meek he smiled and brushed a kiss to the top of her hair, which hung between her shoulder blades. He'd watched her brush it out, standing in the doorway back at their cabin last night, and wondered. Five years ago, Millie's hair had hung past her waist. He remembered that because Rosemary had pointed it out, when noting differences between them. She'd said Millie had no style.

People could cut their hair, did all the time. Millie could have, too. He'd contemplated that again in the past few hours, while telling himself he wasn't jealous of Per-Cum-Ske's interest in her. Yet Seth had also started to wonder if he'd judged too quickly. Started questioning if this
could
in fact be Rosemary, his wife; maybe she'd changed. They'd spent only a few hours together back then, and she had been upset—which could bring out the worst in people. If only he had a picture to compare. But he didn't. Other than the one in his mind, which, he had to admit, he'd painted very unflatteringly over the years.

“Will it be back?”

He nestled his chin against the top of her head, curled his arms tighter around her. “No, he won't be back.”

She shivered slightly. “Does he have friends?”

Seth chuckled and scooped her off the bed.

They were halfway across the room before she asked, “Where are we going?”

“To my room.” It wasn't that he was surprised by his actions, just unsure, and he considered turning around, but didn't.

Once in his room, straight across the hall from hers, he leaned down and threw back the covers before setting her on the bed. “You can sleep right there.”

“Are there snakes in here?”

Her arms were still locked around his neck and he gradually eased them off, questioning if he'd lost his mind. “I'll go get the lamp from your room and check.”

Back within seconds, he made a show of looking beneath the dresser and in the wardrobe closet, and a touch of apprehension clutched him as he bent to peer under the bed, as if he half expected to find another snake himself. It was doubtful, but he'd have the men sweep the house again tomorrow and make sure there were no others.

“No snakes,” he declared, setting the lamp on the table. He pondered sleeping in her room, but only for a moment. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he removed his boots, using the toe of the opposite foot against the heel. The pants would stay on, even though they were wool, but the socks and shirt would have to go. It was too hot to remain fully dressed.

“Where will you sleep?”

Once his socks found a place on the floor beside the boots, he twisted and patted the pillow beside hers. “Right here.”

She bit her bottom lip and swallowed hard, and a part of him wanted to copy her actions. Instead, he removed his shirt, tossed it on the chair and stretched out, tucking his feet and knees beneath the covers still folded back on his side. “This way, any snake will have to crawl over me to get to you, and I won't let that happen.”