My Savage Heart (The MacQuaid Brothers) (4 page)

Caroline was so intent upon listening that the deep bong of the tall case clock in the hall was startling. Her small gasp was loud enough to interrupt the conversation on the porch.

Caroline stood frozen with indecision as footfalls headed her way. And then Mr. Walker came through the door, and it was too late for retreat.

“Ah, Lady Simmons, were you seeking us?”

“Yes... yes, I was,” Caroline lied, silently thanking her host for providing the chance to explain away her obvious eavesdropping. Her gaze shifted up to meet Raff’s as he followed Mr. Walker into the pool of light from the brass sconces lining the hallway. It was obvious from his expression that he didn’t believe her. Caroline cleared her throat. “I wished to... to...” Caroline forced her eyes from his dark stare and focused instead on Mr. Walker’s jovial face. “To retire.”

“Of course, you do, my dear. You must be exhausted. I know how Raff rides, never taking into consideration that the rest of us aren’t his equal on a horse.”

“Oh, Mr. MacQuaid was very kind during the journey.” Caroline felt compelled to defend her future stepson, despite the fact that he still stared at her with enough intensity to make her uncomfortable. He made no comment, and all Mr. Walker did was laugh, a deep booming sound as he took her hand and accompanied her to the foot of the stairs.

“I hope you find everything to your comfort, Lady Caroline.”

“I’m sure I shall. Thank you.” Caroline rested her hand on the smooth banister, anxious to make good her escape upstairs. But she hesitated. Glancing around she smiled, first at her host. “Good night, Mr. Walker.” Then at Raff who’d followed her to the stairs. “Good night, Mr. MacQuaid.”

She didn’t wait for any response, which from the older man was pleasant, from her future stepson nonexistent, before turning and hurrying up the staircase.

“Are you trying to frighten the girl to death?”

Wolf rested his hand on the newel, staring at the top of the stairs long after Caroline disappeared down the hallway. Then he turned to his friend. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Simply that your expression when you look at her is so fierce I’m surprised the thought of you being in her household doesn’t send her running home to England.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. First of all, I
won’t
be part of Her Ladyship’s household, and second, this is the way I always look. Indian blood runs dark.” Wolf pasted a smile on his face and clasped his friend’s shoulder. But he couldn’t help wondering if he was still trying to dissuade Caroline Simmons from going to his father.

He’d heard her in the hallway long before the clock struck nine. She was listening to his conversation with George and perhaps because of that he’d painted the prospect of war as grimly... as truthfully, as he could. He hadn’t exaggerated. Unless something was done quickly to stop it, war between the Cherokee and the English of South Carolina appeared a reality. But was he trying to scare her off? To spare her the unpleasantness of wedding his father? The idea still puzzled him as he entered the parlor and Rebecca rushed across the floor to meet him.

How could she have been so stupid and ill-mannered?

Caroline leaned against the door, trying to calm her racing emotions. She’d been caught listening to a private conversation, and she’d been caught by Raff MacQuaid. Caroline shut her eyes. She could clearly visualize the expression on his dark, handsome face as she lied. It was not something she cared to see again. It was as if his eyes could bore straight through her... find her innermost secrets. And it was terribly disconcerting.

After taking a deep breath, Caroline walked to the window and stared out at the night. She should be concentrating on the things she’d heard, not Raff’s reaction to her. But she couldn’t quite separate one from the other.

Especially when everything about him... about everything was so disturbing.

“He hates his father. He’ll hate you, too.”

Caroline couldn’t stop thinking of Rebecca’s words. If Raff disliked his father so, then why had he come to fetch her?

With a sigh, Caroline sank onto the window seat and pressed her forehead against the cool pane. Her breath marbled the window. She’d never felt so alone, not even after her mother died. At least then she had Edward and her home. Now she was in a strange land, where war was a real threat and her only companion was a compelling man who seemed not to like her at all. Was it because she was to wed his father?

Exhaustion overtook and while still trying to decide if she had any options at all, Caroline fell asleep.

In the middle of the night she woke with a start. Though the flame of the bedside candle sputtered in the hot tallow, it emitted enough light for her to see she wasn’t alone. Her scream was muffled by a large hand held firmly over her mouth. Caroline’s eyes widened in panic even though she now recognized Raff MacQuaid.

As disturbing as his presence in her room was, his touch still caused her light-headedness. Nothing in her twenty-two years prepared her for the depth of the emotions he caused her.

“There’s no reason to be frightened. ’Tis only me.”

Though the words were meant to be reassuring, it was his tone, soothing and smooth as silk that made her nod her head when he asked if he could remove his hand.

“What are you doing in here?” she whispered. A quick glance toward the door reaffirmed that it was shut. She may not have had much guidance in the ways of the world, but Caroline knew it wasn’t acceptable for her to be alone with a man in her bedroom. Even if she was betrothed to the man’s father.

“I came to tell you when we would be leaving in the morning.” Not entirely a lie.

“Still...” Caroline shrank back against the window, wishing she didn’t feel so drawn to him. His scent. The magnetism of his dark eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Wolf shrugged and sat beside her, sensing the slight shiver that ran through her. The window seat was small and his hip pressed against her drawn-up knee. He could feel her warmth through the layers of petticoats. “I saw the light beneath your door, but when I knocked there was no answer.”

“I heard no knock.”

Fine white teeth showed against his dark skin when he smiled. “You were asleep.” Wolf’s fingers touched the collar of her gown. “Still dressed.”

Caroline wondered if he noticed her racing pulse.

“And sitting by the window,” Wolf continued, shaking his head. “Don’t you know what’s said about the night air? I wouldn’t want you catching your death. What would my
father
say?”

“What would he say about your being in my room?” Caroline didn’t know what made her so bold, but she was rewarded by another smile, this one somewhat wicked.

“Does it matter?”

Before Caroline could think of a proper response to him his hand moved up to her hair. “You didn’t even take down your curls.”

Goodness, she had to stop him from touching her, or soon she wouldn’t want to. Caroline pulled away, but the hours of sleeping, her head awkwardly bent against the chilled windowpane had taken their toll. She sucked in her breath as her stiff neck rebelled.

“What is it?” His fingers curved around her throat.

“Nothing... really.” There was no place to go to be away from him. She’d squeezed back in the corner as far as she could, and his large body blocked her escape into the room. “Don’t. Please don’t do that.” His fingers massaged the sore tendons from her ear to the lace bordering her shoulder. Against all common sense, Caroline let her head drift to the side, giving him free access to her slender neck, belying her words of protest.

His hands were strong, the pads of his long fingers roughened, but his touch was gentle... soothing.

“Is that better?”

His voice, low and sensual, coaxed Caroline’s eyes open. His touch relaxed her at the same time it excited. She cleared her throat, trying to regain control of a situation gotten too far out of hand. “Yes, that’s much better, thank you.” Abruptly she forced her feet to the floor, pushing past him, putting space between them. “You wanted to tell me what time to be ready in the morning.” Caroline lifted her hand to her cheek. Somehow he’d removed the wooden pins from her hair, and it now hung free past her shoulders.

“I did.” With her hair down and her color high, her blue eyes still languid from his touch, Wolf found it difficult to look away from her. Perhaps he was under the spell of his own seduction. Who wouldn’t be attracted to a woman so easily excited. “Plan to rise early. It’s best if we leave by dawn.”

“Because of the impending war?” The question was out before Caroline could stop herself. But there was no use pretending she hadn’t overheard his discussion with Mr. Walker.

“No. Simply because I want to get as much traveling in by daylight as we can.”

“Oh.” Caroline twisted her fingers and began pacing the width of the room. He still sat on the window seat and though he made no comment about her question, she felt as though she should explain. “I didn’t mean to listen to your conversation with Mr. Walker.”

There was enough light in the room for her to notice the skeptical arch of his brow. Caroline rearranged the silver handled brush and mirror on the mahogany dresser. So much for her halfhearted attempt to apologize. She turned to face him. “Is there to be a war between the Cherokee and the English?”

“I think so. France and England seem unable to leave well enough alone.”

“And what is ‘well enough’?”

Wolf settled back against the window. “Excellent question. And one too complex to answer quickly. Perhaps we can discuss this issue in detail if you’d like me to stay.”

He sounded almost as if he expected her to agree. But with the distance between them, Caroline felt more confident. She shook her head slowly, aware of the soft, swishing sound of her hair against her silk bodice. “No. I thank you for rescuing me from my uncomfortable bed.” She nodded her head toward the window seat. “But I think ’tis time you leave. If we are to be up before dawn.”

Wolf shrugged and settled back against the window, ignoring her annoyed expression. “The Cherokee want fairness. Fair prices for our skins. Fair prices placed on the goods they must buy.”

“From the English?” Caroline felt drawn in despite her contention that he leave.

“Or the French.”

“But... but I thought the English and Cherokee were allies. How can they wish to trade with the enemy?”

“The English honor the treaties as long as it serves their purpose. They send traders to the Cherokee Towns as long as it remains profitable to do so. When they decide not to trade, our women are left with no pots, our warriors run out of bullets for their rifles.” Wolf lifted his palms for emphasis.

Caroline left her position of safety beside the dresser. Like iron filings drawn to lodestone, she moved toward Raff. He shifted to the side so she could sit down. “Is that what has happened? Have the English stopped trading with the Cherokee?”

“That is one problem. The trade arrangement always was one-sided. Now... the Cherokee have learned to rely on the goods from England.”

“But surely if the traders understood...”

Wolf’s laugh lacked humor. “The English understand what they’re doing all too well. What they don’t comprehend is the Cherokee. We will—” Shaking his head, Wolf pushed to his feet. “I was right before. This is a complex situation.” He resisted the urge to touch her before striding to the door. “But chances of war are great.”

Wolf opened the door, pausing to look back at her before shutting it behind him. She sat, picture perfect, framed by the rose damask drapes. “I will return you to Charles Town in the morning if that is your wish.”

“Why don’t you want me here?”

Wolf glanced up, surprised, as Caroline entered the dining room. He’d slept poorly, finally rising before the household and was now eating a breakfast of cold cornbread he found in the kitchen. The only light was a single taper burning in a silver candleholder on the table. He hadn’t expected to see anyone, especially Lady Caroline Simmons, this early.

Yet there she was, dressed for traveling, and staring down the length of the polished mahogany table at him. Her fingers curled, white knuckled, around the back of a Queen Anne chair. Wolf took a moment to finish slathering butter on his bread. With studied indifference he shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”