The Bearwalker's Daughter (26 page)

She slid her fingers over his chest and sent tingles flushing down his spine.
Well, maybe not quite
ye
t
…

Her eyelids fluttered shut in a translucent sheen fringed with black lashes and she lifted those exquisite lips to his. How could he not settle his mouth over hers for one sweet moment?

The heat in her kiss shot straight to his groin and fire flowed through him like pewter melted for molding into shot. God in heaven, he was ready to be molded to her. He wanted her, again and again, tumbling over and over, joined together. Maybe then, the torment inside him would ease and he could cradle her against him and sleep.

Closing his arms around Karin, he bore down on her oh so biddable mouth. Her lips parted beneath his and her breathing quickened as she dissolved in his hold. How simple it would be to bend her back and pour himself into her again. A woman so easily inflamed wouldn’t protest his speed.

He’d do it. Now—before anyone could stop him.

A snarl in the fireplace broke through the potent miasma clouding Jack’s thoughts. “What the—” He jerked.

Karin startled and they swiveled their heads at the hearth. A bear didn’t take shape in the flames, but a low growl sounded in mimicry of the one dogging the back of Jack’s mind. Alarm flashed to the fore.

“Come on!” He sprang to his feet, pulling her up with him. “Dress fast.”

Fear colored her eyes gray on blue. “What’s happening?”

Jack grabbed his shirt and tossed Karin her shift. “The men have broken through the wolves or Shequenor let them pass. Either way, we’re getting out of here!”

Chapter Nineteen

Twigs brittle with cold snapped under Peki’s hooves. Heavy clouds spitted white flakes, but there was nothing to do other than flee with Jack further into the Alleghenies.

“At least the wind’s not up,” he muttered over Karin’s shoulder.

“Yet.” If wolves howled behind them, she couldn’t have felt much more desperate.

High overhead, a woodpecker drilled in a skeletal giant stretching skyward until its trunk disappeared in the flurrying haze. The caw of a blue jay also broke the stillness of muted leaves patterned with sugary snow. A wren’s glad song drifted down from concealed boughs, its cheer in stark contrast to the grim mood pervading their flight.

The warble faded away until only silence remained. All sensible creatures had taken shelter. Karin would dearly love to. She joined Jack as he ran a wary eye over the white woods, straining for any sight or sound that didn’t belong. The gurgle of the stream, its edges crusted with ice, would further muffle the tread of hooves already dimmed by the sodden leaves. Falling snow aided in concealment if they managed to stay ahead of their pursuers, but left tracks for any who followed and also lent them cover.

“No sign of the men. They may have lost our trail or not caught us up,” Jack said. “But they will, sooner or later.”

Later
, Karin prayed. Never in her most fantastic dreams had she thought to find herself riding toward her bedeviled father with Jack McCray. And stranger still, fleeing her grandfather, favorite uncle, and Joseph, along with neighbors she’d known all her life. What in God’s name had possessed her? The world as she knew it had run mad. Or she had.

Jack tightened his arm around her in a deeply possessive, also protective hold, and she knew how she’d come to be out here with winter nipping at their heels. There could be no turning back now; they must head on to Lord only knew what, or who. She fervently hoped sanctuary, not enmity awaited them.

Instead of passing, the snow thickened. The white woods had a timeless quality. She couldn’t guess the hour. It must be late afternoon by now, judging by her aching fatigue and numbing cold. They’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, only hasty stops by the frigid stream to drink. Her stomach rumbled insistently and chilled fingers reached into her very marrow. Shivering from head to toe, she tucked farther back into Jack’s warmth.

He closed the blanket he’d slung over his shirt more snugly around her mud-streaked wrappings. “I don’t dare pause yet to hunt and build a fire. Wish to God I could.”

So did Karin. She’d taken much of her former life for granted…the meals that followed in steady succession, the snug hearth and warm bed. How she missed Sarah and Neeley, especially Neeley who’d cared for her as long as she remembered.

Yearning for the McNeal homestead mounted in her with every wretched stride that carried her further away from her beloved valley. But she wouldn’t trade Jack for all she’d known if she had to forfeit him to reclaim her place in the clannish settlement.

Jack prodded Peki and the dogged horse bore on. How close man and stallion were, anticipating each other’s every move. Must Jack surrender this rare creature that had become his best friend?

Karin would reason with Shequenor, she determined, realizing how little she knew him. Her empty belly knotted and she blinked in the frosty air swirling with flakes. How would it be to meet this powerful warrior for the first time? Would he appear as a man, or that fearsome bear?

Deeper they wound into the ridges, harsh even in summer, grueling now. Karin sagged more heavily against Jack. Dead tired, she might’ve toppled to the whitewashed ground if he hadn’t gripped her. And for all her claim to fine horsemanship, she grew saddle sore.

She envisioned the kettle back home brought to the boil for tea and freshly baked corncakes. She and the other women would have a nice visit over their sewing before the men returned in high spirits for supper. Lost in remembrance, she didn’t see the lone figure emerge through the falling flakes to cross the trail a little ahead of them until he was there.

Without a word, Jack reined in Peki. Karin needed no explanation. Even squinting through the wintry curtain, she knew who this was.

Instead of the feared grizzly, the warrior stood straight and tall. If Shequenor were a tree, he’d be an oak, ancient with wisdom, not age. No gray streaked the black hair falling down past his square shoulders. A mantle of reddish-brown pelts draped him to mid-thigh and met the elkskin leggings embellished with beads and dyed quills that encased his long legs. Buckskin moccasins, also decorated, reached well up his calves. The color in his clothes shone in the whiteness as he walked silently to where they waited.

She peered into his face, undeniably handsome in a hard way and carved of the same rugged lines as his strong physique. His high cheekbones and prominent nose were Shawnee, and yet, uniquely his own. The all-seeing eyes fixed on her were like the bear’s and held night forests in their depths.

“Papa?” she said faintly.

His unwavering gaze flickered then softened slightly. “
Notha
,” he corrected, his deep timbre the one she’d heard before when he’d spoken in that mystical way he had.

“
Notha
means father in Shawnee,” Jack said.

“Help us,
Notha
,” she pleaded. “We’ve nowhere to go.”

“No
see
about it. Only our dire predicament forces me to release her to you for now.” Jack loosened his grip with abundant reluctance and let her slide toward Shequenor.

Ignoring his demand, the warrior lifted her down from Peki. She crumpled in his grasp. He clasped her to him like a long-lost child, which she supposed she was. His strength enveloped her in a near tangible surge.

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “At last,

Neetanetha
. You have come.”

As with the bear, he smelt of wild brambles, the woodlands, and autumn wind. In him, she sensed power, pride, grief beyond measure, and something more having to do with her, affection. Was that possible?

Jack sprang down from Peki. “I’m here too,
N
iSawsawh
, my dear brother.”

****

Shequenor strode ahead through ankle-deep snow with Karin in his arms. Grabbing the reins, Jack hastened after them. “Where are you taking her?”

Making no answer, Shequenor proceeded in silence. Jack should’ve known the formidable warrior would try to pull this. Well, he’d grown immeasurably since their last parting and that old bear had met his match.

“Oh, hell. Have it your way, for now.” There was nothing he could do at this moment except follow the figure blurred by falling flakes.

The warrior parted the sweeping boughs of a hemlock and stepped behind the evergreen. Jack ducked to follow. Showery snow cascaded over his bare head and down his neck. The blanket around his shoulders was wet through and his shirt not much better. He wished he had the coat his mother had given him. The tips of his fingers and toes were losing all feeling. He’d never really gotten over that last encounter with frost bite and was still susceptible. Not that he couldn’t build a fire, even hunt, if he must.

The fur-clad figure stepped ahead. Jack trudged at his heels, leading Peki. Beyond the thickly branched tree rose a grove of hemlocks, ghostly in the dim light. Tangy wood smoke tinged the snowy air. Somewhere not far from here Shequenor had a fire going. The scent of roasting game carried on the breeze. Despite everything Jack was up against, his spirits lifted. Karin would be warm and fed. With her resilience, she’d soon recover.

Taking care not to topple the cold powder onto her shivery form, Shequenor walked on.

Jack tromped just behind. Then he saw where they were headed. A rocky outcropping loomed before him on the side of the ridge. A portion of the jutting stone had been walled off with woven hemlock boughs. Smoke drifted up through an opening in the top and smudged the white sky.

“Care for you horse.” Shequenor disappeared under the deerskin flap that served as a door in the make-shift lodge.

Jack wistfully watched Karin go and stopped at the side of the snug looking shelter with Peki. The gray stone overhead provided a roof of sorts. His fingers clumsy from the cold, he unsaddled the hard- ridden stallion, and then rubbed down his frothy flanks with a blanket from their bedroll. The horse needed food and water.

Squinting at the whiteness, Jack tried to think with his numb mind how to provide for his faithful mount. The stream wasn’t far by the sound of it and he could tether the horse and let him graze on whatever he could find beneath the snow. What else?

At times like this he longed for a place of his own with a stable. Was he to build a bloody homestead in between his run from the McNeals and their party, and before or after he came to blows with Shequenor over Karin—if after, there mightn’t be much point.

His stomach growled like a grizzly in full voice. After a long hard day on the trail, he could tear into a quail raw.

Shequenor poked his head through the flap. In his hand he had a small sack. He held it out. “For Peki.”

Jack took the offering and looked inside. Shelled corn shone yellow in the pale light. Enough to feed his hungry mount and worth its weight in gold in these wintry woods. He gave a nod of appreciation at the unexpected gift and lifted his eyes to the long appraisal in Shequenor’s.

“Come and eat,
NiSawsawh
. Warm yourself by the fire.”

Just when Jack thought Shequenor couldn’t possibly get any worse and he badly wanted to hate his adopted brother, the warrior did something kind. No doubt, he’d soon infuriate Jack again.

****

As Karin predicted, the wind picked up and roused her from a sleep so heavy it might’ve been a dead faint. Behind the shrieks in the bluster, she detected a softer voice. A woman’s plea spoke to her in that place between wake and sleep...her mother’s?

She fully awoke to find thick furs cushioning her beneath and more wrapping her from above...rabbit, fox, and mink by the luxurious feel. The warmth she’d craved seeped through her thawing body. Oddly, she felt safe here, wherever here was, even though it couldn’t possibly be home. Nor had she any idea if it were night or day.

Opening her eyes, she glanced drowsily around the primitive shelter. Stone jutted overhead except where boughs and saplings formed part of the roof. Light from a campfire in the room’s center danced on the rough ceiling. Wind whipped the rising smoke out through an opening at the top.