Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] (29 page)

“A guardian angel o’er his life presiding,

Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.”

— Samuel Rogers

“Human Life”

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.” Logan stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His gaze drifted down her gown, his brow arching.

“I can’t sleep either.”

He merely nodded, appearing to accept her explanation of why he came. But there was more, much more... and they both knew it. The reasons simmered beneath the surface as she poked at the fire, sparking it to life before adding another log.

Rachel straightened, brushing bits of bark from her hands. “I’d offer you tea.” Her head inclined toward the cup that sat on the chest of drawers. “But I fear ’tis cold as ice.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders, then walked stiffly toward the fire, extending his hands toward the flames to warm them. “You’ve learned to build a good fire.”

“Thank you.” She stood primly to the side, watching him, wondering when he would reach for her. Unlike her, he seemed to have tried to rest. His hunting shirt hung open at the neck, revealing a V of curling black chest hair. The queue that tamed his long locks was gone. He looked unkempt and savage with a stubble of beard shadowing his jaw, and a smoldering desire lighting his eyes.

He stared at her, and Rachel wasn’t sure if she knew of his needs because she was in touch with his thoughts or because they so closely mirrored her own. Yet when he wanted to reach for her, it was a question he posed instead.

“Why did you call the babe Liz?”

With a sigh Rachel settled into one of the winged chairs. “’Tis a perfectly acceptable name.”

“Aye. ’Tis also the name of your friend. The one you told me died when...”

“When I did?” Rachel cocked her head to the side in time to see his expression grow grim. “Did you think I’d forgotten?”

“Forgotten? Nay.” He wanted to yell his frustration at her but feared waking the house... or not being able to stop once he began.

“I’m not insane, Logan. ’Tis what you think, I know.”

“How do you know what I think?” His pent-up frustrations were near exploding. He paced the room doing his best to keep as far from her as possible.

“Logan, I—”

“What are you trying to do to me? I was perfectly content on my mountain till you came along.” He speared fingers through his hair. “Hell, we both know that’s not true.” He looked at her then. “I drank too much... still want to at times. Like today.” His gaze lowered. “I wanted...”

“But you didn’t.” Rachel stood. “And look at the marvelous thing you did because you were not hindered by drink. You saved Caroline’s life, and her baby.”

His long dark lashes lifted, revealing a stare that made Rachel’s blood heat. “’Tis not my only weakness.”

She took a step toward him. Then another. “I think we share the weakness of which you speak.” His skin was hot when she touched him. “And I’m not certain it isn’t a strength.”

Rachel was in his arms before she could say another word.

The kiss they shared was openmouthed and hungry. When his lips moved down her jaw, then rasped lower to the soft hollow of skin beneath her ear, his voice vibrated through her.

“I want you so much. I always want you.”

She knew. Oh, how she knew. It was exactly how she felt. Rachel sighed as he scooped her into his strong arms. The room was small, the bed mere steps from where they stood, and he covered the space quickly. The rope springs groaned as he followed her down onto the mattress.

For a moment they lay there, side by side, bodies molded, eyes searching.

Then his hand lifted to brush a wisp of golden hair from her cheek. Such large hands, Rachel thought. Strong and callused, yet capable of the gentlest of touches. Of bringing a babe forth from a woman’s womb.

A harsh stab of reality pierced the sensual haze of his stroke, for now his fingers drifted down the curve of her jaw. She would never know the joy of having him deliver her child. Of carrying his.

Some day she would return to her world. Never to see him again. Never to feel his touch again.

Rachel twisted her head, grabbing his strong wrist and pressing a kiss into his palm. “Make love to me,” she mouthed against his flesh. Then shifting her head on the pillow, begging him with her eyes, she asked again. “Make love to me.”

There was no way he couldn’t make love to her. Logan swallowed, tamping down the primal desire to tear at her clothing and his own. To mount her and take her; thrust himself into her soft flesh and let oblivion wash over him.

He made himself move slowly. A tender kiss. An angel wing caress. His hands trembled as he traced the petal softness of her neck.

The gown was plain but pretty, the narrow ruffle of her borrowed shift framing a modest display of gently mounded breasts. When Logan lowered his head, brushing his lips against her warmth she bucked toward him. Her fingers wove through his hair, cupping his scalp and drawing him closer. She smelled of heather and roses and the clean musky scent of the forest. Everything he’d ever loved or held dear. He rubbed his nose across her skin, breathing in her fragrance, tasting her.

His tongue dipped lower into the valley between her breasts and she moaned, a sound that seemed to come from deep within her soul.

“Oh Logan. Please. Please.”

Her siren song plea broke through his resolve. Bundling Rachel to him his lips found hers, molding seamlessly together. Her mouth opened, offering Logan a tantalizing taste. The kiss deepened, his tongue probing all the secret, honeyed recesses, mating with hers.

And all the time their bodies wriggled, pressing closer, legs tangling with skirts and petticoats, striving for intimacy. Even through the layers of cotton Rachel could feel him hard and demanding.

Then he was above her, his hand driving up beneath her skirts. Rachel’s legs spread and he sank down between them, sliding the layers of lace ever higher.

When his palm covered the nest of tight curls covering her womanhood Rachel gasped, pushing herself more firmly into the cup of his hand. His breathing was harsh, as was hers, as he tightened his grip. Pressing.

His face, shadowed by the curtain of dark hair, looked harsh in the light thrown off by the undulating flames dancing in the hearth. The skin was drawn tight across his sculpted cheekbones and his nostrils flared. He watched her, his green eyes searing, as she watched him. Anticipating.

Then slowly his finger curved, sliding sensually over the pearled nub of sensation, then deeper into her body. Rachel turned her head, muffling a cry into the heel of her palm.

Her arms flailed out, then reached up to find him... to touch him as he continued to work his magic. And then he pulled away. Rachel nearly followed him up but he reached down, sifting his fingers through the tight curls with one hand, tauntingly skimming down the dewy folds of her. The other hand yanked up his loincloth, uncovering his manhood. He was strong and thick, throbbing, and Rachel stared up at him, kneeling above her in all his savage power. Leggings still covered his muscled thighs, a loose-fitting shirt, most of his chest.

“Open for me, Rachel.”

His words sang through her blood and she could do nothing else. Her legs spread farther as he ran one finger tantalizingly from knee to inner thigh. Rachel moaned again, arching her hips to give him all of her.

And then he was thrusting inside, filling her completely. Driving. His hands lifted her bottom, sending her crashing over the edge of a great chasm. It was the same as before.

Another peek at heaven.

Rachel couldn’t stop trembling. Her body seemed to milk his, sucking him in farther as his hips gyrated against hers. Out of control.

His weight folded her deeper into the cornhusk mattress. His head slid down on the pillow beside hers and his chest crushed over her tingling breasts.

He was still inside her. She could feel the hot, hot pressure of him. Her heart pounded, her breathing rasped and she felt wonderful. How long they lay like that Rachel wasn’t sure.

When he finally rolled away she gave a small whimper which he answered with a kiss. Then they were lying side by side. Rachel glanced toward him. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath but she could see little of his expression. One muscled arm was thrown over his face. But then she didn’t need to see him to know his thoughts.

“Please don’t leave.”

“’Tis hardly where I should be found in the morn.”

True enough, but not the real reason he wished to bolt from the bed. “You didn’t take advantage of me, Logan. I wanted you as much... as desperately as you desired me.”

He let out a long breath. “I doubt that possible.” He shifted then, his arm lowering enough to leer sheepishly over his sleeve at her. Rachel rolled toward him, muffling her laugh in his shoulder.

“Next time perhaps we should lay wagers on it.”

Of course she only meant her words as a jest, but they reminded him of what he did by coming to her room. Rachel could feel him withdrawing, though he didn’t move a muscle. She wanted to gather him to her bosom and keep him close. To keep his heart open to her.

“Tell me about Mary.”

He said nothing, only jerked his head around, glancing at her with questioning eyes before looking away.

“Caroline was very fond of her,” Rachel prompted.

“They were friends.”

“And Wolf? Was he her friend, too?”

“Aye. ’Twas difficult not to like Mary.”

“I wish I could have known her.”

“You’re very different from her.” Logan lowered his arm. “Perhaps that didn’t sound as complimentary as it should.”

“I know what you meant.” At least she thought she did. When it came to Logan’s feelings for his dead wife, Rachel could barely shift through the layers of emotions. He shut her out from the truth. And with an insight new to her, Rachel wondered if that was because the truth was locked so deeply inside him, that even he didn’t know it. Or didn’t want to accept it.

He wanted to leave... the bed... her. Rachel could feel his intentions so strongly that when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her against his hard body, she was surprised.

“I care about you, Rachel.”

The words filled her with warmth. If only she couldn’t read his thoughts. Not that he lied. It was simply that he failed to tell her all.

He cared.

He desired.

He worried.

He feared her insane.

“I’m not, you know.”

“Not what?” He tucked his chin to glance down into her upturned face.

“’Tis of no matter.” Rachel lifted her hand to touch his cheek. It was rough with stubble though she’d noticed he shaved before supper. She loved the feel of his warm flesh... wished she could simply luxuriate in him. With a sigh she prepared for him to pull away. “Why do you blame yourself for Mary’s death?”

Even knowing it would happen, his withdrawal left Rachel bereft. “What makes you think I do?” Logan rolled to sitting, pushing his legs over the side of the bed. His elbows rested on his knees, his bent head in his palms.

It was all Rachel could bear not to wrap herself around his strong back. She lay still, watching him breathe. “It was the Cherokee, Caroline told me. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have been here.”

“There was nothing you could do.”

“Damnit, Rachel, we’re speaking of my wife and child. Do you think Wolf would leave his family in danger?” He swung his head around but Rachel couldn’t see his face in the shadowy camouflage of dark hair.

“You didn’t know of the danger when you left to join the militia. The fighting was to the north. The Cherokee were considered allies.” She paused. “And you didn’t know of the child.”

Now she could see his expression and almost wished she couldn’t. “I see you’ve been talking with Caroline.”

Rachel pushed to sitting, swiping a tumble of golden hair out of her face. “Yes, I have.” Her chin notched up and she met his stare, hers defiant. “She told me everything.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I want you to see, for heaven’s sake, that this was not your fault. There’s no need for you to carry this... this guilt inside you.” Rachel realized her voice rose dangerously close to shouting and lowered it on the last word. She also let loose of the shirtsleeve she clutched.

He seemed unaffected by the outburst. “Did she also tell you that Mary asked me not to leave? That she wept, throwing herself into my arms and pleaded with me to stay or take her along. That I scoffed at her pleas telling her it was better this way. That the life of a camp follower was harsh.”

“As it is, I’m sure.”

He shook his head, his smile mirthless. “You still don’t understand, do you?”

“I’m trying to.” Rachel reached out to him with her heart.

“I didn’t want her with me. Because I didn’t love her.” His words were filled with self-loathing. “She was sweetness and purity and ’twas not a soul who met her who didn’t love her... except her husband.” He sucked in his breath. “And because I selfishly left her behind, she’s dead.”

Before she could say anything Logan was on his feet. Straightening his loincloth as he went, he crossed the room. When he closed the door behind him, Rachel flopped back onto the pillow.

Why had she pushed him? There were obviously things he didn’t want to admit... even to himself. Yet for some reason she kept forcing, chipping away at his protective wall as one might pick at a crusted-over wound. And for what reason? So it could bleed again?

Closing her eyes, Rachel took a deep breath. He didn’t want to talk of his dead wife, or think of her. He wanted to forget. And she was supposed to be saving his life. Not make it miserable.

Just save his life.

It sounded so simple. But she was no closer now to completing her task than when she first dropped onto his mountain. No closer to returning to her own life.

All she did was make him despise her. And though Rachel told herself she shouldn’t care, she knew in her heart she did.

~ ~ ~

“Come in, Logan. I’m awake.”

It was three days later and Caroline had improved so that she sat in the rocking chair by the hearth. Baby Liz slept peacefully in the cradle near the bed, her tiny rump sticking up.