My Savage Heart (The MacQuaid Brothers) (10 page)

She, on the other hand, could think of nothing else.

He made no comment as he poured some of the water into a large iron kettle that hung over the fire. Then he pulled a knife from his leggings and stripped off slices of a beef that hung from the rafter. He left again to return with potatoes and beans in a small woven basket.

“I can do that,” Caroline said when he began snapping the beans.

His only response was an arched brow. But he allowed her to take the basket. It was difficult peeling the potatoes. The knife was heavy and very large, and Caroline had to be careful the blanket didn’t slip open. She was relieved when he left the cabin again to return with the saddlebags stuffed with her belongings. However those clothes were damp, too.

“I’m surprised that you live here.” Caroline hoped conversation would help alleviate her uneasiness. He was hanging her clothing from the pegs on the walls. “I assumed you lived with your father.” She quartered a potato.

“No.”

“Oh, well, I see that now.” Caroline glanced around. “What are you doing?” Her voice rose, till the last word was nearly a shriek.

“Changing from my wet clothes.”

“But I... I...”

“If you do not wish to see, Caroline, don’t look.”

Embarrassed, because that was exactly what she’d been doing, staring at his broad, muscled chest, at the fascinating design of tattoos spanning him from shoulder to shoulder, Caroline spun around. She clutched at the blanket she’d let slip and felt foolish. Even more so when he touched her arm and she jumped.

“You needn’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

“I... I know that.” She refused to turn toward him even when he held out a shirt of soft cotton.

“You might be more comfortable in this till your clothing dries. At least you won’t have to hold it shut.”

“Thank you.” Caroline reached for the shirt. It matched the one he’d donned, white, and loose fitting. He wore his over leggings. But she supposed it would be long enough on her to forgo anything but the blanket, which she planned to keep wrapped about her till she left here for Seven Pines.

Wolf offered to finish cutting the vegetables and to keep his eyes forward as she changed. And she trusted him to do as he said. But that didn’t really help. Because it was herself she didn’t trust.

“T
he stew is delicious.” Caroline took another spoonful of the rich broth and glanced at Raff across the small table. He’d cleared away the books, and candle, and seated Caroline in the only chair. He sat on the lid of a wooden sea chest.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, what makes you think so?” Caroline responded quickly... too quickly she thought to herself.

“It is the third time in as many minutes you’ve commented upon the stew.”

“Has it been that many?” Caroline’s attention was focused on the folded hands in her lap.

“Yes it has.”

She tried not to look up, but in the end she had no choice. His eyes were on her as she knew they would be, strong and intense. They held hers as if she had no will of her own. Caroline wet her lips, wondering why swallowing was suddenly so difficult. “Perhaps I am very fond of it... the stew,” she clarified, feeling a rush of heat that had naught to do with the fire behind him. The fire that seemed to outline his body with a red glow.

“Perhaps you are.”

His smile was impossible to resist. Caroline was fast learning that was true of so much about him. But that didn’t mean she needn’t try. She searched her mind for something to say... something other than a comment upon the stew.

She cleared her throat. “You must enjoy reading.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No. Why should it?” she added when he raised his raven brow. He shrugged and Caroline’s eyes were drawn to the breadth of his shoulders, the open neck of his shirt. His skin looked dark and mysterious against the snow white cotton.

“It might seem incongruous to some—a savage who reads Voltaire.”

“It might.” Caroline took a sip of the tea he’d brewed. “But then, you forget, I saw you in Charles Town.”

“The ability to wear a waistcoat and draw my hair back in a queue makes me no less an Indian.”

“I never said it did.” Looking at him now Caroline could no more deny the wild blood that coursed through his veins as fool herself into believing it didn’t draw her to him. Dark and dangerous. Caroline’s pulse raced.

Very dangerous.

She bent forward and plucked the top book off the pile beside her feet. After examining the title she traced gold embossing with her fingertip. “Neddy admires David Hume. He used to read him then insist upon explaining his philosophies to me.” Her smile faded. “I miss him very much.” Caroline lifted her gaze to meet his. “But then you must understand. You have a brother.”

“Ah, so Ned is your brother?”

“Of course. Edward. Who did you think he was?”

He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, amusement shining in his obsidian eyes. “A lover perhaps. Some young swain you deserted to come sailing to the New World.”

“You’re teasing.”

“No, I’m not. When you mentioned Edward before...” Wolf sat back and folded his arms. “Well, that is what I thought.”

Caroline shook her head. She could feel heated color in her cheeks. “I left no broken hearts behind.” Rising from the chair, she gathered the empty pottery bowls and carried them to the bucket near the hearth.

“Do you need more water?” Wolf turned his head to follow her movements before standing and throwing more wood on the fire.

“No, ’tis fine.” She angled her face toward him. “Tell me of your brother.”

Wolf sank onto the floor beside her, reaching for the bowl she just washed. He dried it with a linen towel. “What do you wish to know?”

Lifting her shoulders, Caroline plunged her hands back into the warm water. Perhaps if she kept her mind occupied with conversation she wouldn’t be so aware of him... of how near he was. “What is he like?”

“Are you asking if he is Cherokee?”

“’Twasn’t what I meant.”

“Wasn’t it?” Wolf leaned against the wall, one leg bent, his forearm resting on his knee, and watched her for a moment before continuing. “Logan’s blood is pure. He was born of Robert’s second wife. There was an older son also, born in Scotland, I believe. That is where Robert’s first wife lived.”

Caroline dried her hands. “I didn’t realize I was to be... I mean that your father was married thrice before.”

“He wasn’t.”

“But you just said—”

“There are men who marry their Cherokee mistresses, Your Ladyship. Robert MacQuaid is not one of them.”

Realization of what he was saying came quickly. Caroline could feel the hurt and pain in his words and wanted to reach out to him. Wanted to so badly that she folded her hands to stop herself. She was beginning to understand why Wolf disliked his father.
She
was beginning to feel the same way.

“Logan is fighting to the north with the militia. I’m sure his wife will enjoy your company.” When she said nothing, only stared at him with those large blue eyes, Wolf continued. “Logan’s wife, Mary, lives at Seven Pines.”

“I see.” Caroline dried her hands. “You mentioned another brother.”

“James. But I wouldn’t mention his name if I were you.”

“Why, pray tell?”

“From what I understand he was hanged for his part in supporting the Young Pretender.”

“Oh, how awful. Your father must have been heartbroken.”

“Actually, I believe Robert had declared the boy dead to him years before.”

Caroline settled on the trunk lid facing Raff. “What of you?”

His dark brow arched. “What about me?”

She knew she was asking too many questions, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Everything about Raff MacQuaid fascinated her. “Tell me of your childhood.”

“I lived with my mother’s people. It is the Cherokee way.” His fingers tightened into a fist. “Until my tenth year.”

“What happened then?” Caroline moved onto the floor beside him.

“Then my father decided there was enough of his blood flowing through my body to warrant spending a few pounds on me. I was sent to England for schooling.”

“It must have been difficult being torn away from all you knew... from those that loved you.”

“It was hard for my mother,” was all he said before changing the subject. It was not her pity he sought. Wolf leaned toward her. “You’re shivering. Are you cold?”

“Not really.” Before she could stop him, he’d reached across her and dragged another blanket over her lap. She already wore one wrapped around her waist. That and his shirt made up her apparel. “Perhaps my clothes are dry.”

“I don’t think so,” he said as he tucked the blanket around her. His fingers brushed across her cheek. “Is that better?”

Caroline nodded, afraid to trust her voice. But it hadn’t been the cold that made her tremble, and as he leaned over, staring at her, Caroline had the feeling he knew it.

When he picked up his rifle and left the cabin to look after the horses, Caroline rushed for the clothes hanging from the pegs. He was right. Her petticoats were still damp, but she didn’t care. She whipped off the shirt, wishing the smell of it, so like him, didn’t do strange things to her insides. The shift was just sliding over her body when the chill made her skin prickle.

Her pale-as-moonlight curls swung across her shoulders as she jerked her head around. Wolf stood in the open doorway.

The sight of him there, watching her, his eyes dark and sensual, was paralyzing. It seemed an eternity till he reached behind him, leaned the rifle against the wall and shut the door. An eternity punctuated by the rapid beating of Caroline’s heart.

She knew he’d seen her, was still seeing more than propriety allowed. Yet she couldn’t summon the energy to do more than turn to face him as he moved toward her.

The ribbons that held the neck line of her shift together draped across her breasts, untied. With each breath, she could feel the soft linen spreading, revealing more of her flesh to him. Flesh that felt more fevered the nearer he came.

The cabin was small, his pace slow and deliberate. Each step he took accentuated his animal grace and power. Heightened the anticipation. His gaze stoked a blaze hotter than the one in the hearth.

When he was so close that Caroline had to tilt her head to see his face, he stopped. She knew she should turn away, to make some effort to cover herself. After all, her shift was old and threadbare. But he overwhelmed her... his towering height, the broad strength of his body, his musky scent. The dark intensity of his eyes.

He drew her to him with a force she couldn’t begin to understand. And couldn’t continue to fight. It was as if he sapped all reason, all notion of right and wrong from her body. With his first touch, a gentle cupping of her cheek, she was lost.

Caroline’s eyelids fluttered shut, her lashes forming a dusky shadow on her fair skin. His palms were weather-callused, but the contrast of soft and rough sparked a need in her to feel more.

On a moan her head turned into his hand. Her lips brushed his palm, tasted the saltiness of his skin. Wanted more.

Caroline’s knees nearly buckled when he kissed the long exposed side of her neck. The feel of his firm lips and tongue in concert with the feathering of his hair across her skin sent tingles dancing down her spine. By the time he bit and caressed his way to her shoulder, Caroline writhed with the need to feel the imprint of his hard muscles against her.

But he held himself apart, touching her only with the palm of his hand and his mouth. Then his chin, whisker-roughened and firm nudged at the ruffled linen hanging precariously from her shoulder. Slowly the shift lost its hold, slipping sensually down to catch on the distended tip of her breast.

His fingers trailed down her neck to work the same magic on the other shoulder. Then he lifted his head, his eyes like smoldering coals, and looked at her as, with a flick of his thumbs, he released the shift. The linen drifted to the packed earth floor on a whisper of air, leaving Caroline completely naked and vulnerable to his hungry gaze.

She waited for the embarrassment to overwhelm her, after all, no one had ever seen her like this. But it didn’t come, not even when he made no attempt to disguise his thorough scrutiny of her body. She could feel the heat as his gaze slowly traveled down her neck, resting briefly on her breasts, then down her stomach to the delta of tight curls at the apex of her legs.

When his eyes again met hers she let out a trembling breath.

“You’re beautiful.”

If Caroline heard a hint of surprise in his acknowledgement, it didn’t make it sound any less flattering. But Caroline was beyond caring. For once in her life she was doing as she wished, not thinking of the effect it would have on others. She sucked in her breath as his fingers skimmed across her nipples, then moaned aloud when the moist heat of his mouth covered one swollen tip. His tongue tormented the fevered flesh till Caroline reached up, digging her fingers through his coarse hair.

When he dropped to his knees in front of her, leaving her breast wet and shimmering in the firelight, Caroline’s legs gave way. If not for the strength of his large hands cupping her buttocks and the pressure of lips and chin against her stomach she would have fallen.

As it was she could barely stand the pleasure, so intense it bordered on pain. Below his chin an ache began. A knot that tightened.

She cried out when his long fingers inched between her legs from behind, urging her to open for him.

“Shhh.” The sound whispered air across the pale hair guarding her womanhood. “I won’t hurt you.”

But she couldn’t be quiet. Not when the tip of his tongue touched her. The knot tightened unbearably, then exploded, leaving her body wracked with wave upon wave of pulsating ecstasy.

Her fingers opened and closed, clutching first his hair, then the bunched fabric of his shirt. Her lips grew slack and her head lolled from side to side as the shivers skidded through her. She soared free like the winged hawks, circling high in the sky, then slowly, sensually slid back toward earth.

But before she landed Caroline found herself lifted again, this time by strong arms. Faintness overcame her and she clung to him, collapsing against his chest. When he lowered her to the bearskin, her arms lingered about his neck, pulling him down with her.