Frontier Highlander Vow of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 4) (7 page)

“Let’s go see Burdette,” William suggested.

They marched in unison to the livery and found Burdette feeding the stabled horses. Flies buzzed over several barrels of manure lined up outside.

After they exchanged greetings, William asked, “Did a young woman come by here earlier to buy a mount?”

“Yes, and what a beautiful woman she was. She didn’t give me her name, but she spoke with a lovely Scottish accent. It was music in my ears.”

“Did the lass buy a horse?” Bear asked.

“Yes, a fine bay mare. But she drove a hard bargain. Made me throw in a saddle, bridle, and feed. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no. She was just so beautiful…”

“Enough of her beauty, Sir!” Bear snapped. The man was making him irritable again. “Now, where did she go?” He ripped out the words impatiently.

William gave him a reproachful look.

“I have no idea where she went,” Burdette said, looking baffled by the questioning. “I only know she was beautiful. Oh, and she named her mare
Beautiful. Would be a fitting name, for her owner too,” the man said wistfully as he ambled away.

Bear glared at William and scowled to keep himself from biting the horse trader’s head off.

“The gun shop?” William suggested.

“Aye!” he agreed and took off, taking long strides.

But they had no luck there either. The shop owner said she had just left and seemed reluctant to say anymore.

The woman was as elusive as a ghost. A ‘beautiful’ ghost. As everyone kept telling him.

Chapter 7

A
rtis had bargained with the owner of the gun shop until she got what she wanted—a fine flintlock pistol along with a shoulder bag that held her powder and lead.

Leaning a bit too close to her, he’d shown her the weapon’s sights, and helped her load it. He said she would need to practice using the weapon and he could take her out back and give her some pointers. She politely declined.

Once she was ready to pay for her purchases, she’d turned around and reached into her stays again for her coins. When he implied that she could “work” for the price in a suggestive tone, she’d nearly used her new weapon on the shop owner.

She called him a few choice names in Gaelic and gave him a searing look, before tossing her coins on the counter, and leaving abruptly. She certainly didn’t need his help or want his attentions. Her annoyance increased when she found that the encounter had made her hands shake.

Her purchases left little in the handkerchief that held her coins, but she decided to treat herself to a small meal before she set out to find her land. She found a shop that sold bread and cheese and bought a loaf, a little wedge of cheese, a hunk of ham, and an apple. After eating a bite or two, she rewrapped the food in the paper the store clerk gave her and tucked the
apple, ham, and most of the loaf of bread into her linen bag and hung it from the horse’s saddle. At least she would have some food for the next couple of days if she ate sparingly.

With an abundance of hope in her heart, she set off to find her new home.

The awe-inspiring woods were thick and full of dazzling fall colors that cheered Artis’ soul. She recognized black walnut, cherry, maple and red and white oak trees, but didn’t recognize the many varieties of wildflowers, ferns, and vines. She would make a point to learn their names later. She loved the beauty of even the most common plants. For those who have eyes to see, and the heart to feel, the forest could be a magical place. Here in the deep still silence of the wilderness, she could feel nature’s beating heart just as clearly as her own.

Perhaps because of that very silence, she abruptly felt so alone. She recognized it for what it was—loneliness. A weakness she refused to acknowledge. She’d felt it before and knew it would pass. She would ignore it once again and focus on what she had to be thankful for.

Her heart swelled with the realization that she now owned land, a weapon, and a first-rate horse. It was a fine start to her new life. For the first time since her daydreaming days in Scotland, she wondered what else life had in store for her. The thought barely crossed her mind before another followed that surprised her. Would she meet someone here in Kentucky she could grow to love?

She was anxious to put all the pieces for a happy life together. For the last seven years in servitude, circumstances placed her own life on hold. But now, she suddenly understood that she wanted what her mother and father experienced together. True love. Someone who would cherish her as her father had cherished her mother. Somebody she could depend on as her parents had done for each other. A man who would do anything to protect her in a world that was often cruel—especially to women.

She realized she was setting a high standard—maybe impossibly high—but if she couldn’t have a man like that, she would have none at all.

A nervous snort from her horse interrupted her musings. Beautiful had performed well so far, keeping up a steady and smooth canter, and Artis reached down to stroke the mare’s moist neck with her palm. She promised herself that she would take excellent care of the horse. Just as she was marveling at how calm her new mount was, Beautiful raised her head and side-stepped. Artis knew this signaled something the mare didn’t like and quickly glanced around, searching for the source of trouble.

A bloodcurdling scream, which sounded like a woman, vibrated and echoed through the dense trees.

Beautiful backed up a few steps and pranced nervously. Artis could barely keep the trembling mare under control.

What was it? She’d never heard anything like it in her life. She’d loaded her pistol before she left and feeling vulnerable and threatened, she drew it from her belt. But controlling the mare with one hand was proving challenging. “Whoa girl, whoa now.”

Whatever it was out there screamed again. But this time it sounded closer. Artis’ heart raced, it had to be an animal of some kind. But what? She’d heard that mountain lions roamed the dense forests of the wilderness and preyed on deer, elk, and sometimes the stock of farmers, particularly sheep, goats, and cattle.

Could that be what this was?
Oh God, please no
.

Should she turn the horse and race away? But she’d also heard from one of the settlers she’d traveled with that mountain lions can run faster than horses. It could spring on the mare’s hips or bite her hocks, and Artis would likely take a terrible fall. Worse, the ferocious animal would kill Beautiful or her.

She could try to shoot it, but she’d probably miss, having never shot the weapon before. Nevertheless, she had to try. She located the sights and remembered what the store owner said about lining them up on her target. But where was the lion? She turned Beautiful around slowly in a tight circle and tried to listen for it. But she heard nothing. The cat must still be in a silent, hunting mode. Then she spotted it, crouched down in the brush,
staring at her. Was it preparing to attack?

The cat’s intense yellow eyes glowed with what appeared to be contempt. It glared directly at her, chilling her to her core.

Her entire body tensed with fear and she could feel the mare quavering beneath her as well.

It was, indeed, a mountain lion. And based on its immense size, she guessed it to be an adult male. The cat’s thick coat was a rich reddish brown color and the black mask that encircled its mouth made the animal look even more terrifying.

The lion stayed low to the ground in the gloomy shadows of the brush. Its large long body remained motionless except for an enormous tail that twitched ever so slightly. Then, without warning, it did something Artis found hard to believe. It leapt at least ten feet up and onto a tree branch just above her.

Beautiful reared, pitched her, and took off in the direction of town.

Artis landed on her bottom and quickly scrambled up. Terror threatened to stop her heart. She could barely breathe.

“Bloody hell,” she swore. Now it was just her, completely alone, afoot here in the middle of the wilderness.

Facing death.

How could all she’d endured and worked for end like this? The thought raised her ire. Her heart refused to believe she was about to die. She couldn’t let her life end like this.

She met the animal’s eyes without flinching and took a defiant stance. “Leave me alone or I shall dispatch you to the devil forthwith,” she yelled, trying her best to sound threatening.

The lion growled low in its chest, unimpressed by the challenge.

Artis had never heard anything so intimidating, but she refused to give in to her fear. She thought about throwing her ham at the animal to perhaps give him something else to eat besides her, but then realized the ham was
in the bag still on Beautiful, racing toward town. Damn.

Her flintlock held only one shot and she would have but one chance to save herself when the cat attacked. Then she remembered her dirk and she unsheathed it with her left hand. The muscles in her arms hardened and she took a firm grip on both weapons.

“Come closer and I will cut off your ballocks and eat them for my dinner!”

The cat opened its mouth and snarled, as if laughing at her ridiculous threat.

She’d run out of ideas. There had to be something she could do. Aim. Aim carefully.

One shot. One chance.

Artis bit her lip, and took a deep steadying breath, fighting to keep her composure. But her terror mounted with frightening speed and she felt her hands begin to shake and her palms grow moist. Both would make it difficult to aim properly.

The mountain lion stared down at her. Something in its cold eyes told her it was ready to kill. The muscles of its massive body tensed.

Then it bared its teeth.

God, help me!

Bear rode beside his brother as they made their way along the trail to William and Kelly’s cabin at Whispering Hills. He couldn’t wait to see sweet Kelly and their young daughter.

The air felt cool on his newly shaved face and his haircut made the back of his neck feel exposed. He’d taken a bath in a stream on his way into Boonesborough, and the barber had splashed some smell good stuff on his face, so he felt tidier than he had in some time.

He was actually looking forward to trying on the new clothes he’d
ordered. Perhaps they would make at least one woman take a second glance at him.

However, he was not looking forward to the rituals of courting. Patience was definitely not one of his virtues and he hoped he would have enough to keep him from scaring off a woman by appearing too eager or forward. But he was committed to the idea of finding a wife and he would see this thing through, come hell or the creek rising.

As if he had read his thoughts William said, “I know you’re keen to find a wife, Bear, but you must give it time. The perfect woman comes along only once in a man’s lifetime.”

“By the Lord in heaven, I pray that
once
is verra soon,” Bear said. “Ye know I have little patience for anything, much less courting.”

“I do, and I understand that you’re disappointed that Miss MacKay never showed up at my office,” William said. “We’ll be tied up for a couple of days at this meeting with the Governor, but after that we’ll find her. Commissioner Simmons at the Land Office will know where she went.”

“Och, she’s probably betrothed to someone anyway. A woman of her beauty would be.”

“Yes, you would think so. She appeared to be between twenty and twenty-five. Perhaps she’s a widow.”

“But ye said she introduced herself as Miss MacKay,” Bear said looking over at his brother.

“You’re right. Fear not, if you are meant to meet her, you will,” William said.

They heard a running horse and both looked back to the road. A saddled bay raced toward them.

A piercing scream of terror followed by a loud roar and then a gunshot filled the air.

“You go. I’ll catch the horse,” William shouted.

Bear urged his horse to a full run. A moment or two later, he reached a woman fighting off a wounded mountain lion.

Using her pistol like a club, she clobbered the viciously snarling animal’s head repeatedly. Blood dripped from the animal’s shoulder, but the ball had not stopped the cat’s attack. A long dirk lay on the ground beside her, perhaps knocked out of her hand when the cat struck.

Bear leapt from his horse, yanked his own dirk from its leather sheath, which hung over his sporran. He grabbed the cat by the skin on the back of its neck, heaved it away from the woman, and planted the blade in the animal’s chest. It hissed and then died. Bear pulled the knife back and released the beast, letting it drop to the ground. It lay in a heap at the woman’s feet, blood spilling from both of its wounds.

The woman just stood there, her chest heaving, her long hair hiding her face as she peered down at the dead animal.

When she glanced up, he set eyes on her face for the first time. He breathed in shallow, quick gasps, more from the sight of her than killing the beast.

The terrified lines on her face began to relax as she stared at him with big luminous green eyes.

She
was
beautiful. Just as the horse trader said. Breathtakingly so. Her waist-length hair, a mixture of reds and golds, reminded him of the color of fine whiskey. It hung loose and in disarray from her fight with the beast. Her still panting chest displayed curvaceous breasts. She wore a plain olive green gown, now torn in a few places by the cat’s claws. A wide brown leather belt accentuated her small waist. A timeworn leather sheath hung from the belt. An armorer in Scotland must have made it, for interlocking Celtic knots—symbolizing eternity and something that cannot be undone—embellished the leather.