The Bearwalker's Daughter (16 page)

Jack didn’t know, only that he must get past the melody singing in her mind to reach her. Pressing his lips to her ear, he softly blew. “I’m calling you, Karin. Listen to me.”

She shivered at his whispered entreaty. He’d touched a sensitive part of her. He could do far better than this.

Tightening his arm at her waist, he pulled her nearer. She came, whether willing or placid, he couldn’t be certain. Lowering his head, he settled his lips over her cool mouth. At first, she remained passive beneath his tenderness. He drew harder on her lips, determined to coax a response. Warmth slowly came into her chilled mouth, and then she lightly pressed his in turn.

A thrill rippled through him. This, Jack had over Shequenor.

He tucked his mouth over her lower lip and then her upper, tugging sensuously at her until she fully surrendered. Rolling over with her in his arms, he stopped just above her. The moon seemed brighter as he kissed her as she’d never been kissed before. Cupping her face between his hands, he poured his soul into her upturned mouth.

Music sang in his heart of his own making. God, let her hear.

When she came back to herself, Jack couldn’t be sure. It might’ve been when she gasped his name, or leaned into his kiss for more. He groaned with relief and delight, but must ease back and let her catch her breath. He released her lips and held her to him, willing her never to leave his side. Though there’d be hell to pay, if the McNeal men or Joseph found them like this.

“Karin—” He panted like he’d been battling wolves.” “I must return you to Neeley.” He’d sleep outside the door and guard her.

“No. Let me stay with you.”

She was wonderfully warmer now. Jack fought the tremendous urge to strip off her shift and clutch her bare in his arms...to know all of her. She was so infinitely vulnerable. It would be all too easy.

Karin covered his mouth with her fingertips. “We shall keep this troth between us and steal away to be wed at our first opportunity, as we planned.”

“You remember the plan?”

She seemed puzzled. “Of course. Don’t you?”

“Oh, yes.” Only now it included keeping a sharp eye on Karin and his nose to the wind. With Shequenor ever on the lookout, Jack must be wary and ready. Fortunately, he’d been taught by the very one who now sought them.

****

“Why in blazes are you lying before her door?”

Startled at the gruff query, Jack opened heavy eyes and blinked sleepily up at John McNeal who loomed over him. “I discovered Karin sleepwalking right out the front door last night.”

“Not a call of nature. She heard a strange summons and followed,” Jack said significantly. “She would have gone out in her shift and stocking feet.”

Consternation narrowed the blue eyes fixed on Jack. “Into that biting cold?”

“And not noticed. She couldn’t refuse him.”

“
Him
?”

“Shequenor has peculiar powers.” Jack kept his voice low, hating to utter his name for fear of conjuring him from the shadows.

“He can work enchantment?” Mister McNeal asked in a hushed tone, evidently with the same dread.

“More than you know.” Jack sat up a little stiffly after his exploits in the night and gingerly tested his shoulder. “And he wants Karin back.”

A wicked glint lit his gaze. “You may not say that after the run. You’ll have to fight like Old Hob’s on your tail to beat your way through that mob of riders.”

“
Him
.”

Weathered features cracked in a faint smile. “You stirred up the hornet’s nest right enough, Jack. But, my hat’s off to you if you can win against such odds.” With that, he walked away.

It occurred to Jack that the normally taciturn man had actually smiled and called him by his first name. The world had indeed turned upside down. As for the race, he’d win it and revel in the respect he’d gain. Unless, uneasy thought, Shequenor sent those blasted wolves after him again.

Chapter Eleven

A breeze stirred the trees along the purplish ridges jutting up on either side of Karin. The gale had blown itself out and the sky was so blue this afternoon it seemed to arch across the heavens forever, as she assumed the mountains rolled infinitely over the land. But the air had an edge like a honed blade, with the hint of snow in its teeth. She was glad of her scarf, cloak, and the extra petticoats beneath her crimson skirts. Bundled against the chill, she joined the buzzing swarm of men, women, and children gathered for the race.

Folks came from all over the valley and darkened hollows back in the ridges, and farther. She didn’t recognize some of them. Newcomers and wilder sorts of mountain men swelled the excited ranks. Word of this annual harvest run must have grown with the size of the purse. There’d be trouble soon, she wagered, and strained to glimpse the course beyond the heads and shoulders lumped in front of her.

Men wearing long jackets, heavy waistcoats layered over wool shirts, or thick hunting shirts alone, donned with caps, scarves, and wide-brimmed hats, blocked her view. Women clustered beside them in caped and hooded cloaks. Only the roughest females made do with blankets pinned about their lanky frames, their men in shirts of dressed out deerskin.

The hues of clothing in this host were as vibrant as autumn leaves with the abundance of natural dyes available. These able people could turn their hands to dying and weaving durable cloth as Neeley and Sarah often had, and they appreciated color. Some of the more well-to-do wore store-bought cloth from the dry goods store grandpa journeyed to twice a year. Purchases there all depended on how well their crops and livestock had fared and the toll the latest war had taken.

Thank God, they were relatively at peace now, though that could change abruptly with the next British or tribal invasion. Only babes were entirely unaware. But today, all was forgotten in anticipation of the race.

Sarah hunched beside Karin muffled in a crimson scarf and mantle made of finest wool, the same as Karin’s. The genteel little woman liked to stay by the hearth with her sewing and a hot cup of tea, but she’d accompanied her.

“I do hope they don’t brawl,” Sarah said.

“Best not look, then.”

“I can’t stand here with my eyes shut. Besides, your grandfather says I’m to keep close watch on you, and Jack was insistent. So don’t stray, lass.”

“Just near enough to see.”

“We jolted all this way in that wretched wagon over washed-out roads, so we might as well view the race, though it will likely be a rough display.” Sarah waved her ahead. “Go on. I will follow you. I do wish Jack would have given himself time to heal.”

Considering he’d battled his brother and outridden wolves among other happenings since his injury, Karin wasn’t too concerned. “I changed his dressing. He’s mending well.”

“He would be out there racing either way, wouldn’t he?” Sarah said.

“Doubtless.” Rowdy onlookers jostled Karin as she squeezed through their bulk among scents of wood smoke, cooking, and unwashed bodies.

Men emanated pungent tobacco and male musk, some overpoweringly so. Unbearable, if she’d been confined with them indoors. Still, their stink made her eyes water. She realized she’d been spoiled by the sweet herbs Neeley used in everything and the cleanliness Sarah promoted in the household. And Jack, my but he smelled good, manly, but appealing...

Sarah seemed to realize Karin was daydreaming and took her firmly by the arm to direct her. “Step aside, please. Let us pass,” she requested in a polite, no-nonsense tone.

One amply endowed matron probed Karin with beady eyes from under her wrapping. She nudged her robust companion. “Let ‘em through, Elvy. Them’s McNeal women,” she gushed with a respectful nod.

The two scuttled aside like wooly ewes and the rest of the horde parted. Their deference made Karin even more aware of the reputation her grandfather and uncles commanded. Part of her glowed with pride in these self-made men. The McNeals came as near to gentry as anyone in these mountains.

Realization stung her. She’d taken such esteem for granted. Could Jack ever elicit the same high regard after his actions during the war, and how would she cope with the scorn heaped on her once their betrothal were known, or worse, after they’d wed? Somehow, he must gain their respect.

She paused at the border of the meadow, bent and browned by frost and trampled under the hooves of several dozen impatient mounts. The wide swathe of turf stretched out before her in a two to three mile track that must be crossed, the old sycamore at the far end rounded in front of appointed witnesses, and the same field covered again back to the starting line. First rider back, won. Simple in itself, but only if you raced alone.

Regarding the rules, apart from completing the course, there were few. Shooting opponents off their mounts was frowned upon. Uncle Thomas and Kyle Brewster were the two men appointed to observe the far end of the track and see the tree was properly rounded. Beyond that lay the dark woods.

Every skilled horseman in the district and possibly some not so adept had turned out to battle for the prize. As Jack had no money for the entry fee, Grandpa McNeal paid his way. It seemed to Karin that the curt Scotsman had softened a little toward Jack and wasn’t as quick to rebuff him as he’d been only a short while ago. This made her dare hope Jack might eventually be accepted among these hardheaded people, but she knew how great the challenge was among clannish folk.

Then she saw him canter into the milling throng of horses and riders. Which was more magnificent, Jack or Peki, was at first difficult to say. The stallion’s frosted roan coat shone in the sunshine, splendid to behold. But Karin couldn’t take her eyes off of the rider.

Jack wore the green, blue-fringed hunting shirt Neeley made him, closed at the waist with his father’s belt, the sheathed knife and tomahawk at his side. Leather breeches fitted his long muscular legs, complimented by elk skin leggings and high-topped moccasins. He’d pulled his glossy brown hair back beneath the wide-brimmed hat and epitomized masculine perfection, frontier style.

Reining in Peki, he searched the crowd until he spotted Karin. His gaze locked on hers and held her in his grasp. A wave of unladylike desire washed through her. He smiled in a flash of white teeth, sinking her even further into a volatile sea of sensations.

Her memories of last night were blurred, the line between reality and the dream world unclear. But it came to her in a tingling rush that she’d had an enticing encounter with him. And it only made her want him all the more.

The multitude around her seemed removed, even the race course and the other riders faded. She saw only Jack. No matter what he’d done in the past, this shining man embraced her future, if he survived the race and the locals. She wanted him to win this hard-fought run in the worst kind of way.