The Pursuit of Tamsen Littlejohn (39 page)

Jesse stepped from the Teagues’ stable, where he’d sheltered his exhausted horse, to find Tate Allard waiting for him in the yard. With nightfall, the temperature had dropped, turning rain to snow. In the lantern light, it fell in soft, fat flakes, dusting the ground and Tate’s hat brim.

“Jesse, I hope you’ll forgive us letting her get away.”

Jesse glanced past him to the cabin across the clearing, where Tamsen was ensconced by the fire, with Molly and the preacher busy getting her warm. Relief, joy, and concern were a tangle in his chest. He set the lantern down and took his neighbor by the arm.

“What happened to Tamsen, it’s on me,” he said, voice cracking. “I ought to have told her everything, long since, and never let her out of my sight. I was riled when I left Janet and Beth. It was mostly at myself, but …”

“I’m sure they know that, Jesse.”

“Just tell them I’m sorry. I don’t blame you or them, Tate.”

“I’ll tell ’em you’re safe and together.” Tate gave his shoulder a thump. “That’s all they’re going to care about.”

Jesse stepped back, relieved, grateful. “Sure you want to head home in this?”

Determined to ride back to Sycamore Shoals, then make for home, Tate waved off the gently falling snow and swung into the saddle. “If’n it gets bad, I’ll take shelter. Go on; get back to Tamsen now.”

“I plan on it.” Truth to tell, the lion’s share of Jesse’s mind—and the whole of his heart—were pulling him toward the Teagues’ cabin like a
tether. He bent for the lantern. “Just one more thing, Tate. You see hide or hair of Charlie Spencer again, you give that man my everlasting gratitude. He’s got himself a mighty set of lungs, for his size.”

Tate grinned down at him. “You thanked him half a dozen times afore we reached the Trimbles’.”

“Did I?” Jesse couldn’t recall a single instance. It was all a blur of terror and hope and need till he’d heard Tamsen’s voice floating up weak and hoarse from the musty chill of that lean-to.
I love you
.

“He’s likely a mile up the Watauga by now,” Tate said. “You best not linger long here either.”

“Don’t mean to. I got in mind someplace to take her.”

He meant to say no more than that. Tate seemed to sense it. “All right, then, Jesse. God keep you both.”

As Tate rode into the falling snow, Jesse hurried across the clearing to the cabin. Inside he found Molly at the table pouring something steaming into a cup, the preacher adding wood to a fire already going strong.

Tamsen was curled in a chair by the hearth, her feet tucked up under a quilt. Her hair fell in long damp strands, but she was out of her wet clothes, which were spread over another chair to dry. She wore one of Molly’s shifts, he presumed, but was so swaddled it was impossible to tell. Her eyes were closed, head resting against the chair back.

He set down the lantern and went to her, kneeling beside the chair. She didn’t open her eyes.

“I think she’ll be fine, Jesse.” Molly crossed the cabin and put a cup of hot tea into his hands. He sipped it absently. It felt good going down. The cold in him went deeper, but it wasn’t from the weather. He’d known Parrish capable of violence. He’d feared Parrish meant to see him hanged. But Jesse knew now that he hadn’t truly believed the man would throw Tamsen’s life away so easily, that he was prepared to let her die, if not outright murder her.

With shaking hands, Jesse set the teacup on the floor and felt along
the quilt’s folds till he found a foot. It was cold, though swathed in Molly’s wool stockings. He took it between his hands, commenced to rubbing, and glanced at Molly standing over him. “Her feet look all right when you helped her change?”

“No frostbite,” Molly assured him. “Drink that tea, now. You need warming up yourself. And when you’re done there, peel off your wet things. I’ve laid out a shirt of Luther’s for you.”

Reverend Teague rose from the hearth. “Tate headed home?”

“Aye.” Jesse switched to Tamsen’s other foot. “He tell you what’s happened, why we need a place to rest a spell, before we move on?” After the preacher affirmed Tate had caught him up on all that had transpired, Jesse asked, “Would it be all right if we dry our things, give Tamsen a few hours’ sleep?”

“Anything you need, Jesse,” the preacher said, but his gaze was questioning, troubled. “But why run again? Why not stay, try and clear your name, like Tamsen meant to do when she set out?”

Jesse stood and peeled off his heavy woolen hunting shirt, knowing there was little enough time for the garment to dry.

“No sir. The man nearly killed Tamsen. I’m getting her away from him, never mind what he thinks he can pin on me.” He draped the shirt over another chair Molly drew near the fire’s warmth and proceeded to shrug out of the shirt he wore next to his skin, soaked through as much as the outer had been.

Luther Teague stood by, arms crossed, Molly beside him looking concerned. “Isn’t it time to bring in the law? I’ll speak for you.”

“Again, sir, no. I won’t risk it, or her. What if Parrish or Kincaid has the law on their side already—Franklin, Carolina, or both?” Jesse stood in breechclout and leggings, shivers racing up his bare back, though his chest was hot from the roaring fire. “Besides, you weren’t in Morganton. You weren’t a witness. No one was, save Tamsen—and it’s clear to me now the man wants her silenced.”

Molly spoke. “What about this Mr. Kincaid? Surely he doesn’t want her dead.”

Jesse snorted. “Just me, more’n likely.” He rubbed the back of his neck, gazing at Tamsen, wishing he’d a better plan. “When I have her safe away, maybe I’ll come back then, see if between you, me, and Tate Allard we can make these charges go away.”

Spencer would have been a help with that, but the man was gone his way and God bless him for all he’d done this night.

“Whose will are you heeding, Jesse? Is it the Almighty’s or your own?” Jesse jerked his gaze to the preacher. “Truth to tell, Reverend, if I heeded my will, I’d leave Tamsen here with you, ride back to Sycamore Shoals, and make that charge of murder one in truth.”

“Jesse,” Molly said, clearly shocked.

Jesse ground his teeth. “I ain’t going to do it.” Hard as that was to say with the need churning in him, rage burning like a cold blaze, another look at Tamsen’s sleeping face and he knew she was all he must think of now. “I’m giving over vengeance.”

“Good,” Molly said. “It’s the Lord’s anyhow. He’ll repay.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Neither Teague replied to that. There came a silence, tense, waiting. Finally Luther spoke. “Where do you mean to take her?”

Jesse sat down to pull off his wet moccasins and untie his leggings. “West. To Thunder-Going’s town.”

“No, Jesse. Not yet.”

Jesse whipped his head up, gazing at the mound of quilt in the chair beside him. Tamsen was awake, peering from her patchwork nest, dark eyes fixed on him. He put a hand to her. Hers snaked out of the quilt to grasp his tight. “Tamsen, we can’t stay this nigh to Sycamore Shoals. If the hunt’s not on already, by morning it’ll be. Thought we’d get us a few hours’ rest—the horse too—then be on our way before sunup.”

“I understand.” Her voice was hoarse, but she sounded otherwise in
possession of herself. Holding the quilt around her shoulders, she let go of his hand and rose from the chair, setting her feet gingerly on the puncheon floor. Molly was beside her in an instant to help, but Tamsen was steady.

She took them in, looking back at her, and lifted her chin with a determination Jesse recognized well. “I’ll go anywhere you see fit to take me, Jesse Bird. But I won’t set foot out of this cabin again till I’m a married woman. This time I’m going to insist.”

Though he was bone-aching tired, Jesse knew there’d be little sleep for him this night. Not with the day’s perils still swirling cold through his blood, the hunt they’d yet to evade weighing on his mind, and the sight and feel and smell of Tamsen nestled like a spoon beside him in the firelight doing its best to distract him from everything else.

“Ulethi equi’wa … ni haw-ku-nah-ga,”
he whispered. Beautiful woman … you are my wife.

They’d stood before the preacher scarce an hour past, Tamsen swathed neck to heels in Molly’s shift, he in breechclout and borrowed shirt, and pledged their vows to each other: to have and to hold … for better, for worse … for richer, for poorer … in sickness and in health … to love and to cherish …

“Till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance.” He’d been unable to stem the tears, seeing his joy reflected in her weary, happy eyes. “And thereto I plight thee my troth.”

It had been quick and to the point, as was the kiss they’d shared when the preacher pronounced them married before God. For all her insistence, Tamsen barely made it through her vows still awake on her feet.

Jesse might’ve believed he’d dreamt it, but here she was lying next to him, the curve of her shoulder bared by the wide neckline of the borrowed shift, smooth skin an inch below his lips as he lay propped on an elbow,
arm curved around her, watching her sleep, and marveling. She was bone of his bone, never mind they’d yet to consummate their vows. Soul of his soul, for the moment he’d known her missing, something inside him had wrenched crooked, like a joint torn from its socket.

That part of him was slipping back into place now, leaving but a memory of crippling pain. He held his wife, and the refrain singing through him was no less profound for its plainness.
Thank You … thank You
.

After they had spoken their vows, Luther Teague put a hand to their bent heads and spoke a blessing, a prayer for safety, as they held each other, Jesse feeling the beat of Tamsen’s heart against his own, knowing by then his arms were the only thing holding her upright.

The preacher had been right, all those weeks ago. It was worth waiting to know she’d married him for the wanting of him, first and foremost. He’d seen it in her eyes when she gave her ultimatum … or proposal.
I won’t set foot out of this cabin again till I’m a married woman
. He’d gone to her, touched her face, her hair, then led her into the Teagues’ bedroom where he found the promised shirt waiting for him.

Alone, she’d turned to him and said, “Don’t ever keep a thing like that—the murder charge—from me again, Jesse. Just don’t. I want to be in this with you, right beside you in everything. I’m stronger than I look.”

“You are,” he’d said, then taken her in his arms, felt her lips press against the skin of his chest. “Let’s pray there never is another thing like this for us, but aye, no more secrets between you and me. From this day forward.”

From this day forward
.

He listened now to the Teagues murmuring in the room beyond, to the pop and hiss of the fire, to Tamsen’s breathing, till he couldn’t stand it anymore and pressed his lips to the spot where her shoulder curved into her neck … and bit back a groan.

Lying with her chastely was as much trial as pleasure, but they’d
another journey ahead of them, in the cold and snow. She needed sleep. Once they were settled again, they’d have their time … But she smelled so sweet, and the touch of her was making his nerves sing, and he couldn’t stop himself nuzzling his face against her hair, pressing another kiss behind her ear.

She stirred beneath his arm, murmured something he didn’t catch. “What did you say?” he whispered near her ear.

She shifted onto her back. Her eyes opened, looking into his, tiny flames reflected in their depths. She reached up and touched his face. “Did I ever say it?”

He pressed her fingers to his lips. Her eyelids drooped, as sleep sought to claim her again. “Did you say what?”

Beneath the quilt she shifted against him, making herself comfortable. Making him stifle another groan.

“Did I say I love you?”

“First words out of your mouth, when I found you.” He kissed her brow. The tip of her nose. “I love you too. Go back to sleep.”

Hours passed over them. The fire settled and sank. The cabin grew cold. When he could wait no longer, he kissed her gently until her eyes fluttered open. “Wake up, Mrs. Bird. Time for us to fly again.”

Snow lay six inches deep before Jesse could see well enough to ride. They’d left the Teagues’ place before dawn, making for the Holston, meaning to follow the river west toward the Overhill country. Till now Jesse had kept to a well-worn trace. It was easier on the horse but bad for leaving a trail, though the rising sun was hidden behind ragged clouds not done with spitting snow. He prayed their back trail would fast be covered. He needed to put better distance between them and Sycamore Shoals. They’d yet to meet another soul out so early. The snow they crossed bore only the tracks
of critters. Still Jesse busied his eyes scanning ahead, the snow-laced trees to either side, the telltale signals of the horse, while his mind scoured its own landscape. Had Cade left Thunder-Going’s town? Had he reached their cabin, learned of Tamsen’s capture? How strange not being together on the hunt when the first snow fell …