Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04] (23 page)

“It’s almost dark,” he said. “We’d best be getting back.
Molly will be waiting dinner, and she needs to get home to feed Big John.”

“Aye,” she said, coming to her feet. “The gloaming colors
have all gone anyway.”

The walked along in silence until they reached the house.
Adrian opened the door, following her inside. “I canna go to dinner like this,”
she said, looking down at her dress, “or Molly will be sending me to eat in the
kitchen. I’d better change,” she said softly, turning toward the stairs.

She started up the steps, and not hearing the sound of his
footsteps, knew he must be watching her. The thought turned her legs to jelly,
and she felt wobbly-legged.

She had almost reached the landing when he called out to
her.

“Maggie?”

“Aye,” she said, turning to look down at him. He was
smiling, and she thought surely the stars must be dancing in the heavens.

“What’s a gowk?”

She smiled, but she turned her head so that he couldn’t see
it. “A cuckoo bird,” she said. “And I havena changed my mind about it.”

Maggie asked Adrian to go on a picnic.

Adrian said he did not go on picnics. “I don’t have time.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to give in than to fight,” she reminded
him.

“Are those the only two choices I have? Give in or fight?”

“Aye, and I’ll warn you now, I’m a bonny fighter.”

Adrian looked at her and threw back his head, laughing.

As it turned out, the picnic wasn’t such a bad idea. Maggie
had chosen a place for their picnic where the forest gave out and the land
gradually sloped down to the sea; a lonely stretch of beach lay sprinkled with
driftwood below wave-eroded cliffs. The weather was mild, the sun was warm and
mellow.

And so was Maggie.

Adrian leaned back on the quilt, resting on his elbows, his
legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and thought about that as he
watched Maggie out of the corner of his eye.

Maggie was unaware of his scrutiny. She was busy exploring a
tidepool, stooping to pick up something here, bending over to look at something
else there; glancing skyward intermittently, whenever a gull circled overhead.

Adrian watched her make her way back up the beach, angling
off toward him, stopping for a moment by the buggy to deposit a few shells
before coming to the quilt. Dropping down beside him, she dusted the sand from
her skirt and hands, then began putting the leftovers back into the basket.

She offered him the last of the blackberry wine. He shook
his head, wondering if the Scot in her would let the small amount left go to
waste.

It wouldn’t, and he felt as if a shaft of sunlight had
fallen only on him as he saw her glance at him, then at the bottle. With a
shrug, she started to pour what was left into her glass, then thinking better of
it, put the bottle to her lips, tilted back her head, and finished it off.

His eyes went to her throat, lingering there, watching her
swallow. He was thinking he would like to put his lips there. Feeling lazy and
as mellow as that circle of sun overhead, he observed her put the empty wine
bottle and glass back into the basket and close the lid.

The wind stirred, wrapping the lightweight fabric of her
gray skirt around Maggie’s legs as she stood up. The breeze caught the ruffled
edge and gave it a flirtatious flip, giving him a view of a well-turned ankle.
He closed one eye, as if he were taking a bead with his rifle. She had a nice
backside. He liked a woman with a nice backside. Funny, he had never realized
that before. He tried to remember if Katherine had been so endowed, but
couldn’t seem to remember much about Katherine at that moment.

Even when he tried to conjure up a vision of Katherine, his
gaze never left Maggie. He recalled how she had looked the night he had gone to
her room to tell her that he wouldn’t force himself on her again. The shocked,
hurt look he had seen briefly—before she had carefully masked it—had been
enough to make him feel remorseful.

A slow curve of a grin formed as he remembered the mess she
had made of his desk that same day. Damn if it hadn’t taken him a week to get
his papers in order. Filed everything in alphabetical order, she had. Now, who
in their right mind would have put a receipt for forty bags of flour in with a
receipt for a falling saw?

Maggie would.

And who would have torn up his order for chewing tobacco?

Maggie would.

Ah, Maggie, Maggie, I could grow old with you.

The thought shocked him.
Well, what’s so strange about
that? She is, after all, my wife. Why shouldn’t I think of growing old with
her?

Because you led her to believe you wouldn’t make love to her
again.
I was angry and hurt, and that often makes people say things they
don’t mean. Things have gotten better since then. I’m beginning to become
accustomed to her.

Adrian stopped thinking when Maggie picked up the basket and
returned to the buggy. Without giving it much thought, he came to his feet and
picked up the quilt, folding it in quarters as he followed her. She must have
heard him coming, for just as he drew close to her, she turned, reaching for
the quilt.

Their hands brushed, and for a moment their eyes met and
held, then she whispered, “Thank you,” and turned to put the quilt on top of
the basket. His gaze raked her over good, from the gleaming red-gold of her
hair to the tips of her shoes, thinking it must be hard for a woman to go
through what she was going through—to travel halfway around the world to marry
a man she had never seen, only to be sent back again. Was it guilt, then, that
made him say what he aid? “I’m going over to the old mill site tomorrow. If
you’d like to go, you’re welcome to ride over there with me.”

She turned back to look at him, neither of them realizing at
first just how close they were. Instinctively her hand flew to her bosom as her
eyes grew wide with surprise. For a moment he was mesmerized by those eyes.
Today they were as golden and mellow as a mess of butter stirred with molasses.

She eyed him dubiously, and he had no trouble reading what
she was thinking. Still, he supposed it wasn’t odd for her to be wondering what
he was up to, considering…

“The old mill site?” she said, her voice uncertain.

“It’s about a three-hour ride from here—in the buggy. There
isn’t much there now. We use it mostly for storage. There are some ledgers I
can’t locate, and I thought they might have been left there.”

“I ken I would love to go,” she said. “Wouldna it be faster
on horseback?”

“Yes, but if the files are there…”

“Aye,” she said, giving her head a thump. “I ken you couldna
bring them back on a horse. I wasna thinking.”

It was early the next morning when they left, Maggie too
sleepy to do much talking, Adrian too self-conscious to try. Adrian found it
odd that he was feeling a bit shy around her. Just what in the name of hell was
he doing going off like this, as if they were a happily married couple who
enjoyed each other’s company?

Strange thing was, he really
did
enjoy her company.
She was a very charming woman. And there had been times, right after her
arrival, that he had found her so desirable that he had walked around for days
with his penis standing as straight and rigid as a tent pole. For a while he
was afraid it was going to become a habit to wake up each morning and see a
pyramid rising out of the bedcovers.

He slapped the reins, urging the gelding forward, wishing he
knew how to recall the warm intimacy they had shared on the picnic yesterday.
He stared off in the distance, fishing around in his mind for a neutral
topic—something in safe waters for them to discuss. Unable to locate one, he
remained silent.

The longer they rode along in silence, the more Maggie was
afraid he might want to talk about her marriage, her past, end in so doing, she
feared she might forget and say something about her children.

At last she decided the best way to get him talking about
something other than her past was to get him talking about his.

“Ross told me your mother and father were killed by
Indians.”

“And my brother Andrew.”

“I’ve never seen an Indian. What are they like?”

“I can’t speak for all Indians, but Comanche, I know pretty
well. They’re savage and wild, and about ten times braver than brave. They’re
foolish, as well, clinging to the past, fighting a battle that’s already been
lost.”

“They sound a lot like the Scots.”

“Yes, I suppose they do, and in some ways that’s probably a
good comparison. The whites are to the Indians what the English are to the
Scots. They don’t trust the whites. And they probably have a good reason not
to.”

“You sound almost sympathetic.”

He looked at her. “They killed three members of my family,
kidnapped my sister, and orphaned five young boys. I can’t say I’m sympathetic,
but I can say we haven’t always dealt right by them.”

“Have you ever thought about looking for your sister?”

“I used to, but not anymore. She’s been gone too long. Even
if we did find her, she wouldn’t be white—not anymore.” His face took on a
faraway look, then he shifted his position, transferring the reins to his other
hand. “She’s better off left where she is. She’s a Comanche now.”

He had withdrawn again. They rode along in silence until
they reached the old mill.

It took Adrian more time than he thought to find the
ledgers. “I had intended to show you around a bit,” he said, putting the
ledgers into the buggy. “But we’ve been here longer than I planned.”

He looked at the sky.

“We’ll have to head on back, and at a fast pace at that,” he
said. “We can’t travel at night. Not in a buggy over these rough trails.”

She felt more relaxed with him on the way back, and oddly
enough, the more relaxed she felt, the more silent she became. She sat more
comfortably on the seat next to him, content to take in the magnificent
scenery, asking him enough questions in the beginning that he took it upon
himself to point things out to her after that. He stopped once to point out a
cougar. It had emerged from the trees on the other side of what he called a
gorge. The mountain sloped away from the forest where the cougar stood upon a
large boulder. They sat in silence watching the cougar, who seemed not to
notice them, until he turned away and disappeared into the trees.

Adrian slapped the gelding, urging him into a steady pace.
Maggie clamped her hands over her knees and felt as if she were smiling from
her insides out. She removed her bonnet, noticing Adrian gave her a curious
look, but he didn’t say anything, and neither did she. She was too relaxed and
too content, and she didn’t want to spoil it by talking. She realized for the
first time just how happy she was here, how free she felt, how safe. Adair
Ramsay and the pain he had inflicted was behind her now. She had a husband—a
strong man, a man who could and would protect her from the likes of Adair…if it
came to that.

Feeling deliciously happy, she settled back into watching
the countryside, noticing how the shadows from the trees stretched long and
thin across the road. Glancing at the sky, she saw mist collecting on the
mountains, but there was none to be seen along the bottom of the gorge. She
remembered a little phrase she had taught her children, one that her mother had
taught her.

Mist on the hills

Brings water to the mills;

Mist in the hollows,

Fine weather follows.

She didn’t realize she had spoken the words aloud until
Adrian looked at her. “Although I would prefer mist, it smells like rain to
me,” he said.

“At least the buggy has a top on it,” she said cheerfully.
“I ken I’m glad we didna come in the wagon.”

He nodded and shifted his position, giving her a quick
glance. “If it rains, we won’t make it back before dark.”

“What will we do?”

“We’ll spend the night in the buggy,” he said, giving her a
soft look that he soon covered. “Pray it doesn’t rain,” he said quickly,
casting an eye heavenward.

“I dinna think that will do any good,” she said a moment
later. “It’s raining now.” She looked at the dark spots appearing on the
gelding’s brown back, noticing how little puffs of dust rose around each
splatter.

A short time later, the gelding’s back was glistening black,
and everything around them was a flat, dull gray. Twice the horse had
slipped—once dangerously close to the edge of a steep drop-off.

Adrian cursed, calling the horse a clumsy bastard, then fell
silent. Maggie said nothing.

They moved slowly down the mountainside, reaching a small
clearing just about the time they lost the last traces of daylight. “We’ll have
to stop here,” Adrian said, climbing down out of the buggy. “There aren’t many
clearings where we can wait away from the trees, in case there’s any
lightning.”

The wind was picking up now, and the air smelled heavily of
rain and pine. Maggie scooted closer to the center to keep the rain from
blowing on her skirts, tucking the lap blanket around her, suddenly feeling
chilled from the lower temperatures the rain had brought. Her chin propped in
her hands, she watched the dim outline of Adrian as he unhitched the gelding
and hobbled him.

It was dark now, and Adrian was nothing more than a dark
shadow when he climbed back into the buggy.

He removed his slicker and placed it over her legs, covering
the blanket. “Here,” he said, “this should help keep the blanket dry.”

“Thank you,” she said, lifting the corner of the blanket for
him.

“I’m all right,” he said, remaining where he was.

She shrugged, then leaned down, rummaging around beneath her
seat in the dark.

After a few minutes, he asked, “What in the name of hell are
you doing?”

“I’m looking for the napkin,” she said. “I ken I wrapped the
rest of the chicken in it. Are you no hungry?”

“No.”

“Good. There wasna much chicken left, and I’m starving.” She
rummaged some more, giving a yelp of pleasure when her hand closed around the
napkin. Joining him on the seat, she unfolded it, offering him the first piece.
“Are you sure you dinna want any?” she asked, thrusting it toward him, thumping
him on the nose in the dark. At least she supposed it was his nose, since he
made some remark about not wanting any “goddamn chicken”, and then proceeded to
enlighten her further.

“I don’t think you want that piece either,” he said rather
snappishly.

“Why dinna I?”

“Because you rammed it halfway up my nose.”

“Then you better eat it,” she said, slapping it in his lap.
He picked it up and threw the piece of chicken as far as he could send it, then
leaned back in the seat, pulling his hat low over his eyes and crossing his
arms in front of him.

It was going to be a long, long night.