The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine (9 page)

“Oh, Quillan.” She clutched his hands, thinking how hard his work had been. She knew well that treacherous strip of road. “I’m glad I didn’t know. I’d have been sick with worry.”

He held her again, stroking her hair. “Are you well now?”

“I’ve never been better.” She reached up and kissed his icy mustache.

“I mean healed.” He pulled back. “Are you healed? What does Doc Felden say?”

She waved a hand. “No riding horseback or even carriage. No over-excitement.” She laughed. “No doubt at this moment he’d be ordering me to bed.”

Quillan reached out and stroked her face. “Don’t tempt me, Carina.” His mischievous eyes caught her breath. Then he turned away. “Wait till you see what I brought you.”

“You brought me something?”

“Something! My pack is twice as heavy.”

“Oh.” She caught her hands beneath her chin. “Show me.”

He paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t. If Dr. Felden said no excitement . . .”

Carina pounded her fists into his chest.

He caught them, laughing. “All right, all right. Sit down and compose yourself. You can compose yourself, can’t you?”

Carina thought she had never seen him so genuinely happy. Instead of responding to his barb, she sat on the side of the bed and folded her hands in her lap.

He cocked his head and stood a long moment, just looking. “Have I told you what a beautiful woman you are?”

“Once.” On their wedding night.

He swallowed, as though to speak again, then turned and tugged his pack up onto the bed.

She didn’t care that it was frosty with snow and would get the quilt wet. She felt like a child on Christmas morning. What had he brought her? She watched him tug open the ties and tried not to squirm. She leaned close when he reached in, but he raised his brows and paused until she settled back. Then he drew out a tissue-wrapped parcel, small and light. How could that make his pack heavy?

He held it out, and she took it from his hand. Carefully she opened the tissue to find an exquisite lace collar with a tiny pearl button fastening at the back. “Oh, Quillan, it’s beautiful.”

“That was the first day.”

“The first?”

As an answer he reached in again, felt about, then brought out a flat box some six inches by eight wrapped in paper. “This was the third. Day two wouldn’t fit in the pack. It’s in my wagon.”

“What are you talking about?” She reached for the box and untied the ribbon that held the paper closed about the box. The box held writing paper painted with a border of roses.

He said, “Every day I was gone I found you something.”

She looked up from the paper to see him reaching once again into the pack. “Every day?”

“You’ll like this one.”

He handed her a tiny parcel, which she opened, finding a clear pinkish purple amethyst in a gold filigree setting on a thin gold stickpin. Her throat tightened with emotion. It was not even that the pin was beautiful, but that he had so carefully chosen each item he was presenting. She knew him, how he must have shopped about to find the right things, then haggled and paid. Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him.

“Don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it.”

He bent down and raised her chin. “I can’t give you the others if you cry, Carina.” A tear dropped to her cheek, and he stroked it away with his thumb.

“It’s too much,” she said.

“How else could I show you—” he dropped to his knees, face ear-nest—“ how much I care?”

She held the stickpin to her breast and closed her eyes. She felt his lips touch hers and eagerly replied. He eased her back on the bed and kissed her deeper, catching her hair in his fingers. All her being quickened to him, her husband. She brought her arms around his neck. The rest of the gifts would have to wait.

Quillan lay beside his wife, amazed and humbled. He hadn’t intended it—probably the doctor would frown upon it—but he’d been so gentle, every touch, he hoped, erasing the hurtful ways he’d touched her before. And now with her curled in against him, his breathing matching hers, he knew what it was to be one. He felt incredibly whole.

Lord, don’t let me hurt her ever again
. He felt an overwhelming need to protect, to guard this woman who tried to seem so fierce and independent but was truly fragile, as all life was fragile. He fought the sleep coming over him, not wanting to surrender the intensity of emotion that coursed through him as he held Carina sleeping, or nearly so, in his arms. Love, unlooked for and utterly beyond his understanding, had a grip on his heart that pained him. Maybe if he’d learned it as a child, known it for years as others did, as Carina had, in a family—maybe then it would not be so terrifying.

But their union tonight intensified his fear of losing her. What if he couldn’t be what he promised? What if he failed her again, hurt her again? She could be vindictive, but it wasn’t that. It was his own failings that formed the nightmare.
God, help me. Teach me what I need to know
. He closed his eyes and buried them in Carina’s hair. With his muscles strained from digging through the snow to her, his energy spent loving her, sleep came, and Quillan succumbed.

S
EVEN

As a snowflake, icy edged, unique in shape and kind, so a soul traversing life, alone until it finds, one to which it cleaves and forms, a new and wondrous thing.

God in perfect wisdom makes the human heart to sing.

—Quillan

C
ARINE WOKE FOR THE FIRST TIME
in Quillan’s arms. At first she thought she dreamed him there, but his warmth, the prickling of his whiskered chin on the side of her neck, the sound of his breathing, were too real. Her heart swelled.
Signore!
Not once had Quillan stayed with her until the morning.

No, that wasn’t true. They’d woken together in the mine, when he’d pulled her from the shaft. And once, again in the mine, after the vigilantes had tried to hang her. But those were not the same. Still, she suddenly felt a longing for the Rose Legacy, to be alone with Quillan on the mountain. It was impossible. She couldn’t make the trip. Dr. Felden would never allow it. But if he didn’t know . . . Turning slightly, she shook Quillan.

“No.” He nestled his face deeper into her neck.

She laughed. “Wake up. I want to do something.”

“So do I, but Doc Felden would have my hide.”

Had he read her mind? Then she realized what he meant and blushed. Why was she blushing when there were no longer secrets between them?

Quillan kissed her behind the ear. “Let’s hibernate till spring.”

Her heart warmed. He wanted to stay!
Signore, at last!
But she was restless for the mine, the square foundation that had been Quillan’s parents’ home, the shaft above the limestone cave that held the geode crystal cave and the painted chamber of Wolf ’s life. She wanted to go with Quillan.

“Hibernate?” She wiggled again, this time dislodging his arm enough that she could turn onto her back. “You’re not a bear, though you growl like one when you’re wakened. Come on. It’s late, and I want to go out.”

He raised himself to one elbow and hovered above her. “Not a bear, eh?” He plunged his face into her neck.

With a shriek, she fought him back, laughing. “Stop it. You’ll wake Mae’s entire boardinghouse.”

“I’m not the one making all the noise.”

“You’re causing it.” She could hardly believe him. He could play!

He closed her into his arms and settled her snugly against him. “There’s no sense going out. It’s going to snow today.”

“How do you know?” She pushed his chest.

He said, “Sam was whining in his sleep.”

“So?” She turned her face to see his expression.

“So that’s how I know.” His eyes had a half open languorous quality.

“A dog whines, and you know it will snow?”

“Not
a
dog. Sam—Second Samuel.”

She waved a hand. “So he’s a prophet, eh?”

“Do that again.” His mouth quirked.

“Do what?”

“Wave your hand like that.” He formed his rascal’s grin.

Carina hid her hand beneath the covers. Quillan caught her face and kissed her. Again she marveled. Had this tenderness always been inside him, waiting to show? Or had it just germinated? Whichever it was, she thanked God for it now. Pushing gently away, she said, “I want to go to the Rose Legacy.”

“Um-hmm.”

“Now. Today.”

“Ah.” He kissed her again.

“Quillan. I want to go with you. Into the cave—”

Quillan covered her mouth with his palm. “You know the doctor won’t allow it. No horseback, remember?”

“He wouldn’t have to know.” She spoke through his hand.

He took the hand away with a frown. “And you think I’d do that? Defy his orders to satisfy your whim?”

“It’s not a whim, it’s . . . I want to go. Here.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “We could take Father Charboneau. He wants to see Wolf ’s pictures. Did you know they were friends?”

“From my mother’s diary I guessed it.” Quillan forked his hair back over his shoulder. “But it’s out of the question, Carina. You’re not fit to make the trip.”

“But—”

A knock on the outside door stopped her argument. Quillan smiled smugly and rose, pulling on his pants over the long wool flannel drawers no mountain dweller would be without. He padded to the door and opened to Dr. Felden.

“Quillan. I hadn’t heard you were back.”

“I came in last night.”

The doctor glanced at Carina. She had already wrapped herself in Nonna’s shawl and straightened the bedcovers around her. Quillan pulled on his coat and boots and whistled softly to Sam.

“Coward,” Carina wanted to holler as he slipped through the door, leaving her to answer for them. One look at Dr. Felden’s scowl and she wanted to run, too.

“You understand, Mrs. Shepard, that your kidneys are not yet fit? That is, not fit yet to handle a delicate condition.” A new pregnancy he meant. “That prudence requires patience.”

Blood rushed to her face.
Tell that to my husband
. Having a physician for a father had rendered her immune to many of the embarrassments of her culture, and she was unflustered by the mention of body parts and ailments others found discomfiting. But having the doctor scold her as though she were responsible for Quillan’s actions last night—She should not be surprised. He was a man.

“I feel well, Dr. Felden.”

“Your feelings are not reliable.” The doctor flung open his bag. He drew out his binaural stethoscope to hear her heart. Carina knew this morning it would race. How could it not? Quillan was home and he loved her. He loved her.

When Quillan returned, Carina was dressed in a cream-colored blouse with the new lace collar he’d brought her affixed to the upper edge with the amethyst stickpin. She sat at the table with a blank sheet of the new writing paper before her and pen upraised. Quillan walked through the door, laden with his suitcase and several other bundles that he had retrieved from his wagon. Sam slunk under Carina’s chair, laid his chin on her lap, then slunk back. Why did the dog have to look so guilty?

Carina raised her chin, but before she could chastise him, Quillan held out a long parcel. Her eyes went to it, then back to him. “What is this?”

“For you. Day two. It was in my wagon, remember?”

Softening, she took it, unwrapped the cloth tied about it, and held the lace parasol across her knees. Quillan watched her open it, then study the pattern of the lace before at last raising it over her head and giving it a twirl. She cocked it against her shoulder, tipped her head like a coquette. “You are a coward.” She smiled.

“Guilty.” He might as well admit it.

She brought the parasol down with a flourish and laid it on the table. “It’s very beautiful. You’re going to spoil me.”

“Guilty again.” He glanced at the table. “A letter?”

She sighed. “I was writing to Papa.”

“You haven’t gotten very far.” The page was blank.

She laid the pen down.

“Letting him know we’re coming?” Did he imagine her flinch?

“Yes.” But she made no move to take up her pen again.

“What did the doc say?”

Carina glared. “He said I’m so well you should take me to the mine.”

Quillan reached across the table and took her hand. Staring straight into her face he said, “Tell me that again.”

She bit her lower lip, then threw up her hands. “I’m tired of these walls!”

“That’s easy enough.” Quillan stood and took her coat from the hook. He raised her to her feet and slipped the coat up over her arms, covering her hair to the neck.

She tugged it closed in front and fastened the buttons. “You’re taking me to the mine?” She seemed both surprised and eager.

“No horseback, remember?”

She frowned, almost a pout. But then she was Carina Maria, daughter of Angelo Pasquale DiGratia, friend of Count Camillo Benso di Cavour, prime minister to Victor Emmanuel II, king of Sardinia-Piedmont. At this moment, she looked every bit of it. He opened the door, allowed Sam to whisk out before them, then scooped Carina into his arms.

She caught her hands around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“We’re paying a call.”

“To whom?”

“Alan Tavish. He’s missed you, lass.”

She laid her forehead on his jaw and laughed. “Very well. But so little way I could walk.”

He pulled the door shut behind them. “It’s slick. You don’t need a fall.”

She leaned over to examine the sheen on the snow-packed street. “And my two-legged steed is surefooted?”

“It’ll be my back taking the brunt if we go down.”

She nestled in against him. “It’ll be good to see Alan and Daisy. Poor mare, she’s been neglected.”

“With Alan? Never.” Quillan made his way to the livery, amazed how little it took to carry Carina the four blocks down and across. Again he sensed her fragility. And those men had beaten her with sticks. He forced back the hateful thoughts. He’d taken plenty of beatings in his life and found the strength to forgive. It was different when the victim was Carina.

Quillan heard voices when he entered with Carina still in his arms. Alan had company already, but whoever it was, they weren’t perched near the front in Alan’s normal spot. He returned Carina to her feet and looked down the first row of stalls. Alan was around the bend, and the voice speaking now was familiar. Quillan started that way with Carina on his arm. She seemed reluctant.