Chapter Two
Emily did not think she had ever hurt so badly, or been so afraid. She was exhausted and heartsore. Her arm burned and her leg throbbed in such a way she constantly had to bite back a cry. She knew her sister and David were dead even though she had not seen them fall but she was sure she had heard screams. They had not begun searching for their son, either. There was also no way they could have held off ten men for long, not men who had made it clear they wanted everyone in the house dead. All she wanted to do was curl up on a soft bed and cry but she had Neddy to care for.
She looked down at the boy sleeping curled up at her side, her wide skirts as his blanket. He looked so much like his father that she felt a stab of loss. David had been a good man. His son had the same thick wavy black hair, a sweet little face, and big brown eyes that could convince people to give him anything he wanted. Fortunately, he was not yet old enough to understand the power of those eyes. She prayed he was also not old enough to fully understand what had happened to his parents.
Lightly stroking his hair, she closed her eyes. They were safe at the moment. She needed someone with skill to tend her wounds but, for now, they were safe. Now was not the time to fret. Now was the time to plan. As soon as she felt sure those men who had attacked them were gone, they would run again. She just wished she knew where they could run to.
For a moment the pain in her leg and shoulder was pushed aside by the pain in her heart. Her sister and her husband were certainly dead. Every time she tried to think of them as merely wounded her mind mocked her. The shooting had ended and the taint of wood smoke still hung in the air. The last time she saw them Annabel and David were still desperately trying to hold off their attackers. Her sister had ordered her to take little Neddy and run. She had not wanted to leave them, had desperately wanted to stay and fight, but both David and Annabel had grown equally desperate in their pleas for her to save Neddy. The look in David’s eyes had convinced her to go, that look of desperate sadness. It was a plea she had had to obey and she was certain it had cost her. Tears clouded her eyes as the surety that she would never see her sister again swept over her.
She wanted to go back and look, to see if what she feared was true, but then she felt her nephew wriggle closer to her side. Emily could not risk him. If David and Annabel were dead, they had given their lives to save young Neddy, she firmly reminded herself. Done what any loving parent would do. She could not toss away that sacrifice with a foolish action, one driven solely by emotion. The sweet little boy had no skill in protecting himself.
“Mama? Papa?”
Her nephew’s query, spoken in a soft tear-choked voice, acted like an arrow to her heart. She did not know how to explain it all to him. Emily held him closer and began to sort through a number of ways to explain that Mama and Papa were gone. A flicker of hope attempted to spring to life in her chest but good sense ruthlessly smothered it. Then a sound broke through her grief-ridden thoughts.
Emily quickly hid Neddy beneath her wide skirts. The sound she had heard had now clarified itself into male voices. She sat as still as possible and listened carefully as the voices drew nearer. Her fear receded a little because the men spoke differently than the ones who had attacked her family. Those men had not had what sounded very much like a Scots accent.
That made no sense, she thought as she pressed deeper into the hole dug inside a tree hollow. What were Scotsmen doing wandering around the hills of Arkansas? Annabel had often complained about being so completely out of place, so alone despite David always being at her side. The farther west they had traveled the more separated from it all she had felt. Annabel had missed society far more than she ever did or could. She had constantly repeated stories of the places she had gone, the events she had attended, the food and people there, and the fashions she had shopped for. Emily had begun to fear her sister would fall permanently into her world of memories. These men were definitely not ones who had grown up in these hills or come from any sort of high society. She grasped the knife she had placed by her side and waited, tense and wary, as the men drew closer.
Suddenly she fell back into the memory of the attack she had just fled from. The men had ridden up to the cabin so fast David had barely made it inside, barring the door behind him. Emily had stood silenced by shock as her sister had tossed a rifle to her husband then grabbed one of her own and loaded it. Then the shooting had begun. The men outside had demanded her sister hand over her only child. After some colorful threats that had made her blood run cold the shooting had begun and there had been little lag in the assault. Emily had done her best to keep Neddy shielded and safe, sheltered from the bullets filling the air. Soon both Annabel and David were wounded and then someone had tried to set the cabin alight. Annabel had ordered Emily to take Neddy and run, run and hide.
Tears filled her eyes. She had not wanted to leave Annabel and David, had been sure she would never see them again if she did run. The terrified child clinging to her was all that had given her the strength to move, to run and hide as ordered. It was what her sister needed. The knowledge that someone was taking her child to a safe place would give Annabel the strength to keep fighting. It was during the time Emily had been getting Neddy into the root cellar that she had been wounded. Now, with the smell of smoke beginning to fade and the sound of shooting silent for too long, she knew her duty was to keep Neddy alive and safe. She tightened the grip on the knife by her side.
“Let us just hope we find our quarry alive,” said a man with a deep voice that was too close to the opening of her hiding place.
Quarry ? she thought. That was a word a hunter used. Gritting her teeth over the pain in her leg, she rose carefully to her knees. Determined to protect her nephew, she held the knife at the ready and kept her mind clear. She knew she could not battle all of the men but she would make it cost them dearly to take Neddy from her.
* * *
Iain saw the shadow of the opening in the tree and moved closer as he signaled to his brother to help him shift the broken tree limb. As soon as it was moved he saw the opening more clearly. The trunk of the tree was thick enough to make a hollow that could easily hide a child but it was too shadowed to see if it did.
He got on his knees and edged closer. When he stuck his head inside he did so slowly and was glad of it when he felt cold steel touch his throat. He glanced down and calmly met the narrowed gaze of a woman.
“I mean no harm,” he said. “I am nay one of the men who burned the cabin.” He fought a wince as the blade trembled in what appeared to be a small hand and the point scraped painfully over his skin. “My brothers and I smelled the smoke and came to help.” He reminded himself he was speaking to a survivor and kept his voice as soft and pleasant as he could.
“The people who lived there?” There was a hint of dread in her voice as she asked and he suspected she already knew what he would answer.
“Could ye move the blade aside? It makes talking a wee bit uncomfortable.”
“Oh. I beg your pardon.”
He warily rubbed his hand over his throat when the knife was pulled away and swallowed a laugh over how polite she had sounded. “I fear the people in the cabin are dead.” A sound much like a moan choked by a sob reached his ears and he grimaced, knowing he had probably been too blunt, but he had no idea how else he could have answered her question. “We have buried them. Come out and I will show ye where they are.” He inched back and held out his hand.
Emily hesitated a moment but then decided she had few choices left. She had already been found and the man had made no threatening move. Toward her or Neddy. Although she had no idea of what she could do now, she knew she could not remain huddled in a shallow hole dug inside the trunk of a dying tree. Trying desperately to keep Neddy hidden by her skirts she allowed the man to pull her out. The shadows helped. They kept Neddy hidden but it added an awkwardness to her movements that she could not hide.
“Are ye hurt?” he asked as she stood up but kept her right hand tight against her skirts.
“A small wound already bandaged. I will be fine.” She looked in the direction of the house and fought the urge to collapse, to weep. “Annabel and David are dead.”
“Aye.” He decided he would never tell her how. “I am Iain MacEnroy and this is my brother Robbie. My other brother, Matthew, is at the cabin collecting all that can be salvaged and I have yet another brother, Duncan, watching over our wagons.”
She nodded but her thoughts were centered on how to keep Neddy hidden until she was absolutely certain these men were safe. “I am Emily Stanton. I thank you for burying my sister and her husband.”
Iain frowned. There was a distinct English accent to the woman’s words, which held that cool politeness her class was so well known for. He told himself not to let that trouble him. He had known some decent English men and women in his time. There were also a lot of them coming to America, as desperately in need of a better life as he was.
“It was nay a bother,” he said quietly.
“I must mark the grave,” she said as she started to walk back to the cabin, dreading what she would find but determined to do her sister and her husband honor.
He cursed softly. Her voice was slurred, like someone half-asleep. He signaled Robbie and they followed the woman. He noticed that she walked oddly, as if she was dragging her feet. Her left arm hung limply at her side and he could now see the dark stain of blood on the blue sleeve of her gown. The woman was wounded worse than she had claimed. Quickening his pace, he drew up beside her. When he looked at her he noticed that she was very pale and was sweating despite the cool breezes.
Grasping her wrist to halt her, he scowled when she stared at his hand then slowly looked up at him. Her eyes were cloudy and he doubted she was seeing him clearly. Then she began to sway. He grabbed her around the waist as she began to fall to her knees.
“Do not let me fall on him,” she said in a rapidly fading voice.
The abrupt increase in the weight he supported told him she had fainted. Just as he shifted to pick her up a small boy scrambled out from beneath her skirts. Robbie caught hold of the child before the boy could grab her.
“Em! Emmy!” The child thrashed in Robbie’s hold, reaching blindly for the woman Iain was now cradling in his arms.
“Hush, laddie. Hush!” Iain cautiously stepped closer so the boy could see the woman he held, even touch her slightly. “She has but swooned. She sleeps because she was hurt.”
The child calmed although he stuck his thumb in his mouth and shuddered a little with the remnants of his fear. Here was the child they had been searching for. The boy looked physically unharmed but Iain knew there would be scars left from what had happened at his home. It brought up his own memories of trying to explain to young Lachlan that their parents were dead. He quickly shook them aside and started walking toward the burned cabin.
By the time he reached the graveside Emily was stirring. Reluctantly, for he found holding the slender woman pleasurable despite her unconscious state, he set her on her feet, holding her by the waist until she steadied. Even with her disordered appearance and too-pale skin she was a pretty little thing. Her blond hair was in a thick braid tied off by a ribbon that matched the color of her gown.
After she took the child into her arms she turned to look at him. Her eyes were wide, with a lush fringe of surprisingly dark lashes and they were a soft gray with the faintest hint of blue. A small, straight nose cut a line down the middle of her heart-shaped face. Even pinched with pain her mouth looked to be full-lipped. He inwardly shook his head, shoving aside his interest in her looks. She was English. She was also a woman in need of some help who had suffered a hard loss. She was not a woman he should be feeling any sort of amorous inclinations for.
“This is Neddy, my sister’s boy,” she said, and a lone tear wind down her pale cheek. “Only one grave?”
“We buried them together, holding each other.” He glanced at the other marked grave a few feet away and wanted to ask her about it but decided now was not a good time.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “They would have liked that. I would like to place a marker if I may.”
Iain looked to Matthew who held a crude wooden cross he had obviously prepared for the grave. “We can do that. What do ye want it to say?”
The urge to curl up on the ground and bawl like a child was a tight knot in Emily’s chest and throat as she told the man what to burn into the cross. She set Neddy down and held him by the shoulders as she said a prayer while they placed the cross. What she truly wanted to do was curse. Beneath her grief burned rage but she knew she could not give in to it. She now had a child to protect and hide for there was no certainty that the men had seen or believed that second grave held the child they sought. Anger could be dealt with when they were both strong enough to act on it.
By the time they were done, she was feeling weak and light-headed again. Forcing herself to hold fast to her senses, she looked toward the ruined cabin. There was one last thing she needed to do before she could give in to her weakness and pain.
“Was the floor badly burned?” she asked.
“Nay,” answered the one called Robbie, his freckled face flushing red as he dragged a hand through his brilliantly red hair. “It seemed steady save for the floor by the opening to the cellar. A wee bit singed and now wet.”
Emily nudged Neddy toward the young man. “Will you watch him for me for a few moments? I need to see if I can retrieve something.” She started toward the cabin and then frowned at the man who quickly fell into step beside her. “I shall only be a moment.”
“Aye, but ye are still weak and, when ye go down, ye go down fast.”
A blush heated her cheeks and she frowned even more, thinking it not quite proper for him to point that out. Then she shrugged and hurried into the cabin. Stepping cautiously, she made her way to the fireplace. The wet sooty mess on the floor made her grimace as she sought out the cleanest spot, tossed down her handkerchief, and knelt on it. The wet made it difficult to lift the hearthstones and suddenly the man crouched beside her.
“Which one do ye need to lift?” the man asked in that voice she found far too attractive.
“These two,” she replied as she pointed out the ones she wished to pull up.
Iain lifted the stones and frowned at the square of oilcloth beneath them. He watched as she lifted it out, set it down, and carefully unwrapped a metal box. She pulled a gold chain out from beneath the neck of her gown, unclasped it, and removed a small key. When she unlocked the box she briefly touched the papers inside to test if they were dry. Immediately after that she locked the box again and returned the key to the chain.
“These are important?” he asked as he helped her stand up, noting how she paled and touched her left leg.
“Yes, very important. They matter to Neddy.”
He frowned as he followed her out. Her accent had changed again and he wondered just how long she had been in the country. For a moment she had sounded very proper, very high-toned. It was an accent that reminded him all too much of Lady Vera. A chill entered his blood as he suddenly had all too clear a picture of the woman who had driven them from their home. Iain was about to bluntly ask her what place she held within English society when the boy ran over to her.
“My box!” He reached for it and then just patted the top. “Boo? Want Boo.”
“What is a Boo?” Iain did not really wish to return to the burned home.
“It is a toy he loves. A little dog his mother made for him. She made it with a very soft material and it is bright blue.” She stroked Neddy’s hair. “I fear it is lost, my sweet boy. The fire . . .”
“Nay,” said Robbie and he grabbed up one of the loaded sacks still waiting to be put in the wagons. “We have been collecting up anything useful and Duncan said this bag held things for the babe we thought we were hunting for.”
Her leg throbbing so badly she just wanted to sit down and cry, Emily stepped over to look into the large sack. It was filled with kitchen goods, some books, Neddy’s clothes, and a little stuffed dog set on top of a pile of small sweaters. All of it smelled strongly of smoke though nothing appeared badly damaged. She sniffed the small toy and was pleased that it carried only a slight scent of smoke. As soon as she could, she would wash away even that.
“Oh, look, Neddy. These kind men found Boo for you.” She took the toy and handed it to Neddy, pleased by how the toy eased some of the worry and fear from his face.
“My Boo.” Neddy smiled, then hugged the toy and frowned up at Emily. “Mama?”
“No, sweet boy. Mama is gone and your papa is gone too. I am so sorry.” She kissed his cheek. “Emily will care for you, my love.” When she straightened up she felt close to swooning but fought the feeling.
“Emmy stay?” Neddy asked in a small broken voice.
“Yes, love. I will stay.”
“Stay here?” He looked toward the burned cabin with wide eyes, his small body tense with fear of her answer.
“Nay, lad,” Iain said. “Ye are coming with us.”
The boy nodded but the woman frowned. Iain thought they had settled the matter but realized they had not actually discussed it. There was nothing here for her. She could not fix the damage done to the house and they had marked the grave. He was about to point that all out to her when he noticed that she had grown far too pale again.
“Mama? Papa?” the boy asked, his bottom lip trembling.
“Ye can come back to visit the place where they rest when ye need to,” Iain said, and noticed how Emily’s eyes filled with tears. “We have to go now. It will be dark soon and I would like to be closer to the safety of my own lands when the sun sets. Nay sure how far away the men who did this have gone,” he added softly, and watched the woman nod.
Iain edged closer to the woman as they moved for he had noticed how heavy her steps were, as if each one required the utmost effort. Her slim figure swayed a little and he knew she was close to collapsing in another swoon. They had just reached the side of the wagon his brothers had cleared for her and the boy when she gave a sigh and started to crumble. He swept her up into his arms, a little annoyed by how good she felt there.
Duncan and Matthew quickly cleared a little more space in the back of the wagon, tossing a few blankets down to better cushion the area. Iain set her down and then helped Neddy to climb in. The boy still clung to his toy and Iain picked up the box Emily had dropped when she had collapsed. He handed it to the boy and then mounted his horse and signaled everyone to start moving.
He studied all they had added to their freight but any joy over the gain of a couple of sturdy plow horses, a pair of cows, chickens, and bags of fruits and vegetables was buried deep beneath the pity for two people so brutally murdered. There were also several bags of clothes and assorted household goods plus a small plowshare. He had learned long ago that if you did not take what the dead left behind someone else would, but still had to wrestle with his conscience when he did. He soothed that troubled part of him by knowing that, when Emily and Neddy had a safe place to go, he would give them what they wanted from these gains and a fair market value for the rest.
By the time it was too dark to continue, Iain was at ease over the matter. He and his brothers set up camp, tended to the horses, and Duncan started to cook them some food. Iain took Emily from the wagon and noticed that the skirts under his hands were damp. He was thinking an extra blanket would be wise when he set her down on the rough pallet Matthew had made for her, but, as he pulled his hands away from her he realized it was not water soaking her skirts. His hand was covered in blood.
“Damnation!” he snapped. “She had another wound and it hasnae ceased to bleed.”
Matthew crouched beside him. “Where?”
Iain yanked up one side of her skirts, fighting not to be distracted by her legs. Using his knife, he slowly cut open the leg of her drawers and cursed again when he found the hole made by a bullet just above the top of her stockings. Fighting not to expose any more of her, he turned her onto her side but could find no exit hole for the bullet.
“Do ye ken how to remove a bullet?” he asked Matthew.
“Nay,” said Matthew, and a glance at his other two brothers brought sad shakes of their heads.
“Then best we bind this as well as we can and get home as fast as we can.”
“Aye, Mrs. O’Neal will ken what needs to be done.” Matthew hurried away to get something to bandage her wound.
Iain stared down at the pale, unconscious woman and prayed Matthew was right in his utter faith in the indomitable Mrs. O’Neal. Hate the English as he did, he really did not want to bury this one.