Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

J ohn stirred water and dried meat in a pot, working to make a broth for Muireall as the day's light slowly slipped away from them. The broth should aid in strengthening his wife, but what would heal her broken heart after she learned his truth? His stomach roiled at the thought.

Muireall sat a few feet away, leaned against a tall maple loaded with whirligigs, her eyes closed as she attempted to rest. But her brow bore wrinkles of pain. With her instruction, he had brewed her some feverfew tea, but it only abated the pain, and the effects could be wearing off.

A growl slipped from John. What kind of monster was he to heap more pain on her when her arm was already broken? But after how he had treated her, he had to apologize and come clean about his own deception. Or else, he feared the guilt would eat him alive, from the inside out.

The rustle of petticoats mixed with the crackling of the fire, and Muireall settled at his side. He stared at the pot to avoid her gaze, but his neck heated under her scrutiny.

John huffed out a breath and withdrew the pot from the fire. Better to get this over with before he combusted. "Muireall, I need to apologize for how I reacted this morning."

Muireall nodded but remained silent.

He wanted to reach out and take her hand but could not bring himself to do so. "I have no right to be angry with you when I have not been honest myself."

"How do ye mean?" Wariness was laced into the words.

John closed his eyes and hung his head. "I am not who you think I am."

"What?" Muireall's breath was shallow, as if the wind had been knocked out of her.

John winced. "I mean, I am. I am still me. But my name is not John. It is Jude." So much like Judas, the man who committed the ultimate betrayal. And the same blood seemed to run through his veins.

"Wh…" The word did not quite come out, but he knew what Muireall was asking. Why had he changed his name? What else was he not telling her?

"I changed my name when I came west. I did not want to be linked to the person I was before."

"Who were ye?" Her voice was so quiet, yet so horrified.

John swallowed. "A no-good man of illegitimate birth."

"Wh-what did ye do?" Muireall's voice shook now, but he could not stop. It was time to lay it all out before her, even if it meant she would be gone from him forever.

"When I was a child, despite not having a father in my life, I tried to be good. Really tried. My mother always told me that just because she made a mistake, it did not make me a bad person. But one day, coming home from school, a handful of the boys ambushed me. They knocked me over the head with a bat." He put a hand to the place, felt the pain ricochet through his brain once more. "Then they pummeled me with rocks while I was down. Told me that I was nothing but a…" He glanced in Muireall's direction. "Well, you know. That because my mother was not married, that I was no better than dirty wash water. That is when I lost the sight in my eye."

A small gasp came from beside him. Muireall lifted her hand as though to reach out to him, then brought it back to her lap.

"After that day, I stopped trying. I realized that if no one would ever see me as more than illegitimate, there was no point in putting out the effort. I kept my head down. And as soon as I was old enough, I took a job at the docks to provide for me and my mother. There, people did not care that I was born out of wedlock as long as I put in a hard day's work. I met Rollinson and Hodges there."

"The men from the fort? One of them made the map."

"Yes. Rollinson. I worked there with them for seven years before my mother passed. It was on her deathbed that she finally revealed my father's name to me. She had lied to me all those years, told me she did not know who he was. Anyway, soon after that, the drinking and thievery caught up with Rollinson and Hodges. They managed to get all three of us fired."

"Ye were a thief an' a drunkard?" Muireall shot to her feet then. The quick movement and the pain it likely caused left her unsteady for a moment, and John followed her. When he offered a steadying hand, though, she backed away, her eyes wide. He was botching this explanation.

"No. No. It was a misunderstanding. I caught the two of them stealing silver cutlery from a crate one day. I tried to stop them, but when the dock master found us, he assumed we were all guilty and would not listen to a word otherwise."

Muireall eyed him, her lips pressed so tightly they could barely be seen.

"That is when I set out to find my father. I thought if I knew who he was, maybe I would finally know who I was." John shook his head. How wrong he had been. Still, he continued the explanation for Muireall's sake. "All my mother knew was that he had abandoned her to come west, to Kentucky. I saw an opportunity then, to leave my past behind and make a new man of myself while I searched. It almost worked. Until Rollinson and Hodges showed up at Ford Harrod. And I kept my distance at first. But through asking around, I learned that someone had met a man that matched my father's name and description while they were at Pitman Station. I also learned that Rollinson and Hodges had been there and knew the way. And despite his…flaws… Rollinson is the most talented cartographer I know. So I asked him to create the map. You know the rest. I did not want you traveling with them because I knew they had no moral decency. Knew they would not treat you right. But now?—"

John stopped and turned, pacing a couple of feet away as he shoved a hand through his hair. Then he faced Muireall again as he dropped the final truth. "Now they are following us."

Muireall sucked in a breath.

"I thought someone was following us, but it did not make any sense, and I never found any evidence, so I thought it was all in my imagination. But then I saw Rollinson when I went hunting. That is why I returned with no game. And I still do not know why they are following us. But they are."

Muireall's face was as pale as a sheet as she stood staring at him with her mouth dropped open. Finally, she whipped toward the trees, her gaze scanning all around. Then she turned on him. "How? How could ye?" She screamed the words, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths.

Pain sliced through his chest. His intention had always been to protect her. And now, with her standing before him, her right arm nestled in the makeshift sling he had prepared before their travel that morning, it was clear. Not only had he broken her physically, but he had robbed her of her peace of mind as well. "I can still protect you. We will be at Pitman Station tomorrow. We will be safe there."

Muireall's blue gaze sliced through him. "Ye! Ye can protect me? I dinnae even know who ye are!"

John's heart plummeted. But he made one more attempt to save the last thread holding his marriage together. "I have never been anyone but myself with you. I have never put on airs or pretended I was playing a part. I only went by a different name."

"An' hid yer motives. An' neglected to tell me that yer comrades are followin' us."

John staggered backward a step. She had hit the nail on the head, and how could he argue with the truth?

Muireall started to storm off but stopped and let out a frustrated growl as she threw her good hand in the air. Likely, she wanted to be anywhere else at the moment. But because of his reprehensible acquaintances, it was not safe for her to leave their camp.

John swiveled back toward the fire, pulled the hat from his head, and threw it into the dirt. He was no better than the dust beneath their feet. His wife was all but a captive in her own marriage. He fell to his knees.

Oh, Lord, how did I do this?

April 2, 1784

M uireall yawned and scrubbed a hand over her face. The bleak black sky had finally given way to an azure blue, but the heaviness in her chest had not lightened in the least. Sleep had eluded her the night before, for she had either been plagued by the pain in her arm or a flood of hopelessness at any given moment. At this point, she was too exhausted to cry another tear. Nay, somehow she had to fight through the fog in order to move forward with her life.

In the endless thoughts that had sprinted through her mind during the night, she had found one strand of hope. Finding Margaret. Her marriage might be a sham, and she might be ruined for future marriages, but she could endure if only she had her family. To complete the journey alone would be dangerous, to say the least. But they had reached the creek which led to Pitman's Station, and she only needed to follow it to her destination. Someplace she would be safe. Safe from weather and wild animals, safe from nefarious followers, and safe from husbands whose behavior more closely resembled that of a snake.

A tiny prick of regret touched her heart at that thought, but she pushed it away. Not even the memory of him kneeling on the ground, his head in his hands, broken, would soften her heart to John. Nay, not John…Jude. His given name was eerily similar to that of the man who had betrayed Jesus. How fitting.

Muireall carefully maneuvered into a sitting position and cast a glance in Jude's direction. Though he had agreed not to sleep in the same pallet as she, he had insisted that she sleep between him and the fire so he could provide protection should danger strike. But who was to protect her from him?

A frown crimped her mouth, and she rose to her feet. Pain shot through her arm, and she stood still long enough for the wave of dizziness that followed to subside. She could succumb to her injury only once she made it to Pitman Station. For now, she had to be on her way while Jude—and hopefully, Rollinson and Hodges—still slumbered.

Muireall knelt at Jude's side and ever so carefully pulled the map from his pocket. After a moment of examining the markings, she pinpointed their location with her finger, then followed the creek to Pitman Station. After she slipped the paper back into position, she found the pistol and ensured it was loaded. Tucked into her pocket, it weighed heavily as she moved. Last, she draped a canteen over her shoulder and tucked some dried meat into the small pouch at her waist. With supplies in tow, she slipped past Sugar and into the dawn.

J ude woke with a start. Blinking, he glanced around. The sun loomed above the treetops, and birds chirps nearby. He groaned and pushed upright. He should have risen long ago, but guilt and anguish had kept sleep at bay well into the night. Though only a few feet had separated him from Muireall, it might as well have been a gulf. Jude turned toward her pallet, and his heart seemed to stutter to a stop.

Where was she?

"Muireall?" With no thought to safety, he called her name, his heart slamming against his ribcage. He clamored to his feet, and a paper slipped from his pocket, drifting to the ground. Jude bent, brow furrowed, and picked it up, but it was only the map. He scanned the camp once more. Sugar still rested with her head hung low beside the tree line, yet there was no sign of Muireall.

Had she gone to relieve herself when she awakened and Rollinson and Hodges ambushed her? Lord, please no. Jude closed his eyes and swallowed down the urge to retch. If it was money they wanted, they would have brought her into camp to confront him.

He knelt beside her pallet and checked for shoeprints. Crouching, he followed her tracks, crossing one foot over the other until he reached a shuffle of prints beside the packs. Then there were a couple more leading away. Jude sighed and hung his head. Muireall had struck out alone, on foot. With danger hovering, his half-blind wife was unaccompanied in the Kentucky wilderness, utterly defenseless. All because of his foolishness and secrecy.

Jude slammed his fist into the ground, then stood and set to work. There was no time to dwell in the self-pity. He stomped down the dying embers of the campfire, then kicked dirt over it. Quickly, he saddled Sugar and replaced their packs. All loaded and rifle in hand, Jude pushed a foot into the left stirrup and swung into the saddle. The mare's head whipped upward at the sudden presence of his greater weight. Then, as though she sensed his urgency, she picked up a rough, head-bobbing trot. Jude directed her into the woods and toward the creek.

There was no doubt where Muireall had gone—to Pitman Station, to find her sister. He had to locate the woman he loved before Rollinson and Hodges had a chance to take advantage of her vulnerability. He had failed her before, but he could not do so now. Nothing else mattered—nothing else in the world.