Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

March 20, 1784

M uireall stared at the fresh mound of dirt before her but could not bring herself to move. Of those who attended Petunia's funeral, only the Reverend Patterson and Betty remained. Even those who had shoveled the dirt over the pine box had retreated to their other duties. Still, Muireall's feet remained anchored to the ground.

Reverend Patterson stepped toward her, drawing her attention from the blurry brown mass. His touch was light on her elbow. "If you need anything, do not hesitate to let me know." His pale blue eyes were kind, his mouth pressed into an empathetic line.

Muireall sighed before she nodded in response. "Thank ye." Then he was gone as well.

She swept her gaze back to the dirt. The problem was, she did not have an inkling as to what she needed at this point. Her constant companion of the past four years was gone. No longer would she hear the gentle creak of the wooden rocker or the out-of-rhythm tug of thread through fabric as the two sewed together, each focused on their individual projects while working together in quiet harmony.

Betty would remain a faithful friend and beacon of light in this time of darkness, though. She had already proven such over the last couple of days. And Muireall could easily continue to provide for herself with her prosperous sewing and mending business. But the nightmares did not die with Petunia. And each day, it seemed, the weight of guilt pulled heavier as a burdensome yoke about her neck. Dread grew like a black vine within her middle and threatened to consume her if she did not go to her sister. Muireall closed her eyes and pressed back tears.

No longer did she have the excuse of Petunia's care to hide behind. And yet, leaving the fort seemed an insurmountable task.

"She would want you to move on." Betty's quiet voice broke into her thoughts.

Muireall nodded again as she stifled a sob. Of course, Petunia would want her to move on. Though she hid it behind the selfless excuse of protecting Petunia's health, perhaps that was why she had never disclosed the occurrence of her unsettling dreams to her companion. To hide behind her own cowardice. She could almost hear Petunia's raspy voice urging her, "Go with the Lord's calling, my child."

Betty gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

Muireall offered her the smallest of smiles and patted her friend's hand where it rested on her arm. "Ye go on. I would like a moment alone."

"Are you sure?"

"Aye. I will return directly."

Betty gave her one last lingering look, a frown set on her face as though she were not quite convinced, before she turned and headed up the hill to the fort.

After she watched her friend's retreating back, Muireall faced the grave. With no audience, she knelt to the ground and placed her hand on the cool dirt. "Ye would want me to go to me sister, would ye not?" She asked the question, though she knew there would be no answer. But at that moment, the clouds parted overhead, and a bright ray of warm sunshine broke through the chill of the day, settling over her.

Muireall turned to the sky and spoke to her heavenly Father. "How come Margaret could follow Yer will, but I cannae?" Her heart twisted at the thought, and she bit her lip.

Then, with a deep sigh, she rose from the ground. Perhaps her sister was simply made of stronger stuff than she. Slowly, she trudged up the hill. A few men stood talking under a tall oak several yards away, but she paid them no mind. Just placed one foot in front of the other. Until two words snagged her attention. "One map to Pitman Station."

Muireall froze. Pitman Station? That station was within a day's travel of home. In fact, she, her sister, and her sister's husband had stayed there on the first night of their journey to the fort. She moved closer while staying behind the cover of the tree.

Another voice replied in a clipped tone, followed by the jingle of coins. "This shall make travel easier. Thank you."

Was someone traveling to the station? If someone was already planning to make the journey, mayhap she could tag along without revealing her secret. And though she might not be able to see worth a shilling, from there, she should be able to make her way home. Crossing the Green River would be her greatest obstacle.

"I would say it should," the first voice replied. "You never did say what your business was there, though."

So the person did have business at Pitman Station as well as being in possession of a map to the destination. Was this her sign? Muireall squeezed her eyes shut while her heart beat wildly. Is this Ye, Lord? Do Ye truly wish to for me to go to Margaret? Giddiness bubbled in her heart when she considered seeing her sister's face and propelled her forward, past all fear and hesitation.

"Pitman Station?" Suddenly, she was around the tree and staring at three men. The indistinct forms of a tall blonde and a short, stocky redhead stood a few feet away while a third man whirled to face her. Disturbingly close, she was met with one deep-brown eye set in a scarred face and another hidden behind a leather eyepatch. Muireall's mouth drifted open.

B lue eyes peered up at John from a pale, porcelain face. A face that he recognized but could not place. When he failed to answer, the woman's gaze darted between him and the other men. "Are ye goin' there? To Pitman Station?" She looked back at him, her voice breathless.

Muireall, that was her name. Betty's friend and a talent with a needle. What did she want with Pitman Station? While he did not wish to involve her, he could not lie. He swallowed. "Yes."

Her lips parted, then pressed together as if she were at war with herself. "Can…can I come with ye?"

It was as though John had been punched in the stomach.

"We can take you there, honey," Rollinson offered from behind him, his voice laced with deceptive sweetness.

"No." John's forceful protest left his lips, and he had stepped between Rollinson and Muireall before he even realized what he was doing. A pucker formed between her dark brows.

He had to protect this woman from Hodges and Rollinson. He could not consciously allow her to be ruined by their dishonest charms. But was he any better, to lead her into the wilderness alone? Who would ever believe that a one-eyed rogue such as he would leave her reputation intact? Just as it had been for his mother, her good name would be shattered forever. So where did that leave them? "I mean to say… I will take you." He heaved in a deep breath. "If we are married." It was the only solution.

Muireall's eyes went as wide as saucers. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to stop her. No more should be discussed in front of Hodges and Rollinson. Plus, she needed an opportunity to consider her answer. No woman should have to be shackled to him as a wife, but it definitely should not be done on a whim. "I know where your cabin is. May I come discuss this with you further when my business here is complete?"

Muireall nodded slowly before she turned and headed up the hillside to the fort, alone. Heat prickled up the back of his neck. What had he done?

M uireall paced the tiny cabin. Three steps one way, three back in the other direction. Repeat. Marriage? How could she have gotten herself into such a predicament? What had possessed her to ask a random stranger to escort her to Pitman Station? Of course, she could not travel alone with a man. Oh, the kind of loose woman people would have thought her to be upon arrival.

Muireall turned and dropped onto the bed. The bed where Petunia had died. Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she pressed the palms of her hands against them. That was why she asked. She could not stay here in this cabin filled with the stench of loss. The minute room had turned into a massive void of loneliness. Now, nothing tied her to the fort besides her sewing work and her friendship with Betty. And the desire to go to her sister pulled on her stronger than ever, with such a power that it could not be ignored. So when she had heard Pitman Station mentioned, she had leapt at the opportunity.

Lord, what have I done? Was this Yer will, or did I act in haste an' ruin everythin'?

She sighed. Despite the man's roguish appearance and the fact she knew nothing about him, this was an answer to another prayer. One she had not prayed in some time. To find a husband. With her sewing, she had a purpose outside of keeping her secret and waiting for the right man to come along. But if she left the fort, the opportunity to marry might never come again.

Muireall stood and resumed her pacing. Moments later, a knock sounded on the door, and her heart leapt into double time. She paused before opening it. The man with the eyepatch stepped into her cabin and moved into what little open space there was. If possible, the room shrunk in size. She backed toward the small table beside the bed and clasped her hands onto it as though it could anchor her.

Her visitor removed his hat and held it in his hands. "I…I did not mean to be presumptuous back there. I only wish to protect your reputation if we are to travel together."

Muireall nodded. The man's voice was deep, with a slight rasp. But somehow, it soothed her swirling insides. "I understand. An' I did not wish to place ye in a precarious situation. I can find other arrangements if need be." The man deserved a chance to change his mind now that there was no audience. After all, he would never want to marry her if he knew the truth—that she was defective.

But where would that leave her? The other men had offered to take her to Pitman Station, but that would mean she would be traveling alone with two men instead of one. And simply the thought of those two twisted her stomach and made her want to run in the other direction. Muireall was not sure why, as she had not even been able to see them clearly. But a trepidation stirred deep within.

Should she be afraid of this man too? His profile was certainly rough enough. Muireall ventured a step closer, propelled by a desire to glimpse his face again in detail.

The man let out a sigh and rapped his knuckles on the table beside him, as though he had decided. "Other arrangements are not necessary. I only want you to be comfortable with your decision, Muireall."

Her lips parted "How do ye know me name?"

His shoulder lifted. "I have seen you with Betty and heard your name spoken about the fort. You liv—lived with Petunia and are excellent with a needle and thread."

Muireall smiled. After all this time, her mither's plan seemed to have come to fruition. At least, in a sense. But what did she know about him?

She took another step closer, but his features were still blurred, his gaze cast toward the floor. Did he avoid her regard for a reason? "What is yer name?"

His attention moved to her. "John Browne."

Muireall nodded, but the corners of her mouth pulled downward. While it was imperative knowledge should she marry this man, it told her nothing of who he truly was. "Do ye have a trade?"

John hesitated. Was that a frown? "I mostly trap and hunt. I try to make myself useful where I can."

Honorable enough, she supposed. "And what is your business at Pitman Station?"

"I…I am looking for someone. And you? What makes a young woman such as yourself wish to travel into the wilderness to a remote station?"

"I am lookin' for someone as well. Me sister. She lives near there. An', well…she needs me." She could not tell him more than that. He might believe her to be crazed.

John nodded. "I understand. I will be glad to take you as long as we marry before we set out. You can determine the nature of our marriage if you wish, whether it be in name alone or…more. But I cannot be the cause of your ruin." He stepped closer, and even she could tell there was an intensity to his gaze as it met hers. He took her hand in his and pressed it. "Also, I urge you not to allow Rollinson and Hodges to be your escort. Even if you will not have me."

Muireall's mouth dropped open as heat flared up her neck and into her face. Her breath became shallow. A fierce protectiveness emanated from the man before her, and it drew her, like a moth to the flame . She dipped her chin in a nod. "I will have ye. As me husband."

Lord, please dinnae let me be burned.