Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

March 25, 1784

N ever would she return. A chill swept through Muireall, despite the sunshine that bathed the countryside as they rode away from the fort. She turned in the saddle for one last look at the place she had called home these past few years, but it only resembled blurry brown boxes on the hillside behind her.

With a sigh, she faced the vast wilderness which stretched out before them. Her fingernails cut into the hard leather of the saddle as she gripped the pommel tighter. The old brown mare plodded down the hillside, head hung low. She had never ridden before, and she would prefer not to now, but her new husband had purchased the animal specifically for her. She could not snub his kind gesture, despite the apprehension he had easily picked up on as she stared up at the saddle. When he learned she had no experience with horses, he had assured her that he would lead the animal, as he did now.

In a way, it was a better arrangement than if she walked. John and the mare, named Sugar, would be mostly responsible for watching for obstacles Muireall might otherwise miss. But the ground was simply a green blob below, and her lack of depth perception made it seem as if she were fifty feet in the air rather than five. She frowned and focused on the round dark spot that was John's hat.

Muireall had seen little of him in the week between their odd engagement and the marriage that occurred earlier that morning, before they set out. With the weather blustery and dismal, John had honed his attentions on preparing for their journey while they awaited a turn for the better. He had checked in with her briefly each afternoon, though, and that simple attentiveness was heartening. But now, while it was John who had seemed unsure the day before last, it was she who could only muster trepidation and fear. Sometime through the night, memories of the journey to the fort had slipped into her consciousness. Memories of thunderstorms, rabid coyotes, life-threatening injuries, and a wide world she could not see.

How could anyone enjoy nature when they could not see well enough to relish its beauty? As it was now, she could feel the warmth of the bright sun upon her cheeks, but she could not tell how it gleamed off the blue-jay's bright feathers as she knew it had to. And though the grass boasted patches of brighter green, she could not distinguish blade from blade without kneeling close. Even the barren tree branches that loomed ahead only appeared as a tangle of gray. Meanwhile, Betty had raved over how purple and red buds dotted several of the trees within the fort. No, nature seemed more an obstacle than a blessing when in unfamiliar territory as they would be.

Perhaps focusing on her husband rather than herself would prove a distraction. Should she not try to get to know this man she was married to, after all? Raising her voice to be heard where he walked alongside Sugar's head, she asked the first question that came to mind. "Where do ye hail from, John?" His name still felt new and strange upon her lips. But it was only right to call her husband by his Christian name.

He glanced her direction. "Virginia."

"Really? Us too. Whereabouts in Virginia?" Could they have grown up near one another? She tried to imagine what he might have looked like as a youngster. Had he always worn an eyepatch, or had he sustained an injury? The scars on his face hinted at the latter.

John cleared his throat. "Along the Potomac, near the sea."

"Ah. We lived near the mountains. It was such lovely country, and we never seemed to have any dire needs. I never understood why Pa wanted to leave and come west." Muireall frowned. What she could remember about the home she grew up in was agreeable, but her eyesight had begun to diminish at such a young age, were her memories truly accurate? Or had she clung so tightly to the images of the wildflowers that grew at the edge of the woods that she had neglected to remember the parts that were not as pleasant? Of course, there could have been matters that a child would not understand. Or that her mother had sheltered her from.

From the moment Ma had learned of her poor eyesight, she had kept her nestled under her wing. Muireall's heart still ached to consider her death. It seemed that over and over in her life, she had been thrust into new and unsettling situations. When she became comfortable with her circumstances, life would be turned on its head. Perhaps that was life, though. After all, was it not Ecclesiastes that said, To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven?

Still, this new season had her on edge. Her gaze drifted to her husband again. He did not seem to notice that she had fallen silent. His own focus was cast ahead, to the wild woods that would constitute a good part of their journey. Did he think of who he was in search of in the way she spent much time thinking of her sister? And who was this mysterious person? A family member? A lover? Her chest constricted, but she pushed the thought from her mind. John did not seem the kind to take one woman, only to go in search of another one.

Still, his secrecy was a bit unnerving. Especially considering how their marriage came to be and the uncertain terms of their union. Why had she not clarified before they were wed? Muireall stifled a groan. She had been so bent on going to her sister and so shy around her mysterious groom that she had never defined the nature of their marriage. John had given her the choice, laid it at her feet, and she had neglected to acknowledge the gift. Now, it was a looming unknown that hung between them. Did John see their marriage as one in name only? A weight settled in her stomach at the thought. While she had been apprehensive about marrying someone of whom she knew so little, she had been grateful for the union and hopeful for their future.

As they moved down the hill and into the woods, dead leaves from the winter past crunched under Sugar's hooves. Twigs snapped under John's steps, and Muireall took heart that it was not she who had to navigate the hidden dips and grooves which could snag her step. Meanwhile, even though he was quiet, John marched confidently ahead. When they approached a stream, he stopped and pulled out the map, surveying both it and their surroundings. Then, after he tucked the map back into his chest pocket, he cast a quick glance her way before forging ahead. If only she could see well enough to read his expression. Lord, why do I have to be afflicted so?

Muireall suppressed a sigh. For now, there was nothing else to do but to be blindly led into the great unknown.

T here. John's gaze landed on a thick stand of pines at the base of the hill they traveled down. It should provide adequate shelter from the elements. He glanced to where Muireall sat atop Sugar, her spine stiff and her jaw clenched. His mouth pulled to the side. He should have known better than to ask a full day's travel of her right away. Such a feat would be uncomfortable for even an experienced rider. "We will make camp there, among the pines." He pointed to the trees as he led the mare in their direction.

Muireall gave a silent nod. Once they reached the stand, the mare was more than glad to come to a halt. She let out a long breath that ruffled her lips before he turned to help Muireall down. Muireall slid to the ground, then wavered, her fingers digging into his arm through his coat. Once her eyes focused, their deep blue gaze locked onto his face and her grip loosened. But still, her touch bore into his arm through his layers. The temperature of the day seemed to rise at her nearness. And for the briefest moment, she seemed to lean into him. Then she abruptly turned to the packs, lifting one from the horse. "Where shall the fire be?"

John hesitated, his mind still reeling from the sudden shift. He turned and motioned to a place in the middle of the stand. "There." His voice came out raspier than normal. He cleared his throat before he busied himself with unloading the rest of their wares.

Muireall settled the pack of food near where he indicated and moved to collecting wood. She bent for a broken pine branch.

His brow lowered. The pine would smoke them out if they attempted to burn it. Perhaps his wife was not used to selecting her own wood, only feeding the fire with what was provided. John stepped to her side and laid a hand on her arm to stop her. "Pine does not burn well, because of the sap. The oak over here will be much better." He indicated the ground below an old oak tree, where several dead limbs had crashed to the ground and broken into pieces. They would provide a good start for the fire, and he could gather more wood once he had watered the mare.

"Oh." Muireall frowned and moved to where he pointed.

John finished unloading the mare and dug out a pot before he went in search of water. Just down from their camp was a small stream with crystal-clear water tumbling over smooth creek rocks. When he dipped his hand in to splash his face, the water was colder than expected for the time of year. "Must be fed by a spring," he told Sugar, who seemed glad to lower her mouth to the cold liquid. John settled on his heels and allowed the mare a thorough drink before he dipped a pot of water and headed back for Muireall.

"The creek must be spring-fed. It is as cold and clear as can be." It was surprising how naturally his smile came at the sight of her leaned over the fire, her long hair a curtain of black over her back.

"Thank you." Muireall smiled up at him as she accepted the pot.

He tied the horse and settled in beside her as she poured water into their two tin cups. It did not escape his notice that she filled his first. The water slowly rose ever closer to the rim of the cup. Then tipped over the side.

"Oh!" Muireall gasped when the dirt beside the cup darkened. John chuckled.

"All is well." He lifted the cup, and very carefully, took a sip. The cool liquid was a balm to his parched throat.

Still, Muireall blew out a frustrated breath before she pushed the smile back onto her face. "I believe I will prepare us a hearty stew."

John nodded his assent. He could have sufficed the week's journey on salted ham and jerked meat, but he had brought some perishable goods along for his wife. It was easy enough to tell, though, by the look on her face, that she made the stew for him, not for herself. Her mouth was drawn and her eyes weary as she stood to gather supplies.

As she moved between him and the fire, her petticoat billowed into the fire. "Muireall!" John leapt forward. Muireall turned and cried out at the sight of the small flame that ate at the edge of her garment. John latched onto the fabric and stood, stomping on the flame to put it out.

When he met Muireall's gaze, her eyes were wide and her breathing heavy. "Thank ye," she whispered.

John's heartbeat pounded in his ears as he stared down at her. "You must be careful," he urged gently.

Like a book being slammed shut, Muireall closed up. Her mouth clamped shut, and she gave a quick nod before she turned back to the task of gathering supplies for stew. John sighed. He had not intended to anger her.

What did he expect? For several years, he had lived under the illusion that he had turned his life around. But he knew the truth. He was no good and would never make a decent husband. Inside, he was still the same good-for-nothing that the kids had seen all those years ago. A growl came from his throat, deep and guttural. Muireall whipped to him.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I need to take a walk…" He searched for an excuse.

"To relieve myself."

"Aye." Muireall nodded and averted her gaze.

John sighed and left. Why had he roped him and Muireall into this sham of a marriage? To save her from the humiliation and shame of becoming like his mother? To protect her virtue? What good would it do her when she learned the truth? When she learned who and what she was married to? The questions were coming. It was a matter of time. People always asked. How did you get that eyepatch? What happened to your eye? An accident when he was a kid, was all he would ever say. When they pressed for details, he said he would rather not discuss it.

He scoffed. "An accident." It was no accident when his boyhood classmates had spewed words of hate and pummeled him with stones because of his illegitimate birth. As if he had any control in the matter. That was when he learned that no matter what he did, he could not rise above his circumstances. And eventually, it was why he moved west and adopted a new name. At Fort Harrod, he had become a new man. People accepted him.

But it was all an illusion, wasn't it?

A movement caught John's eye and jerked him from his self-pity. John peered at the tree line on the hill above him. The trees were too dense, but was that a man? John's heart kicked up a notch. He shook his head and peered again. No, just darkness. Surely, it was a trick of the mind. Still, a prickle up the back of his neck set him on a course back to camp, and to his wife.