Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

M uireall stood and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She had held this business off as long as she could. "I need to take a quick walk," she advised her husband as she stepped away from the fire.

"I will join you." John was to his feet before Muireall could protest, and her shoulders sagged.

As much as she appreciated his sudden attentiveness and did not wish to venture into the darkness alone, this matter could not have an audience. Even her husband. Muireall placed a hand on his arm. "Alone," she appended, her voice firm and her brow raised.

John hesitated and looked from her to woods behind her. "It is dark and dangerous." His hat cast a shadow over his face.

Muireall fidgeted. The man still did not understand her insinuation, and she could not wait much longer. "John, I need to relieve meself."

"Oh."

"Aye," Muireall confirmed, then, without further conversation, turned and ventured into the trees. She only wandered as far as necessary to hide her personal matters from her husband. She hurried past several trees before ducking behind a large oak.

As soon as her business was complete, she stood and straightened her petticoats. Suddenly, it was as though the darkness enveloped her and swallowed her whole. It was hard enough to see during the day, but at night, dark blurred into dark and just created an endless black. Muireall closed her eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to slow her rapidly beating heart. Then she turned and stepped from behind the tree. The light of the campfire broke though the darkness, providing a small haze of orange that she could focus on. Moving forward, she tripped on a stick. She quickly righted herself and kept moving toward the light. As she stumbled past the last pine, arms latched onto her.

Muireall gasped and jumped, but as she looked up, she relaxed into the strong grip. 'Twas only John.

"Is all well?" He glanced from her to the woods behind her.

Muireall nodded, but her mind was far from the woods. Instead, she was lost in the nearness of her husband. There was something about his body so close to hers that made it difficult to breathe and sent warm tingles skittering across her skin. Firelight flickered across his features, his square jaw and the dark hair that peeked from below his hat. She brought her hand up to his cheek and rubbed her thumb over the scars that riddled his face. What had happened to this man? Still, despite his somewhat roguish appearance, Muireall felt safe in his arms. As if it was exactly where she belonged and his strength could protect her from the world. Had God brought her a helpmate who could see her through life and be her proverbial eyes?

John engulfed her hand in his, removing it from where it still lingered against his face but not breaking contact with her. Heat rippled through her before John cleared his throat and stepped away. He kept a hand at her elbow, but a chasm seemed to have opened between them.

"We should get some rest." John motioned to where he had laid out a stack of furs and quilts to create a makeshift bed on the ground near the fire.

Muireall nodded. Would he expect her to act as a wife tonight? Surely not, considering she had not indicated that she wished for that kind of marriage. Still, she swallowed at the thought, then tucked herself under the top quilt and waited for her husband to join her. When he did, John slid an arm beneath her head and tugged her close to his body. But he made no move to kiss her or take the action further, so she nestled in for the night and savored the warmth that radiated between them. Perhaps the closeness of her husband would banish her nightmares. For the first time in weeks, Muireall settled in for sleep with a smile on her face.

March 26, 1784

J ohn jerked awake and looked around. Though the first light of dawn peeked over the horizon, the morning was quiet and still. The dark form of the old mare slumbered nearby, and Muireall's soft breaths came in a slow, even rhythm. He frowned. All seemed at peace, but a dissonance within kept him from relaxing. Unable to shake the sensation, he carefully removed his numb right arm from beneath his wife and stood. If he could not sleep, there was nothing else to do but to break camp.

He went over and unhobbled the mare. "Come on, girl." He rasped the words as he attempted to lift her heavy head to replace her bridle. The animal groaned as if in protest and lifted her head only long enough to scrub it against his shoulder. John sighed and leaned down to slip the bridle over her nose. The poor horse was well beyond her working years, but she was all he had been able to afford after paying Rollinson for the map. Finally, he coaxed her toward the creek, rifle in hand.

Once she was watered, John turned her toward camp and headed back through the woods.

"John?" Muireall's voice broke through the quiet morning and quickened the beating of his heart.

He urged the mare faster. "Muireall?" He stepped through the trees to find his wife standing beside the pallet of furs and blankets. She turned at the sound of his voice, and her demeanor relaxed.

"There ye are." She smiled and took a step toward him, then stopped.

"I went to water the mare," John explained as he led Sugar over to where the saddle and supplies laid in a heap. "I would prefer to head out as soon as you are ready." When he turned to Muireall, she nodded.

Less than a half hour later, they were on the move. John had yet to find any indication that someone was trailing them, yet he glanced over his shoulder every so often. Clouds gathered overhead, casting a dreariness over the day and tightening the knot in his middle. A cool wind snaked about his neck as he stopped at a creek to check the map. He looked all around, but only newly budded trees intermixed with a smattering of pines surrounded them. He shook his head and led the mare through the shallow water and on about their way. Still, the sensation that someone was watching him followed.

Ignoring it, John trudged on. If the weather would hold, they could make it to Rolling Fork River and cross today. If anyone was following them, surely, the river crossing would deter them. Only someone truly dedicated would risk it without due reason. Right?

M uireall gasped as Sugar stumbled beneath her, her front end suddenly dipping down and throwing Muireall off balance.

"Ho, girl," John called to the mare through the rain, but she had already righted herself.

'Twas only Muireall's heart that needed steadied now.

Steady rain fell all around them, overwhelming her senses. The rhythm of it drumming against the earth filled her ears while the barrage of droplets further blurred her already poor vision. Her fingers curled in stiff fists around the reins, and she shivered against the chill that seeped through her dampened clothes. Should they not have sought shelter at the first sign of rain rather than pressing on? And yet, the bottom portions of her petticoats were soaked along with her hair, and water seeped beneath the collar of her coat, threatening to do the same to her bodice.

At the bottom of the hill, John stopped. He seemed to survey their surroundings as he ran a hand over his jaw. But for Muireall, all was enveloped in a gray haze. When John glanced her way, she forced a smile, though it could not have been a convincing one. Muireall's heart dropped when John turned and plowed forward again.

This time, he marched up the hillside at an angle, his gaze affixed straight ahead. Muireall closed her eyes. Cold liquid splattered against her face, and her body swayed with the horses' movements, her saddle-sore behind protesting with every step. Muireall stifled a groan.

"Here we are."

Her eyes popped open at her husband's voice. Muireall's brow furrowed while she attempted to make out the outline of rocks and hillside where they had come to a stop.

"We will camp here under this overhang," John explained at her hesitation. "There will not be enough room for Sugar, but perhaps we can dry ourselves with a small fire."

Muireall nodded, then held onto the pommel as she carefully lowered herself from the saddle. John came up beside her and guided her under the large rock that would provide their shelter. The giant boulder protruded from the earth, providing perfect protection underneath, even if one had to crouch in order to gain entrance. Muireall settled on the dry dirt floor, grateful for a reprieve from the wind and rain.

After a moment, John appeared at her side again. He wrapped a fur around her shoulders. "I will unload Sugar, then see if I can find some wood dry enough to burn. Remain here and stay as warm as you can."

Muireall's mouth dropped open as he moved away, but then she clamped it shut, holding her words inside. Though the thought of being left alone made it difficult to breathe, she could not voice her fears. Could not explain. Nay, she would appear the dutiful, obedient wife while secretly praying that John was not away long. Muireall closed her eyes and forced air into her lungs, then released it as she drew the fur tighter around her. She needed to pray. Prayer would settle her soul. A lesson she had learned on the journey to the fort, but seemed to have forgotten.

Lord, please calm me anxious mind. Please bring Yer peace upon me, an' allow me to trust in Yer protection. Cover us with Yer wings of protection, an' keep us from harm. She took another deep breath. An' Lord, please help me an' John to find our way in our marriage. Please help our union grow into a loving marriage, an' show me how to be a good wife. One who is not afraid of the world an' all she cannae see. Please be me eyes Lord.

Muireall opened her eyes, and peace settled over her despite the fact that her clothing remained damp and cold and rain still poured all around. The time until John returned with an armload of wood passed quickly. He huffed out a breath as he slipped into the shelter. "I am not sure any of it is dry enough to burn. I should have been collecting wood at the first sign of rain."

"All will be well," she assured him as she moved alongside him. Suddenly, the shelter seemed diminished in size. "At least we have one another to keep us warm." Muireall bit her lip as John stilled. But then he faced her with a soft smile.

"That we do," he agreed before he turned back to the logs.

She shifted to help block the wind as he attempted to bring a flame to life, but no matter how they tried, the damp wood would not do more than smolder and smoke. John sat back on his heels with a growl. Muireall frowned.

"Perhaps we can eat a bite an' then try again?"

"I would be amenable to that." John practically sighed the words, fatigue heavy in his voice.

Muireall placed her hand on his and gave it a squeeze. Unlike hers, his fingers were warm, and the heat penetrated her skin. She quickly released his hand and turned to the packs. Their meals for the day had been a monotonous selection of the same jerked meat, but at least their bellies were full. Perhaps, come morning, there would be fire enough for a substantial meal.

Muireall sat beside her husband and ate in silence. Within minutes, they were both finished, and an awkwardness seemed to have settled between them. If only she had clarified her intentions for their marriage, perhaps they would have some inkling of how to proceed despite the newness of their union. Instead, loneliness wrapped around her like a heavy cloak even with her husband so near.

Muireall fetched her sewing from the packs and set to work. She knew nothing else to fill the void, and while he was not privy to the knowledge, she labored on a shirt for her new husband. Not only was the rhythmical sewing comforting, but mayhap if she acted as a caring, dutiful wife, her husband would understand her desire for a full marriage and fill the role of a husband. She chanced a glance his way as he laid back on the dirt floor, his head reaching the rock at the head of the shelter despite his legs being bent in a V. She smiled as he tipped his hat forward and tucked his arms under his head. He was not an unattractive man. His frame was strong and solid, and he was tall without being overly so. In fact, he would be quite appealing in the chestnut-brown fabric she worked. And with little else to do until sleep lured her, she might be able to finish the project within the day. Perhaps presenting him with the gift would start them off on the right foot the next morning?