Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

J ohn jerked awake and blinked into the darkness. A cold chill shook his body, and he groaned. He had only meant to close his eyes for a moment, not to sleep well into the night. Now cool air cloaked his face instead of his hat, and Muireall curled against his chest. But as he wrapped his arm tighter around her thin frame, he realized she had pulled the furs and blankets over them before settling in for the night.

At least his wife had the foresight to provide such protection. But with the drop in temperatures the rain had brought, it would behoove him to attempt a small fire again. The last thing he wanted was for Muireall to catch a chill, or worse, on his account.

Carefully extricating himself from beneath her, he slid over to where their pile of wood still waited. In the dark, it still took several tries to coax a flame to life, but soon a small orange whisp broke through the night.

John rubbed his hands together, then worked to grow the flame into a substantial enough fire.

"John?" Muireall's voice, raspy from sleep, garnered his attention. When he turned, she blinked at him from under a furrowed brow.

"The air has taken on a chill. I thought it best for us to have a fire now that the wood has dried enough."

Muireall nodded and sidled up next to him. Then she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes once more. John's chest squeezed as he took in her pale features in the flickering firelight. How had he come to be married to this beautiful woman with skin the color of pale porcelain? He swallowed. And how could he ever be good enough for her?

She must have sensed him watching her, for Muireall tipped her face up to him. Her smile lifted her lips in an attractive curve, and John's mouth went dry. But as the thought of kissing those sweet lips slipped into his mind, she sat up suddenly.

"Oh, I have a surprise for ye!"

John blinked and followed her actions as she moved over to their stack of supplies and withdrew brown fabric. She returned to his side and laid what appeared to be a garment in his lap. He lifted it and carefully held it up in the light of the fire. Muireall had made a shirt…for him. "You made this?"

She bit her lip and nodded, her face expectant, as though she was unsure of his reaction. Meanwhile, he was left stunned. He could not remember the last time anyone had spent time and effort on something for him, simply out of the goodness of their heart. "I apologize if 'twas presumptuous of me." Muireall's gaze fell to her lap. "I had the fabric an' needed a task to keep me hands from bein' idle."

"Muireall." His voice was husky as he dropped the garment in his lap and took her small hand into his. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her knuckles, coaxing her gaze to his. "I appreciate it more than you could ever know."

She gave him a demure smile, and the warmth that spread through him matched the flush that colored her face. His heart was in dangerous territory. He ran the back of his fingers along the edge of her jaw and over the silken skin of her neck. Despite the risks, he longed to explore this new territory. John swallowed. Muireall had never said whether their marriage would be more than in name alone. But the blue eyes that watched him were wide and curious and seemed to beckon him like the crystal-clear waters of a spring on a long, scorching summer day.

Slowly, John lowered his lips to Muireall's and she lifted her face to meet his. Her kiss was softer and sweeter than anything he had ever experienced in life, so deliciously perfect that it stirred an ache deep inside. His hand drifted into her hair, and his other arm went around her waist as she melded further into him. How exquisite could life be if he entrusted his heart into this woman's care?

John forced himself to pull back and take a breath. No, it was not as simple as that. He could not fall for her. Not when she was in the dark regarding his past. And no woman could love him once she knew the truth. He pressed one last kiss to her forehead before gently setting her aside. "You should get some rest."

Without meeting her gaze, he nodded toward the pile of furs and blankets where they had slept. Muireall, ever proving herself the dutiful wife, did as he instructed. But not before he caught a glimpse of the hurt and uncertainty that flashed across her face. She likely thought she had done something wrong to bring about his change in demeanor. John closed his eyes and ignored the unrest in his middle. Would he still ruin this lovely woman?

March 27, 1784

A shiver coursed through Muireall's body as the waters of the Rolling Fork River roared along before them. Memories of her last crossing flashed in her mind. Of how pale and weak Margaret's husband had been before the crossing, after his brush with death. Lord, Ye delivered us across then. Please do so again.

When John's boots crunched on the rocks beside her, she turned to look up at him. Stones skittered into the water as Sugar plodded up on his other side, head held low to the ground. Could the poor animal even make it across with such a strong current? Iain's strong palomino had been instrumental in their crossing when they traveled to the fort. But Sugar was aged, with protruding hips and gray sprinkled across her back.

Muireall swallowed. Could she make it across alone?

John seemed to sense her hesitation. His strong hand slipped into hers, and she leaned into him as tender memories of the night before drifted to the forefront of her mind. Though it had ended abruptly, the intimacy of the moment had spoken to a connection being weaved between husband and wife. One she desired to further. If only she had not made whatever mistake had broken the reverie.

John glanced behind them and squeezed her hand. "We should cross."

"Are ye sure 'tis safe?" Why did it always seem to storm prior to this river crossing?

"Sugar and I will go first. Then I will ensure that you make it across safely." With him at her side and his hand laced with hers, his determination reached to her core, reassuring her.

John released her hand and untied his rope from the saddle. He turned and pulled a loop down over her head, securing it at her waist. "I will carry the other end across with me," he explained as he tied it to the saddle. "Then I will use the rope to guide you over."

Muireall looked up into her husband's face. When had such a roguish appearance come to be so comforting? And how had it happened so quickly? But the lone brown eye that peered down at her was filled with compassion and assurance. Defying the distance he had put between them the night before, she tipped up onto her toes and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips. Then she willingly stepped from his grip.

John turned and, without a moment's hesitation, strode into the water. Lord, please see them safely across. Slowly, John and Sugar moved lower and lower in the water, until their heads were simply dark splotches in a sea of blue and white. Still it seemed the river carried them downriver as quickly as they could cross. Muireall's fingers pressed into the rope at her middle.

The rope jerked her forward, and she gasped. John had not reached the shore already, had he? But as she scanned the far bank of the river, brown blurred into brown and she could not be sure. Yet the rope continued to tug her forward, her shoes splashing into the shallow water even as she resisted. There! A movement downriver caught her attention, and the rope slackened.

"I will draw you across in a moment, Muireall. Stay right there." John's voice from across the river aligned with where it appeared he and Sugar were making their way back upriver. She watched their movement, the sound of the rushing water filling her ears. Once they were directly across from her, he called, "We are ready."

Lord, please go with me.

One step at a time, Muireall eased forward, the cold water seeping through her layers of petticoats and her thick wool stockings. She sucked in her middle as it reached her waist, and a small gasp escaped when it claimed her chest. With her chin barely above the water even with her stretched on her tiptoes, there was no doubt the next step would take her from solid ground. The rush of the water pushed at her body, making it impossible to stay in place. Yet still, she fought it, her old fears overwhelming her, and a whimper escaped. Was the rope still tight at her waist, or had it slipped free, leaving her helpless?

"Muireall, you have to swim."

Muireall swallowed and closed her eyes as she stepped forward, deeper into the cold liquid. She gulped a lungful of air and lashed out at the river. She kicked and flailed, barely able to keep her head above the water as it pulled her along.

"Muireall, I have you." John's voice cut through her panic. "Just keep your eyes on me."

Muireall shoved herself above the water and affixed her gaze to the blur on the shore that she knew to be John. She cut her arms through the water. She had done this once before, and she could do it again. Lord, deliver me across safely .

As Muireall swam with all her strength, the rope at her waist propelled her gently forward against the current which tried to pull her downstream. But even as she floated on past her husband and his horse, she kept her eyes on him. Slowly, she drew closer, and his form grew larger and clearer. She pushed onward, toward the hat-clad man who was her husband and became more of a comfort to her each day.

Finally, her feet found purchase once more. She used her legs to push up and out of the water, onto the shore. As Muireall sloshed from the water's edge, she immediately went to her husband without thought. Relief flooding her, she wrapped him in a sopping-wet hug. She trembled as she clung to his sturdy frame, to the anchor that had guided her across.

Thank ye, Lord, for seein' me safely over, an' thank Ye for this man.

J ohn forgot the chill of the air as he wrapped his arms around his wife. Her raven-haired head laid against his chest as tremors shook her slender body. A desperate need to protect her and care for her coursed through him, causing him to hold her tighter as he scanned the far shore for danger. He had not seen a single hint that anyone followed them since that first day, but he still wanted to be careful. John set Muireall away from him and tipped up the corner of his mouth in a grin. "Let us remove that rope from you."

In response, Muireall graced him with the prettiest smile. One that made his insides twist. He ignored the sensation as he fumbled with the rope. Finally, he loosened the loop, and slid it over Muireall's head. "We should travel a ways and then set up camp somewhere safe where we can start a warm fire."

Muireall nodded, though she still shivered.

He nodded toward where Sugar picked at a patch of grass. "Would you like to ride?"

Muireall glanced at the saddle, then out at the forest in front of them as though she were weighing her options. Her mouth crimped before she looked down at her sodden clothes. She bent forward and squeezed water from the layers and layers of fabric. Then she stood tall, her eyes flashing with a confidence that he had not seen in her before. It caused the corner of his mouth to tip up again. "I will walk."

John took up the reins in one hand and Muireall's hand in the other. He led them forward as the warm sunshine knocked the chill off of the wind that whipped at them. He had to admit that after so many years of keeping to himself, it was nice to have a companion to share this journey with. If only he could share everything with her. A vice tightened around his chest.