Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

March 29, 1784

S unlight filtered through the trees and pulled John from the lull of sleep. He rolled up onto his elbow, facing Muireall where she slumbered next to him. Her raven hair spread across the deerskin beneath her, and her mouth was slightly parted. Over the last few days, her pale cheeks had taken on a rosy hue. He frowned. Before they set out, he should have made sure she had a cover, a hat or bonnet, to protect her skin from the elements. Most of the women in the fort worked outside nearly every day, helping with the planting, harvesting, and foraging, so he assumed she would be prepared. But his wife had spent the majority of her time indoors, sewing. Still, between the two of them, one would think they would have considered such a matter.

Muireall's forehead wrinkled before she blinked up at him. "Good mornin'?" Her voice rasped with the first use of the day.

"Good morning." John sat up to put some distance between them, but she followed suit.

"Is all well?"

John glanced toward her, then lifted the hat from his head and placed it atop hers. "Now it is."

Muireall's eyes widened, and her delicate hand went to her cheek. Then she dropped her gaze. "I…I should have thought to fashion a bonnet before our journey.

John caught his knuckle under her chin and tipped her face up to his. "You are beautiful, Muireall. I only want to spare you the pain I have seen others endure."

His wife blushed, the pink of her face deepening. "Will ye not need it?"

"I will survive." He flashed a grin in her direction before pushing to his feet.

Muireall rose as well and moved over to their packs, her head bent as she withdrew some salt-cured ham for them to start their day with. "I will set to work on a bonnet this verra afternoon when we make camp." The contriteness of her voice drew his attention.

John gave Muireall a long look. Though she wore her hair down and free, her bodice was intricately embroidered. In some ways, her appearance spoke of a genteel life, while in others, she seemed influenced by the wilderness of Kentucky. "How long did you live at the fort?"

"It would have been four years in June."

John nodded as he took the meat she offered, still not meeting his gaze. "And before that, you lived near Pitman Station? Where your sister is?"

"Aye. We had lived here in Kentucky for three years. Just long enough to lose both of our parents. Now I have lived here for a third of me life." Her mouth crimped. "But, with me sewin' an' all, I spent much of me time indoors, even then." She hurriedly added the last bit before she shoved a piece of ham into her mouth.

"Do you not like it here?"

Muireall shrugged. "It is home now, I suppose," was her reply, but she looked out into the woods and frowned.

John found himself moving closer. He touched her arm, drawing her attention to him. Though he was not sure he wanted to hear the answer, he asked, "If you could live anywhere, where would it be?"

Muireall whipped her gaze to him, and she blinked. "I dinnae know. I…miss me sister. I know that much."

A knife twisted in John's chest, and he scooted even closer to Muireall. He longed to ease the turmoil he had stirred in her expression. He put a hand to her soft cheek. "We will find her."

She offered him a smile in exchange for his declaration. It was small, as though she were still unsure of herself, but it held a trust and affection that he had never seen directed his way. It stole his breath. And in that moment, more than anything in the world, he wanted to be worthy of the love and acceptance that shone in those deep blue eyes. To be able to become lost in it and spend the rest of his life recreating it.

John sprang to his feet. "I need to water the mare." And put distance between him and his wife.

Loudly, he and the mare trudged down to the creek. When she lowered her head to the water, John did the same. Kneeling, he splashed cold water upon his face before running a hand through his hair.

What had become of him, and when had he lost sight of his goal, of finding his father? Could he lay down his own desires for those of his wife? He stood and paced a few feet away. The whole reason for his journey had been to locate his father, to finally gain the missing piece of the puzzle of who he was. And yet, that prospect now lacked luster in comparison to ensuring Muireall's happiness. An image of her beaming up at him after they discovered her sister safe and sound slipped into his mind and warmed the deep, dark place that he had kept hidden from the world.

John laid his arms across the horse's back and leaned his head down between them. Had the God that saved him years ago brought him a wife and given him a purpose in life? It could not be, could it? A broken, illegitimate child such as he?

Can you still use me, Lord?

He knew the answer before the prayer had even formed in his mind, but it did not seem possible. It was evident that Muireall needed him. He had not realized how ill-equipped she was for this wilderness they traversed. And he was glad to serve as the protector and to be the support she needed, but could she be all he needed? Was Muireall's husband who he was supposed to be?

He had trusted in God to guide him to his father, but he had never considered trusting God in any other capacity. Perhaps it was time.

J ohn eased out his breath and rested his finger against the trigger. The rabbit lifted its head, but a sudden movement to its right caught his attention. John froze, his gaze darting to the motion. A man crept between one tree and another. A lanky man with a shock of blond hair hidden beneath a dark-colored hat bent to place a snare, then eased back into the shadows.

Rollinson.

John's mouth went dry. His heart thundered in his ears. His suspicions had been right all along. He had grown comfortable as he drew closer to Muireall and there had been no sign of followers since the river crossing. But now there was no doubt. For some reason, Rollinson and Hodges had trailed them for five days. With that kind of dedication, nothing good could come of it.

John had to get back to Muireall. Was she what they were after? He had seen the hungry gleam in Hodges's eyes that day at the fort. This was an awfully long, arduous trek just to take what one could from a woman, but what else could it be? He had little money to his name, for he had given most of it to them. Did they believe there was more where it came from, though? Greed could certainly propel a man. He had seen it before. But what would happen if they caught up to him and there was no money to be had?

John shuddered as he slipped between trees as quietly as possible. The consequences could be brutal. And Muireall could be injured, or worse—because of him.

No, he had to protect her at all cost. He would not sleep tonight. He would guard her, rifle at the ready. Then they would leave out at first light. If they pushed hard throughout the day, maybe they could gain some distance from their followers. And once they made camp, he would give Muireall another lesson with the pistol. She needed to be adept with a gun as well, in case Rollinson and Hodges were to catch her alone somehow…or should something happen to him.

Only once Muireall's beautiful voice singing a hymn met his ears did the tiniest amount of tension ease from John's shoulders. He walked right up to her and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her close. He needed her near.

Muireall let out a small squeak before she relaxed into his embrace, her head nestling against his shoulder. He swallowed and held her tighter.

"John, is all well?"

When her voice came out strained, he realized he was squeezing her tighter than he meant to. He eased his grip and gently kissed her forehead. "Of course, it is."

Muireall pulled back and glanced down. "Did ye not find any game?"

"No. 'Tis a quiet night. There was one rabbit, but he darted away before I could pull the trigger."

"Mmm." Muireall curled back into his chest. "Ye can try again of a morrow if ye wish, but we have enough supplies to last to Pitman Station."

"True." But his mind was far from how they would fill their bellies over the next few days as he scanned the woods around them, his ear alert to even the tiniest sound out of place. Lord, please help me keep her safe.