Wed By Necessity. Karen Kirst
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gleaming and the crimson-red undershirt snug against his upper body.
“It’s no’ completely dry,” he said with a hint of impatience. “But at least you’ll be covered.”
She slipped her arms into the too-long sleeves of his shirt and overlapped the side panels over her midriff. A cedar scent clung to the fabric. “Thank you.”
He shifted his legs and, resting his forearms on his bent knees, linked his hands. The man took up a lot of space. He was big and close, his upper arm butted against her shoulder, and Caroline was acutely aware of their seclusion. His body generated blessed heat that she yearned to share in. She glanced over, inexplicably fascinated by the patterns of faint veins on the backs of his hands, the thickness of his wrists and the fine spattering of freckles on his corded forearms. Regardless of the enmity that existed between them, Caroline accepted that the rugged Scotsman affected her on a level she hadn’t before experienced. She would’ve liked to trace those freckles, test the texture of the fine auburn hairs and curl her hand into his, drawing strength from him when her own seemed to have failed her.
“As soon as the rain stops, I’ll search for kindling that isn’t completely waterlogged and try and start a fire. ’Twill be a long night.”
Disquiet muddled her thoughts. The fact that spending time alone with Duncan didn’t bother her set off alarm bells. Admit it. He fascinates you.
“We can’t stay here.”
He swiveled his head her direction. “There’s no moon, and we dinnae have lanterns. I’m no’ about to risk further harm to the horses or ourselves to satisfy your whims.”
Hurt lanced through her. “My parents will be searching for me.”
“Let them. Unlike us, they’ll be prepared to travel by night.”
Caroline stared straight ahead, trying to picture her parents in a panic. She couldn’t quite manage it. Would they even try and locate her? Or would their guests’ comfort trump hers?
She twisted her hands into a tight ball. “Rain’s going to be okay, right?”
“As long as we’re diligent in her care, I’d say she has a good prognosis.” His voice was brusque, his manner aloof.
Caroline’s mind explored the nine years of friendship she’d shared with Rain. Her heart squeezed with regret.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say in a strangled voice. “I should’ve listened to you.”
“Feeling sorry won’t change anything. ’Tis a hard lesson you need to learn, Caroline Turner. The world doesn’t spin on your orders. Cease thinking of yourself first, and mayhap another accident like this can be avoided.”
Something coarse swatted his face. Duncan registered hard, mineral-rich earth beneath his cheek and, blinking open gritty eyes, frowned at the nearness of a horse’s hoof. Levering himself to a sitting position, he noted the purple and pink fingers stretching across the dawn sky. The spot where Caroline had been was empty. Jet and Rain stood there, poor excuses for chaperones. He hadn’t meant to drift to sleep, had only closed his eyes for a moment, thinking to rest until the storm abated.
Shifting, his stiff neck protesting movement, he spotted her in the distance. When she’d left the cover of their outcrop, he hadn’t a clue. She was seated on a dead tree with her back to him, her shoulders hunched forward, her head bowed. Her white-blond hair spilled halfway down her back, a beacon in the dim light.
Duncan stood and stretched the kinks from his body, silently praying for the Lord to grant him patience. A bit of compassion wouldn’t hurt, either. Not that long ago, he’d shared Caroline Turner’s outlook, a fact that shamed him and was probably the reason she burrowed beneath his skin like an irritating splinter.
Inhaling a cleansing breath of rain-freshened forest, he approached, navigating the muddy ground with care.
“Good mornin’.”
Caroline’s head whipped up. Her eyes told the story of her misery. She was in a bedraggled state. Below where his heather-gray shirt swallowed her top half, her seafoam green skirts were wrinkled, soiled and torn in places. Her hair was uncombed and limp. And yet, she was lovelier in this moment than he’d ever seen her.
Unsettled by the thought, Duncan spoke more gruffly than he’d intended. “You should’ve woken me.”
Her wretchedness intensified. “My eagerness to get home has waned since last evening.” She picked at the dirt beneath her nails. “I’m not looking forward to explaining all this to my parents.”
A frisson of unease slithered along his spine. As a newcomer, he didn’t have a solid reputation built up to support his word. Caroline was his employer’s only child. And she’d already complained about him to Albert. Kneading the knots in his neck, he tried not to think about the possible ramifications of the night they’d passed in isolation. The two most obvious scenarios involved irate men with guns running him out of town or, worse, a preacher ready to perform a wedding ceremony. He’d take the men with guns any day.
“No use delaying the inevitable.”
With a slow nod, she took her time getting up.
Duncan moved closer. “You said you weren’t hurt.”
Her features were drawn. “I’m bruised. Nothing’s broken.”
Worry lodged in his chest, taking him by surprise. “The ride back willnae be comfortable, I’m afraid.”
“I know.”
At least she wasn’t a whiner. Maureen would’ve been assaulting his ears with complaints he could do nothing about.
The journey wasn’t easy for either of them. They’d agreed to ride together in order make it more bearable for Rain. The rigid way Caroline held herself testified to her discomfort, as did her frequent, sudden inhales as Jet navigated the uneven terrain. As for Duncan, his concentration was all but shattered. Riding with an alluring female in his arms wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence.
Her hair tickled his nose, causing him to sneeze. His chin and her skull had connected so many times he’d ceased murmuring apologies. The worst was whenever the terrain sloped unexpectedly, and her bare, smooth hands latched on to his, holding on for dear life. By the time his cabin came into view, Duncan was ready to spring from the saddle.
She stirred from her quiet contemplation. “Maybe we should part ways here.”
“We’ll endure the inquisition together.”
“It will look better if I arrive alone.”
“My mother raised me to be a gentleman, Miss Turner. Besides, your father will have questions for me.”
He hoped Albert Turner would be satisfied with his answers.
* * *
Riding into the stable yard, Caroline forgot the curious sensations stirred by the Scotsman’s nearness. The stirrings of hunger pangs faded. Her hope that their arrival would go unnoticed withered. Horses and men milled about, local farmers who should be tending chores but were no doubt here at the behest of her father. Almost as one, they turned to watch Jet’s ambling approach and Rain following behind, their initial expressions of surprise changing to speculation.
Duncan’s arm circled her waist, balancing her against his chest, and she felt his muscles go taut. His beard snagged her hair again, and a long exhale feathered across her ear. Too late, she remembered that she still wore his shirt, leaving him with nothing but his undershirt. Her skin pricked under the weight of their suspicions.
She recognized the commanding figure on the porch steps as the town’s sheriff, Shane Timmons. He was conversing with her father and Isaiah Marsh, Theo’s father. The