Defiant

  He felt Joseph’s hand come to rest upon his shoulder.

  * * *

  Sarah watched as Connor walked amongst his Rangers, speaking with them, encouraging them, sometimes in English, sometimes in Gaelic. There was no mistaking him for anything less than the officer he was—a true leader of men. He quickly gave orders, assigning half his men to stand watch and sending two small parties into the forest, one to gather firewood, the other to hunt for their dinner. The others dried themselves by the large fire they built inside the barn, tended their gear, or slept wrapped in bearskins in the straw.

  The Rangers were far rougher than she’d imagined, both in manner and appearance. Why she’d expected men in uniforms and neat ranks she couldn’t say, for Connor wore no uniform. Some of the Rangers were scarcely older than she, but already they were rugged and weatherworn. Some, like Master Killy, were badly scarred. Some spoke with such a thick Scottish burr that she could scarce understand a word they said. But she supposed it didn’t matter, as they weren’t speaking to her.

  From the moment she’d opened the door, she’d sensed that Connor’s men did not care for her. She did not know what she might have said or done to offend them, but only after Connor had admonished them in Gaelic—she was certain that’s what he’d done—had they begun to warm to her, and then only halfheartedly. Perhaps it was the fact that she was Protestant and English, while they were all Scottish—or Irish in Killy’s case—and most likely Catholic. Perhaps they felt wary around her because she was of noble birth. Or perhaps she’d grown so accustomed to the ease and lack of formality she’d enjoyed with Connor and Joseph that she was mistaking deference for indifference.

  Whatever the cause, she was now an outsider.

  She wished she could have done something to help them, to show her gratitude, to prove her worth, but they were accustomed to tending to their own needs and knew what they were about far better than she. She couldn’t cook for them. She couldn’t repair their gear. She couldn’t even make them tea.

  Never had she felt so useless.

  Overtaken by a wave of desolation, she stepped inside, closed the cabin door behind her, and leaned back against it, hugging her arms around her middle, afraid the pain inside her would break her apart. Tears blurred her vision, a sob caught in her chest. Bent under the weight of her grief, she stumbled across the room to sit before the fire.

  She’d thought she had three more days with him.

  Three more days.

  But those days had been taken from them by those sent to help them. Now she would return to her world, where she would await word of her fate, and Connor would return to war. It would be as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had changed.

  No! No, that’s not true!

  Sarah’s head came up at the outcry that arose inside her.

  Everything had changed. She had changed.

  Her parents had thought to punish her, to cut her off from the world she knew, to make her pay for wrongs she hadn’t committed by sending her into exile and consigning her to a life of loneliness. Instead, they’d sent her to a world that was vaster, more perilous, and more stirring than they could possibly conceive. What she’d seen had opened her eyes—and her heart. Some of it had been terrible and frightening, but some of it had been beautiful, too.

  And then there was Connor.

  He’d saved her life, taken her virginity, and given her freedom in its place. He’d helped her find her own courage, believed her when no one else had. He’d helped her defy her fate and had shown her the joys of physical passion.

  Now she was stronger, wiser, more experienced. She’d faced danger, fear, and pleasure beyond her imaginings, had done things she’d never dreamt she could do. She’d witnessed violence to freeze the marrow, had seen a forest so vast that it swallowed the soul, had glimpsed eternity in the star-filled sky. But more than that, she now knew what it was to love.

  She loved Connor MacKinnon, and nothing could change that.

  In the years to come, when you lie alone in your bed and the night grows long and bitter, remember how it felt when I held you, kissed you, made you mine. Remember this night. Remember me.

  She would remember Connor. She would remember every moment with him—every breath, every kiss, every touch a treasured jewel set in memory.

  In truth, the world hadn’t stolen three days from them; they’d stolen one precious night and day from the world. No one could take that from them.

  She would return to London, but she was no longer the ashamed and terrified girl her parents had sent away. The law gave them the right to decide her future—whether she would marry or live out her days as a spinster. But her heart and her mind were now her own.

  Sarah stood, put more wood on the fire, and wiped her tears away.

  It was near sunset when the rain stopped, sunlight breaking through the gray clouds, the air chill and damp. Haunches and cuts of venison roasted over four great cook fires behind the barn, the scent making Connor’s mouth water. Men bustled about, fetching tin plates and forks from their packs, eager for their first real meal in three days.

  “Go and fetch your woman.” Joseph spoke quietly in Mahican, his words meant for Connor alone. “Leave the rest to me.”

  Connor found Sarah sitting quietly before the fire. “Supper is waitin’, my lady. My men and I would like for you to join us, if you’re willin’.”

  She rose, uncertainty in her eyes. “Are you certain they wish this? I do not want to trouble them.”

  And Connor knew she’d seen through him. His men had not asked him to fetch her, and he supposed most of them cared not one whit whether she joined them for supper or ate alone in the cabin.

  He lowered his voice, speaking for her ears alone. “My men are sons of Culloden—sent abroad or born in exile. I ask you to forgi’e them their churlishness and unmannerful treatment of you earlier today.”

  She seemed to hesitate, then nodded, following him trustingly out the door, hugging her arms around herself to ward off the chill.

  Connor took the bearskin coat from his back and draped it over her shoulders, his hands lingering unnecessarily on her back, his fingers tangling in her long tresses. “The men have no’ eaten but parched cornmeal since they left Edward. Tonight, we dine on venison.”

  His men lapsed into an awkward silence as they approached, every man’s gaze on Sarah. Her chin went up, and he was reminded of the first moment he’d seen her—her head high as she faced the blows of the Shawnee villagers. But these were his men and, by God, they would not treat her thus!

  Connor’s gaze fixed on McHugh, who sat on a hay bundle, already eating.

  McHugh must have sensed Connor’s anger, for he immediately rose and offered his seat to Sarah. “My lady.”

  “Thank you, sir. You are most kind.”

  Joseph appeared with a plate heaped high with tender, juicy slivers of venison, boiled potatoes, and greens. He handed it, together with his fork, to Sarah. “Here you go, little sister.”

  His gesture—and his words—drew the gaze of every man who hadn’t already been watching, as had surely been his intent.

  He sat on the hay bundle beside her. “If not for Sarah, I would not be here.”

  And so Joseph told the story from the beginning, his words carefully chosen when he described finding the two bodies, his praise high when he told of the trail Sarah had left for them, the way she’d faced the gauntlet, and how she’d tended Connor’s wounds after his fight with Katakwa. Of her forced marriage to Connor, Joseph said nothing, skipping instead to their flight through the forest and capture by Chilosee and his men. By the time Joseph told how Sarah had fought with Chilosee, striking the surprise deathblow that enabled Connor to save Joseph from being burnt alive, there wasn’t a man amongst the Rangers whose gaze wasn’t fixed upon her.

  And Connor knew they at last saw what he saw—a young lass who’d found the strength to endure horrors no woman should have to endure. But Joseph’s praise had come at a cost t
o Sarah, his words forcing her to revisit troubling memories, her head bowed, her cheeks pale, her supper untouched.

  For a moment, there was silence.

  ’Twas Killy who spoke next. “Sure and old Chilosee didn’t see that comin’, did he? He’s sittin’ in hell tonight, askin’ Satan, ‘How did I get here?’”

  The men broke into snorts and guffaws.

  And Connor knew that Joseph had earned Sarah the men’s respect, if not their affection.

  Joseph stood and unbound the wampum band he’d worn around his neck for as long as Connor had known him. He bent down, drew the thick curtain of her hair aside, and tied it about her throat. “I owe this woman a life debt and claim her as a sister.”

  Sarah stared up at Joseph, astonishment written on her bonnie face, her fingers pressed against the purple and white shells.

  Even Connor was surprised by this, for to acknowledge a life debt and to claim someone as kin was no small thing amongst the Mahican. Joseph was now bound to Sarah as a brother for the rest of his life, and she to him. And for a moment, Connor was buffeted by envy.

  Clearly moved, Sarah rose, setting her plate aside. “It is I who must thank you, Joseph. If not for you and Major MacKinnon, I would now be a slave.”

  She pressed a kiss to Joseph’s cheek, then walked over to Connor and did the same, her lips warm and sweet.

  It took every bit of strength Connor possessed not to draw her into his arms.

  “You’ve naugh’ to fear tonight, my lady. Half my men stand watch in the forest, while the other half sleep nearby. You are well protected.”

  Sarah stood in the doorstep of the cabin, reluctant to shut the door and bid Connor good night. “Why can you not sleep before the hearth?”

  He lowered his voice. “We both ken it would not end there. I would not risk your honor for all the pleasures in this world. We are no longer alone, my lady.”

  But there was need in his eyes. She could see it.

  “Can you build up my fire, Major? I fear I shall grow cold in the night.”

  He seemed to weigh her request, surely knowing she could tend the fire herself. But he did not deny her. “Aye, lass.”

  He walked to the woodpile, returning with his arms full, following her inside, and closing the door behind them. He set the wood down beside the hearth, turning to face her, his fists clenched. “Sarah, we cannae…”

  But the words died on his tongue, and in the next heartbeat, he was kissing her—or she was kissing him. It was no sweet lovers’ kiss, but a kiss filled with all the violence and desperation in their hearts. Lips pressed hard against aching, swollen lips. Tongues clashed and curled. Teeth nipped and tugged.

  Heart soaring, Sarah felt her feet leave the floor as he lifted her and backed her against the cabin wall, one big hand rucking her skirt up her thighs before reaching down to untie his breeches. And then he was inside her and driving hard, filling her with sure, slick strokes, his mouth catching her cries as his strong thrusts brought her a quick and shattering release.

  For a moment, he stayed buried deep inside her, then with a quiet moan, he withdrew, still hard, every muscle in his body tense as he fought not to spill, one hand gripped tightly around the base of his penis.

  Thinking only of him, Sarah knelt down and did as he’d done for her, taking him with her hands and mouth, his shocked gasp making her heart beat harder. Not knowing how to give him pleasure, or even whether a man could find release in this way, she gripped him hard and moved her mouth and hand in tandem up and down his length, swirling her tongue over him, mimicking the union his body found with hers.

  “What…Sarah!” Her name was a frantic whisper, his fingers clenching in her hair, his hips thrusting in time to the motions of her hand and mouth.

  Then his breath caught, his penis jerking in her hand as hot, thick seed shot from inside him and into her mouth.

  Afraid this might be her last taste of him, Sarah swallowed, taking everything he could give her, savoring the fierceness of his response. As the tide of his pleasure receded, she pressed kisses to his still-tight cods and the small patch of exposed belly, the mingled scents of his salt and her musk strong on his skin.

  His breathing slowed, and he drew her to her feet, his gaze gentle as he tucked himself inside his breeches and tied them. Then he drew her into his arms, holding her tight, his lips brushing lightly over hers. “Och, lass, we cannae do this. ’Twould only be a matter of time ere we are found out. ’Tis hell to be near you and no’ to be able to touch you, but ’tis a hell I must now abide—for your sake.”

  He set her from him, bent down, and tended her fire, stacking the extra wood where she could reach it in the night. When he had finished, he rose and met her gaze through eyes filled with shadows. “Is there augh’ else, my lady?”

  Sarah’s heart began to thud in her chest. Should she tell him, given that this might well be their last time alone together? Or should she keep her feelings secret, given that her love for him wouldn’t change a thing?

  Realizing she had nothing to lose but this moment, she took his hand, brought it to her lips, kissed it. Then she looked into his eyes. “I love you, Connor MacKinnon. With all my heart, I love you.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, his hand holding hers tight, a muscle clenching in his jaw. But when he opened his eyes again, his face was expressionless, whatever he was feeling hidden behind a mask of stone. “Good night, my lady. A pleasant sleep to you.”

  With those words, he released her hand and was gone.

  Chapter 21

  March 29

  Connor stood on the west bank of the Hudson River, looking across at Ranger Island and then Fort Edward beyond. He caught the glint of a spying glass, heard shouts, and knew the redcoats manning the fort’s southwest bastion had spotted him and his men. He would not lead Sarah near those walls, knowing the soldiers would leer at her, whistling and shouting vulgarities as she passed, as they had done with Annie. Instead, he would take her across the river, which was running high with the spring freshet, reaching the very walls of the fort and flooding the southern end of Ranger Island.

  “There it is!” Sarah’s excited voice came from behind him.

  Unable to stop himself, he turned and watched as she emerged from the forest and came to stand on his left, Joseph beside her. Her cheeks flushed from her exertions, she looked out across the river, the relief on her face unmistakable, her mind surely on those comforts she’d not had since they’d left the cabin—a warm meal, a hot bath, a soft bed.

  “Welcome to Fort Edward, my lady.” They were the first words Connor had spoken to her in three long days—endless days spent wanting her, wanting to touch her, wanting just to walk beside her, but not daring to go near her.

  Her gaze fixed on the Union flag that flew above the fort itself, a telltale sheen making her eyes glisten, her voice quavering as she spoke. “Thank you—both of you. I shall never be able to repay your kindness or your courage. Against all hope, I am delivered from peril.”

  It touched Connor to see her so overcome. “There was always hope.”

  She looked up at him, unspoken longing in her eyes.

  Connor looked away. “There with the high walls stands the fort itself, guardin’ the east channel of Hudson’s river. ’Tis there where your uncle is quartered. Redcoat troops encamp behind those fascines outside the fort walls. There in the middle of the river is Ranger Island. ’Tis where we Rangers make camp. Over there to the northwest guarding the west channel of the river is the royal blockhouse. Edward is the most heavily fortified stronghold on the frontier. You’ll be safe here.”

  Connor cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth and gave the whistle, alerting the Rangers on the island that they had returned and wished to cross the river. Almost immediately, Rangers appeared on the western shore of the island, waving their hallos and dispatching several whaleboats to ferry them across.

  Young Jamie Keir, who’d just joined up last summer, rowed toward them, the river be
aring him swiftly across. He called to Connor, a big smile on his face. “Fàilte dhachaidh!” Welcome home!

  “’S fhada bho nach fhaca mi thu.” It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Connor grabbed the small boat by its gunwales and held it steady while Joseph helped Sarah aboard and guided her to her seat. When Joseph and Sarah were settled, Connor leapt in behind them, grabbed the spare pair of oars, and dug deep, helping Jamie row.

  The westering sun struck sparks of gold off Sarah’s unbound hair, awareness of her coursing through Connor from head to foot. He hadn’t been this close to her since that night in the cabin and had hoped these past few days would have squelched his affection and desire for her. But sitting here, so close that he could smell the scent of her skin, he knew he’d been a fool to imagine such a thing was even possible.

  I love you, Connor MacKinnon. I love you.

  The words she’d spoken—words he’d tried so hard to forget—echoed through his mind, putting a knot in his chest.

  The lass did not love him, not truly.

  Och, aye, Connor knew the lasses found him bonnie and strapping. Some sought to bed him simply because he was a Ranger. They found his scars fascinating and seemed to feel some thrill of danger in parting their thighs for a man who’d been to war—one of the many mysteries of the female mind.

  But Sarah was not just a lass. She was the daughter of a marquess, the granddaughter of a princess, the great-granddaughter of a king. She knew as well as Connor that the two of them could not be together. She was likely just confused, mistaking desire for something more, her pretty fair head filled with romantic notions of him—the man who’d rescued her and who’d first made love to her. But he was far beneath her.

  To let her love lie upon him would be to waste her heart.

  And what of your heart, laddie?

  When she’d spoken those words, a voice inside him had answered, but he had quashed it like a mosquito. He could not love her. He could not. Here at Fort Edward, he could not even call her by her Christian name, much less enjoy the pleasure of her company. He’d do better to fall in love with one of God’s angels.