overtook him
near the bottom, her quilted petticoat swirling out as she rounded
on him. “Tell me,” she insisted, wondering what possessed her to be
so bold. “You said ‘my people.’ I don’t understand.”
She was in front of him, her arms spread
slightly as if she were blocking his way till he answered her
question. Wolf wondered if she knew how easily he could set her
aside... break her in two if he wished. He considered telling her,
watching as her chin, now set at a defiant angle, began to quiver.
But then frightening his father’s bride was not his objective.
Seducing her was.
Still, he could not resist a slight taunt, a
verbal jab, to pierce the innocent veneer of this woman chosen by
the man he despised. He leaned forward till she had to tilt her
chin back to look at him. “My people are the Ani`-Yun`wiya ,
the Cherokee.” His raven brow arched. “Your betrothed’s son is of
mixed blood.”
Wolf watched the delicate line of her throat
as she swallowed. She forced her blue eyes not to blink, and Wolf
grudgingly admired her ability to mask her emotions. “Well, have
you nothing to say to that, you who demanded to know why I was
angry?”
“What do you wish me to say?” Caroline’s eyes
locked with his. It appeared her companion was daring her to take
issue with his parentage. In truth the only emotion she felt was
surprise. She told him so. “Actually, I was more astonished to find
that Robert had a son nearly as old as I, than to discover he is
part Indian.”
“No one is ever part Indian ,” he
began. Then his voice turned soft, seductive. “And I would guess
myself older than you by several years, Your Ladyship.”
Caroline imagined he was right, but somehow
it helped her peace of mind to think of him as she would Ned. In a
motherly fashion. Or at least to try. But when he looked at her, as
he was now, his dark eyes intense, it wasn’t maternal thoughts that
tightened her stomach. Caroline reached out for the carved banister
and turned. “ ’Tis unimportant which of us is the other’s senior,”
she said, her voice firm, before lifting her chin and descending to
the first floor.
She nearly added that she was to be his
father’s wife, but didn’t. He knew that. She was the one who needed
to remember it, and stop imagining intimate looks where none
existed.
The rooms downstairs in the Meeting House
were used as offices and courtrooms. There were people milling
about the hallway. Caroline didn’t pause until she was again
outside.
The bright sunshine dispelled any lingering
sensual draw she felt for Raff MacQuaid. At least Caroline thought
it did until she turned toward him. Now that she knew of his mixed
blood, she wondered why she hadn’t guessed it before. His skin was
dark, bronzed against the snow white of his linen. And his hair,
tied back in a neat queue, shone so black and sleek that the sun
seemed to pull blue highlights from its depths.
Caroline blinked and quickly glanced away.
Raff MacQuaid was certainly a compelling man, but she had to stop
thinking of him in that way. She took the arm he offered, deciding
she needed to concentrate on Raff’s father. But he seemed unwilling
to offer much information when she asked about Robert.
“You shall have to form your own opinions,”
he said, his tone one that did not encourage further
discussion.
They walked in silence down Water Street
until Caroline recognized the Inn where she’d spent the last few
nights.
“I’ve taken the liberty of having your things
brought down.” Wolf led her to the small courtyard to the right of
the building. There a blackamoor was loading her small chest on the
back of a pack horse. “Are the rest of your trunks stored
elsewhere?”
“There is nothing else.” Caroline said the
words quickly. If he found it surprising that she traveled so
lightly, at least his expression didn’t change. But Caroline
imagined it took quite a lot for him to reveal his true emotions.
The thought caused a