Dawson Bride (Wolf Brides Book 3) (9 page)

The long haired man released me and a strangled sound came from his throat. The wolf landed over my felled body with all four paws around me. Just as I thought he’d snap at my face, he launched through the air and landed on my attacker.

The man with my knife still buried in his shoulder lifted the pistol and I scrambled to him. For lack of any weapons, I bit his leg until my teeth threatened to shatter out of my head. I waited for a kick that didn’t come. I stared dumbfounded as he fell over. I highly doubted my blunt teeth had done that much damage. The sound of gunfire echoed through the room a split moment later and I hunched against the ear-splitting loudness. Captain Kelley stood on the ladder with a look of such elated satisfaction.

“You finally let the wolf out,” he said.

The wolf in question was nowhere to be seen. My heart jumped into my throat and I ran for the ladder. “They’ll kill him!”

Kelley’s hand stopped me from scrambling onto the deck. “He’s glorious, isn’t he?”

The wolf sailed through the air and landed against a man’s back, and as he used his huge neck muscles to shake him, he tossed him into waiting sword of Ewen. Another man sat on his knees, screaming as he clutched what looked like a bite wound on his forearm. Ralston’s men scattered and threw themselves onto row boats churning in the waters below. Bodies littered the deck and my stomach turned again. It wasn’t from the rolling waves this time, but from the loss of life that seemed to follow me. All of these men would’ve lived if they’d just given up their chase of me.

Kelley helped me out of the mouth of the ship. The sky was still dotted with storm clouds and the waves were white crested and choppy, tossing the boat like a rag doll. I splayed my legs to keep my balance and my hip screamed from its recent abuse. My cheek throbbed where the man had struck me and it would be a small miracle if all of my gunshot injuries were still closed, but I was alive. The wolf stood over the railing and watched the men flee to their ship. His lips were drawn back in a snarl and lightening cracked across the sky in the distance behind him. The wind caressed his fur until it whipped in all directions and his icy gaze crashed onto mine.

“Stay still, girl,” Kelley advised before walking away.

The wolf loped up to me and I closed my eyes as he snuffled his nose against my palm, hip, and stomach. My heart threatened to drum through my chest and my lungs heaved with fear that ran through my veins as thoroughly as blood did. A familiar whine came from his throat as he leaned his shoulder against my side. Gently, I brushed my fingertips through the coarseness of his thick coat.

We were all right, the wolf and I.

He didn’t leave my side as I watched the crew bury their dead at sea. Three of the crew was lost to Ralston’s useless vengeance. I hated him. He should have been one of these men he sent to do his dirty work. What a coward he was for letting others die for his own twisted means to an end.

Cook handed me a mug of ale and I took it back to the hold. Fear and fighting had exhausted me. The cage hung open but I shook my head against it. To the wolf I said, “There’s no going back into the cage now that you’ve tasted freedom.”

He wouldn’t hurt me. He’d jumped right over my vulnerable body to save me. He was a brave-hearted beast who reminded me of Gable. His being near eased the parts of me that missed him so badly, I couldn’t breathe some days. The animal brought a fraction of the safety I’d felt so long ago when I’d been Gable’s woman.

The wolf slept under my hammock for the first time that night, and from then on he never strayed from my side. Dreck was graced with a snarl and a snap of the wolf’s teeth if ever he came too close and I lost my fear of being on deck around the crew. He sat loyally beside me as I drew seascapes into my journal.

The storm had thrown us off course, but not by much. Boston Harbor was attainable after another thirteen days. Captain Kelley assured me it had been one of the easier runs which was baffling. He was in a dangerous line of work, but he seemed to flourish under that kind of pressure. Some men were just born with the calling of adventure in their blood.

Tomorrow, we would reach Boston. Tomorrow I’d see Gable. Tomorrow I’d never see my wolf again. Tomorrow left a bitter sweet taste in my mouth and a ready tear on my cheek. I’d changed so very much over the last two months. Would anyone I’d known in my old life even recognize the woman I’d become? Would they meet her with a sense of respect or pity?

The wolf nudged his giant head under my hand and made a low, contented rumble in his throat. I leaned against the railing of the Anna Gale. Waves lapped at the sides. The men worked tirelessly to tar the cracks between wooden deck planks behind me and Captain Kelley whistled a happy tune as he stood stoically behind the wheel.

Happy moments had been rare since the night I’d lost everything, but here on a ship full of outlaws and thieves with a white wolf at my side, I’d somehow found my way to one.

Lucianna

We approached port at night as the Anna Gale likely did any time Captain Kelley needed to load and unload supplies of the not-so-legal nature.

I gripped the rail and leaned forward for my first glimpse of America. The inlet was congested with dozens of ships, and rowboats dotted the moonlit waters that glistened with a hundred tiny golden orbs.

“Is it everything you imagined?” Captain Kelley asked as he turned the wheel slightly.

“I don’t think I’ve imagined it at all.” Relaxing onto the heels of my commoner’s shoes, I pulled on the railing until my arms stretched and the salty sea breeze caressed my neck. “What will become of him?”

The wolf sat patiently beside me.

“We’ll crate him and unload him with the whiskey. This is where you get off though. We need the chaos of the dock to hide you. Ewen will escort you in one of the row boats. Are you ready?”

I swallowed hard and frowned at the dock. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” From the look on Captain Kelley’s face, I surprised him with my hug, but he deserved more than just a goodbye. He’d helped me more than he probably knew. He’d been kind to me, even after he’d lost part of his crew to Bastrop’s vengeance.

The wolf growled near my leg and Captain Kelley chuckled and patted me roughly on the back. “Safe travels, Rosalind.” He turned on his heel and his boots echoed off the wooden planks of his ship as he disappeared into his quarters.

I bent down and scratched behind the wolf’s ears, then kissed the soft fur on top of his head. My heart felt like it was breaking all over again. Thickly, I said, “I won’t ever forget you.”

He didn’t try to follow as I climbed down the rope ladder onto the smaller boat. From the rail, his pale eyes watched me row away. Did he think I was abandoning him? Could he see how much it hurt to leave him behind, not knowing for certain what his fate would be? I wiped a tear away with the back of my hand and ripped my eyes away from him to focus on the choppy waves. The pain was too much.

My nerves fluttered around in my stomach until surely I’d be sick for the thousandth time in a month and a half. I fastened my bonnet over my pinned hair with shaking fingers. Ewen pulled the boat up to a gargantuan doc and held it steady while I climbed up the narrow ladder.

He handed the small bag with my journal and other spare trinkets, then gave me a tiny salute. “Good luck to you, miss.”

I smiled down from my position on my belly. “Good luck to you too, Ewen.”

The oars splashed rhythmically as he rowed away. Kelley had been right. The dock was exactly the chaos I needed. There were so many crushing bodies, it rendered everyone invisible. Filthy-faced children dodged in an out of the crowd and one of them picked the pocket of a wealthy looking gentleman in front of me. The little bugger smiled at me before he ran away with his wares. I clutched my satchel closer to my chest. The pictures of my brother and wolf were my most prized possessions. I kept my head low and followed the flow of slow moving people from the port.

“Hey!” a man yelled right beside me.

I jumped but he wasn’t talking to me. My legs, still used to the rolling waves of the sea, took me this way and that like my bones had disappeared.

“Watch it!” a young mother with a baby said when I accidentally swayed into her.

I mumbled my apology and tried to walk straighter, but it was impossible. The bodies were so jammed together there was no space to even move my arms and I felt as if I’d be crushed to nothing without even being able to call out. The smell of sea and unwashed people made my stomach turn as I made my way from the crowd at last. A line of buggies and carriages waited to take people away but every time I tried to hail one, someone beat me to it. I couldn’t keep drawing attention to myself, so before a well-to-do dressed man, who hadn’t been waiting as I had, stepped up to one, I ran for it and climbed inside before him.

“Well, I never,” he muttered, but I was already handing the driver the money I’d kept safe in my hidden pocket all these weeks.

I rattled off the address and settled into the cushioned chair as the horse trotted down the winding cobbled streets. Boston couldn’t be judged by its port. The mass of people there took away from the architecture and character of the city. Brick buildings dotted every corner, clean and well taken care of. Quaint houses stood in rows lit by street lanterns. Stores, eateries, hat shops, and highbrow taverns lined roads made melodious by the clomping of shoed horses. A man on stilts lit lanterns on poles high above the streets, and couples strolled down the streets in quiet animation.

“Whoa,” the driver said as he pulled the horse to a stop in front of a whitewashed home with dark shutters. I scanned the flowerbeds. I bet in the spring they were beautiful. As it stood now, stumps of rose bushes and a scant amount of deep red winter flowers decorated the space in front of a cozy front porch.

I thanked the driver and pulled my bag out with me. The sound of receding hooves echoed through the quiet street. Maybe Gable was here already. Warm candle light flickered from inside and it added to the inviting look of the home. The hour was late—much too late to be calling—but I hadn’t much choice about the matter. This is what Gable told me to do and I’d clung to his words over the weeks of missing him. Now, a nervousness so potent my knees shook took me and hammered me into blatant hesitation. What if he’d changed as much as me since we’d seen each other last? What if he’d decided against me or worse, met someone else?

I brushed my hands down my dress like it would make the filthy rag any nicer looking. I was going to meet his parents looking like this. I swallowed a lump in my throat.

The door creaked open just before I gained the courage to knock. A tall man with dark hair streaked with gray at the temples stood inside.

His eyes were dark and serious. “I thought you’d never get around to knocking.”

I looked around but he was most definitely talking to me.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“M-my name is Lucianna Whitlock. I’m a friend of your son’s.”

“Which one?”

“Gable.”

His face froze into an unreadable expression. His eyes, mouth, eyebrows—all had gone slack. Quietly, he said, “Please come in. Margerie, I think you should get in here.”

Mrs. Dawson was dressed for bed already but she batted away my apology. She pulled a rose pink robe more tightly around her tiny waist and said, “Dear, who are you and what’s happened?”

“She says she’s a friend of Gable’s,” Mr. Dawson said.

Mrs. Dawson’s frown stayed on her husband like she couldn’t understand the order of his words. “Gable?” she breathed. The shocking green of her eyes fell on me. “Are you here to tell us he’s dead?”

“No! No, nooo, I hope not! He’s supposed to meet me here.”

Her eyes grew wide and hopeful. “He’s here? In Boston? Come in and sit down, child. Tell me all about it while I make us some tea.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” I asked.

“Oh, since the war. He never came back home to us after it was all done. Where did you meet?”

I wanted to tell her some romantic story of our first time laying eyes on each other. I didn’t know what I was allowed to tell her about my situation. I certainly didn’t want to put her life in danger, but Gable trusted his parents enough to send me here. I couldn’t tell her everything, but I wouldn’t lie to her either. “Your son saved my life from a man who wanted to harm me.”

Her face hardened. “Is that where you got your limp?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve just got off a boat after six weeks of sailing and my sea legs don’t help much with my hobble either.”

“A boat? Gable gets terribly sea sick. He could never last on a boat for so long. Where did you say you met?”

“In the country outside of London. About twenty miles from Northwich.”

Mr. Dawson spoke from a corner rocking chair. “So that’s where the boy’s been hiding all this time.”

“What was he hiding from?” I asked.

Mrs. Dawson shook her head. “War does terrible things to men, honey. He’s running from himself.”

Clutching the warm porcelain teacup in the palms of my hands, I found myself thankful for the comfort. My eyes landed on the door more often than was even polite in the length of our conversation. I tried to stay engaged with Mrs. Dawson, but the more time that passed where Gable wasn’t here, the more dread filled my stomach. Maybe something had happened to him. Maybe he wouldn’t show up for days. How long was I to wait before he’d want me to move on?

“You look exhausted, dear. Perhaps you should try and sleep,” Mrs. Dawson offered. “We have an extra bedroom you can use. There are clean linens and everything.”

“I haven’t slept on clean linens since…well, in two months. That sounds lovely.” I forced myself to stand and turn away from the door.

Just as I was about to follow her down the short hallway, Mr. Dawson got the most curious smile on his face.

Knock, knock, knock.

I looked at Mrs. Dawson with wide eyes and got the same expression mirrored back. My heart pounded against my rib cage until my body almost shuddered from the beat. I hung back as a creeping shyness took me and she pulled open the door. Gable looked skinnier and his eyes were lighter than I remembered but he ducked under the door and caught his mother’s hug.

She sobbed openly and I could’ve sworn I saw Mr. Dawson wipe moisture from the corners of his eyes. “Welcome home, son.”

“Oh, my boy, my boy,” Mrs. Dawson crooned. She studied his face between her palms. “What’s happened to you, my boy? What’s happened?” She turned his face toward the light until his marred skin shone unevenly in the dim glow.

His eyes never left me. His pale gaze sent fire through my veins and a hungry desperation to touch him filled my fingertips. Could he see the effect he had on me? Could he see me burning from the inside out? He’d kept his promise to come for me. After all these weeks of missing him, I stood frozen in place and unable to run to my stranger.

He kissed his tiny mother lightly on the cheek, then approached slowly until he stood right in front of me. My neck arched back to take in his full height and I swallowed audibly. His eyes scanned every inch of me. He wore the same, billowing red shirt and black threadbare pants he’d donned the last time I’d seen him. His beard was gone and in place was the crisp smell of shaving cream. He looked at me uncertainly as my eyes fell on his scar. I’d thought they marred him, but they didn’t. They added to his fierce beauty. They gave him a rugged and dangerous edge that made my stomach do curious flip flops. I reached out and touched the roughness of it and smiled.

He answered me with a hug that lifted me from the ground. He breathed against my neck and I squeezed him until I thought I’d hurt him. It felt so good to be safe in his arms. My eyes burned with moisture and I squeezed them tightly closed to try and keep my emotion inside.

He smelled like animal, but not unpleasantly. There was something vaguely familiar about his scent but maybe it was just a memory I’d carried with me from an ocean away. He was here with me and that’s all I cared about. He rocked gently back and forth like my absence had been just as painful for him.

“I got something for you,” he said through a breathtaking grin.

With my hand in his, he pulled a box from just outside the door and handed it to me. Mrs. Dawson leaned against his father with happy tears in her eyes and I unwrapped it right there on the entryway floor. Inside, delicate paper lined the soft edges of a dress. I gasped and pulled it out. It was cream colored with tiny red rosebuds every so often. The fabric was soft as a flower petal. It was a relaxed fit from the fashion I’d been raised wearing, but I clutched it against my lips and inhaled the clean, crisp scent of it.

“Ma, can Lucianna use your soaking tub? She’s been on a boat with a bunch of heathens for weeks.”

“I’ll heat the water,” Mr. Dawson said.

“Of course you can. Come. I’ll show you where it is.”

No part of me wanted to leave Gable but he said, “Go on now. Try on the dress for me when you’re done.”

It took some time, but when I was finally in the room alone with a tub of steaming water, I slid out of the filthy dress and peeled my skin from my shift. Mrs. Dawson had a full length mirror and I surveyed the damage of all my bullet wounds. They were healing slowly, but over time they would turn silver. Gable had seen me unclothed and hadn’t complained. I turned from side to side. We made quite the couple, he and I. Both scarred and broken.

I sank into the water until even my face was submerged for as long as I could hold my breath. I used the delicately scented oils, soaps, and washes Mrs. Dawson insisted I borrow, and when my skin was scrubbed to glowing and the water tepid once again, only then did I towel off and dress in the casual gown Gable brought me. It was fitted attractively on top, showing off my collar bones and the sleeves were puffed. The skirt wasn’t meant to be filled with petticoats or the like. It was meant to cut a slim silhouette. I didn’t miss my corset one bit. My hair was still damp but quickly drying in waves and I let it fall loosely to my hips. I wouldn’t have dared leave it unpinned except that Mrs. Dawson wore her hair in a similar fashion.