Sea of Christmas Miracles (9 page)

She lifted her face and glanced around the
room, her eyes large, reminding him of a frightened doe, and Wolf
felt a twinge of conscience. For what would happen to her. For what
he would do to her. But he quickly suppressed any feelings of
compassion.

He’d instigated none of this.

Lady Caroline Simmons, with her moonspun hair
and cameo face, sealed her own fate when she allowed greed to lure
her from her element. By coming to South Carolina, she offered Wolf
the perfect chance to avenge his mother’s disgrace. And Wolf wasn’t
one to ignore fate.

Schooling his features into a pleasant
expression, Wolf pushed off from the wall and strode the length of
the smoky room. Few patrons spoke as he passed, though more than
one pair of eyes followed his progress.

“Lady Caroline?” Wolf stopped before the
table in the corner. She didn’t look up immediately, too busy
pleating and unpleating the lace tipped handkerchief she held in
her lap.

“Yes?” Caroline’s voice cracked, and she
cleared her throat nervously. Feigning courage was made more
difficult when she glanced up at the man who addressed her. He was
tall and imposing, lean, though larger than most men. At least he
seemed that way to Caroline as he all but loomed over her. “I’m
Caroline Simmons,” she finally managed to say.

Caroline clutched the scrap of lace to keep
from wringing her fingers. There was no denying this man made her
nervous. Not that he didn’t appear a gentleman. On the contrary,
compared with most of the men in the taproom, he was well dressed,
his suit of gray silk smartly cut, his linen fresh and snowy white.
But Caroline thought his clothes succeeded naught in camouflaging
his raw power nor an underlying streak of something not quite
tame.

She blinked, forcing aside those fanciful
thoughts when she heard his introduction. ‘Twas only the last name
she heard,
and
the fact that he’d come to take her home.

“MacQuaid,” Caroline gasped, trying hard not
to sound shocked. “
You
are Robert MacQuaid?” Though she had
no inkling of her betrothed’s appearance, she hadn’t expected
this... this overpowering man.

“No.” Wolf’s smile was brief but genuine. “I
am Raff MacQuaid, his son.”

“Oh.” Caroline resisted the urge to press her
palms to her hot cheeks. This man as her future stepson was nearly
as disconcerting. She knew Robert had sons, two of them, but
somehow she’d imagined them more like her brother, Edward, younger,
more vulnerable... dependent upon her. She imagined this man
depended upon no one but himself.

Caroline realized his dark, dark eyes were
upon her, and she unconsciously wet her lips. “I’m very pleased to
meet you, Mr. MacQuaid.”

“Are you ready to leave?” Wolf asked without
further preamble. He’d planned to make himself known to her then
suggest she retire to her room, while he waited upon the governor.
Even before hearing Robert’s request, Wolf had his own reason for
visiting Charles Town. But he found himself irritated by Lady
Caroline’s naive demeanor. He’d known other women like her—women
who used their innocence to beguile a man. A stint of sitting in
the governor’s anteroom would be a good... and humbling experience
for her.

“Leave? Well, yes.” Caroline stood, hoping
her added height would make Raff MacQuaid appear less intimidating.
It didn’t. “I expected Robert... I mean, your father, to come for
me.” Caroline didn’t add that she expected him two days ago when
the
Sea Dove
sailed into Charles Town harbor. Her limited
finances were sorely taxed by the cost of unexpected lodging.

“He’s had an accident.” Wolf took Caroline’s
elbow and felt her tense.

“An accident? I pray he’s all right.”
Caroline wished her concerns were altogether selfless. But she
couldn’t help thinking of her position. What would become of her
and of Edward if Robert MacQuaid couldn’t marry her?

“It was nothing too serious. However my...
father couldn’t make the trip.” Even pretending civility toward the
man who sired him was difficult.

“I see.” Caroline blinked against the bright
sunlight as they stepped out onto Water Street. Except for the
heat, she could be on the London street near the wharf that she
left nearly two months earlier. Crowded and noisy. Wagons and
people clogged the dusty roadway. Occasionally a chaise wended its
way through the street that reeked of garbage and filth.

For just a moment Caroline allowed herself to
think of the peace and tranquility of Simmons Hall. Of the crisp,
clean air and the woods full of song birds. Then she compelled
reality to prevail. Simmons Hall no longer belonged to her. Nothing
did.

But she wouldn’t... couldn’t dwell on that.
The years had taught Caroline to accept what couldn’t be changed.
Accept and move forward. And this was definitely one of those
times. She knew it from the moment her father’s solicitor arrived
at Simmons Hall the day after the Earl’s funeral. Explaining the
financial situation of the estate had embarrassed him. His large,
bulbous nose was rubbed red by nervous fingers when he finished
reviewing the sorry state of affairs.

“Then I’m to understand there is nothing
left,” she said, surprised by her own lack of emotion. But then
she’d suspected the Earl had been spending more than the income
provided by his estate.

“Nothing.” Oliver Chipford scratched at his
nose and cleared his throat. “The house and lands will be sold to
pay off the debts.” His features brightened. “Perhaps I can arrange
for you to be wed. I’m certain—”

“That isn’t enough.” Caroline had turned from
her contemplation of the garden through the mullioned panes.
“There’s Neddy to consider. He’s not of an age to care for
himself.”

“He’s at school, I believe.”

“Yes.” Caroline’s voice quavered. Soon the
powers-that-be at that lofty institution would know of her
circumstances. The tuition was past due as it was. For though she’d
squeezed till it squealed the paltry sum her father allotted to
maintain the household, she couldn’t come up with the amount needed
for Edward’s schooling.

Considering her situation, she was
exceedingly grateful when Mr. Chipford introduced her to a factor
who arranged her impending marriage. She was relieved to receive
Robert MacQuaid’s proposal. Despite the fact it involved her
leaving England and her brother.

There
was
certainly no one else she
knew willing to wed a penniless woman past her prime.

Raff MacQuaid’s legs were long, and his
stride matched. Though her hand, pale in comparison, rested on his,
Caroline had to quicken her step to keep up as they wove through
the people crowding the narrow wooden sidewalk of Broad Street.
Soldiers in bright scarlet uniforms mingled with blackamoors. She
even saw a man she thought must be one of the Indians native to the
New World. His head was shaved save for a long tuft sprouting from
the top of his well-shaped head. He was tall, his body covered with
a mismatched array of leather leggings and richly brocaded
waistcoat.

Intrigued, Caroline considered asking her
companion about the Indian. But one glance at Raff MacQuaid’s
profile told her he didn’t wish to be bothered by idle questions.
Caroline even hesitated to inquire how much farther they were to
walk before reaching his father’s house.

When he stopped, so abruptly that Caroline
nearly bumped into him, in front of the structure at the corner of
Broad and Meeting Streets, Caroline looked up questioningly. The
building was brick and very imposing, with four large columns. She
didn’t think it was a private dwelling, but when Raff MacQuaid led
her up the steps, she wondered.

“Does your father await me here?” she asked
after hesitating to catch her breath.

His laugh was deep and low, and Caroline felt
the heated blush that darkened her skin.

“My
father
awaits Your Ladyship at his
home... west of here, at the base of the mountains.”

Mountains? She’d seen no mountains. But
before she could ask where there were mountains in this flat land,
he opened the heavy paneled door and ushered her inside. “It is the
governor whom we shall see here.”

Rather
he
shall see, Caroline thought
nearly two hours later as she sat straight-backed on the chair in
the small anteroom. A cup of tea, cold and forgotten, sat on the
small table at her elbow, fetched for her by the young man behind
the mahogany desk. He wore a wig too large for his narrow face and
sat hunched over a piece of parchment. He scrawled feverishly with
a quill, and Caroline imagined he was pretending he didn’t hear the
shouting that came from behind the closed door. The door Robert’s
son had passed through.

Caroline shifted in her seat, meeting the
gaze the young assistant darted her way, before quickly focusing on
her folded hands. Whatever the dispute between Raff MacQuaid and
the colony’s governor, it was loud and heated. At least on Raff’s
part. Every now and then Caroline could hear the other voice—the
governor, she assumed—take on a conciliatory tone. But her
betrothed’s son was having none of it.

“Does the treaty of 1730 mean nothing then?”
she heard him ask in his deep, strong voice. “Is that what I am to
tell my people when I return? That the English king in all his
infinite wisdom has decided to break his word?”

Caroline sucked in her breath and bit her
bottom lip, unabashedly listening for the governor’s response to
that question, which to her mind bordered on treason. She almost
expected to see the governor burst through the door and call for
guards to come haul away her companion.

But again his words were soft and
soothing.... Caroline could almost imagine the governor wringing
his hands. He mentioned something about raids on the colonists
being punished.

“And what of the Cherokee warriors who were
killed, their scalps sold to Virginia’s governor. Was it not
acceptable to avenge them?”

“English law states—”

“It is always English law. What of Cherokee
law?”

In the silence that followed Caroline could
feel the tension through the walls with their elaborate carvings
and pillars. Then the governor spoke. “I know relations between the
Cherokee and English are strained. But it is nothing that can’t be
repaired.” There was a pause. “Perhaps if trade resumed.”

Raff’s voice interrupted, low, barely audible
in the anteroom. “Trade? You but remind me of how unscrupulous
English traders can be.”

Caroline strained, as, she noticed, did the
assistant, but she couldn’t understand the governor’s reply. But
Raff’s next words were spoken loud enough to hear plainly through
the closed door. “Yet you would have us leave our homes and fight
your enemies for you.”

“The French are your enemies, too.”

“Only because we are your allies, drawn
together by a treaty you English refuse to honor.”

“Now look here, Raff. You can’t possibly
think the French would—”

Raff’s voice cut off the governor’s words. “I
shall hold council with Little Carpenter when I return to the Lower
Towns. Perhaps he shall view your betrayal in a better light than
I.”

Before Caroline could appreciate what he’d
said, the door slammed open, and Raff strode into the anteroom. She
was caught with her neck craned to the side in an obvious listening
stance. Searching her mind for an explanation for her
eavesdropping, she jumped to her feet.

But her companion didn’t seem to notice her.
He stopped when the governor, looking exasperated and slightly
dumbfounded called out. Caroline didn’t know what he said for the
word was foreign to her. But Raff seemed to recognize it. He turned
to face the older man.

“I will see what I can do.” The governor
lifted his arms, the thick lace falling back over his wrists.
“Perhaps if I could speak directly with the Headmen we could come
to a compromise.”

Raff’s eyes narrowed as he studied
Lyttleton’s heavy jowled face. “I will take your words to the
Ani`-Yun`wiya
, my people. Much depends upon this.”

Caroline shivered. She couldn’t help herself.
The air in the small stuffy room seemed suddenly charged, like the
moments before a storm blows off the channel. Caroline wouldn’t
have been surprised to see the silk curtains that hung heavy and
limp in the midmorning heat start trailing out like banners in the
wind.

But there was no wind... no storm. Only the
heightened emotion between the two men as they stared at each
other. Then Raff turned abruptly, seemingly noticing Caroline for
the first time since he entered the room. After a quick bow toward
the governor, he grabbed Caroline’s hand and practically pulled her
from the room. The door slammed behind them.

They were halfway down the wide stairs before
Caroline managed to catch hold of the railing and slow their pace.
Her heart beat a rapid tattoo, and she looked down wide-eyed at her
companion who came to a halt two steps below her. She watched as
the expression on his face changed.

“I apologize,” Wolf let loose her hand,
noting the pale skin was red from his grip. He tried a smile,
forcing himself to appear pleasant though his blood still boiled
from the encounter with Governor Lyttleton. “We should leave while
there are still hours of daylight.” The touch of her fingers on his
sleeve kept Wolf from continuing down the stairs.

“Wait.” Caroline bit her bottom lip.
Questioning what fate dealt her was rarely something she did. She
should simply realize she was an unplanned spectator to the
confrontation that just occurred and leave it at that. But somehow
she couldn’t. Whatever had transpired was important to Raff
MacQuaid, vitally important. No amount of pretending on his part
could hide that. “What did you mean by much depends upon it? Why
are you so angry?”