Read Online The Bearwalker's Daughter by Beth Trissel - Free Book Online
Authors: Beth Trissel
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piled the wood beside the hearth then squatted on the thick skin and peered at the grate. “Someone lit a blaze in here not many days ago.” Black coals and the remnants of burnt logs remained. “We’ll soon warm up.”
“The others will worry if we’re gone overlong, Jack.”
He liked the easy way his name fell from Karin’s lips and doubted she realized how readily she’d fallen into calling him that since they’d left the larger homestead. “They will know I’ve sought shelter,” he assured her, laying the wood in readiness for a fire.
“I hope you’re right. I hate for them to fret.”
What a sensitive nature she had. “I’ve gotten through untold battles and miles of wilderness. They know I can manage an outing in foul weather and bring you back safely.”
“I suppose so,” she agreed hesitantly.
“No suppose about it. You’re in able hands, Karin McNeal.”
She considered and nodded. Then another concern seemed to trouble her. “But I shouldn’t be here alone with you, should I? ’Tisn’t proper.”
He had scant patience for propriety. “Would you rather be out in that storm?”
Wet hair plastered her forehead. “I’d far rather be with you, even if—” she broke off, as though starting to say more than she should.
Smiling to himself, he peeled off bits of dry bark from the wood to make a small pile at the base of the kindling then drew the buckskin pouch over his shoulder by the strap. Lifting the flap in its center, he took out the small horn, the tip of a ram’s. He uncorked one end of the horn and removed an oval piece of steel, hollow in the center. Then he took a whitish piece of flint from his improvised container.
Bent close to the little heap of bark, he struck the quartz-like stone against the steel. Sparks shone in the gloom and the flicker took life under his care. He blew gently. Smoke drifted up amid an encouraging crackle.
“Lovely,” Karin murmured.
Getting off the stool, she knelt beside him on the bearskin and rubbed her smaller hands together as he fed the flames. He savored her nearness, inestimably preferable to the company of warriors and soldiers.
“I never learned to build a proper fire. It’s always just been there, only needing more wood. Even if it dies down, there are still hot coals.” Lifting her eyes to his, she smiled. “Thank you, Jack. The cabin doesn’t seem nearly so cheerless now.”
He studied her in the mellow glow, wishing she wouldn’t look at him like he was some kind of hero. Her melting smile only heightened the piercing effect of her extraordinary eyes. How could a woman this sweet be so lethal, and how on earth was he to accomplish his purpose in coming here without having her hate him? That her relations and his would loathe him was a given. He didn’t relish that thought. Shequenor would also despise him if he didn’t rein in his galloping emotions.
Seeking something to steady himself, Jack reached back inside the pouch at his waist and took out the pewter flagon he’d lifted from a British dragoon who no longer had need of it. He uncapped the top and offered her the first sip.
“This’ll warm your insides. I refilled the flask with your grandpa’s whisky before we left.”
“He doesn’t give me any.”
“Oh, go ahead and take a nip. I’m short on hot tea.”
“I’m allowed a little brandy.”
“Fresh out, and I’ll bet you’ve never had rum.”
Smiling at the look she gave him, Jack tilted the flask to her tempting mouth. She sipped, coughing. After she recovered, he pressed her to a second swallow and a third. He knocked back a hearty swig of liquid fire and thumped his chest.
“Ahhh. That hits the spot. If I hadn’t left the house in such a huff, I would have brought my musket and hunted us up some dinner.”
Her black brows arched above widened eyes. “Surely we won’t be here that long?”
They would. Streams ran hard with all the rain and the one they’d forded to get here would be well
“The others will worry if we’re gone overlong, Jack.”
He liked the easy way his name fell from Karin’s lips and doubted she realized how readily she’d fallen into calling him that since they’d left the larger homestead. “They will know I’ve sought shelter,” he assured her, laying the wood in readiness for a fire.
“I hope you’re right. I hate for them to fret.”
What a sensitive nature she had. “I’ve gotten through untold battles and miles of wilderness. They know I can manage an outing in foul weather and bring you back safely.”
“I suppose so,” she agreed hesitantly.
“No suppose about it. You’re in able hands, Karin McNeal.”
She considered and nodded. Then another concern seemed to trouble her. “But I shouldn’t be here alone with you, should I? ’Tisn’t proper.”
He had scant patience for propriety. “Would you rather be out in that storm?”
Wet hair plastered her forehead. “I’d far rather be with you, even if—” she broke off, as though starting to say more than she should.
Smiling to himself, he peeled off bits of dry bark from the wood to make a small pile at the base of the kindling then drew the buckskin pouch over his shoulder by the strap. Lifting the flap in its center, he took out the small horn, the tip of a ram’s. He uncorked one end of the horn and removed an oval piece of steel, hollow in the center. Then he took a whitish piece of flint from his improvised container.
Bent close to the little heap of bark, he struck the quartz-like stone against the steel. Sparks shone in the gloom and the flicker took life under his care. He blew gently. Smoke drifted up amid an encouraging crackle.
“Lovely,” Karin murmured.
Getting off the stool, she knelt beside him on the bearskin and rubbed her smaller hands together as he fed the flames. He savored her nearness, inestimably preferable to the company of warriors and soldiers.
“I never learned to build a proper fire. It’s always just been there, only needing more wood. Even if it dies down, there are still hot coals.” Lifting her eyes to his, she smiled. “Thank you, Jack. The cabin doesn’t seem nearly so cheerless now.”
He studied her in the mellow glow, wishing she wouldn’t look at him like he was some kind of hero. Her melting smile only heightened the piercing effect of her extraordinary eyes. How could a woman this sweet be so lethal, and how on earth was he to accomplish his purpose in coming here without having her hate him? That her relations and his would loathe him was a given. He didn’t relish that thought. Shequenor would also despise him if he didn’t rein in his galloping emotions.
Seeking something to steady himself, Jack reached back inside the pouch at his waist and took out the pewter flagon he’d lifted from a British dragoon who no longer had need of it. He uncapped the top and offered her the first sip.
“This’ll warm your insides. I refilled the flask with your grandpa’s whisky before we left.”
“He doesn’t give me any.”
“Oh, go ahead and take a nip. I’m short on hot tea.”
“I’m allowed a little brandy.”
“Fresh out, and I’ll bet you’ve never had rum.”
Smiling at the look she gave him, Jack tilted the flask to her tempting mouth. She sipped, coughing. After she recovered, he pressed her to a second swallow and a third. He knocked back a hearty swig of liquid fire and thumped his chest.
“Ahhh. That hits the spot. If I hadn’t left the house in such a huff, I would have brought my musket and hunted us up some dinner.”
Her black brows arched above widened eyes. “Surely we won’t be here that long?”
They would. Streams ran hard with all the rain and the one they’d forded to get here would be well
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