Courting the Corporal. Heather McCorkle
loss of your husband, ma’am. I’m sure that was terrible beyond measure. The hardships I speak of are ones that could cost you your life. Starvation, dysentery, hostile Indians, predators…hell, even a simple fall from your horse.”
His lecture didn’t even chink the armor of her hardened gaze. “As I said, they’re better than those that lay behind me.”
Unable to comprehend such stubbornness, he shook his head and started back toward his horse. With the ones like her he knew there was nothing he could say. Experience would teach her soon enough. Lincoln trotted along ahead of them as they led their horses out into the courtyard where a small crowd waited in the carefully groomed pea gravel. Among the people stood Ashlinn and Sean, the feisty black-haired woman, and the free woman who seemed more a friend than a servant of Catriona’s, as well as a slew of servants clothed in black and white finery.
Sunlight warmed his shoulders as he moved out from beneath the overhang of the carriage house. Above him stretched a clear blue sky, a good omen for the first day of travel. The clack of hooves and grind of wagon wheels drifted to him from beyond the green space beside the O’Brian estate, where too many roads choked through too many buildings. The itch to leave the city behind began to grow into a full-blown burning sensation that made his muscles ache.
He gravitated toward Sean and Ashlinn as Catriona spoke with her servants in quiet tones, touching arms or shoulders, even hugging a few. Even here in the North he had never seen a high society lady be so familiar with her servants. It was odd, and a bit refreshing. He shook the notion off, refusing to allow anything about this woman to be “refreshing.”
Sean clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re having doubts, me friend. I see it in your eyes.”
Scratching his two-week-old beard, he nodded. “O’ course I am. She means a lot to you both, and that means a lot to me. This trip is hardest on those of high society.”
The smile on Ashlinn’s face held truths he clearly wasn’t privy to. She hugged him tightly, saying softly to him, “She is more than she seems. Your concern is part of why you are the only one we trust to escort her.”
At a loss for a reply, he merely nodded. The words intrigued him, but he didn’t want to ask with Catriona within earshot. For one, it was improper, for another, he didn’t want her to think he was actually interested in anything to do with her. The two servants standing not far behind Sean holding the reins of two tall thoroughbreds gave him cause for distraction.
Thrusting his head in the direction of the horses, he asked, “You’re coming with us to the train station?”
Ashlinn nodded. “I want to see her off properly.” A bit of a sniffle followed the words.
Out of respect, Fergusson turned his gaze elsewhere. Like a needle pulled north, his gaze landed on Catriona, where she stood hugging her friends. Though her eyes glistened, not a single tear made tracks down her cheeks and her steady jaw suggested they wouldn’t any time soon. He couldn’t help but overhear their words, or so he told himself. It sounded better than admitting to himself that he was eavesdropping.
The Negro woman drew back from hugging Catriona and handed her a package. “A brick of my homemade cheddar for your journey. You send a telegram to Miss Ashlinn at every outpost and city that has a device, let her know you’re all right,” she told her.
Catriona nodded with a solemn look. “I will, and you do the same once you and Deirdre set out.”
Warmth equal to that of the deepest friendships he had ever seen radiated between the two of them. It was evident in their smiles and the concerned looks they exchanged. Such a breach of propriety both impressed Fergusson and made him curious, neither of which he wanted to allow himself to feel about this woman. Watching her thank her friend and say her good-byes, he had to forcefully remind himself that she was a job, nothing more.
Not waiting for the two to stop embracing again, the black-haired woman with crème skin and rouge lips wrapped them both in her arms. Deirdre, he thought he recalled her name being.
“Three months! We have not been apart since my wedding. Whatever will Sadie and I do without you?” Deirdre asked.
A full-bodied laugh tittering with a touch of nerves sounded from Catriona. Saints help him but that was an appealing sound.
“Without me? Ha! Sadie has kept me in order as much as my home, and you challenge me each day to be better. The true question is, what shall I do without you two?”
Those rouged lips curled up into a half-smile as Deirdre handed Catriona a small, sheathed knife and a pistol. Catriona’s eyes widened, and for a moment it looked as though she might drop the items.
“You will have the adventure of a lifetime. But I will not have you doing so without a way to protect yourself. Please keep these on you, I’ll feel better knowing you have them.” Deep blue eyes shifted to him from beneath a furrowed brow as Deirdre wrapped Catriona’s hands around the weapons. “For protection from all threats,” she finished as if speaking directly to Fergusson.
Inclining his head in what he hoped came across as respectful acknowledgment, he hid a grin behind his hair. The woman had tenacious friends. Their dedication spoke well of her. To his surprise, Catriona nodded and tucked the weapons into her saddlebags. He wondered if she would ever take them back out.
The women all hugged again, and just when he thought he was going to have to tear them apart, Catriona swung up into the saddle. Seeing her straddling the horse like a man stirred something in him that was part desire and part respect. He was still stifling it down when her eyes caught on his.
“Certainly you did not expect me to ride side-saddle all the way to California? Especially considering the saddle I put on your horse,” she said through a wicked smile.
Of course he hadn’t, but knowing it and seeing it were two entirely different things. He used the excuse of swinging up onto his own mount to delay his response, giving him a chance to steady his voice. “Course not. You just didn’t strike me as the type of lady who’d be willing to.”
Challenge gleamed in her eyes. “And what type of lady do I strike you as, Mr. Fergusson?”
Leather creaked as he settled in the saddle. “A proper lady of high society, but o’ course, Mrs. O’Brian,” he said, deciding to play it safe.
She laughed and shook her head. Her mouth opened but her words halted as hooves clopped against cobblestones. Sometime during their exchange, Ashlinn and Sean had mounted up and Catriona’s friends had retreated to the porch of the house. Saints help him, how had he allowed himself to become that distracted?
“Shall we?” Sean asked. Though his voice was level and clear of any humor, amusement shone in his eyes.
Sean’s shortly trimmed mustache rose in the beginnings of a smile and he nodded. Fergusson’s eyebrows rose on seeing his expression, meaning he had been caught. Damn it all. Turning back to the servants and the two women waiting on the porch, Fergusson dipped his head in respect. Both of Catriona’s friends waved and grinned like young lasses watching their friend step onto the dance floor with a handsome man. A word or two muttered in Gaelic passed his lips as he cast his gaze back to the three riders drawing away from him and urged his horse forward. They couldn’t get to the train station soon enough. The ride to Omaha and the end of the tracks would give him time to gain perspective and distance. He was going to need a clear head for the long ride that came after.
The rounded perfection of Catriona’s cheeks meeting the saddle drew him like an unrelenting magnetic force. Saints help him indeed.
Chapter 6
The close-fitted breeches and brown leather chaps over the top of them made Catriona feel as though her legs were virtually bare. She’d had to resort to wearing only drawers beneath the breeches, as a chemise proved completely impractical to tuck in. Only her corset and corset cover lay beneath the long-sleeved tunic that covered her upper body, leaving her feeling terribly underdressed. Already the June morning was warm, but regardless, she donned a knee-length oilskin