Ian McPherson. Here? The ground beneath her boots swayed, and she gripped a nearby stall door. For as long as she could remember, Ma and Da would talk of better times when they were young and of their friends the McPhersons. Sometimes they would mention the old promise between older friends that their children would one day marry. But that was merely an expectation, a once-made wish and nothing more. Whatever her parents might think, she was certainly not betrothed and certainly not to a stranger.
The barn door crashed open, startling the horses. Flannigan, now cross tied in the aisle, threw his head and tried to bolt, but the lines held him fast. Riley, who was not tied, rocked back onto his hindquarters, wheeled in the breezeway and took off in a blind run.
Da grabbed the reins, yanking down hard enough to stop the gelding in his tracks. The horses cry of pain sliced through her shock and she raced to Rileys side. Her hands closed around the reins, trying to work them from her fathers rough hands.
Ill take him, Da. He needs to be rubbed down
McPherson will do it. His anger roared above the storm. No need to see how the gelding got loose. You nearly lost the second one, fool girl. If I hadnt been standing here to stop him, he would have gotten out. Come to the house.
Fiona wasnt surprised when he released his iron hold on the reins to clamp his bruising fists around her upper arms and escort her to the door.
McPherson, you come on up when youre done. Maeve has a hot supper ready and waiting.
Fiona heard the low resonance of Ians answer but not his words. The hurling wind beating against her stole them away, and she felt more alone than ever as she was tugged like a captive along the fence line toward the house. Her father muttered angrily at the storm and at her, promising to teach her a lesson. She blocked out images of the punishment she knew was to come, her feet heavy and wooden. As Da jerked her furiously along, the wide, endless prairie, hidden in the storm, seemed to call to her. She stumbled but did not fall.
Chapter Three
The lean-to was black, without a single flicker of light. Das boots pounded like rapid gunshots across the board floor, the sound drowning out her lighter step. The sharp scent of coal in the far corner greeted her as the door slammed shut behind her with a resounding crack. Even the blizzard was angrier, beating at the closed door with immeasurable fury.
At least she was numb now. She had tucked her feelings deep so that nothing could really hurt her. The inky darkness made it easier. She heard Das steps silence. The rasp of leather as he yanked the strap from the nail came louder than the raging storm.
Youre darn lucky that McPherson hasnt changed his mind outright and hightailed it back to Kentucky. Low and soft, her fathers voice was deceptively calm as he ambled close.
Although she could not see him, she sensed his nearness as easily as she sensed the strap he clutched in both hands. You didnt tell me he was coming.
Doesnt matter if you know or you dont. You will marry him.
But why? She choked against the panic rising like bile in her throat. Her instincts shouted at her to step back and run. The door wasnt far. A few quick steps and she would be lost in the storm. Da couldnt catch her, not if she ran with all her might.
But how far would she get? The storm was turning deadly, with the temperature well below zero. Even if she could make it to Earlees house, her friend lived more than half a mile away. She would freeze if she tried to walk that far.
Its not your place to ask questions, missy. Da grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and shoved her. Its your place to do what yer told.
Knocked off balance, Fiona shot her hands out, but she couldnt see the wall. Her knuckles struck wood and she landed hard against the boards. She hardly felt the jolting pain, because it wasnt going to be anything compared to what was coming.
Let me tell you what, girl. Da worked himself into a higher rage, smacking the strap against his gloved palm. If McPherson changes his mind and wont have you, youll be the one to pay. Ill make this look like a Sunday picnic
She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, breathing slowly in and slowly out, ready for the bite of the strap. She heard the rustle of clothing, imagining her father was drawing his arm back for the first powerful blow. This wont be so bad, she told herself, gathering what strength she had. She could endure this as she had many times before. She braced herself for the worst. It was best if she thought of being elsewhere, maybe astride Flannigan galloping toward the horizon. She imagined the strike of snow on her face and freedom filling her up. If only she could ignore the hissing strap as it flew downward toward her.
The lean-to door burst open with a thundering crack, and the strap never touched her back. Footsteps hammered on the board floor and Da cursed. Her eyes had adjusted enough to make out the shadowed line of two upraised arms, as if locked in battle. But the taller man, the stronger man, took the strap in hand and stepped away.
Its over, ORourke, Ian McPhersons baritone boomed like an avalanche. You wont beat this girl again. You hear me?
This is my house. You have no call giving me orders.
If you want me to consider marrying the girl, I do. Warm steel, those words, and coldly spoken. He unwound the strap from where it had wrapped around his hand. Had he caught it in midstrike? Was he hurt?
It was hard to think past the relief rolling through her and harder to hear her thoughts over her fathers mumbled anger. He was saying something, words she couldnt grasp, while Ian stood his ground, feet braced, stance unyielding. His words echoed in her hollow-feeling skull. If you want me to consider marrying the girl
She squeezed her eyes shut. Marry. She wasnt yet eighteen; her birthday was nearly five months away. The last thing she wished to do with her life was to trust a man with it.
What is going on out here? Mas sharp tone broke through whatever the men were discussing. Fiona opened her eyes, blinking against the stinging brightness as lamplight tumbled into the lean-to, glazing the man with blood staining his glove.
Just setting a few things straight with the boy. Da pounded past her. Dont stand there gawkin, woman. Get me a drink.
The door closed partway, letting in enough light to see the tension in his jaw. Ian McPherson hung the strap on the nail where it belonged, his shoulders rigid, his back taut. She inched toward the door, torn between being alone with an angry man and feeling responsible for his bleeding hand. Hed caught the strap, taking the blow meant for her.
Warmth crept around her heart, but it couldnt be something like admiration. No, she would not allow any soft or tender feelings toward the man who wanted to bridle her in matrimony. She would be less free than she was now; this she knew from her mothers life. Still, no one aside from Johnny had ever stood up for her. It wasnt as if she could leave Ian McPherson bleeding alone in the dark.
Is it deep? She was moving toward him without a conscious decision to do so; she reached out to cradle his hand in her own. Blood seeped liberally from the deep gash in his leather glove. It had been a hard strike, then, if the strap had sliced through the material easily. She swallowed hard, hating to think that he was badly cut.
I believe I shall live. Although the tension remained in his jaw and tight in his powerful muscles, his voice was soft, almost smiling. Ive been hurt much worse than this.
If you have, then it wasnt on my behalf. She gingerly peeled off his glove, careful of the wound, which looked much worse once she could clearly see it. Her stomach winced in sympathy. She knew exactly how much that hurt. Come into the kitchen so I can clean this properly.
I left the horses standing, and thats not good for them in this cold. He withdrew his hand from hers, although slowly and as if with regret. Ill bandage it myself when the horses are comfortable.
This should not wait. Men. Even Johnny had been the same, oblivious to common sense when it came to cuts and illnesses. You need stitches, and you cannot do that on your own.
I might surprise you. I have some skill with a needle.
Now you are teasing me. She caught the upturned corners of his mouth. He wasnt grinning, but the hint of it drew her and she smiled in spite of her objections to the man. Im not going to like you. I think its only fair that I give you honest warning.
I appreciate that. He didnt seem offended as he pulled away and punched through the door, holding it open to the pummeling snow. Its only fair to tell you that I dont dislike you nearly as much as I expected to, Fiona ORourke. Now, stay in the house where its warm. Ill be back soon enough and you can minister to my cut to your hearts content.
The shadows did not seem to cling to her with their sadness as he offered her one lingering look, and reassurance washed over her. She could not explain why she felt safe in a way she never had before; nothing had changed. Not one thing. Da was still drinking in the kitchen, Ma was still worn and irritable with unhappiness and exhaustion as salt pork sizzled in a fry pan, and yet the lamplight seemed brighter as she followed it through the door and into the kitchen where more work awaited her.
He had not bargained on feeling sorry for the girl and bad for her plight. Ian took a drink of hot tea, uncomfortable with the tension surrounding him. Other than the clink of steel forks on the serviceable ironware plates, there was no other sound. Mrs. ORourke, a faded woman with sharp angles and a sallow face, kept her head down and shoveled up small bites of baked beans, fried potatoes and salt pork with uninterrupted regularity. Mr. ORourke was hardly different, his persistent frown deepening the angles of his sharp features.
These were not happy nor prosperous people. What had happened to the family over the years? What hardships? While it wasnt his business, he was curious. This was not the wealthy family from his grandparents stories. Not sure what to say, he kept silent and broke apart a sourdough biscuit to butter it. Searing pain cut through his hand. Hed used a strip of cloth as a bandage, but judging by the looks of things the cut was still bleeding. He would worry about it later. His mind was burdened, and he had greater concerns.
A single light flickered in the nearby wall lamp, but it was not strong enough to reach beyond the circle of the small table. Hed caught a glimpse of the kitchen when hed come in from the barn, but Mrs. ORourke had been in the process of carrying the food from the stove to the table in the corner of the spare, board-sided room. A ragged curtain hung over a small window, the ruffle sagging with neglect. The furniture was spare and decades old, battered and hardly more than serviceable. Judging by the outline of the shack hed seen through the storm, the dwelling was in poor repair and housed three tiny rooms, maybe four.
Nana is never going to believe this, he thought as he set down his cup. What happened to the ORourke familys wealth? Times looked as if they had always been hard here. His chest tightened. He had some sympathy for that. Recent hardships had broken his family. But he reckoned in the old days when they had all been sitting around the peat fire dreaming of the future, his grandparents could not have foreseen this. There was no fortune here to save the McPherson family reputation. His grandmother was going to be devastated.
More beans? ORourke grunted from the head of the table, holding the bowl that had barely one serving remaining.
Ian shook his head and took a bite of the biscuit, his troubles deepening. What of the marriage bargain made long ago, in happier times? How binding was it? It was clear the ORourkes wanted their daughter married. But what did Fiona want? Not marriage, by the way she was avoiding any evidence of his existence. She stared at her plate, picking at her food, looking as if in her mind she were a hundred miles away. Her features were stone, her personality veiled.
His fingers itched to sketch her. To capture the way the light tumbled across her, highlighting the dip and fall of her ebony locks and her delicate face. She could have been sculpted from ivory, her skin was so perfect. The set of her pure blue eyes and the slope of her nose and the cut of her chin were sheer beauty. There was something about her that would be harder to capture on the page, something of spirit and heart that was lovelier yet.
I see youve taken a shine to the girl. ORourke sounded smug as he slurped at his coffee, liberally laced with whiskey by the smell of it. Maeve, fetch us some of that gingerbread you made special. Fiona, get off your backside and clear this table right now. Come with me, McPherson. Feel like a card game?
I dont gamble. He pushed away from the table, thankful the meal had finally ended. The floor looked unswept beneath his feet, the boards scarred and scraped.
Didnt figure you for the type, although that grandmother of yours was a high and mighty woman. ORourke didnt seem as if he realized he was being offensive as he unhooked the lamp from the wall sconce and pounded through the shadowed kitchen, carrying the light with him. Your old man knew how to raise a ruckus. The times we had when we were young.
ORourke fell to reminiscing and in the quiet, Ian hesitated at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at the young woman bent to her task at the table. New light flared in the cornerthe mother had lit another lampand in the brightness she was once again the lyrical beauty he had seen on the prairie trying to tame the giant horse. He realized there was something within Fiona ORourke that could not be beaten or broken. Something that made awareness tug within him, like recognizing like.
McPherson, are you comin? The bite of impatience was hard to miss, echoing along the vacant board walls.
Ian tore his gaze away, trying hard not to notice the shabby sitting room. A stove had gone cold in the corner and the older man didnt move to light a fire, probably to save the expense of coal. He set the lamp on a shelf, bringing things into better focus. Ian noted a pair of rocking chairs by the curtained window with two sewing baskets within reach on the floor. A braided gingham rug tried to add cheer to the dismal room, where two larger wooden chairs and a small, round end table were the only other furniture. He took the available chair, settling uncertainly on the cheerful gingham cushion.
Youve met Fiona, and you like what you see. Dont try to tell me you dont. ORourke uncapped his whiskey bottle, his gaze penetrating and sly. Do we have a deal?
A deal? Hard to say which instinct shouted more loudly at him, the one urging him to run or the one wanting to save her. Unhappiness filled the house like the cold creeping in through the badly sealed board wall. He fidgeted, not sure what to do. His grandmother would want him to say yes, but he had only agreed to come. His interest, if any, was in the land and that was hard to see buried beneath deep snowdrifts. Still, he could imagine it. The rolling fields, green come May, dotted with the small band of brood mares he had managed to hold on to. Shouldnt we start negotiating before we agree to a deal?