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  “Name it,” she said breathlessly.

  “Give me power to do as I see fit in your behalf. Make sure your women never deny me and mine.”

  Alinor hesitated only a moment then agreed.

  The Nightwind smiled for she had unknowingly unleashed him on her world.

  Chapter One

  The Armistinky Territory

  June 3470 ABW

  The buckboard wheels surely hit every pothole between Dovertown and the river. Riding beside the elderly driver, Lorna Brent’s backside was sore, and she had a brutal headache from clenching her teeth as the wheels dipped into the ruts. Perspiring from the intense heat of the sun beating down on her parasol, she was fanning herself with a soggy handkerchief, wiping at the sweat that dripped down her neck.

  “How much further is it, Mr. O’Day?” she asked the driver as she blotted her forehead.

  “Well, we have to cross the river a’fore we get to the other trail what leads up to the Hill, little lady,” O'Day said as he turned his head and spat a stream of tobacco juice into the thick kudzu that grew along the trail. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his already-stained and tattered shirt. He nudged his chin at the river toward which they were plodding. “You see the river there, don’t you? Gotta figure it’ll take us half an hour on the ferry over then another hour up the trail a’fore we get to the place where we’ll meet up with the menfolk who’ll take you on up to the Hill.” He lightly snapped the reins leading to the two sway-back mules pulling the buckboard. “Reckon on another two hours to your final destination.”

  Lorna groaned and stepped up the speed of her makeshift fan. She didn’t think she could last much longer. The heat was bad enough but the gnats were a particular unpleasantness she hadn’t counted on. Between those pests and the bees, wasps, and mosquitoes buzzing around her, she was as miserable as she could ever remember being. She felt as though she had opened an oven door and placed her face close to the flame.

  And her breakfast of fried ham steak, eggs, grits, and toast was no longer sitting well on her stomach. The chicory coffee had given her a bad case of heartburn as well as a bitter taste in her mouth in addition to everything else.

  The driver glanced at her. “Sorta makes you wish you hadn’t come out to join your brother, don’t it?” O’Day asked with a chuckle.

  “He needs me to take care of his home,” she replied, but secretly she really was wishing she’d turned down Daniel’s offer. Had she known how horrid the traveling would turn out to be she would have done so without a qualm.

  “What the reverend needs is a wife but I guess that ain’t likely to happen,” O’Day said with a sniff. “Not with one of his kind.”

  She could not let that comment go unchallenged. “My brother is a priest, Mr. O’Day, and priests of his order take vows of chastity. He is not allowed to marry.”

  “Yeah, well now that just ain’t natural,” O’Day pronounced. “A man needs a helpmate. The good book tells us so.”

  “Not every man feels the need to marry, sir,” she declared.

  “The gods made us humans in twos, little lady—male and female,” O’Day reminded her. “He made a man then he made a woman from his side to be at his side. Ain’t natural for a man to go through life alone.” He hawked another stream of tobacco juice over the side of the buckboard. “Ain’t natural and ain’t healthy if you ask me.”

  She wasn’t going to enter a theological discussion with him. With his dirty hands—black grease packed beneath the jagged nails—and unkempt appearance Thaddeus O'Day's opinions were a bit suspect in her estimation.

  “What you gonna do other than keep house for the good rev?” O’Day questioned. “You gonna try to teach the Hill’s children?”

  “Don’t they have a teacher?”

  The old man shook his head. “Did have one but she up and left like they all seem to do.” He sniffed. “So would you take on the position if’n it was offered to you?”

  “I would certainly consider it,” she replied.

  O’Day chuckled. “You’d have your hands full there, I’m reckoning. Hill folk don’t take to outsiders trying to teach them nothing. Guess your brother done found out they don’t take to religion, either.” He sniffed. “Leastways not his kind of religion.”

  Lorna thought of all the letters she’d received from Daniel in which he’d detailed the roadblocks he’d run up against in Tabor Hill. Resistance to religion had been minor compared to some of the other problems he had discovered in that backwoods place. Modern medicine was frowned upon, the old time remedies holding sway more often than not. Reluctance to embrace anything that hadn’t been a part of the Hill for hundreds of years was looked upon with suspicion or outright ignored. It was one of the reasons she decided to join Daniel. More and more his letters were becoming melancholy bordering on the chronically depressed. She was worried about not only his health—which had never been robust—but his state of mind. When she’d broached the subject of coming out to join him, he had written back that he’d rather she not. His last letter had rambled on and on—saying nothing—and had disturbed her. She wrote to tell him she was coming whether he invited her or not then his letters had stopped arriving—causing her to worry even more.

  “How many people live in Tabor Hill?” she asked O’Day.

  “Don’t rightly know,” the man replied, reaching up to scratch his thatch of unruly red hair under the brim of his misshapen hat. “Last count there was fifteen families but how many there are in each of them families, I can’t say. People of the Hill tend to stay up there on the mountain and don't come to town much. I remember hearing something like a hundred give or take a funeral or birth.” He turned his head to give her a jaundiced look. “Didn’t your brother give you all them particulars?”

  “I never asked about the actual number of folks there,” she replied. It hadn’t seemed important at the time.

  “Appears to me a person would want to know everything they could ‘bout the place where they was going to live,” O’Day remarked. “Leastways, I know I would.”

  "Why don't you tell me, then?" she asked.

  "Me?" he asked then snorted. "Little lady, what I know about the Hill wouldn't fill a thimble. ‘Course what I suspect is another matter.” He sniffed. "I’ll tell you this much, though. The place is evil. Everybody knows so."

  She stopped fanning and gave him a surprised look. "Evil, how, Mr. O'Day?" she asked.

  "Evil the likes of which you'll soon learn, I'm thinking," he replied. "Ain't no amount of missionarying going to change them folks up to the Hill. They be set in their ways and your brother be wasting his time. The Hill be cursed, but I reckon you'll find that out soon enough, too, just like he did."

  The driver’s words sent a shiver down Lorna’s spine. She had a dozen questions she wanted to ask him, but she had the feeling he wouldn’t be forthcoming with the answers—leastwise any answers that would make sense to her.

  Letting the conversation die, she kept her eyes on the river. When the wagon rounded a lazy bend in the potholed road she saw the ferry that sat docked on their side of the wide waterway.

  “Glad he’s already a’waitin’ on us,” O’Day said, snapping the reins lightly and clucking to the horses. “Get on up there, girls!”

  On the ferry, Lorna could see a man lying on what appeared to be a stack of furs. He was on his back with his arms folded over his chest, his dark brown hat pulled down to shade his face from the harsh sun. Though the ferry was partially shielded by a low-hanging oak tree, there was precious little breeze to cool the day, and she wondered how anyone could sleep under such conditions.

  “That there’s Cailean,” O’Day said. “Cailean McGregor. He and his brother Euan take turns pulling the ferry ‘cross the river.” He raised a grimy hand. “See the line from the other side to this ‘un?”

  She did and nodded.

  “The McGregors live up to the Hill,” O’Day informed her. “They been around here since old man Tabor settled up th
ere on that mountain. One of their kin was married to him if memory serves. Speaking of which…,” He turned once again to stare at her. “I heard tell Cailean’s looking for a new wife. His’n left him last spring. Cailean would make you a fine husband.”

  Lorna sighed. Daniel had warned her about the valley people’s propensity for matchmaking. It seemed some of the folks from Dovertown had the same tendency.

  “I’m not searching for a husband, Mr. O’Day,” she said.

  “That’s what I reckon all you fillies say at one time or another,” O’Day grumbled.

  She glanced at him. "Are you married, Mr. O'Day?"

  "Lord, no!" he gasped, eyes bulging. "Don't need no woman telling me what to do!"

  Lorna thought it was most likely that no woman would have him. His personal habits left a lot to be desired and his body odor was strong enough to fell an ox. Thankfully, she was sitting up wind of him but now and again she got a good whiff of his offensive stench.

  The buckboard rattled precariously across a deep groove in the roadway and Lorna had to grab the seat rail beside her to keep from tumbling out. She ground her teeth, trying not to groan as pain shot up her spine.

  "Hey there, Cail!" O'Day called out.

  The man on the ferry sat up. He swung his long legs from the stack of furs and stood, taking off his hat to arm away the sweat on his forehead. "You're early, Thad," he said.

  "Interrupted your beauty nap, did I?" O'Day guffawed.

  "Need every second I can get," was the reply as the man tugged his hat back on.

  Lorna stared at the man as he jumped off the ferry and onto the hard-packed ground. He was tall—a good three inches over six feet—with a wide chest full of curly hair exposed in the opening of the shirt he wore unbuttoned halfway down. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal bronzed arms bulging with muscles. With his lean hips, long legs, and russet hair that framed an extraordinarily striking face she didn't think the man needed any help in the male beauty department. He had it in spades.

  O'Day reined in the mules as Cailean McGregor walked up to the buckboard on Lorna's side. "This here is the rev's sister. Name’s Miss Lorna."

  McGregor swept his hat off in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Miss Lorna,” he said.

  "I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. McGregor,” she said.

  McGregor smiled to reveal white and even teeth. "The pleasure is all mine and it's just Cail," he said. "Mr. McGregor was my pa, and he's long since departed this world." He rocked his hat back on then held out his hands. "Here, let me help you down."

  His light gray eyes had sun crinkles at the corner to go along with the deep dimples that bracketed his expressive mouth with its full lips. Long dark lashes swept over those penetrating orbs to send a shiver of desire through Lorna's tingling body. He was not only devilishly handsome, he had magnetism, too, that drew her to him like iron filings to a magnet. She would need to be careful around a man like that.

  "May I call you Lorna?" McGregor asked as he curled his hands around her waist to help her down.

  "Yes, please, do," she said, barely able to breathe for both his hands were clamped to her waist and he was swinging her with ease from the buckboard. Where her hands braced his shoulders for support, she could feel power and rippling muscles that made her womb do a funny little squeeze.

  He cocked his head to one side. “Is Daniel expecting you?” he queried. “He didn’t mention you were coming.”

  “I wrote him to tell him I was but didn’t receive an answer back,” she said. “I was worried.”

  “No doubt you were,” Cail replied.

  "Got something going back with me?" O'Day interrupted. “It’s getting on late in the day, boy.”

  "Aye," Cail asked. "Some of May's jams and jellies. Sam is on his way out with a wagon load."

  "Guess I'll have to ride across with you, then," O'Day said, his mouth twisted to one side in annoyance.

  Cail set her down on the ground then captured her right hand in his. Feeling her hand in his rough, calloused one made Lorna feel very feminine and very protected. Not only was his hand strong, it was cool against her flesh and that seemed to underscore the impression he was having on her libido.

  "Welcome to my world," he said in a soft voice then brought her hand to his chiseled lips.

  Lorna's cheeks stung from the heat that rushed to them and her knees felt weak as she gazed up into his silvery eyes.

  "Uh huh," O'Day said as he got down from the wagon. "Knew that was gonna happen." He grunted as his feet hit the ground, and he hitched up his baggy trousers. "Told her you he was looking for a missus."

  McGregor flinched. "Thad, you are the very soul of discretion." He gave Lorna a look that almost melted her where she stood then winked to let her know he was teasing.

  "Sometimes a man ain't got all that long to be waiting to get things done, Cail," O'Day said. "Me, I'm wanting to get on that there ferry of yours and get across the river sometime between now and the time my Maker calls. Think that'll be any time soon, do ya?"

  Cail's lips twitched. "I suppose I can accommodate you, Thaddeus." Cail tucked Lorna's hand into the crook of his arm to lead her toward the ferry. "Watch your step, Miss Lorna. The ground's a bit uneven."

  "Why don't you just pick her up and carry her to the ferry then, Cail," O'Day complained.

  Lorna's eyes widened for that was exactly what McGregor did. He bent over, slid his arms under her knees and behind her back and scooped her up in his arms, high against his very solid chest. With her arm around his brawny neck, he carried her to the ferry and hopped up. He had a clean, masculine scent about him that was like perfume compared to O'Day's ripeness. Taking her to the pile of furs, he set her down.

  "You should be comfortable here," he said. "I'll fetch your bags."

  She looked down at his arm, surprised to see he had a penny taped to the underside of his arm. He noticed where she was looking and grinned.

  “Bee sting,” he said, holding his arm up for her to get a better look. “Wet copper draws the sting out.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Everybody knows that,” O’Day said. He pulled his corpulent bulk onto the ferry and left the lifting to McGregor. He took off his hat and fanned his greasy face. "It’s hotter than a brick oven out here today."

  Not having brought that many bags with her, Lorna was thankful McGregor wouldn't have to lug her heavy trunks but a few feet. When she saw him hoist both to his shoulders, she drew in a quick breath.

  "Right strong man, he is," O'Day commented. "Wins nearly every wrestling contest there is at the Dovertown fair when he takes it in his mind to venture down there. What he don't win, his twin brother does."

  Lorna looked up as Cail came onboard. "You have a twin?"

  "Euan," Cail said. He squatted down to lower his burdens to the ferry's deck then shrugged. "I’m the youngest and…" He grinned. "I'm the black sheep of the family."

  "Don't let him kid you," O'Day said. "He's an upstanding gent, he is. In another year, he’ll be eligible to be an Elder."

  "Are you identical twins?" she queried. She’d always been fascinated with the subject of twins.

  "Like two peas in a pod, they are," O'Day answered for him. "Can't tell 'em apart much of the time."

  "Euan isn't as good looking as I am," McGregor quipped with a laugh.

  "Ain't no conceit in that family, neither," O'Day chuckled. "Cail done went and got it all."

  "Mr. O'Day couldn't tell me how many people live in Tabor Hill," she said. "Can you?"

  "Well, let's see," Cail said as he took off his hat to arm the sweat from his brow once more. "I suppose there's probably less than a hundred of us now. Most families have three or four children though a couple have more than that. There are eleven families in all." He put up his hand and began ticking off the clan names beginning by holding up his thumb. "Regis, Dunlop, McFadden." He started with the other thumb. "Deal, McKenna, Gilmore, Kirkpatrick, Reid." He went back to the first ha
nd. "MacLeod, Shaw, and…" His forehead furrowed. "There's one more family."

  "McGregor," O'Day reminded him in a dry voice.

  "Oh, yeah," McGregor said, nodding. He grinned. "I keep forgetting about those pesky McGregor boys. They're a blight on the community, they are."

  "The McGregor brothers don't have no children," O'Day announced. "Not from lack of trying on their parts, though. Euan' wife miscarried four times a’fore she passed on to her reward last spring and Cail's wife, Libby, never conceived before she up and left him."

  McGregor's smile disappeared. "You talk too much Thaddeus."

  Lorna could sense taut anger in Cail McGregor. His eyes were stormy as he walked over to the first mooring line and cast it off.

  "Didn't mean nothing by it, Cail," O'Day said. He sat down cross-legged on the deck. "I'll shut up now."

  "Might be best that you do," Cail agreed as he headed for the second mooring line. He took a pair of leather gloves from his back pocket and drew them on.

  A thick rope that was at least as large around as her wrist was winced around a massive wheeled pulley that was attached to a large pole stuck into the ground making it appear there were two ropes when there was just one. Guy lines that would pull the ferry along snaked down to the bow and aft sections. As McGregor grabbed hold of the bottom rope, he pulled hard—grunting as he strained to get the ferry in motion—and the craft began moving away from the shore. The pulley squeaked as the rope ran over the indention in the wheel and the reverse line played out toward the distant shore. The mechanism reminded Lorna of the clotheslines on pulleys from when she was a child.

  Lorna could see now why Cail McGregor was so muscular. As he worked, his arms bulged and his chest strained. He was standing with his legs braced apart, and she could not help but notice just how nice a rear end he had to fill out his denim jeans. She could not take her eyes from his muscular body for he was poetry in motion as he pulled on the lines. When he glanced over his shoulder to give her a knowing smile, she blushed and tore her attention from his superb body.