Blacksmith Brides Page 6

  Meg nodded and waved to several pedestrians along the way, although Alexander barely noticed them. She’d know a great many people who lived on this side of town, of course. He sat a little straighter in his saddle when she turned her smile his way. They turned onto her street. When her house came into view, the reality of their positions in life slapped him in the face.

  When he’d been here before, he had been too concerned for her welfare—and her brother’s reaction to her condition—to notice the towering brick structure that sat back from the street. Her father’s work, no doubt. It didn’t take a master builder to appreciate the beauty and grace in the design of the house. The masterpiece was framed by sculpted hedges on both sides.

  They rode to a hitching rail at the side of the wide steps leading to a pillared porch running the entire front of the house. He slipped off Asa and hurried to help her dismount. The smooth leather of her glove in his hand kicked his pulse to a high lope. She slipped her foot free of the sidesaddle’s stirrup and shifted her weight but gave a small gasp as she started to slide off the saddle.

  “My gown is caught.”

  Without a thought, Alexander spanned her waist between his hands and lifted her away from the saddle, freeing the fabric. He set her on her feet close in front of him.

  “What’s going on here?” A tall man somewhat older than Alexander stood on the porch at the top of the steps and frowned down on them, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Mr. Ogilvie has helped me off Gulliver. Surely you can see that for yourself.” Meg stepped away from Alexander.

  “Since when, little sister, did you require assistance getting on or off your horse?” One dark brown eyebrow rose above the other, then he swung his gaze to Alexander. “Just who is this man to have his hands on you?”

  “Alexander Ogilvie, at your service.” Alexander tipped his head in a slight bow.

  “David McCracken. Whether or not I shall be at your service remains to be seen.”

  The oldest brother. He sized the man up and found much to his liking. Here was no dandy but a man to be reckoned with. Then it occurred to Alexander …

  He would be the one facing the reckoning.

  Chapter 8

  If Meg didn’t head this off soon, Alexander might not have his chance to speak with Father at all. “Is Father home?”

  David’s scowl turned back to her. “He is in his study. I’m quite sure he does not wish to be disturbed.”

  “Then I shan’t take too much of his time.” Alexander had tied his horse and Gulliver to the hitching rail. He offered Meg his arm. That wonderfully disturbing flutter his nearness brought tumbled around in her middle. She slipped her hand around his elbow, and he escorted her up the steps.

  David’s scowl deepened. “I do not see that you need to take any at all.”

  They stopped in front of David. Here came the first test.

  While her brother was a tall man, Alexander topped him by a full inch made more distinct with his bulkier blacksmith’s frame. However, side by side, the difference in their circumstances became evident. David’s fine woolen coat and matching waistcoat were tailored to perfection. He wore the long-legged pants that had come into fashion. His polished shoes sported silver buckles. In glaring contrast, Alexander’s coarsely woven coat, simple waistcoat, breeches, and battered boots made him appear what he was. A member of the working class.

  Meg’s confidence wobbled, but Alexander appeared completely at ease. She drew heart from that to push forward.

  “Pray excuse us, David.”

  “Mother is in the parlor. Why do you not join her? I shall show Mr.—”

  “Ogilvie.” Alexander’s name came out crisp and precise.

  “Mr. Ogilvie to Father’s study.”

  “But—”

  “Mother waits for you, little sister.” David took her arm and ushered her into the house with the authority of a general giving an order, no matter how genteelly delivered.

  Meg glanced at Alexander. He nodded. With one last glare for her overbearing brother, she swept through the door and hurried to the parlor, her stomach knotting into a ball.

  “Where have you been?” Mother looked up from her knitting. “You know I do not like you to ride off by yourself, especially without telling me where you are going.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother.” Meg perched on the edge of her usual chair. “I should have said something.”

  Her mother nodded but gave her a narrow-eyed look. “What has happened?”

  She’d never been able to keep a secret. One look and her mother always knew something was amiss. “Nothing has happened … exactly.”

  “Meg.”

  How could her mother pack so much meaning in a name?

  “There is someone here to see Father.”

  “Oh?” A wealth of suspicion colored her mother’s voice.

  “A gentleman.”

  Mother set her knitting down. “What are you trying—or not trying—to tell me?”

  That she was enamored with a blacksmith and toying with the idea of following him into the wilderness. But that wouldn’t do. Honesty may be the best policy, but honesty tempered with deference would go a lot further with Mother.

  “You know I admire you and Father, do you not?”

  “I should like to hope so.”

  “I do. And ’tis been my greatest wish to find someone whom I could share my life with in a similar manner as you and Father.”

  “Are you saying the gentleman is a suitor?”

  “He would like to be. I would like him to be.”

  “Who is he, dear? Do I know him?”

  Now came the sticky part. Meg drew in a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. “You have heard of him, but you have not yet met Alexander Ogilvie.”

  “I do not recall anyone by that name.”

  “He made the soldier kits for Father and the lads.”

  “The blacksmith?” Her mother drew back into what Jamie would have called her high-court pose. Indeed, she could look as fierce as Father when she wanted to. And right now, Meg was getting it full force.

  “’Tis an occupation, Mother, not a life sentence.”

  “The blacksmith.”

  “He has plans to do more with his life. He plans to head west with Daniel Boone in the spring—”

  “Then he obviously cannot be a prospective suitor, can he? If he shan’t be here.” Mother picked up her knitting. “I’m sure that will be your father’s answer.”

  “But—”

  “Your father will handle it.”

  Meg jumped to her feet. “Have I no say at all?”

  Alexander came to attention before Callum McCracken’s desk. Meg’s father stood beside a tall window that faced the street. He was everything Alexander had imagined. Tall and imposing with iron-gray hair and brown eyes that reminded him of a hawk on the hunt.

  Alexander as the prey.

  “So you wish to call on my daughter.”

  “Aye.”

  “Why?”

  Alexander blinked. He hadn’t expected that question. He’d expected to be asked about his occupation, his ability to provide for Meg, perhaps his family and their background.

  “Why, sir?”

  “Is that a difficult question for you, young man?” The thick gray brows drew together into a formidable line.

  “Not difficult, sir, but ’twas unexpected.”

  “When you are ready then.”

  Alexander stiffened at the touch of arrogance in McCracken’s voice. He would not be treated as a simpleton by anybody. Not even Meg’s father.

  “I wish to court Mistress McCracken in the hopes of winning her affection and persuading her to become my wife by spring. I head west then to start a new settlement in Kentucke in the company of Daniel Boone.”

  McCracken left his position by the window and stalked to his desk. He slapped his hands on the polished surface and leaned forward, supported on his stiff arms. “A war is coming. Are you a Loyalist?”


  “I am not.”

  McCracken straightened and narrowed his eyes. “Are you a Patriot then?”

  “Nay.”

  “Confound it, man. You must be one or the other.”

  “I do not believe that.”

  McCracken cocked his head, skepticism stamped on his features. “Those who will not fight, for one side or the other, are often labeled—”

  “Cowards.” Alexander crossed his arms over his chest. “But I am no coward, sir.”

  “So you say. But you will be branded one all the same. I shan’t have my daughter’s name dragged through the streets beside yours. Good day, Mr. Ogilvie.”

  “I—”

  “I said, good day.”

  The study door opened. David stood in the hallway. Having obviously listened from the other side of the door, he raised his arm to usher Alexander out, his face a mask of smug satisfaction.

  Alexander nodded to McCracken and pivoted to the door. He stopped in the doorway and looked back. “I shall return another day.”

  “You may waste your time however you wish, but I shan’t receive you again.”

  Alexander ground his teeth together as he pounded down the hallway, David at his heels. The stony-faced butler held the front door open. Alexander snatched his hat from the man’s hand and stalked out to untie Asa. Gulliver had already been taken away. Another sign that Meg was removed from him? He swung astride the horse and looked back at David. “This is not over.”

  David grinned and leaned his elbows on the porch railing. “You know something, blacksmith? I think you may be right.”

  With every intention of pounding his frustration on unsuspecting iron, Alexander entered the back door of the smithy the next morning. He cinched the leather apron around his waist, stirred up the banked embers in the forge, and threw open the large double doors facing the street.

  Daylight poured in. The scent of frost tingled in the air. It wouldn’t be long before winter clamped down on Philadelphia, and once spring arrived, he’d be traveling west. With or without Meg, he was leaving. He’d tossed and turned most of the night, finally praying for both wisdom and release from his turmoil. While he didn’t hear the voice of God telling him what to do, he felt once again the confirmation that his future lay west.

  A lone horse trotted down the street, passing shops that wouldn’t open for another hour or so. Alexander stepped back into the smithy when the rider called out. He shaded his eyes from the morning glare as Daniel Boone approached.

  “Glad you are open early.”

  “’Tis good to see you again, sir.”

  “’Tis Daniel, remember?”

  Alexander nodded, still awed to be in this man’s presence, although he’d better get used to it.

  “Have you time to settle our plans? I would like to be on the road home within the hour.”

  “I do. Please, come in.” Alexander pulled the pair of stools closer to the forge, its heat starting to fill the smithy.

  “What I need most for this trip to the wilderness are strong men who can swing an ax. Somethin’ I have a feelin’ you can handle.”

  “Aye. I know one end of an ax from the other.”

  “Good. We shall be clearin’ trees to widen an Injun path into a wagon road. ’Twill be hard goin’, but once cleared, we shall have a reliable way to access the Kentucke Territory.”

  Alexander nodded.

  “Once we have settled, we shall need a good blacksmith, but ’tain’t likely to be enough work to keep a man goin’ on that alone. Can you hunt? Grow crops?”

  “I can hunt, fish, and I’m eager to learn more about farming.”

  “Dandy. Do I understand correctly that you are a trained farrier?”

  “Aye. I’m a fair hand with the horses.”

  “We’ll likely need your experience with that as well. Now to the details. We shall meet the first of March along the great wagon road where it crosses the Roanoke River. Do you know the place?”

  Alexander had never been more than ten miles outside of Philadelphia. He knew where the great wagon road left the city, and he’d follow it until he found the river, if he had to ask directions in every town and at every cabin along the way. “I shall find it.”

  Daniel stood. “Bring whatever supplies you can. My sponsors will cover most of the necessities, but once in the wilderness, we shall have only what we bring and what we can make and mend for ourselves.”

  “I understand.” Alexander stood and clasped Daniel’s offered hand. As they turned toward the door, Alexander cleared his throat. “May I bring someone with me?”

  Daniel faced him, eyebrows raised in question.

  “A wife.”

  “You are married?”

  “Not yet.”

  The thump on his back almost took Alexander’s breath away.

  “Pick out a good one, son. My Rebecca would love the company.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Daniel Boone’s approval was one thing, but how was he going to convince Meg’s father?

  A frigid wind lashed against the tall windows of the parlor, freezing rain spattering the glass. Meg looked out at the skeletal trees that lined the street, a cup of mint tea forgotten in her hands. Booted footsteps in the hall roused her from her melancholy.

  The door eased open before Jamie poked his head around the corner. “Is it safe to come in?”

  Meg gave him a wan smile. “Have I been that awful?”

  “As a matter of fact…”

  She heaved a sigh and set aside her cold cup. “I can always count on you to tell me the bitter truth.”

  He walked to her side and pulled her to her feet. “For what ’tis worth, I’m on your side, little sister.”

  “You are?”

  “Indeed. I rather liked the fellow when he dropped you off all dripping in mud.”

  She didn’t know whether to hug or strike this tall brother of hers. Her attempt at a laugh sounded more like a sob. He wrapped his arms around her, and she laid her cheek against his chest, dampening his shirt with her tears.

  “There now. ’Tis not as bad as all that.”

  “Nay, ’tis.”

  “You honestly love this blacksmith?”

  “’Tisn’t love—yet—but I believe with all my heart that it could be.” She pushed away from Jamie’s chest and took the linen handkerchief he offered to dab her eyes dry. “Each time I have been with him, ’tis as if—”

  “How many times have you met him?” A scowl wrinkled Jamie’s brow.

  “First at his smithy, ordering your soldier kits. Once I stopped by to ask directions to the herbalist’s shop Mother had heard about. By accident that day at the river when I … came home so disheveled. Then the day Robbie and I picked up the kits. And a few weeks later when Gulliver twisted off a shoe.”

  “That does not explain last Sunday.”

  “While he reset Gulliver’s shoe, we talked. He asked me to meet him by the river on Sunday.” She shrugged. “I should not have gone without telling anyone, but I wanted to see him again, and heaven knows you would have stopped me. Or worse, insisted on going along.”

  “So he asked you to sneak away—”

  “That was my idea. I doubt he gave it a thought.”

  Jamie snorted, but he pulled her back against his chest. “If he was not leaving, it might be different with Father.”

  “He would still be a blacksmith, and that matters most to Mother.”

  “I think you are wrong about that, little sister.”

  She looked up into his unusually serious eyes.

  “I think what matters most, to all of us, is that you are happy and safe.”

  She let her cheek rest against his chest again. Could she be happy remaining here, knowing Alexander was settling in Kentucke? Could she be safe if she went with him into the wilderness? Would she be safe anywhere with the talk of war on every tongue? Perhaps happiness and safety didn’t go together except in fairy tales.

  Chapter 9


  Alexander squatted along the bank of the river. A fish toyed with his line, making the cork bob up and down. Another small one, no doubt. That’s all he’d had disturb his line this morning. There’d be no fish for supper. He should care, but he didn’t.

  A brisk wind skimmed across the water and sent its chilled fingers around his neck. Its scent hinted of ice. He tugged his coat collar higher. This could be his last trip to the river for a while.

  The cork disappeared below the water’s surface, and he jerked the line. It flipped out of the water with neither fish nor bait on the end. With a low growl, Alexander pulled in the line and packed it away with his empty wicker basket. He tied both pole and basket behind his saddle and stood next to Asa, his forearms resting on the saddle, looking across the horse’s back at the river.

  He’d fallen in love with Meg so quickly and so completely. What was he going to do about it? What could he do about it? If only the river had an answer.

  After untying Asa, Alexander mounted and fought the urge to run the horse all the way to the McCrackens’ house. What good would that do? Her father wouldn’t see him. He’d made that plain enough. The reins bit into Alexander’s gloved hands until he heaved a sigh and slouched in the saddle. She wasn’t for the likes of him. He’d known that from the start. If only that knowing could have protected his heart.

  Meg paced between the tall windows in the parlor. She needed something to do. She’d organized the soldier kits and stowed them in leather satchels that could be secured behind a saddle or slung over a shoulder. She’d knitted socks for each of her brothers. She’d mended every piece of clothing that needed it. Now her hands were empty, and her heart was hurting. If she didn’t find something to occupy her time, she’d break down.

  “Why do you not take Gulliver out for a ride?” Mother stood from behind her spinning wheel and joined her at the window. “You could visit Madam Richardson and purchase more of that herbal tea I liked.”

  Madam Richardson was on South Street. Near Alexander. Meg gave her mother a searching look, but the older woman continued to stare out the window. Was she reading her mother’s thoughts right? Was Mother offering her something to do, or pushing her toward the man who had left here weeks ago without a word and never returned. Nonsense. Why would her mother do that?