Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) Read online

  WILDERNESS TRAIL

  OF LOVE

  BOOK ONE

  AMERICAN WILDERNESS SERIES ROMANCE

  DOROTHY WILEY

  WILDERNESS TRAIL OF LOVE

  Dorothy Wiley

  Copyright © 2014 Dorothy Wiley

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author via her website.

  First Edition: 2014

  ISBN: 1497393582

  ISBN-13: 978-1497393585

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  Author website: www.dorothywiley.com

  Wilderness Trail of Love is a work of fiction and is not presented as a precise account, but rather as a fictional novel inspired by history. Except for historically prominent personages, the characters are fictional and the names, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Each book in the series can be read independently.

  For the sake of understanding, the author used language for her characters for the modern reader rather than strictly reflecting the far more formal speech and writing patterns of the 18th century.

  Dedication

  To “My Hero” whose courageous ancestors

  inspired this novel.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  New Hampshire, spring 1797

  Yes, it would be dangerous, maybe even deadly.

  But at least he could live his life as God intended and build a better future for his family. Wouldn’t it be far worse to hide from life—to end it doing nothing significant? To choose only what you will not do.

  It isn’t death that a man should fear. It’s never living.

  Nearly dark, Stephen Wyllie watched the boldest of the evening’s stars push their way through the regal purple of a cloudless sky. He resisted the urge to race home. He needed to think. Sometimes it was just easier to think clearly on the back of a horse. Could ‘two minds are better than one’ include a horse? Perhaps with a trusted steed like George it could. The black stallion was by far the best mount he had ever thrown his leg over—tall, strong, and even-tempered.

  Passing dense stands of timber, he stared west toward the rugged darkening mountains. “It’s time to see the world beyond those peaks, George.”

  He had just confided in his four brothers telling them what he had not discussed with anyone else, even Jane. Going west. Folly or glory? For months, his mind had spun the question around again and again—like some sort of top inside his head. But now he had his answer.

  He wanted to move his family to Kentucky.

  It didn’t surprise him that his middle brother Edward had mocked the idea. The man didn’t have an adventurous bone in his body. Stephen had laid his heart on the line only to be met with extreme negativity. It caused his temper to flare. This was a difficult enough decision without Edward making it more so. His cynical middle brother had snickered at the idea of going to Kentucky and predicted that their heads would be swinging from some savage’s hand like Daniel Boone’s decapitated brother.

  But his other three brothers supported the idea. In fact, Sam’s feet were already itching to go. And John and William both wanted to leave New Hampshire for their own reasons.

  Going west would be a chance to test himself—to see just what he was capable of facing. He welcomed the idea. The frontier would pit him and his brothers against countless dangers—mile upon mile of wilderness, the worst elements, vicious beasts, and savage men—all trying to steal their lives. They would leave civilization behind. Their lives would be in their own hands. The lives of his beloved wife Jane and four young daughters would be in his hands. The thought nearly stopped his heart. Could he keep them safe?

  He could and he would. He had to.

  He patted George’s neck, wanting to share his excitement with someone, even if it could only be his horse. The prospect of land opportunities that would enable him to raise fine horses and cattle made his spirit soar. For the first time, he believed he might be able to go where his dreams had already taken him.

  He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, realizing just how much this meant to him.

  Pastureland in New Hampshire and the rest of the colonies was hard to come by and expensive. And, damn it, he paid taxes on almost everything, even his horse. And the amount collected rose every year without fail.

  Granite mountains and hills, abundant forests of pine, spruce and hardwood, and numerous sparkling streams and silver rivers made the state picturesque, but discouraging for men who needed acreage for their livelihood. But the new frontier offered the colonists plentiful and rich grasslands. The only rub was getting there…well maybe not the only obstacle. He pressed his lips together and then wiped his grimaced brow.

  What about Jane? Would she be willing to leave their cozy home? Most men did not overly concern themselves with what the women of their homes wanted. He didn’t think that way.

  He needed Jane to share his dream.

  He took a deep breath of the cool earthy evening air. How could he make her understand? Heaven knows she could be beyond obstinate and would not hesitate to challenge him. She’d be apprehensive about the girls and their welfare. He didn’t blame her. His stomach knotted with concern for his daughters’ safety as well.

  But his oldest brother Sam had often said that danger has a way of finding us no matter our place. A former Captain in the Revolutionary War, danger had been, and often still was, a persistent part of Sam’s life. He never hesitated to face danger. Just that evening, Sam told their brother Edward that we can’t float through life in pampered safety.

  He agreed. But would Jane? He didn’t want to even bring up the idea of moving until he felt certain it was the right thing to do. That’s why he sought out the counsel of his four older brothers first. If he couldn’t convince them, he didn’t stand a chance of getting Jane to agree. She could be more hardheaded than all four put together.

  One of the most beautiful women in New Hampshire, in his opinion, he never tired of telling his wife just that. She would laugh and say he only said that because New Hampshire was such a small state. Her Scots parentage gave her eyes as green
as new spring leaves on Hickory trees and an abundance of lustrous red curls that he loved to weave his fingers through as he kissed her. Jane’s creamy complexion nearly glowed, unmarred except by the beginnings of well-earned laugh lines on either side of her luscious lips.

  George lifted his head, then picked up his trot. Stephen chuckled. His farm lay just over the next hill and the anticipation of feed propelled the always hungry horse forward.

  He soon stepped off the stirrup and led George toward the stable, all the while studying the full moon glowing though huge maple trees. Sam once said that Algonquian speaking tribes had a special name for each full moon. What was this one? Full Hunger Moon maybe, because food was so scarce by the end of winter and the beginning of spring. Winter food stores would be long gone, and it was time to plant new crops.

  Jane’s mare whinnied a welcome to George, returning his thoughts to his wife. An excellent horsewoman, she insisted on having her own mount, not content to be limited to a wagon or buggy like most local women. It was just one of the many things he loved about her. She certainly wasn’t a coddled fragile woman, like some he’d known. When they first met, her indomitable spirit had impressed him. Maybe that same temerity would make her want to go west as well. Or, maybe it wouldn’t. He frowned. It chafed him to admit that he couldn’t predict her reaction and realized that was the reason he hadn’t yet told her of his plan. But he would soon. He just had to find the right time.

  He unsaddled George and scooped his feed into a wooden bucket. Chomping down on the grain, the horse gave a contented snort and relaxed his ears, a sign of his gratitude. “You’re welcome,” Stephen said. He stroked his steed’s long muscular neck, warm and moist from their ride.

  As he proceeded toward his home, well lit with candles and firelight, the familiar mellow smell of smoke wafting from the chimney reminded him how much his family loved their comfortable house. The small two-story red brick dwelling, built with the help of his brothers and neighbors, rose above him like a welcoming sanctuary. Jane would have their daughters upstairs tucked into their beds and covered with colorful quilts, embroidered by both grandmothers, keeping the early spring evening chill away.

  Each of the four girls held a distinct place in his heart. With the birth of each one, his heart seemed to grow. He wanted to give them the best in life. He could do that with more land.

  But if he asked Jane to leave this fine home, would he regret it? Would she regret it? That would be worse. He could live with his own disappointments, but not hers. Yet, the thought of struggling to squeeze enough income for his family out of his meager farm made his heart clench and his stomach sour. He couldn’t provide for them as he should here. He had to make a change.

  How was he going to tell her?

  Jane came up the path to greet him. Her warm smile and twinkling eyes bridged the distance between them like a thousand words could not. As she met him, she slid her arms under his cloak and hugged his waist. The gesture of affection sent a warm pulse through him.

  As he gazed into her emerald eyes, happiness shined back at him. He would do anything to keep her happy. He curled his arm around her shoulders and felt her shivering. He took off his cloak and draped the long heavy woolen cape, still warm from his body around her shoulders.

  “There’s no need for that, we’re only a few steps from the front door,” she protested.

  “We’re not there yet,” he said, with a grin.

  Jane inclined her head, gazing skyward. The soft rays of the moon bathed her in a brilliant radiance, making the hair around her head glow like the halo of a candle.

  A shadow suddenly passed over her upturned face. She seemed troubled.

  He cupped her smooth cheek with his palm and she turned pensive eyes towards him.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “I just had a strange feeling when I looked at that full moon. Like something wasn’t right. Not with me, something out there somewhere.”

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. We’re together.”

  Jane shook her head, as if to remove the feeling, and gazed up at him.

  “You just need to be loved, that’s all.” Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips and then softly kissed each of her knuckles. They tasted delightful, and left him wanting to taste more of her.

  They entered their home and he helped her out of his cloak, letting it fall to the floor. He pressed his mouth to hers. The chill of the night left his body in an instant as every inch of her responded. Warmth, both his and hers, penetrated his clothes. But that barrier didn’t last long.

  Jane pulled his frock coat off and began to toy with the cravat at his neck. “I missed you.” She gave him a smile that hinted at her desires.

  “I was only gone a few hours,” he said.

  “I still missed you.”

  “How much?” he teased. “A little or a lot?” He hoped it was a lot.

  Then he had his answer. She untied the lacings on his shirt and ran her long slender fingers slowly across his chest. A tingling sensation swept through his torso as she took his jaw in her hand and nuzzled his earlobe before feathering a trail of soft kisses up his neck, across his cheek, and, at last, his mouth. After he’d kissed her thoroughly, she nipped impishly at his lower lip, causing his stomach to flutter and ripples of heat to course through his veins. Then she parted his lips in a soul-reaching kiss that caressed his entire body.

  She pulled back to take a breath and gazed up at him with eyes sparkling impishly.

  Indeed, she had missed him. He missed her too. He always did, even when he worked in their nearby field. Sometimes he would to take a break from his labors just to hear her sensuous voice. The sound of it always renewed his energy and strengthened his heart.

  He lowered his lips to the sweetness of her mouth and enwrapped her silky tresses in his hands. His lips recaptured hers and he encased her in his arms, pulling her against his thundering heart. The sizzling kiss caused a tempest of passion to roar through his body, like a sudden storm.

  Ready to match his hunger with hers, he peered into her luminous eyes and her gaze locked on his, conveying the same longing that filled him. He wanted to reach into her and fulfill that need in a way that would leave no doubt how much he loved her. How much he wanted to protect her.

  “I miss you every moment that you are not in my arms,” he whispered into her curls.

  “And I miss you every moment you are not in my bed,” she said huskily, her face flushing with the passion rising in her.

  A secret, almost magical, part of their marriage, passion bound their hearts tighter with every joining. To his surprise, their hunger for each other only grew more fervent as each year passed. Tonight was no exception. Just her nearness thrilled his senses and made them leap to life. His desire flared with an intense yearning and the very air around them seemed to grow hot.

  But the intensity of his need was more than mere physical attraction, although her allure was undeniable and total. Their relationship was rooted in a love so profound and so complete that he now knew what the scriptures meant by the two shall become one. It was more than one flesh—it was one spirit. Jane even joked that they would eventually just become one person if they both lived into old age.

  Tonight, though, they were young and filled with desire for each other.

  She backed out of his arms and playfully hauled him toward their bedroom, beaming warmly. She didn’t have to tug too hard. That beautiful smile made him want to race her to their bed. As he glimpsed the curves of her backside, his fingers ached to shed his remaining clothing…and hers.

  Locking their bedroom door behind him, he swept her, weightless, into his arms and carried her to their bed.

  Married eight years, she still made him feel like he could conquer the world.

  But could he go to Kentucky?

  And would Jane agree to go?

  CHAPTER 2

  White Mountains, New Hampshire, s
pring 1797

  The stiff breeze whipped filthy blond hair back from her swollen face. It looked to Chief Wanalancet as if even the wind hurt her. As Bomazeen led the mare the young woman rode, she stared straight ahead, focusing on nothing, oblivious to the crowded Pennacook village.

  At the sight of Bomazeen, little children scrambled to hide behind their mothers, all hard at work tanning furs or tending crops. The women of the tribe averted their eyes to avoid looking at the white woman, although the Chief knew they could not help but pity her. They understood what the young woman had endured, what she barely survived, as a captive of an inhuman man without mercy, unburdened by even a bead of conscience.

  Known for his unchecked brutality, Bomazeen’s chilling reputation stretched well beyond Wanalancet’s tribe. Whites thought of him as a cruel ghost—appearing from nowhere and making women simply vanish, leaving behind only the haunting cold of fear as word spread of their disappearance.

  His tribe whispered Bomazeen’s name, calling him Wandering Evil, for he left a trail of violence wherever he roamed. Even the young braves stayed clear of the man because of the condition of both the white and native captives he brought to the tribe for trade. This one looked no different from the rest.

  He needed to rein in Bomazeen’s cruelty or find another slave trader.

  Bomazeen untied the strips of rawhide binding her raw ankles and wrists. “Down bitch,” he hissed. When she didn’t move, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her off the horse.

  Her legs buckled as soon as she put weight on them and Wanalancet watched her crumple to the ground.

  Swearing, Bomazeen half dragged, half carried her to the tribe’s traders, and threw her at their moccasin clad feet.

  The traders circled the young woman, surveying Bomazeen’s damage.

  Dark stains covered the front of the woman’s bodice. A tear in the fabric exposed a knife gash. Besides her wounds, mud and grime blackened what was left of her blue gown and white bonnet, making it difficult for Wanalancet to know what she had been like only days before.

  The woman was in such dismal shape the traders offered Bomazeen half the normal beaver pelts paid for a slave.