arranged her impending marriage. She was relieved to receive Robert MacQuaid’s proposal. Despite the fact it involved her leaving England and her brother.
There was certainly no one else she knew willing to wed a penniless woman past her prime.
Raff MacQuaid’s legs were long, and his stride matched. Though her hand, pale in comparison, rested on his, Caroline had to quicken her step to keep up as they wove through the people crowding the narrow wooden sidewalk of Broad Street. Soldiers in bright scarlet uniforms mingled with blackamoors. She even saw a man she thought must be one of the Indians native to the New World. His head was shaved save for a long tuft sprouting from the top of his well-shaped head. He was tall, his body covered with a mismatched array of leather leggings and richly brocaded waistcoat.
Intrigued, Caroline considered asking her companion about the Indian. But one glance at Raff MacQuaid’s profile told her he didn’t wish to be bothered by idle questions. Caroline even hesitated to inquire how much farther they were to walk before reaching his father’s house.
When he stopped, so abruptly that Caroline nearly bumped into him, in front of the structure at the corner of Broad and Meeting Streets, Caroline looked up questioningly. The building was brick and very imposing, with four large columns. She didn’t think it was a private dwelling, but when Raff MacQuaid led her up the steps, she wondered.
“Does your father await me here?” she asked after hesitating to catch her breath.
His laugh was deep and low, and Caroline felt the heated blush that darkened her skin.
“My father awaits Your Ladyship at his home... west of here, at the base of the mountains.”
Mountains? She’d seen no mountains. But before she could ask where there were mountains in this flat land, he opened the heavy paneled door and ushered her inside. “It is the governor whom we shall see here.”
Rather he shall see, Caroline thought nearly two hours later as she sat straight-backed on the chair in the small anteroom. A cup of tea, cold and forgotten, sat on the small table at her elbow, fetched for her by the young man behind the mahogany desk. He wore a wig too large for his narrow face and sat hunched over a piece of parchment. He scrawled feverishly with a quill, and Caroline imagined he was pretending he didn’t hear the shouting that came from behind the closed door. The door Robert’s son had passed through.
Caroline shifted in her seat, meeting the gaze the young assistant darted her way, before quickly focusing on her folded hands. Whatever the dispute between Raff MacQuaid and the colony’s governor, it was loud and heated. At least on Raff’s part. Every now and then Caroline could hear the other voice—the governor, she assumed—take on a conciliatory tone. But her betrothed’s son was having none of it.
“Does the treaty of 1730 mean nothing then?” she heard him ask in his deep, strong voice. “Is that what I am to tell my people when I return? That the English king in all his infinite wisdom has decided to break his word?”
Caroline sucked in her breath and bit her bottom lip, unabashedly listening for the governor’s response to that question, which to her mind bordered on treason. She almost expected to see the governor burst through the door and call for guards to come haul away her companion.
But again his words were soft and soothing.... Caroline could almost imagine the governor wringing his hands. He mentioned something about raids on the colonists being punished.
“And what of the Cherokee warriors who were killed, their scalps sold to Virginia’s governor. Was it not acceptable to avenge them?”
“English law states—”
“It is always English law. What of Cherokee law?”
In the silence that followed Caroline could feel the tension through the walls with their elaborate carvings and pillars. Then the governor spoke. “I know relations between the Cherokee and
There was certainly no one else she knew willing to wed a penniless woman past her prime.
Raff MacQuaid’s legs were long, and his stride matched. Though her hand, pale in comparison, rested on his, Caroline had to quicken her step to keep up as they wove through the people crowding the narrow wooden sidewalk of Broad Street. Soldiers in bright scarlet uniforms mingled with blackamoors. She even saw a man she thought must be one of the Indians native to the New World. His head was shaved save for a long tuft sprouting from the top of his well-shaped head. He was tall, his body covered with a mismatched array of leather leggings and richly brocaded waistcoat.
Intrigued, Caroline considered asking her companion about the Indian. But one glance at Raff MacQuaid’s profile told her he didn’t wish to be bothered by idle questions. Caroline even hesitated to inquire how much farther they were to walk before reaching his father’s house.
When he stopped, so abruptly that Caroline nearly bumped into him, in front of the structure at the corner of Broad and Meeting Streets, Caroline looked up questioningly. The building was brick and very imposing, with four large columns. She didn’t think it was a private dwelling, but when Raff MacQuaid led her up the steps, she wondered.
“Does your father await me here?” she asked after hesitating to catch her breath.
His laugh was deep and low, and Caroline felt the heated blush that darkened her skin.
“My father awaits Your Ladyship at his home... west of here, at the base of the mountains.”
Mountains? She’d seen no mountains. But before she could ask where there were mountains in this flat land, he opened the heavy paneled door and ushered her inside. “It is the governor whom we shall see here.”
Rather he shall see, Caroline thought nearly two hours later as she sat straight-backed on the chair in the small anteroom. A cup of tea, cold and forgotten, sat on the small table at her elbow, fetched for her by the young man behind the mahogany desk. He wore a wig too large for his narrow face and sat hunched over a piece of parchment. He scrawled feverishly with a quill, and Caroline imagined he was pretending he didn’t hear the shouting that came from behind the closed door. The door Robert’s son had passed through.
Caroline shifted in her seat, meeting the gaze the young assistant darted her way, before quickly focusing on her folded hands. Whatever the dispute between Raff MacQuaid and the colony’s governor, it was loud and heated. At least on Raff’s part. Every now and then Caroline could hear the other voice—the governor, she assumed—take on a conciliatory tone. But her betrothed’s son was having none of it.
“Does the treaty of 1730 mean nothing then?” she heard him ask in his deep, strong voice. “Is that what I am to tell my people when I return? That the English king in all his infinite wisdom has decided to break his word?”
Caroline sucked in her breath and bit her bottom lip, unabashedly listening for the governor’s response to that question, which to her mind bordered on treason. She almost expected to see the governor burst through the door and call for guards to come haul away her companion.
But again his words were soft and soothing.... Caroline could almost imagine the governor wringing his hands. He mentioned something about raids on the colonists being punished.
“And what of the Cherokee warriors who were killed, their scalps sold to Virginia’s governor. Was it not acceptable to avenge them?”
“English law states—”
“It is always English law. What of Cherokee law?”
In the silence that followed Caroline could feel the tension through the walls with their elaborate carvings and pillars. Then the governor spoke. “I know relations between the Cherokee and
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