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No longer merely annoyed, Hunter's tone turned bitterly sarcastic. "No. Melissa swore to me the babe was Ian's."
Disgusted, he started to turn away, but Alanna hurried down the steps and caught his elbow. "Don't you care that Melissa's dead, or that you have a son?"
Her hand looked very small and white against the burnished copper of his arm. Knowing the color of their skin was the least of their differences, Hunter made no attempt to hide his distress, as he replied in a voice too low for Elliott to overhear. "Why didn't you write to me?"
That he would criticize the manner in which they had tried to contact him, rather than respond to the message their letters had contained, astonished Alanna. "You really don't care about Melissa or your son, do you?"
That she had ignored his question, incensed Hunter all the more. "Why should I? Melissa cared nothing for me."
Elliott walked up behind her, but Alanna wasn't content to allow him to handle what she feared was a rapidly deteriorating situation. Hoping that perhaps Hunter was as flustered by their news as she had been by Elliott's mention of marriage, she softened her tone. "Please, take some time to think about what we've said. Can we meet again later and talk?"
"I have nothing more to say."
"Well, we have," Elliott informed him coldly. "Go clean up and meet us back here in an hour."
Hunter didn't have to glance around the courtyard to know they ware being observed. He could feel it. No one had dared come close enough to overhear them, and he did not want to present any curious bystanders with an opportunity to do so. "No, come with me to my house. We can talk there."
Alanna and Elliott hesitated a moment, but when Hunter turned away and did not look back, they followed. Not expecting an extended visit, each had brought only a small bag, and Elliott carried them easily. Dismayed, Alanna whispered to her cousin, "How can he not care?"
Elliott just shook his head to warn her to be silent. Torn between the anger that made him want to rip Hunter limb from limb, and relief at the fact that the Indian had shown no interest in rearing his son, Elliott tried to decide how best to proceed. At the very least, he wanted Hunter's written statement that he was renouncing all claim to his child. Then, having provided Alanna with the assurance that she would be the one to raise Christian, he hoped he could convince her to become his wife.
When they reached his long house, Hunter held aside the hide draped over the doorway and gestured for them to precede him. Neither of his reluctant guests had ever seen such a dwelling, much less entered one, but they ducked slightly and stepped inside. With the only illumination coming from the coals glowing in the fire pit and the opening in the roof above, the interior was dim.
The contrast to the bright, sunlit rooms where Alanna hoped to raise Christian gave her a moment's pause. Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and she noticed Hunter hadn't followed them into his home. She looked around and noted the bundles of furs rolled up beneath the platforms, which lined the walls.
"It looks as though Hunter has been busy."
Elliott set their luggage down on the nearest platform. "It isn't the first time. No one can call the man lazy."
Alanna was too embarrassed to respond to what was clearly a reference to the speed with which Hunter had seduced Melissa, and changed the subject. "Are we handling this badly?" she asked instead.
"Probably, but that may be the only way such a deplorable situation can be handled."
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At a loss for what to do or say, Alanna perched herself down next to her valise. The months of dread were over, but Hunter's indifference had shocked and disappointed her. "I was so certain that he really cared for Melissa, but now..."
When she didn't continue, Elliott finished her sentence for her. "Now it's plain he cares for nothing but himself. We worked so hard on the wording of those letters and he didn't even read them. It's plain we care far more about Christian than he ever will."
Hunter entered before Alanna could reply. He had washed up outside, and his hair, still wet, was tied neatly at his nape. He'd shaken the dust from his pants, donned his shirt, and despite the cut through his brow, now looked the way she had remembered him.
"Why were you fighting?" she asked.
"Because I'm good at it."
"You wouldn't have been hurt, if you were all that good," Elliott pointed out.
Preoccupied, Hunter chose to ignore that taunt. "Do you remember the Indians who attacked the end of our column last July, and killed the wounded?"
"Of course."
"One of them was here this afternoon. I want to go look for him."
"Do it later," Elliott advised. "We've something far more important to settle right here."
Elliott sat down next to Alanna, but Hunter remained standing. "Let Ian settle it," the brave said.
"He's gone home to London," Alanna explained. "We hired a woman to look after your son, and waited for you to come for him. If you'd read our letters, you would have known that. Because you didn't respond, we felt we had to come here."
