Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 03] (16 page)

He lifted his head when she held a cup of water to his mouth.

“Where’s Maggie and . . . Paul?” he asked after he had sank back down.

“Mr. Deschanel bedded down in the barn. He’ll sit with you later. Maggie is with her husband.” Aee felt a little stab of delight in telling him that.

“He’s not her hus—” Eli cut off the words. “Is Kruger with the boat?”

Aee shrugged. “Pa told him t’ stay there.”

“Get Paul,” he commanded curtly and closed his eyes, dismissing her. A full minute of silence passed. His lids lifted. He tilted his head and stabbed her with hard blue eyes. “Did you hear me? Get Paul.” His tone of voice didn’t suggest she argue, but she did.

“No. I was told t’ stay here.”

“Who told you that?”

“Ma.”

“Jesus, my arse! I’m not a babe to be watched over. If I have to shout for Paul, I will.”

“Open yore mouth an’ I’ll poke a rag in it.” Aee’s brown eyes sparkled with anger. “Ya’ll not wake up ever’body on the place cause ya’ve a hair crossways.”

“Have you lost the few brains you have, girl? Are you deaf as well as stupid? I said I want Paul.”

“Wantin’ ain’t gettin’, Mister Smart-mouth Nielson. Mr. Deschanel needs t’ sleep now. He’ll be comin’ t’ sit with ya later.”

Eli’s blue eyes glittered angrily. “Why you draggled-tailed, hard-headed little snippet!”

“Snippet? I don’t know what that is, but it don’t sound as bad as a sour-mouthed, brayin’ jackass. That’s what ya are! I’m sorry t’ be missin’ my sleep tendin’ ya! Ma ort to a let ya lay wallerin’ in yore sweat. She didn’t ’cause she’s got a soft spot for dumb animals.” Aee’s voice quivered with anger.

“Deliver me from a know-it-all, bull-headed, spiteful woman who can’t take orders,” he murmured and, in frustration, rolled his head back and forth on the pillow.

Aee sat down, her mouth tightly crimped. She folded her arms over her chest and focused her mind fully on the fact that the big muddy river would run backward before she’d take for her man this stupid pisspot who lusted for another man’s wife.

Light awoke instantly alert. There were no meanderings in his world between sleep and sensibility. His hand grasped the hilt of his knife. Almost simultaneously he was on his feet and standing protectively over Maggie.

Overhead the diamond glitter of stars scattered across the heavens was fading. Along the east horizon a line of pearl-gray light gave the first indication of impending dawn. A flight of geese coming down from the north were on their way to a feeding ground; their constant honking was the only sound he heard.

In the gloom of the clearing, a shadow moved. Every muscle and nerve in Light’s body was on guard. A man in Indian dress emerged from the darkness. He stood stolidly, arms crossed over his chest.

“Your ears are keen, Sharp Knife. I snapped one twig.”

“It was enough.” Light answered in Osage.

The Indian nodded in agreement. “It is said that Sharp Knife has the eye of the hawk, the nose of the weasel, and that he can hear a cloud pass overhead.”

“Who calls me Sharp Knife?” Light had not been called by his Indian name in a long while.

“Many Spots, kin of Mac’s woman.”

“How is it you know my name?”

The Indian shrugged. “All know Sharp Knife, son of Willow Wind, kin of Nowatha the healer. Your mother sent word that Sharp Knife was bringing Singing Bird to the land of his ancestors.”

“You came in the night to tell me this?”

“Morning is only a whisper away. I came to tell you No Hair take canoe downriver.”

“It is good that he is gone. If he is taken by the Delaware, he will give them much sport.”

“He take two kegs gunpowder.”

“For the Delaware?”

“Not know. Maybe for keelboat one day downriver.”

“Keelboat? Who comes this way?”

“Not friend.”

“Does MacMillan know this?”

“Mac knows. Said wake the man called Sharp Knife by the Osage. Said No Hair may come back for Sharp Knife’s woman. Said bring Singing Bird to strong cabin. Thick walls.” The Indian spread his hands to indicate how thick.

“My thanks to you and Mac. Is anyone watching No Hair?”

“Zee will watch.”

“Zee? That is good?”

“Very good.”

Without a sound or a farewell the Indian backed into the shadows and was gone.

Light listened for a long moment and, hearing nothing unusual, looked down at Maggie, who had slept through the exchange with Many Spots.

They had made love throughout most of the night. He could not seem to sate his appetite for her, nor she for him. Their loving had at first been a quick, ecstatic and irreversible tempo toward an all-absorbing fulfillment. Later they had lain side by side, her intimate down teased by his hardening flesh, until with a groan and a hungry forward motion he had again embedded himself in her sweet softness.

Time and again he had surfaced from the pleasure-tide and pulled away from her, only to be enticed back by her gasping, almost sobbing breath on his chest as her hand moved down to his flat belly. Her small hands wildly caressed him, soothed him, cradled him, driving him to that devastating, exquisite explosion. The stamina and passion of this small woods sprite astounded him.

“
My
man! My sweet man! My Light! My life!” She had whispered the words over and over.

Light realized then that this mysterious, unexplainable attachment that bound them together was stronger than all the uncertainties that had lately overwhelmed him. As they soared in fevered flight, their bodies locked together, the small resentments, anxieties, and his fear of losing her to the Swede faded into nothingness.

Now, in the early dawn, the love of his life was tired from their hours of vigorous activity. Last night, as they had lain beneath the stars, it had been possible to believe that they were the only human beings on earth. But morning had come and it was time to face reality.

Reluctant to wake her, he knelt down on the bed of soft pine boughs and pulled the blanket up over her bare shoulder. After she had fallen asleep, he had pulled on his buckskin britches should he have the need to rise quickly. Beneath the covers Maggie was still as naked as a newborn babe.

“What’d the Indian say, Light?”

“
Chérie,
you pretend sleep,” he chided gently, his eyes loving her.

“I woke up when ya left me,” she purred in a soft slurry voice.

“I think you’re tired. We romped most of the night.”

“Ya love me, Light?”

“Can’t you tell that, my sweet pet?”

“I like t’ hear ya say it.”

“I love you. You are my life, my soul.”

“That’s pretty, Light.” She raised her hand and stroked his bare chest. “I feel cold bumps.” She lifted the blanket in invitation. “I’ll get ya warm.”

Believing that the danger from Kruger was not immediate and the temptation to hold her was great, Light lay down beside her and pulled her to lie on his chest. She sighed like a contented kitten, snuggled against him, and waited for him to tell her about the Indian’s visit.

“Kruger took a canoe and went downriver.”

“I’m glad he’s gone.”

“MacMillan said you should come to the cabin.”

“I stay with you, Light.”

“MacMillan thinks the German wants you and may come back.”

“I know he wants me. The first day I knew it. The fever was in his eyes.” She shivered and moved her cheek against his lips. “I’ll cut him with my knife if he touches me.”

“He will never have you,
ma petite.
”

His lips moved from her cheek and slowly, deliberately, covered hers, pressing gently at first. Then he deepened his kiss as she hovered against his masculine strength. The tip of his tongue caressing the corner of her mouth was persuasive. She parted her lips in invitation. The soft utterance that came from her throat was a purr of pure pleasure.

“
Mon trésor!
My treasure!” he whispered, his hunger growing to an ache. His body demanded more than a kiss, no matter how wonderful the kiss might be. But this was not the time to satisfy that hunger.

Resisting the pressure of her arms around his neck, he moved his head and looked at her face, pale and beautiful, still and waiting.

“You’re the most vexing woman, and . . . the sweetest,” he said in a raspy whisper. Her breath came quickly and was cool on his lips, made wet by their kiss.

“Vexing? What’s that, Light?”

“When applied to you,
ma chérie,
it is good.”

“Light”—she stroked his chest with her fingertips—“are ya glad yo’re takin’ me with ya t’ yore mountain?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Ya don’t smile, Light. I like t’ see ya smile.”

“I’ll try to smile more—” His words melted on her lips.

Daylight was seeping through the trees when Light threw back the blankets, exposing Maggie’s warm naked body to the cool fall air.

“Get dressed, Madame Lightbody.” He grasped her wrists, pulled her to her feet and playfully slapped her bare bottom.

“In a minute. Oh . . . I feel good!”

Maggie threw out her arms and began to whirl away from him. Around and around she whirled, her bare feet seeming to float above the ground. She sped around the clearing, skipping, dipping and swaying. As she frolicked, her tangle of dark curls whipped about her shoulders and back, at times covering her perky bare breasts.

Down came an ol’ man

A hummin’ like a bee,

An’ found a hat a-hangin’

Where his hat ort t’be.

His face creased with smiles, Light watched his bride. It was such a pleasure to see her dancing so uninhibitedly and singing her merry tune that he was reluctant to stop her, but he did so when she twirled near him. He caught her up in his arms.

“Yo’re smilin’, Light,” she said happily and kissed his mouth. “If ya’ll smile, I’ll dance for ya ever’day when we get t’ our mountain.”

*  *  *

From the upper branches of a giant oak, the unblinking eye peered down through the dense crop of leaves. When the woman came out of the blankets and began to dance and sing, the creature clapped a hand over its mouth in order to stifle the giggles that bubbled up. He had never seen anything like this beautiful nymph dancing in the woods, and he doubted if anyone else had, other than himself and Sharp Knife. Her nakedness was nothing new. He had seen many naked Indian women, but this woman was like the damsel in the story told of wee fairies who danced in the glens on the Emerald Isle.

Many Spots had told him of the legend of Sharp Knife and of his many feats. He was a worthy mate for this rare lassie with exceptional beauty as well as exceptional skill with the knife and the whip.

Scarcely blinking or breathing for fear Sharp Knife would hear the sound or see the movement, the creature stood as still as a stone, muscular arms wrapped around a branch, his strong heart throbbing with painful memories of times long past. The clothing that covered his body blended with the thick grapevines that twisted and clung to the oak in an attempt to reach the sun.

The breathtaking performance was over all too soon. Sharp Knife had enjoyed it too. His usually somber face was alight with smiles. The creature waited until Singing Bird was dressed in her buckskin britches and long belted shirt and the couple had picked up their packs and walked toward the homestead before he swung himself hand-over-hand down the vine until his thin, wiry legs touched the ground.

*  *  *

MacMillan, carrying his rifle and with a pistol stuck in his belt, came out into the yard to meet Light and Maggie as they approached the house.

“The women’s got vittles ready,” he said briskly without further greeting.

“We’ll make our own cookfire,” Light answered in the same tone of voice. “We came to thank you for sending Many Spots with the news about Kruger.”

“Yo’re refusin’ my invite?”

“We thank you for it, but we didn’t come here to eat your food and give nothing back.”

“Ya’ll be givin’ back if ya help me protect my family.”

“That goes without saying,
m’sieur.
”

“On that keelboat coming upriver is a feller named Ramon de la Vega, as black-hearted a rogue as ever was born. He be a pirate, murderer, a spoiler of womenfolk.”

“Many Spots said as much.”

“This is his third trip upriver that I know of. Ever’ trip Osage women have come up missin’. Favors ’em ’cause they be comelier than most. Takes white women if he can bargain ’em from the Delaware.”

“The Delaware would have used them cruelly.”

“No more so than Vega.” MacMillan’s eyes constantly searched the area as if he expected someone. “Know fer a fact he’s taken trappers aboard, unloaded their furs and broke up their canoes.”

Paul came from the sickroom and was greeted by Maggie.

“Paul,” she called. “Is Eli still sick?”

“Better today,
madame.
Much better,” Paul said cheerfully.

“Light—” Maggie shook her husband’s arm. “A’right if I go see Eli?”

“Go, my sprite. But don’t go from the house. Stay with the women.” After she left them, Light asked, “Will Vega stop here?”