Lovestorm (5 page)

A few minutes later, kneeling by the river bank, he realized he need not have bothered.

“Inu-msi-ila-fe-wanu,” he said softly, “this is a good joke on your child.” Chuckling, he rose to his feet and wondered how he would explain the truth about this
wolf
to Eliz-a-beth without making her lose face.

The tenseness eased from his muscles and he followed the spoor of the animal for several yards through the beach plums and pine. When he was satisfied, Cain turned back toward the camp.

″
Eliz-a-beth,” he called at the wigwam entrance. “Are you covered?” He knew that as much as he would like to see her unclad body, it would cause her shame if he entered unannounced. “I come.”

“All right.” Her reply was weak, unlike her usual bold manner.

Cain paused inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dim interior of the wigwam. Eliz-a-beth was on her sleeping platform, wrapped in a deerskin.

“Did you kill the wolf?”

He shook his head. “No. It ran away from the pond.” That much was true. He looked at her more closely, noting her tangled hair and scratched face. “I should not have left you alone so long,” he said. “I wounded a deer and had to follow until I brought him down. We will have fresh venison.”

Elizabeth burst into tears again.

He covered the distance between them in one leap. “What is wrong?”

She reddened and turned her face away. “Nothing,” she protested. “I . . . I'm hungry. I made bread and it—”

Cain turned away and hung his bow on a rack above the entrance. It would not do to let her see the amusement in his eyes. “You have not cooked on Lenni-Lenape fire before,” he said noncommittally.

“I have not cooked at all,” she admitted.

“This one will teach you.” He picked up her wet dress from the floor. “I will lay this in the sun to dry. Then I must work it, to keep leather soft.” He glanced at her. “It is best not to wear doeskin to swim.”

Elizabeth's face darkened like a thundercloud. “I wasn't swimming. I told you, I only jumped into the water to get away from the wolf.” She brushed a damp lock of hair out of her face. “You'll have to braid my hair again. I tried to do it last night and I couldn't. I've always had a maid to do my hair.”

Cain made a sympathetic sound in his throat. “I have sadness for you, Eliz-a-beth, that you had no mother to teach you the things a woman should know.”

“I have a mother,” she answered sharply, “and she has never neglected her duties to me. I explained before. We are of very high status in England—nobility. It is not necessary for me to know how to cook or dress my own hair.”

“It seems necessary to me.”

She sighed impatiently. “That is because you are an ignorant savage.” Settling back against her sleeping platform, Elizabeth pulled the deerskin up high around her neck. Because she had been grateful to see him was no reason for Cain to feel he could take liberties.

“This one is an ig-nor-anne savage?”

She nodded. “Yes. I don't mean to insult you, but it's true.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her. “You cannot cook, even to keep from starve. You cannot brush and care for your own hair. These things are true.”

Elizabeth averted her eyes. “Yes.”

“Can you sew?”

“I can embroider,” she said proudly. “If I have silk thread, and linen, and the proper needles.” It was a skill she had acquired quite young. She had made a pillow cover for her mother's last birthday. “Ladies do not need to sew or weave cloth. Fine embroidery is considered an art.”

“You can skin game and make hides into clothing?”

“No.” She grimaced. “Of course not. Game is dressed by huntsmen.”

“Can you build a wigwam of poles and bark?”

“This is ridiculous,” she protested. “We do not have wigwams in England.”

“Ah, then you can build an English house.”

“No.”

“You cannot cook, or sew, or dress skins. You cannot build a shelter, cannot find food or water when they are all about you, and I am the ig-nor-anne savage?”

“Ignorant,” she corrected.

“Yes,” he agreed. “That is what you are, Englishwoman. You are ignorant, and only a very brave and wise warrior could make you into a proper wife.”

“How dare you insult me!” she flared. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him with unconcealed ire. “You are wrong,” she said haughtily. “I am not ignorant. I have been educated to be the perfect wife for a British nobleman. We are nothing alike, you and I. Nothing you could ever do would make you a suitable husband for me. It would please me if you didn't speak of marrying me again.”

Eliz-a-beth's words would have angered Cain if he had not noticed the quiver of her lower lip. It was plain to him that she was afraid, and that she hid that fear with brave words. He remembered how good she felt lying close against him, her arms around his neck and her breath warm on his face. He desired her as he had never desired another woman, but he wanted her to come to him of her own free will. “This one would never do you harm,” he said.

“I am your prisoner, but you don't own me,” she flung at him.

“No,
dah-quel-e-mah.
I am the prisoner.” He stopped by the entranceway and looked back at her. “I will not speak of marriage again. You, Eliz-a-beth, you must look into your own heart and see what is true and what has not truth.” He smiled. “This night, when the moon rises, we will hunt your wolf together.”

“No, we won't! You're crazy if you think I'm going to put myself within reach of that wild beast again!”

“We hunt.”

“Savage!” Elizabeth swore an oath and reached for the nearest object, a carved cedar bowl. Laughing, Cain ducked outside, and the bowl bounced harmlessly against the wooden frame of the wigwam.

“Don't come then,” he teased, “but if you do not, then this one make you cook your own supper! ”

E
lizabeth lay flat on her stomach in the low grass. Cain stretched close beside her, one hand resting on her arm. She wasn't sure how long they had been here without moving or talking; it seemed like hours. She wiggled her toes in the soft deerskin moccasins, glad for their warmth and doubly glad for the leggings he had insisted she wear under her doeskin dress.

The full moon had risen over the sea, a shimmering disk of iridescent silver casting an enchanted light over the hushed forest and the pond. The night was warm; the slight breeze came from the land, not the cold, rolling waters of the ocean. Cain had explained that the direction of the wind would hide their scent from their quarry. If the breeze had been off the salt water, they would have had to circle around the pond and come up to it from the far side.

Elizabeth turned her head slightly to look at Cain. He was so still that if she hadn't heard his breathing, she would have believed him made of stone. His boldly sculptured face was in shadow, but the moonlight glistened off his naked shoulders, bathing his thick, dark hair in radiance.

His solid presence was oddly comforting. Although she had protested loudly, Elizabeth was not sorry she had come on this unlikely adventure. If any of her friends had suggested she would be hunting wolves beside a red savage in America, she would have verbally consigned them to Bedlam. But the truth was, she was enjoying the expedition.

Her eyes sparkled as a bubble of excitement rose in her throat. Once I am safely at Jamestown, she decided, I'll have an unbelievable tale to relate. No one will have an after-dinner story to match this!

Her left arm began to cramp, and she leaned her weight on the right and sighed. Cain's fingers tightened warningly on her arm. The pressure wasn't enough to cause her pain, only enough to let her know that he had noticed her restlessness. “Patience,” his touch urged. If he had spoken, his meaning could not have been clearer. Elizabeth stifled the urge to give him a piece of her mind and lay still, straining her eyes to see any movement in the bushes around them.

She felt strangely alive. The sharp odors of the sand and grass, of the cedar and pine, and the unmistakable scent of the ocean filled her nostrils. She was intensely aware of the texture of the earth beneath her body and the star-strewn sky above. And—more than she cared to admit—she was conscious of the man beside her.

She knew she should have felt anger for the liberties Cain assumed. But then, nothing in her upbringing or past experiences had prepared her for Cain Dare, and she was at a loss to find the right way to deal with him.

Across the pond, an owl hooted, and an answering call came from the forest. Elizabeth didn't flinch. She knew an owl when she heard one, and she certainly wasn't afraid.

Frogs peeped and croaked from the pond, and there was an occasional splash of water. Once, she caught sight of a furry head breaking the surface of the pond. Then, a graceful animal moved from the shadows into the moonlight, followed by a tinier replica. To Elizabeth's delight, a doe and fawn walked toward the water's edge. Nervously, the mother deer lowered her head to drink while the baby butted and frolicked around her.

Elizabeth blinked her eyes and the deer were gone. Had she fallen asleep? She wasn't certain. She tried to look up to gauge the position of the moon, but Cain squeezed her arm once more. Before she could respond, a twig snapped a few yards away and she tensed as she remembered the fierce beast they had come to hunt.

Cain leaned close to her ear and whispered. “Shhh,
oopus
comes.”

Elizabeth gasped as a doglike animal trotted into the moonlit clearing. The creature paused and raised its head, sniffing the air, then gave a sharp whine. “The wolf,” she murmured softly. The breeze brought a light musty scent, and her eyes widened as she realized that it was the beast she smelled.

“Watch,” Cain ordered. His voice was so low, Elizabeth wasn't certain if she heard him with her ears or with her mind.

In the bright patch of moonlight, the shaggy gray animal cocked its head as though it were listening. The pointed ears twitched, and it dropped to a sitting position and emitted another high-pitched whimper. Immediately, four pups bounded from the darkness, launched themselves onto their mother, and began to nurse.

Elizabeth let out a muffled gasp. “Oh. That's my wolf,” she whispered, “but it looks smaller now.”

Cain's hair brushed her cheek, and a little shiver passed through her. “Not
tumme
the wolf,” he corrected.
“Oopus
the fox.”

She stared at the vixen and her cubs, suddenly aware of what must have happened when she believed she was under attack by a ravaging wolf. Even her father's hounds would growl if a stranger came near their pups. “A gray fox,” she uttered softly. “Not a wolf, but a vixen.”

“You learn,” Cain replied gently.

The animals gave no indication that they were aware of human presence, and Elizabeth realized that the noises the young foxes made prevented the bitch from taking alarm. One of the pups had left off nursing and was tugging at the mother's tail; another burrowed under the vixen's neck.

Elizabeth was fascinated by the scene. An accomplished horsewoman, she had always been fond of animals. As a child, she had loved an odd assortment of kittens and dogs; once she had even kept a mouse hidden from her nurse for weeks. But never before had she seen a wild creature so close.

“Shall I slay her for you?” Cain asked.

“No!”

The vixen's head snapped up and she gave a warning yip. Before Elizabeth's eyes, mother and cubs vanished into the darkness.

“Oh,” she protested, scrambling to her feet. “I didn't mean to—”

Cain stood up and smiled at her.

“You wouldn't have hurt the fox, would you?”

He shook his head.

“But you thought I wanted it dead?”

He chuckled. “No, brave hunter of wolves. I knew you did not. This one only wish to hear you say so.”

Perplexed, she opened her mouth to reply, then closed it when she realized she was at a loss. She averted her eyes to keep him from reading what was on her mind.

“You hide a woman's heart, Eliz-a-beth,” he chided gently.

“You knew it wasn't a wolf, didn't you?”

He nodded. “The tracks tell me.”

“Why did you let me go on believing—”

He reached for her hand. Trembling, she let him take it. “Would you accept my word?”

“No.” Elizabeth's mouth felt dry and her knees weak. “No,” she admitted. The touch of his hand sent tremors up her arm, but she had no desire to pull free. “I was convinced I had been attacked by a wolf.”

“And now?” He moved a step closer.

She swayed in the moonlight. “Thank you for the foxes,” she murmured. “They . . . they were beautiful.”

“It is not wrong to stand firm,” he teased, “if such a one does not stand on a thin branch.” He took another step.

A flush of heat coursed through her as she tilted her face to stare into his eyes. Unconsciously, she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I'm cold,” she said. Her voice sounded strained and far away.

He opened his arms. “I will warm you, Eliz-a-beth.”

Against her will, she moved into those arms and laid her face against his chest. His heart beat strongly, and he smelled of pine and tobacco. “I don't know why I'm doing this,” she protested.

His hand stroked her hair. “Hush,” he soothed. “Hush.”

Somehow, her lips were touching his—hesitantly at first, and then with a growing intensity. His mouth was firm and tasted of honey as he returned the kiss. Elizabeth's pulse quickened and the confusion in the pit of her stomach returned full force. Breathless, she pulled away. “I . . . I'm sorry,” she stammered. “I didn't mean . . .”

Cain's eyes reflected the moonlight. “Do the English always say what they do not mean?” he asked. “It is something my
cocumtha
did not tell me.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard, unaware that she had brushed her tingling lips with the tip of a finger. “It . . . it was my fault,” she corrected. “You didn't take advantage of me.”

Cain's deep laugh blended with the boom of the surf. “I did not,” he agreed. “But it was a pleasant kiss—was it not?”

She felt herself blushing.

“Truth.”

She darted off toward the beach. She'd not gone more than five yards when her toe caught in a root and she went sprawling into a beach plum bush. As she struggled to get up, she tangled her other leg and went down again. “Just don't stand there laughing like a fool,” she cried. “Help me.”

“Does English custom allow ignorant savage to help a lady out of a bush?”

“If it doesn't,” she replied, “it should.”

He put his arms around her waist and tried to pull her up. She freed one ankle and hooked it over his, so that he fell on top of her.

Elizabeth twisted and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Now!” she declared. “You are my prisoner.” She brought her face close to his. “That's what you get for . . .” Her teasing words trailed off unfinished as a surge of overwhelming desire flooded through her.

“I see it is the custom of the English to torture prisoners,” he answered hoarsely. He lowered his head to capture her parted lips.

She met his caress willingly, touching her tongue against his in a tender, lingering kiss of exploration that left them both trembling. “Cain,” she whispered. Her voice was strained and throaty.

His hand spanned her hip as he shifted his weight to press full-length against her.
“N'ma-mentschi.
”
His lips brushed her throat.
“N'dellennowi.”

The soft words were strangely exciting as he nuzzled her neck and let his fingers slide up to cup her breast. The fluttering sensations in her stomach escalated to a sweet ache as their lips met again in a searing kiss of uncontrolled passion. The length of his hard body burned against hers, and she felt the unmistakable proof of his rising desire.

With a cry, Elizabeth broke off. “Please,” she begged. “No more. I—” Confusion brought tears to her eyes, and she blinked them back. ”Cain, please.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath as he rolled away. For an instant, regret knifed through her, and she felt a sense of tremendous loss. She brought her hand to her mouth and bit down hard on one finger in an attempt to regain her shattered control.

His breathing slowed to normal, and when he offered her his hand, it was the hand of a friend. “Come, little one,” he said. “I will not harm you.”

Shaken, wide-eyed, Elizabeth stumbled to her feet. Shame flooded over her. Am I a wanton? Never had she allowed a man to go so far, and never had she wanted him to go even farther. “Cain . . .”

He turned his back on her and began to walk toward the wigwam with long, even strides. Suddenly chilled by the April night, Elizabeth hurried to keep up. How quietly he moves, she thought. The deer made more noise than Cain did.

The throbbing in her stomach had turned to a heavy, sinking feeling. How will I sleep in the same room with him? she thought. How will I face him in the firelight?

He waited for her by the door of the wigwam. “I will keep the fire this night,” he said, “in case of wolves.”

Unable to speak, she ducked past him and into the hut. She crawled fully dressed beneath the deerskin on her sleeping platform and pulled the skin blanket over her head. What came over me? she cried inwardly. Why did I let him kiss me like that? Touch me?

Memories of Cain's burning kisses returned to taunt her. The fresh taste of his mouth, the texture of his tongue, the waves of intense yearning . . . He was a man of another race, another class, and she had welcomed his ardent lovemaking like some jaded court whore. “What have I done?” she whispered into her clasped hands.

She was no prude. Any female over the age of five in Stuart England knew about life. Charles's court was as debauched as any Turkish sultan's palace, and the King's own behavior would shame many a courtier. Still, she was a Sommersett, and she had been brought up properly. No Sommersett bride had ever gone soiled to her husband's marriage bed, and none had disgraced her husband by taking a lover since the time of Henry VIII.

She had done her share of flirting; she had even allowed King Charles to sneak a kiss in a quiet corner of the orangery, but it was all in fun. It had been clearly understood that Elizabeth Anne Sommersett was a sensible young woman. She would do nothing to shame her family.

What she had done with Cain Dare went beyond flirting. It was dangerous, and it frightened her because for the first time she had been overwhelmed by feelings of carnal desire she had only suspected were buried deep within her. Cain was no polished English gentlemen; he was an Indian savage. Rules of proper conduct would mean nothing to him. If he had ravished her on the spot, she would have been in no position to condemn him for his actions.

Too hot beneath the deerskin, Elizabeth rolled over onto her back and stared up at the low ceiling. What if he had not stopped when she'd begged him? What if Cain had taken her maidenhead? What would it have felt like?

As the forbidden questions rose in her mind, she felt a return of the warm ache in her loins. She stirred restlessly, trying to push away the provocative thoughts—thoughts she had no right to dwell on. Her throat tightened and she squirmed, pushing back the blanket. Savage or not, Cain Dare was a man unlike any she had ever met before.

She tried to banish Cain's image by reminding herself of her intended, Edward Lindsey. She had not seen him since he was a youth. She remembered his blond hair, clear blue eyes, and fair skin. Edward had been slight rather than sturdy, but he had looked like a proper Englishman.