Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One

by Jane Bonander

  “Maybe one day,” he said quietly, “we’ll all see the smoke from the Great Spirit’s fire as it billows into the air from the top of the wigwam mountain.

  “Now,” he said, getting carefully to his feet, one sleeping child still in his arms, “I want you to stay here while I go get your new teacher. I think,” he added, as he walked away, “it’s time you met.”

  The children gave each other secret, furtive glances.

  “Is she very angry to be here, Nick?”

  Two Leafs question stopped him. He wondered when the children were going to mention yesterday’s incident. He’d seen them all hiding behind the trees near the cabin. What could he tell them? Of course she was angry, but he didn’t want them to be afraid of her.

  “She’s angry with me for bringing her here. She’s not angry with any of you.”

  He left the children on the hillside, crossed to the canopied area under the trees and put Cub on a blanket in the shade. Immediately the baby woke up and began to squall. Nicolas looked up as Shy Fawn limped toward them.

  “Your little warrior sleeps through my stories, and wakes up when I’m done. We should have called him Napping Turtle,” he teased.

  “Grateful Cub is just a baby.” Shy Fawn gave Nicolas a warm smile before hoisting the youngster into her arms.

  Nicolas saw the brief spasm of pain that crossed her face as she settled the child against her crippled hip. “He’s getting heavy for you to carry, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t mind. It isn’t often that I have to carry him. He prefers to scoot around after the other children.”

  Nicolas had been concerned about her hip and hadn’t wanted her to carry the child on her back as was the custom of her people, for it would have put too much pressure on her damaged joint. The boy was breaking all the rules by not staying in his cradle basket until he was able to walk, but he already showed a strong will, and would surely be a handful for Shy Fawn as he got older.

  Shy Fawn looked at her son with pride. “One day he will be the first one at your feet to listen, I promise you that. And he will have respect for Bear-with-eyes-of-morning, grandson of the great chief, Bearheart.”

  Nicolas inwardly cringed at the love and devotion he could see in Shy Fawn’s eyes.

  “I was that person a long time ago, Shy Fawn. I’m afraid, after all these years, I don’t feel much like the grandson of a great chief, but rather the errant son of a good winemaker.”

  The baby tugged at Shy Fawn’s bodice in search of nourishment. When he found her nipple, he drew it into his mouth and sucked lustily.

  “You will always be the man my son looks up to.”

  Nicolas turned away to hide the frustration he felt at her open adoration of him. He lifted his buckskin jacket off the tree stump where he’d thrown it earlier.

  “Thank you for mending my jacket.” He ran his fingers over the expert stitching that covered the tear he had received from the shooting during his last rescue mission into the valley.

  “You’re welcome,” she answered, touching Cub’s head lovingly.

  Nicolas nodded and walked away. He felt great responsibility for Cub and Shy Fawn. At the top of his list of things to do, was to find Shy Fawn a mate. Despite her limp, she was a beautiful young woman, whose chin bore the unusual tattoo markings of her people. The right young brave would find her a treasure.

  He crossed to the path that led to the cabin. As he glanced at the tiny, barred window, he thought of the little incident yesterday, with the schoolmistress dumping her chamber pot down the front of her dress. He shook his head. She’d been going to hit him with the damned thing. But had she really thought he was going to rape her? Or kill her? He swore softly to himself. Her prejudice hurt him, though he didn’t know why.

  Memories of puckered nipples and creamy, swelling breasts stormed his senses. She was getting to him. Already. He couldn’t let it happen. Old, angry hurts battered away inside his chest. He had to harden himself to her fresh, soft allure. Trouble was, he thought with a sardonic lift of one black eyebrow, he’d already hardened—in a place over which he had absolutely no control.

  Anna was still in bed when her door opened and Nicolas strode in, his buckskins clinging impudently to his muscular frame. He was as formidable as she’d remembered. She hiked the quilt up under her chin and glared at him. “Don’t you believe in knocking?”

  He gave her a sensual, cocksure look but said nothing. He merely crossed to the fireplace and stoked up her fire, feeding it a bundle of dried acorn husks.

  Anna glared at his back. “How dare you keep me cooped up here!” His unremorseful, unresponsive attitude infuriated her. “Just who do you think you are? For your information, I am not a side of beef to be stolen from the nearest stock ranch and hidden away in a cave until I’m ready to use.”

  Still no response. He probably wasn’t even listening to her. “I insist you take me to Pine Valley. Don’t you think someone is wondering why I didn’t arrive? Aren’t you afraid the authorities will discover what you did?

  “Sweet heaven,” she raved, sliding from the bed. “Someone is bound to check the stage line and discover I got off at Flat Rock. They’re certain to discover you picked me up. Doesn’t that worry you in the least?”

  He turned from the fire and his gaze wandered the length of her, just as it had that first day at the station, and yesterday at the river. When his eyes stopped at the level of her breasts, he glanced into her face, then back down at her chest.

  Anna clenched her teeth as her nipples responded to his glare. A fluttering sensation spiraled into her belly as she scurried to the bedpost to retrieve her dressing gown.

  “Do you always sleep in a shroud?” he drawled.

  “How I sleep,” she answered, shrugging into her wrapper, “is no concern of yours.”

  His laughter sounded forced. “Thank God for that. Fortunately,” he said, turning back to the fire, “I’ve never had a taste for scrawny, pale, white girls.”

  Anna’s mouth pulled into a grim line. He’d made that abundantly clear the day before, and she’d be forever grateful. “Aren’t you afraid,” she repeated, “that someone from the station will report my abduction to the authorities?”

  “The Flat Rock home station has new people. No one knows who I am.” He paused, throwing her a glance over his shoulder. “Nothing will have appeared unusual. You did come with me willingly.”

  Anna brought her hand to her throat to halt her rapid, frightened pulse. With shaky fingers she pulled the sash of her gown tighter around her waist. “Wh-What about the other passengers?”

  He turned and gave her a half grin, but his response was caustic. “They can’t describe a ‘savage’ accurately. After all, we all look alike, don’t we?”

  She swallowed hard. “You’re despicable.”

  He snorted softly. “That’s hardly news.”

  She walked to the window and stared outside, seeing little, too wrapped up in her own confusion and fear. “Now what?”

  He shifted behind her. “I’m prepared to double the salary you were promised.”

  A bribe? Anna couldn’t believe it. Her anger took the form of stunned laughter. “And where am I to spend this grand sum? At your local trading post? What am I to do, exchange it for trinkets and beads?”

  Nicolas swore. “That’s a typical, spoiled, white girl response.”

  She turned on him, her anger growing. “Listen to yourself! I’m lied to, kidnapped, jailed, poked fun at, fed food I can’t even recognize, ignored, nearly drowned, and bribed. And you think I’m acting spoiled?” Her voice held an edge of hysteria, and she sucked in her breath to calm herself.

  “Have you been physically harmed, in any way?”

  She threw her hands up in disbelief. “Just look around—”

  “Have you been hurt?” he interrupted, glaring at her from under his fierce, black brows.

  She could almost feel his anger. “I … Not yet,” she admitted softly. She knew the threat to her
life wasn’t over, even if he tried to act like it was.

  He continued watching her, either unaware that he was making her extremely uncomfortable or not caring.

  “If you can hold your tongue long enough, I’ll take you on a tour of the compound.”

  She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. “You’ll let me go outside?”

  “If you promise you’ll behave.”

  She almost laughed. “Did it ever occur to you that you are the only one I detest with all my soul?”

  He gave her a sardonic look. “Does that mean you won’t scream at the children like you scream at me?”

  She refused to grace him with an answer. She turned and untied her wrapper, pausing before she let it fall to the floor. She looked at him over her shoulder. “Even your lackeys allow me to dress in peace.”

  “No problem,” he countered as he walked to the door. “I doubt there’s anything I want to see anyway.”

  Anna threw the arrogant man an angry look as he disappeared out the door. Once she was sure he was gone, she scurried around the cabin, pulled out a clean pair of drawers and a camisole and tossed them on the bed. She shook out the voluminous crinoline she had dropped behind the chair the night before and laid out her pink lawn dress with the crochet insert and the wide, gathered sleeves.

  She tied her heavy drape of hair back with a ribbon and washed her face. Then, in less than ten minutes, she was ready to flee her cell, if only for the morning.

  Anna blinked as she stepped into the bright morning sunlight. “Heavens,” she muttered. “I feel as if I’ve been in a cave for a month.” She hated to admit it, but she was nervous. As little as she wanted to be here, she still wondered what the children would be like.

  She would have preferred to walk slowly, allowing anyone who watched her to see her at her regal best, but that wasn’t possible. In order to keep up with Nicolas, she had to pick up her skirts and hurry beside him.

  She glanced down at his long, strong legs and attempted to match his casual stride, but it was too much for her. “Is there a fire?” she snapped.

  Nicolas looked down at her, appearing surprised at the breathlessness in her voice. “Sorry,” he said, slowing his pace.

  “That building over there,” he said, pointing to a long bungalow with many small windows, “is where the children sleep.”

  The building reminded Anna of an orphanage dormitory, but she held her tongue. “What’s that funny little building next to it?”

  “The privy.” Nicolas laughed.

  She felt herself blush, so turned her attention to the group of young women who sat in a circle beneath the trees.

  His wives, no doubt. She felt intense sympathy for all of them. How dreadful to have to share a husband, much less one as obnoxious as Nicolas Gaspard.

  “And those women?” she asked. “What are they doing?”

  Nicolas waved at the two or three who greeted him. “Some are weaving the baskets we use for cooking and carrying water—”

  “You carry water in baskets?” Anna interrupted with disbelief.

  Nicolas nodded. “Shy Fawn,” he called, asking her something in a language Anna didn’t understand. The woman brought her work over for Anna to inspect.

  Anna took the bowl-shaped lattice-twined basket from her and ran her hand around the inside. “What kind of material is this?”

  “Willow,” Nicolas answered.

  Anna was amazed. “Still, it doesn’t look like it could hold water.”

  Nicolas said something to the Indian woman again, and she scurried away, coming back with another basket.

  “Look at this one.” He handed her a similar basket, but one that was damp. He ran his finger along the inside. “See how each piece swells when it’s wet? And some others,” he added, “are treated with pine pitch to keep the water in.”

  “Incredible,” Anna said. “But … but how do they stay together when they’re hanging over a fire?”

  “They don’t go near the fire.” At her puzzled expression, he explained. “Stones that have been in the fire for hours are dropped into the baskets, and whatever is in there gets cooked.” He threw her a sidelong glance. “One of the main things they cook this way is the acorn mush you threw at me yesterday.”

  Anna tried to ignore him, but the entire scene that followed after she’d brained him with the bowl loomed in her head, and she blushed. She cleared her throat, knowing it wasn’t even wise to think about what happened at the river.

  “I’ve never seen anything woven so tightly,” she said with forced enthusiasm, returning the basket to Shy Fawn.

  The Indian woman pulled the basket from Anna’s loose grip, her dark eyes glistening angrily from beneath her straight, black lashes.

  Anna watched her limp away. So, she thought glumly, she’d already made an enemy. As Shy Fawn reentered her work circle, Anna noticed her subservience and cynically wondered if Nicolas had all of his wives trained so well.

  “What are the others doing?” she asked, looking at the group Shy Fawn was in.

  “Sewing clothing and blankets for the children.” He steered her away. “We’ll save that for another time.”

  Arrogance, again. He was obviously accustomed to having all of his orders heeded without question.

  His hand was at her elbow, and the feeling of warmth that spread over her arm was potent.

  “When do I get to meet them?”

  “The children?” Nicolas asked.

  “No. Your wives.”

  “My what?” The words exploded from his mouth like thunder, ricocheting off the buildings around them and forcing everyone to turn and look at them.

  “Your wives. The mothers of your fifteen children,” she said slowly, as if talking to a dimwitted child.

  He swore out loud, and Anna felt an angry blush steal into her cheeks. “I fail to see that it’s something to curse about,” she said stiffly.

  “I have fathered no children—at least not to my knowledge. And believe me,” he added, a disparaging note to his voice, “the idea of marriage is more repugnant to me than being jailed is to you.”

  Anna sincerely doubted that. “But … but I thought you said— You did say they were your children.” She glared at him.

  “Of course they’re mine … now,” he answered, pushing her along gently toward the grassy slope where the children were, some sitting patiently, others rolling and tumbling.

  Abruptly, they all stopped and gaped at Anna, making her feel like a freak at a circus sideshow. And they’d become uncommonly quiet.

  Without any clear thought, other than perhaps a fleeting notion of protection because she knew who he was, Anna sidled close to Nicolas as they walked toward the group.

  “They won’t bite.”

  She immediately moved away. “I’m fully aware of that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She gave him a tight smile. “Quite sure—unless you tell them to, of course.”

  He chuckled.

  “Oh!” Anna squealed softly, stepping backward quickly when she felt something under her skirt.

  “Aha! What’s this?” Nicolas bent down and pulled a tiny girl out from under Anna’s dress. She recognized the child as the one who had peeked in at her through the window the day before.

  “Whatever was she doing?” She smoothed her skirt down over her white petticoat with nervous fingers.

  “I imagine she wanted to find out if you had legs,” he drawled, giving her that same lazy onceover that had sent her pulses racing so many times before.

  Anna pulled her gaze from his with some effort and looked down at the tiny girl, who clutched a golden yellow poppy in her pudgy fist. Her serious dark eyes never left Anna.

  “I remember you.” Anna gave the child a wide smile.

  The child turned away and hid her face against Nicholas’s leg, but her chubby little hand thrust the flower at Anna.

  “Is this for me?” she asked, lacing her voice with pleasure. When the child no
dded, her face still hidden, Anna took the wilting wildflower.

  “Ummm.” She brought the flower to her nose. “It’s a lovely gift, thank you, little one.”

  Nicolas pulled the child into his arms. “How do you know she understands you?”

  “We … met briefly the other day. And,” she added, “children are my business.” She turned and glared at him. “As you very well know,” she stated pointedly as she wove the stem of the flower through the heavy hair behind her ear.

  Nicolas had been watching her with an unreadable expression on his face, and he appeared to have trouble looking away. Finally, another child, the boy Anna had seen trying to teach the smaller children to play kick ball, boldly stepped from the tiny throng.

  “I am Two Leaf,” he said in clear, solid English. “That,” he said, pointing to the girl who still clung to Nicolas, “is my sister, Summer.”

  There was intense curiosity in the boy’s dark eyes. Anna suddenly realized that all of these children had watched as Nicolas, the barbaric hun, had hauled her, kicking and screaming, to the river. No wonder they hadn’t dared come up to her window.

  “How old are you, Two Leaf?” she asked.

  “I am eight sum—” He threw Nicolas a quick glance. “I am eight years old,” he said with pride.

  “I see.” She glanced over the tiny sea of faces that now surrounded her and Nicolas. Her eyes were drawn to a young boy whose arm was in a sling. Standing next to him was another boy, who had a long, ragged gash that extended from the corner of his eye to his chin. It was still red and swollen, but she noticed it was clean.

  Anna felt her stomach quiver. She quickly looked at each child for signs of trauma, and her heart ached when she saw the physical evidence on so many. But it was their eyes, haunting and sad, that made her wonder if much of their pain wasn’t carried in their hearts.

  She swung her startled gaze to Nicolas, who refused to look at her. What is this place? She blinked furiously and vowed to ask him once they were alone.

  “Do … do all of the children speak English?” she asked, attempting to hide the horror she felt at her discovery.