He watched her closely. “All Indians aren’t, you know.”
Her gaze fluttered to the ground. “I know that … now.” She thought about how clean the children always looked first thing in the morning, and remembered how surprised she had been when she’d first noticed it.
“Most tribes find that a morning cleansing at the river is essential,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “And a man planning to hunt spends two or three hours in the sweathouse, then plunges into the river to cleanse himself of his own odor, for fear of alerting the deer.”
Anna was amazed. “What a clever idea.”
“Yes,” he answered, looking down at her through slitted lids. “The good hunter is always one step ahead of his prey.”
Anna swallowed hard. In spite of her discomfort, she lingered when they reached her cabin door. “The children will be happy to learn that you’re back.”
“Have they missed me?”
Anna cleared her throat and fiddled with the handkerchief in her apron pocket, avoiding his hot gaze. “Certainly. They haven’t heard a good story since Hissik the Skunk.”
“Ahh,” he said, nodding. “I thought schoolteachers were supposed to be good at telling stories.”
“Well,” Anna said on a sigh, “somehow I’m a poor substitute.” She didn’t think it was necessary to tell him how much the children had enjoyed ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’ and ‘The Princess and the Pea,’ two of her favorite stories from Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales.
Nicolas continued to stare at her. “You don’t sound offended.”
“I’m not,” she answered. “In fact …” She looked at her toes, momentarily tongue-tied. He was standing so close she could feel the heat from his body as it impregnated her skin. She felt the pulse beating wildly at her throat.
“Yes?” he prodded, reaching out and touching the fat, shiny curl that hung loosely over her shoulder.
“In fact,” she repeated, her heart thudding, “I think … I think you should come by soon. If you’re not busy,” she added, swallowing hard and gazing at the opening of his tunic where his chest was visible between the leather lacings.
“I’ll try.” He rubbed the curl between his fingers. “Your hair is the color of warm honey. It shimmers in the sun.”
The back of his hand rested gently above her breast. Her nipples reacted as if they’d been touched, and she pressed her lips together to keep the gasp of pleasure from escaping.
He reached behind her head and untied the mink ribbon, then fanned her long curls out over her shoulders. “You look so young,” he whispered as he brought his thumb down her jaw line and settled it into the small cleft in her chin.
Anna swallowed, fighting the urge to run, yet knowing it would be wise. “I … I’m almost twenty-one.”
“You’re just a baby.” He continued to stroke her neck and her ear with his large brown hand, occasionally threading his long fingers through her hair.
Anna shook her head and looked up at his mouth. It was firm, and dry, and coming closer. “I’m … I’m not …” she faltered, concentrating on his lips.
When his mouth gently touched hers, Anna immediately sensed the difference between this kiss and the first. Fighting the deep, glowing urgency to enter his embrace, she pushed him away and ran into the cabin.
He followed her, grabbing her arm as he stepped across the threshold. “Again you play the frightened virgin,” he growled, jerking her against him.
Angry, she turned on him. “Why do you insist on … on doing that outside where everyone can see us? Don’t you have any respect for my position? What would the children think if they saw you pawing me like a rutting goat?”
One shifty black eyebrow quirked up and he gave her a lazy smile. “Would you rather I pawed you in here?”
She jerked away. “I’d rather you didn’t paw me at all.”
With the stealth of a cat, he moved toward her. “I don’t believe you.”
She saw the hot determination in his eyes, and her anger changed to alarm. Strangely, she was more afraid of her own feelings than she was of him. “I don’t care what you believe.”
He ran a callused finger along the line of her jaw. “Playing games, are we?”
Anna shook her head. She tried to ignore the wild bumping of her heart. “I don’t … I don’t play games. …”
Suddenly she was pulled against him, imprisoned in his arms. He clamped his mouth on hers, moving expertly, sending her head spinning.
His hands roamed her back as he pressed against her. She felt a stronger need bubbling up from her very core, and became hungry, gripping his tunic in her fists, kissing him wildly and pressing herself against that male part of him that had begun to swell and grow against her belly.
All too quickly, Nicolas pulled away and looked down at her, his face flushed and his eyes dark. She gasped for breath, swallowing convulsively, aware that her breasts were heaving wildly, but not caring.
She felt his hands on her shoulders, and closed her eyes as his fingers drifted across the bodice of her dress, over her breasts. She hardly dared breathe as his thumbs massaged her nipples through her clothing. Exquisite pleasure-pain jabbed through her, and she thought she’d faint if he didn’t stop.
He was unbuttoning the high neck of her gown, and she knew she had to stop him. But before she could bring herself to object, he’d dipped beneath the opening and cupped her breast. His hand was warm, and as he touched her, he raked his callused palm across her tight nipple. The sensation shook her, her knees gave way and she slumped against him.
Then she heard pounding on the door.
“Nick! You in there?”
Anna took a deep, shuddering breath, moved out of his embrace and pulled her bodice together.
He laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “A little late for modesty, don’t you think?”
Regaining her composure, she glared at him. “Hadn’t you better answer him?”
He gave her a wicked grin, sauntered toward the door and opened it a crack. “What’s the problem, Two Leaf?”
Anna saw Two Leaf crane his neck to look around Nicolas. “Um, Shy Fawn said to tell you that your clothes are ready for tonight—”
“Thank you,” he answered, interrupting the boy. He turned to Anna once again. “You’re wrong, you know.”
She looked at him, puzzled.
“You play the game very well.”
She didn’t miss the heated look that crossed his face, or the huskiness in his voice. The first time he’d kissed her, he’d mentioned the game, too. She didn’t understand what he meant.
When he’d left, Anna dragged herself to the chair by the fire, sat down and pulled her knees up under her. She was angry with herself for responding so wildly to him. This time there was no comparing him to David. David, and all memories of him, was fast fading into oblivion.
She felt tears sliding down her cheeks, told herself she was a fool to dwell on such fleeting pleasures of the flesh. She thought she’d learned her lesson with David, had vowed never to be weak again. But it wasn’t going to be that easy. Telling herself to be strong and actually being strong were two entirely different things.
With a weary sigh, Anna dragged herself out of the chair and got ready for bed. As she crawled under the covers and rolled into a protective ball, she heard Nicolas’s sneering remark before he’d left the room. Game? If it was a game, she certainly didn’t understand the rules.
Chapter Eight
Anna awoke with a start. She listened carefully, certain something had awakened her. There. There it was again. Someone was crying. No, she thought, sliding out of bed, not just crying. More like wailing. She moved her feet along the floor until she found her moccasins, then groped in the darkness for her dressing gown. She slipped into it, tied the sash, and felt her way to the window. Lifting the heavy leather flap, she looked out into the darkened compound and saw a light flickering in the barn. She quickly went to the table, lit the lamp, a
nd took it with her as she went outside.
She hurried across the cool, damp grass, only vaguely aware of the night creatures that hooted and chirped in the darkness. When she stepped into the barn, she saw Nicolas on his haunches, struggling with a little boy.
Anna set her lamp on the ledge next to an empty stall and hurried to them. “What is it? What’s the matter?” She looked from Nicolas to the child, waiting for an answer.
“Poor little critter is scared to death.” Nicolas sucked in a breath through his teeth as the youngster kneed him in the chest. “He was asleep when I picked him up, and frightened as hell when he woke up on the back of my horse.”
“Picked him up? From where?” Anna bent down and touched the boy’s hair while she waited for Nicolas to answer. “Shh,” she soothed against the child’s ear.
When the boy heard Anna’s soft voice, he stopped wailing, pulled away from Nicolas and reached for her, his face streaked with tears.
Anna took him immediately. “Shh, shh,” she whispered as she held the child in her arms. He clung to her and sobbed into her neck.
She stood up with the boy and looked at Nicolas, who was standing helplessly in front of her, his face haggard.
“What happened?” she asked. When he still didn’t answer her, she looked down at the child who had stopped crying, and was hiccoughing softly against her shoulder. “Who is this?”
Nicolas rubbed his face with his hands, then went over and took off Diablo’s saddle.
“Answer me,” she said sharply. “Who is this child? I’ve never seen him before.” Once and for all, she was going to get some answers.
“I’m tired. We can talk about it in the—”
“No!” she interrupted. “It’s time. It’s past time. I have a right to know what you’re doing up here. I want to know why all of these children are hiding up here with you, and I want to know now.”
Nicolas tossed fresh hay into Diablo’s stall, a movement that caused him to wince.
Anna heard his sharp intake of breath and looked over at him, noticing for the first time the large circle of blood on the side of his tunic near his arm. “You’re hurt!”
She looked down at the child in her arms. He was sound asleep, snoring softly against her neck. She gently laid the child down on the cot that was made up in the corner of the room, and covered him with a soft fur blanket.
She rushed to Nicolas’s side. “Come on, lie down,” she said, ignoring his efforts to push her away. She pulled him over to the second cot and shoved him gently onto his back. “Where are your medical supplies?”
He pointed toward the chest on the shelf.
She brought it back to the cot and sat down next to him. “You’ll have to help me get you out of this,” she said as she untied the leather laces of his tunic.
Nicolas gritted his teeth, pulled the damp, blood-soaked shirt off, then slumped back against the pillow.
Anna glanced briefly at his wide, hard chest. Even at rest, his muscles were firm and finely sculpted. Fumbling with the hem of her nightgown, she ripped a piece off and dunked it into the pitcher of water sitting on the table by the cot.
“Lift your arm,” she ordered softly.
He obliged, revealing the corded brawn that spanned the area from his armpit to his waist.
Anna’s gaze drifted up until it met the black fringe of hair under his arm. She swallowed and hurriedly dabbed at his wound.
“It looks clean,” she said, surprised her voice sounded so strong. When he didn’t respond, she looked at him. “Don’t go thinking you’re going to go to sleep on me, Mr. Gaspard,” she said crisply.
Nicolas opened one eye and looked at her. “You going to natter at me until I tell you everything?”
“Absolutely.” Anna couldn’t help smiling. His teasing always made her smile. Of all the different faces Nicolas wore, this was her favorite. She cleaned his wound thoroughly, concentrating on the ragged edges of his skin rather than allowing herself to look up into his eyes. She knew he was watching her closely.
She rinsed the blood from the flannel and turned to wipe the wound again when the palm of her hand touched the crisp hair that curled over his upper chest. It was coarse and black, and it spanned his dark nipples, reaching as far up as the hollow of his throat and as low as his navel. His body hair had surprised her from the beginning. She’d often seen the Indians back home stripped to the waist during the hot, drowsy days of summer. Many had been lean and well-muscled, but their chests had been brown and smooth, void of hair.
Her fingers touched the hair again, and fire spread through her arm and into her body. She swallowed hard again and coated his wound with salve, enjoying the need to touch him.
As she bound his chest with clean wrapping, she noted the numerous other scars that covered him. “Good lord,” she whispered, touching them. “How did you get all these?” She looked into his eyes. “And why?”
He answered her with a look of resignation. “I haven’t kept track.”
“Are these … gunshot wounds?”
He made a weary sound that was mixed with a sigh. “Some are.”
“But … but why would someone want to shoot you?”
He sighed again and threw his arm over his eyes. “I’m a dangerous criminal, didn’t you know?”
She laughed, a nervous sound that tittered annoyingly in her ears. “You’re not.”
“Oh, but I am. The white folks down in the valley have put a price on my head.”
He sounded too tired to be kidding. “Why?”
“Because I’ve come into their homes and taken their slaves.” Bitterness rang in his voice.
Anna glanced at the boy asleep on the cot, then thought about all of the other children asleep in their snug little beds in the dormitory. Their haunting eyes and scarred faces loomed in her mind again, and suddenly she understood why their eyes had seemed too old and wise for their young bodies.
“The children?” When he nodded, she said, “Tell me.” She watched him. It was almost as if he were fighting with himself, trying to convince himself to tell her something too horrible for anyone to hear.
“I wasn’t much older than Two Leaf when I watched my mother die,” he said softly.
She listened while he told her of the massacre of his mother’s tribe, and of his own close brush with death. She felt a deep sadness when she heard of his long, hard trek across Northern California to find his father—a man, he told her, he only knew by the name of “Young Cloud.”
“Jean-Claude,” Anna said, wiping the wetness from her eyes with the sleeve of her robe.
Anna heard what it had been like for some of his people who’d already been brutalized by the Spaniards, and were now being enslaved by the white settlers. She heard the helpless rage in his voice when he talked about how his people were being tossed aside like useless rubbish, and how he had vowed to help them.
He coughed, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound. “I know,” he continued quietly, “that history written by the white man is going to applaud the discovery of gold. It will be romanticized, glorified. But for the Indian, it was hell.” He was quiet for a long, dragging minute. “It still is.”
His hand gripped Anna’s tightly, and she squeezed back, not knowing what to say.
“The land is nothing like it was before they came. They’ve raped it looking for their precious gold, and they’ve made our rivers run thick with silt. They’ve killed the fish. And still they weren’t satisfied. They’ve taken all the good land and have left only the mountains, where my people have had to hide from the vicious vigilantes.”
His hand rested on her knee. He lifted the sash of her dressing gown and rubbed it between his fingers. “And now they need bodies to work their ranches and pick their crops. Who better than the savage? The ranchers take the children and the women because they’re frightened, docile. All around me I’ve seen them taken from their homes and forced to work like slaves.”
He blinked back moisture that h
ad settled in the corners of his eyes. “I couldn’t stand by and let it happen. I had to try something … do something …”
“And this little boy?” she asked softly, nodding toward the sleeping child.
Nicolas told her that the child’s mother had begged Nicolas to take him, for she didn’t want him enslaved to the man who now owned her and had fathered the child.
“How long have you been hiding the children up here?”
“Since March. One day last summer, Sky and I were out riding. We came across this valley by accident. It was perfect. It’s hidden so well, it’s almost impossible to stumble on accidentally.” Nicolas gave her a tired smile. “Joke and Sky helped me with the buildings.” He raised a weary eyebrow. “Sky was here the day you raged at me for keeping you locked in.”
“Oh,” Anna said, a blush staining her cheeks as she remembered her tirade.
“So, if I can save a few of the children, and educate them, they might have a chance in the world out there. Now do you understand why I brought you here?”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Tears clogged her throat.
“Would it have mattered?”
She gave him a helpless shrug. “I don’t know … I think so.” She checked his binding again, looking for fresh blood. “Tell me about June.”
“June was scrubbing floors and washing clothes for a family of ten.”
Anna’s heart ached for her. “The scar on her forehead … how did she get it?”
“The family has four sons. The oldest, Jed, is brutal. He’s seventeen now, and has already been in more trouble than men twice his age.”
Nicolas absently pulled one of Anna’s loose, long curls over her shoulder and stroked it. Warmth enveloped her chest at the comfortable intimacy.
“He always tried to get June alone. He’d pinch her breasts, shove her up against the wall and constantly threaten her. One day, she shoved him back. He slashed her with his knife.”
Anna brought her hands to her mouth. “Oh, that poor, sweet girl.” She thought about Shy Fawn and her bad limp. “And Shy Fawn? Was she crippled by the whites?”
Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One Page 12