He ducked back into the cover of a pine tree when she glanced up. Just his luck to get caught playing the noble savage after having made an issue about her not crossing his path. The absurdity of the situation struck him as he brought his forearm to his temple and wiped the sweat from his brow. He seemed to have some inborn, obsessive need to protect her, when he was the one who needed protection. From her! He’d come to her rescue in high school and been tried, convicted, and crucified for his trouble. Maybe one day he would learn from his mistakes.
Soundlessly he turned and began to climb again.
Tears began to roll down Honor’s face as she stared at the rock slide that blocked the trail. Tears she didn’t even know she was crying until she reached up and touched her cheek. A hoarse sound that might have been a sob choked her throat.
She had reached the point where pain was the sole focus of her awareness. It hurt her to move, to breathe. She couldn’t draw in the air she desperately needed to keep going without feeling as if she were scalding her throat and lungs. Her lips were cracked and her tongue swollen. She couldn’t even swallow without experiencing a raw, burning sensation.
Whatever the limits of her endurance were, she’d pushed past them long ago. Never in her life had she been so beaten down by fatigue, so whipped by physical pain. Nausea roiled in the pit of her stomach, undoubtedly from the effects of too little oxygen. The cramps in her leg muscles had coiled into knots. She wanted to stop, to collapse into a heap and never move again. She had the most bizarre and satisfying fantasy of decomposing into the earth and coming back as a flower or a sprig of mountain laurel, but her body wouldn’t let her drop. It kept her upright; it drove her on.
One last tear rolled down her cheek.
She stared at the rocky ledge, having no idea how she was going to get up it except to do what she’d been doing, putting one foot in front of another. Gathering up her full cotton skirt, she tied it in a knot at her hip and began to work her way through the rubble of the rock slide. The boulders’ jagged edges cut into her rawhide moccasins, bruising the tender soles of her feet and throwing her off balance.
As the hill steepened, she dropped to all fours, using her hands for balance and her feet for leverage. Her legs trembled with fatigue as she struggled to get a foothold on the steep ledge and then grabbed for a rock above her, dragging herself up. Exhaustion made her clumsy, but she found another chink and planted her foot again, heaving herself up to the next rock and the next. Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she forced herself to keep going, even when her leg muscles began to spasm and the jutting granite cut her pale flesh like knives.
The pain was debilitating as she inched toward the top. She was shaking so violently, it was all she could do not to let go and drop to the ground, thirty feet below. She had a flash of broken bones and multiple contusions, but she couldn’t imagine hurting more than she hurt now. Sobbing out a curse word, she caught hold of a spindly pine branch and nearly snapped it in half as she hauled herself up. The next lunge brought her within a few feet of the top.
Moments later, with a hoarse cry, she pulled herself onto the rocky plateau and crumpled to her knees, head bowed. Nausea swept her in waves. She was limp and quaking, unable to move, but somehow, despite the physical upheaval of her body, she knew she’d made it. She had climbed that damn ledge.
She tried to get up, but the ground felt as though it were shifting beneath her, and she couldn’t stop the terrible roiling in her stomach. A shadow dropped in front of her, and when she looked up, Johnny was there, walking across the plateau toward her. He looked like one of the gaan, an angry god of the mountain with the sun at his back, haloing his shoulders and torso.
She waved him away, turning her back to him as the nausea resurged. Perspiration filmed her face and neck, and a sickening rush of weakness overtook her. She swallowed in horror and bent double, dry-heaving several times before she finally retched up her breakfast of nuts and berries.
It was a ghastly, humiliating experience. She felt like a trembling mess, a helpless child who couldn’t control her bodily functions. She didn’t want him, of all people, to see her this way. Afterward, purged of strength, soaked in sweat, she crawled to a nearby spot in the shade of a pine tree and curled up there, trying to recover.
“You’re going back,” Johnny said.
“Get away from me,” she pleaded.
“I’m taking you back down, dammit.”
She didn’t even bother to look at him. “I’m not going down,” she said.
“You’re going, even if I have to carry you!”
“No!” At the risk of being sick again, she raised her head defiantly. “I’m climbing to the top, and you’re not stopping me. Nothing can stop me.”
She waited for him to invoke their bargain, but he didn’t. Instead he made a sound, like air hissing through his teeth, and Honor knew she’d surprised him. Somehow that pleased her. It almost gave her the energy to get up and continue.
“You’re sick,” he said. “You’re bleeding, for God’s sake. Look at your arm.”
Honor glanced at the oozing gash on her forearm, at the cuts and bruises on her legs, and wondered why she felt no pain. Yesterday she might have fainted at the sight. Today it gave her an odd sense of strength. “I’m going on,” she said, pulling the cotton veil from her head and ripping a piece from it to bandage her arm.
Moments later she was up on her feet, testing the shakiness of her legs and finding that she could actually walk. She would never have believed herself capable of such resilience. Was this what they called a second wind?
“You’ve got to be crazy,” Johnny said harshly. “It’s several more miles. You’ll never make it.”
Honor realized she had to get around him to get back to the trail, and for a moment she was afraid he might actually intend to stop her. Bowing her head, she began to walk in the painstakingly slow gait that had brought her this far. If the mountain couldn’t conquer her, then nothing could, including him. Especially him.
“I’ll make it,” she said.
He wouldn’t step aside as she tried to pass, and his angry stance forced her to brush up against him. His breath was hot, his body a solid wall of opposition. He felt like a force field draining off her trembling determination. She kept expecting him to do something, to grab her arm or order her to stop. When he didn’t, it confused and exhausted her even more.
She managed to reach the trail, drained of energy and feeling as if she had nothing left. Somehow she kept going, but it was on nerves alone. She knew he was behind her, watching. I’ll make it, she thought repeating the words like a mantra. But in her heart she was terrified he was right. She never would.
Some time later, still slogging up the steepening trail, she reached that point beyond exhaustion, beyond pain, when the mind detaches to protect itself. Fatigue had insulated her from the physical suffering, and yet on some level she knew that her lungs still caught fire with every breath she took, and her legs were so wobbly, she couldn’t take a step without staggering.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been climbing, or how far she’d gone, when she noticed the darkening sky. Clouds had blocked the sun, bringing blessed coolness, but the thought of a storm alarmed her. She was above the tree line now, with no protection from the elements.
A raindrop splashed against her forearm, then several more hit her face. She kept moving, knowing if she stopped, she would collapse in a heap and never move again. She couldn’t even turn her head to see if Johnny was behind her. It took too much effort, and she knew his angry countenance would throw her to the ground. It would be the straw that broke her.
Within seconds a steady, cleansing rain was falling. She took the veil from her head, letting the shower wash her face and arms. It wasn’t until some time later that she gradually became aware that the steady rainfall had become a downpour, and she was soaked through to the skin. She’d fallen into a trancelike state, into that strange, deep pit of concentration that took her
beyond the limits of human endurance.
Rain was pelting her as she glanced up. Wind whipped at her dress, and the clouds were thunderheads, black and roiling toward her with a paralyzing fury. She looked around, bewildered as the sky opened up with a blinding bolt of lightning. Fear struck at her heart, weakening her legs. She tried to keep moving, but nausea rose in her gorge, and a violent trembling took hold of her limbs.
The thunder cracked above her with an explosion that knocked her to her knees. It shattered what was left of her strength. She couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t even see through the downpour. Swamped by sickness and exhaustion, she curled into a fetal crouch and moaned, defeated.
“Honor?”
It was Johnny’s voice. She roused, struggling to look up, but what she saw above her wasn’t Johnny. It was the peak of the mountain, looming not two hundred feet away. She scrubbed the moisture from her eyes, wondering if it was an illusion. Had she come that close to reaching the top?
She felt Johnny’s hand on her arm, lifting her to her feet. “No,” she croaked. “No!” She couldn’t let him help her. Not when she was so close! She began to cry in racking sobs as she fought him off and sank into a huddled mass.
“Honor, this is insane!”
“I can do it!” she shrieked.
Forcing herself to get up, she staggered up the rocky incline blindly, half crawling. Her foot came down on a sharp rock, and she screamed, dropping to all fours. She was dragging herself by the time she reached the top. Her hand outstretched, she touched the wooden post that marked the pinnacle and told its elevation, nearly twelve thousand feet. With a deep, shuddering sob of relief, she collapsed.
Lightning cracked above her. Thunder burst like a bomb.
Through a haze of rain and tears, she saw the cavelike formation of rocks beyond the post. If she could struggle a few more feet, she could make it to shelter. . . .
Her next awareness was of a crackling fire, and a storm raging hellishly outside the wall of darkness that surrounded her. She was huddled into herself, still wet to the skin and curled up against a huge boulder. Beyond the fire’s healing heat, she saw Johnny sitting opposite her in the cave.
“How did I get here?” she said.
“You crawled.”
“Did you help me?”
“I tried, but you wouldn’t let me.”
She bent her head and wept. She had done it then, without his help. She had conquered the mountain. Sobs shook her body until she couldn’t cry anymore. Slumped against the boulder, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the physical torment her mind had been denying. She sank willingly into the pit of exhaustion and pain. Her lungs ached, and her body burned in every fiber, every shrieking cell. Her muscles, joints, and bones felt damaged, battered beyond repair. But she had prevailed. . . .
Eight
JOHNNY WATCHED IN confusion as Honor huddled into herself like a wounded animal. From where he sat across the fire from her, he could see the involuntary jerking of her muscles and nerves. He could hear every plaintive moan. She wouldn’t let him near her, and yet she shuddered and cried out whenever a thunderbolt exploded above them.
He didn’t know what to do with her. At some point while they’d been climbing the mountain, he’d come to understand that she had to do this thing on her own, but he’d never witnessed such seemingly insane determination. It made him think he didn’t know Honor Bartholomew at all.
The wind howled outside, whistling through the cave.
She moaned, quaking with cold, and he felt a stab of alarm. He didn’t understand what she was doing, what she was trying to prove. Was he the reason she’d put herself through such hell? When he’d told her she wouldn’t make it, he hadn’t meant it as a challenge. He’d believed the mountain was too tough. Even now he was certain it was more than his warning that had driven her to such extremes, but he didn’t like the other option. Had her punishing drive come out of some need to absolve herself? He knew she felt guilt about their past. He wanted her to feel guilt. But he would never have inflicted this kind of pain on her, not knowingly.
On impulse, he went to her, kneeling beside her as another spasm shook her. She was blue with cold. He touched her arm, but she cried out and fought to get away from him, thrashing like a netted bird. Her moans cut through him like a knife, and he felt a sudden and terrible need to take her into his arms, to warm her quaking body.
He moved again to touch her, and she crawled away from him, out of his reach. He backed away then, not knowing what else to do. Her terror of him paralyzed him almost as much as the powerful emotion breaking inside him. He’d never felt so helpless. All he could do was watch and wait.
Honor woke up several times during the night, once to find Johnny offering her food, which she refused. Another time, near dawn, she realized he was next to her, holding her. She wanted desperately to get away from him. She was determined to survive without his help, and she detested being the object of his pity. He paid no attention to her protests, however, and she was shaking so uncontrollably from the cold, she didn’t have the energy to fight him off.
And so she surrendered, allowing him to draw her into the warmth of his embrace, allowing him to nuzzle her neck with his face as he turned her toward him and pulled her curled legs into his lap. He held her gently but firmly, enveloping her in the cocoon of his arms, his chest, and his drawn-up legs. She hated that he was treating her like an injured child, but she desperately needed the warmth of his body heat and the human contact. Her frozen limbs were beginning to respond, to sting with life as the blood resumed flowing.
She dozed off that way, enfolded in his arms and moaning with both pain and pleasure as he rubbed warmth back into her aching arms and legs. She didn’t want to moan, or even to fall asleep, but she couldn’t help herself. He felt good. Everything he did to her felt good, especially the way he’d coaxed her head into the curve of his neck and shoulder, then let his long black hair fall over her like a mantle.
There were times during the night when she roused and thought she must be dreaming. It didn’t seem possible that it was Johnny holding her. She wouldn’t have believed him capable of such kindness. Sighing, she tried to curl into him deeper, as if the heat of his body could absorb her. He seemed to sense her stirring and began to stroke her hair. Please let this be real, she prayed, appealing to the mountain spirits. Don’t snatch it away from me too quickly. A tightness blocked her throat, and the empty place in her heart felt as though it was slowly being filled.
Finally she did fall into a deep, healing sleep, and it was then that the dreams actually began. At first they were womblike and nurturing, promising blissful solace. But gradually they took on another quality, softened and romantic, even sensual. They were sprinkled with images straight out of her teenage fantasies, of Johnny holding her, murmuring love words. Of her melting against him helplessly as he stroked her throat and kissed her . . .
She awoke in the morning, vaguely aware that she was stretched out facing the length of his body with one of her knees nudging his thighs and her face nuzzling into the curve of his neck. The sense of contentment she felt and the warmth of his skin were glorious. She didn’t really want to wake up, or even to move, but she had the oddest, fuzziest sense that something was amiss.
Drowsily her mind began to track body parts—the top of one of his legs, the bottom of hers, the arm he’d tucked in the curve of her neck, the knee she’d pressed to his thighs. Hmmm . . . something was missing, she realized. One of her hands lay between them. The other one—
Her eyes blinked open. Where was her other hand? Gingerly she drew back and felt his muscled thighs close tightly. On her hand! She must have slipped it between his legs for warmth while she was sleeping, and now she was trapped. As she imagined the awkwardness of trying to extract it, she realized her lips were pressed wantonly to the pulse point in his throat. And worse his hand was draped on her hip, his fingers drifting over the rise of her fanny.
One thou
ght, and one thought only, took possession of her mind. How was she going to get out of this situation without waking him?
She needn’t have worried. Johnny’s eyes were closed, but he’d been awake for a good long time—wide awake and trying to cool the fire that was roaring in his blood. His thigh muscles were rigid, and his loins throbbed with the need to roll her onto her back and find release in her soft, yielding flesh. Oh, yes, he was awake. Especially the part of him that was hard and hungry.
He could feel the nervous impulses in her trapped lingers, the involuntary tug when she’d realized her hand was caught. Every little twitch and flutter bombarded him with signals from the most erogenous of male zones. He told himself to release her, to shift his weight a little and free her hand, but his body had other ideas. It took almost as much concentrated effort to get his hormones under control as it had to climb the mountain yesterday.
Pretending to be rousing from sleep, he shifted forward as though about to roll onto his back.
Honor’s soft gasp filled the cave. But instead of pulling her hand back, she panicked and jerked it upward, jamming it against his crotch.
Johnny’s eyes snapped open, and his thigh muscles locked like a steel trap. “Were you looking for something?” he asked.
She stared at him, her eyes widening as she realized what she’d got a handful of. “I think I found it,” she said breathlessly. Realizing her double entendre, she flushed as crimson as an Apache headband. “My hand, I mean! If you could just open your legs!”
“Oh, baby,” he said softly. “You have no idea what you’re asking.”
Warm air rushed through her parted lips, quavering with a delicious sound. She tugged at her hand but only succeeded in getting it turned around until she was cupping him as though she’d intended to fondle him.
The Stealth Commandos Trilogy Page 28