Bennett and Poke roared with laughter.
Lochrie spat at LaRousse, hitting him squarely across the cheek. John bucked furiously against Bennett's hold on him, but the huge man kneed him in the kidneys, dropping John to his knees with a strangled moan.
LaRousse slashed the spittle from his face with the back of his sleeve. "For zat," he said through gritted teeth, "you weel live—just long enough to watch us kill your wife, slowly. Eh, Bennett?"
Bennett pushed John to the ground with his foot and grunted, pig-like, tearing at the tattered belt on his filthy pants.
Hattie felt LaRousse's hand drift up to her breast, fondling her. Dimly, she heard John scream her name. Then she did the only sensible thing she'd managed to do since she'd laid eyes on the murderous heathen.
She fainted.
* * *
Mariah pulled her mare to a halt beside Creed's roan. The roar of the current was only slightly less deafening here than it had been the last few miles of the Sun River. Creed was already knee-deep in swirling eddies, surveying the forty-foot span of water for its crossing potential. Her gaze drifted involuntarily to the way his worn deerskin leggings hugged his muscular legs and the way the V of perspiration between his shoulders made the moss green shirt cling to the contours of his back.
Disgusted by her insidious curiosity, she forced her gaze to the shoreline. Petunia stomped at the river's rocky edge and yanked hungrily at the long, slippery tufts of sweetgrass, half-submerged by the spring runoff. The river spilled through the shade of giant, sheltering Ponderosa Pines, hedges of creambrush tufted with white blossoms, and glacial boulders glinting in the heat of the day.
The sun's arc indicated it was only noon, but already Mariah wished the day would end. She was still stiff as an old washboard, despite Creed's assurances to the contrary.
They'd climbed steadily, following the path of the river. He had stayed closer to her. He'd even taken pains to point out some flora and fauna along the way. Yet, he'd erected the old familiar walls around him again and kept aloof.
In truth, she was relieved because she found she liked the other Creed she'd glimpsed earlier, the one who smiled and laughed. And that, she suspected, was a very dangerous thing.
The river narrowed here significantly, though the deceptively calm center pool looked dark and deep. The noon sun bore down on her, soaking through her numerous layers of petticoats and underthings—clothes designed for shady strolls through civilized parks and afternoon tea in cool, breezy parlors. Certainly, they weren't fit for riding through the wilds of Montana behind a man who thought the height of fashion was dead animal skins.
She tamped at her glistening neck with an already-soiled lace hanky and watched Creed edge deeper into the water, feeling for the bottom. The current tugged at him, nearly knocking him over, but he braced his legs apart and balanced one hand on a boulder.
Her heartbeat quickened apprehensively as she stared at the roiling water. She rubbed her damp palms against the fabric of her skirts. Courage, Mariah, she cautioned herself mentally. Courage.
"Bottom's fairly smooth," Creed shouted, wading back to shore. "The horses can navigate it, I think. We'll cross here."
Mariah's throat tightened. "You think? Are you sure? It looks... deep."
He tossed her an irritated glance as he mounted Buck. "We've been following this river for miles with no ford more likely than this. Unless you plan to follow it to the headwaters at ten thousand feet, it's the best we'll find."
"Uh... h-how much farther would that be... exactly?" she asked hopefully.
"Two days too far." He reined the gelding around to her. "What's the matter?"
"The matter?" she echoed glancing at the dark water. "Nothing."
The truth dawned on his face. "Maudit, Mariah. You can't swim, can you?"
She gulped. "Well, I... of course. I—I've just never done this before. Chicago has bridges for this sort of thing." She was unable to summon the courage to tell him she'd never done more than paddle around in the pond near her house as a child, never in more than three feet of water, and had a deathly fear of murky, dark pools in which she couldn't see the bottom.
What good would it do to tell him that now? It was cross or suffer his endless mocking I-told-you-sos. That she couldn't abide. Besides, she reasoned, she wouldn't literally have to swim. She'd be on Petunia's back. She could do that. Surely she could do that.
He shook his head disgustedly, obviously not fooled by her bravado. "I should have known. Why didn't you tell me, for God's sake?"
Her jaw tightened. "Would it have helped my cause?"
"Your cause was a foolish one, mademoiselle. And I'm the fool who brought you." He sent an uneasy look back at the tumbling river. "Well, there's nothing for it now. You'll be safe enough. All you have to do is hang on. Can you do that?"
Color stained her cheeks. "I never said I wouldn't cross."
"No, you didn't." He yanked Petunia's reins from her hands and dragged them over the mare's head. Snatching her valise, he slung it over his saddle.
He glared at her. "Remember, just hang on to her mane and the saddle horn. I'll be right beside you." He nudged Buck toward the riverbank downstream from her and yanked the brim of his hat down low over his eyes.
Her palms prickled with moisture. Taking Petunia's mane firmly in one hand, Mariah gripped the saddle horn with the other as her mare followed Buck toward the bank.
As if she could sense Mariah's nervousness, Petunia threw her head back with a snort. Creed gave her a gentle tug and both horses edged into the icy waters of the Sun, stepping cautiously around the slippery, moss-covered rocks at the edge of the river.
Slowly, they made their way into the rushing current. Mariah felt the freezing water soak through her leather boots and tug at the hem of her dress. She ignored the impulse to hitch her skirts higher. Instead, she tightened her grip on the horse. Cold panic crept up the back of her neck as she stared into the dark pools ahead.
"You all right?" Creed shouted over the roar of the water.
She heard him, but didn't answer. Her teeth were clamped shut. Every fiber of her being was concentrated on gripping the mare with her knees. Petunia's rump angled downstream, pushed by the strong current, and knocked against Buck.
Mariah couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She was paralyzed with a kind of fear she'd never experienced before. It was unreasonable and she knew it. She'd get a little wet and then she'd be out of the river. All she had to do was hang on and watch the other bank coming closer. Closer. That was it. She'd keep her eyes straight ahead.
But Petunia lurched just then as the river bottom dropped out from under her. Mariah let out a shriek as she was plunged shoulder-deep into the water. She reached instinctively for Creed's arm, only inches away from hers.
Instantly, Creed fought to disengage her hand, his gelding already on the drift from her. He'd underestimated the current below the surface and even now, it pulled hard at the two horses.
"No! Don't hold onto me, Mariah! Hold your saddle. Hold onto the mare!"
"Creed!" she cried, tearing at his sleeve. Her breath came in short panting gasps. "Don't leave me."
"I'm right here,"—he leaned toward her, trying to save her precarious balance—"but you must let go of me."
"Oh, my God!" she cried, her voice shrill with terror. "I... I can't!"
"You'll pull yourself off the -!"
Petunia's great brown eyes showed white as she listed sideways in the current, and Mariah felt herself being dragged from the saddle by the weight of her heavy skirts. She clutched at the saddle horn, but felt her wet hands slipping. All the while, Buck moved farther and farther away. "Cre-e-eed!"
He couldn't stop it. Dieu, he was right there and he was helpless to stop it! He watched her go as if in slow motion—reaching out to him with her other hand, plunging into the freezing water, her eyes wide with terror.
Chapter 9
The frigid water closed over her scream as she disappeared be
neath the swift-moving glassy surface. Creed's hand clamped around her wrist before her fingers tore free of his shirt. The current swept her around behind Buck, twisting Creed in his saddle, bringing the gelding's rump around. God help me. His heart pounded violently, his breath locked frozen in his chest.
He tried to haul her toward him, but he had no leverage. The dark current was a living thing, dragging her ferociously, possessively as if it had already laid its deadly claim on her.
"Nooo-oo—!" he roared, feeling her slipping from his rapidly numbing fingers. Her hair floated just out of reach. "Come up," he screamed. "Help me, Mariah—damn you!"
She sputtered to the surface then, gasping, reaching for him with her other hand. She flailed with grim panic, wild-eyed with terror. "Cree-e-uhp," she managed before the current dragged her under again.
His decision was instinctive, inevitable. He couldn't pull her to him on the animal's back, but he might be able to pull her with him to the shore. Kicking away from Buck, he plunged into the freezing water. He had her only by the fabric of her sleeve. He could still feel her fingers desperately, seeking his wrist as they plummeted down the river together.
His breath came in short gasps. The icy water splashed him in the face, denying him a clean lungful of air. The far-off shoreline flew by in a blur and the whitewater grew stronger. The current twisted and tossed them violently around huge, jutting rocks. He couldn't get close enough to her. Pulled along ahead of him, Mariah hadn't resurfaced. Endless seconds ticked by like minutes. He lost all sense of time, concentrating only on surviving.
On saving her.
An undertow snatched at him and at Mariah's waterlogged skirts. For a long moment it dragged him down as well, disorienting him. He whirled underwater, clinging tenuously to her sleeve. He felt the stitches give as he was dragged away.
Exploding to the surface, he gasped for breath, counting on the strength of his swimming to save them. He kicked out of the clawing undertow, finally getting in front of Mariah. By a stroke of fortune, his fingers found purchase around her wrist. It took him several horrified seconds to realize that she made no effort this time to grip him back.
Desperate, he hauled back on her with all his strength, drawing her to him. Her limp form sagged against him and her head dropped back against his shoulder.
Terror gathered in a fist at the back of his throat. With every ounce of his remaining strength, he fought the roiling flux of the water, propelling her toward the far shore. He gasped for breath as the tumbling current broke over them. Then, as abruptly as the current had claimed them, it spit them out, pushing them toward the bank.
His first stumbling contacts with the river bottom sent him crashing down into the shallow water with Mariah. Her wet clothes were unexpectedly heavy and his strength nearly gone. He dragged her onto a muddy grass bank, his chest heaving with the effort. Behind them, the river thundered like a disappointed beast, drowning out the sound of the heartbeat pounding in his ears.
He laid her on a patch of wild mint. Her body accepted the earth bonelessly. He didn't need to lay a hand on her chest to know there was no breath in her. A sinking feeling stole the remaining strength from his knees and he dropped to the ground beside her.
With a trembling hand, he raked aside the wet hair that partially covered her face. Her skin was chilled and pale, still as death.
Le bon Dieu dans le ciel! She had already left him.
"Oh, Gaa-hhh-d!" With his head thrown back in despair, the guttural, soul-wrenching cry tore from him. What good did his cursed second sight do him if he couldn't spare her life? He'd known. Pardieu, he'd known. He pounded a furious fist on the boning that encased her.
"Damn you, Mariah. Don't you die. Breathe, dammit! Breathe... breathe—" He took her by the shoulders and shook her—mindless, desperate. Her head lolled limply on her neck, her lips slack and tinged an ominous blue.
A trickle of water ran out of her mouth.
Creed froze, his eyes riveted to that small bit of hope. He shook her shoulders again and another trickle spilled out, followed by a gurgling, half-choking sound. "Mon Dieu—"
He yanked his knife from the sheath at his hip. He shoved her roughly over onto her stomach and flicked the tip of his knife under the waistband of her skirts, gaining access to the heavier, boned top. Edging the blade beneath the bodice of her soaked gown, he aimed for the strings of that damnable corset that had her cinched so tight she could never get a decent breath of air.
With one clean flick of his wrist, the deadly blade did its job, dispatching the heavy fabrics as if they were no more than candle dip. He tore the encumbrances from her, leaving her naked on top but for the transparent shift that clung to her breasts.
Tossing the knife aside, he slung her over his arms with her back to his chest and squeezed the river from her with two shaking jolts.
"Breathe..." he pleaded. "Breathe, Mariah—"
A coughing gag. A sputter of watery breath. Creed felt her diaphragm contract with a short, tentative gasp.
"C'est bien," he prompted. "Breathe." He crossed one arm over her chest and cupped her shoulder in his large hand. Her heartbeat bucked against his forearm and his fingertips squeezed her cold flesh—pleading, prompting, drawing her back. "That's it, Mariah, that's it."
She retched river water while he held her, then sputtered again. Shudderingly, she drew in her first clean breath in a heaving gulp.
Creed exhaled in a half-sob and squeezed his eyes shut in silent thanks. "Oui," he said, pulling her hair away from her face to the back of her neck. He watched the flush of life return to her skin. "C'est bien. C'est bien."
Her chest rose and fell jerkily against his arm. He felt her fingers close tightly around his as a racking spasm shook her.
Finally, she moaned and dropped her head back against his shoulder with eyes closed. "Creed..."
"Shh-hh, ma petite." He drew her fully, protectively into his lap. She spoke his name. Relief filled him with a shudder. His breath came in shaky heaves. "You're all right now."
"Creed." Her voice was raw and another cough shook her. "So s-scared... h-hold me."
"I will." He dropped his face into the curve of her neck, his cheek in her hair. "Ah, Mariah, I almost lost you." He stroked the hair back off her forehead with his damp palm. Even as he said it, guilt flashed through him like a hot wind. She had never been his to lose.
"The water. I c-couldn't breathe," she rasped, shivering fiercely as much from shock as cold.
"I know." Closing his eyes, he drew in a ragged lungful of air. Damn. Damn.
She pressed her fingers against her lips. "I c-couldn't reach you. The current kept p-pulling at me—" A sob broke her words.
He cursed into her shoulder, pressing his forehead against her damp skin. "I should never have let you cross, Dieu... it was my fault." His voice cracked. "Forgive me, Mariah. I nearly killed you."
She half-turned in his arms until her cheek was pressed against his chest. She clung to him fiercely, her wet flesh fused with his, and shook her head. "My fault, not yours. I s-said I could swim. And if I hadn't—"
He let out an explosive disgusted sound. "Swim? The weight of your skirts would have dragged you under anyway. It was stupid of me. Stupid. I knew it. I knew it."
She lifted one hand to his cheek and forced him to look at her. "How c-could you have known? No one could have. D-don't do this. We both know why I'm here. Not because you wanted it." She sucked in a breath through her chattering teeth and turned her face toward the river. "I-I panicked. You saved my life and y-you don't even l-like me. You m-might have drowned yourself."
"I don't even...? Ah, Mariah—" He pressed his mouth against her wet hair. "Mariah..." Her arms wound around his back and neck. Through his soaked shirt he could feel the fullness of her breasts. Her nipples, puckered with cold, pressed against him.
A soft, wretched sound came from his throat and he felt the animal burn of desire welling up in him like a night sweat—irrational, uncontrolla
ble. His lips stole over her cool temple and down her cheek, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He gathered her protectively to him and felt her arms tighten around his back.
Perhaps it was his need for reassurance that she was alive that made him forget himself. Perhaps it was the way she clung to him as if afraid he might cast her back to the pagan river gods. Maybe it was none of those things and he was just a fool, longing for things that couldn't be.
The scent of crushed wild mint came from beneath them. He shifted slightly and she slid down into the crook of his arm. Her eyes, like pinwheels of gold, searched his face. Moisture clung to her dark lashes. Her lips trembled as she spoke his name. "Creed—"
Powerless to stop himself, he crushed his lips to hers in a hard, hungry kiss—claiming, possessing her as if she were his. She arched up to him, meeting his urgency with an unexpected desperation of her own. His hand slid down her spine to the rounded curve of her bottom. Splaying his fingers against the cold fabric of her shift, he drew her closer, until she was flush against him. Heat leapt from every point of contact and surged through his veins.
Her fingers twined in his hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still. He breathed her name against her mouth and felt her lips part in welcome as the kiss deepened, shifted, descended. His tongue explored that forbidden cavern. Hers danced timidly with his, untutored to passion. A breath caught in his chest.
He wanted her. Oh, hell. He wanted her in a way he'd never wanted another woman in his life. It wasn't even a conscious thought, but primal. He was on fire, a raw blur of arousal and mindless emotion. She'd nearly drowned and he wanted to throw her on the ground and plant his seed in her.
Self-disgust tugged at his gut, overpowering the other urges that drove him to take her in his arms. What the hell was happening between them? She made a sound: a half-sob, half-moan when he lifted his head and broke the kiss.
"Damn," he cursed through clenched teeth.
Mariah sat up and pressed a fist to her mouth, horrified by what she'd just done. His kiss still bruised her lips. Her brain was fuzzy and whirling and heat spiraled through her despite the chill.
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