White Dawn

by Susan Edwards

And covered. The words hung between them. Red in the face, Emily turned around and pulled the garment over her head. The sleeves fell past her fingertips, and the hem nearly to her knees. She wanted to say something, to explain why she wore only a thin shift, but nothing came out but a faint “Thank you.” She couldn’t look at him.

  His finger slid beneath her chin and tipped her gaze to his. “You’re welcome. And, Emily, you’re safe with me.”

  Staring into his deerlike brown eyes, Emily believed him. Never had she felt so safe—yet so vulnerable.

  John turned away and whistled, startling her. To her surprise, she saw a wolf come running—on three legs. The animal went to John, and even from where she stood, she saw the devotion in the wolf’s intelligent eyes.

  Leading the way, John set off. “I want to be back before dark,” he said, his voice gruff.

  They reached the glade a short time later, and Emily got some answers—but she wasn’t sure what they meant. As soon as she entered the quiet meadow, she ran to the spot where she and her Indian lover had spent the night. But, to her dismay, the furs and the water pouch were gone. Only her skirt and the broken waterskin remained to prove that this was the spot where John had found her.

  Had her warrior come back? Had he never really left? She’d felt his presence, felt his eyes on her. Had he waited until she’d left to reclaim his possessions? Was he now gone forever? It seemed the only answer. Numb with the pain of rejection, Emily sank down and buried her head in her hands.

  John leaned against the log, his rifle lying across his lap and Fang resting beside him. Emily sat a few feet away, unmoving. He’d tried to convince her to return for the night but she’d refused. Short of physically carrying her back, he could do nothing but wait with her.

  He knew she was upset. He’d been unnerved to find the furs gone, himself. It meant the man she desperately sought had likely come back. Or someone else had come upon the items—but John would bet all his money it had been the same one who’d left her here. The question was, why? This was one of his favorite places to go, and he usually strolled through here each morning. Had the Indian known that John would find her? Had he wanted to return her to a white man? John didn’t know, and he didn’t voice his thoughts aloud. Emily was far too upset as it was.

  He shifted, uneasy. He didn’t like sitting out in the open, exposed and vulnerable. The decaying log, though large, offered little protection in the event of an attack. He grimaced. Any attack from her captor would come silent and swift. His rifle wouldn’t offer him much advantage against arrows shot from the shadows of the trees.

  Though he didn’t believe the savage who’d left her would return for her, John tried to stay aware of his surroundings, yet found himself distracted by Emily. She sat, her back against the log, knees drawn up to her chest, palms resting on her opposite forearms. She looked so lost, so forlorn, he’d have done anything to ease her pain and put a smile on her face.

  She hadn’t spoken a word, just stared straight ahead. Looking at her, one would almost think she was just soaking up the late-afternoon sun, but for her white-knuckled fingers and the white spots on each arm from gripping herself so tightly. He suspected she’d have bruises on her arms from her own death grip. He wished he knew what had happened to her. Maybe then he could help put things to rights. First, though, he had to gain her trust. Picking up her bulging leather bag, he drew out a handful of berries. “Food?” he asked, holding the pouch out to her.

  No response. “Emily?”

  She shook her head, her body so tense he feared she was near breaking. His gaze took in her profile. Her blue eyes were glassy with suppressed tears, her lips were chapped and bleeding from her constant gnawing on them, and her skin was too pale and drawn. Long strands of blond hair draped over her shoulder, followed the curve of her slender neck, then fell straight down to rest on the inside curve of her breast.

  Though he couldn’t see them through his shirt, not even the outline, he knew her breasts were there, that the tips were a pale pink and that they’d more than fill his hands. He tore his gaze away to stare at his hands. Big hands. Damn. He shook himself mentally and tried hard to get the seductive image of her standing in the sun, wearing a nearly see-through shift, out of his mind.

  It was impossible. Not much had been hidden from him. Only the texture of her skin, the feel of it on his, had been left to his imagination. He tried again not to think of her as an attractive and very desirable woman, then stifled a groan. He was only a man—a man who’d lived far too long in a male-dominated world. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d bedded a woman.

  The girl sat close enough that he could see the dusting of freckles on her face, feel the heat radiating from her body, and smell the scent of woman—yet they were separated by a barrier much harder to cross than distance. His body was fraught with frustrated need. He had to keep telling himself that she wasn’t his, over and over.

  The fact that she was the woman of his dreams, his fanciful Lady Dawn, the woman he’d created in his mind to give him something to look forward to once he left and returned to civilization, didn’t help. How could he ignore her beauty? A single tear slipped down her smooth cheek. A flyaway strand of silvery hair stuck to her face, near the corner of her mouth.

  John itched to reach over and gently brush her hair back, but he didn’t, fearing she’d shatter like a sheet of glass if he so much as touched her. Her pain tore through him like a gunshot. He rubbed a place on his shin, recalling his first winter out here, when he and his cousin had been learning to shoot.

  Willy had been horsing around, not realizing the shotgun was loaded. The gun had gone off and the pellets had passed through the fleshy part of John’s leg. Though only a flesh wound, it had hurt like hell.

  Minutes ticked by. The shadows lengthened as the sun began its descent in the sky. Keeping his voice low and calm, he spoke. “Emily, we have to return.”

  “You go. I’m staying here.” Her flat, emotionless voice scared him more than her earlier sobs.

  “I can’t leave you here by yourself.” When she didn’t respond, he knew he had only one choice, for he didn’t want to take her against her will. Clearing a spot close by, he scraped out a fire pit and gathered dried grass and small twigs. Then he collected large pieces of fallen trees and started a fire. Sitting across from her in the dark, he watched orange-red flames begin to dance, their heated color reflected in her eyes.

  All through the night, John kept the fire going. It was warm enough that they didn’t need more blankets than the one she sat upon—which was good, because he refused to leave her alone even for the time it would take him to go fetch them. Instead, he talked. He told her stories of his time as a trapper. He even tried to sing—anything to get a reaction from her. Fang howled in protest, but the woman continued to stare off into the night.

  By the time the moon had risen fully, and the stars popped out across the sky, John couldn’t think of anything else to say. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Then he watched. There was nothing else he could do. She refused food. Refused water. Refused even to lie down. At last, giving in to her desire to be alone, he moved over to lean against the log next to her.

  Somewhere in those bleak, early hours, she slumped against the log in uneasy slumber. Looking over, he wasn’t able to leave her in such an uncomfortable position. He meant to lay her down on her blanket, but as he moved to reposition her, she cuddled close to him. Doing so, she seemed to relax and fall into a deeper, more restful sleep. Unable to resist, he drew her close, brushed the silvery strands of hair from her face, and reveled in her smooth skin.

  At last, he finally dozed off himself.

  Emily dreamed. Her warrior had returned. She saw herself running through the meadow to greet him. As if she were swimming in a bog, her body movements were slow, a struggle. She had to hurry, had to reach him before he disappeared again. She couldn’t let him leave her.

  Yet the closer she got, the farther away he app
eared. She heard his heart beating, felt each breath he took. Felt his arms encircling her even though he seemed so far away. Come back, she called. Come back! He faded, yet his heartbeat remained loud, pounding against her ear. Frowning, she wrinkled her brows. Hot breath feathered across her forehead.

  A soft snort startled her. Caught in that curious place between waking and dreaming, she wrinkled her brows. The heartbeat was real, she realized—as was the warm breath. She smiled and snuggled closer. He’d come back. He was here, holding her. She slid her arms around him. Something didn’t feel right. He seemed so big. So much larger around the chest. He moved. Something rough scraped against the top of her head.

  Her eyes snapped open. Fright held her immobile. The man she clung to wasn’t her warrior. She tipped her head back and let out a shocked cry when she realized that she lay cuddled next to John Cartier.

  The sound woke him. For a moment he looked as confused as she felt. Then he grinned, a silly, sleepy expression.

  “Mornin’, Lady Dawn,” he said, reaching out to brush the hair from her face.

  In a stupor, she stared at him. “What… How?” She glanced around, then calmed as she realized they’d spent the night in the glade. Then the truth hit. Her Indian warrior hadn’t come back. There was no denying the truth now: he’d left her behind. No! She refused to accept that. Something had happened to him. He’d left her before but always returned.

  He came back and took the furs, she reminded herself.

  Why hadn’t he come for her? He could have found her. She knew he could have, had he wanted to.

  Beside her, John shifted, putting space between them as he stretched, then stood. “I don’t know about you, but I could eat a horse. Shall we go back and fix something to break our fast?”

  Emily shook her head. She didn’t want food. She wanted the man she loved back in her arms.

  Impatience lined John’s voice. “Emily, he isn’t coming back. For whatever reason, he left you here. You have to snap out of it.”

  The trapper’s lack of sympathy angered her. He didn’t understand. She glared at him. “Why?” she shot back.

  “I can’t stay here all day. I have chores to do.”

  “I’m not stopping you.” She resumed her position of the night before. She’d missed her Indian’s return yesterday by leaving. Today she’d stay. Maybe he’d been afraid to come and get her while she was in the clutches of this white man.

  John raked his fingers through his hair. “Dammit! I’m not leaving you. You’re coming back with me.”

  Emily mentally dug in her heels. “I don’t have to do anything, John. I know you’re just trying to be nice, and I appreciate it, but I’d rather be alone.” The unexpected flare of rebellion caught her by surprise. Seldom had she ever argued or refused what was asked of her. She’d always tried to please.

  But look where it had gotten her.

  “You ask too much, Emily. I won’t leave you out here alone.”

  “Why not? Everyone else has.” She hated to sound ungrateful; this man seemed decent and kind. But then, so had her Indian lover. He’d been tender and sweet and …then he’d done the worst thing he could do: he’d abandoned her, thrown her love in her face. Like everyone else.

  “This is crazy, Emily. Do you want to die? Is that what this is about, and what your refusal to eat is about?” The young trapper’s frustrated voice boomed across the glade.

  Shrugging, Emily let her gaze dart around her, searching the wall of thick tree trunks, but she knew no one was there. Before, she’d felt her lover’s presence. She felt nothing now. Nothing except an overwhelming sorrow. “What’s so great about living? There’s obviously something wrong with me that makes everyone just leave.” She laughed bitterly at the disbelief John wore. “Even my mother was willing to abandon me.”

  Why had she said that? It had been the first time she’d even allowed that thought to materialize. But it was true: her mother hadn’t leaped from the wagon, hadn’t tried to stop Timothy Ambrose from riding away to their awful fate. Now that it was out, Emily couldn’t stop the flow of bitter words. The anger she’d harbored sought release.

  “Oh, yes, she allowed my father to abandon me in the wilderness with no food or weapons. She went with him knowing full well that I’d die out here.” Emily tried to keep the rage from her voice, but the anguish of being abandoned by the family she’d loved and given so much of herself to threatened to choke her.

  John bent down. His voice was sad but warm. “I don’t know what happened to you, Emily, or why, but there’s nothing wrong with you. They are fools, every last one of them.”

  Staring up into his intense gaze, Emily felt her heart leap. She wanted to believe him, wanted to let him make her world right again, but she couldn’t allow herself to trust him—or anyone else—ever again. There was something about her, in her, that others were unable to love. She suspected that John, like her warrior and Father Richard, wanted only one thing from her: her body. And she’d never allow another man to use her that way again.

  When strong arms scooped her up, she started, then shrieked, “Put me down.”

  “When we get back.”

  “I’m not going with you.”

  His arms tightened about her. “Yes, you are.”

  All the emotions she’d held at bay—the anger, the hatred, the resentment, the misery and the grief of losing yet another loved one—exploded in Emily. She lashed out with her fists, catching her captor square in the nose.

  Startled by her attack, the trapper yelped and loosened his hold on her. She slid out of his arms. “Dammit, woman, what are you trying to do?” he cried.

  She whirled on him. “Leave me alone! Do you hear me? I won’t go with you!”

  John shoved fingers through his hair. “I said you were safe.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re nice now, like him. Then I’ll get used to it and you’ll leave, too.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” The trapper approached.

  Emily bent and picked up a rock and threw it at him to force him to keep his distance. He ducked as it flew past his shoulder. “You’re all the same!” she shouted. “My father hated me. He left me to die, and so did the man who told me he loved me. He saved me, took my love, then abandoned me!” Overcome, she sent another rock hurtling through the air. Then another.

  The trapper ducked them, and watched warily.

  “I hate you. I hate him. I hate everyone.” Backing up, throwing everything she could lift, Emily ranted and raved, unable to stop the flood of angry words. The dam had burst. She’d had sixteen years of misery that had culminated in her parents’ deaths, then she’d been abandoned by a man who’d claimed he loved her. How could she trust anyone ever again?

  “Yes. Everyone I’ve ever loved has left me. Even my mother! Even my mother,” she screeched, hating the woman who’d betrayed her most of all. She blamed her mother for being weak, for not standing up to her father, for not protecting her child from his hatred, and maybe for marrying him and putting them both through this hell.

  The trapper jumped forward and grabbed her. She kicked, scratched and fought against him, but he easily caught her hands and pulled her into his arms. “I won’t leave you, Emily. Not ever. I’m here for you. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take you back to civilization—wherever you want to go.” He ran his hands through her hair, smoothing the wild tangle from her face. “You have to believe me.”

  Emily laughed, a hollow sound. “Why? Why should I believe you when I couldn’t count on my own mother? I couldn’t even trust a priest.” Her voice rose. “He tried to rape me, then told my father it was my fault. That’s why my father left me. Then I trusted that Indian. I shouldn’t have, but I did. He saved my life. I loved him—and I know he loved me. I thought I could trust him. He was gentle and kind, like you’re trying to be. But in the end, it didn’t matter. He left me out here to die just like everyone else. So tell me, John—why should I trust you?”

  The man l
ooked stunned by her hysterical revelations. She pulled out of his arms and tore off the buckskin shirt he’d loaned her, revealing her scantily clad body to him. “Is this why I should trust you? Because you want my body? Will you save me and protect me if I give you what I gave to him?”

  “Emily—” The man’s voice was choked.

  Glaring at him through her tears, she stuck out her chin, then pulled her shift over her head in one violent motion. “If this is what you want, you don’t have to be nice to me. You don’t have to pretend to like me or love me.” She drew in a deep breath, hating herself. Hating him for making her do this. Hating the way his gaze roamed her naked body.

  “If this is what you want, you can have it. Payment for taking care of me. Payment for taking me back to the mission. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Just don’t pretend to feel things you don’t. To feel things you can’t.”

  She was unlovable, and her whole young life had only been an instruction on why.

  Speechless, John stared at her. He couldn’t help but gaze upon her body. Nor could he stop it from responding to what she offered—no, what she demanded he take. Yes, he wanted her, but not for the reasons she tossed at him with far greater brutality than the rocks. Her accusations hit him square in the heart and angered him. What kind of man did she think he was?

  The kind of man who would use her and hurt her and toss her aside like those others did.

  But he wasn’t that kind of man.

  Yet how could she know that? He didn’t blame her for her hurtful words. She’d been deeply hurt, and by so many people. Her mother…

  Gulping past the lump in the back of his throat and stifling the desire hardening between his legs, John even figured she had good reason to believe the worst of him. Staring into her eyes, he saw a hidden hunger deep inside, a child within who desperately wanted to believe—a child who desperately needed to believe—that there was still good in the world.

  It was that child’s yearnings that reached out like thread to bind his soul to hers as if they were joined by the flesh. In that instant, Emily became a part of him.