Wild Dawn
Page 11
The man’s large hand stretched out to take Regina by the nape of the neck, playfully shaking her. Her teeth chattered, and she fought to keep her balance in the mud and snow. The mountain man chuckled and grinned. “This is one scrawny pup, my friend.”
“The boy isn’t mine, Pierre. But if he were, I’d be shoving my blade across your fingers right now,” MacGregor said in a low quiet tone.
The giant’s hand left Regina immediately and she glanced at MacGregor’s dark scowl. “Aye, you’re touchy, my friend. Perhaps the boy is a lover, n’est-ce pas?”
MacGregor’s teeth shone whitely within his dark beard as he tossed the reins of his horse to the giant. “I’m not as desperate as you, Pierre.”
“Wah! I take women to the blankets. With big bouncing breasts,” the giant roared, shoving Regina toward MacGregor. “Here, perhaps your friend needs a nice fat squaw to warm his skinny bones. Full Kettle,” he called, beckoning to a young girl, her round face shining with grease. “Come, be nice to this boy.”
“The boy stays with me,” MacGregor stated, lazily cutting a piece of meat from the spit and handing it to Regina. “We’re needing a lean-to for the night.”
Pierre clasped him on the shoulder and Jack wailed. “Give the baby to a squaw and come drink with me, my friend. We have stories to tell each other, mais oui?”
MacGregor glanced at Regina’s hot face, averted into her furs. “We need rest and food first. My son needs a warm fire.”
Pierre’s black eyes shot from MacGregor to Regina. “Let the boy take care of the baby. Come, we have fine whiskey, good meat. Buffalo tongue and hump bread. We drink ourselves blind like in the old days, no?”
Jack wailed louder, and an elderly Indian woman tugged at Regina’s buffalo cape. Her black eyes sparkled like beads in a leathered face. “Come. Warm fire. I bring food and a woman to give milk to Two Hearts’ son.”
MacGregor nodded, and Regina followed the stooped woman to a small hut with smoke coursing from the top. Jack wailed steadily, and within moments a young woman entered shyly to feed him. Regina fell to the fur pallets as MacGregor chuckled deeply.
When she awoke, MacGregor was snoring softly beside her, his arm wrapped around her. Despite the huge fire outside the hut and the drunken laughter, MacGregor slept, fully dressed.
He roused when she turned slowly, wedging space between them. Stretching out his arms, he drew her back to the cove of his body, his hand sliding beneath her shirt to rest on her stomach. “Pierre is keeping you and Jack safe while I’m gone, Duchess. I’ll have the saddle back by nightfall tomorrow.”
Trying to dislodge his hand, Regina squirmed around to face him. Somehow his palm now rested on the bare curve of her buttock. MacGregor looked down at her in the half light, his eyes sparkling. Grinning, he gently squeezed her buttock. “You need fattening up. Winter is almost here.”
Narrowing her eyes, Regina twisted against him, and he chuckled. “Want to bargain again?” he asked huskily, managing to insert his heavy thigh between hers.
For an answer Regina brought her knee up sharply. He took the intimate blow, cushioned by the robe between them.
“Feeling fiery, are you?” he demanded, scowling at her. “Here we are, going the wrong way down the mountain—one we’ve just now gone up—after some damned useless saddle, and you’re acting like a stubborn mule dragging an overloaded pack.”
“I shall scream,” she stated quietly between her teeth when he captured her flying hands. “There are men out there who will defend my honor.”
His eyes widened as though she’d delivered a full blow. “You’re my wife now.”
“Wife!” she threw the word back at him. “I simply did what was needed at the time. Don’t be drawing grand pictures in your mind, my good man.”
MacGregor took a deep breath, glaring at her. He wanted to sink his lips onto hers and see if she really tasted like honey.
“You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten,” he offered warily. How could something so soft and willing change into ice?
~**~
Around the night’s huge bonfire the trappers talked of old times and the wasteful killing of animals by the English “feriners.” Lifting their “John Barleycorn” jugs, they drank and mourned the old ways before the settlers and the forts. Indian women and children moved like shadows around the men.
A small man draped in furs patted his wife’s back affectionately as she passed, serving from a pot of beans. He adjusted a baby on his lap, making way for two other toddlers.
Pierre held Jack, crooning softly to him while the baby dozed. Wearing a gray hat of the rebel south, a trapper named Tall Tom drank steadily from his jug and eyed the newcomers. A wild shout went up nearby, followed by bawdy male laughter and a woman’s giggle.
Seated on a log next to MacGregor, Regina kept her eyes down as she ate from the wooden trencher. Shooting dark looks at her, he growled, “Eat that grub like a hungry boy, not a female picking at crumbs,” he ordered in a quiet aside.
Cursing him, Regina grabbed a slab of meat and tucked it into her mouth. The lump of roast elk was tough, and chewing it grimly, she met MacGregor’s amused eyes. He clapped her on the back roughly, “That’s right, eat. Food is good for a growing boy. Right, Pierre?”
Stealthily he tugged the knit cap she wore downward, covering the braid. When MacGregor leaned past her to slice a chunk of meat from the spit, Regina whispered, “I don’t believe for one moment that these men are dangerous.”
Turning, he stared at her over his shoulder. The look was too arrogant, nettling her. “Be quiet,” he ordered tersely.
“What are you ‘friends’”—Tall Tom leered, sliding a nuance into the word— “whispering about? I always knew you blue bellies preferred boys, MacGregor. But hell, I should have known... you’re never with women. Except that squaw I heard you took.”
The rebel laughed coarsely. “Or did she have to get you drunk just to get close to you?”
“You’re drunk, Tom. Settle down,” MacGregor said quietly, watching the other man.
Tall Tom surged to his feet, scattering his jug and food upon the frozen earth. “Hell!” he roared. “You Unioners think you can ride over anyone, don’t you? Well, not me, you carpetbagger scum.”
Tossing aside his buffalo robe, Tom drew his long knife from its sheath and crouched in a fighting stance. The blade flashed in the firelight as he tossed it neatly hand to hand. “Let’s do it.”
Pierre raised Jack to his shoulder and whispered, “He is mad from the last time you threw him in the creek.”
“The idea that MacGregor and I—” Regina began hotly, cut short by MacGregor’s dark scowl.
“Stand back,” he ordered quietly, one hand raising her up by the nape of her neck and setting her aside as though she were a kitten. “Take Jack and go to the hut.”
Bristling with anger, Regina parted her lips to argue just as Tall Tom stomped toward them. The man was enormous, hate and fury in his face, his blade weaving in a figure-eight design. Towering over her, he laughed wildly as she looked up. “A boy. Only MacGregor would take a stripling to his blanket.”
“You, sir, are most offensive,” Regina stated hotly before MacGregor shoved her aside. Drawing his blade, he tossed her his pistol. The gun was heavy, much larger than her dueling pistols.
“Pah! The bear defends his cub,” Tall Tom roared, thrusting out a massive hand that landed flat on Regina’s chest. The hard width hit her right breast, covered by MacGregor’s shirt and a heavy buffalo robe.
Without thinking, Regina raised the pistol slowly, facing Tall Tom. Holding the weapon with two hands, she slowly pulled the hammer back. “Stop bullying. I shall shoot you dead if you don’t step back.”
“Get your finger off that trigger,” MacGregor ordered behind her. “Get out of the way.”
“MacGregor got himself a boy,” Tall Tom taunted, weaving and crouching in front of her. His blade flashed next to her shoulder and a tuft of buffalo hair floate
d away. The fire danced wildly behind him, the crowd quietly watching.
He took a step toward her, and just as MacGregor’s arm came sweeping out to shove her aside, Regina pulled the trigger. Tall Tom looked down through the sulfur fumes to his foot. “Damn me,” he muttered blankly. “There goes that toe.”
Blood spurted into the mud as Tall Tom faced MacGregor, a smaller, leaner man. “I’ll geld your sweetheart later, MacGregor,” he snarled. “And peel that sickly dog like a grape. But first you’ll feel my blade.”
MacGregor slashed a dark look at Regina. “Go.”
Stunned by the crimson blood staining the snow, Regina looked up at the raging giant and managed, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Tall Tom.”
The mountain man roared, his eyes rolling wildly.
“Go!” MacGregor ordered as Tom’s knife slashed through the air at her. The hissing sound cut through her shock, and she danced aside just as MacGregor’s fist shot past her to stun Tom. “I said scat!” he commanded tightly, thrusting her aside.
His fist slammed into Tall Tom’s belly, and the giant staggered. When he glanced at her, MacGregor’s expression was sheer fury.
Thinking better of arguing at this point, Regina allowed Pierre to sweep her away to the safety of the hut. Wild, excited shouts volleyed through the camp when she took the baby from Pierre. Then he was gone.
Venus whimpered, crouching close to her.
“Savage beasts,” Regina whispered to Jack, who regarded her sleepily. She sat and rocked him gently. “Your father is out there now. No doubt he and Tom are gleefully carving large chunks off each other.... Savages, the both of them.”
Shivering with emotion, Regina hugged the baby closer. Another shout went up, then a drunken round of laughter. Jack slept peacefully through the noise, and Regina carefully placed him in a warm nook. “Poor lad. With a father like yours and friends like his, you’re going to need—”
A large hand swept open the fur covering to the door as MacGregor stooped to enter the hut. Glaring at her for a long moment, he picked up a jug of whiskey, braced it on his shoulder, and drank deeply. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he glanced at Jack, who slept quietly in his bed of fur.
Reaching down, MacGregor grabbed the front of her shirt. He tugged her to her feet, holding her like a rag doll in front of him. Thrusting his face down at her, he gritted, “Tall Tom is nursing a broken leg and a lost toe.... When I say scat, woman, I mean scat,” he growled savagely.
“Of course you’re angry. Perhaps I could have handled the matter better,” she said after a quiet swallow. In this mood MacGregor was frightening, his black brows jammed together, his eyes blazing fiercely in the shadows.
Mud covered his cheek and neck, matting his hair against his temple while a thin long scratch oozed blood on his beard. “You need to bathe,” she whispered.
MacGregor looked as if he wanted to tear something apart.... What if Tall Tom had killed him?
Visions of MacGregor, sliced by Tall Tom’s knife, danced behind her closed lids, her stomach knotting.
“Wash?” he repeated roughly. “You just shot a toe off a man and let me tidy up your mess. Then you tell me I need a wash?” he roared, incredulous.
Regina caught her bottom lip in her teeth. “Perhaps I’m not being kind,” she admitted huskily as MacGregor loomed over her, his heat burning into her. “Perhaps this isn’t the proper time to be firm about cleanliness.”
Trembling, she knew that with one move he could easily snap her neck. Yet she needed to make some gesture of good will, since he’d clearly assigned himself to the duty of protecting her.
“I could shave you,” she offered in a wispy voice when he continued to glare at her. “Then tend that nasty scratch.”
He digested her offer as though chewing on tough buffalo hide. “Let’s get this straight now, woman. When I say—”
“Scat,” she interrupted with a nod, “I will scat.”
To her horror, her bottom lip quivered and tears burned behind her lids. She hated weakness and crying, fought it with all her strength, and was devastated as a single tear slid down her cheek. She blinked her lids, and suddenly there was a steady flow.
Her knees threatened to give way, and her arms wanted to reach for MacGregor. Looking up at him through tears, she managed helplessly, “Oh, MacGregor....”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then his fingers trembled slightly on her neck, his thumb sliding gently across her damp cheek. She shivered beneath the light touch, wanting to move into the safety of his arms.
“Hell.” MacGregor folded her carefully into his arms and held her until she stopped shaking. His hands caressed her back, his jaw pressed tightly to her forehead as he rocked her.
When she began to calm, MacGregor leaned outside the hut and yelled, “Pierre! Get me hot water.”
Then he turned back to her, his dark eyes gleaming. “I could use one of those sweet kisses.”
Regina quickly slid her arms around him and lifted her lips. She needed to feel his hunger, to know that he was safe.
MacGregor swept her against him, pressing her full length against his taut body. His kiss was hot and hungry, his hard body moving against hers.
She opened her mouth to his tongue and suckled it as his hands roamed her body.
Then she lay on the furs, MacGregor’s hardened body resting over hers as he trembled in her arms.
At first she didn’t hear Pierre’s call. MacGregor’s hand sought her breast as cold air swept into the tent and Pierre stood over them, grinning widely.
MacGregor tensed, turning slowly to glare up at Pierre, who shrugged.
“I brought the water,” he said, placing two buckets near the fire. “My friend, she is a beautiful woman with her cheeks hot with passion, her mouth like red crushed flowers from your kisses.”
MacGregor jerked her shirt closed, his big hand resting at her throat as he ordered stiffly, “Get out.”
“Ah, this time is different, is it not?” Pierre asked, amused. “I fear she has caught your cold heart in her soft hands, my fierce friend.”
“Get off me, MacGregor,” Regina ordered shakily when Pierre swept out of the hut.
MacGregor cursed Pierre, his dark eyes cutting at her as he rolled away. He lay looking at her, his hands bracing his head.
“I want you,” he stated unevenly, his gaze sweeping down her body as she stood.
She trembled, fighting the emotions racking her. And then Jack cried.
“You want me, too,” MacGregor added quietly, following her hands as she shakily arranged her clothing.
~**~
Chapter Seven
Two mornings later MacGregor lay on a small knoll overlooking the earl’s hunting party.
His neatly trimmed beard was damp with the cold mist preceding snow; he’d wanted Regina’s fingers touching him and had suffered her embroidery scissors snipping away near his jaw. Concentrating on her task, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she hadn’t noticed as he brought her astride him. He’d nearly gone mad, her hips bouncing on him intimately as she turned and twisted.
His shoulder ached now, the bullet lodged deeper into the sheath of muscle. Behind him the ragged, snowcapped peaks of the Sangre de Cristo mountains glowed in the coming dawn. Pink streaks began to shoot out across the gray sky, clawing at the night. The faint light allowed MacGregor to study Regina, who snuggled warmly to his side.
She looked more like a child than the woman who had washed his wounds, her fingers gently probing his scalp. As she’d tended him, MacGregor had closed his eyes, inhaling the spicy scent clinging to her skin.
“My dear,” she had soothed softly when she’d finished. “I am so sorry you were hurt.”
The next morning he’d awakened with a cry in his mouth and Smythe’s head exploding behind his lids. The brush of a slender finger across his lips caught his cry. Like a diamondback rattler heading for the safety of rocks, the nightmare slithered away into the darkness.
Venus had whined but stayed near the Frenchman. Riding behind MacGregor on his Appaloosa, Kansas, Regina had absorbed every new sight with delight. She’d exclaimed as they passed the tumbling waterfalls that cut through the deep ravine bordering the traders’ pass and the high trees.
They met an old mountain man coming up the pass on their descent, and she kept to MacGregor’s side, eyeing the seasoned veteran warily. Moon Jerkins sighted her wide dark blue eyes on him, and his yarns grew wilder. “Chased that injun for two moon afore I snared him. Turned him gutside out just as a lesson for other redskins messin’ with old Moon Jerkins.”
He’d approved of the way she’d taken a plug of his “tobacci” and missed the way she tucked it into her pocket. While Regina mimed chewing, Moon checked his mule’s saddle. “Good boy, yer bringing along there, MacGregor. Make sure Old Ephraim don’t get him... though ‘bar is gettin’ scare hereabouts. By the by, passed some redcoat sports back a piece, shootin’ buffaler and lettin’ ‘em rot. Deer, too. Don’t seem to know that the whole Indian nation is stirred up from the Smoky Hill route down along the Purgatory. Injuns don’t want settlers, nor miners. In the middle of it all, the railroads are moving in... varmits are taking gold dust and hairy money—good beaver plew—to let a body pass over the old trails.”
Moon had spit a stream of tobacco juice into a sagebrush. A badger hissed, then waddled away into the reddish rocks. “Eat that, old son,” the mountain man crowed, his grin showing missing and blackened teeth.
He swung up on his mule, placing his musket across his arms. “Won’t hurt those fancy redcoat backsides none to have a Kiowa arrow outfit it, I reckon. You still smoking the pipe with redskins, MacGregor? Walkin’ twix the nations?”