by Cait London
MacGregor nodded curtly as Regina’s eyes slashed to him. Moon spat again, kicking his mule. “Going to the high country to sit this fandango out. You’d best do the same ‘til things simmer down. My woman and brood are there now... for the winter.”
After Moon’s mule and heavily loaded burro disappeared around a rocky embankment, Regina touched MacGregor’s arm. “Gads, MacGregor. I had no idea. All the Indians made us welcome and—”
She’d caught her lip with her teeth, looking away. “He bartered with a few guns and powder, always promising more. Whiskey and beads, too. I see now why we were so safe,” she added softly, then was quiet.
“From what I saw, the duke’s party was too large and well armed to be taken easily.”
At sunset they walked the horses, and Regina swung a sage branch along her thigh. She had turned to MacGregor and stopped, her eyes luminous in the dusky shadows. “I realize now how dangerous our bargain was to us both. I respect you keeping your word in the face of grave danger. When I am able, I will repay your efforts highly.”
MacGregor had found himself grinning, then startled by the sound of his laughter.
“At your service, Lady Hawkes,” he had said gallantly, enjoying the fine blush rising from her collar into her cheeks. He’d tucked a finger into her opened collar and tugged her closer. “You can begin torturing me now with one of those foolish kisses.”
Closing his eyes, MacGregor had leaned down near her face, waiting. The sagebrush branch slapped against his chest, and he enjoyed the fine swagger of her hips as she marched away from him.
Now, nestled against his side and sharing his buffalo robe against the night chill, the Englishwoman slept quietly. He traced her small face, framed by the lush fur. Black tendrils clung to her skin, her lashes dark crescents beneath high winged brows. Softly parted, her soft lips taunted him... reminded him of sweet, lingering kisses that tempted and haunted. Dressed as a boy, she shifted slightly, and her thigh slid between his legs.
The woman’s softness ran beneath the leather and fur, fitting the rounded contours snugly against his hard frame. Her scent rose around him, slicing through the heavier smells of leather and smoke with the daintiness of a silken feather.
The first morning birdcall sounded in the stillness; brush rattled and MacGregor turned slightly to see the dull pattern of antelope rumps glowing softly in the faint light as the herd grazed quietly. Sagebrush glowed with frost, daintily taking the dawn.
Regina sighed, nestling closer. Her small body had tightened suddenly, and he whispered, “You’re awake, then.”
“I’m terribly excited,” she returned when he tucked the fur more closely around her face.
In the half light her eyes were huge and mysterious, and MacGregor found himself leaning closer. The color had changed to the dark blue of a deep mountain snow lake. In the still, cold dawn he wanted her close and soft. “We traveled hard yesterday, crossing the pass. You could sleep another half hour.”
Regina shivered, returning his gaze intently. “I feel marvelous... as though I’ve waited my entire life for this moment. Today should be much more thrilling than....”
She smiled slowly as though a thought delighted her. “Today shall be my coming-out season,” she finished firmly, watching him. “Much more thrilling than being presented before the court.”
“They’ve been drinking. We can move in and escape without notice... I moved the horses last night while you slept,” he returned, suddenly aware of the warmth between them. “You’re owed the blooded stock. We can pick them up at the base of the pass. Passed a Cheyenne they’d beaten and left to die. Gave him all the horses but the blood stock. Figured they owed him. There’s about twenty sheep bedded down just beyond that rise. A mean-tempered mongrel almost gave me away.”
“Yes, certainly. I agree that payment should be made.... About my sheep, MacGregor.” Regina scanned the rise he had indicated. Turning back to him, she frowned. “I’m dreadfully sorry not to have told you this before, but I must have those sheep. I bred the Merino and a Leicester Lincoln cross with a Cheviot ram, Hercules. The Cheviot is an agile strain from the borders of England and Scotland. They’re easy lambers and good milkers, perfectly suited for the American wilds.”
“Sheep,” he repeated flatly, trying to track her thoughts while watching her soft lips. “Woollies.”
“Yes. Marvelous wool for weaving.” She closed her eyes, smiling dreamily. “From what I’ve heard, the mountain alpine meadows would be perfect for sheep, with lovely carpets of flowers much like the heather of Scotland. I can’t wait to begin.”
Her eyes opened, the heavy fringes of her lashes framing the bluish-purple depths. Golden shards danced around the black irises, his reflection captured in the depths. MacGregor shifted uncomfortably, startled by the thoughts of sunflowers and wood violets catching the sun.
“Heather. Weaving....” he repeated, lowering his lips to hers for a light kiss.
“Heather, wonderful heather—tiny purplish-pink flowers. And marvelous weaving.” Her mouth clung for just an instant, lifting to his like the petals of a prairie flower warm from sunlight. Taking his time, he rubbed his lips across hers to taste the sweet, moist flavor of her mouth. This time her lips parted slightly, and she closed her eyes, breathing quietly.
MacGregor eased her closer, folding her carefully against him, taking his time not to frighten her.
Resting along his length, she was strong as a green willow and soft as rabbit’s fur.
He moved closer, seeking the heat that lay beneath the surface, and found her arms sliding up to draw him near.
“You look wonderful in a trimmed beard. I would so love to see that jaw shaved.” She kissed his cheek, and MacGregor’s heart stopped. “When we have time, let me cut your hair a bit.”
Slender fingers slid through his hair, easing the waves gently away from his forehead, and MacGregor’s eyes closed. The feathery, warm strokes held him as surely as strong hemp rope. She kissed the scratch on his throat, following it upward to his cheek and the bruise on his forehead.
“I am so sorry Tall Tom hurt you, my dear,” she whispered against his skin, holding him fiercely against her slight frame.
MacGregor barely breathed, savoring her possession. No one had ever held him as close, nor as sweetly.
“Come here,” she murmured huskily, drawing his lips back to hers.
He shivered, forcing himself not to frighten her. Holding his body taut, MacGregor tried not to crush her against him, straining for the sweet taste of her skin, her mouth.
“Yes, like that,” she said, sighing against his lips, flowing beneath him like silk, tangling her arms and legs around his larger ones. The word came again, sliding like warm honey against his mouth. “Yes, quite.”
Soft kisses pressed a heated trail to his ear, nibbling daintily on the lobe. The warmth of her breath flowed around his ear, swirled in it, and MacGregor’s throat went suddenly dry.
Then she was apart from him, sitting up and stretching her arms high. “What a lovely day. The sagebrush smell is wonderful, so clean.”
Taking the ruby eardrops from the small pouch at her waist, she fastened them in her ears and grinned down at him. “For good luck. We shall need it, don’t you think?”
MacGregor groaned, fighting the need in his body.
Regina leaned closer, studying him intently in the dim light. “Gracious, what a dark scowl, MacGregor. You haven’t changed your mind about keeping the bargain, have you? About reclaiming my saddle?”
“I’m thinking about saddles, all right,” he stated flatly, fighting the taut desire riding his body.
“It’s lovely morocco leather and should be kept with the rest of the leather goods in the tent nearest the horses.” Regina tucked her braid into the woolen cap and tugged it low on her head. Her enormous eyes skimmed his face.
“My. What a dark look, MacGregor. Are you still hurting from that Tall Tom person?”
“I’ve felt some bette
r,” he returned, his body aching and hard.
She shivered, rubbing her small hands together. “I am so looking forward to...” She grinned again, her teeth flashing in the half light. “to counting coup this morning. But, oh, how I would love a cup of good English breakfast tea. Oolong would be lovely, too.”
The antelope moved away slowly, and Regina’s hand rested momentarily on MacGregor’s chest as she followed the white rumps disappearing into the dark shadows. “Lovely creatures... graceful.”
She inhaled deeply and sighed. “Smell the sage. It’s wonderful. So clean.”
He wanted to throw her to the ground, sink into her, and forget everything but— Regina grinned at him again. “Oh, MacGregor. This is so much more exciting than I believed. I feel as if I....” Her eyes caught on his dark gaze, holding it for a long moment.
“My dark knight,” she crooned softly, stroking his lips with the tip of her finger. Looking down tenderly at him, she smoothed his hair away from his face, and MacGregor found his breath trapped in his lungs. “You’ve rescued me from a certain death.... Here we are on this magnificent day, preparing to count coup and salve my wounded pride. I’m beginning a new life because of you rescuing me from the cabin. I’ve been thinking, my dear. For a time I’ll need to conceal my identity.... So from this day forth my name will be....”
She hesitated and grinned impishly. “Violet. The beautiful name you gave me.”
In his lifetime MacGregor had never been touched as tenderly, as magically. She smiled, her fingertip tracing the shape of his ear and down his throat. “You have overpowered all the stories of the knights rescuing the damsels trapped in the castle, my friend. When I was a girl, my dreams were of the dark knight, rising majestically out of the mist to save me—”
In another instant she flung herself on him. Her lips were hot and seeking on his, startling him as her small tongue slid into his mouth. Her hips moved against his, unskilled and abrupt, her hands skimming down him to find him full and aroused. Holding him within the cloth of his trousers, she whispered unevenly, “Please don’t be angry with me for not acting like a lady, but I’m so very excited. I’m... kiss my breasts for good luck. Do it.... Do it, now, MacGregor....” she urged, taking his hand and placing it over her small breast.
Above him, her eyes were enormous, pleading. “Please. Just this once. I need that savage feeling as if nothing else matters.”
Trembling and watching him like a hungry doe, Regina laughed nervously. “How unlike me. Did you mean it when you said my breasts looked like strawberries on cream? Did you?” she demanded huskily, unbuttoning the cloth shirt to slide his hand inside her camisole to the soft, yielding flesh. “No one has ever said anything so marvelous, so poetic to me before. As if I were Helen of Troy. Or a heart’s own true love. This morning, poised for revenge on Lord Covington, I feel quite unlike an English lady.”
MacGregor blinked, trying to find his heartbeat as her hand followed the shape of him intimately. She rose against him then, her eyes dark and mysterious, asking for his touch.
In the dawn her breasts were white, peaked with cold, as she lowered herself to his mouth.
He kissed the crest of one silken breast while keeping the other warm in the palm of his hand.
“Aye, like that....” Her hips moved urgently against him.
When he tasted the sweet nub, licking it with his tongue, Regina bolted against him. “Egad, MacGregor!” She shivered, sighing breathlessly.
She stared down at him with startled eyes. In another moment she flung herself full length on him, holding him tightly against her.
Her cheek was hot against his, her body trembling in his arms. Her mouth brushed his ear, her uneven breath filling it with warmth. “Thank you,” she whispered, clinging to him for just an instant. “My dark knight. So bold, so wonderfully gentle.”
Then, easing herself away, she straightened her clothing briskly as though finishing a satisfactory task. “What a lovely morning. Oh, I’m so excited. When can we begin?”
MacGregor sat slowly, his body aching for release. He felt he’d been caught in a Missouri tornado and tossed into another territory, then flattened on the ground by a steam engine. But the excitement dancing in Regina’s eyes bound him, the pink dawn catching on her cheeks as she giggled and tossed a cold biscuit to him. “My dark knight. Ready to reclaim my honor. What you need is to wear my colors.”
She searched through her pockets and withdrew a bit of purple ribbon torn from her pantelettes. Nibbling on her bottom lip, Regina tied the ribbon around his upper arm with a flourish and grinned. “There. Wearing your lady’s colors for luck, you should be safe, my dear.”
Running his finger slowly across the ribbon, MacGregor couldn’t remember when a woman had marked him as hers. The gesture reached deep inside him and smoothed an ache he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Trying to track her moods, MacGregor ate slowly, watching her scan the English camp, her color high. One sign of fear from her, and he’d have thrown her over his shoulder, packing out for the high country.
“You’re just as eager to count coup as any Indian on a warpath now,” he said slowly as she tipped the canteen for a drink, then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.
“Lovely feeling. Not at all like having to go to court or dress for a ball. And much more fun, I should think.”
She held the biscuit higher and grinned, looking like the young boy she portrayed. “Once we get to civilization, I shall make certain that you have a supply of jams before you go on your way. A toast to victory,” she said, offering the canteen to him and patting his knee as though he were her brother. “Don’t be frightened. You’re wearing my colors, so you’ll be safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
MacGregor swallowed quickly, shoving aside dark thoughts of Regina treating him with a bribe and a pat and sending him on his way.
She leaned against him and lowered her voice as though sharing a secret. “I find Pierre’s earring to be rather dashing, don’t you agree? I mean, no proper gentleman would wear one, of course. But all in all, I can see where he would make a lady swoon.”
MacGregor stood abruptly, stretching and easing the tension out of his body. He didn’t want to hear her speak of Pierre or any other man in that tone. The sound of it riled him, and he didn’t know why. “We’d better take that camp now, while they’re nursing bad heads.”
She stood beside him, scanning the half light for the outline of the tents. “Lovely. Just lovely.”
“Lovely,” he repeated, trying the word on his tongue, fitting it to the woman.
Bending close to her ear, MacGregor allowed his hand to curve around her slender neck, caressing the fine skin. “I don’t want anything happening to either one of us. Jack Ryker is a skunk. He can drink whiskey all night and lead a killing party at dawn. He’ll wake up at the slightest noise and wouldn’t hesitate to slit your throat. So listen carefully. If you so much as take one step on your own, I’ll toss you over my shoulder and run for the horses. Your damn saddle will make a fine pillow for the Comanche to trade in Mexico.”
Regina licked her lips, her huge eyes darting up to him. “Your servant awaits, kind sir. I will be at your side, following your slightest whim just like the knights of King Arthur.”
While he scowled down at her, she grinned and kissed his cheek. Her finger ran down the crease between his eyebrows, the light touch stunning him more effectively than a war ax. “Please, don’t worry so. I’m small and fast and really quite capable. Just tell me what to do.”
~**~
“Don’t worry, she says... wearing a damn purple ribbon on my arm, stealing horses and sheep with Ryker at my backside,” MacGregor muttered beneath his breath, as he searched through the dark tent for the saddle.
With little effort he spotted the reddish leather patterned with an intricate flower design and a large molded saddle horn. Wrapping the saddle into a blanket, MacGregor tied and knotted leather thongs, quickly fashioning
a sling for his back.
He stepped outside the tent to see Regina’s small body outlined against a dwindling fire. Lighting a long torch, she darted to several tents, setting them on fire.
“Damn, she is fast as a rabbit,” MacGregor muttered, gripping his Springfield rifle tighter as she darted inside the largest tent.
He held his breath, clinging to the shadows until she stepped outside. The bundle strapped to her back shifted as she ran toward the small valley apart from the camp. A dog barked sharply, and the flock of sheep, light and shadowy in the dawn, began to flow toward the pass. Running around them, circling the flock, Regina’s small body caught the pink light of dawn.
Jack Ryker’s stocky body appeared suddenly, blocking Regina from MacGregor’s sight.
“Hell,” MacGregor cursed, easing the saddle to the ground. In the instant Ryker raised his rifle to his shoulder, MacGregor was on him. The force of his body threw Ryker to the ground. As he fell, he swung the rifle butt upward at MacGregor’s head. Ryker’s knife hissed, sliding from its sheath too late.... MacGregor’s knife slid between his ribs.
“You bastard half-breed,” Ryker gasped, blood spurting from his mouth before his lifeless eyes stared at the dawn.
Wiping his blade on Ryker’s chest, MacGregor picked up the saddle and began loping toward Regina, cursing with every step. Then the first call of fire sounded at his back, and men, groggy from drink, stumbled from the burning tents.
The sheep moved too slowly, he thought, picking his way across a prairie dog field. Bleating, moving like pale leaves on dark water, the sheep disappeared into a stand of aspens with white bark.
He caught Regina easily, grabbing her arm to pivot her against him sharply. “I said burn one tent, then light out, woman. One,” he shot at her just as a dog’s sharp teeth nipped at his heel.
“Easy on, MacGregor,” she ordered quietly when he lifted his rifle butt to strike the mottled black and white head of the snarling dog. Through the shadows the dog’s white eyes stared back at him.