by Cait London
She hesitated, and a bead of pitch caught fire noisily before she continued. “My father always managed to ruin the holidays. His favorite game was to punish me or lock me in the closet for hours. He called me Pagan, his little savage. He’ll be after me....”
“Hating can eat a person, Violet. And you’re safe with me,” MacGregor whispered against her warm skin, sensing her deep pain. To distract her, he asked, “Tell me about mistletoe, decking the halls.”
Her fingers smoothed his chest, skimming across him like feathers. “Green leaves and white berries, a vine used to decorate. Kissing under the mistletoe was great sport, though the plant was said to have been prescribed by the Druids for... female infertility. The Scandinavians thought mistletoe was a plant owned by Frigga, goddess of love,” she finished drowsily, nestling closer to him.
Sighing deeply, she rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Do you really think my skin isn’t too dark? My father said it was dusky as a savage’s....”
Running his fingers down her smooth arm, MacGregor tried the new fancy kiss to the back of her hand, and she moved closer. “Pretty as pale doeskin, bleached in the sun. Soft as down and warm as Jack’s. Tastes like gold honey made from purple clover flowers....”
“Really? My, you say the oddest, most lovely things....” she whispered sleepily. MacGregor slid his hand inside her blouse and found the soft mound of her breasts just before he slept.
~**~
Regina clapped her hands and laughed when MacGregor finished playing Greensleeves on his Indian flute. “What a beautiful Christmas present!”
Seated on MacGregor’s lap, Jack sleepily explored the two-foot-long instrument with chubby fingers.
“It’s an Indian courting flute. Traded it from a Mandan.” Recovered from his wounds, MacGregor lounged next to the fire in the evenings, sharing a cup of tea with her. He was wearing only his trousers, and the puma’s claw marks crisscrossed his wide, dark chest.
He began another song. The melody reminded her of the wind swishing through the pines and skimming the blue snow lakes.
When he finished, Jack slept, nestled against him. “What is the name of that song, MacGregor?”
“In Sioux, it means when I was courting.”
He began to play again, the plaintive melody filling the cabin over the sound of the wind. When he was finished, MacGregor smiled at her and began talking quietly. The deep, rough tone of his voice entranced her. “Many warriors wanted the beautiful maiden, but she found fault with each one. She turned away and refused the smile that meant a warrior could take her away and the next morning tie horses to her parents’ tepee. But one did not seek her smile. Instead, Black Feather played his flute by the lake.”
Placing the flute to his lips, MacGregor played another melody, sweet and quivering, reminding her of the wind whistling through the reeds in the moors.
“After a time, Summer Wind grew curious. She walked by him and still he didn’t look at her. Day after day, he played the flute and didn’t look. One day, she dropped a pouch filled with strips of dried buffalo meat, to show him how well she could care for their teepee.”
MacGregor continued in that soft, rough deep voice. “But he continued playing his flute next to the lake. One day, she came to silently watch him play. She asked, ‘Who do you play for, Black Feather?’ He said to look into the water and find the answer. When Summer Wind bent over the water, she saw her own reflection. Black Feather leaped up, caught Summer Wind and when she smiled at him, he stole her for his wife.”
The desire in MacGregor’s black eyes slid over her, warming her. Caught by his story, she’d moved closer, drawn by the quiet sound of his voice. “What a beautiful Christmas present, MacGregor!” she exclaimed, staring at him.
“I know what I’d like for a present,” he whispered, running a finger along the softness of her bottom lip and startling her.
He’d become quite dangerous, suddenly in front of her when she turned, his hand brushing her breast as he reached past her. He wasn’t above patting Jack’s head as it rested on her breast, a long finger foraging across her skin. He’d taken to kissing the back of her hand, fitting her palm against his.
Suddenly he was too near, stalking her. Jack rested in his willow cradle, and MacGregor had reached out a big hand to snare her ankle. His thumb caressed her skin lazily, and her heart skipped a beat as she glimpsed the fully aroused length of his body beneath his trousers. “You’re wearing my present. The ruby eardrop. I’ve decided to let you keep it when we part.”
His palm cradled her calf, rubbing it gently. “My wedding gift from you. I want you wearing my mark, but my baby would be just fine. We’re not parting trails, my dear.”
His smile wasn’t nice, reminding her of a wolf waiting for a rabbit to drop between his paws.
In another instant he slid her down beneath him. “Let’s pretend we’re kissing under your English mistletoe,” he whispered against her lips. “Long sweet kisses that taste like July blackberries dipped in warm honey.”
He brushed her lips lightly, his fingers working her braid loose, easing the strands free. Pushing her hand against his broad chest, Regina stiffened. “Gracious, you move fast.... Now, MacGregor. We’re not married....”
He nuzzled the soft spot behind her ear, sending little tingles throughout her body. “Sure feels that way. About the sweetest time in my life.”
Before she could react, his fingers went skimming down her bodice, opening the tiny pearl buttons. His mouth was hot against her breast, nibbling at the crest. Regina fought the heat waves skimming through her, the way her body had suddenly softened to his. Snaring her wrist, MacGregor drew her astride his lap.
His mouth opened on hers, his tongue playing with hers before she could gasp. One strong arm bound her to him, while his free hand moved quickly between them. She gasped as his arm tightened and her breasts met his hard chest.
“Put your arms around me, Violet, like you did that night. Hold me as if you’ll never let me go,” he whispered roughly against her cheek. Gently caressing the sweep of her back with his broad hand, MacGregor pressed her against his chest, his eyes closing slowly. “Ah, love,” he whispered unevenly, “like that.”
“Love?” The word struck at her senses, stunning her.
“Come here....” Then the tip of him pressed against her, and he lifted her hips with one hand, rhythmically thrusting her against him.
“MacGregor,” she managed shakily as she softened and dampened, accepting the tip of him.
He shuddered, broad shoulders rippling beneath her hands. Hot and damp with the effort of taking her slowly, he raised his hips and filled her. “Oh, my,” she whispered as the constrictions began circling him, tightening, throbbing.
Her breast filled his hand, the long fingers gently caressing her. He lay back, holding her above him. Gently lifting her hips, he adjusted her to the full hard length.
Jack cried softly, and the sound slid into Regina, stilling her. “Gracious, MacGregor, you move fast for a big man,” she whispered, scampering up and to her feet.
Almost at the same time, he was on his feet, angry and looming over her as he kicked free of his trousers. The firelight licked at his lean body, outlining his powerful thighs and the aroused shape between them. “We’re married proper. A man has a right to have his wife.”
Trembling, her legs weakened by desire, she adjusted her clothing and fought to keep her eyes above his shoulders. “You’re a hunter, MacGregor. You know how to stalk your prey, then take it without asking. I’m offering you that diamond and more if you’ll take me to civilization. Surely Lord Covington has given up the search by now.”
He slammed his palm against the table. “Violet MacGregor, you have odd ways of treating your husband. Warm him with soft sighs and big, soft eyes... let him sample, then dance away.”
MacGregor’s finger trembled as he pointed to the bed. “We’ll be finishing that—we’re bound legal and proper. Though you’re a scrawny, ornery e
xcuse for a wife. Can’t cook—”
“When I marry, MacGregor, it will be a gentleman of my choice. One who will court and cherish me... not sneak up like a wolf about to devour an unsuspecting rabbit—”
His thick eyebrows soared. “Court you? Cherish you?” he asked indignantly. “From your books. Dreams of a girl—and you’re a woman full grown and almost past your prime. ‘A heart’s true love... beating heart... joined souls’.... Damnation, a man doesn’t talk to his woman that way. I married you, didn’t I? How could one woman with a mouth like warm honey and a body that dances across my dreams be so—”
He scowled down at her, placing his hands on his hips. “I’ve chosen you to be my woman. Bear my sons—or girls—so that Jack will have a family and won’t be alone. What more can you want?”
Tugging up her lace bodice, Regina glared at him. There he stood, looming over her and as bad-tempered as a wounded grizzly, when a moment before he was playing the courting flute and telling her romantic stories. The taste of his mouth still burned her lips and the back of her hand.
She shook, her legs weak as though part of her had just been torn away. She wanted to walk into his arms and have him comfort her with those sweet, long tender kisses. Her body was empty and ached for him, but not on his terms.... “I want to leave. And I shall.”
~**~
Tall Tom stripped off his long birch snowshoes and stepped onto a log as he studied MacGregor’s cabin, nestled in the valley. The morning sun caught in the snow and blinded him for a moment, then the small figure he’d been tracking crossed a meadow. “The metis’s woman has taken to the shoes, then,” he muttered gathering the buffalo robe around him as protection from the January wind.
“Safe enough to get her now. MacGregor lit out at first light like a scalded pup, running his traps. When he comes back, I’ll take his ear and the bauble. Stick it in the woman’s ear afore I butcher her.”
The slight figure called to her dogs, and they obeyed, scampering and sliding across the crust formed on the deep snow. Downwind from the dogs, Tall Tom eased under the shadows of the tall firs to watch the woman practice on the small rounded snowshoes. “So she’s got the breed waiting on her, does she? Making shoes and buffalo robes to fit her scrawny bones,” he snarled, easing along the log, tracking her.
Taking the protective sleeve off the rifle she carried, the woman turned slowly to study the surrounding trees. “Buffalo gun,” Tall Tom whispered, noting the heavy length of the firearm.
Holding the pine branch aside, he watched her pour gunpowder from a buffalo horn slung across her shoulder, then tap the patch and ball down the barrel of the powerful gun. “Damn female.”
In the next instant she’d lifted the gun to her shoulder and sighted in his direction. Before he could step behind the shelter of the pine trunk, the roar of the blast echoed in his brain. The long splinter lanced his eye and hot blood spurted on his skin. Staggering back against the tree, leaning against it for support, Tall Tom cursed as he jerked the splinter free and tossed it away.
“Damn, there goes that eye,” he growled, struggling to gather his snowshoes and run through the deep snow.
A trail of blood marked his blind struggle away from MacGregor’s.
In the valley below Regina sat in the snow where the blast of the gun had thrown her and rubbed her shoulder. The dogs frolicked around her, licking her face until she giggled and rolled in the snow. “MacGregor said to leave the gun alone, that it would knock me on my butt—buttocks—and so it did. I shall have to hurry to see if Jack woke from his nap and bake MacGregor’s favorite bread in case he discovers anything amiss.... What a marvelous adventure, my beauties!”
~**~
Chapter Eleven
In the lambing quarters, Maude’s new lamb stood shakily and wagged his tail. Delighted with the newborn animal, Regina laughed and hugged Laddie. “What a lovely sight! Shh. Maude won’t want us around now with her baby so near.”
The other ewes nestled in the warm, dry cave blocked from the weather by a wall of lodgepole pine. MacGregor had built the shelter while in his scowling mood, muttering darkly about “females and babies underfoot.”
Yet he’d helped with the ewes, soothing them with whispers and petting. Hercules followed MacGregor now, pulling the sled loaded with wild grass foraged from the heavy snow. Strapped to MacGregor’s back on the short trips, Jack slept comfortably in his furry nest. Regina watched over the lambing, often sleeping in the warm shed.
The cave was protected by a door fashioned from pine limbs lashed together by leather thongs. Laddie barked furiously as the door slid aside, and a man stated, “MacGregor Two Hearts does have a woman spending the winter with him.”
Moving through the shadowy space, a huge man draped in a buffalo robe loomed over Regina. “I’m”—she searched for a name warily; the man could be Covington’s envoy— “Violet,” she announced firmly, as though announcing a title.
“Aye, sure you are, sweet tail.” The man’s hand, grimy and foul-smelling, reached out to touch her breast beneath the leather jerkin. “Full-growed Injun gal, if’n I ever saw one,” he rasped coarsely, moving a step nearer and squinting down at her face.
“Ah... Mr.—” Regina backed against the rock wall.
“Old One Ear Mose, they call me. See?” He lifted a flap of the pelt covering his head to reveal a missing ear. “I’m not purty. But I know how to take care of females. I’m asking you nice to lay with me now. You’ll get a piece of nice foofaraw and me to boot.”
Taking a step aside, Regina fitted her palm over the knife handle at her waist. Before she could move, the man’s huge paw reached out and snatched her wrist. “There now. You don’t want to stick old Mose, do you, gal?”
Drawing her steadily to him, Mose bent over her, leering. “Won’t hurt MacGregor none if we play a bit, gal.”
Regina’s kick to Mose’s belly struck low, and the mountain man doubled over as Laddie bit his thigh. With a sweep of his hand the man rolled the dog aside. When Laddie yelped, Regina slid through the opening.
She hit MacGregor’s tall hard body at a run and almost fell before he lifted her by the nape of her neck. Mose roared, rushing through the opening after her.
“She’s my woman, Mose,” MacGregor said too softly, almost purring. Placing her behind him, MacGregor patted Laddie’s head gently.
“A little rough on my livestock, aren’t you, Mose?” he asked as the huge man started around him toward Regina.
“Don’t like getting kicked in my privates,” Mose snarled, jerking a long, wide blade from his belt. “Back off, MacGregor. I mean to have the woman.”
MacGregor’s long legs locked at the knee, and he hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. Despite his easy half smile, his tall body was tense. “My wife’s not up for taking,” he stated easily, widening his smile.
Mose squinted one eye at him. “Wife? As in married proper?”
MacGregor touched the ruby in his ear. “See that? It’s the mate to hers.”
“Don’t mean nothing.” Mose reached for Regina. The sound of bone and flesh crashing together echoed through the fresh air, and Mose staggered back heavily.
“So that’s how it is.” He grinned, wiping the stream of blood away from his mouth. “Always liked a good fight, MacGregor. I’d be safe with you. You’re not the kind to bite off my other ear.”
“Thanks,” MacGregor stated quietly, taking off his gun belt and handing it to Regina. He cradled her cheek in his palm, brushing her skin with his thumb. “Jack should be waking up now from his nap. Mose and I will want a cup of tea when we’re finished, Violet. Go on down now and start the water boiling. Mose will want to spend the night.”
“You’re sending me away while you sort out this affair, aren’t you, MacGregor?” Regina asked sharply, stepping between the two tall men. “Two noble male beasts establishing their lordly power?”
Above her head, MacGregor’s jaw tightened ominously. “I’m going to beat the vinegar out of
Mose. He needs that every once in a while, or he feels that nobody cares. Get out of the way, woman.”
Mose crowded toward her, his chin jutting out at an angle to equal MacGregor’s. “She can stay, you cocky, half-grown pretty child. No lawful man shaves his jaw in the full bloom of winter. You’re looking like a peeled onion, boy. Maybe Miss Violet”—he stopped and grinned widely down at her before continuing— “appreciates a good fight and a good man. I figure she’d taken to me if you hadn’t showed up.”
She tapped MacGregor in his flat stomach. “I won’t have you upsetting my ewes by crashing around like two dancing bears in a small cage. Why don’t we just go to the cabin and chat over a nice cup of tea?”
“Tea!” Mose snorted in disgust. “Leaves and bark and such for sick people. Give me good rum or whiskey.”
“Violet, Mose wants a fight right off the first time he sees me, woman or not. It’s a hell of a lot easier giving it to him than sidestepping his offers. Settles the dust—”
“But you’re fighting over me. I have a say in the matter.”
“She’s a talker, ain’t she? Any good on the blanket?” Mose asked.
MacGregor glanced down at her startled expression and grinned. “Fair to middling. But her feathers get ruffled when you talk plain about it. Married folks keep that to themselves.”
“Married,” Mose repeated, squinting one eye at Regina. “Proper?”
“Buzzard said the words,” MacGregor answered quietly.
“Good grief,” Regina muttered, looking up at the two men. “You’re talking about me as though I weren’t here. Mose, you may have your silly fight away from my sheep. You are not to hurt MacGregor. He’s just recovering from being mauled by a mountain cat. If you harm him, I shall have to hurt you.”
Mose stared down at her blankly, his thick lips parting. “Me hurt MacGregor? Damn, haven’t hurt him since he was a pup. Innocent as a lamb, I am.”
“Fine. Since you understand the rules of this... this silly match...” She sniffed, looking up to see MacGregor’s dark eyes gleam.