Forbidden Caress

by Colleen French

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Forbidden Caress

  Colleen French

  Copyright © 1987, 2017 by Colleen French. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of The Evan Marshall Agency, 1 Pacio Court, Roseland, NJ 07068-1121, evan@evanmarshallagency.com.

  Version 1.0

  Originally published by Kensington Publishing Corp., New York, under the name Colleen Faulkner.

  Cover by The Killion Group

  To my mother, who taught me to read,

  and inspired me to write.

  SAVAGE SURRENDER

  "I hate you," Katelyn cried.

  "No, you don't hate me. You fear me but you don't hate me." Night Fox's voice was a mere whisper.

  She met his haunting black eyes without flinching. "I hate you," she lied. "I hate you because you kidnapped me. I hate you because you made me your slave . . . " I hate you because I can't despise you the way I should.

  Fox pulled her closer, savoring the warmth of her damp skin beneath his touch.

  She trembled in his grasp, unable to tear her eyes from his. She remembered the taste of his mouth on hers and her tongue darted out to dampen her dry lips. "I hate you because you touch me . . . " she breathed.

  Quivering, she let herself be drawn into his arms. No one had ever tried to comfort her before, no one had ever cared enough. Why did it have to be this man, she wondered, as he bent his head towards her. Why the enemy? She felt herself moving to meet his kiss, her arms easing around his neck to bring him nearer . . .

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Dover, England

  1717

  The heavy library door swung open with a bang and the pale woman turned anxiously to face her father. Her slim hands were hidden beneath the folds of the full apron that covered her morning gown. Beneath the dust cap her russet hair was in slight disarray. She was embarrassed to be appearing before her father in such dishevelment but her young brother had insisted she come immediately. Father had just had two very important visitors and he wanted to speak to her at once.

  "I have grand news, Katie. Your first proposal! We've waited so long for this! A Henry Artemis Bullman has requested your hand in marriage." The elderly Reverend Locke clutched his chubby hands in joy.

  Katelyn's eyes widened, a slight smile crossing her lips. "So soon? I hadn't expected a proposal so soon!"

  "Yes, the news traveled quickly. I knew it would. Every eligible man on the coast of Dover has known for some time now what a charitable wife you'd make, in the right circumstance."

  Circumstances, Katelyn knew, meant dowry. No one had been willing to marry her before her father had inherited the three thousand pounds from a distant uncle.

  "Tell me what this Henry Bullman is like, Father." Her voice grew husky with excitement.

  The Reverend took a few steps closer to his daughter and grasped one hand. He knew Katelyn was a bit flustered by this sudden change in status. What unmarried girl of twenty-four wouldn't be? But, thank the Blessed Lord, his daughter wasn't going to be an old maid. No indeed! It seemed it was soon going to be her good fortune to be wedded and with child within appropriate time.

  "Well, Katie, he's a grand young man."

  Her honey-colored eyes dropped, the sparkle fading. She knew it had been too good to be true. "You didn't tell him how old I was, did you?"

  "Now, now. I told him your precise age and it matters not." He beamed proudly, patting her hand.

  Katelyn's eyelashes fluttered. "He . . . he knows?" She withdrew her hand from her father's sweaty palms. These unusual sparks of affection always made her uncomfortable. Who was deceiving whom? The Reverend Locke probably loved his daughter in his own way, but he never had a personal relationship with her or any other woman. After Katelyn's mother died he had remarried a much younger woman, hoping to father a son. Once Gaither was born, whatever time the Reverend didn't spend within his Parish, was spent with his son. He provided for his young wife and daughter but considered them merely tools the Lord had furnished him with to help carry God's word to the troubled men of England.

  "So tell me, what is he like?"

  "Naturally, I spoke mostly to the father, but the boy seems rather intelligent. The elder Bullman is a Squire in the Maryland Colony, a very successful businessman as well as a farmer, he tells me."

  "The Maryland Colony? They live in the wilderness of America?" Katelyn's pulse quickened. "You'd permit me to go to the Colonies?" She knew she must be dreaming. Things like this didn't happen to a Reverend's daughter in Dover.

  "We'll miss you dearly; a girl will have to be hired to take over your chores. But this is a fine opportunity. The father mentioned a wedding gift of some two thousand acres of prime farm land."

  Her mind whirled. Up to this point in her life her days had been so orderly, so predictable, . . . so boring. Up until a month ago she had expected to live her days out imprisoned by her circumstances, in her father's dreary home. Because he was a clergyman, what little he owned would someday go to his son, leaving nothing for his daughter's dowry. Though she had been educated and reared as a lady should be, it had never been expected that she would have the chance to prove herself as a wife. Only because the fluke inheritance did Katelyn have a chance. But now the thought of leaving her father and little brother . . . her home . . . England . . . the thought was terrifying! But it was also exciting! Why, she'd never even been to London! Excitement was not part of Katelyn Locke's life.

  "Yes." She nodded with stubborn determination.

  "Yes, what?" The Reverend's eyes crinkled in confusion.

  "Yes, I will marry this Colonial . . . Henry." She tasted the sound of his name on her tongue, suddenly more sure of this decision than of any she'd made in her life. Who was to say if there'd be any other proposals? She wasn't going to live the life of a spinster if she didn't have to! She was going to the Colonies!

  "Wouldn't you like to meet the boy first? Talk to him? Perhaps your interests aren't similar." The pudgy man was bewildered by his daughter's abrupt decision. Granted, it would be easier once she was gone; her constant defiance of his rules had been a heavy cross to bear. But he didn't want her to think that she had to throw herself at the first man who ever paid her any regard.

  "What interests should a woman have other than her good husband, abundant children, and God's laws?" Katelyn replied, a trace of sarcasm in her voice. "You've said so often enough. Besides," she added, a mischievous smile playing across her lips, "you've met him, Father. If you think he is su
itable, than I'm in perfect agreement."

  Chapter One

  Katelyn sat in the rough wagon, her hands folded demurely on her lap. She took in great gulps of the fresh morning air, trying to absorb the sweet warmth of the sun just beginning to climb the cloudless, Dresden-blue sky. The seat swayed to and fro reminding her of the long journey from England.

  The weeks aboard the Cassandra had not been easy ones, and she had spent most of the voyage below decks trying desperately not to be ill. No, she decided, she was by no means a sailor. But here she was, finally, the Maryland Colony. Katelyn had never imagined it could be so utterly beautiful, so . . . so untamed!

  She smiled hesitantly at the man beside her as he slid his hand over hers and continued his conversation with the young blackamoor driving the team of horses.

  She didn't know what was wrong with her. Henry was the perfect English gentleman —intelligent, cultured, and charming. He would make the perfect husband. He had rescued her from her father's home and brought her to the Colonies to be the wife of a wealthy tobacco farmer. So why was she so uneasy? Why didn't she trust him?

  You should be honored he chose you, she told herself as she watched the way the breeze ruffled his flaxen hair, the way his clear blue eyes sparkled as he spoke. You never expected to catch such a handsome husband. You never expected to catch a husband at all!

  Maybe it's you, a voice whispered inside her. Why would he want to marry you? Katelyn was no fool. She knew mud-brown eyes, pale skin, and hair of a nondescript color were not features a man looked for in a wife.

  But what could be done now? She was betrothed to Henry Bullman, and they would be wed within the week. Only time would tell. She probably just had the jitters, like any woman about to be married to a man she didn't really know.

  Her mind drifted to thoughts of the wedding . . . her wedding, the one of which she had dreamed. From what Henry had told her, the ceremony and party afterwards, as well as their trip to Williamsburg, were all just as if she'd planned them herself. She regretted that her father had not been able to marry them before they set sail. But, Henry's father had promised a wedding gift of two thousand acres of land, provided they were wed in America. Squire Bullman felt that it was only proper that they be married before their friends and relatives since Henry was the first generation of Bullmans born in the colonies.

  The wagon hit a bump on the dirt road and jolted Katelyn out of her dreamy daze. Her eyes turned to the raw beauty of the surrounding forest as the wagon rolled on. The Maryland Colony was just as she had visualized, only the colors were brighter, and the scent of the wildflowers more intense. Father had been so wrong. He had warned her that the colonies were uncivilized, that wild animals roamed the woods and that heathen savages plundered the towns carrying off women and children. Mistress Plinkerton, the lady who had been her traveling companion, had been far closer in her description. This really was paradise!

  Katelyn peered into the thick woods as the horses pulled the wagon down the path at an even clip-clopping pace. She wished Henry would offer her a lap robe as the dust was sure to ruin her blue brocade gown. The dress has been a going away gift from her stepmother who had said the brilliant color might brighten her sallow complexion. She knew she should put up her parasol before she began to freckle but she hated to block out the glorious sunshine. Had the sun ever shone this bright in England?

  "Henry." Katelyn nudged him with a gloved hand.

  "Yes, love, what is it?"

  "What's that?" She pointed toward the deep woods. "That hut sort of thing."

  "It's an Injun house, Mistress Katelyn." Jonathan reined in the horses so that she could get a better look.

  "There's another one!"

  "Redskins? Good Lord! Thought we'd driven them out of these parts months ago." Henry reached into his breast pocket and took out a gold snuff box.

  Repulsed, Katelyn turned to study the odd Indian dwelling. That nasty stuff was the first thing that was going after they were married. She didn't care if it was all the rage. It was a disgusting habit that made her sick to her stomach!

  "What say we have a look, love?" Henry sniffed through one nostril and then the other.

  "Do you think we should?" she questioned, already standing to get out of the wagon.

  Jonathan shook his head. "I doesn't know, Masta Henry. Big Masta Henry say I was to pick yous up at the ha'bor in Nap'lis an' bring yous straight home. He di'n say nuffin' 'bout comin' this way an' he shore di'n say to be stoppin' an' lookin' at no Injun houses!"

  "Nonsense. If you're afraid, sit here. We're going to have a look." He jumped down and reached to help her down.

  "Are we in any danger?"

  "From a few louse-ridden savages?" Henry laughed. "I hope we do see one. I'll make short work of him!"

  "Big Masta gonna have my skin if'in anythin' happens to yous two." Jonathan tied the reins to the side of the buckboard and leaped off the other side.

  "What could possibly happen? I'd just like to get a closer look, maybe find a trinket made by the red beasts. Wouldn't that be something to show our sons, love? Real redskin beads or maybe a tomahawk?"

  "Anything you say, dear." Katelyn smiled, surprised by her bold use of such an endearment.

  Together the three entered the forest, coming quickly to the clearing they had spotted from the road. Katelyn and Henry walked to the middle of the grassy knoll while Jonathan waited impatiently near the edge of the woods.

  In the clearing were a dozen bark and grass huts in a circle, eleven round ones and one dome shaped hut with an arched roof. The huts were made of young saplings driven into the ground and then bent and tied with twisted reeds. There were smaller tree limbs threaded crosswise through the framework with shingles made of bark.

  Katelyn stood with her mouth hanging open in a very unladylike manner. "It was a little town," she whispered in awe. "Look, there was the garden." She pointed to a raised bed of earth now overgrown with weeds. "Oh Henry, it's beautiful, isn't it?"

  He turned to her, curling his lips cynically as he spoke. "Are you daft, woman? Filthy savages lived here."

  She took a step back, confused and hurt by his sharp remark.

  Henry sauntered over to the oblong house, coming to stand in front of a mat on hinges, what was obviously a door. "Hey Jonathan, what are these spears doing here?" He pulled one from the ground.

  The servant came running, his eyes wide with fright. "Masta Henry, I doesn't think you oughts to be touchin' that. Them there spears was put there for a reason. Them savages doesn't like people messin' with their things. I think we best be goin' 'fore we's in big trouble."

  "Maybe he's right." Katelyn shivered despite the warm sunshine. Something wasn't right. She could sense it. "Your father is expecting us. Maybe we should go."

  "Look, it will only take a minute. I just want to see if there's anything here worth taking." Henry leaned the spear against the hut and came to stand next to her, taking her hand. "Listen, Love, why don't you go into the next clearing and pick some flowers?" He pointed farther into the woods where yellow flowers bloomed.

  "All right," she agreed against her better judgement. "But hurry."

  Henry reached down to boldly brush his lips against her cheek but she stepped back, still angry with him.

  "By your leave, sir! We're not wed yet!" Without another word she sashayed off, her head held high.

  Reaching the next clearing, Katelyn dropped to the ground and began to gather the yellow buttercups that covered the ground. What was wrong with Henry? What have I gotten myself into? Well, too late to worry now, only time will tell. She smiled at herself as a old ballad Cook had taught her came to mind. Softly she sang, her bright hair swaying with the light breeze.

  "Father, dear Father, you've done me great wrong.

  You've married me to boy who is too young . . . "

  The Lenni Lenape brave crouched amidst a thicket of pokeberries watching the slim woman with hair of the red fox wander closer to him. He crouched
even lower as she kneeled picking buttercups only steps from him. She sang softly, entrancing him as soft wisps of bright hair blew gently in the wind. Her eyes were the color of a doe's, soft and gentle. The brave longed to reach out and touch her pale skin, to run his fingers through her magic colored hair. He wondered why she was here as he began to move silently along the hedgerow.

  Tipaakke's hand slid to the stone knife in his belt and his eyes narrowed as he spotted the white man desecrating the Big House in his deserted village. How dare he disturb a gravesite!

  Tipaakke pulled his lips taut, letting loose the cry of the whippoorwill. His call was immediately answered once, twice, three times as his hunting companions let him know how close they were. The braves had been on a hunting expedition when they had decided to pass by the old village and leave an extra prayer for the passage of their dead loved ones.

  Henry pulled at the mat, finding it impossible to untie the leather thongs that kept it shut. He didn't know what the savages were keeping inside but it certainly had to be worth something the way they had the hut sealed. The door finally tore from the hinges causing Henry to tumble back into the dirt.

  Katelyn glanced in Henry's direction as he dusted off his breeches. She shook her head and continued to pick small flowers, wishing he would hurry.

  "Damn, Jonathan! Nothing here but a few stinking bodies!" he shouted, sticking his head out of the door.

  Jonathan retreated to the wagon and jumped onto the seat, reins in hand. "Lordy Masta Henry, say a prayer quick an' get you'self outa there! Mistress Katelyn, we goin' now," he shouted, obviously petrified.

  Henry stepped into the hut, pulling a lace handkerchief from his pocket and holding it under his nose. Good God, he'd come this far, he decided he might as well have a look around. On both sides of the long hut were benches built from split logs, and on the benches were five bodies. Henry kicked over the bark buckets of water and meal lined neatly along the floor. He saw nothing of value. At the very end of the hut was the body of a young boy of five or six. He started to turn around when something caught his eye. Clutched in the rotting hand was a small axe with a wooden handle and a stone blade. The wood was painted red, with leather streamers and a fox tail hanging from it. Holding his handkerchief with one hand, Henry snatched the axe with the other.