Forbidden Caress

by Colleen French

  She looked up from the bowl to glance at his overly serious face. Such a handsome man, she thought. No matter what happened or where she went she would never forget those haunting black eyes. "No, of course not, Fox," she assured him quietly. "They've not been very good to me, have they?"

  Chapter Seven

  "The holly and the ivy,

  Now both are full well grown,

  Of all the trees within the wood,

  The holly bears the crown."

  Katelyn's voice lifted skyward as she busied herself sweeping the hearth, brushing the dust and bits of bark into the fire. Her hips swayed to and fro in a seductive dance as she followed the twig-broom partner across the dance floor. Her feet tapped softly, rhythmically, as she hummed words long forgotten.

  Tipaakke looked up from where he sat beside the bed, mending a torn leather pouch. His finger went instinctively to his lips when a sharp sting brought blood. She's too distracting, he thought. He listened to his captive's sweet haunting voice, her words echoing in his mind as he drew a picture deep within himself, imagining how her body swayed as her feet tapped lightly on the cabin floor.

  Life had not been easy for her since they had arrived at the cabin more than two moons ago. Tipaakke smiled wryly. Life hadn't been easy for him either. She was a temptress. She was the vicious enemy. She would sit by the fire tanning hides and speaking broken Algonquian of days to come when he would take her to the great water to fish and gather clams. At these times she would be so convincing that even he thought she was Lenni Lenape.

  Tipaakke's head dropped and he concentrated on the hide pouch again. Then, he thought, then she would wake up one morning as if an unhealthy spirit possessed her. She would rant and rave, ordering that she be returned to Henry Bullman at once. She would say she wanted no part of the Lenni Lenape and their cruel ways. Tipaakke ran his fingers along the finished seam. They told him he'd done a good job.

  He turned in Katelyn's direction, listening as she stacked the chairs on the table to sweep beneath it. He had never known anyone like her, red or white. There were days when she would laugh and tease, taunting until they were rolling naked on the furs at the hearth. She could be the seductress or the seduced, playing both parts well. Then there were times when she wanted no part of him, cursing and throwing pewter plates. Tipaakke's dark eyes sparkled with amusement. No, life certainly hadn't been dull.

  Katelyn replaced the chairs on the floor and set the twig broom in the corner to rest. Her eyes went to the wall where dozens of pelts hung. She wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. She brushed the back of her hand across a soft grey fox hide. There was more to her Indian brave than she'd first realized. The fact that he was blind seemed to make no difference to him. He cut and hauled wood for the fire, he trapped, he cared for her pony. In the close quarters of the cabin, he seemed to have sight. He walked without shuffling, knowing exactly where everything lay. It was eerie to watch him. He looked like he could see. His eyes met hers when he spoke, following her when she crossed the room. A stranger would never know he was blind.

  Katelyn tossed another log onto the fire and added some water to a pan for tea. Fox was so good to her at times, surprising her with tea leaves he'd brought or fetching water for her so she wouldn't have to venture out into the bitter cold. But there were other times when he could be unmerciful. He drilled her constantly on survival techniques forcing her to repeat what he'd taught her over and over again. He made her practice shooting a bow he'd fashioned for her until her fingers were frozen beyond feeling. He would bring game home for days and then for days he would refuse to help at all, forcing her to use what she'd learned to hunt or snare their meals.

  Katelyn sighed, dumping a few precious tea leaves from a small bag into a pewter mug. There were days when she hated Fox. Days when she wished with all her heart that she was safe in Maryland with Henry Bullman. But then there were days when she thanked the Lord for having such a thoughtful, caring man. The more she thought about spring and the decision she must make, the more confused she became.

  "Katelyn . . . "

  She blinked, looking up. "You said something? I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. Tea?"

  "No. You were walking in the dream world again. I said sing the song again. It's very pretty." Tipaakke came to his feet, tucking the needles into the sewing bag.

  "No. It's silly. Those days are long gone." She sat on a chair, breathing in the tangy bitter tea. She wrapped her fingers around the mug, savoring its heat.

  "Then tell me about the Yuletide again."

  "Not again." Katelyn threw up a hand in his direction. "You've heard it twice in the last three days."

  "I know, but I like to hear you speak of happy times. I was a happy child. I like to think you were, too." He crossed the room and returned the sewing pouch to its proper place on the wooden shelf above the fireplace.

  Katelyn watched as he glided across the floor. He moved as smoothly and as confidently as a wild animal in the forest. "Well, you know father never approved of any gaiety, and certainly not at the Yuletide. It was a time to contemplate Christ's birth and our sins like all good Protestants. But, Aunt Patricia, she married a Catholic!" Katelyn's eyes grew round with excitement. "It was a great scandal. For a while we couldn't see Aunt Pitty, but then Father came around and let me spend Christmastide with her one year." She took a sip of her steaming brew.

  Tipaakke slid a chair from under the table and sat down beside Katelyn. "Get the brush and my leathers. Do my hair while you tell me the story. I still must check my traps today."

  "Please?" She arched her eyebrows, a slight smile playing across her face.

  Tipaakke turned to her confusingly. "Please what?"

  "You're supposed to ask me to braid your hair, remember?" She crossed her arms, pleased with herself.

  "Please," he spoke through tightly compressed lips, "would you be so kind as to braid my hair, Mistress Katelyn?" He jumped out of the chair and bowed formally.

  She got to her feet and curtsied low. "I would love to, Sir Tipaakke Oopus." She laughed spinning around to retrieve the brush and leather ties.

  Tipaakke settled himself in the chair again. "Now, tell me the rest of the story."

  Katelyn ran the porcupine tail brush through his long hair, smoothing it with a hand. "Well, Aunt Pitty came to get me in the carriage, and we sang songs all the way back to her house. Oh, and Fox, the house was so beautiful with candles twinkling in all of the windows and boughs of holly piled high on the mantles." She stopped brushing for a moment and rested her cheek on the back of his head. She loved the feel of his sleek hair against her skin.

  Tipaakke reached behind his head to caress her cheek. "Go on . . . " His hand slid back to his lap.

  "Where was I? Oh, the house." She started to run the brush rhythmically through his hair again, parting it in the center. "I remember it being so warm in there. She must have had every fireplace in the house lit. Father never allowed us to waste precious wood like that."

  "Ouch, that hurt!" Tipaakke rubbed his head. "You're pulling the hair from my head."

  "I am not. You asked me to do this. You know my braids are tighter than yours." She took half of his hair and began to form a long smooth braid. "Now do you want to hear the story or not?"

  "Yes. Go on." Tipaakke slid his hand along the table until it touched the warm pewter cup and raised it to his mouth.

  "We had a wonderful meal of boar's head, breads, jellies, and puddings and then we went into the Great Room for gifts. My aunt and uncle gave me a beautiful music box that played when I opened the lid." She gave the braid a final tug and tied the end tightly with a leather strap.

  "And the log?" Tipaakke prompted, enchanted by the sound of her happy voice.

  "The servants brought in a huge green log decorated with pine and holly, and they threw it into the fireplace. They said it would burn until Twelfth Night!" She tied the second braid.

  "It must be almost that time of year by n
ow." He snaked his hand around her waist and pulled her onto his lap.

  "The Yuletide began on December twenty-fourth. I know it's December by now, but I don't know when." She peered into his ebony eyes thoughtfully.

  "It is late in the month." Dropping a kiss on the end of her nose, he stood up, sliding her to her feet. "I must tend my line now."

  Katelyn watched as he gathered his necessary belongings. At first it had worried her that he packed so many things when he would only be gone a few hours. But now she had accepted that a man must always be prepared when he left home.

  "Fill my bag . . . please." Tipaakke handed it to her and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his leggings. He had laughed about the trousers Katelyn had made for him of rabbit skins but he never set out to check his traps without them. Though they were bulky with the fur sewn inside, they were the warmest leg coverings he'd ever worn.

  Katelyn waited patiently while he shrugged on his cloak. He had complained when she first added a few seams to his prized fox cloak, but he soon realized she was right about that, too. It was much warmer when she was through making her alterations.

  "I will be back as soon as I can. Don't worry if I'm gone longer than usual. The snow is deep further down the mountain, near the beaver dam. I must take care there so I don't lose my direction."

  Katelyn bit her lip. Each time he left, she feared he wouldn't come back. There were so many things that could happen; he could fall in the stream and freeze to death; he could be killed by a pack of wolves. Yet, she knew he must go. Though, he didn't really need the money the pelts would bring in the spring, he needed to feel useful, and he needed to keep busy. "Good luck." She put on her best smile. "Nihiila oopus ia nac."

  Tipaakke looked up, smiling. She always said the same thing. She knew a red fox in a trap would be a good omen. He reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. "Uiil Tahuun will need more dry grass. Go down by the bank and dig some from the snow."

  Katelyn nodded. "Kihiila." Between hunting for food, caring for the pony, cutting wood for the fire and preparing the hides, she always kept busy while Tipaakke was gone. If she has a spare moment, she would even practice with her bow. She hadn't shot an animal with it yet, but she was getting better. "I hope you get a duck. I'm so tired of rabbit."

  "A what?" He slid his knife into the sheath strapped to his leg.

  "A duck." She looked up questioningly. "Oh." She paused for a moment, thinking. Their language was so different from her own. "Nihiila kuikuiingus ia nac."

  "I will see what Manito leaves me." Pulling his raccoon cap over his head, he started for the door. "Take care. Keep your ears open and your knife at your side."

  Katelyn rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes I know. You're too serious sometimes, you know that." She pressed her hand to his back. "Now get going. If you don't hurry it's going to be dark before you get back."

  Tipaakke snorted, shaking his head. "It already is dark, girl!"

  Puzzled, she paused, her hand still resting on the small of his back.

  "You are always a drum beat behind, Katie-girl. Dark . . . it's always dark to me." He dropped a kiss on her laughing mouth. "See you when I get back."

  Katelyn waved, not caring that he couldn't see as she watched him disappear around the bend.

  Slamming the heavy door behind her, she added another log to the fire. What to do now, she asked herself, dumping her now cold cup of tea back into a metal pan to reheat. When they first arrived at the cabin, she had looked forward to the times when Tipaakke would leave to tend his traps. But lately, even when she kept herself occupied, she found herself counting the hours until he returned.

  She stared into the fireplace watching the hot flames leap and lick the charring logs. She just didn't understand herself. Why couldn't she just accept her situation and be content with it? She was happier in this cabin with Fox than she had ever been in her father's home. No one had ever cared about her like Fox did. And she knew he did care. So why was she being so greedy? Why did she want love, too? How could she even be considering returning to that Henry Coward? She pored her heated tea into the pewter cup and leaned against the mantle to sip it.

  What kind of life could I ever have with Henry? Would he even take me back after being captured by wild savages? She laughed. Wild savages . . . the sad truth was that the only real savage she'd met in this new world was Henry. Even Hawk was a better man. At least he was honorable. He would never have left his woman in the hands of the enemy. How could Henry have left me? She'd asked herself that a million times and still she had no answer.

  Katelyn dropped her mug on the mantle with a thud and crossed the room to get her sewing. She couldn't keep going over and over this in her mind. It was going to drive her crazy. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, she pushed all thoughts from her mind and concentrated on the rabbit hide in her lap. Once cut properly and sewn, she'd have a bag to keep her own collection of stone knives and hide scrapers.

  Engrossed in the tedious task, Katelyn lost all track of time. Only when the dimming light filtering through the tiny windows made it difficult to see, did she realize it was near dusk.

  "Poor Uiil Tahuun," she murmured to the empty room. "He must be starving by now." Coming to her feet, Katelyn dropped the almost completed bag on the table and went to get her cloak from the peg near the door. Shrugging it over her shoulders, she wrapped a grey fox pelt over her head and around her neck and stepped out into the frosty air.

  "Brrrr, it's going to be a cold one tonight." She shivered, pulling the cloak closer and tying a dangling strip of leather hide around her waist. Rubbing her hands briskly, she walked around the back of the cabin to the lean-to where her pony was stabled.

  "Hey there, Wooden Head. How's my girl?" She paused to scratch her behind her ears. "Hungry, girl? I bet you are. Well, just hang in there and I'll be right back." Giving her shaggy neck a pat, Katelyn yanked the feed bag of its post and headed off in the snow.

  Down near the creek she kneeled in the snow and began to dig with a stick, searching for the tufts of dry grass she knew were there. Once she'd cleared a small area of snow and warmed her hands inside her cloak, she began to pull grass as fast as she could. It was so cold!

  Katelyn paused for a minute, breathing deeply, the frigid air burning her throat and lungs. Something didn't seem right, but she didn't know what it was. Stuffing a few more handfuls of grass in the bag, she got to her feet and started back up the path to the cabin.

  The forest seems awfully quiet, she thought as she hurried along. Too quiet. I'd better feed Wooden Head and get back to the cabin.

  Reaching the lean-to, she walked around the windbreak wall and went into the pony's stall. "Told you I'd be back, girl. I brought you some grass." Dumping the bag of grass on the dirt floor, Katelyn ran her frozen fingers over the black and white mane. "You're so warm!" Moving closer, she wrapped her arms around the pony's plump stomach and rested her head on her back. "If it gets any colder out here, we're going to have to bring you in the cabin." Katelyn nuzzled the soft coat, savoring the heat that slowly seeped from the pony's body through hers. "I hope I brought enough grass because I'm not digging any more tonight."

  Wooden Head made no response but continued to munch on the pile of grass at her feet, making no attempt to move away.

  Suddenly, Katelyn picked her head up. "What was that?" She listened for a moment but heard nothing but the pony's grinding teeth.

  Something was wrong. Ducking under the pony's neck, she began to creep towards the outer wall so that she could peek out. Slowly, her hand went for her knife in her cloak. "No, God, no," she whispered. It wasn't there. She'd been in such a hurry to feed Wooden Head before it got dark that she'd forgotten her knife. A person only made a mistake like this once and didn't live to tell about it.

  There it was again. Katelyn pressed her body to the wall. A low growl, then another. There was no need to look over the wall, she knew what was out there. Wolves . . .

  Tipaakke ha
d taken her far from the cabin one afternoon to show her a pack of wolves devouring a deer. It had been a frightening sight for her but Tipaakke had accomplished what he'd set out to. He'd given Katelyn the proper respect, but also the fear of The Maker's deadly creatures.

  Katelyn slid slowly to the ground as her mind whirled in terror. How many? First she had to determine how many. She might be able to distract one long enough to get to the cabin or up a tree, but if it was a pack, she didn't have a chance.

  Sensing danger, Wooden Head's ears perked, and she looked up, leaving the grass at her feet.

  "Shhhh," Katelyn crooned, coming to her feet to stroke the pony's neck. "It's all right, girl. I'll think of something."

  Wooden Head nickered, snorting as she started to move back and forth in the small stall.

  Walking around the pony, Katelyn slowly edged toward the opening of the lean-to. If she was a true Lenni Lenape, she would have been able to tell how many there were from the sounds they made. But she wasn't. She had to see them. Stiffly, she put one leg in front of the other. She was petrified but she couldn't stand to just wait until they came for her. She had to do something.

  Reaching the edge of the windbreak wall, she took a deep breath and leaned to look out. She no longer felt the ice-cold air, she no longer heard the frightened pony hedging nervously in the stall. All she could hear was her own heartbeat and the low rumble of growling.

  "One . . . two . . . three." She took another deep breath, shuddering as she released it. There were three more creeping from the edge of the woods.

  Katelyn's doe eyes made contact with glowing gold. Her breath caught in her throat as she stood frozen. "Heavenly Father," she breathed. The closest one had to be the leader. She was a female, older . . . the deadliest kind. In the dim twilight Katelyn could make out scarred flesh and missing hair from the mangy grey hide. The she-wolf was huge and she was a fighter. Bravely, Katelyn's eyes darted to the others in the pack. Slowly they moved closer to her, circling faster, driven by hunger and the instinct to kill. Two males, two younger females, and a young male in the rear.