She set the kettle down and picked some grass for the cow. If it was eating, perhaps it wouldn't notice she was trying to milk it. The animal reached for the grass eagerly and Kate carried the vessel to the business end. Determinedly, she reached for the nearest teat.
The cow swung her head around and made an angry noise. Kate hung on grimly and squeezed. Nothing happened. The bag swung almost to the ground, obviously heavy with milk. She squeezed again and the animal swung her tail, striking Kate in the face. "Stop it," she ordered. "Eat your grass or you'll be breakfast instead of milk." She tried again. Nothing.
The cow stepped sideways, barely missing Kate's foot. Kate butted her head into the beast's side and took a new hold on the teat. To her surprise, a little milk trickled into the kettle. "Good girl," Kate cried. "Good Bossy." Release and squeeze. Release and squeeze. Bit by bit, milk began to accumulate in the bottom of the container.
When the flow ceased, Kate reached for a new teat. It was slow, tedious work, and her hands ached. On the second pull, the cow mooed, lashed out with her tail, and stepped into the kettle with a large dirty foot. "You idiot!" Kate screamed. "Look at what you've done!" All the work for nothing.
Cursing under her breath, she took the kettle to the stream in the dark, rinsed it out, and returned to the cow. She was just finishing up when a man's form stepped from the darkness behind her. She jumped, almost spilling the precious milk.
"Oh! You frightened me!" It was Pride, making no more noise than the hound that padded beside him. "I guess you didn't get any rabbits," she chided.
"I got rabbits."
"No you didn't. I didn't hear any rifle shots."
"Killed them with a rock. No sense in wasting lead."
"You did not kill any—"
Grinning, he held out two furry bodies.
Kate pursed her lips and stomped toward the cabin. The man was infuriating! The milk sloshed in the kettle. At least the damn cow hadn't gotten the best of her!
She carried the milk inside and strained it through a piece of clean linen, then looked around for a place to put the crock.
"You've got to put it in the stream," Pride said, dropping the dead rabbits on the table. "It will sour tonight if you don't keep it cool."
"I know that," Kate lied. "But I need milk to make cornbread for supper. Get those rabbits off the table!"
"Cornbread's not enough. I want fried rabbit for supper."
"If you want rabbit, I suggest you take them outside and clean them!" She busied herself with a bowl and cornmeal. She'd watched Jonas mixing it up, but she wasn't sure how much of what went into the bread. It couldn't be too complicated. He'd just measured by eye.
"This time I'll clean them, but I'm not going to keep doing all your work for you. I'll put Bossy in the barn. You stake her out to graze in the morning after you milk. Don't forget to water her."
In a short time, water was boiling on the hearth for a rabbit stew and she'd dumped the bread dough into a Dutch oven and raked coals over it to bake. She wiped off the table and laid out the pewter plates and a wedge of cheese. This cooking wasn't as difficult as people let on.
Pride brought the rabbits in and she cut them up and dropped them into the salted water along with some dried vegetables and more seasoning.
"I said I wanted fried rabbit."
"You're getting rabbit stew."
It had begun to rain again. Pride carried in an armload of dry wood from the barn and added it to the fire. Then he mended the leather hinge on the door, closed and bolted it for the night. The room began to feel cozy with the rain drumming on the shake roof, the crackling fire, and the smell of baking bread.
"How can a man like you, an English gentleman, a lord, be content to live here in this wilderness in a hut like some half-starved peasant?" Kate asked, as she drew the chair up to the plank table.
"This is my home. I'm comfortable here, and far happier than on my father's estates in England." He sipped at the cider, grimaced, then got up and hunted down a small keg. He poured a mug of dark island rum and sipped at it slowly. "Does wealth mean so much to you, Kate?"
"I'd expected the Colonies to be backward, rustic... that there would be certain hardships. But this?" She shook her head. "I was not brought up to be a kitchen slave. Surely you have responsibilities, people who depend—oh!"
The smell of burning bread became apparent and she jumped up and grabbed for the Dutch oven.
"Don't Kate! You'll burn—"
"Ouch!" Tears filled her eyes as the tips of her fingers blistered. She popped them into her mouth like a child. "Damn it." The oven was clearly smoking and the smell was no longer pleasant. With a poker, she hooked the iron pot off the coals and pushed back the lid. Smoke poured from the interior. "My bread," she wailed.
"Maybe it's only burned on the bottom," Pride sympathized. He filled a bowl with water and offered it to her. "Put your hand in this."
The stew was little better than the scorched cornbread. The rabbit was tough and the vegetables underdone. The two ate in silence with Kate blinking back tears.
"It's not so bad."
"It's awful," she admitted. "I told you I couldn't cook. I told you, but you wouldn't listen."
"At least you didn't do anything to the cheese." He sliced off a bit and offered it to her. Kate shook her head. "Next time, go easy on the salt," he suggested, refilling his mug of rum. "This stew has a real pucker to it."
Kate set her plate on the floor and the hound gulped it gratefully. "Dumb dog," she muttered.
As she cleared off the remains of dinner, Pride climbed the ladder and threw down the feather ticks. "You're sleeping with me," he said. "I don't trust you out of my sight. Besides, it will be cool before morning. I want you to keep my back warm."
"I won't. I hate you!" she cried. "I won't let you touch me."
Pride laughed and spread the feather ticks on the bed.
Chapter 8
Kate lay as far from Pride as she could in the bed. Her muscles ached from the unaccustomed work. She had cut wood, helped to mend the leaking roof, built a section of split-rail fence, and hoed a field to plant com. And in the two weeks they had been at the plantation, never once had Pride kissed her or tried to make love to her.
There had been no chance for escape. He had left her alone only on days so miserable she could not stir from the cabin. She had been unable to learn what direction the neighbor lived in, or if there were any other human beings within miles. This place had become as much a prison as Newgate.
The bad temper and moodiness Pride had shown on the journey was gone. Usually he was cheerful, leaving her puzzled at his chameleonic behavior. Who and what was he? she wondered for the hundredth time. Was he mad or just playing a bizarre game with her?
"Katy," he murmured.
Kate stiffened. He rolled over and stretched out his hand to stroke her cheek. "Don't."
"Roll over next to me. My feet are cold."
"In June?" The hand trailed gently to her throat and brushed the pulse beneath her skin, sending thrills of delight through her body. "Leave me alone. I'm tired."
Pride rose up on one elbow. "You're the most stubborn woman I've ever known, worse than a Shawnee squaw and that's going some. You know you want me to make love to you. Why are you torturing us both?"
She pushed aside his hand, trying to slow her breathing. Even the touch of his hand against hers was a temptation. "If you have so much respect for your mother's people, why do you always insult the women? Call them that word?"
"What? Squaw? That's no insult. It means woman. The Shawnee regard their females highly. They're cousin to the Delaware and follow many of the same ways. I know of one Delaware chief that's a woman."
"I thought the savages considered their women to be slaves, to buy and sell as they choose."
"Only white men do that. Some will, I suppose, as tribal laws weaken, and they take on European manners. But Shawnee women are the real power in the village. They own the houses, the children
. They can divorce their husbands any time they please, just by saying so in public. What most whites don't understand is the payment given to a marriageable girl's family is a bribe to buy the man's way into her clan. There is no such thing as a bastard Indian child. Every babe has a mother, and an infant takes the mother's family name and clan." The hand was back, tracing down Kate's bare arm. "I've missed you, Kate... dreamed about you. It's not such a long way. Come over here," Pride said hoarsely.
"No." She turned her back to him, pretending an indifference she didn't feel.
"Then I'll have to come over there." He rolled over swiftly, trapping her within his arms and pressing his mouth to hers in a gentle, teasing kiss. "Ah, Katy, we could have such a pleasant twenty years if you weren't so hardhearted. Can't you take pity on a man in pain?" He cupped her chin in his hands and gazed provocatively into her eyes. "It's been a long time, darling... too long."
The husky voice pierced Kate's wall of defense, and she trembled in his arms, certain he would hear the frantic beating of her heart. "No," she protested faintly. "Don't. I..."
Pride brushed feather-light kisses across her lips and down her face to linger on the pulse at her throat. His fingers stroked her silky skin, caressing, tantalizing.
Memories of his lovemaking swept over her and her limbs went languid. "Let me go, you beast," she murmured, unable to keep the amusement from her voice. His hard body, warm against her own, sent chills of delicious sensations through her brain.
"Sweet Kate," he coaxed. His fingers moved down her neck to her shoulders, stroking and rubbing until she sighed with pleasure.
He kissed her again, a slow exploring kiss, and Kate felt a sweet tide of delight spill through her veins. Pride's lips parted slightly, and she welcomed the deepening kiss, meeting his tentative searching with her own.
"You don't know how much I've wanted you," he murmured. His fingers moved down her arms, brushing against the softness of her breasts through the thin cloth. Her nipples hardened at his caress, straining against the material. "I want to touch you. I want to feel your skin next to mine."
Kate's breathing quickened as he brought his head down to kiss her breasts, taking each swollen nipple in his mouth as his hand followed the curves of her body. She buried her face in his hair, inhaling deeply, breathing in the spicy man-smell of him, letting the enchantment wash through her mind and push away the doubts.
"Let me undress you," he begged. With trembling hands, she helped him to slip the gown off and they kissed again. Ever so gently, Pride's tongue probed the secret places of her mouth, awaking the sensual desires she had so desperately tried to suppress.
Little moans of pleasure filled her throat as she stroked the corded muscles of his neck and shoulders. Her hips moved beneath him in the age-old dance of love, teasing, tantalizing, bringing a moist sweetness to her most intimate spot.
Again and again, he whispered her name as he trailed sweet, hot kisses across her burning flesh. Their limbs entwined in a united desire to become one. With a cry, Kate dug her nails into his sinewy thighs as the white-hot flames of passion consumed her body and carried her beyond the point of no return.
Joyously, she received the evidence of his love, arching her back to meet his vigorous thrusts. Caught in a riptide of surging emotion, they became not two souls, but one; spiraling higher and higher, culminating in waves of earth-shattering rapture.
Afterward, they lay in each other's arms, not speaking, hardly daring to breathe, unwilling to risk the loss of the glorious unity and contentment each felt. Pride traced the freckles over her nose solemnly, then kissed each one and licked away the budding teardrops in the corners of her eyes. "Ki-te-hi," he whispered, "how can a woman be porcelain and silk and steel all at the same time? The Great Good Spirit, Wishemenetoo, must have laughed loud and long when he, in his wisdom, created Kate Storm."
"Is that the Indian God?" She snuggled even closer, all thoughts of escape pushed to the deepest recesses of her mind. The candle had burned almost to its end, but the light was enough to reveal Pride's rugged face, and catch the gleam of the obsidian eyes that stared at her with love. She cared not whether he was Christian or pagan at this moment. And if he revealed that he worshipped a savage deity, or none at all, she did not possess the power to move from him a fraction of an inch.
"Wishemenetoo has many faces and many names, but in the end he is only one. I think it matters little to him what name he is called by."
"Do these people know of Christianity, of Jesus?"
"They have their own prophets but will accept Jesus too when they know more of his teachings. To a Shawnee, religion is something to be lived every minute of every day. Ake, the earth is sacred to him, as is Kesathwa, the sun, and Gimewane, the rain that falls from the heavens. Life is sacred to the Shawnee."
"But the tales I've heard... murder... scalpings."
"The Shawnee are no better and no worse than the English. They are very different, but different is not inferior. There is a lot the two peoples could learn from each other. Sometimes I think being of mixed blood is a blessing, and other times a curse. I'm not really at one with either world." He pulled her head against his chest. "Why do you let me ramble on? I'd rather talk of us, Kate."
"Us?" She kissed him boldly, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "How can there be us between Lord Pride Ashton and his bond slave?"
"I'm the slave, Kate." He rolled her on top of him. "Do your worst, mistress," he dared. She did not disappoint him.
* * *
Kate awoke with the first light of dawn and lay listening to the birds outside the cabin. Pride lay beside her, deep in sleep. Thoughts of the night's pleasures brought a deep blush to her cheeks. Whatever else this man was, he was a sensitive, virile lover. Could there be some future for them together in this wilderness? She didn't know, not her own mind or his. She wasn't sure what she wanted anymore.
Pride opened his eyes and smiled. "Good morning, sweet. Did you sleep well?"
"No," she laughed. "Not at all. You didn't let me."
"I'll make it up to you. I'll cook breakfast."
"You?"
"I'm a man of many talents." He grinned. "Turn over and sleep a little longer while I hunt up the main course." He swung his long legs over the bed and patted her familiarly on the bottom. "What have you got to lose? I can't be any worse cook than you."
Kate mumbled a reply and snuggled down in the warm spot he had left. The smell of frying trout awakened her an hour later. "Mmm," she moaned, stretching. "Is that fish?"
"It is, m'lady. Amatha. Fresh caught and prepared especially to tempt the palate with a secret mixture of Indian herbs. Will you come down to dine?" he teased. "Or should I have Angus bring up a tray?"
Kate giggled and reached for her wrapper. "Turn your head away." Pride gave an exaggerated leer as a bare breast flashed between blanket and garment. "Tend to your duties, knave," she ordered, catching the spirit of the jest.
The worn pine boards felt cool to her bare feet as she crossed the room to the trunk. Taking clean underthings and the dress she had laid out the night before, she went outside. "I'll be just a minute," she called back. "Don't eat all the fish."
The dewy grass sparkled like diamonds beneath her feet as she ran toward the stream. It was a glorious morning! She inhaled deeply of the sweet smell of the forest, then paused to listen. Overhead, two squirrels chattered angrily at each other and a mockingbird echoed their quarrel. The sun laid a carpet of speckled gossamer magic through the rustling leaves, and Kate felt as though her heart would burst from the beauty of it all. "It's an enchanted morning," she whispered, and hugged herself with joy.
Hurriedly, she washed in the sparkling water, dried herself, and dropped the homespun gown over her head. She brushed her hair quickly into submission, braided it into one long plait, and tied it with a red ribbon. She was glad she hadn't paused for her shoes; the earth felt so good beneath her feet.
When she got back, Pride was just sliding the fish o
nto plates at the rough wooden table. Bowls of wild strawberries with cream caught Kate's eye and she clapped her hands like a child.
"Strawberries! Oh, Pride, where did you find them? I love strawberries." He slid back the bench for her and she sat down, her eyes dancing. "How did you do it all?" There was steaming hot tea and a plate of fresh cornbread.
Smugly, he lifted the lid of an iron skillet to reveal a mound of scrambled eggs. "I found the chicken," he boasted. "Thought the foxes got her."
They were halfway through the meal when the hound barked a warning. "Who can that be?" Pride's face darkened. He caught her hand and squeezed it. "Sit. I'll tend to whoever it is and send them on their way." Kate followed him to the door.
A horse cantered down the rough track and slowed as it neared the house. "Who...?" Kate's hand went to her hair.
The blooded bay mare danced sideways, showing off four dainty white stockings, as the elegant rider in a red-and-silver riding habit and feathered tricorn hat reined her in tightly. A startlingly beautiful woman stared directly into Kate's astonished eyes. "I believe, Pride, that your lark has gone on long enough." She smiled, showing even white teeth and lighting the dark almond eyes with sparks of mischief.
Kate looked up at Pride and he reddened. "What lark? Pride?"
He took a deep breath. "Kate, may I present Lady Rebecca Ashton, my mother. Mother... this is Kate... Lady Kathryn Storm, late of Queen's Gift and London."
"Your mother?" Kate flushed to the roots of her hair and sank into a curtsy. "Lady Ashton," she murmured. "I didn't..."
Rebecca laughed, clear and bell-like. "I imagine Pride prepared you for buckskin and beads." She held out her hands to her son. "Well?"
He lifted her down from the sidesaddle in one easy motion. "We're just having breakfast." He kissed her cheek. "Will you join us?" Taking her arm, he led her into the cabin as graciously as though they had entered a palace ballroom.
By Love Alone Page 11