Wilde, Jennifer

by Love's Tender Fury

  We spent another ten minutes in wildly abandoned frolic, and then he pulled me out of the water and shoved me down on the soft grass.

  We made love explosively, a furious, passionate wrestling match unlike anything I had ever experienced before. I fought him, deliberately, and he was much rougher than he had ever been, crushing, clasping, spearing me with his passion while I struggled and kicked and, finally, permitted him to subdue me as our energetic tussle came to an explosive climax. Jeff held me then, held me tenderly in his arms, kissing my nipples, my shoulders, nuzzling my throat as minutes passed, and after a while he lowered me back onto the grass and made love to me again with incredible tenderness, slowly, gently, giving himself completely even as he took, and I knew then that I had not been mistaken earlier on. He was in love with me, even if he wasn't aware of it himself. This was love, not sex, love expressed in a manner far more poignant and meaningful than words could have expressed it. As I caressed his shoulders, his back, his buttocks, as I rose to meet him and held him to me, every fiber of my being told me I was right, told me Jeff Rawlins loved me in every sense of the word.

  We bathed again, briefly, and the sun quickly dried our bodies, and then we dressed, Jeff getting into the set of buckskins the girl Lita had cleaned for him at the inn. I struggled into fresh petticoats and put on an old yellow cotton dress with short sleeves and a square-cut neckline. Jeff looked sheepish now, grinning, and when both of us were dressed he gave me a tight hug and a quick, smacking kiss. I touched his cheek, looking into those merry brown eyes and wishing we had met long ago, under entirely different circumstances.

  "Reckon I'd better go after that turkey now," he said lazily. "Shouldn't take me long to pick one off. You behave yourself while I'm gone."

  "There's a little soap left. I'm going to wash our clothes. Does buckskin shrink?"

  "A little. You can't hurt 'em none. They're already soaking wet."

  He fetched his rifle and, crossing the stream, sauntered on into the woods on the other side, buckskin fringe swaying as he rolled his shoulders jauntily. Pensive now, still filled with that delicious glow that was the aftermath of love, I gathered up the wet clothes and the remains of the soap and took them over to the stream, kneeling on the bank. I heard Jeff's footsteps receding in the distance, and then there was silence but for the constant soft splatter of the waterfall. As I washed the clothes, I thought about what had happened and what it meant, and I was sad, for I didn't want him to love me. It could only complicate matters.

  I intended to escape at the first opportunity, and, ironically enough, I found myself thinking how much that was going to hurt him. He trusted me, already. He had invested all his money in me, and when I was gone he would be penniless... I mustn't let myself think that way. I was too fond of him, much too fond, and even though I didn't love him, I felt closer to him than I had ever felt to anyone, even Derek. It was nothing but the enforced proximity, I told myself. I had to harden my heart. I had to be on guard constantly. He might love me, but that wouldn't prevent him from selling me. Not for a minute.

  Wringing the clothes out, I took them over to one of the thorny shrubs growing at the edge of the clearing and carefully draped them on the branches. There was still plenty of sunlight, and with any luck they would be dry before nightfall. As I readjusted the skirt so that it would hang more evenly, I thought I heard a footstep in the woods directly behind the shrub. I paused, listening closely, but the sound was not repeated. It had probably been some small woods creature, I thought, as I strolled on over to the pile of packs Jeff had taken off the mules.

  Digging through them until I found my hairbrush, I sat down on the lumpy pile and began to brush my hair. It was almost dry now, soft and feathery, only slightly damp at the ends. It was nice to be clean again, to be rid of the dirt and grime, to smell of soap. My yellow dress was the color of buttercups in the sunlight, and even though it was old, the bodice too tight, the full skirt neatly patched in half a dozen places, I knew that it emphasized my bosom and slender waist and went well with my auburn hair. I wanted to look nice for him for a change, even though I didn't love him, even though I intended to betray his trust in the near future.

  As I finished brushing my hair, I had the impression that someone was watching me. It was a very strong sensation, and I gazed nervously toward the trees where I had imagined I heard a footstep. It couldn't be Jeff. He had gone off in the other direction, on the other side of the stream. I saw only trees and thick shrubbery, the clothes strewn over the thorny bush already beginning to dry in the strong sunlight. The sensation persisted and grew stronger. I could actually feel eyes staring at me, watching my every gesture. I knew I wasn't imagining it. I put the brush aside and stood up, my heart beginning to palpitate rapidly.

  A twig snapped loudly, so loudly it could be heard over the splatter of the waterfall. Shrubbery moved, leaves shaking. I was paralyzed with fear, expecting a tall bronze savage with feathers and war paint to leap out with a bloodcurdling cry. The rifle! Where was the rifle? Jeff had taken his, of course, but mine was... He had taken the sling off Jenny and put it down behind the packs. It was behind me then, on the ground, not two yards away. I must get it at once. I was terrified now as another twig snapped and heavy footsteps crushed twigs and leaves. I couldn't move. I was frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare in horror at the shrubbery that was parting, branches separating to make way for the man behind them.

  He was tall and lean. His dark-brown hair was wildly unruly, his features roughhewn, blue eyes half concealed by drooping lids. His nose was humped, obviously broken at some time and improperly set. His boots were black, as were his clinging trousers. His vivid blue shirt was of some silky material, open at the throat, bagging slightly over his belt. The sleeves were full-gathered. A hunting knife hung in a scabbard on his right hip, and a long pistol was jammed into the waistband of his trousers. He stood there at the edge of the clearing, gazing at me, and I felt waves of relief sweep over me.

  "You—you frightened me out of my wits—" I said hoarsely. "I thought you were an Indian—"

  "Did you now?"

  "I heard something in the woods, and—and I'm just glad to see you're not carrying a tomahawk."

  The man allowed a wry grin to curl briefly on one side of his mouth. "I was kinda alarmed myself, if you wanna know the truth. I heard something human movin' up ahead—that's what I thought, too, thought it was a redskin. I crept up real quiet and peered through the bushes. I was mighty relieved to see it wuzn't a Chickasaw."

  His voice was a lazy drawl, slurred like Jeff's, but coarser. There was a rough, raspy quality, as though it hurt his throat to speak. He looked like a highwayman with that broken nose and those drooping lids, but then I imagined most men out here looked that way. Jackson, for example, would have frightened little children.

  "Always keep an eye peeled for redskins," he continued. "My brother and I had a run-in with three braves four days ago. Bastards stole one of our horses, would've made off with the other one if we hadn't spotted 'em and started shooting. Now we just got one horse between us."

  "Are you traveling on the Trace?"

  "More or less," he replied. He looked beyond me at the mules. "Them look like Rawlins's mules."

  "They are. Do you know him?"

  The man nodded slowly, a peculiar look in his eyes. "Reckon I do," he drawled. "You must be one of his women. He about?"

  "He went off into the woods to shoot a turkey, but he should be back in a little while. I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you. We ran into another friend of his a few days ago—Jackson, a trader. Perhaps you know Jackson, too. He—"

  I cut myself short. The man was clearly not listening.

  That peculiar look was still in his eyes. He seemed to be contemplating something, weighing the pros and cons. I didn't like that. I didn't like it at all. There was something disturbing about this stranger. His manner was... guarded, and he seemed to be keeping something from me. Why had he been wandering
in the woods like that? Why had he been spying on me for so long before making his presence known? My uneasiness returned. The man looked up, noticing my expression. He lifted the corner of his mouth again, casually stroking the hilt of his hunting knife.

  "So Rawlins has gone off, has he? Mighty convenient."

  "He—he'll be back any minute now."

  "I ain't heard no rifle fire. He's still trackin' down his turkey. He ain't gonna be back for a good long while—"

  I took a step backward and glanced down at the rifle. That was a mistake. Quick as lightning, the man had hold of my right arm, twisting it, forcing it up between my shoulder blades. Before I could scream he clamped his free hand over my mouth, forcing my head back against his shoulder. Excruciating pain shot through my arm and shoulder as he tightened his grip brutally. I could feel his breath against my cheek.

  "We're gonna play us a little game," he drawled. "We're gonna give ol' Jeff a surprise. He's gonna come back and find his little girl gone, and he's gonna come lookin' for her. Me and Billy're gonna be waitin' for him."

  I knew who he was then. I should have known immediately, of course, after all that talk about the Brennans. This would be Jim, the one Jeff had shot in the shoulder. He had helped his brother Billy escape from a jail in Natchez, and they had killed two men in the process. "They don't make 'em any meaner'n the Brennans," Eb Crawley had said. "If I had my choice of runnin' up against a pack of Chickasaws or runnin' up against the Brennan brothers, I'd pick the Indians every time." These words raced through my mind as Jim Brennan gripped my arm tightly and held his palm pressed over my mouth.

  "Yeah, reckon it'll be a regular set-up," he continued. "He'll come stumblin' through the woods, lookin' for his property, and me and Billy Boy will be waitin'. Come on, move. You're gonna make dandy bait."

  I tried to struggle, tried to kick his shin. He gave my arm a savage wrench. I almost passed out from the pain. Whirling me around, he forced me to walk ahead of him through the shrubbery, still gripping my arm, covering my mouth. I stumbled. He wrenched my arm again. There was nothing I could do but walk. Branches slapped at me, tearing at my skirt, my hair. I couldn't endure the pain much longer. If he didn't let go of my arm soon, I knew I was going to faint.

  When Brennan finally stopped, we had come a good way from the clearing. I could no longer hear the waterfall. He removed his hand from my mouth and curled his arm tightly around my throat, causing me to gasp and splutter. He leaned backwards, applying even more pressure. Dark wings were fluttering in my head as consciousness slipped away. His lips were against my ear.

  "I'm gonna let go of you now, wench," he drawled. "And you're going to behave yourself. Understand? If you try to scream, if you try to run away, I'm gonna take out my knife and cut you bad. Understand? If you do, if you intend to behave yourself, nod."

  Somehow or other I managed to tilt my chin forward in what might pass for a nod. Brennan hesitated for a moment, a moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity, and then he uncurled his arm from my throat and let go of my arm. I stumbled forward and would have fallen had he not grabbed my shoulder. I Coughed. I rubbed my sore arm. He waited patiently for a minute or so, then gave me a vicious shove.

  "You're all right now. Keep moving."

  I stumbled against a tree trunk. Brennan frowned and took hold of my wrist, moving ahead with a brisk stride, forcing me to trot along beside him. They were going to set up a trap, using me as bait, so they could kill Jeff in cold blood, and then they would probably kill me. This man was utterly ruthless. He would kill as quickly, as casually, as another man might swat a fly. His brother was undoubtedly the same. I tripped, falling to my knees. Brennan jerked me back up, not so much as glancing at me, hardly breaking his stride. I wasn't a human being, not to him. I was a thing to be used and then disposed of. I knew he hadn't been merely trying to scare me when he mentioned the knife. I knew if I screamed, if I tried to break loose, he would kill me immediately.

  We pushed on through the woods. We must have come half a mile from the clearing. I had lost all sense of direction. We moved down a gulley, stepped over a rotting log, climbed up the other side. The sky was gray now. The sunlight was thinner. The ground seemed to slope upward gradually, leafy limbs stretching overhead, thick tree trunks a maze around us. We came to a stream, and Brennan scooped me up into his arms, carrying me across. I looked up at his face. It was devoid of expression. He set me down on the other side of the stream. I realized this must be the stream that made the waterfall in the clearing. We were at least a mile away now. Had Jeff returned to the clearing yet?

  "Come on," Brennan said.

  "Let me—won't you just let me catch my breath?"

  "There'll be time for that when we reach camp. Reckon it'll take Rawlins a while to track us down. Couple hours, at least. It'll be good and dark by then."

  "Why—why are you doing this?"

  "I got me a score to settle."

  "How can you just—"

  Brennan slapped me across the face with such force that I fell to the ground. He stood over me with his hands resting lightly on his thighs, his face expressionless. His vivid blue shirt billowed slightly as a small breeze blew across the stream. The full sleeves fluttered, the silky material flapping. I sobbed, shaking my head. I had never been so frightened in my life.

  "I don't like women," he drawled, "particularly women who jabber. If you know what's good for you, you'll keep your mouth shut. Dead bait's as good as live. If it wasn't for disappointin' my brother, you'd be dead already. Billy's got a weakness for women. He's gonna be glad to see you."

  He pulled me to my feet and, keeping hold of my wrist, strode on into the woods. I stumbled along beside him, swerving to avoid tree trunks and thorny branches. Shadows thickened all around. Sunlight was fading quickly now. The woods seemed to be filling with dark blue-gray mist, brown tree trunks, and dark green leaves losing color, merging into black. Perhaps fifteen minutes passed, perhaps more, and then I saw orange flames flickering up ahead, through the maze of trees. Three or four minutes later Jim Brennan dragged me into a small clearing. Heavy tree limbs met overhead, making a leafy ceiling through which it was impossible to see the sky.

  It was dark now, but the fire cast a wavering light. The man standing beside it was blond and sturdily built, not as tall as his brother, not much taller than I, but muscular. He looked as though he would have the strength of a young bull, the hump of his nose giving him a belligerent, pugnacious appearance. He wore black boots and black breeches identical to his brother's, but the loose-fitting, silky shirt was bright crimson.

  "What the hell?" he exclaimed.

  "I thought you'd be pleased, Billy Boy."

  "Where'd she come from?"

  "You know when we were standing on that bluff this morning and you said you thought you seen some mules moving down the trail? Well, I figured if there was someone traveling they'd probably stop for the night at that waterfall. Sure enough, they did."

  Billy stared at us angrily. He seemed uneasy, even jumpy. Whereas his brother was unlikely to display any emotion, Billy Brennan was obviously volatile, explosive. Fists clenched, jaw thrust forward, shoulders hunched, he seemed about to charge and snort.

  "Where's the man? She sure as hell wuzn't travelin' alone."

  "He was out shootin' turkeys. I reckon he'll be payin' us a call before too long."

  Billy moved closer, peering at me. He might have a weakness for women, but he was none too happy to see me. That much was clear.

  "Christ, Jim! You don't mean—a woman looks like this, she can only be travelin' with Jeff Rawlins. You snatched her from his camp! He'll come back and find her gone and—Jesus Christ!"

  "What's the matter, Billy Boy? You ain't scared, are you?"

  "That Rawlins—"

  "I got a score to settle with him. So do you."

  Billy was even more upset, his cheeks ashen. "He's dangerous, Jim! There ain't a tougher man in the whole territory. I just wanna steer clear
of him. We tangled with him once, and once was enough. That time we jumped him on the Trace—he put a bullet through your shoulder, busted my jaw, damn near broke my neck!"

  "All the more reason we should set up a little trap for him. There are practical reasons, too. We need them mules of his. We got one horse between us, and we ain't gonna get nowhere that way. Relax, Billy Boy. I got it all figured out. He'll come looking for us, and he'll find us, and we'll be ready for him."

  "What about her?"

  "I more or less brung her along as a present for you, brother. I thought you'd be a bit more enthusiastic. After we get rid of Rawlins, you can amuse yourself with her. Hell, you can even keep her if you want to. Then when you get tired of her, we can sell her to one of them whorehouses, just like Rawlins was planning to do."

  Billy examined me with belligerent blue eyes, scowling as he did so. He began to warm to the idea. Lifting his lips at one corner, Jim Brennan shoved me toward his brother. Billy caught hold of my arms, gripping them tightly, studying me as he might study a horse he was thinking of buying. Some of his anger vanished, replaced by lust. He crushed me to him, slinging one arm around the back of my neck, the other around my waist. He attacked my lips like a madman, forcing them open, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, all the while holding me so tightly I thought my bones would crack. I tried to struggle. It was futile. His arms merely tightened, his mouth working even more furiously over mine.

  "Easy, Billy Boy. Easy. Save it for later, after we've killed Rawlins."

  Billy Brennan lifted his head and loosened his grip on me, still holding me against his chest. He was breathing heavily, a virile young bull eager to stud. His brother, amused by the lusty exhibition, gave a dry laugh.

  "You do like the women, Billy Boy. Ain't never seen nothing like it. Save it, fellow. After Rawlins is dead you can go at all night long, and if I know you, you will."

  "She's a dandy, Jim. A real dandy. What's her name?"

  "Wouldn't know."

  "What's your name, wench?" Billy growled.