Satisfied that the dog would stay with the rest of the meat, she shouldered one hindquarter and started back to camp. The hide she dragged behind in her other hand. Wrapped in it was the liver and the head. When she arrived, staggering slightly from her burden, William met her.
"Laws, woman, that haunch is bigger'n you are." He took it from her, and she noted that he faltered slightly as he lowered it to the ground. He had not yet regained his strength.
But like any man, he will never admit it. "Will you set it to roasting while I get the rest?"
"I'll go with you."
"No, William. Please. If you leave the meat here, we may lose it." She knew better than to voice her real reasons for not wanting him with her.
His quandary was obvious. At last he nodded. "You're right, but I don't like it, you carryin' that much weight."
"It is not as heavy as my pack was," she lied. "Only more awkward."
He knew she lied. She could read the knowledge in his expression. But he only nodded again. "I'll start this cookin," he said.
Dusk had fallen and the meat roasting over the fire was crisply done and giving off a mouthwatering smell when she finally brought the last forequarter back to camp. Beowulf, who had faithfully guarded the meat, apparently without gnawing on it, walked behind her, carrying a shinbone in his mouth.
They ate well. William had fried the liver with a few of the tiny onions that grew abundantly among the sagebrush. The roasted haunch was strong-flavored and juicy, welcome after too many meals of dried meat and fish, soup and berries. As a treat, she scrambled the brains with four tiny eggs William had found, and they ate the creamy dish like a sweet dessert. Flower had not felt so well fed for many months.
"Tomorrow we must dry the rest of the meat," Flower told William, as they hoisted the last venison quarter into a tall cedar some distance from their camp. "The days are growing warmer and it will not keep."
"I'll build us a rack first thing," William said. "And after that I'm gonna see if I can't catch me a fish or two. We might as well eat good whilst we got the chance."
As they walked back to camp, William caught her hand in his. "That Beowulf, he musta' ate near all the guts. His belly's so fat, he can hardly waddle." He swung their joined hands back and forth as they walked. "He'll probably not be hungry again for a week."
Curiously, Flower found his handclasp welcome, and not at all frightening.
* * * *
With so much meat to slice and hang on the drying rack, William and Flower were busy most of the next day. They worked together quietly, without any of the strain she had felt the day before. William had little to say, but she noticed that he moved easily, and never paused to rest, as he had yesterday. Supper was another satisfying meal, of grilled tongue and cold roasted venison. Replete, they sat in the twilight, each with a handful each of early currants for a sweet. Although Flower was tired she was reluctant to end the day.
"I have not felt so at peace since before...for a long time," she said, staring into the fire.
"It's been a good day," he agreed, stretching his arms above his head.
She heard the joints pop, and shuddered. Her father had done that very thing, and she had not liked the sound then, either. "The meat will take a while to dry, and then we must be on our way. In the meantime, we can rest."
"Are you in a hurry?"
Her mouth open to answer, Flower found that she no longer felt the acute need to reach a refuge. Not right this moment, not here and now. She felt as safe as she ever had. "We can stay here as long as you like," she told him, "unless you insist on delaying until summer is over."
"We can make up our minds later," he said. "Right now I'm ready to sleep." Standing, he reached a hand down to help her up. Without thinking, she took it.
"You ain't scared of me anymore." His teeth flashed in a wide smile.
She had to smile back. "No. No, I am not." Her body felt lighter, somehow, more free. Slowly she reached a hand to touch his cheek. His skin was warm, smooth above the wooly beard.
"I never wanted to scare you, Flower. Never." As if afraid to startle her, he lifted his free hand and cupped her chin. His voice was even deeper, more resonant, when he said, "I just wants to love you."
Her heart leapt within her breast, but not, she realized, from fear. "I know," she whispered. "I know this, William, and I am not afraid."
She looked up at him, this tall, strong man who would give his very life for her. Who would sacrifice his dreams to protect her.
Could she not put aside her fear for him?
"I make no promises for tomorrow, William, but tonight, I will not surrender to fear."
His eyes widened, but he did not move. She wondered if he even breathed.
Knowing that it might change the entire shape of the future, Flower took one step toward him.
Her hands resting lightly on his chest, she rose on tiptoe and kissed his chin--all she could reach, for he did not bend to meet her.
"Love me, William," she whispered. "Please, William, love me tonight."
Chapter Twelve
For a moment William didn't know what to say. Then, as hot anger flared in his gut, he grabbed her wrists, forced her hands away from his chest.
"William--"
Keeping hold on one wrist, he dragged her back to the stump where he'd sat for supper. "Sit!"
She sat. The moon was just peeking over the rim of the dell and her face was white in its pale light. Wide-eyed, she stared at him, her mouth trembling.
He dropped her wrist, knelt on one knee in front of her. "What you thinkin' of, woman? Saying that? You shame me."
"Shame you? William, I offered you...I asked you to love me."
"I does. An' I would, if I thought it was really what you wants. But it ain't."
"I would not have asked if I had not wanted it."
"Ahuh! You want it, want me to take you whilst you lay there shakin' and quakin'. No'm, I won't. Not 'til you comes to me hot and ready."
"What do you mean? I was...am ready."
Gently he took her hands in his, felt their quivering. He lifted them to his mouth, kissed one then the other, back and palm. "You ain't ready," he told her, knowing the words hurt her as much as they did him. "Maybe you never will be ready, the way you...you're still so scairt of men."
"I do not fear you. I have said that many times."
"What if I was to do this?" He dropped her hands suddenly, caught her upper arms and pulled her to him. Hungry for the taste of her, he covered her mouth with his, swallowed her cry. Before she could fight him, he caught her around the middle, swept her off the stump and hard against him. She was soft, warm, her belly cradling his sex. Her frantic struggles only made it worse--better-- for her body rubbed back and forth against his, her breasts were like hot brands on his chest, even though a layer of buckskin.
Before he could go off like a randy youth, he released her, almost throwing her back onto the stump. "So you ain't scairt of me, huh?"
With fingertips covering her mouth, she stared at him for the longest time. At last she lowered them. "You startled me," she said. "You did not frighten me."
"Pull the other leg."
"No! Truly, William. I felt no fear." She paused. "Well, not a great deal, anyway. What frightened me was being held, unable to escape. The kiss...I believe I liked it."
"You did, huh?"
She nodded. "I think so. But it was so hard, so hungry. I always dreamed that my first kiss would be sweet. Innocent." Tilting her head, she looked like she was about ready to smile. "Perhaps you would let me kiss you, instead. Without holding me."
"I reckon I could do that." I been sleepin' beside you for two nights, woman. How much stronger do you 'spect me to be? "Long as you be gentle with me."
Her surprised laughter was like balm to his soul. He had not heard her laugh since that terrible day.
She leaned toward him, eyes closed, mouth pursed. William held himself very still, for if he was to move, even a lit
tle bit, he'd be all over her like bees in a patch of clover.
Her lips were cool, soft, on his cheek. He shut his eyes, clenched his jaw. She kissed his eyelids, the end of his nose, the corner of his mouth.
He shook like a willow in a high wind. When she put her hands on his shoulders, he felt like he'd been branded all over again. And when her breath tickled his ear, he couldn't hold back the groan.
Then she bit him.
"Great God, woman!"
Quickly she drew back. "Did I hurt you? It was just a nip..."
"No..." The word came out on a harsh gasp of sound. He swallowed. "No, you didn't hurt me none. Just took me unawares, that's all."
"I will not do it again." Her shoulders lifted as she sighed deeply. "My mother used to nip my father's ear, when I was a child. He liked it..."
"Woman, if I'd liked it any better, I might'a died right here. Do it again. Do anything you wants to me." Again he shuddered. "Just don't stop."
Once more she leaned toward him, hands on his shoulders. This time her grip was stronger, like she wasn't afraid to take hold of him. And now her lips were warm, moist, as they traveled over his face, along his jaw. When she bit his earlobe again, he was ready, but bein' ready didn't help. He forced himself to remember swimmin' rivers in the dead of winter, of plowin' through snowdrifts near as high as his head.
It helped a little, but not much. He was still near ready to go off in his 'skins. "I think that's about enough," he told her, pullin' back.
"But I only..." She drew away, looked at him. "Oh! You are...aroused. I am sorry, William. My mother told me that a woman who did this to a man, only to tease, was no better than a whore."
Without thinking, he scooped her up and took her seat on the stump. "I asked you to kiss me, remember? That ain't teasin'."
To his surprise, she sat quietly in his arms. After a moment she said, "I enjoyed that, William. Kissing you. It made me feel..." One hand pressed against her middle, just under her breasts. "It made me feel as if I had tiny creatures inside, in here." Her laugh came again, not much louder than a whisper. "They were scurrying madly about, I think. At least it felt that way."
"I know how that feels," he admitted. "Every time I look at you, I gets that feelin'."
She leaded back against his chest. Her head tucked just under his chin. "Is that what desire feels like?"
"I reckon, at first, anyhow. But it gets bigger than that after a while, 'til you can't hardly think for wantin' someone."
Her shudder shook them both. "So that is why the renegades--"
"No! Don't you ever think what them bassards done...did to you is anything like what I feels. That wasn't good and clean and pure, like lovin' oughta' be. They wanted to hurt you. They was showin' you that you wasn't any better than...than a thing to 'em." Holding her tight against his chest, he said, more gently this time, "No decent man does what they did. They was animals...no, they wasn't even as good as animals, 'cause animals don't get no pleasure from hurtin' others of their kind."
Her sigh was deep and long. With the breath goin' out, she relaxed. William loosened his hold a mite, but didn't move. Just holdin' her like this, his heart was content. After a while he could tell she'd gone to sleep. Carefully he stood, still holdin' her, and walked to the big cedar where their beds lay. It wasn't easy, goin' to his knees without wakin' Flower, but he managed. When he laid her on her blanket, she caught his hand and held it.
All that night he lay beside her, shiverin' a little along towards morning. But his blanket was too far to reach, and he was afraid if he moved to get it, she'd wake.
Flower woke slowly, coming out of sleep as she had as a child. Slowly. Deliciously. Knowing the new day would bring marvelous surprises, memorable adventures. Her right hand was held in a warm, loose clasp, secure and protective. And she knew that as long as that hold remained, she was safe.
She opened her eyes.
Less than a foot from her, William lay, head cushioned by upper arm, face relaxed and calm. He wore his buckskins, but was otherwise uncovered. Why did he sleep without his blanket?
The next instant she knew the answer. He had not wanted to leave her, had not wanted to release her hand.
"Oh, William," she whispered, already feeling the pain she would inflict on him when she left him. "Why will you not go back to your kingdom?"
His eyelids fluttered, opened. He smiled.
The feeling that today would bring wonderful surprises intensified.
Without thinking, she reached out and touched his mouth. His lips moved, closed delicately over her questing fingers. She felt a feather-touch of his tongue on her fingertips.
And shivered.
Her spine felt as if fire-footed spiders were scampering up and down, each step leaving her burned, yet frozen. Drawing her hand back slightly, she ran her moist fingertips over his cheeks, along the bony rim of his eye socket. His skin was like velvet, except where his beard emerged in tight spirals of coal black. His lips were full, pleasing, his nose broad and strong. The black thread Therese had stitched his earlobe with marred the smooth skin of the lobe, and Flower knew that an ugly scar would forever remind him of what her cowardice had cost him.
"I am so sorry," she whispered, drawing her hand back.
He caught her wrist, carried her hand unresisting to his mouth again. This time his lips nipped at each fingertip in sequence, drawing it inside, to be tasted, suckled for a moment.
She felt the pull all the way to her toes, a tremulous, not-quite-ache that both hurt and pleasured.
Kissing the ball of her thumb, he wrapped his big hand around hers. "You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for." His voice was husky, not quite steady. "I went down into that town of my own free choice."
"I have! You could have died, if I had not found you."
"Aw, Flower, I been in lots worse shape that that. Why, you should have seen me when Mist' Em found me. I was near dead that time."
"Yes, but that was the cold and starvation and exhaustion. It was my fault they whipped you. Mine!"
He scooted closer, until his arm could encircle her waist. He held her loosely, and once again she found that it did not frighten her. There was no sense of constraint, no feeling that she could not break free if she chose.
His body was warm. Not hot and feverish, but radiating warmth that soaked into her, seemed to melt some of the ice that had filled her for so long. As his hand rubbed lightly up and down her spine, she leaned into the touch. This must be what a cat feels like when it is stroked.
They lay that way for a long time, neither speaking. His hand stilled after a while and she thought he slept. But when she moved, easing a tingling elbow, he opened his eyes again. "I feels like I could eat a bear, 'long as somebody else kilt him."
His words caused her own stomach to remind her of its emptiness. "I will make coffee." She rolled to her knees, almost regretting the loss of contact with him. "We have only enough for two more days, but this morning I believe you need it."
"That shines!" he said, grinning.
She kept an eye on him as she was preparing the coffee and noticed that he moved more easily today. He is healing!
She should rejoice, for the sooner he grew strong again, the sooner they could resume their journey.
Instead she felt a curious regret.
* * * *
Something was different about Flower. William spent much of the morning trying to figure out what it was.
She smiled a little more than she had, but he reckoned that was because she knew they were safe here in this hidden dell.
"I am going to look for the beehive this afternoon," she told him as they were dragging in more wood for the fire. It had to be kept going day and night until the venison strips were dry and hard. Otherwise, once they had been packed for travel, they would mold.
By mid-morning, they had a pile of dry cedar and sagebrush branches nearly as high as her head.
"That should be enough," Flower said, wiping sweat from her foreh
ead. She had a streak of dirt across one cheek. "The sun is hot, and will get hotter."
"Hot! This ain't hot. Hot's when you feels like you're walking around in a puddle of your own sweat."
"Wait until the air burns in your nose when you breathe." Stepping back, she looked at the rack. "There! Now all we have to do is keep it burning well."
"I'll keep an eye on it. You go on and get yourself a bath." At the thought of her washing herself all over, his body grew tight. That musta' been a dream, her comin' to me nekkid. He had seen her half-clothed, when they'd escaped from the renegades, but then she had been filthy and bruised. And her hair had streamed over her shoulders.
The woman in his dream had been a glowing vision, with high, full breasts and a soot-black thatch to match her short-cropped hair.
You's dreamin', boy! Sho' nuff!
William watched her as she disappeared among the sagebrush, on her way to the river. "Git," he told Beowulf, who was layin' in the shade, gnawing on a leg bone. "Keep an eye on her whilst she takes her bath."
It seemed to him the dog sighed before he got to his feet and followed Flower.
Later William had himself a bath, too. As he lay in the shallow, sun-warmed water, he thought about last night. Don't get your hopes up, boy. She ain't ready for lovin' yet. Maybe never will be.
But he was. Lawd a-mighty, he was ready!
He musta' been crazy in the head, turnin' her down like he did. He'd been hard as a rock, almost shaking with need. And she'd offered, hadn't she? She knew what she was offering him.
But he had been there. He had seen what the renegades had done to her, had heard her screams, then, later, her moans. He had seen the rage in her face when she sliced Pyzen Joe's throat.
Rage that had still been there when she'd pulled her knife on that there clerk, back at Fort Boise. He'd caught a glimpse of it when she'd turned on him, a couple of times, too, even though it went away soon as she saw it was him.
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