Ice Princess

by Judith B. Glad

  The stranger stared. Finally he said, "That's the one. I'd swear it."

  "Well, then," Muller said, with satisfaction, "maybe we can help each other."

  * * * *

  "Woman, will you stop fussin'? I'm feelin' fine. Ain't nothin' wrong with me except you won't let me sleep more'n a little while without coming to see if I'm still alive."

  Flower sat back on her heels. "I was just checking your leg."

  "You just checked it this morning. Ain't nothin' changed since then."

  She patted his chest. "You must be getting well. You certainly are testy." It had been two days since she had cancelled his brand, and she was amazed at his powers of recovery. The wound on his leg was clean and already healing well. He had fashioned a breechcloth from the end of their longer blanket, saying his parts needed the cover more than his feet did.

  Since she had been unable to keep her gaze from his sex, she had to agree.

  "I ain't testy. Just sleepy. You kept me awake half the night, pattin' me and runnin' your hands over me. Lawd a'mighty, woman, I ain't no sickly babe."

  "So sleep, then!" She jumped to her feet, stalked away. Just like a man! No gratitude whatsoever. I wait on him hand and foot, cater to his every wish, and this is the thanks I get. See if I ever-- Hearing the direction of her thoughts, she smiled. William, you may be as testy as you choose. And I will give you anything you ask, for I owe you so much.

  "Anything?" she questioned aloud. No, not quite.

  She could not give him her love.

  Three days later they were packed and ready to resume their journey. William had scouted a route out of their hidden dell, a difficult trail that crossed a rocky, broken area before descending into the river valley well upstream of the waterfall. They'd make a wide circle around the Tygh village, for the fewer who knew they were on the trail, the safer they would be. He didn't reckon anybody was trailin' them, not after so long, but he wasn't one to leave sign of where he'd been. If he had, he'd never have got far from Marse Yates' plantation.

  They found the westering road easily. Already, after only one season, wagon wheels had cut deep into soft ground. Staying well off the beaten track whenever possible, they followed it. William had traveled in this manner on his journey west, rarely setting foot where the emigrants had gone, yet usually in sight of their road.

  For three days they climbed. Sometimes the trail wandered, as if whoever first made it had been drunk. Other times it went straight up hills so steep that William wondered if the men who'd first come this way was part goat. Twice they took cover in the woods so's not to be seen by other travelers.

  As soon as they got into the pines again, he cut a young sapling, big enough around so's he could get a good hold on it. As they walked, he trimmed the branches away, cutting as close to the trunk as he could. Then he skinned the bark off. That night after supper, he sharpened the small end and stuck it in the fire.

  Flower didn't say anything, but she watched everything he did. When he pulled the stick out of the fire and plunged the smoldering end into the creek, she nodded, like she'd already figured out what he was doing.

  Twice more he heated, then quenched the pointy end. After the third wetting, he could no longer cut the wood. His new spear wasn't yet hard enough or sharp enough to suit him, but he'd keep workin' on it.

  Late in the afternoon of the fourth day since they'd left their hidden dell, they stood on the edge of the world and looked down. "How are we gonna get down there?" he wondered out loud.

  "I do not think we do," Flower said. "At least I hope we do not." She stepped back from the edge and took a good hold on a pine branch.

  William knew the feeling. Lean a little ways forward and it felt like you was fallin'. And if you fell, it'd take half a day for you to hit bottom. "Let's go," he said, only too happy to step back himself.

  But they did go down there. The trail zigzagged back and forth down the hill, winding between cut-off trees, some of them so big both his arms couldn't have gone around them. They walked the last ways in the dark, not wanting to sleep on the hill, lest they turn over and roll all the way to the bottom. When at last they were on more or less level ground, they simply wrapped themselves in their blankets and cuddled together like puppies. All three of them, for even Beowulf seemed too tired to hunt.

  Flower woke to the music of water, the song of birds. She lay still, savoring the smell of pine, the moist air. Beside her William was still asleep, but as soon as she moved, Beowulf lifted his head and made a soft, questioning sound.

  "Shhh!" she told him. Moving slowly and carefully, she extricated herself from William's embrace. Gesturing to the dog, she made her way toward the sound of running water. Sure enough, there were a few berries left along the creek. She picked red and blue huckleberries, overripe salmonberries, and a few of the plump but tasteless salal fruits. Cooked with a little flour and the last of the honey, they would make a delicious breakfast. After washing yesterday's sweat from her body, she slipped back into her buckskin dress. Shaking out her leggings, she decided not to wear them until it was time to depart. She picked up the leaf-wrapped berries and started back to their camp. Beowulf had dashed off in chase of some small creature, but she knew he would find his way back eventually.

  When she entered the small clearing where they had slept, William was still in the same position she had left him. Heart in her throat, she went to him, laid one hand on his chest. He breathes! Worrying about him was silly, she knew, but she could not help it. He had suffered so much--first the whippings and beatings in The Dalles, then the branding.

  She knelt beside him, kissed his partly open mouth. "Wake up, lazybones," she said softly.

  He stirred. His eyes opened, and a smile spread itself across his face. "Do that again," he said.

  Flower leaned down again, kissed him quickly. But she did not escape, for one strong arm went around her and held her tight against him while his tongue explored her mouth. His other hand kneaded her bottom, pulling her hard against him until she was sprawled across him.

  Only when she felt chill air across her thighs, did she realize he had pulled her dress up to her waist. "Unfair," she said against his mouth. "I cannot to the same to you."

  The sound he made sounded very much like a chuckle. "You want your hands on me, woman? You knows how to do it." He rolled from under her, ending flat on his back. "He'p yourself."

  The thong at his waist held the breechcloth tightly against him. She reached, then paused. Across his abdomen the woolen cloth stretched taut over his erection. When her hand stroked lightly across it, his whole body stiffened. "You must remove it yourself," she told him then. "I would not want to harm you." The tiny creatures were back in her belly and her breath seemed to catch in her chest.

  He made short work of loosening the leather belt. Naked, his sex rose from a nest of coal-black, tightly curled hair. A single drop of moisture glistened at its tip.

  Flower touched the droplet, drew back her hand. "Are you so...so ready, then?"

  "I'm always ready for you," he said, and she heard urgent need in his voice. "But there ain't no hurry. We got time to play." Turning on his side, he caught the lower edge of her dress, lifted it until she could work her arms free of the sleeves. She caught it away from him then and swept it over her head and tossed it aside.

  He lay before her, arms at his sides, palms open to the sky. She looked the length of him, her gaze hesitating at the still swollen and scabbed X on his thigh. He is so beautiful. It is a pity that he was so cruelly disfigured. When she looked back at his face, she caught her breath again at the expression he wore.

  It was desire, but a pure, decent desire, not the ugly lust she had seen on the faces of the renegades. Just seeing it directed at herself made her feel reborn. Without thinking, she leaned forward and touched her lips to the tip of him.

  His hips clenched, his sex leapt.

  Hesitating, she looked to his face. Had she disgusted him? No, for his eyes were closed, and h
is parted lips were spread in a smile of transcendent sweetness. Again she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. With her tongue she teased, tracing the shape of him, following the small groove toward the edge of his foreskin. Such textures, pliant and steel-hard at once, hard flesh and soft velvet. Salty.

  She ran her tongue down the length of him, back up to the tip. He bucked violently when she licked the new droplet from him. Once again she took him into her mouth and suckled.

  "Great God, woman! What you do to me?" Hands like manacles pulled her atop him, held her upright when she would had drooped across him. "Much more of that and I embarrass myself, sure enough." As he had done before, he lifted her over him, so that she could take him inside her.

  "No! Wait!" He went dead still, his expression stricken. He held her immobile, then began to lower her to the ground beside him.

  "No!" she said, again, but more gently. "I want this to be for you, William. You will not frighten me, no matter what you do to me." She held his hands so that he could not release her.

  "You certain sure?" There was wonder in his tone.

  "I am as certain sure as I can be," she said. "I do not believe you could do anything to me that would make me fear you."

  He gathered her to his chest, stroked her cheek. "I'd like...would I be too heavy for you? You're such a little thing."

  "I am strong," she assured him. Clasping both hands around his thick rod, she said, "And you? How strong are you?"

  Before she could draw another breath, he had her on her back, one leg across hers, one hand holding both of hers above her head. Dipping his head, he licked her nipple, then the other one. Back to the first, which he sucked between his lips, teased with the tip of his tongue.

  Despite his hold on her, Flower arched her back, offering all of herself.

  And he took. He suckled and kissed her breasts until they throbbed with a delicious pain. He dipped his tongue into her navel, kissed a path lower. Releasing her hands, he rose to his knees and moved between her legs. His big hands slipped under her bottom and he lifted. "Put your legs on my shoulders," he said in a hoarse tone.

  Uncertain, but knowing he would do nothing to harm her, Flower obeyed. One hand circled her right ankle and held it firmly. His full lips traced slowly down the leg, from ankle to calf, knee to upper thigh. When his breath chilled the wetness between her legs, she gasped.

  Immediately he retreated, and gave the other leg the same marvelous treatment. Flower's eyes closed and she gave herself up to the most delightful sensations. So when his mouth closed on her, she screamed.

  And screamed again, as his tongue found a supremely sensitive place and worked it until her whole body felt as if it were about to burst into flame. Waves of heat rose higher and higher within her as his tongue licked and tickled and teased.

  And then it was as if she were captured in a flood of fire, and carried along into realms of unimagined sensation.

  She was still caught up in the rapture when he lowered her legs and drove into her. She welcomed the fierce invasion, meeting his lunges with her own. Then she felt the hot surge again, and forgot him in her own pleasure, her own bliss.

  After that, it seemed to Flower as if she could not get enough of him. She was shameless in her demands. William eagerly responded, thrilling her with his tenderness, his abandon, his unceasing thought for her comfort and satisfaction. Her leggings remained in the pack as they traveled down the mountain, for removing them once or twice a day seemed too much trouble.

  The river they had followed since their alarming descent down the zigzagging trail merged with another, a wild, rushing stream descending from the slopes of the snow-covered mountain that still fascinated William. "You reckon the snow ever melts off of there?" he said more than once.

  "I have never seen it without snow," Flower told him. "There are many like it, all with pointed tops that never lose their snow."

  "I'd sure like to see 'em."

  Now their travel went faster. The road descended in a more-or-less straight line, although there were still mountains ahead of them. After crossing a long, flat stretch, they saw a crude sign nailed to a tree. An arrow pointed up the trail and beside it were the words, "The Devil's Backbone."

  "I don't like the sound of that," William said, looking up the steep slope ahead of them. "I thought you said we should be about there."

  "I said that the trip across the mountain was supposed to take six or seven days. I do not know how much farther it will be to Oregon City." She was tired of traveling. What she wanted was a place to rest, to sleep under a roof and to cook at a decent hearth instead of over a campfire with inadequate tools. I have become soft. But at last I understand why Hattie said she was not going any farther when we found Cherry Vale.

  "I sure wish I coulda' got you your boat ride."

  Instantly Flower was contrite. "Oh, William, pay no attention to me. My belly aches and I seem to have awakened on the wrong side of the blanket this morning."

  "Maybe we oughta' stop and rest for a day. You're lookin' peaked."

  She was tempted. "No," she said, reluctantly. "We cannot be that far. Two days, perhaps, or three. Let us go on."

  So they did. Each step seemed to take enormous effort. When Beowulf proudly brought her a mummified chipmunk carcass, she could not find the energy to praise him. The heat, which grew more and more oppressive, contributed to her discomfort. By evening, they were going down again, into a deep canyon. On the other side, the land seemed to fall away into emptiness, but far, far to the southwest smoke rose into a quiet sky.

  "Maybe that's Oregon City," William said, when she pointed it out to him.

  "Perhaps. It is more likely a grass fire. I have never seen the valley of the Willamette when it was not burning somewhere." She pressed hard on her belly, wondering what she had eaten that gave her so much distress.

  "Take this," William said, handing her his spear, "else you fall over your own feet."

  She tried to smile her thanks, found even that was difficult.

  At last they reached the crossing and found a place to camp a short walk downstream. You sit and rest," William said. I'll set things up here."

  She was too tired to argue. Her dress was damp with sweat and her inner thighs were chafed. After resting a short while, Flower went into the woods to relieve herself. That was when she noticed the blood on her calf.

  Thinking it from a scratch, she used a handful of dry grass to wipe it off. But more trickled down her leg. When she raised her dress, she saw why.

  Her knees gave way and she collapsed on the ground. Without warning, wrenching sobs gathered in her chest and burst free. How long they consumed her, she did not know, for even as she wept, she rejoiced.

  Her menses had resumed! She had not flowed since...since she was raped. Still sobbing, she cleaned herself, then returned to camp. Fortunately William was occupied with starting the fire. I was not gone so long as it seemed. He merely nodded when she said, in as normal a voice as she could manage, "I am going to bathe. Perhaps it will make me feel better."

  The water was cold, and welcome to her aching body. No wonder I've been so out of sorts all day, she thought. I'd forgotten how uncomfortable I could be.

  Never again would she complain about feeling miserable and achy. Flower wanted to sing. Her body had healed of its hurt at last, and her spirit was almost well again.

  When she told William they could not make love for a few days, he only said, "No wonder you was hurtin' today. We'll take it easy tomorrow."

  Once again tears choked her. Such a good man!

  Two days later they stood on a hillside, looking down toward the small settlement that was Oregon City. The last miles had been difficult, for in order to avoid being seen, they had been forced off the road many times. Fortunately Beowulf shared Flower's aversion to company and gave them warning in ample time.

  "You got any idea where your White Eagle is?" William said.

  "No. Craigie just said he had moved here wh
en the Americans took over Fort Vancouver." She looked down and the busy settlement in despair. "I d not even know where to begin searching for him."

  "Seems to me if he was boss at the fort, he'd be important here, too."

  She shook her head. "Not necessarily. Remember Jacques told us there was much bad feeling between the British and the Americans before the boundary dispute was settled." Taking a deep breath, she said, "We might as well go one. Standing here is doing us no good."

  "You just gonna walk into town and ask somebody where the feller's at?"

  "I don't know what else I can do," she said, wishing he would not question her. She was uncertain enough without his adding his doubts.

  "Seems to me that we oughta' find us a place to hole up, somewheres we can go to ground if we has to." When she turned to stare at him, he shrugged. "Supposed we go down there and somebody decides to take me, like at The Dalles."

  "Oh, William, I had not thought. Of course you must not go into town."

  "I go where you goes," he said. "But we ain't talked much about what happens next."

  "Next? Why I will book passage..."

  "We got six of them coins left. Will that take us all the way to England?"

  His words were like a splash of icy water in her face. How much does passage to England cost? If I cannot find Doctor McLoughlin, what will I do? For the first time, she was aware of how little she knew of the world. Her parents had taken her away from Fort Vancouver when she was twelve. Since then she had lived in the wilderness. Any sophistication she could claim came from Everett's teachings and from books, not from experience.

  She looked into his face and admitted, "I do not know."

  "Then let's us find a place to stay and think about this. If we're goin' to England, we want to do it right. No sense in goin' off half-cocked."

  He led the way back from their overlook, back the way they had come. After a short distance, he left the well-used road and followed a narrow trail that looked as if nothing but wildlife had ever trod its needle-strewn surface. "I don't know were I'm goin'", he said, "but I'll find us a place to set up camp."