by Brenda Joyce
Miranda lay very still, not daring to move, shocked. She understood what had happened, but not why. But…she was grateful. He had saved her great pain. Still, why hadn’t he taken her the way a man should?
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. Miranda, it was too long, I lost control, I’m sorry.”
“Why did you do it that way?”
“I didn’t want to rape you, and if I’d taken you so quickly, that’s what it would have been.”
Miranda thought about what he’d said. “But I don’t think a husband can rape a wife.”
“You may have a point.” He hesitated, then smoothed her hair and kissed her lightly. “Did I…offend you?”
She paused. She was sure that what they had done was wrong, sinful. But in a way, he had been protecting her. Had he offended her? She wasn’t sure. She finally answered. “I don’t think so.”
He rolled onto his side, pulling her against him. He wanted to make love to his wife properly. He wanted to make her moan in ecstasy. But how was he going to do that when his passion frightened her? How could he breach her defenses, subtly, without her knowing? Hadn’t he been trying to do that all along? He knew very well that she liked kissing, but he only kissed her in broad daylight, when they were dressed and doing their chores. A thought came to him, slowly forming in his mind. And he smiled.
Chapter 59
As usual, Miranda didn’t hear him approach and didn’t know he was there until he planted a kiss on her cheek. She leaped to her feet, startled only for a split second, while he laughed, turning her and holding her against him momentarily. “You need better ears, woman.”
She smiled, suddenly shy. He had been gone all morning, gone before she had even awakened. She remembered the previous night with some embarrassment. “Where have you been?”
“Visiting,” he said. “Can that stew hold till supper? I already ate, with my brother. But I want you to eat.” He gave her a playfully stern look.
“You went to see…Naj…” Her voice trailed off.
“Najilkhise. Na-jil-ke-hi-say. Yep. I told him that tomorrow I’ll bring my wife.” He grinned.
Miranda felt relieved, but guiltily so. “You frighten me a bit, Derek, when you disappear for so long without a word.” Her tone was reprimanding as she reached for the big iron kettle.
He intercepted her, taking the cloth holder out of her hand and moving the kettle off the fire. “Do I? Why is that?” He was teasing.
“What if you were hurt, or in an accident?” She was serious. As much as he liked to think he was invincible—as she sometimes did, too—he wasn’t. He was only a man.
“Then I’d crawl back to my beautiful wife who would kiss me back to health.”
“Be serious!”
“Eat up. We’ve got plans this afternoon.” He ladled an overgenerous portion of the hare and root stew and handed her the tin plate.
“What plans?” she said, but sat on a chair of birch that Derek had made and obediently began to eat.
“A surprise,” he said. He disappeared into the wickiup, then returned a moment later wearing his loin cloth and moccasins and carrying two of their smallest blankets. She finished eating half her meal, wondering suspiciously what he was up to now. She returned what she hadn’t eaten to the kettle. She caught him scowling at her.
“I ate half,” she said quickly, defensively.
“Let’s go,” Derek said, holding out his hand. Miranda took it, and he led her into the woods.
He slowed his pace to accommodate her. Spring was in its full glory. The sun was bright, the day perfectly warm. A faint, fresh breeze rustled newly green leaves. Chicks in nests overhead squeaked hungrily, and Derek paused once, putting a finger to his lips, pointing. Miranda searched the glade, and then saw a newborn fawn stumbling on long, stiltlike legs, the mother resting with heaving flanks in the tall grass.
“Is she all right?” Miranda whispered anxiously.
At that moment, the doe lunged to her feet and began licking her fawn, cleaning off the afterbirth. The fawn nuzzled its mother, searching, and began to suckle. Derek took her hand and they moved away.
He led her to a green, fragrant clearing where a sparkling pool graced a short waterfall, no higher than a tall man’s height. “What a beautiful spot,” Miranda exclaimed. “Is this our creek?”
“An arm of it,” Derek said, smiling at her transparent delight. He bent and pulled off his moccasins.
She glanced at him. “What are…?” And she blushed as he dropped his loincloth, standing before her as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She averted her face, but not before she caught a glimpse of that male part of him she had held last night. Only now it looked quite different.
“We’re going swimming,” he said easily, approaching her with a grin.
“Derek,” she protested, and looked carefully at his face.
“Take off your clothes. The water’s a bit cool at first, but you’ll get used to it.” He reached for her blouse.
“I can’t swim,” she said. She felt panic, and not entirely at the prospect of swimming. She backed away. She knew her face was red.
“Miranda, I’m your husband, so there’s no need to be shy or modest. How I look is a natural thing, just like how you look.”
“Modesty is godly,” she said, grabbing his wrists as he began undoing the buttons of her blouse. “I don’t want to go swimming.”
“I’m going to teach you,” he said firmly, pulling off her blouse as if she weren’t trying to stop him. “And modesty does not please me.”
She paused to think about that. In that instant, he had her skirt falling to her ankles. “Derek!”
“I refuse to have my wife drown on me someday,” he said, reaching for the ribbon on her petticoat. He pulled it, and that item of clothing floated in a white cloud to the ground.
“All right,” she said, becoming frightened of the actual prospect. “But if I drown now it will be your fault!”
He chuckled. “I have no intention of letting you drown, princess. Do you want to leave your chemise on?”
“Yes!”
He shook his head at the eagerness of her tone, but his mouth was twitching. “Take off those damn pantalets, though.”
“Do I have to?”
“Do you want to drown?”
She pulled off her moccasins and pantalets, feeling naked. He looked at her. His face was expressionless, but she saw the hot vibrant light in his eyes. Her panic increased, and with it she felt a tumbling kind of quickening.
“C’mon,” he said, stepping away from her.
She gasped as he put enough distance between them for her to see his aroused state, gasped and shut her eyes. But what she had seen remained a firm image in her mind. She was fascinated.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but you’re too damn beautiful, and I can’t help my reaction. Open your eyes!”
She did, but she looked at his face, then his shoulder. Her gaze started to drop—then she quickly met his golden glance again. He was laughing.
“You act like a virgin,” he chuckled. “Do I…please you?”
She gasped, stunned at such a question.
His face fell. He frowned, then he took her hand and pulled her with him to the pool. As they got closer, she forgot about him and began to be afraid. “How deep is it?”
“Not deep,” he lied.
“I don’t want to swim,” she said, digging in her heels.
“You’ll love it,” he told her, half dragging her.
“No, please,” she said, pulling against him.
He stopped and looked at her. He didn’t want to terrify her, just teach her a useful skill, one that could possibly save her life someday. That, and play around a bit. She was pale with fright. He’d forgotten that sometimes she had no backbone. He sighed and released her hand. Turning, he dove in. He swam across the width of the pond, which was about thirty strokes, pausing on the other sid
e to see her standing still and watching. He swam back to her side until he was ten strokes from the edge, where he found sure footing. The water came up to his waist. “The water’s great,” he called. “And you can stand right up to here. I won’t take you out past this point, I promise.”
Miranda frowned. He could see her warring with herself, her natural timidity at odds with her desire to obey him, even please him. He dove under the water and swam back and forth hard a few times, until he strained his muscles, enjoying the tension. She had come to the edge and dipped her foot in. He dove under the water and swam to the edge. Reaching up, he grabbed her ankles.
She shrieked as she fell in.
He immediately put his arms around her.
“You bastard!” she cried, coughing and trembling and thrashing wildly.
Derek was shocked, but only for a moment. He had never heard her curse. He held her loosely, and his voice was soothing. “Miranda, you can stand.”
She was clinging to him like a monkey.
“Miranda,” he said in the same gentle voice, prying off her arms, “I’m standing, sweetheart.”
Comprehension dawned, and she looked into his gaze with her wide, frightened violet eyes. He saw some of her panic recede. With her hands around his neck, she slid down his body, and he managed to bite off a groan at the feel of her thigh and hip rubbing his manhood. She was oblivious to his reaction—or too frightened to care. Her feet found the slippery rock beneath, her hold loosened, and she slipped, crying out.
Derek immediately grabbed her by the waist, but not before she got another mouthful of water. He pulled her up so that she was standing, sputtering and choking. Her hands were around his neck, digging in painfully, and she was practically crawling into his skin. He wished he wasn’t so aroused. He wished she knew she was causing him agony by pressing her soft—if stiff—body against him. Maybe this hadn’t been the best of ideas.
“Miranda, loosen your hands, you’re hurting me,” he said firmly. “You’re standing. Look, the water only comes to your chest.”
She began to relax. She loosened her hold fractionally, her breathing hard and rapid. Couldn’t she feel the length of him against her belly? “Relax,” he murmured, taking her wrists and prying them looser. The instant she gave him an inch, he moved his body back, away from hers. It was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done.
“Where are you going?” she cried.
“I’m not going anywhere. And I won’t let you drown. You have my promise. Okay?”
She looked into his eyes and nodded.
“Are you ready to learn to swim?”
“No!”
He found himself staring at where the water lapped her erect nipples. She might as well have been naked for all the chemise hid. “I’m going to turn you onto your stomach,” he began.
“No!”
“But I’m going to hold you, I will not let you go. Miranda, you’ll float, I swear it.” He reached for her.
She stepped back, toward the shore, and slipped. He caught her, and before she knew it, she was floating in his arms on her belly, her face turned aside so she could breathe.
“Relax. Is that so bad?”
“Don’t you dare let go,” she said.
Her hair was in one thick braid, drifting in the water. She was so small, he thought, resisting the urge to wrap her waist in his hands. He stared momentarily at the small, perfect derriere floating beneath his gaze. Without thinking, as she floated on one arm, he placed his hand on one of her buttocks, barely a touch, that became firmer, more tantalizing.
“Derek,” she cried, “don’t let go!”
He removed his hand. “Kick, Miranda,” he told her. “And paddle with your arms.”
“Do I have to?”
“If you don’t, you’ll sink when I let go.”
She began to kick and paddle, her teeth chattering. “If you let go I’ll kill you!”
Bragg smiled despite himself. “Good girl,” he said a few minutes later. He wasn’t even holding her, but she didn’t seem to know it. His arm was beneath her, just a whisper touch. He removed it completely, taking her by her shoulders and turning her to face him.
“What are you doing!”
“Kick and paddle,” he said soothingly.
“Don’t let go,” she pleaded.
He drifted back into the pond, pulling her with him while she thrashed fixedly. “Now I’m going to let go, but I’ll only be a yard away.”
“NO! You bastard!”
He let go and drifted back. She came at him like a locomotive. He tried not to laugh, drifted farther back, and she followed him with incredible determination.
“Derek!”
“You’re doing great! A little farther!”
“I hate you!”
He stopped and she came to him, leaping into his arms with desperation, her arms going around his neck, her legs clamping around his waist, clinging like a vine. “You did great,” he said, desire shooting through him. Her chemise had ridden up. He could feel the coarser hair of her womanhood pressed against his navel. God, it would be so easy…just slip her down a little, and he would be against her…
“You lied, you let go!”
“Miranda, you’re going to learn to swim. Did I let you drown?”
She hesitated. “No.” It was a reluctant admission.
He was having trouble thinking. He slid his hands down her back, to her bare flesh, capturing her buttocks, which he kneaded gently. She gasped, and he saw the dawning light in her eyes. Her skin was so smooth, so silken. He ran his hands down the backs of her thighs, to her knees, and then back up. He caught her buttocks and pressed her to him.
“Derek, please, not here,” she said, and it was almost a sob.
He looked in her eyes and saw how afraid she was of being in the middle of the pool. There was no answering desire in her eyes. And maybe some of the fear was from him. He placed an arm around her waist, and as if she knew he was going to pry her loose, she clung harder. He decided she’d been through enough. “You did great,” he told her again, his voice thick. He sidestroked to where he found footing, while she remained wrapped around him. The minute the water dropped to his waist she slid off, stumbling. She lunged for the edge of the pool, scrambling out, but not before giving him a wonderful, agonizing view of her perfect ivory behind. He sighed, turned, and proceeded to swim back and forth until his desire had ebbed. When he waded out, he saw she had gone.
Chapter 60
He returned to their camp a few minutes later, whistling. Miranda had pulled their bed of hides out of the wickiup and was airing the bedding. He saw her hard strokes as she swept dust from within and knew she was angry. She came out, set the broom aside, and marched to the creek with a pail, not looking at him. She was mad. He went after her.
She didn’t acknowledge his presence as she filled the pail with water.
“What are you doing?” he asked casually.
She stood, ignoring him, and started marching back.
He took the pail from her hand and carried it. “Miranda?”
“Wetting down our floor,” she said abruptly.
“I didn’t notice it was getting too dusty,” he said, regarding her set face.
She didn’t answer, but took the pail from him at the entrance to the wickiup and disappeared inside. He followed and watched as she swept water across the floor. “I’m really proud of you,” he said truthfully.
She swept the broom back and forth, back and forth.
“I’ve never seen anyone who’s so afraid of water swim so well.” It was the truth.
Her sweeping seemed to become a bit less determined.
“I’m sorry if you’re angry,” he tried, seeing her soften and pressing home his advantage. “But one day you’ll be a fine swimmer, just like one day you’ll be a good shot.”
She made a small noise, like a snort, her lashes lowered.
“If I were to die, I’d want you to be able to take care of yourself. Whe
n I met you, you were as helpless as a newborn babe. Everyday you’re learning better how to fend for yourself.”
She stopped sweeping and looked at him. He smiled. “Still mad?”
“Don’t talk that way,” she said, frowning. “You’re young. Besides, you’ll probably live to a hundred!”
He laughed. “I hope not, not unless you live to ninety.”
She smiled slightly.
He grinned.
“Do you really think I did well?” Her gaze was bashful and hopeful.
“You did fantastic,” he told her, exaggerating only a bit.
Miranda flushed under his praise. “If you really want me to swim, I’ll learn,” she said bravely and resignedly.
He beamed, coming toward her. “You know what would make me happy, too?”
She looked up at him innocently.
He took her face in his hands. “If you let me kiss you and touch you, just for a while?”
She started. “Derek…”
“All I want to do is kiss you,” he lied, his mouth coming closer to hers.
“I already told you,” she whispered, hesitant, “that you could…you know.”
“I don’t want to make love to you now, just to hold you,” he said, a half lie. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her gently against him. His mouth found hers, caressing softly, again and again.
She was stiff, but she began to melt as his mouth moved gently and patiently, stroking her lips with a butterfly touch, his tongue flicking over their softness. Her lips parted, but he took his time, not invading, only kissing and tracing their outline, their parting. He moved his hands from her shoulders to her back. He felt her pliancy. He didn’t mind her passivity, as long as she wasn’t stiff and afraid.
“What about chores?” she whispered some time later.
“Don’t you like kissing?” His voice was husky. Her back was smooth, her lips incredibly sweet.
“Yes,” she murmured, exciting him. “I like your kisses. I was surprised—”
He invaded her mouth with his tongue. She accepted him passively, and then, after a careful, leisurely exploration, her hands went around his neck, tightening. He increased the pressure, becoming bold, demanding. Her fingers wound in his hair.