It was barely four o'clock when the car drew up outside of the cottage, yet already it was dark enough to justify the lamp casting a welcoming glow through small square windowpanes. When quietly Catriona opened the door and stepped into the living-room she saw her aunt sitting in a chair pulled close up to a table so that light from an oil lamp was falling directly upon what appeared to be a pile of white gauze heaped upon her lap. When her aunt's head remained bowed, she spoke gently to break her absorption.
'Aunt Hanna, I thought we'd agreed that you were to give up any close work that might damage your eyesight?'
Immediately her aunt became aware of her presence her guilty start dislodged the material on her lap so that a ray of light glistened upon a steel crocheting needle positioned between gnarled fingers.
'What on earth are you doing?' Catriona darted forward, concerned by the obvious weakness of eyes peering in her direction.
'Ah, well,' her aunt sank back into her chair with a resigned sigh, 'now that I've been caught out I might as well admit that for many months past I've been working on your wedding dress.'
'My wedding dress? But until yesterday the subject of my marriage had never arisen!'
'Nevertheless,' the old lady smiled, 'it was inevitable that one day you would marry, and as time is getting short, and work of this nature can't be accomplished in weeks, nor even months, I decided that it was time to begin putting my house in order.'
'I don't understand.' Thoroughly bewildered, Catriona dropped to her knees at the side of her aunt's chair and ran wondering fingers over gossamer-light wool, pale as milk, exquisitely fashioned into a dress as light and ethereal as a floating cloud.
'Well, what do you think of it, child?' her aunt prompted eagerly. 'You'll need to wear a plain white petticoat beneath, of course, otherwise it wouldn't be decent, but I think it's turned out quite nicely, don't you?'
'Quite nicely!' Faintly, Catriona echoed the understatement, momentarily lost for words. 'It's adorable, exquisite, simply out of this world,' she choked, 'yet I dread to think of the strain such a task must have inflicted upon your eyes!' She swallowed hard to disperse a lump in her throat, then continued more sternly, 'Also, I'm puzzled by your remark about putting your house in order.'
With a smile sweeter than any Catriona had ever previously seen, her aunt reached out to cup her distressed face between calloused palms and reprimanded gently,
'Kate, my dear, you must try to accept the fact that my future is limited—at any rate, on this earth. Whenever the subject has arisen you've insisted upon pushing it aside, which is perhaps understandable, for the thought of dying is often more uncomfortable to the young than to the old. But don't misconstrue my wish to discuss the matter freely and openly as an implication that death is imminent—it's merely inevitable. I've reached the age when the prospect of completing life is no longer frightening, which is why I'm trying to ensure that all is in order, that when you walk down the aisle towards your bridegroom everyone present will envy him his hauntingly lovely bride.' She lifted a hand to dash a tear from her cheek then returned to her usual brisk manner. 'And now, as you've obviously returned home early in order to give yourself plenty of time to prepare for the evening's festivities we'd better dally no longer. I'm so looking forward to the party,' she heaved an ecstatic sigh. 'It's many, many years since I last attended a celebration!'
Alone in her bedroom a couple of hours later, Catriona stared into her mirror, feeling trapped and bemused as her wide eyed reflection. Despising herself for her cowardice, for her weak disinclination to wipe the stars from her aunt's eyes, to force her brave soul to endure yet another bitter disappointment, she appealed to her accusing image.
'I hadn't the heart to spoil her evening. But I'll tell her the truth tomorrow,' she promised herself. 'After all, keeping my own counsel for a few hours longer can make very little difference.'
Though her reflected expression remained accusing she continued staring into the mirror at the figure dressed in a sweetly simple fashion that made her appear incapable of deception, given a flushed, appealing, country-girl look by a dress of red and white checked gingham with a sweetheart neckline cut just low enough to reveal a discreet amount of cleavage; a tightly nipped-in waist, and a widely flaring skirt with a glimpse of lace-trimmed petticoat peeping beneath the hem.
Stifling a sob, she closed her eyes, trying to shut out thoughts of what it might be like to be married to the man whom Sandra had likened to a romantic-folk hero, one of the self-reliant, drinking, fighting, argumentative, reckless pioneers who had opened up the West, swilling beer and Bourbon and bedding every fanciable girl they met along the way. How was it possible, she wondered, for a country's habits and customs to change yet for its menfolk to remain basically the same? Pioneers were an extinct species; cowboys had been enticed from ranches by lucrative oilfields, yet Leon Casson was still lassoing and breaking in steers, getting his kicks from branding his mark upon the pick of the herd!
'Catriona!' Her aunt's voice hailing her from below jerked her back to painful reality. 'Leon has arrived, are you ready, my dear?'
Casting a last look at her demure reflection, Catriona swung away from the mirror, regretting the impulse that had led her to leave her hair unplaited, brushed to the sheen of a shimmering veil, then swept apart at the nape of her neck to be gathered and held by two bright red ribbons. Snatching up a small white purse, she hurried out of the room, then jolted to a standstill halfway down the stairs when she saw Leon watching her descent as he waited in the hallway.
She blushed, suddenly overwhelmed by shyness, then forced her reluctant feet to progress slowly towards the man whose intent amber eyes were tracing a low, possessive course along every curve of her body, resenting the leap of senses startled out of control by the sight of whip-lean limbs clad in traditional Western outfit of slim-cut Levis, a black pearl-buttoned shirt with collar falling away over a colourful neckerchief, handstitched leather boots and, what appealed to her shattered confidence, the last aggressive straw, a wide-brimmed Stetson tipped to the back of his arrogant head.
'Well,' he drawled slowly, 'I'm glad to see that you've entered into the spirit of things, Kate! You look great, all set for a night of belt 'n buckle polishin' music'
Her blush deepened as, keeping her eyes fixed upon his silver belt buckle, she jerked defensively, 'Please don't flatter yourself that I've dressed up for your benefit—this "Come Dancing" outfit,' she cast a disparaging glance at her gingham skirt, 'was Aunt Hanna's idea and when Sandra confirmed that such do's are usually thronged with boutique cowboys escorting crinolined Annie Oakleys I saw no reason why my aunt shouldn't be given an opportunity to live out her fantasy. You see, she clings to the naive assumption that modern-day Texans are true counterparts of those protective, female-cosseting heroes she once saw portrayed on the silver screen—quick-shooting Sir Galahads who would duel to the death to protect their womenfolk's virtue.'
During the bitter silence that fell like a barrier between them she dared not look up, but kept her eyes fixed in the region of his flat midriff watching stomach muscles knot beneath a shirt stretched smooth as pelt as he drew in a sharp, enraged breath. A clock ticking slowly and inevitably as blood that seemed squeezed in drops from her constricted heart was the only sound disturbing the silence that was suddenly shattered by a harshly grated question.
'And how do you feel about Texans, Kate? Obviously you're not in sympathy with your aunt's opinion?'
'My aunt has not been herded, lassoed and hogtied as I have,' she tilted scornfully, glancing upwards to where a pulse of strong emotion was hammering against his jutting jaw.
'Damned ornery critters just ask to be handled rough!' he snapped, just a split second before his vicious grip descended upon her shoulders. 'You're a maverick, Kate, forever kicking against capture, but there's one other thing you ought to know about Texans—once he's slipped a rope around the neck of a critter, nothing in creation will make
him let go!'
Viciously, she was jerked against his chest, then, searing as a branding iron, his mouth descended upon hers, melting words of resentment from her lips, forcing her head backward until it was steadied against his arm while he plunged deeper and deeper until she felt the imprint of his punishing mouth had been branded upon her heart.
When he lifted his head she was too shocked to speak, her senses numbed—as flesh appears numb upon first contact with flame, before the inevitable onset of throbbing, unbearable pain.
'I want you to wear this tonight.' She was incapable of resistance when he loosened his grip to jerk her hand upwards to slide a cold, hard band around her finger. For a second she gazed dully at the unfamiliar object, then when realisation dawned she lifted her head to communicate contemptuous dislike with eyes that were glistening, dark, depthless green as the emerald ring lying heavy as a fetter upon her finger.
'There you both are!' Aunt Hanna appeared clutching a soft Shetland shawl around her best alpaca dress. 'I'm ready when you are. And by the way, Leon, I hope you've remembered your promise to arrange transport home for me? Much as I'm looking forward to this party, I know I shall be ready to leave after an hour—two at the very most.'
'There's a driver on stand-by duty,' he assured her, courteously offering her his arm, 'he'll be ready and waiting to drive you back home immediately you say the word.'
Employing the ruse of insisting that her aunt would be much more comfortable travelling in the front passenger seat, Catriona managed to avoid close proximity with the man whose trampling over her emotions she deeply resented, who threw her into such confusion that even while she sat behind him nursing her hatred, every off-guard moment found her eyes straying towards his wood-chipped profile, watching the way his lips curled up at the edges whenever he was amused, tracing his dark underscore of eyebrows and thick tangled lashes, straining her ears to catch the affectionate cadences of his voice when he spoke to her aunt—feeling aghast when she recognised a strange, spearing emotion as envy!
When she walked by his side into the spacious building with an interior that had been transformed overnight to resemble a barn made to look cosy with occasional bales of hay stacked into corners; trestle tables covered with bright chequered cloths and an array of food sufficient to feed an army of hungry oilmen; coloured lights festooned around walls lined with benches packed with smiling guests, no one was allowed to guess that her dignified, rather cool exterior was hiding a pounding, racing, panic-stricken stampede of nerves.
As if taking their cue from the cheers that had greeted their arrival, a band of check-shirted musicians launched into a steady, guitar-twanging, foot-tapping rhythm that drew a stream of dancers on to the chalk-strewn floor—a cross-section of workers ranging from middle-class accountants to humble labourers who had all indulged in a favourite fantasy by turning out in designer jeans, lizard-hide boots, decorative belts and wide-brimmed hats lined with leather sweat-band, each partnering pretty girls wearing short, crinolined dresses.
'Well, what are you waiting for?' Aunt Hanna urged brightly. 'Don't bother about me, go right ahead and join in the dancing.'
Immediately, Catriona recoiled a step backwards. 'I couldn't, I wouldn't know how to begin!'
Swift as a snakebite, Leon's fingers clasped her wrist and with a smile that challenged her to physically resist in front of their interested audience, he insisted smoothly,
'Then now is as good a time as any to learn!'
Given no chance to protest, she was swept into the circle of dancers, twirled around until her back was positioned directly in front of Leon's chest, then with his right hand decorously clasping hers from across her shoulder he began initiating her into the nimble, high-prancing steps of a square dance.
For the first few minutes she was tense with nervousness, very conscious of his muscled chest pressing like a buffer against her shoulderblades, of his hands sliding downwards to span her waist without apparent effort, of his breath brushing past her flushed cheek, cool as mint, yet intimate as a caress. But as gradually she began mastering the intricacies of the dance shyness was replaced by a surge of enjoyment that enabled her to spin and twirl and curtsey and prance while barely conscious of her grinning partner or the many pairs of eyes closely following her progress.
Leon's grin quickly faded, however, when as soon as the dance had finished and another was due to begin she was besieged by a horde of fun-loving oilmen determined to claim the privilege of dancing with their boss's future bride. Looking flushed and bewildered, she stood within a circle of would-be partners, watching Leon being elbowed aside, almost deafened by the clamour of urgent invitations.
'Clear off, all of you!' When a decisive voice thundered over the heads of her persistent admirers its familiar tone sent her head jerking round. Pleasure and happiness transformed her expression as she extended welcoming hands towards the man cutting a swathing advance through the crowd.
'Geoff!' she greeted him with shining eyes. 'What are you doing here, why aren't you out on the rig?'
'I'm due a spell off duty,' he grinned. 'Flew in half an hour ago and came straight here to join in the celebration and to offer my very best wishes for your future happiness, my dear.'
As the smile died upon her lips at this reminder of trouble to come, Leon appeared at Geoff's side his frown graduating into a full-blown glower that ought to have served as a warning to Geoff to tread carefully.
'Thanks for the good wishes,' he acknowledged curtly, 'but now that you've said your piece you can cut off home and see your family.'
'Not likely,' Geoff refused, quite unabashed. 'In common with the rest of the guys present, I intend taking full advantage of the only opportunity we've had to snatch a pretty girl from under your nose. You can keep her to yourself once you're married,' he grinned, 'but tonight she belongs to all of us!'
When for dance after dance Catriona was claimed by a different partner it soon became obvious that the boisterous oilmen had hatched a mischievous conspiracy to keep herself and Leon apart. Even her aunt noticed and remarked upon it when, just as she was preparing to leave, she signalled a summons across the dance floor.
'I'm going home now, child. No need to ask if you're enjoying yourself,' she swept a look over Catriona's exhilarated face, 'the fact is self-evident. I suspect, however, that Leon is furious and I can't say that I blame him. In my young days,' she sniffed, 'it simply wasn't done for an engaged girl to be seen dancing all night with any man other than her fiancé!'
'Goodnight, Aunt Hanna.' Too relieved to be rid of Leon's company to pretend any show of penitence, she smiled as she stooped to kiss her aunt's cheek. 'Go right upstairs to bed, don't you dare wait up for me, I feel like dancing until dawn.'
'There's a saying: "The morning is wiser than the evening",' her aunt responded tartly. 'Let's hope that when a new day dawns you'll not be called upon to acknowledge that a dram of discretion is worth a pound of wisdom!'
Champagne corks were popping all around when Leon finally managed to run her to ground. Dismissing her companion with a frosty look, he grabbed her wrist and simmered dangerously,
'Geoff is about to propose a toast. As you appear to have forgotten, I thought I'd better remind you that we're engaged to be married and supposedly in love.'
Catriona shivered, her elated spirits zooming. 'I hadn't forgotten. However, now that Aunt Hanna has had her little bit of fun, there's something I must tell you. I've decided—'
'Yes, carry on, what have you decided?' he prompted when she faltered, stunned by the realisation that it was not going to be as easy as she had anticipated to confess to the arrogant oil boss that even before the party had commenced she had decided to call his bluff, to make him appear to have been jilted in the eyes of employees and friends. The enormity of her crime was reflected in her wide-eyed look of panic when she begged.
'Is there somewhere where we can talk in private, I must…'
But her last words were
drowned by a roll of drums that sounded in her ears like a prelude to the guillotine, a fate that loomed larger when Geoff's commanding voice boomed a laughing command through a microphone.
'Friends, this is the moment we've all been waiting for, the official declaration that the wiliest bachelor in camp has finally relinquished his jealously guarded freedom! Raise your glasses and join me in a toast to the newly-engaged couple—Catriona and Leon. I wish them not just a good marriage, but a delightful, friendly loving relationship!'
For the following hour she was leashed to Leon's side with a grip that refused to be prised from her waist even though the teasing conspiracy to keep them apart had ceased with the official announcement of his right of possession. She endured the nightmare of pretence, the jokes and hearty congratulations with a smile pinned to her lips and an air of reticence which, because there are few visible signs of clammy palms and hammering heartbeats, was put down to shy confusion.
Leon, his good humour completely restored, seemed to have forgotten her urgent request to talk privately, for once they had completed a tour of the room and shaken hands with everyone present, he began guiding her in the direction of the buffet.
'You must be hungry.' Her pulses reacted with a leap to his look of concern.
'I couldn't eat a thing,' she refused hastily. 'Please, Leon, can we go somewhere and talk now?'
'Not until you've sampled some traditional American food,' he refused gravely. 'The wives of men stationed on the base have gone to a great deal of trouble preparing a buffet dinner at very short notice, you can't leave without showing your appreciation. We Westerners are a blunt, uncomplicated crowd who have little use for frills either in food or behaviour, we prefer substance to style and like nothing better than "pot luck" with unexpected guests, which is probably why the buffet dinner has become a symbol of our code, which is,' he bent to whisper closely into her ear, 'that every man should take as much as he wants, as often as he wants—and that a woman should always hold plenty in reserve!'
Rapture of the Deep Page 12