by Shirl Henke
“I love you, Samuel. I think I always knew from the first moment I saw you across that ballroom floor in Washington.”
He grinned down at her, unable to keep his hands from caressing her throat, brushing her tangled hair away from her face. “I guess that’s why we’ve always been so explosive together. I’ve never been able to control myself around you the way I could with other women.”
“And you hate not being in control.” She knew him so well, this mysterious stranger, this soldier-spy who owned her heart.
“Ever since I met you my world’s been turned upside down. When I found you with Lisa’s men I couldn’t believe it. God, I hated myself for wanting you so badly then,” he confessed raggedly.
“Was that why you were such a beast to me?” she asked sweetly.
“That and the fact you nearly poisoned me, drowned me, and got my brains beaten in by a dozen trappers,” he replied with a lopsided smile. When he raised his arms and drew her against him, the slash along his collarbone twinged and he winced at the unexpected pain.
“I’d better see to your wounds before Micajah sends half the Osage Little Old Men out searching for us.” She knelt down at the water’s edge and began to soak a clean piece of cloth, then instructed him to kneel so she could cleanse away the dried blood.
“It might be better if I just stripped and swam into the deep. I’m pretty gory from head to foot.”
Olivia shuddered, remembering how terrifying the grisly fight with Pardee had been. “You could’ve been the one dead, not him.” Suddenly she needed the assurance of his warm male vitality, the solid protective wall of his flesh pressed to her own. “Hold me, Samuel,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his back and lying her head against his chest, heedless of the caked and seeping blood on it.
He obliged, enveloping her in his embrace, squeezing his eyes closed, feeling a sense of peace steal over him that he had never before in his life felt.
Livy was his wife, for always.
After a few moments she stepped back. “You need to get cleaned up so I can tend your wounds.” She watched him as he slipped off his pants and waded into the current, swimming out far enough to let the cool rushing water cleanse away the blood. Olivia knelt on the shore with Micajah’s salves.
“Why not join me?” he invited.
“Samuel, it’s getting late in the season for a moonlight swim. I can see your goose bumps even in this light.”
Samuel laughed. “The water’s only cold until you get in deep. Come in and join me and I’ll let you feel my bump!”
She longed to bathe away the contamination of Pardee’s touch even if the only clothes she had with her belonged to the dead man. Quickly she unfastened the rope at her slim waist and tugged off the baggy britches and shirt. Her feet were still bare but healing nicely since Samuel had tended them. She let out a squeak of shock at the chill when she stepped into the current, then quickly submerged herself and swam out to meet him where he lounged against a dead log wedged into a mud bank jutting ten feet or so out in the river.
He opened his arms and she glided up against him, at once feeling the hardness of his phallus pressing against her belly, scorching hot even in the chilly water. She undulated against him and he took her arms, lifting her against him. “Come on to me, Livy,” he whispered hoarsely. She obeyed, wrapping her legs around him as he impaled her smoothly in one long swift thrust.
She threw back her head, arching into the sweet heat, clutching his shoulders, digging in with her nails as she tightened her thighs at his waist, falling in sync with the rocking tempo of his thrusting hips. Her breasts bobbed at the surface of the water, the nipples puckered into tight aching nubs. The warmth of his mouth covering one, then the other, released a swift shock of pleasure that radiated through her body, intensifying the incredible pressure building deep inside her belly until it burst upon her in long lovely waves that seemed in sinc with the steady lapping of the current eddying around them.
Olivia waited in that little death, soaring yet experienced enough by now to know that he would join her. Then she felt it, the tumescent swelling and pulsing of his staff deep inside her, his body convulsively stiffening as he gasped out her name and spilled his seed into her womb. She threw her head across his shoulder and clung to him in joy. And the river gave its benediction as its life-giving water flowed serenely around them.
* * * *
Micajah was ready to travel at dawn the next day. Most of the Osage had already vanished into the gray morning fog, leaving him and the two men who would escort him back to their village to collect Dirt Devil. He watched in satisfaction as Samuel slept with Olivia cocooned protectively in the curve of his body. They had returned from the river last night touching and smiling in subtle ways that spoke clearly to the shrewd old man. Still, he felt constrained to speak his piece to Shelby before he entrusted his beloved Sparky to the colonel’s care.
He sat hunkered beside the fire with a tin mug almost concealed by his big hands, drinking the steaming inky brew black and bitter, wishing for a bit of his honey to sweeten it, while he let the young lovers sleep. Neither had gotten much rest in past days. Of course, some of that was their own doing, he thought with a smile, remembering how it was to be young and in love.
Shelby stirred, gently disentangled himself from Olivia, then climbed from beneath the blanket Chief No Ears had given them. He shivered in the foggy stillness. The winter that had been so long in coming would soon be upon them.
Micajah threw him a buckskin shirt which was a bit tight across his broad chest but provided welcome warmth nonetheless. He accepted a cup of coffee from the old man and sat down across from him expectantly. “You have something to say, Johnstone, spit it out.”
Micajah chuckled quietly. “Fer a feller without th’ sense ta see truth when hit slapped him upside th’ haid, yew kin be plenty sharp from time ta time.”
“I was wrong about Olivia. I misjudged her...in many ways, I underestimated her.”
“ ‘N now yew know who she really is?”
Samuel smiled. “She’s my wife. All right, Johnstone, you were right to drag us to that priest. I admit it.”
“Jest so’s yew treat her like she deserves else yew’d have me ta answer ta—’n yew would purely never want thet. I cud think o’ thangs even th’ Osage ‘n the Sioux never imagined...if yew take my meanin’.” He smiled benevolently with his eyes twinkling.
Shelby returned the grin. “Yes, Micajah, I take your meaning. We have to go downriver to St. Louis as fast as we can get there. I have to report Pardee’s death and arrange for my brother-in-law to bring a representative from the War Department to talk with the Osage.”
“While they wuz fixin’ me up, them Injuns whut found me offered me one o’ their secret caches below them bluffs up yonder. Got a canoe, food, even a few furs to keep a body warm...not thet I do believe yew two’ll need ‘em.”
“With a canoe we could make good time, be back in St. Louis in a few days,” Shelby replied, excited at the prospect. “Livy wouldn’t have to walk on her injured feet either.”
Micajah nodded his head. “Hit’s settled then. Yew ‘n·’ me go dig up th’ cache whilst Sparky fixes breakfast.” He turned to grin at her as she climbed sleepily from beneath the covers.
* * * *
God above, St. Louis was a squalid and barbaric outpost clinging to the banks of a wild, treacherous river. Richard Bullock despised it, just as he despised the jowly pompous merchant perched on the chair across from him like a giant green toad. But Emory Wescott did have his uses. At present, he was Bullock’s only link to Colonel Samuel Shelby. “And you say this ward of yours has married Colonel Shelby,” he repeated, sipping fragrant tea from a delicate china cup as he stared across the rim at Wescott.
Emory set his cup down with a slight clatter, angry beyond words at the latest piece of news he had just received from upriver, another complication he did not need. Pardee had failed. Perhaps Bullock would be the man to rid hi
n of the impediment of Olivia’s husband.
“Yes; Olivia was always a headstrong girl, reckless and spoiled just like her mother. She ran off on a lark. I was able to send word to one of my acquaintances who located her in a godforsaken outpost on the Missouri. She and the colonel had just been wed by a Catholic priest in Ste. Francoise.”
With Pardee now dead and their last shipment of contraband lost, Wescott’s interest in the British war effort had taken a decidedly cool turn. If only he could get his hands on Olivia, free and clear of Shelby’s meddling, he would hurry her down to New Orleans where the fabulous wealth of the Durand estate would be his.
“Then you expect the honeymooners to return here soon?” Richard asked neutrally.
“I would imagine Olivia and her soldier will arrive shortly. As you can well imagine, her marriage will create all sorts of embarrassing complications—complications I wish to avoid. After all, I am still her guardian and I do have her best interests at heart.”
Bullock smiled, a chilly curling of his thin, beautifully sculpted lips, but it was a smile that never touched the pale ice in his eyes. He could well imagine how sincerely solicitous the cagey old bastard was toward the chit. “I’m certain you do, Mr. Wescott. And I have an equally strong interest in the colonel...for entirely different reasons. Perhaps we can reach some accord regarding a resolution of this situation,” he purred, setting down his cup as he rose to take his leave. “I shall attend to Colonel Shelby in due course, never fear.”
After the icy Virginian had departed, Wescott stared moodily into the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup, then rang for a brandy, although it was barely past the noon hour. Bullock was a cipher. Wescott understood his professed reasons for wanting Shelby dead, but he had never been one to trust any man’s superficial motives. They had met at a social function at the home of the acting governor, Frederick Bates, honoring territorial militia general William Clark.
Wescott rubbed his forehead, not even wanting to contemplate his fate if General Clark learned about his involvement in gun running among the Osage. If only he knew how much Pardee had revealed before he was killed. One thing was clear—Emory Wescott had no time to wait for Richard Bullock’s due course.
* * * *
In spite of the long overdue turn in the weather, Samuel and Olivia’s journey downriver was an idyll of smooth currents and crisp but sunny days. They paddled on the open river, only once having to portage past a dangerous embarras. On the first day out, they ate from the dried fruits and meat from the Osage cache, but the second morning, Samuel shot a pair of rabbits before they set out. Olivia efficiently cleaned and cooked them over the campfire, throwing a fistful of wild sage onto the coals to add a wonderfully pungent flavor to the meat.
At night they pulled the canoe up on the bank, and slept out beneath the starry canopy of the sky. To waken every morning in each other’s arms was a new experience for both of them. Samuel had never slept with Tish even in the early days of their marriage since she had always insisted that a lady deserved the privacy of her own bedroom. From Olivia’s childhood in lavish European accommodations to her months in Micajah’s cheery cabin, she had always spent her nights alone. Never had she dreamed how wonderful this could be, how warm and reassuring the feel of her husband’s heart beating in rhythm with her own.
She wished they could drift forever on the river, living off the bounty of nature, picking wild gooseberries and currants, shooting fat rabbits and watching the brown and gold grandeur of the woodlands around them. Otters and muskrats played in the current, diving and chasing one another, putting on a show for their human audience. From the shore a black bear peered at them from behind the carcass of a deer, his mouth smeared with blood. Olivia had watched, fascinated by the stark contrasts of nature, beautiful and brutal in alternate turns.
“I’ll miss Micajah,” she said pensively on the third afternoon as they moved swiftly in the main channel. Samuel paddled skillfully while she lay in the bottom of the canoe, basking comfortably in the midday sun. “Saying good-bye was harder than anything like it before. I was ten when we left the Count of San Giomo’s estate in Tuscany. He was the one who taught me to ride. I called him Uncle Angelo.” She smiled in fond remembrance. “I cried inconsolably for days.”
“Why did you have to leave?” Samuel had a pretty good idea but he wanted to learn more about her family.
“My péré was bored living so far out in the country. He longed for witty conversation and ladies decked in jewels, for the city life. In truth he longed for the gaming tables in Rome. And so we made our way across Europe. It seemed the longer we traveled, the more rootless we became, the less time we spent in any single place.”
He could understand now why Micajah’s simple cabin had meant so much to her and felt guilty for his accusations about getting bored with the adventure and longing to return to her easy life in St. Louis. “Micajah was a better father to you than Julian St. Etienne,” he said.
“Yes, that’s true, although I would never have believed it possible before. I adored Péré...but I never knew who I was until I met Micajah Johnstone.”
“We’ll see him in the spring, Livy. He promised to come to St. Louis for a visit. I’m sorry we had no time to return to the cabin with him, but I have to send a report to my superiors and arrange for the Osage to meet with my brother-in-law.”
“I said I would miss him, not that I would be lonely, Samuel.” She reached up to take his hand, distracting him from paddling. “Let the canoe drift with the current. It’s moving fast enough,” she said with a lazy chuckle.
Shelby scanned the river ahead. As far as he could see, it flowed free. He set the paddle down and then slid from his seat to settle in the bottom of the small skin-covered craft, drawing her into his arms. Together they watched as meadows of prickly pear and tall stands of cottonwoods on the shore passed by, content just to hold each other in the dying light of the late afternoon sun.
They reached St. Louis at dusk the following day. The waterfront was crowded with moored keelboats and flatboats. Samuel eased their canoe in between two of the heavy flatboats and as soon as they had jumped ashore, he pulled the light craft up onto the bank lest it be damaged. The riverfront was deserted but up on the hill the noise of drunken revelry from Main Street could be heard echoing across the black stillness of the Mississippi.
“We’ll go to my house first. I need a clean uniform before I can report to Bates and Clark.” He grinned at her, the dim light showing the white slash of his teeth as he said, “Maybe I’ll even carry my new bride over the threshold.”
“Maybe I’ll hold you to that—and a bath. I am not only filthy; I’m freezing. Lord above, how I long for a hot, lazy soak with real soap.”
They made their way up the steep hill, avoiding the rowdy district where the rivermen caroused, heading south toward his rented house on Plum Street. “While you’re luxuriating in my tub I have quite a bit of business to attend. I don’t think we should let your so-called guardian know about our marriage until I’ve made my report to the acting governor and General Clark. If he sent Pardee after you, I want to find out why.”
“You’re afraid he might hurt me, aren’t you?”
She was far too perceptive. “It’s possible. Just stay inside the house until I return. It may be late. I’ll also have to explain to Santiago about the parlay he’ll lead.”
“Will he be willing to do it? I thought you said he distrusted the American government.”
Samuel grinned. “Liza will see to it that he does. Hard-bitten Spanish outcast that he is, Quinn will do anything for his wife.”
“I’m anxious to get to know my new sister-in-law,” she said primly.
“Just don’t go letting her fill your head with crazy ideas. I’m not as indulgent as Santiago.”
She smiled secretively but made no rejoinder as they trudged down Second to Plum. When they arrived, he did carry her across the threshold amid laughter and tenderness.
Sam
uel quickly cleaned up and shaved, then donned a fresh uniform while the elderly man he had employed to watch over the house drew a hot bath for Olivia. Samuel left her soaking blissfully and headed straight to the Quinns’ home. Liza and her canny Spaniard knew more about what went on in the city than anyone.
Won’t she be amazed that I married again. But then he reconsidered. Perhaps she would not be. His sister had been the first to notice the attraction between him and Olivia. He climbed the well-worn stone steps to their front porch and knocked eagerly.
When Orlena Quinn opened the door for her uncle, a broad smile of joy wreathed her cherubic face. “Unca Samuel!” the five-year-old squealed in delight as he picked her up and swung her around in the air.
Elise stood in the doorway down the hall watching fondly as her eldest child bombarded her brother with questions. She bit her lip worriedly. How shall I break the news to him?
Samuel looked up and caught sight of her the same time that little Orlena did. “Mamma, Mamma, Unca Samuel’s back all the way from visiting the Osage.”
At once he sensed something was amiss. “Is Santiago all right—the boys?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course, they’re all fine. And so it seems, are you. Oh, Samuel, I was so worried. You’ve been gone for months with only that one sparse note.”
“I didn’t know if it got through or not. I had to entrust it to a French-Canadian trader I met headed down the Missouri last summer. He was the only white man I encountered until the Englishman.”
She paled. “You found him then.”
“He’s dead,” he said flatly. “So are his schemes to take the Osage into a British alliance.”
Knowing they had serious business to discuss, Elise picked up Orlena and rang for the nanny to get her ready for bed, promising to come in later to hear the child’s prayers and tuck her in. Samuel waited for his sister in the library, wishing Santiago had not chosen tonight of all nights to work late at the warehouse. Then again, perhaps it was better to enlist Liza to his cause before the Spaniard returned home.