Brides of Prairie Gold

by Maggie Osborne

  Raising her hands, made bold by the magic of starlight, she framed his face between her palms, gazed deeply into his eyes, then lifted on tiptoe and brazenly pressed her lips to his. Instantly, she felt his hard arousal and the answering heat in her own loins. This was how it felt when two people discovered their desire for each other. It was like summer lightning, like electric currents racing along the skin, inflaming the senses. His kiss made her grow weak inside, yet strong. His hands tightening on her waist thrilled her and swept her breath away.

  When his mouth released hers, he gazed long into her soft shining eyes. Smiling, she kissed him again, lightly, confidently. Without knowing when it had happened, she had made a momentous decision. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Tanka Tunkan."

  "You are certain?" he asked hoarsely, speaking against her lips. "You have thought about this? About us?"

  "I've never been more certain of anything." It didn't matter what her future held, what joys or what disasters. She only knew that if she did not follow her heart now, tonight, she would rue it all of her days. She did not want to look back one day and regret that her courage had failed. When she was old, she would warm herself by remembering this magic night and this man.

  Taking her by the hand, pausing once to gaze at her and caress her cheek, Webb led her deeper into the cedar grove, led her to a starlit pool warmed by the hot springs. When Mem understood what he intended, she laughed softly. "Tonight is enchanted," she murmured, her fingers tugging clumsily at the hooks running down her bodice. "We may say anything we like, we can do whatever we desire. Tomorrow, all will be forgotten."

  "No," he said gruffly, crushing her against his chest before he kissed her so deeply and thoroughly that she almost swooned like a schoolgirl. Gently, with a trembling hand, he opened her braid and spread her auburn hair over her shoulders. "Tonight is to be remembered always. Tonight is a promise, a pledge." His voice sank to a husky register. "Do you think I know you so little that I would ask only one night from you? Respect you so little? Love you so little?"

  She swayed and thought certain she would faint. "Love me?" Her fingers dug into his shoulders. "Webb, please. Don't jest. I couldn't stand it if you were only"

  He covered her lips with his fingertips, then drew her close to his body. "In my mother's culture, a man pledges his spirit by washing his beloved's body in a stream. If the woman accepts him, he pledges his heart with his body." Gently, he covered her breasts with his hands, and it seemed to Mem that the faded calico melted away beneath his palms.

  "Will you enter the pool with me, Woman Who Wants to Know Things?" He kissed her forehead. "If you do, you pledge yourself to me for now and all time."

  Tears of great joy swam in her eyes. "But I thought you and Augusta"

  He silenced her with a deep, deliberate kiss that told her Augusta held no place in his heart or his thoughts. "I love you, Mem. Many a man has been blinded by fool's gold. Few are as fortunate as I to have found genuine treasure."

  Mem threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with a passion that seared them both. Then, she who had never undressed before a woman, let alone a man, threw off her clothing and impatiently waited for Webb to do the same. When they both stood naked on the lip of the starlit pool, she drew a breath and satisfied her curiosity by looking directly at his bared body.

  "Good heavens!" she marveled softly, her eyes widening. "I had no idea you is that going to fit? Good heavens. I mean, will it ah, will I" Her concern ended in a violent blush from her and a shout of laughter from him.

  "Flatterer," he said, grinning. He stepped into the pool, then turned and lifted his arms to her.

  The warm water slid over her thighs up to her waist. Webb clasped her in his arms and she leaned into his strength. Slowly, methodically, tormenting them both, he washed her, his hands caressing her throat, her shoulders, her breasts. When his fingers touched her beneath the water, Mem gasped and felt her mind reel. No person could experience such arousal and remain conscious. Surely, the mind could not contain so much surprise and pleasure.

  His kisses spun her senses into an enchanted realm. His touch stole her breath away. They made themselves complete the ritual bathing, then their hands flew urgently over faces and wet bodies. When she finally touched him there she grew dizzy and hot with desire.

  Webb pulled his mouth from hers and, hoarse with passion, whispered in her wet ear. "Do you accept this man's heart, Woman Who Wants to Know Things?"

  Smiling, knowing she was about to commit her life into his keeping, Mem kissed him. "Yes," she whispered. "Oh, yes, yes."

  Lifting her in his arms, he carried her out of the warm pool and laid her on a bed of fragrant cedar boughs. He gathered her in his arms, his lips on her throat, and one hand slid between them. While he kissed her, tasting deep of her, his fingers manipulated her in ways Mem had never imagined, moved her to heights of desire and urgency that swept all rational thought from her mind. Nervousness and apprehension vanished and she squirmed and thrashed beneath him, surrendering wholly to the sensations he created. He murmured words of love, and she whispered his name and gave her heart and her love and her body.

  When he entered her, she learned that everything fit perfectly. And she surprised and delighted them both by discovering she was as brazen as she had hoped she would be.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  My Journal, August, 1852. It is now clear that he has deceived me from the first. Oh Lord, Lord, it hurts so much. For three days I rode in the back of the wagon, sick in body and spirit. When she came to ask how I was feeling, it required immense effort not to fly from my bed of despair and slash the harlot as I slashed her dress. She has bewitched him; she has stolen him from me.

  Ellen accused me of imagining things. Ellen said I was wrong in the head. But I don't imagine their lust for each other. Thea notices too. So does everyone. They stand too close; their hands brush; they gaze at one another with longing in their eyes.

  I ripped her valentine and let him find the pieces so he would understand that I know about her. I know where his misdirected lust lies. It changed nothing. He still goes to the harlot with eagerness in his step and hunger on his mouth. He ignores me as if he never promised to marry me, as if there is not and never was an understanding between us .

  Now, in front of everyone he tells me that we are not playing a game, tells me there are no secrets. Liar, liar, liar! We have always shared the secret of knowing we would be together one day. And what has this journey been if not a game? I cannot bear knowing that he's used me so badly. Now he has her and has abandoned me. The pain is like poison in my veins .

  What shall I do? The end of the journey is within sight. Does he expect me to marry Mr. Riddley? That was never a consideration. But I lack the funds to repay Mr. Riddley for my passage. A horrible suspicion arises. Perhaps this is how he intends to rid himself of me, by letting Riddley claim me.

  He owes me better than this. Didn't I avenge his honor? Didn't I place the pillow over Ellen's face and hold it there until she stopped thrashing? I did this to my own cousin for him, because Ellen betrayed him. Yes, I also did it to clear the way for us. If the child had not been stillborn, I would have pressed the pillow over his face too. All that I did and would have done, I did out of love and because I believed he loved me too. And he would still love me if it wasn't for her!

  He ignores my warnings. He embarrasses me before the others. He flaunts his harlot before me. Walt. Does he want me to prove my love by removing her as I removed Ellen? I must think about this. I must try not to hate him as I hate her.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  My Journal, August, 1852.1 finally got a futur It is coming I am hapy I made com kakes to thank those who maked made me a weding dress I make my leters beter than I reed but I reed some to I am looking for the man whos money Augusta stold.

  Cora Thorp

  "Oh, Mem!" Perrin's knees gave out and she sat abruptly on a lava boulder. Glad te
ars sparkled in the dying sunlight and she blotted them, then pressed Mem's hands, too moved to speak. "I'm so happy for you both," she finally whispered.

  The joy blazing on Mem's face shone so brightly that looking at her was like gazing into the sun. "We told Bootie and Cody, and we want you to know, but we're not going to make a general announcement until the journey is ended." A charming blush tinted her cheeks. "We consider ourselves already wed, but we'll have another ceremony in England for Webb's mother and friends."

  "I knew Webb's father was English, but I had no idea that he was an earl. So Webb inherits the title and Mem! You're a countess!"

  Mem spun in a circle, her skirts flying out around her. When she came to a halt, her brown eyes sparkled like gems. "I know. Isn't it amazing?" She laughed out loud and her expression turned mischievous. "Bootie is still dazed. I believe she's having a bit of difficulty altering her perception from 'that Indian' to Lord Albany. But she's agreed to accept Webb's invitation and come with us to England. I wish you'd seen her face when we"

  Sinking to the ground, Mem drew up her knees, bubbling with plans and the effervescence of her happiness. She told Perrin that she and Webb had married in the Indian tradition, then they wrote to his mother announcing their news. She spoke of the Albany estate and the town house in London, the villa outside Rome. "I can't believe it," she finished, wonder bringing moisture to her lashes. "Oh, Perrin. I thought I'd married an Englishman's penniless son, but I married a wealthy earl. It's just so so"

  "Wonderful," Perrin finished for her.

  "And I haven't had any more headaches! I don't think I will ever again."

  They gazed at each other, then burst into laughter. They laughed at the dust caking their faces and clothing, laughed at the tattered wagons squared around their campsite, laughed at Mem becoming Lady Albany, laughed at the delicious absurdity of fate.

  Long after Mem had returned to her wagon, appearing to float rather than walk, Perrin remained seated on the lava boulder, watching the sun sink behind the ragged line of the Boise Mountains. She was genuinely glad for Mem, but Mem's shining joy underscored her own confusion and agitation.

  Love or honor; the choice Sarah had given continued to haunt her thoughts. Regardless of her circumstance at the time, becoming Joseph Boyd's mistress had been an act of shame. Of all the reasons why Perrin had decided to make this journey, perhaps the strongest was an effort to escape a disreputable past and restore personal honor. How could she have guessed that fate would toss Cody Snow in her path? A long sigh lifted her breast.

  Occasionally she forced herself to think about her intended bridegroom. She hoped Horace Able was personable, hoped he would be a good man. She prayed that she could learn to love him.

  But her heart whispered a denial. Whatever else she might be, she was not fickle. She had not loved Garin Waverly, had not loved Joseph Boyd, she would never love Horace Able. She could give her heart but once, and it would be forever.

  When she saw Cody walking toward her, his face lit by the last of the sunset rays, she knew the choice was made. This was the man whose image lay carved on the surface of her heart. This was the man she would search for in every dark-haired stranger, in every twinkling pair of roguish eyes. She would imagine his laughter a thousand times before she breathed her last. Loving him would be the secret tragedy of her life.

  Loving him would also be her greatest regret, because regardless of how much she loved him, the new person she had become during this journey would not compromise herself. Never again.

  "Heck is fixing the axle on your wagon. This lava rock is raising cain with the oxen's feet, but Miles thinks" He stopped talking when he saw her face. "When you look at me like that"

  Turning away from her, he swore and frowned back at the wagons. "Christ, Perrin! What in the hell are we doing?"

  She gripped her hands in her lap. "We're trying to avoid each other so we won't make another mistake,", she said in a low voice, thinking about Mem and Webb. She felt genuinely happy for Mem. But to her shame, a small rock of envy leaned against her heart.

  Cody faced her, standing tall against the darkness. The first bright stars appeared to wreath his head. "I can't come near you without wanting you, without remembering how you felt in my arms, and how you tasted, and how" A low groan issued from his throat. He closed his eyes for a long minute, then stared at her. "I didn't want this complication any more than you did. I fight caring about you every minute. I remind myself that you're stubborn and can be cantankerous. I tell myself you were another man's mistress. I tell myself you were indifferent to our lovemaking."

  "You know I wasn't indifferent," she whispered. "I lashed out at you because I thought you saw me as a dalliance for this journey, that for you, I was a loose woman here for the taking."

  "That statement insults us both," he snapped. "As for you being a diversion for the trip" He pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I have nothing to offer beyond a temporary liaison." A storm tossed in his blue eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I told you Ellen took a lover. I don't like myself for saying this, but I can't get past the fact that you were another man's mistress."

  She stared at him, then lowered her head. "I can't change the past. Not mine; not yours."

  "I don't want to be made a fool of again."

  Standing, Perrin faced him, her heart in her eyes. "Cody, surely you must know that not every woman betrays her husband. Do you think Mem would every betray Webb? Will Sarah betray the man she marries? Or Hilda?" Even the idea of these honorable women betraying their vows was unthinkable. Perrin could no more imagine any of them deceiving a husband than she could imagine herself doing such a thing.

  Cody's hands opened and closed at his sides as if he wanted to pull her into his arms. But they stood in view of the wagons and they both knew that always someone was watching them.

  "You once said that all men take. Is that how you see me, Perrin? Someone who takes and gives nothing back?"

  He had taken her love and offered nothing in return, but she didn't tell him that. "You took nothing that was not freely given," she said in a low voice.

  "You're wrong. Nothing is free," he said harshly, tracing her lips with his gaze. "I pay for that night by wanting you with every breath. I'm asking myself questions about Ellen, about myself, about things I thought were settled and decided long ago. I look at you and I don't know where the hell I'm going."

  "I won't be your harlot, Cody Snow," she whispered, staring at him with stubbornness in her gaze. "If I surrender, I'll pay a heavy price for the rest of my life. And I would deserve whatever shame came my way because if we give in it won't be impulsive, it will be deliberate. If we're discovered, the others will punish me with a lifetime of loneliness. I couldn't bear that."

  "Damn it, Perrin. You know I won't ask you to take that risk." Thrusting his hands into his back pockets, he stood frowning down at her in the last faint flare of light.

  "Then we have nowhere to go," Perrin said softly, swallowing back tears. She wanted him with all her heart.

  He stared at her. "I wish to hell that I'd never heard of Joseph Boyd, damn his soul."

  The Boise River, fed by mountain streams, thickly wooded by handsome old cottonwoods, was a welcome sight after nearly two weeks of dry eyes stung by alkali dust, of the stink of hot sage and panting oxen. They had slogged through steep-banked streams, banged across lava fields, gone half mad from the attacks of mosquitoes, gnats, and buffalo flies. They had pushed up rocky hills, paid an extortionate fee to be ferried across the Snake River, and arrived at Boise fatigued to the very marrow of their bones, and with nerves drawn taut.

  When Cody declared three days of rest, everyone was too exhausted to cheer.

  Augusta fell into her bedroll without supper and slept twelve hours through. She awoke to discover the campsite deserted except for the guards at the arms wagon. Apparently everyone had walked into Fort Boise in search of fresh faces and novelty.

  Yawning, and looking
forward to three whole days without driving, three wonderful days of rest and catching up on her chores, Augusta cooked the last of the fresh turnips she had purchased at Fort Hall, mashing them for breakfast along with a pat of butter she had bought from Thea. Lucky Thea, her cow was the only cow that had survived the journey to this point.

  While Augusta pinned up her hair in front of a mirror hung on the side of the wagon, she considered buying another cow if one was available for sale at Fort Boise. Even if the owner demanded us much as fifteen dollars, it would be nice to have fresh milk whenever she liked. And there was never enough butter.

  "Oh!" She gasped, and jumped when a strange whiskered face loomed over her shoulder in the mirror. Spinning, she discovered a tall, big-boned man standing directly in front of her. His clothing was trail-tattered and filthy, bits of food had collected in an unkempt beard and mustache. Even this early in the day, he stank of cheap whiskey. "Who are you and what do you want?" she demanded in a voice higher than her normal tone.

  She slid a glance toward the other wagons, saw no one. The arms wagon was on the far side of the square. At once, she realized the guards were near the noisy rushing river; they would not hear her if she screamed.

  "You're Augusta Boyd, ain't you?" he said, inspecting her bright hair.

  "Who are you?" He had the coldest eyes she had ever seen on a man, dead eyes, eyes that had never loved or shown pity. Even Jake Quinton had not frightened her as this man did. His steady dead stare made her stomach cramp in fear.

  Her carbine was in the wagon where she could not get to it.

  "My name is John Eaggleston," he snarled. His lips thinned when she choked and stumbled backward a step. A grunt snorted out of his nostrils. "You know the name. Damn me, she was right."

  "She?" Augusta whispered. The edge of the sideboard pressed against her spine and she could retreat no farther.