The River Nymph

by Shirl Henke

The sergeant beamed with admiration as he walked up the gangplank to where she stood. “Niver saw a man fight like that since I left the old sod. Are ye certain he’s not Irish?”

  In fact she had no idea what her husband’s heritage was, but Delilah merely said, “I fear not,” as she inspected the sergeant. His lip was split, his nose newly displaced and he, too, was sporting a fresh shiner.

  “Best barroom brawler ever, that man of yours. It took eight of us to bring him down. Four of me troopers, they’re getting patched up at the fort infirmary. And this after we waited until himself had a belly full of whiskey to slow him down.” There was awe in his voice.

  Clint stared past Delilah as if she were invisible. His eyes were flat, his face emotionless. As she thanked the sergeant for returning her husband, she wished Clint would rage at her, show some feeling, even if it were hatred. He’s all Indian, now. What have I done? But what else could she have done?

  “I’ll be shacklin’ him to a bunk, if that’s all right with ye, ma’am?” Finn said, sensing that much was amiss between Mr. and Mrs. Daniels.

  “My uncle’s on the hurricane deck. He’ll direct you,” she replied as Finn handed her the key to the irons and Clint’s weapons.

  “It might be for the best if ye’d be keepin’ him under lock ’n key until we’re well on the way.”

  Delilah nodded as the three troopers led the prisoner toward the stairs to the upper deck. She clutched Clint’s gunbelt as Finn followed his men, still muttering about a man who loved to fight so much he’d take on eight-to-one odds. She was just grateful no one had been seriously hurt, especially Clint. Finn had assured her that he knew the proprietress of the Gold Nugget. At his request, she had insisted that Mr. Daniels remove his firearms before she served him any whiskey.

  Delilah stood by the railing, staring out at the cargo on the bank, her mind a muddle of conflicting emotions. Horace joined her shortly. “He’ll come around, my dear. I’m certain of it, although,” he chuckled ruefully, “it might take some time…and feminine wiles.”

  “Will you be able to sell the cargo and make it all the way home safely?” she asked, realizing what a huge responsibility she was asking her uncle to assume. “All of this, deceiving Red Riley, converting the boat for upriver trade, it was all my idea, but now—”

  “Delilah, child, you know I’ve wanted this as much as you. And I am certainly capable of dealing with the ruffians masquerading as merchants here. Never fear, I shall book passage aboard the first steamer heading home as soon as I’ve made us a sizable profit and retrieved our whiskey money from the bank. You see to Clint. I suspect that will prove the more daunting task.”

  Delilah kissed his leathery cheek. “I suspect you’re absolutely right.”

  “Excellent. Now, while Captain Dubois and I discuss how to conduct the auction of the cargo, I suggest that you gather your medicinals and tend to your patient.”

  Delilah stood outside the door to Clint’s cabin, clutching her basket of medical supplies with a white-knuckled grip. Swallowing for courage, she opened the door and stepped inside. He lay on the mattress on which they had made love, but this time his wrists were chained to the frame of the bed. He stared at the ceiling above him in stony silence, not turning to look at her when she approached.

  Well, if that was the way he wanted to play out the hand, she could act as dispassionate as he, damn him! She walked over to the bed and pulled up a chair beside him. Willing her hands to cease their trembling, she took a soft napkin from her basket, soaked it in the basin of clean water on the nightstand, then sat and began to cleanse the cuts and abrasions on his face and hands with nurselike precision.

  His lip was split, but fortunately no teeth had been loosened. When she inserted her fingers in his mouth to check, she half expected he’d bite her, but he did not. His long, dexterous gambler’s hands were a mass of bruises and cuts, the knuckles swollen horribly. It was all she could do not to bend over and kiss them, remembering how he had used them to caress her body so exquisitely.

  As she worked, he did not flinch or in any way acknowledge her presence. “I could use the carbolic solution on you again,” she murmured but received no response. “Very well,” she said softly, soaking another cloth with plain alcohol.

  Very gently she disinfected his cuts, then applied a cold compress to his swelling eye. Still, he did not move. When she had done all she could for his injuries, she left the cabin, shaken and close to tears that she refused to shed. She would not show him how he’d hurt her. At this point, who knew how such a revelation would affect their relationship? Delilah certainly had no idea.

  He’d accused her of not trusting him. She did not. But not for the reasons he assumed. Her greatest fear had not been for the money but for his life, that he’d turn wild red Indian again and die. Then she would own the Nymph and collect all the profits. Delilah laughed bitterly to herself. She would never have imagined that freedom, respectability and money would mean so little to her as they did now.

  Horace was waiting with Captain Dubois in the dining room when she composed herself and went in search of them. Her uncle explained that several merchants who dealt with the gold camps had already come calling after receiving word about the auction.

  “It should not take more than a week at most to dispose of everything on the riverbank for a handsome profit, Madame,” Dubois said with a reassuring smile.

  Horace could see the haunted look in her eyes and knew things with Clint had not gone well. As he pulled out a chair for her to take a seat at the dining table, he said, “The captain has graciously agreed to provide four of his most trusted roustabouts to act as guards until the transaction is complete. Then we’ll take the first packet downriver for St. Louis. There should be no problem arriving in plenty of time to pay off our note at Consolidated Planters Bank.”

  Delilah smiled at the captain. “I do thank you, sir. We had not expected to have this sort of difficulty with the army.”

  Dubois gave a Gallic shrug. “I fear I am partially to blame. If Grant Marsh had not been so laudatory about my skills, General Terry might not have telegraphed here to commandeer your boat. Although it will take considerable time, you will be handsomely reimbursed for transporting the wounded soldiers. Captain Marsh has told me what his going rate is. If I am so fine a pilot as he says, then they must pay you that same rate.”

  Delilah and Horace had both heard of Marsh’s lucrative deal with the army. “Do discuss that fee with Clint before you reach Fort Abraham Lincoln,” he said to his niece.

  Now Dubois looked a bit uncomfortable. “I know how he feels about the Union army, and several of my crew have given me a grisly description of how the soldiers returned him to the boat. Is he feeling…well?”

  “As well as can be expected,” she replied calmly. “Sergeant Finn was quite in awe of the fight he gave them.”

  Jacques and Horace chuckled over that and the tension was broken. But Delilah knew she would have a difficult task getting her galvanized Yankee to deal with General Terry…and to forgive her.

  After a final wave at Horace standing on the muddy riverbank, Delilah watched as his figure grew smaller in the dis-tance. It was quite amazing how swiftly a boat moved with the current when one was used to laboring upstream against it. The journey to Montana Territory had taken well over two months. Even if their stop at Fort Abraham Lincoln held them up for a few days, they would still make St. Louis in as little as three weeks.

  She trudged to the kitchen, where Luellen was overseeing dinner preparations. Clint had not been given a noonday meal. Delilah knew he’d refuse to eat. Well, if she had to starve him into submission, so be it. She knew that the rotgut whiskey he’d consumed on an empty stomach would make him utterly miserable by the time they moored for the night. That morning, Luellen had purchased a dozen fat live hens from the boat moored next to them, then enlisted Todd, Sadie and Beth to help her kill, pluck and clean them for a feast. Delilah intended to take Clint a tray of delicious
fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy. If he could resist such a treat, he would indeed win a contest of wills.

  “We’ll just see who folds,” she said with steel in her voice.

  The Nymph pulled up against a stretch of shallow embankment around dusk that evening. The smells of Luellen Colter’s cooking wafted on the warm evening breeze. The officers in the dining room gave lip-smacking approval. Even the captain, with his fine New Orleans palate, complimented the cook effusively. Delilah ate sparingly, too nervous to really do justice to the excellent meal.

  Luellen watched her picking at her food as Sadie and Beth served coffee. When Delilah rose and started to leave the room, the cook caught up with her. “Yew feelin’ poorly?” she asked, knowing her young friend’s lack of appetite had little to do with physical health.

  “I’m fine…no, that’s a lie. I’m not fine at all. My uncle has been left behind in that horrible town of cutthroats, the army’s commandeered our boat and Clint is chained up in his quarters.”

  Luellen let out a hearty laugh. “Chained up, huh? Whutbetter way kin a woman have a man? Sounds like jest the ticket. He ain’t et today neither, has he?”

  “What are you saying?” Delilah asked, half afraid of the answer.

  Luellen’s warm brown eyes stared into Delilah’s cat-green ones. “Git yerself all decked out in some fancy, lacy rig. I’ll fix a tray fer yew ta take ta the mister’s cabin.”

  “Does everyone aboard this boat know that Clint and I have…that we…?” She sighed and shook her head. Of course they did. But surely her uncle…Delilah was not certain of anything these days.

  Luellen patted her on the back in a motherly fashion. “Naw, not th’ capt’n er crew er yer uncle, if that’s whut yer afeard ’o. But Miss Sky ’n me, we knowed right off. Wim-menfolk, we got us a way. Now, don’t fret, jest do like I say.” With a wink, she turned and waddled back toward the kitchen, calling out, “I’ll fetch th’ tray ta yer room in ten minutes er so.”

  Delilah put on a pale green silk night rail with delicate embroidery across the low, rounded neckline. The garment was so sheer, it revealed far more than it concealed. She had bought it because it was cool, but now utility took second place to seduction. Just as she belted the matching satin robe at her waist, Luellen knocked on the door. Delilah took the tray as the cook inspected her outfit.

  “Set that down,” she commanded. When Delilah did so, Luellen pulled the collar of the robe open so it gaped loosely, revealing the night rail and what lay beneath it. “Now, thet’s more like it,” she said with a big grin. “Jest remember, keep him tied up till yew got ’im eatin’ outta yer hand.”

  Chuckling at her own jest, Luellen left. Delilah picked up the tray. Her hands trembled so badly that the dishes clattered and the coffee sloshed over the side of the cup into the saucer. She took a deep breath and willed herself to be calm. After a moment, she slipped from the room and down to Clint’s door. By the time she balanced the tray against onehip and used her free hand to turn the knob, Delilah felt her self-confidence return.

  I can do this.

  The interior of the room was dim, with fading sunlight filtering in the sole window. Two of the roosters, under the watchful eyes of the sergeant, had taken Clint to the privy that afternoon, his only break from the isolation of his makeshift prison. Now he was again shackled to the bed. As before, he did not turn, but continued to stare straight up.

  Clint could smell the essence of roses and hear soft footfalls. Deelie. Her own delicious scent combined with the heavenly aroma of Luellen’s fried chicken. His stomach twisted with cramping hunger and the burn of raw whiskey. Damn her for siccing those soldiers on him! He tried to concentrate on his anger, hold it fast. But then she stood beside the bed, and the slither of her robe brushed against his bare arm. If a direct lightning strike had just hit him, it would have had less impact.

  She placed the tray on the small table beside his bed, then surprised him by sitting on the side of the mattress, facing him. His breath hitched when she reached for the lantern. Her robe gaped open, revealing the incredible bounty inside. Gold and green, her flesh and clothing were all pale and shimmery in the twilight. After lighting the lantern, she sank a fork into the mashed potatoes glistening with thick brown gravy and brought them to his mouth, letting the tantalizing smell tease his nostrils.

  He tried to turn his head away, but his stomach emitted a loud growl. Other, lower parts of his anatomy were also letting him know their hunger. Better to eat than think of sinking into Deelie’s silken flesh, not when he was chained here because of her. He took a bite. She offered a second forkful. He ate.

  They continued in silence. He watched as she picked up a large chicken leg and began tearing the meat into bite-sized pieces that he could chew in spite of his sore mouth. The consideration almost brought an unwilling smile. She hadbeen brought up with delicate table manners, yet here she was with greasy fingers…delectable fingers he wanted to feel gliding across his aroused flesh.

  He suppressed his treacherous thoughts and took the first bite she offered. Feeling her fingertips on his mouth sent shockwaves through him. If she had noticed the bulge in his breeches, she gave no indication until now. But once their flesh touched, she let out a tiny gasp and pulled away before recovering. Doggedly, she picked up another bit of meat, this time using the fork.

  “You aren’t planning to stab my poor mouth with that are you?” he asked.

  “Well, he speaks,” she said dryly, offering the meat again.

  He raised his head from the pillows and wolfed down the chicken. “Just like a trained seal in the circus—only they don’t chain them.”

  “But they do chain lions and tigers,” she retorted, offering another bite.

  “Then you’d best beware, Cat Eyes.” He appeared to consider her words as he ate. “I’m more wolf than lion.”

  “I’ve sensed a certain lupine quality in you,” she retorted, offering another bit of meat, doused in gravy.

  He ate, then swallowed and said, “You told the sergeant we were married. You still thinkin’ along those lines?”

  Delilah dropped the fork with a clank against the plate. “Certainly not, nor have I ever! It was simply the most expedient way of convincing him to bring you back with as little bodily harm as possible.”

  “Yeah, you do need me to act as your mate on the down-river run,” he replied, eyeing her pebble-tipped breasts, barely veiled inside the gaping robe.

  Delilah knew she should be insulted at the double entendre, but wasn’t this exactly what she’d come here to elicit? “So, you can still perform verbal gymnastics. At least your sense of humor hasn’t been totally battered out of your head.”

  “I can perform all kinds of gymnastics if you unlock these shackles. Want me to show you?” he dared.

  She could see the faintest hint of the old Clint gleaming in his eyes now. A lopsided smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and those pale blue eyes hungrily moved from her face to her breasts and back upward. His erection stood like a tent pole in his breeches. She couldn’t resist brushing it with one arm as she resettled herself on the mattress and dished up the last of the potatoes.

  “Open wide,” she said.

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

  “Don’t be crude, Mr. Daniels.” She shoved the fork at his mouth and he accepted the potatoes, but a drop of gravy dripped onto his chest.

  “My apologies, Mrs. Raymond,” he said through a mouthful as he chewed. “I’ve been too long away from the niceties of the officer’s dining table.”

  Delilah couldn’t take her eyes away from that tiny brown spot.

  Noting the way she stared, he chuckled and said, “Out, damn’d spot?”

  “I don’t think Lady Macbeth was talking about a gravy stain,” she retorted, beginning to enjoy their repartee.

  “Gravy’s a lot easier to remove than blood, Deelie. And a lot tastier, too.”

  “You think so?” she asked, leaning down a
nd licking the small drop with her tongue. “You’re right.” She made a show of licking her lips with her tongue.

  “Boldly wicked,” he said, his breath catching as his heartbeat accelerated. “Now, let me out of these damned shackles so I can—”

  Delilah shook her head. “I don’t think that will be necessary…” A truly wicked grin danced across her mouth and her eyes gleamed cat green in the lantern light. She stood up and unfastened the belt of her robe, letting the satin slide to the floor. When he gasped, his eyes raking her body, wrists straining against the shackles, she returned his fiery gaze, her body equally on fire.

  Slowly, very slowly, she began to raise the sheer night railuntil she had it bunched in her fists at shoulder height. With a swift motion, she pulled it over her head and let it float to the floor, landing in a soft pile atop her robe. She walked to the foot of his bed and tugged off his boots and socks, tossing them in the corner.

  Then she climbed onto the mattress and crawled between his legs, reaching toward the lacings of his buckskins. “Now, open wide…again,” she repeated. His legs parted with a will of their own. She moved closer and started to work.

  “If you don’t hurry, I’ll explode,” he gritted out, desperate for her to remove the last impediment between their flesh.

  She finished unlacing the buckskins and pulled his phallus free, then leaned back on her knees, arms crossed beneath her breasts, gazing at its pulsing length. He was rock hard and straining against the irons holding his arms to the bed. “Mmmm, I think I like this. Perhaps I’ll keep you in chains until we reach St. Louis. Pity the trip will be so brief…maybe next year when we go upriver…”

  Clint’s hips rose and his knees bent, trapping her between his legs. “Stop foolin’ around and do what you know we both want you to do,” he said in a raspy voice.

  “I like fooling around,” she murmured, slipping from his leg lock. She lowered her body to his, allowing her breasts to brush his chest. The contact sent a sizzle of sudden pleasure jolting through her, but she suppressed the desire to move quickly. Instead, she offered one breast to him, while at the same time letting the soft curls at the apex of her thighs press against his straining erection.