Golden Roses

by Patricia Hagan

  “Ah, you will have your hands full this night,” one of his men goaded Valdis.

  Another chimed in. “This one is a wildcat. Never will you tame her.”

  Valdis roared, “But I will enjoy the wildcat’s bites and scratches, and before the night ends, her only screams will be those of pleasure.”

  “Take her now!” someone called out. “Now, in front of us all. We have seen you tame others, and this one will be a real challenge.”

  It was all Amber could do not to protest. Much to her relief, she heard Valdis declare angrily, “No. This one is special. She is not a puta. She is to be my mistress when I return home. You will respect her. When I tire of her, or if she displeases me, then you may pass her around as you do these bottles. Until then, let there be no such talk.”

  She continued to weave through the group, pausing to sip now and then. Valdis settled into a game of cards with some of the men, and Amber felt a rush of encouragement as others wandered over to watch. She was even happier when the women all left to go down to the stream to bathe.

  The sun continued to drop until, at last, the purple shadows that she had awaited so anxiously began to descend over that part of the camp where the cooking pot was. No one was looking at her anymore, and she fished into her bodice, quickly extracting the pouch and untying it. Then she began to wander toward the pot, pretending interest in the simmering contents.

  A sharp voice caused her to almost drop the pouch.

  “What are you doing?” growled one of the men.

  She reached for the stick that was used for stirring. “What does it look like I’m doing?” She slurred her voice. “Someone must do the cooking. All you pigs do is drink.”

  She was rescued when Valdis snapped, “Leave her be. It will give her something to do.”

  Amber took a deep breath and began to stir the bubbling stew. After a few moments, she slowly looked around to make sure no one was paying any attention, then dumped in the glob of pulverized mushrooms, quickly stuffing the rag back into her bodice. Giving the stew a few more turns with the stick, she turned away, pausing to look at Armand, who was watching her in rapt attention. She winked, and he grinned. It was done.

  She wandered as far away from the pot as possible and, finding a grassy spot, lay down and pretended to sleep. One of the men snickered. “The señorita drinks too much. Now she sleeps it off.”

  “Let her,” said Valdis with a chuckle. “She will need her rest for tonight.”

  They all joined in the raucous laughter.

  The women returned from the stream, and Amber was thrilled to hear one of the men order that the stew be served. She heard the sounds of moving and remained perfectly still, tensing only when someone asked whether she should be awakened so she could eat.

  “Let her sleep,” came Valdis’s voice. “Tonight, I will have some special food for her!” he added, laughing.

  Soon she could hear slurping sounds as they ate, and she dared to open her eyes just wide enough to make sure all of them were eating at once.

  Gerras was the first to show symptoms. “Ayo!” he cried, belching loudly. “My stomach makes noises like castanets. I think I am going to be sick. Maybe the meat was bad.”

  “Maybe we drank too much,” someone else said feebly.

  Valdis grunted. “We also ate too much. The pot is empty. The meat was not bad. It was too good. Now we pay the price for being pigs.”

  Amber peered out from beneath half-lowered lashes and saw that Gerras was swaying on his feet. “My eyes! I can’t see clearly. You are moving. All of you are moving. And now I will fly like a bird—”

  Two women began writhing on the ground and several men stumbled, falling into one another blindly, mumbling to themselves. A guard who had come in from his post to eat fell unconscious.

  Sick cries blended together, making one awesome sound as everyone was struck by the mushrooms. Amber strained to see Armand but could not, and wondered frantically where he had disappeared to. Soon they would make their move, and there was no time to be wasted searching for him. Then she heard a movement behind her in the brush, and turned slowly, hesitantly, to see him crouched there, smiling at her.

  She turned back to the scene once more. When she saw that Valdis was stumbling about, lost in a trance, saw that everyone in the camp was affected, she decided it was time. Rolling under the brush, she crawled on her hands and knees, Armand leading her.

  When they were out of the endless stand of brush and could stand up, Armand grabbed her arm as though he knew where he was going.

  Around a jutting rock, Amber was thrilled to see several horses corralled in a crude pen. Armand slipped between the railings to disappear among them, returning with a small pony. Grinning broadly, he moved back once more and returned with a horse for her. Pushing a railing aside, he led the two animals out and then mounted his pony.

  Soon they were climbing up the side of a mountain. The trail was quite narrow. An animal screeched and Amber jumped, gripping the horse’s mane tightly.

  Hours passed, and still they plodded doggedly upward. At long last, Amber felt they were out of Valdis’s reach, and she said to Armand, “We have to sleep. We’ve got to be on our way early.”

  Sleep swept over them as briskly as the cold mountain wind that blew across their huddled bodies.

  Neither heard the crunching of leaves nearby, or the footsteps of the man approaching.

  Chapter Thirty

  Cord sat for a long time watching Amber as she slept, her face bathed in moonlight. Lying there, her long, silver hair fanned out about her, she looked, he thought, almost too beautiful to be real. He smiled. The boy was quite a scout. Cord had known that Valdis might send someone after him to kill him, so he had kept watching behind himself and had known that the two fugitives were trailing him.

  How had they managed to escape? As weary as he knew she was, Cord dared not let Amber sleep any longer, because if Valdis and his men were following, then they had to keep moving.

  Silently he dropped from the ledge and knelt beside her. Reaching out to touch her shoulder, he hesitated, his eyes moving to the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. Lord, she was all he had ever desired. With gentle fingertips, he touched a breast, smiling as the nipple quickly became taut. She sighed softly.

  He trailed his hand down, caressing her hips, and she wriggled in her sleep. Gently, he pulled her dress upward, exposing her slim, perfectly molded legs, now shaded in a rosy hue by the first threat of dawn.

  Spreading her thighs, his fingers moved nimbly between and he began to caress her. She moaned, for she was dreaming of warm brown eyes, her body on fire, and she gave way to the sweet memory of Cord Hayden’s lovemaking.

  After making sure that the boy was sleeping soundly, Cord undressed. He maneuvered himself on top of Amber, spreading her legs wider and cupping her buttocks. With one mighty thrust, he was inside her, and he gasped as he felt the hot velvet surround his manhood so eagerly. It was, he realized joyfully, like going to where he belonged, going home.

  Amber’s lips parted, but Cord quickly covered them with his own. Her fingers moved to clutch at his firm back.

  Cord held her tightly, feeling the great shudders building within her as her hips rose, pushing hard against him. He knew that she had experienced her own pinnacle of joy, and he quickened his thrusts, taking himself all the way.

  They clung together for long moments, and then Amber said accusingly, “This is no dream, Cord Hayden.”

  He rolled away from her and propped himself on an elbow, smiling down at her beautiful but angry face. “Don’t wake the boy,” he whispered. “We’ve got some talking to do first.”

  Amber allowed her temper to cover for her embarrassment. “How dare you sneak in here and…seduce me!”

  “Oh, shut up, Amber,” he drawled, caressing her breasts, laughing as she tried to shove him away. “You enjoyed it, and you know it. So stop acting so damned prim. We haven’t got time. I’ve got plenty of questions, an
d you’d better have some good answers. Now let’s start with that scene back there at Valdis’s camp. You seemed satisfied, yet you slipped away and followed me. Why?”

  She lifted her head, glaring down at the possessive, restraining arm across her chest. “It was an act,” she said between clenched teeth. “Valdis made me do it. He said he would kill Armand if I didn’t.”

  “You’re quite an actress, as I’ve told you before. Now, tell me everything,” he commanded.

  Stiffly, she told him all of it. When she was through, Cord made a low, whistling sound and shook his head.

  They lay side by side, gazing into each other’s eyes, and after a while Amber said abruptly, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t suspicious of you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Suspicious? Why?”

  “You told me you loved me, but I wonder if you really do.”

  He laughed softly, not mockingly; then he shrugged. “I guess I’m just going to have to find a way to prove to you how much you mean to me, Amber. Right now, we’ve got to be on our way.”

  He helped her up, then woke Armand, who blinked happily at the sight of him. Cord told him to untie the horses. When the boy was out of hearing, he turned to Amber. “Let’s understand each other. I’m going to have to ride like hell to get to Wyoming by the time Major Powell begins his expedition. I probably can’t make it, and if he’s already gone, then I’ll have to catch up with him. You and the boy are coming with me, and you will stay with me till I figure out what to do with you. There’s no time to take you anyplace else, and I’m not going to let you loose. Valdis is sure to come after you. Now, we’ve got a long ride ahead, and it’s going to be rough. Can you make it?”

  “I can make it,” she told him with fervor. “And I promise we won’t hold you back or get in your way.”

  He trailed his fingertips down her face. “You won’t ever be in my way. Neither will the boy. I just want to prove to you how much I care, because I know you don’t trust me. Now—let’s ride.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  They rode north for two weeks, great silences falling among them for as often as whole days. They ate whatever Cord and Armand could find. Armand was happy, but he sensed that he should stay out of the adults’ way, and he rode his pony just a little ahead, appearing to ride in his own world.

  Amber and Cord said little to each other, but it seemed that every exchange had a deeper import than the one preceding it. It was a probing process both needed—Amber especially. She was deeply disturbed by Cord’s continual nearness. How, she asked herself, could she have fallen in love with this stubborn, wild man? And how could she have fallen in love with a man who had bedded Maretta? Who had not even claimed to love Maretta? What kind of man was this, she wondered over and over, sometimes frantically.

  But lying deepest was this: Cord meant to leave her behind while he went off with Major Powell. Just leave her, as though she were baggage he could drop off and pick up at will! This was a man who professed love? No! her heart cried. If Cord loved her, he wouldn’t just leave her.

  Suddenly, in Arizona, the forest ended and the world abruptly became flat and rocky. Amber looked ahead into that void and felt a singing tension all the way to her toes. It was silent, utterly silent, as though all the quiet of time to come and time past had descended upon them.

  A gray mist surrounding them turned violet, then purple. Amber trembled. It was as though that forbidding silence were crawling inside to consume her. She dared not speak, for sound would surely be blasphemous.

  Suddenly, through the mist, the first sight of the canyon appeared. Armand cried out loud with delight at the spectacle, and Amber gasped, dropping the reins. It was awesome: ribbons of color ripping through the earth, all the beauty and all the splendor that the hand of God had created.

  They reached a precipice, and Amber and Armand slowed their mounts, but Cord motioned to them to move along, and in a few more steps a sharp descent was visible. Gray sandstone slopes spotted with black brush bordered a narrow, rocky path, and clumps of junipers and mesquite had to be navigated. They entered a deep, narrow, twisting corridor filled with shadows. By then, only a scant glimpse of indigo sky was visible.

  The cliffs enclosing them changed colors every few feet, from rich brown to vibrant scarlet, to purple, and to turquoise and pale green.

  The air became cooler as they made their way on down, and Amber shivered as she marveled that it was summer. They rounded a sharp curve of rock to find an astonishing array of fresh green cottonwoods, their branches tossing in the chilly winds, and willow trees, through which could be seen the gleam of moving water.

  Cord reined his horse to a stop, and Amber and Armand followed suit. For long moments, they sat in silence, staring. Cord murmured, “The Indians tell me this is just a creek. At some point I think it empties into the Colorado River.”

  Moved by the majesty of it all, Amber’s anger at being deserted was, for the first time, cast aside. “The water is so blue. How deep the color is!” she said in awe.

  He nodded in agreement. “The Indians told me that when it first comes up out of the floor of the canyon, it has no color at all, but then it begins to look turquoise. I can understand the color of the ocean being like this because the sky is reflected by the water. But this creek is only about two or three feet deep. And there is no way for the sky to be reflected here, not with all the cliffs and rocks in between.

  “They say there are four big waterfalls a few miles away,” he went on happily, “and the water cascading down is also blue.”

  He looked at her beseechingly, but not apologetically. “Every time I come across something like this, my blood starts racing. I guess that’s why I have the wanderlust.”

  Then suddenly he became serious, almost morose. “I’ve told you everything about my past in the last week. I feel like a new man, knowing I don’t have to run from lies any longer. Being invited to join this expedition is a special gift. It has nothing to do with the way I feel about you. It’s just something I have to do. Can you understand?”

  Her eyes teared. “Cord, I’m trying. Believe me, I’m trying. But so much has happened to me, my life. And to complicate everything, I have to understand about your love affair—or whatever it was—with Maretta.”

  “I can’t undo what’s been done,” he said sharply. “That’s all in the past.”

  She looked away and said nothing.

  He cursed softly, then said, “Come on. Let’s ride.”

  She followed grimly, Armand close behind her.

  After a while, Cord looked up, startled, and she followed his gaze, stunned to see Indians peering down at them from a ledge above.

  “It’s all right,” Cord told her “Stay here.”

  She moved her horse closer to Armand, who was grinning happily over this newest adventure, while Cord dismounted and began climbing up the side of the cliff. Amber watched as he made his way up, then disappeared behind the large rocks. Moments later, he reappeared and climbed down, four of the Indians following.

  “It’s all settled,” he said, smiling at her. “They’re going to take the two of you on down to their village now.”

  Amber felt a new wave of despair wash over her. There was nothing more she could say to change his mind. And how could she tell him of the despair over his leaving? Perhaps he would never return. They had discussed this on the journey, but she had hoped he wouldn’t leave her here.

  She stared up at him, biting her lip to keep from crying. The top of her head barely reached his chin, and she felt like a child. “How…” she gasped brokenly, “can you do this to me, Cord? What if you don’t come back? What will become of us?”

  He jerked her against him, one hand entwining fingers in her long, silver hair, pulling it gently back to see her vulnerable face. He devoured her mouth with his own. Abruptly lifting his lips, he whispered huskily, “Nothing will keep me from coming back to you, Amber. I promise. And I promise I’ll find a way to prove I love you�
��just as you will realize how much you love me.”

  He left her then, mounting his horse and riding away. He did not look back.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The ride was rough, and Cord was not surprised to find that the sight of Powell and his men made him feel exhilaration. He was vigorous again. Someday, he vowed, Amber would understand what all this meant to him.

  One of the men looked up and waved with his left arm. Seeing the stump of the right arm, Cord knew it was Major Powell himself. He waved back and started down the powder-dry gully leading to the river. Powell was an unusual man, a man Cord deeply respected. He had lost his arm at the Battle of Shiloh and resigned from the army in ’65, then joined Illinois Wesleyan University as a professor of geology. Two years later, he had become a lecturer at Illinois Normal College and had begun a series of expeditions into the Rocky Mountains.

  Cord grinned, thinking about Powell’s salty personality. He was only one of thousands of soldiers who lost arms in the damned war, and he hadn’t let it stop him from doing what he wanted to do—which was answering the call of the wild. He was a short man, too. Cord laughed out loud as he recalled what Powell had told him about a bet he made with his close friend, the eminent geologist W. J. McGee. McGee was a very tall man.

  “One day I was staring up at his head,” Major Powell had laughingly recounted, “and I told him, ‘I’ll bet I have a bigger brain than you have.’ Well, he just laughed at first, and then he realized I was seriously making a bet, and he accepted it. You know what we did? We both made out wills, leaving our brains to each other. When each of us dies, some doctor will take out our brains and measure them.”