Captive Eden

by Brenda Williamson

  She spun around, facing him. From his quick, sharp tone, she became aware his hurt ran deep in regards to not having his son for four years. She sympathized for that kind of anguish and touched his arm, stroking the short fibers of black hair with a soothing glide of her hand. How often had Charlie required her to comfort him when troubled? Father and son, so much alike.

  “I didn’t disappear.” Looking back at Charlie, she was glad to see the horse had overtaken her son’s interest instead of their predicament.

  He had always wanted a horse, but in the city it wasn’t a practical animal to keep. Though she had let friends lead him around on theirs when they came visiting.

  Slipping her fingers over the warmth of Brant’s forearm, putting her other hand against the center of his chest, she pushed him back from Charlie’s hearing range. “Don’t do this to me—to him.” She bowed her head. “I’m begging you not to take the only thing I have left in my life.” She kept her gaze down, afraid if she looked into Brant’s eyes, she’d lose the fight to keep hidden her deepest feelings for him.

  His silence kept her talking, explaining.

  “You stopped coming to visit me, Brant. For days, I sat waiting in the apple grove down by the pond and you never showed up. I thought you must have already known I was carrying your child and hated me for it. Feeling abandoned and frightened, I had to tell someone. My condition left me little choice. I had to tell my father.”

  Eden paused and took a slow, deep breath to keep from crying. Brant’s desertion had crushed her spirit. The baby coming had been her salvation from falling into the permanent despair she had suffered.

  “You have to know how hard that was for me, knowing how my father felt about you. I was sixteen, unmarried and terrified. After he took a willow switch to me, he sent me back east to live with his sister in Boston. They fabricated a lie, telling their friends that my husband died of a fever. I hated leaving you but going meant our child would be safe from him.”

  She glanced at Charlie, hoping her whispered tones kept him from hearing the heart-wrenching story she’d never told anyone.

  Brant’s silence distressed her. What was he thinking? Why wasn’t he responding?

  She continued blurting out facts to make him understand. “I trusted you to be there for me and you weren’t. I went away to have a baby, Brant. I stayed away so my father couldn’t abuse him.”

  Brant lifted a hand, touching her side and she pushed away from him. The feelings she had buried long ago rose with a resentment she hadn’t wanted to face.

  “I had to do what was best for me and Charlie. You have no right to treat me as if you were wronged more than I was.”

  “He is mine and I want him.” Brant declared as if she hadn’t spilled her soul to him.

  “Then take me too.” She lifted her face and looked straight at him, fighting to not lose her son but also seizing the chance to have Brant in her life. “I’ll do anything you ask, anything at all, I promise.”

  A glimmer, a tiny trace of agreement flickered in Brant’s brown eyes. It gave her hope. Maybe she’d been wrong to think he no longer cared for her. After her initial fear she had done something to upset him, she had created a slew of plausible excuses as to why he had stopped coming to see her.

  His father wouldn’t let him take a white girl for a wife.

  His mother worried he’d be hurt or killed by white men for touching a white girl.

  He got sick—terribly ill so that it prevented him from visiting her.

  She had lengthened the list with every passing month until Charlie’s birth. Then the illogical explanations for his disappearance took over again. Most importantly, he had never loved her.

  “You would live in my village with me?” His tone softened, hinting at vulnerability.

  “Yes.” Her mind soared with the prospect of what he suggested.

  He lifted his hand too quickly near her face and she flinched. She hated she had no control of the reaction. Years of abuse by her father had left her scarred in a way no one could see.

  Brant dropped his arm back down. “I will be in charge of his teachings from now on.”

  Eden nodded quickly. He made his intentions clear. Agreeing to be with him under any terms filled some of her needs. For Charlie, she’d save her arguments for battles she could win.

  Brant stared at her as if he reconsidered the hasty arrangement. Did he fear she’d be trouble? His expression gave away nothing about his decisions. Then he slowly lifted his hand to her face again. He lightly touched her cheek and slid one finger along her jaw.

  “You will do as I say?” He gripped her chin and leaned closer.

  “Yes,” she answered gently, seeing desire in his eyes more than danger.

  He let go of her face, but he didn’t withdraw from being close. His gaze moved over her face in a searching manner. Did he look for telltale signs of her lying? She closed her eyes as a memory flooded her thoughts.

  Sitting between his legs, Eden leaned back against Brant and watched the ripples in the pond from the gentle breeze. She shivered each time he swept his fingers across her belly or brought his hands up to cup her breasts.

  It seems as if hours had gone by since they had undressed, yet minutes since Brant bedded her right there in the soft patch of grass and clover.

  “Will you come into me again?” she asked, more nervous than the first time since she knew there was pain.

  “I want to.” His pushed his hand down her belly and fingered the patch of hair covering her sex. “But I do not want to make you cry any more.”

  “They were tears of joy, Brant. You made me a woman, your woman.” Her breath came quicker as Brant’s fingering moved into her.

  “I will be patient, my Eden.”

  “Why?” She panted, laying her head back against his shoulder.

  “So you do not tire of me coming into you.”

  “Why would you think I would tire of having you so close that we are practically one?”

  “I have heard talk in my village, women complaining of their husband’s appetite for sex.”

  Eden’s quick, short gasps prevented her from speaking. She swung her head back and forth and writhed with delight at the sensations Brant created inside her.

  When they subsided, he pulled his fingers out and licked them. Then he twisted her face up and kissed her. The fervent passion of his mouth moving on hers and his hands squeezing her breasts continued. Then he pulled his mouth from hers.

  “I will never tire of you wanting me, Brant. Never.” She twisted in his embrace.

  He lowered her to the ground and rose over her as he had before. His elegant body pressed to hers as they came together.

  Brant’s touch startled her from the reverie of how he once enveloped her in the warmth of his adoration.

  With his grip on her elbow, he led her to his horse.

  “Can we get our things from the wagon?” She glanced in that direction.

  “I will provide for you.” Heat radiated from his palm against her back.

  While she’d eventually miss some items from her luggage, like her shell hair combs and her lilac water, she trusted Brant to provide all she’d really ever need.

  “What about the horse. You can’t leave him hitched to the buggy.”

  He walked to it, flipped the brake off and hooked the reins over the harness. “He will return to the trading post.” He slapped the horse’s rump and sent it trotting off.

  She watched her possessions roll away with the horse. “Someone will come looking for me.”

  “But they won’t find you.”

  She didn’t like the prospect of what the people at the trading post might do if she was missing, but she couldn’t think of that now. She’d not let Brant leave her behind.

  “Can I ride with Charlie, then?” She watched her son petting the horse he sat on.

  “The boy is old enough to sit a horse alone.” Brant gripped her by the waist.

  For one long minute, she and
Brant stood as they had many times before. His gaze traveling to her face, the expression suggesting he also recalled the past. How many times had he set her on his horse? His gentle manners always impressed her.

  Placing her hands on his shoulders, she readied for him to lift her to sit sideways on the saddle. “His name is Charlie,” she reminded him as he made picking her up seem easy. “I don’t see why I can’t ride with him. You and I both know you could catch us if I tried to escape.”

  “The boy does not need his mother holding him.” He swung up behind her.

  She looked back at her son. He appeared so small on the horse. “Hold on tight, Charlie, just like I taught you.”

  “He will be all right.”

  “Fine, but could you please not scare him?”

  Brant gave her a grunt as an answer. His rigid body pressed against her back. One arm circled her waist, the other hung midair where he held the reins. When his long fingers tensed, she wondered if holding her wasn’t his real reason for not letting her ride with Charlie.

  “Is the lead rope to Charlie’s horse secure?” Eden peered around Brant’s arm to check on Charlie again. “In Boston, we rode in carriages. Sometimes I led him around on a horse, but he’s never ridden one so you can’t let the rope go free.”

  Brant glanced at Charlie first and then to the rope tied in the ring.

  Eden noted the hint of worry in his eyes and rubbed his arm in understanding. “You will teach him.”

  A magic spell couldn’t have captured her any better than the movement of Brant’s fingers digging into her side, latching on as if she’d get away.

  “He will learn everything there is to know about a horse,” he whispered hoarsely over her head. “He will learn to be a brave warrior like his people.”

  “His people are mostly white. The only Indian blood in him is the half from your father.” She reminded him, looking back to see Charlie’s horse still calm and safely hitched to Brant’s saddle. “He’s been raised white and you can’t take that from him.”

  “The boy will learn to be Pawnee.”

  “I see your stubbornness hasn’t changed.” She turned her head and stared at the strong line to his jaw, the determined set to his mouth. “You can’t undo his life up until now.”

  Brant’s gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth. He swept loose wisps of her hair back from her face. “I do what I want,” he answered.

  If that included kissing her, she was prepared. She had longed for the day Brant’s passion spilled over her again. Leaning on his rock-solid chest, she waited for him to bow his head and press his lips to hers. She tipped her head back, ready to find out if her memory was different from reality.

  Then he spoke, “You will have no say over what I do with him.”

  Anger swept away the idyllic opportunity of her boldly taking charge of the moment and kissing him.

  “I’ll agree to let you teach him things I never could, except know this, Brant Sullette, he’s a child raised on my love alone. If you ever do anything to hurt me I’ll make him hate you.” She didn’t know why she chose then to challenge his authority, especially when he could dump her on the ground and ride off with Charlie. But years on her own had toughened her against domineering men.

  “You rely on the fact he would know of such matters between us.” Brant retaliated. “Remember you are only coming with us because I allow it.”

  Chapter Two

  When Eden’s father had first told Brant he had a son, Brant’s prideful elation turned to resentful hatred. He wanted to kill William Caruthers but waited patiently instead to seek revenge against the woman who betrayed him. Taking his son from Eden was a fitting punishment. But after hearing her explanation and seeing distress in her beautiful face, his pain felt worse than a bullet in his chest. His lungs tightened, limiting his breathing.

  He had lived a lonely five years not wanting anyone other than Eden. The women he bedded since had been indiscriminate choices, whores he didn’t remember. He’d grown bitter on regret.

  As they rode across the prairie toward the village, he held Eden close. The smell of her heightened his desires and the softness of her body almost begged him to hug her and profess his love. He inhaled her store-bought scent and remembered a time when he had traded two blankets and a bone-handled knife at the trading post to get Eden a bottle of the fragrance.

  When Eden turned her head to look over his shoulder, he had a moment to study her features. Her pale skin glistened with perspiration. She was as beautiful as he remembered.

  “He’s getting tired, Brant. He needs me.”

  He avoided looking in her eyes. She always had a hypnotizing stare that made him powerless to refuse her anything.

  “Brant!” She pushed free of his hold and slipped off his moving horse.

  “Whoa,” he called to the animal, bringing it to a stop.

  Eden fell to her knees on the ground but got to her feet quickly. She hurried to the horse Brant led. He dismounted and watched her lift the boy from his horse. Half asleep, the boy drooped against his mother’s shoulder.

  “He could have fallen and got hurt,” she reprimanded him. “He needs to rest.”

  “He will ride with me and you ride his horse.” Brant put his hands around the boy’s midsection.

  Eden refused to let go.

  He didn’t step back.

  With an exasperated breath she relinquished her hold.

  After they started again, Brant took the opportunity to study the boy asleep in the cradle of his arm. He looked for resemblances of himself and only saw Eden. Her nose and mouth, even the shape of the boy’s pale face had the gentle contours as his mother’s did. Nothing could stop the love he had in his heart for Eden, so it seemed natural to feel the same for the child she bore him.

  Brant rode into the small Pawnee village with a measure of pride. Everyone knew about his son. His mother did not consider keeping it private. A grandmother’s delight was hard to suppress when she wanted her friends to know.

  His ego swelled as he showed his people that he had reclaimed what was rightfully his. While the boy gave him a chance to salvage what was left of his spirit, his broken heart looked for ways to forgive Eden and regain everything he had with her.

  “Nothing has changed,” Eden commented.

  “As it should be.” He stopped his horse.

  “Life does go on,” she added.

  “Does it?” Questions filled Brant’s mind. What had Eden done over the years? Had she found someone to make her happy? Would she plot to go back east? He had been determined in his plan to take his child away from her. By Indian tradition, she and the child were his.

  Motioning for his young half-brother to come and fetch his horse, Brant dismounted with Charlie.

  The boy woke and rubbed his eyes. His gaze went around to everyone gathering about them. “Mama?”

  “She is here,” he assured the child, hearing fear in his tone.

  He carried the boy to where Eden had dismounted.

  She swept Charlie’s hair to the side but showed no sign of needing to take him. “Are you awake enough for your father to put you down, my sweet boy?” Eden asked.

  Charlie nodded, his gaze still on the sights surrounding them. Brant lowered him to his feet.

  “Do not fear them,” Brant patted Charlie’s shoulder to bolster the boy’s courage. Then he looked to the people coming closer. “Sully,” he called. “This is my son Charlie. Take and introduce him to your mother.”

  Charlie looked up at Eden with a glimmer of concern.

  “It’s all right,” she smiled. “You can go.”

  Brant watched the boy’s curious inspection of everything he passed.

  “How many wives do you have?” Eden’s question brought his attention back to her.

  He hadn’t considered she might think he had embraced all Pawnee customs, including taking more than one wife. He tried to find a trace of jealousy in her expression.

  His mind dragged him b
ack to the night he and Eden made lifelong vows. They had lain together, professing their love beneath the heavens. For an Indian, it need be nothing more than saying she was his wife to make it so. He thought she knew that.

  “One,” he answered without elaborating.

  “Is that a white man’s law you follow because your mother is white, or is it you’ve not found another woman who would accept you?” Her words had a ring of bitterness.

  “My preference has never altered.” He took her arm. “Come, my mother will wish to see you. She has often mentioned how much she has missed you. Do not upset her with complaints.”

  “Like she has a son who has developed the manners of a badger? What will she say when she learns you would steal my son from me?”

  The leather flap hanging over the opening of his mother’s log-structured lodge flipped back. Tears streamed down her weather-wrinkled face. She had loved Eden since the first time Brant had brought Eden to the village.

  “My daughter has come home, at last,” his mother cried, rushing to hug Eden.

  Sully and Charlie followed her out of the lodge.

  “Can I show Charlie the canoe we made?” his brother asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Brant.” Eden stepped back from his mother’s hug and grabbed his arm. “Charlie can’t swim.”

  “Then he will learn quickly if he falls in the water.” He waved the boys to go.

  “Please, he’s all I have.” Her other hand touched his chest. The heat of her palm sank deep. Through the leather vest, into his heart, her fear leached into him.

  He didn’t want to cause Eden distress. “Sully, do not let Charlie go too near the water,” Brant called, also acting on the side of caution.

  “Thank you.” Eden patted his arm.

  Brant watched the two boys run off toward the river.

  Eden’s touch slipped from him as his mother led her away.

  “Brant said you went to Boston,” his mother sighed. “Such a large and busy city, I understand.”

  “It’s different from anything around here, Lucy. There are many buildings and a lot more people than one could ever imagine being in a single place.”