“Yes,” she breathed. She still felt its effects all the way to her toes. Unable to stop herself, she stared with longing at this positively mesmerizing man.
“You know he did that for you don’t you,” Kelly said.
“Did what? Smile?” she asked.
Kelly grinned. “No silly, the shave and haircut. And the new shirt.”
Jane’s big green eyes grew even bigger. “I think you may be right, Kelly,” Jane said. “I have never seen him in a shirt like that.”
Catherine made herself stop staring and tried to throttle the dizzying desire racing through her. Her dormant body had come to life.
With a ripple of excitement, she took the other two by the arm, and turned them all around, before walking them swiftly away. “Come with me ladies. Jane grab some of your rose soap. There’s just enough daylight left for us to go to the river and bathe and then you can help me into one of my special gowns,” she said, unable to hide her high spirits from her voice or to stop the butterflies from flittering through her insides.
Just before sunset, anxious to try the new fresh tobacco he purchased in town, Sam found a quiet place by the river’s edge to smoke his pipe. He studied the untamed splendor before him. The spectacular sandstone cliffs on the opposite bank awed him. He admired their natural stone formations and the lush shoreline, covered with tall hardwoods. The shelter provided by the high banks and the river’s winding course ensured that the wind had little impact on the water’s surface.
On his side of the river, the ancient trees cast dark shadows on the blue-green water, so smooth it looked like glass. On the opposite side, the water’s surface reflected a perfect upside-down image of the timber lining that bank. The images festooned the river’s edge like garlands of ribbons and lace. He decided this would be his favorite spot while they remained in Boonesborough.
Would Catherine remain in Boonesborough or would she continue on? He hoped she would not decide to return to Boston. He had to admit, he didn’t want her to leave.
As he filled the bowl with the tender fragrant leaves, he thought about what Stephen had told him in town. Could his brother be right? Could it be that Catherine loved him? The thought made his heart pound faster in his chest. But whether it raced because he wanted her to love him, or because he didn’t, was still unclear to him.
Before he could light the pipe, he heard a sound behind him. Instantly, he stood, unsheathing his knife, gripping it tightly in his hand.
“It’s just me Captain,” Catherine said.
Sam took a slow deep breath and sheathed his blade, then looked up. At the sight of her, he lost his breath again. His gaze roved as he appraised her, traveling first to her face and then to the creamy expanse of her neck and chest.
He cleared his throat, pretending not to be affected by her. “Please, join me,” he said. He motioned to the large log that served as his perch.
“Goodness Captain, you have quite a view,” she said, looking around them after she sat down.
Her slender hands unconsciously twisted together. Was she nervous?
“Yes, I do,” he said, his eyes never leaving her. He did not want to tear his attention away from her for even a moment. Her beauty was exquisite, almost ethereal in the dimming light.
She wore an exceedingly becoming gown that he had never seen her wear. The burgundy satin nearly glowed in the evening light and the gown’s low neckline revealed the soft mounds of firm breasts. Her long black hair hung loose and curling around her shoulders and framed the flawless pale skin of her face and chest.
As usual, her beautiful dagger hung from the sash tied about her small waist, yet she looked every inch a lady.
“Don’t you think it’s time you called me Sam?”
“Well, Sam, if you insist, it would be my pleasure.” She smiled at him with lips that were full and rounded over even white teeth, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he smelled fresh mint on her breath.
“You’re looking particularly lovely this evening in that fetching gown.” She was slender, but the gown accentuated every enticing curve.
“Thank you. It’s my favorite gown,” she said, stroking the rich fabric with her long fingers. “Frankly, I had had enough of feeling ugly and ill-kempt. For this one evening at least, I wanted to feel like a gentlewoman again for some reason. And there’s nothing like wearing a fine dress to lift a lady’s spirits.”
“You could never look ugly, even in dirty rags. As for being a gentlewoman, you will always be one, no matter your circumstances. Although I admit, the genteel are few and far between here on the frontier.”
“Indeed. But that doesn’t mean we have to give up good manners and fashionable clothing. Sometimes, I miss feeling—well, like a lady.”
“I’m sorry if we haven’t…”
“No,” she interrupted, “it’s not any of you. You’ve been most kind and gracious.”
“Then?” He found his eyes trained on the distinct bow of her upper lip. It was perfect, and tempting. So tempting. His mouth nearly watered with an overwhelming urge to kiss her.
They seemed to share an undeniable physical awareness of each other, as an intense, nearly palatable, attraction built between them.
Pensively, she looked out into the near darkness. “I want to feel…,” she hesitated, “I want…”
She turned her head back to him and gazed up and into his eyes with such need, he could only yield to it. He grabbed her waist, circled it with his arm, and tugged her against him. He could feel her soft breasts pressing against his chest and, within him, his heart, long cold and dormant, warmed and came fully alive.
She opened her lips to his. Then he lowered his mouth to hers, drinking her in, tasting the sweet wine of her lips and mouth. His kiss was urgent and exploratory. So this is what it felt like. A delicious, intoxicating sensation. He had wondered hundreds of times, far more than he wanted to admit, how it would feel to kiss her. And now he wanted to kiss her a hundred times more.
She quivered and he felt her body soften, yielding to the hunger growing between them. She gave herself freely to the passion in his kiss, demanding more with her own forceful domination of his lips.
As he roused her desire, his own grew stronger. But he controlled his demanding lips, making them caress hers, become slow and gentle. Touching her like a whisper, his tongue traced the fullness of her lips, moist and warm.
She returned a tantalizing feather-touch kiss. He nearly shook with the sweet tenderness of it.
When he began to feel his head spinning and heat flaming in his loins, he released her, while he could still put the fire out.
Raising his mouth from her lips, he gazed into her sparkling eyes.
Catherine, breathless, stared back at him with a searching earnestness. A soft pink flush, like sunrise on snow, rose on her cheekbones. As she caught her breath, she studied his eyes and he was lost in hers. They were speaking to him, eloquently, compellingly. He was beginning to believe Stephen was right. He saw love in those beautiful sapphire pools.
No, it’s only the same smoldering desire that filled him.
“Sam, I…”
“Do you feel like a lady now?’ he interrupted on purpose, tracing a fingertip lightly across her moist bottom lip.
“Sam, I never realized a kiss could feel like that. I….”
“Neither did I,” he confessed, shocked at his own response. His lips still burned with a nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss her again.
He ran the same fingertip down her neck and then slowly across her chest. His hand nearly shook with the desire to touch her breast.
He could so easily become besotted with this woman.
But, he needed to end this now, before he took another step toward the abyss gleaming in her eyes. He was already smitten, it wouldn’t take much more to make him fall in and drown. The first time he touched her, her pull was a delicate but tantalizing thread. Now it was stronger, and even more compelling.
“Shall we return to camp? It�
�s getting quite late,” he suggested before he said or did anything else.
He could almost see Catherine swallow her disappointment.
“Yes, of course.” She turned away, no doubt weary of his reticence. Gathering her skirts, she abruptly started back to camp, her dark hair swinging about her proud shoulders as she walked.
He followed, closely behind, wanting to reach out and stop her with every step he took.
But he didn’t.
Chapter 19
John kept his horse at an easy trot. Although harder on the rider, a trot allowed a horse to cover a long distance without wearing out. His horse should be able to get him there sometime tomorrow. The trail that led toward the O’Reilly brothers’ farm was not difficult to follow. In fact, John found it quite scenic and, after traveling with such a large group for so long, the solitude seemed refreshing. He realized he needed some peace and quiet—time with only the good Lord as a companion.
Dusk began to descend but John decided he would not make camp until late tonight. The full moon would make staying on the trail easy enough and he wanted to get as far along as he could. He would press on until his horse started to give out.
He hoped he would be able to convince this O’Reilly fellow to come back to Boonesborough with him. Lucky McGintey had said O’Reilly was a reasonable man and had no wife or children and had only a brother who lived with him so he should be willing and able to leave quickly. Nevertheless, John also knew that anyone with a Scots or Irish name could be stubborn, sometimes for no apparent reason at all. He hoped this would not be one of those times.
When the moon hung nearly overhead, John finally stopped to let his horse rest. He decided against a campfire, afraid it might alert thieves or natives, so he settled for cold dried beef and biscuits. By then, he was so hungry they tasted delightful. He threw his blanket beside the saddle and leaned up against it, both his pistol and his Kentucky rifle next to him. He took in a deep breath, smelling the musky scent of the deep woods. The timber smelled differently here than it did back home.
Home. He closed his eyes and thought of Diana. What would she think of Kentucky?
He fell sound asleep within a few moments, the fatigue of being in the saddle at a hard pace all day catching up to him.
“If ye snored any louder, you’d waken the dead,” Bear said, kicking the bottom of John’s boot.
John tried to clear his head of the dream but part of it still lingered. He had slept hard and dreamt of Diana. A dream so real he could still feel her presence here with him. Maybe he had woken the dead. What did she say? In the dream, she seemed worried about something. She kept trying to speak to him, but no matter how hard he tried, he just could not make out what she said. The words were there but weren’t there at the same time, as though they could reach his ears but not his brain.
John rubbed his eyes and rose up on one elbow. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought ye might be lonesome out here all by ye self.”
“Bear, why are you here?”
“Something in me gut just told me I should join ye. Na other reason. Had an ale with Lucky just before I left Boonesborough and he said the same.”
“You mean you came all the way out here to take care of me?”
Bear grinned broadly. “Like a mother would her babe.”
John resented Bear’s protectiveness. “You should have stayed at camp. That is what we all decided. I can take care of myself.”
“Aye. Nonetheless, gettin’ this witness is important to all of us. If ye do na mind, I’d like to help you get the man back to the Judge.”
“All right, now that you’re here. But in the future, let me take care of my responsibilities.” John realized he should gladly welcome Bear’s presence, but his pride stood in the way.
“I meant na disrespect, so do na take any,” Bear said, pulling Camel’s saddle off.
John stood to stretch and fixed his eyes on the heavens. The crisp air and the clear night magnified the brilliance of the full moon and stars decorating the black velvet sky.
He never felt closer to God than when he looked upon the night sky. Why? Maybe the sheer magnitude of the heavens made an individual man feel trifling and in need of protection. Or maybe it was just easier to see spiritually at night. Perhaps the unseen world was more visible with less light—or even no light. Maybe a person can see that which is spiritual more clearly without the distractions of light and color.
Bear interrupted John’s theological ponderings. “I sometimes wonder if there’s one of those wee stars for each of us.”
“Maybe so,” John said, his eyes still fixed above.
“Do ye believe that old Indian legend about a fallin’ star?” Bear asked.
“You mean the one about when you see a falling star it means someone you know is going to die?”
“Aye. That’s the one. It makes me na want to look up at those stars.”
“I don’t know,” John said. “Nothing in scripture says that, although natives are a spiritual people. Maybe they’ve been given their own kind of wisdom.”
“Their beliefs are pagan.”
“Even so, could there be truth in it? What if their religion is just as holy as our faith?” John asked. “The earth is populated with many different peoples, of many different faiths.”
“There’s only one source for the Lord’s word—the good Book. Everythin’ else, written or spoken, painted or carved, man created, although they may have received the inspiration or talent from God, I wouldna call it ‘holy.’ The actions of those Indians we killed on our trip to Kentucky do na reflect the truths of the Lord’s word. Unprovoked, they attacked us—nearly killed Stephen with that arrow—and not just the men, but Jane too. And they’d have killed or kidnapped the wee children if they’d had half a chance.”
Bear carefully scanned the woods around them before he continued.
“And do ye know what they would have done to us if they’d captured us, man? I’ll tell ye because I’ve seen what was left after they’ve done it. First, they mutilate ye. Then they emasculate ye. Then they burn ye alive. I’ve beheld those blackened remains of what used to be a man. Spiritual beings couldna do such a horrible thing.”
John shuddered. “It is barbaric, but we’re moving into their lands, their hunting grounds. They’re protecting what’s theirs.”
“What makes it theirs? Just because it’s their huntin’ range? How can they be so greedy as to claim this entire vast wilderness as theirs? Besides, they do na have a firm claim to most of their land. Tribal rivalries cause the boundaries between tribes to shift all the time. There’s na difference between fightin’ another tribe and fightin’ us for land. D’ye know what they did a few years back to General St. Clair’s army? They killed six hundred of his men and then stuffed every one of their mouths with dirt. Every one. It supposedly symbolized satisfyin’ in death their lust for Indian lands.”
“I believe they will eventually come to know Christianity as we do.”
“Nay. My prediction is that 100, even 200, years from now, they’ll still worship pagan gods. They will never willingly leave their culture or completely become a part of our country. But, that’s their right I suppose.”
A howling wolf broke the silence of the night and the eerie sound sent a chill skidding down John’s spine.
Bear’s hunter eyes methodically searched the surrounding area until he was satisfied there was no threat.
John glanced down at the tomahawk in his belt. He had reluctantly taken it when Sam said there was no such thing as having too many weapons in the wilderness. His older brother had said the west was welcoming to all types of men. You just had to be tough enough and smart enough to survive. He thought he was smart enough. But was he tough enough? He was beginning to have his doubts.
John’s gaze turned back up to the heavens. He caught his breath as he watched a star fall from the sky.
Almost in response, wolves howled again in the distance, playing their
long haunting notes.
“I’m worn out. Thought I’d never catch up to ye.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll stay awake,” John said.
“I could use a wee nap, but stay very alert,” Bear warned. He threw his pallet down near Camel. Bear’s snoring, echoing through the forest, soon replaced John’s.
John carefully scanned the darkness around them before getting comfortable again. The woods seemed to shudder as wind gusts made the branches of nearby trees quiver. The full moon sent whispery white beams through every tree bough, making the darkness seem full of menacing ghosts. The dream must still have him on edge.
He hated to admit it, but Bear’s presence was comforting. Normally Bear was a gentle giant, but when danger confronted, the giant could handle most any danger fearlessly and ferociously.
John placed his rifle across his lap. The sounds of insects chirping, owls hooting, and bats flapping crowded the night air. He listened to them for some time, fighting sleep. Then he heard coyotes yap. They were close.
Both horses whinnied nervously.
John listened intently as seconds passed slowly. Now, a chill black silence surrounded them, the forest quiet. Except for Bear’s rhythmic snoring, there were no other sounds.
Clenching his hand until his nails entered his palm, he peered over at Bear—thought about waking him. Decided against it. Bear needed rest. Probably just some animal making the horses nervous. He decided to relax and quit being so jumpy. He needed to be brave, like Sam.
Then his scant bravery turned to absolute terror.
Their locks feathered and their half-naked bodies and faces streaked with bright paint, two Shawnee came from nowhere.
He managed to fire his rifle, but the shot only hit a nearby tree.
One Indian grabbed him by the hair and arms while the other howled like a coyote.
His heart beat wildly as the howling brave grabbed his legs too. He struggled against a blurred sea of arms and hands, gripping, pulling, and twisting him, forcing him to the ground. The raw musky scent of them was overpowering, so strong he could almost taste their smell. He screamed, as much to let out the vulgar taste in his mouth as his extreme fear.
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