The first time he’d stolen a kiss, they were in the barn alone. Her father was somewhere nearby, and she’d been scared to death he was going to walk in on them, but it hadn’t stopped her from wanting the kiss to happen. And it had been exciting. A bit rough and eager, but very exciting.
David had been so gentle, so different from her father. She now understood that it’s what had drawn her to him. That he always talked about his outlandish dreams had only made him more exciting. Only later did she realize that what she thought had been gentleness had in fact been weakness. And almost worst of all, what had sounded like ambition had only been words from a lazy dreamer.
Smiling sadly, she pushed herself away from the window, crossed to the big chair that had drawn her earlier, and dropped into it. That first stolen kiss had led to so much more. Before she realized what had happened, David had convinced her that if she loved him, truly loved him, she’d let him make love to her. And she did love him. At least, her naive, young heart had told her it was love.
Then, too, there had been that uncontrollable itch deep in her belly that was too arousing to be ignored. He’d awakened something in her that she hadn’t understood. She only knew that their stolen moments together weren’t long enough to appease the hunger. But it didn’t matter so much. The whole idea of love and romance was enough—at the time. And, after all, he’d told her he loved her. She truly didn’t think he’d run like a frightened rabbit once he discovered her pregnancy.
She shook herself and drew in a deep breath. It had taken her a while to understand that, although her father’s methods were heartless, both of her parents had had her best interest at heart. They had seen something lacking in David’s character, which she’d been blind to.
Anna rubbed her temples, her mind now on the child she would never know and love. Perhaps one day there would be another, but she knew deep in her soul that she could never forget the one she’d lost.
She glanced around the room again, a sad smile quivering on her mouth. What a silly fool she was! She had struck out on her own, wanting a fresh start, needing to get away from home, and all she’d been able to do was get herself kidnapped by a bullying half-breed. She’d fought hard against believing she was the hapless, worthless girl her father had said she was. But here she was again, smack dab in the middle of a situation she couldn’t control. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to cry.
She got up and wandered to the table. The unappetizing bowl of mush the Indian woman had brought her looked like homemade paste, something she’d make for the schoolchildren to use. Daintily lifting the bowl to her nose, she smelled it, made a face, and put the bowl back on the table.
Again she walked to the window and looked outside. Her gaze wandered past the buildings to where there was a flurry of activity. There, under the trees, young women were doing chores. All worked industriously, but laughed and talked together as they did so. Their warmth and sisterhood brought a quiet stab of envy to Anna’s battered soul.
She watched the crippled woman who’d brought her the food limp toward the group, hauling a large container of water that sporadically slopped over the sides and onto the ground. The woman handed the bucket to another girl in exchange for a squalling child.
Anna heard the sounds of children at play and craned her neck to see beyond the trees. On a grassy slope at the edge of the compound she noticed another group of children, younger than the others, attempting to play a game of kick ball. She smiled as an older boy tried to direct the youngsters into organized teams, but failed miserably when they began fighting over the ball.
She quickly left the window and fought the tears that threatened. In the past, even though she loved her three younger sisters, she had always cherished her time alone. Now she would have given anything to humor little Emma by rebraiding her long, silky hair after the youngster had purposely unplaited it. Or to have Emma and Lily wrestle and argue over a favorite toy, or even to have Jenny “borrow” some of the toilet water she had hidden beneath the stack of corset covers and drawers in her chest. Yes, she had enjoyed being alone from time to time, but this was ridiculous.
Rummaging through her reticule, Anna pulled out her handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. As she glanced toward the window again, she thought she saw something. She sat quietly on her bed and stared at the window. Slowly, two tiny brown hands gripped the windowsill.
“Hello?” Anna tinted her head and waited. When the hands disappeared, she felt disappointment rush through her. Not wanting to frighten the child, Anna stayed quiet, but crept toward the window.
Slowly, the two little brown hands appeared on the windowsill again, and Anna felt a thrill pass through her. “Hello?” she repeated softly, staying where she was so she wouldn’t scare the little person off.
She heard some rustling and scraping, then saw the top of a tiny head slowly appear at the bottom of the window. Anna grinned, feeling a little foolish that so small an event could make her feel so grand. “My, my,” she said quietly, as if to herself. “What pretty black hair. I wonder if it belongs to a puppy dog.”
When the tiny head didn’t disappear again, Anna hardly dared breathe for fear she’d frighten the child away.
“Are you a pretty little puppy dog?”
When a pair of lively black eyes inched their way up and stopped just even with the bottom of the window, Anna let out a quiet, delighted sigh. “Why, I don’t think you’re a puppy. But …” She paused, waiting to see if the child would run off. “I can’t be sure unless I see your nose.”
The imp slid from Anna’s view, only to peek up at her again, revealing a tiny, button nose. Anna felt a warmth spread through her, and she wiped away the moisture on her cheeks.
“Oh, you have a fine nose. But,” she added sadly, “you probably don’t have a mouth. Tsk, tsk.”
The little head bobbed up and down and the stubby fingers gripped the metal bars that covered the window. With focused effort, a tiny face, solemn and grave, appeared briefly at the window before it disappeared altogether. Then Anna heard a thud and a tiny whimper as the youngster lost her grip on the bars and tumbled to the ground.
“Oh, dear,” Anna cried, trying to see beneath the window. “Are you all right, little one?” There was no answer, but she watched, warmly amused, as a tiny barefoot girl in a long buckskin dress scurried away from the cabin, rubbing her bruised behind.
A deep rush of sadness washed over her as she watched the child disappear into a building. My own would have been about that age. …
She thought of home, and the windowless room behind the kitchen. It had been so cold that day. And the smell … She would never forget the smell of the potatoes and apples her mother had kept stored in the cold northeast corner all winter. And her father’s red, angry face …
“Sinner!” he had shouted as she lay on the cot, writhing in pain as the child was torn from her body. “God will punish you, my girl. You’ve shamed us all!”
Anna hadn’t defended herself. She’d been too shocked and hurt when she realized what her mother had done to her earlier in the morning. She’d always trusted her mother. And when she’d offered her a warm drink on that cold morning, Anna hadn’t suspected anything. Then, as the pains began, she had looked at her mother and had seen the betrayal in the woman’s pinched face.
She remembered, too, her cries for David as she lay there in her pain.
“Stupid girl!” her father had jeered. “The bastard run off. Run off like the coward I knew he was!”
And finally, as she turned from the window, she remembered how she had vowed never to let herself be hurt like that again. Never would she open herself for betrayal by another human being.
Anna pushed her loose hair away from her face and looked glumly around her cell. Frustration and fury began to bubble in her belly. She refused to simply crumple like a straw house in the wind. The worst thing that could happen to her probably would. Her stomach pitched downward as dreaded thoughts of rape expanded thr
ough her. She touched the locket and fiddled with the clasp that opened it. The possibility that she would actually have to take the poison turned her earlier trepidation into full-blown terror. She didn’t want to die. But could she honestly live with herself if she survived rape?
Shy Fawn stood at the open barn door and watched as Nicolas feverishly pitched hay into the horses’ stalls.
“You’re going to pull open your wound,” she scolded.
Nicolas felt the rivulets of sweat course down his face and drip off his chin. “It helps take my mind off things.”
Shy Fawn limped over and dragged the medical supplies off the shelf. “Sit. Let me look at your side.”
Nicolas sat down in front of her, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. His latest bullet wound had begun to bother him more than usual. Maybe it was because he now knew who was trying to kill him. But this latest burst of energy hadn’t been because he’d learned his half brother was the leader of the vigilantes. It had been because of that blue-eyed witch locked in the cabin under the trees. He still didn’t know what in hell he was going to do with her. He’d been so sure the teacher he was looking for was the thin, older woman. Hell, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t gotten a good look at this one. He’d had her pegged as a spoiled, frivolous girl from the moment she’d stepped off the stage. He hadn’t been wrong. He just hadn’t known she was a teacher.
Shy Fawn pulled off the soiled dressing. “The maestra doesn’t like our little village.”
Joke had filled him in on the morning’s events. “So I’ve heard.” He grimaced as Shy Fawn poked at his injury, then pressed a warm cloth to it.
“What are you going to do with her?”
“Damned if I know.”
Shy Fawn swabbed the wound with salve, ignoring Nicolas’s sharp intake of breath. “I think you should take her to town.”
He glanced up into her eyes. There was something in them he hadn’t seen before. “There’s nothing I’d rather do, believe me.”
“Then do it.”
He shook his head. “No. I can’t afford to let her go. Not now. She knows who I am.”
Shy Fawn made a hissing sound through her teeth. “But you said yourself she is of no use to you.”
“She’s still a teacher, and we need her. Anyway, I can’t jeopardize everything we’ve worked for by letting her go. Do you understand?”
Shy Fawn spat indelicately on the ground. “Some teacher,” she mumbled. “Scrawny, pale, and weak as a dried twig. She won’t last a month.”
Scrawny, pale, and weak. That wasn’t how Nicolas would describe the blue-eyed, honey-haired temptress. He’d avoided seeing her early this morning, but knew he’d have to make a trip over there sooner or later. She’d been in his thoughts all night. Awake or asleep, he couldn’t get her sweet, innocent face or her tumble of feathery soft hair out of his mind. And that was the rub. He knew white girls too well. Beneath the fragile facade there was always the conniving bitch. This one would be no different.
When Shy Fawn had finished dressing his wound, Nicolas shrugged into his shirt and went to meet the enemy.
Anna was still stewing over her predicament when the lock on the door rattled again. This time she wasted no time searching out a weapon. Scurrying to the table, she lifted off the bowl of mush and held it high over her head. As the door opened, she hurled the bowl at the crack of blue sky and heard a thud followed by a loud curse.
Anna backed away from the door, scanning the room for another weapon. She spied the fireplace poker again and lunged for it, gripping it between her hands. The door slammed behind her. When she turned, Bear—Nicolas Gaspard—stood before her, pasty mush clinging to his hair and his shirt front.
“Your aim is very good.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping the globs of mush from his hair.
His voice was calm, but Anna sensed the barbaric quality of his temper beneath the thin veneer of control. It should have warned her, but it didn’t.
“I demand you take me to Pine Valley,” she ordered as she backed away.
Nicolas pulled a hunk of mush out of his long, black hair and flung it on the floor. “No.”
He appeared calm enough. Maybe threats would serve. She sidled toward the bed, still gripping the poker. “You’re breaking the law by keeping me here.”
He snorted. “Whose law?”
Her gaze lowered to the floor and she caught a glimpse of the chamber pot under the bed. “The laws of civilized people.”
“Civilized people like yourself who throw food at others?”
“Perhaps that’s what it takes to get a savage’s attention.” She inched toward the chamber pot, knowing it wasn’t empty.
“Listen! I don’t want you here any more than you want to be here.”
Anna gaped at him. “What?”
“If I’d known you were a spoiled, pampered child, I’d have let the good citizens of Pine Valley deal with you.” He walked over to the commode and poured water into the basin.
“I am neither a child nor spoiled,” Anna fumed, watching him bend low over the sink and wash the mush from his face.
“I can already tell,” he said between splashes, “you’ll be useless to me up here.” He opened a drawer, pulled out a folded towel and wiped his hands and face.
“Then let me go. The last thing—” She took a deep breath. “The last thing I want to do with my life is attempt to teach a bunch of dirty, illiterate barbarians.”
He stopped, the towel gripped so hard in his fist that his knuckles turned white. “What did you say?” His question was asked softly, but the tone was as hard as the metal bars that kept her imprisoned.
“You heard me. It’s a waste of time,” she said bravely. Her grip on the poker loosened, and she rested it against her shoulder.
“And why is that?” He slowly hung the towel over the wooden peg on the left side of the mirror.
“It’s an established fact,” she began nervously as he turned from the mirror and glared at her, “that Indians have no desire to learn. And,” she added, spewing out verbiage she’d read, “it hasn’t been proven that they’re capable of learning.”
His stormy eyes narrowed. “I see. And where did you discover this compelling information?”
Anna thrust her chin out, ignoring his sarcasm. “In a journal written by an expert on Indians.”
“In a jour—” Nicolas swung away briefly. When he turned back toward her, his face was expressionless. “Was this expert an Indian?”
“Of course not. But he spent months observing them.”
“I see.” He turned away again, and appeared to study the mirror attached to the wall above the commode. “Tell me what else he said.”
Anna took in the width of his shoulders and skimmed his back and his legs, where the muscles in his thighs were clearly defined through his tight buckskins. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Well, he … he said they were joyous and gentle,” she began hopefully.
Nicolas nodded, but still kept his back to her. “Ah, yes. Sort of like pets, then?”
Anna bristled. He was making fun of her. “Of course not! He just meant that … that they … they weren’t—”
“Fierce?” he offered.
She lowered her eyes and nodded.
“Like I am?”
“Y-Yes.” Her stomach lurched.
Nicolas glanced at her over his shoulder, pinning her with his tempestuous stare. “What else?”
She nervously twisted the poker handle around and around against her shoulder. “They … they love parties.” She made a face. What a stupid thing to say.
Nicolas smirked. “And how do you know that?”
Anna wracked her brain, trying to remember what the journal had said. Suddenly she could see the words in her mind. “He … he said they’re fond of … of ‘social dances and gaieties.’ ”
Nicolas sniffed. “What else?”
Anna cleared her throat again, remembering the references
to the Indian’s stupidity and placidness. “I … I don’t remember,” she lied.
“Isn’t it true,” he said, turning to face her, “that he called us superstitious?”
Anna frowned and looked at her toes. Could he actually have read the same journal? “I guess so …”
“And, although we rank among the lower types of the race,” he added, moving stealthily toward her, “grossly sensual?”
Anna’s head shot up. “I don’t remember.”
When he reached her, he wrenched the poker from her grip and flung it high against the wall. It struck the bars over the windows and clanged loudly as it bounced to the floor.
He grabbed a handful of her hair. “Oh, I think you do.”
She winced as he wrapped her hair around his hand, and when she looked up, his face was mere inches from her own. His eyes were storming again, and his scar a telltale purple. A sick feeling burrowed in the pit of her stomach. Was this how it would happen? Would he take her here and now?
“Please, I—”
He gripped her chin hard. “If we’re so inferior,” he noted, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath, “how do you explain my ability to become as educated as any other man?”
Anna wanted to sound logical. “You’re half white.”
His fingers left her hair and worked their way over her scalp, causing the nerves in her neck to crest with fear.
“So,” he said, his voice a smooth, deadly pitch, “because of the superior white blood flowing in my veins, I’ve somehow risen above my lowly, savage birth. And,” he added, giving her a feral smile, “because the mothers of my children weren’t lucky enough to have been raped by superior white men, they’re too placid and witless to learn.”
Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One Page 4
