Dream Song

by Linda Ladd

  Luke lingered over the kiss, in no hurry at all, his palm sliding slowly from her shoulders to her breasts, then over her ribs and lower. Bethany could not suppress her growing pleasure, or the inarticulate sounds being wrenched from her throat.

  Her arms moved up to twine around his neck. She wanted to feel his mouth against hers again. Her lips parted willingly for his questing tongue, and darts of flame shot through her to her core.

  An urgent knock on the door brought a muffled expletive from Luke, who sat up with barely time to draw the bed sheet over Bethany before Andrew burst into their presence.

  "Luke, get up quick! Beth's gone! Her bed hasn't been slept in and Pete's scared-"

  His worried words halted and his mouth dropped open at the sight of Luke's bed partner. His expression of shock soon turned into his usual good-natured grin.

  "Well, I'll be damned. Sorry, brother, but it never occurred to me-"

  Before he could finish his apology, Michelle and Tante Chloe rushed through the doorway, Peeto and Raffy close behind them.

  "Good God, doesn't anybody in this house believe in a man's privacy!" Luke muttered furiously, pulling a sheet around him before he slid off the bed to face nearly the whole household of Cantigny, all of whom stared in open-mouthed astonishment at Bethany, who sat in the middle of the bed with tousled curls and kiss-reddened cheeks. Luke's anger faded as his eyes fell on Peeto. The little boy was staring at Bethany, a look of betrayal whitening his face.

  "Petie, wait-" Bethany cried, but Peeto did not wait. He bolted from the room before anyone could move.

  His departure, and the black glare Luke was giving them, prompted the other intruders to withdraw. Before the door had closed, Bethany was up, plunging her arms into Luke's black silk dressing gown.

  "I have to find him!" she cried, rushing toward the door. Luke hastily pulled on a pair of trousers before he followed her barefooted down the hall.

  Bethany had disappeared into Pete's bedchamber, and Luke pushed open the door, surprised to find her on her hands and knees beside the bed. Peeto must have hidden underneath it.

  "Please, Petie, don't be angry with me," Bethany was pleading, unaware that Luke had moved into the room and stood near the foot of the bed. When Peeto refused to answer, she squirmed under the bed as well, to where he lay pressed against the wall, his face turned away from her.

  Bethany felt like crying herself. Peeto hadn't reacted so fearfully since the very first days after Luke had left him with the Youngers. He had been tiny and terrified, and it had nearly broken her heart to see him cower under the bed then as he was doing now.

  "What is it, Petie? Are you angry with me?"

  When she reached out to touch his hair, he pushed closer to the wall, covering his head with his arms.

  "Go away," came his muffled voice.

  "I won't go away, because I love you, and I'm worried about you. I'm going to lie right here until you talk to me."

  "You don't love me," came Peeto's small, tortured voice. "You love him. He took you away from me, just like he took my mother away from me. I hate him! I hate him!"

  Pain squeezed Bethany's heart. "I do, too, love you, Petie, you know I do. The only reason I married Luke was so I could be your mother, and take care of you, you know that's true."

  "But, he'll kill you just like he killed my mother," Peeto whispered, his voice roughened by fear.

  Bethany gasped at the little boy's words, and Luke's fingers tightened around the smooth bedpost until his knuckles showed white.

  "Petie, that can't be true! Luke wouldn't ever do anything like that!"

  "Yes, he did! I saw him! I saw him push her off the rocks! He killed her, he did!"

  Luke shut his eyes, remembering that day, remembering the cold rain and Snow Blossom's screams, remembering the terrible, abrupt end as she hit the jagged rocks below the cliff. Bile rose bitter and caustic in the back of his throat, and he turned away from the bed, from the son who hated him, from Bethany. He moved blindly toward the door, then out of the room, where he wouldn't have to listen to his son's terrified accusations.

  Under the bed, Bethany remained unaware of either Luke's presence or his departure. She put her arms around Peeto as he began to sob, pulling his head against her breast.

  "Sssh, Petie, you mustn't say those things about Luke."

  "He took me away and left me. Now, he'll make you love him more than me, and you'll go off with him when he leaves and I'll be here all alone."

  Peeto wept broken heartedly against her, and tears welled in Bethany's eyes as well. "I will never, ever, leave you, Peeto." Her voice caught. "Do you hear me? Not as long as I live. Do you believe me?"

  Peeto finally nodded, and his tight grip on Bethany's neck relaxed. But, Bethany remained close beside him, stroking his unruly hair from his forehead in the way he had always found soothing.

  "I love Luke, too, Petie. I didn't mean to love him, but it just happened. You can love two people at once, you know. You love Raffy and Michelle, don't you? And Tante Chloe?"

  "But, I'm scared of Luke."

  "I don't believe Luke would ever hurt you, or me, either. Has he ever done anything like that to either of us?" Peeto shook his head, and Bethany continued. "Then, you mustn't worry about that anymore. I know you think you saw him hurt your mother, but it must have been an accident. We should ask Luke about it and see what he says. Remember how we always give each other a chance to explain things we do before we get angry? We have to do that with Luke, too. We're a family now, you know. You were very little when your mother died. Maybe you just didn't understand what happened."

  "I saw it," Peeto whispered stubbornly. "It was the day he went away and left us."

  "You know what, Petie?" Bethany said, trying to hide her own troubled emotions. "You frightened Raffy when you ran away. I heard him crying when Tante Chloe made him go downstairs. You don't want your best friend to cry, do you?"

  "No," Peeto replied, and Bethany wiped his tears away with the silk sleeve of Luke's robe.

  "Then, come on, you can help me get dressed, then, we'll go find him. Luke, too."

  But, they didn't find Luke. He had already called for Onyx and ridden away without a word to anyone.

  To Bethany's distress, Luke had still not returned by the time she tucked his son into bed that night. She bent down to kiss Peeto's cheek, knowing the little boy was still very upset, though her solemn promise that she would never leave with Luke seemed to help. She had never yet broken a promise to him, and he trusted her.

  Bethany left a lamp burning very low near his bed, then went slowly to her own bedchamber. She heaved a deep sigh as she looked around the empty room. All day she had wondered how Luke would explain what Peeto had seen. How horrible that such a little boy had witnessed his own mother's death! No wonder he had been so frightened and withdrawn when he came to St. Louis. No wonder he had been terrified of his father.

  Although she had questioned Peeto further about his mother's death, nearly all his childish mind could seem to remember of that day was the moment his mother fell. But, Bethany didn't believe for a moment that Luke had intentionally killed her. He was a hard man at times, difficult to know and understand, and even though she thought him capable of taking a life when warranted, she could not believe he would murder the mother of his only child. She wanted him to tell her what had really happened. Trying to bide her time until Luke came home again, she soaked in the hot bath Jemsy had brought up, all the while listening for her husband's footfalls in the quiet corridors of the sleeping house. The bath did relax her a bit, and afterward she donned a pink nightdress and began to pace her bedchamber. Her thoughts turned to the night before, when Luke had held her so gently, to the way she had felt when his hands touched her with such tenderness. An erotic shiver coursed through her at the memory of all they had shared.

  "Thinking of me, little Beth?"

  Luke's voice came unexpectedly from the gallery door, and Bethany jumped up, alarmed by his sudden
appearance. He hadn't shaved all day, and his shirt was rumpled and pulled from the waistband of his trousers. He smiled with no warmth as he moved into the room, carrying a whiskey bottle in one hand.

  "You've been drinking," Bethany said accusingly, stepping back.

  "You got that right," he replied, taking a swig directly from the bottle.

  He was in an ugly mood, but he wasn't drunk-Bethany could tell that much-and she wasn't afraid of him.

  "I've been worried about you, Luke. No one knew where you were."

  "It's no one's business where I go or what I do. It's especially none of your business."

  Luke wanted to fight with her, Bethany realized at once. He was intentionally trying to make her angry. She sat down on the edge of the bed, silently watching as he stripped his shirt over his head in one swift motion.

  "Why are you drinking?" she asked quietly. "Is it because you're sorry you made love to me last night?"

  "Maybe," Luke said, wanting to hurt her. But, when that very reaction burned a flush onto Bethany's face, he was sorry he had caused it. He didn't know why he wanted to hurt her. He didn't even know why the hell he had come to her room. She probably hated him now, just like his son hated him, just like everyone else in New Orleans hated him.

  "Well, I'm not sorry about it," Bethany said, trying to hide her pain by lifting her chin. "I hope I will have a child from last night. I want to have your baby."

  Luke looked at her for a moment, wrestling with the desire still raging inside him. Why was he fighting it so hard? He wanted her. She was his wife, and she said she wanted him. He had never fought against bedding other women who appealed to him. And, there she sat, waiting, so calm and serene with her big eyes and soft hair, so damned beautiful that it made him ache inside.

  As Luke continued to stare at her, his dark face devoid of expression, Bethany felt a curious sorrow seep into her heart. He was just like Peeto, she thought sadly, except that he wasn't hiding under a bed. Luke was hiding behind the whiskey bottle he held and the strange, self-imposed aloofness he had strapped on his mind like some kind of mental armor. Her heart jerked. Why? Why did he do that to himself? She knew something of Peeto's problems, but what had Luke suffered to make him so hard to reach? What had the Sioux done to him when he was little?

  "Don't you see, Luke?" she said, suddenly wanting to tell him the truth. "I love you, and I want to help you and get to know you better. I've told you things about myself, about the orphanage and my father, but you've never shared any stories about your childhood, or your mother, or anything else."

  "You wouldn't like my stories," he said with a twisted smile, and Bethany's gaze dropped to the ugly scar across his exposed chest. When he saw her looking at it, he turned away, sprawling into a chair. He tilted the bottle again.

  "Tell me about that scar," she said, sure it had something to do with the Sioux.

  "No."

  "You aren't being fair at all! You take me as a wife, then you take me to bed, telling me how much I please you, then you shut yourself off from me and Petie like this. I don't know what to tell him when he asks me what happened to his mother! He thinks-"

  "Shut up, Beth," Luke said tightly, but she wasn't about to leave the subject.

  "No. Petie needs to know about his past and where he came from. He needs to know about you. Luke-"

  Bethany jumped as Luke suddenly came out of the chair, sending the bottle shattering into the grate with a crash. She quailed as he crossed the room with great angry strides, catching her by the shoulders.

  "All right, Beth," he said, his jaws clenched, his face close to hers. "Since you want to know all about me, I'll tell you some of my ugly boyhood stories. I got this pretty scar that fascinates you so much when I was twelve years old. An elder of the tribe held me down while another man pushed a sharpened buffalo bone up through my chest muscle. There were long rawhide cords attached to either end of the bone, so they could hoist me up on the ceremonial pole. You see, my weight was supposed to pull the bone through my flesh until I dropped to the ground, but I didn't weigh enough. So, I hung there by my chest in agony all night until one of the chiefs finally took pity on me and pulled on my legs until the embedded bone was ripped the rest of the way out of my body. Well, love, there it is. Are you happy now?"

  Bethany shook her head, tears rolling down her face, unable to hide her horror and revulsion. "No! No, I'm not happy! It makes me sad and sorry that you had to suffer!"

  Luke stared down at her, his raw rage draining slowly away. "Oh, God," he half groaned, gathering her close as he lay down on the bed, holding her tightly against him.

  "I'm sorry, Luke," Bethany said, sobbing. "I didn't know they tortured you."

  He shut his eyes. "It wasn't torture, at least not in their eyes. It's called the o-kee-pa, or the sun dance. The Mandans believe it placates the spirits of the waters when young warriors offer their flesh to the gods. I did it because it made me a member of the tribe."

  "But, it's so horrible, so cruel! You weren't much older than Petie."

  "That's why I brought him back after Snow Blossom died. So, he would never have to go through it."

  Bethany wanted desperately to ask him more about Peeto's mother, about Snow Blossom, but she was afraid to, so she lay quietly, her ear against the awful scar of his boyhood as he idly stroked her back. His heart beat strong and steady, and after a while he spoke again.

  "I heard what Pete told you today about his mother." He paused as if trying to find the right words. "It's not true. I didn't kill Snow Blossom. It was an accident, a terrible accident. I swear it, Beth."

  She looked up into his face. "I never believed you pushed her, not for one minute," she murmured, stroking his cheek, then lowering her fingertips to trace the angry scar on his chest. "You must have been very brave when you were a little boy, just like Petie is."

  Luke stared up at the pink hangings on her bed. "No. I wasn't brave. I was just a scared child. It took me a long time to adjust to the Sioux ways. I can't remember much about those first few months except that I was always afraid of everyone, that I was angry and alone."

  Bethany's heart ached for him as he closed his eyes.

  "I didn't know their language at first," he continued, "not until Snow Blossom taught me. She was around my age. It was better after I could understand them."

  Bethany took his hand, lifting it to her lips. "I'm glad she was there for you. It must have been terrible."

  "I didn't think of her as anything but a sister until I went back with Captain Lewis's expedition. We wintered with the Mandan, and that's when Snow Blossom and I married and when Peeto was conceived. But, I didn't know about him for several years, not until I went back again to set up my trapping network." He sighed. "I stayed there for a long time, but when I wanted to come back to St. Louis, she insisted on coming with me. I knew she couldn't live with the whites. I had seen how they treated Indians, how they treated me for having grown up with the Sioux. I didn't want her, or Peeto, subjected to that hatred and prejudice, so I left them behind."

  A muscle flexed in his cheek. "For a couple of days, I didn't even know they were following me. Then, I saw them as we were traveling through a high mountain pass. I went back and tried to make her return to her village, but she wouldn't go. She tried to run away from me." He stopped again, fighting the agony he felt each time he lived through it again. "It was raining. God, I can see that place in my mind as clear as if I was standing there with her. She slipped on a stone, and it caused a rock slide. I managed to grab Peeto, but I couldn't catch her in time."

  "I'm sorry, Luke, so sorry."

  "I hoped Pete wouldn't remember any of it. He was so little, just a baby."

  "He's older now. He'll understand what really happened if you explain it to him."

  "Maybe," Luke said, searching her face, "but people who love me always seem to get hurt. Snow Blossom and Pete, and there was another woman, named Camille. I thought if I married her I might be satisfied to live h
ere in New Orleans like other white men, but even while she was planning for the wedding, all I could think about were the mountains and the Sioux and Snow Blossom. I left Camille, too, and I hurt her and humiliated her. But, I don't want to hurt you, Beth. Don't you see? You'd be better off if you didn't love me."

  "It's too late for that," she murmured. "I already do love you. You and Petie."

  Their eyes met, then their lips. Bethany let him lower her down to the pillows. He shifted until he lay half over her, his hands tangled in her hair, kissing her slowly and thoroughly, over and over again. Bethany lay enraptured by his mouth and hands as he worked his magic on her senses, caressing, arousing, bringing her to the brink of paradise until their love was sealed once more by a searing, lovely, indescribable flood of pleasure.

  Much later, when Bethany lay content, close against his scarred chest, floating in the dreamy fringes of slumber, Luke's mouth touched her brow very gently. Then, they both lay quiet until they slept.

  Chapter 13

  Close to the river levee of New Orleans, just beyond the Place d'Armes and the St. Louis Cathedral, was an open market that always bustled with activity. Not only was it a marketplace with stalls displaying every conceivable commodity, it was also a social center where the people of New Orleans from every walk of life, mingled to socialize over warm beignets and café au lait in the coffeehouses and cafés. Here, whispered gossip abounded: stories of the latest duel in the Oaks behind the cathedral; discussions of the virtues of the current opera, and exaggerated descriptions of the gentlemen smugglers, especially the infamous Lafitte brothers whose activities were condoned by everyone in the city-except, perhaps, by Governor Claiborne.

  On a fine Thursday morning in November, Bethany strolled through the market with Michelle, Peeto and Raffy trailing behind them. Ever since the week before, when Luke had brought them from Cantigny to stay in the fine Randall townhouse on Toulouse Street, Bethany had been anxious to visit the famed market.

  Until today, the social whirl that Luke deemed necessary had kept her busy, but since the night Luke had told her about the terrible o-kee-pa, in fact, ever since they had first made love, she felt much closer to him. It was as if he had let down some kind of self-imposed reserve and let her peek into his heart. She wanted to walk the rest of the way into his heart, but it was not to be, not yet. He had still not told her he loved her or that he would stay in New Orleans. But, she was not about to give up hope. He just had to stay with her and Peeto!