The Lost Baroness

by Judith B. Glad

  "Siri, I'm fine. Just set the pail away from the fire and come to bed."

  "Nej, first I must turn these." She rearranged his britches on the clothesline, putting them closer to the fire, where her skirt had hung. "These are still damp. My skirt is almost dry." She fussed with the clothes a moment, smoothing them, straightening the pantlegs, undoing a fold in her hem. "I will just--"

  "Siri. Come to bed."

  She jumped. "Ah, ja. I will come in a--"

  "Now."

  She approached the bed as if it was a rattler about to strike.

  Buff stifled another grin. "Take off your sash," he told her when she lifted the slicker to get in.

  She did, after fumbling with the knot. Released, the baggy Union suit drooped, puddling around her slim ankles. It also clung to her high breasts, showing their shape, defining the erect nipples.

  Buff swallowed and tried to look away.

  She hung the scarf across the foot rail and scooted under the covers.

  The bed squeaked. The ropes stretched even more. The two of them were caught together in the middle, held prisoner by the pole siderails, trapped by the sag. Their bent knees tangled, their heads bumped.

  Under other circumstances, Buff would have been delighted to find a warm, wriggling woman in his arms. Right now he could hardly move, let alone take advantage of the situation.

  Well, hell! "This isn't going to work," Buff said. "Can you get out?"

  "I think so." She tried to sit up, and ended up halfway on top of him. She tried to roll away and only plastered herself more firmly against him. When she put her hands on his chest to brace herself and shove, her knee slipped between his thighs.

  He inhaled sharply. "Stop! Don't move!"

  She hesitated long enough for him to get hold of her. Carefully he lifted her away, held her while she got the other leg over the edge of the bed. After a couple of false starts, she climbed out and reached back to help him.

  Buff grabbed the hand she held out. "Damn, Siri. You almost unmanned me!"

  At first she didn't understand, then, when his words made sense, she gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.

  "I am sorry!" she whispered from behind them. "I did not mean..."

  "Of course you didn't," he told her as he rolled out of the mantrap. "I was teasing." Halfway, anyhow. "I guess we sleep on the floor after all."

  "I will make us a bed. It will not be so bad." She picked up her slicker and pulled it over her head, like a cloak. "I will be right back."

  Before he could argue, she was out the door. Almost as quickly she was back, carrying a fir branch. She held it outside, shook the rain off of it, then used it to sweep a place in front of the fire.

  Feeling like an idiot, Buff watched her. He was the one who'd grown up in the woods. Why hadn't he thought of doing that?

  When the floor was reasonably clean, he pulled the makeshift bedding from the pole bunk and spread it on the floor. He still made them one bed, because he'd be damned if he'd sleep alone tonight.

  It really is too cold, he told himself.

  Her cheeks burning, Siri stared into the fire. Behind her, she heard him arranging the two slickers and her petticoat. Going out into the cold, wet darkness had brought her to her senses. He did not want her, this tall, handsome man who could have any woman. Beautiful women, who were graceful and sophisticated. Small, graceful women, with soft hands.

  I should not trouble him again. As soon as we return to Astoria, I should tell him I do not want his help.

  And live the rest of her life, wondering what might have been.

  "You coming to bed?"

  She turned. With the fire behind him, all she saw was his silhouette, rimmed in golden light. His hair was like a halo--en ängel? Or djävul? Surely a djävul, for he tempted her almost beyond redemption.

  Despite common sense, against her better judgment, she went to him.

  He was gentle. No sooner had she lay down than he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against him. Not face to face, as she had expected, but with her back against his front. He slipped his other arm under her head, giving her a pillow. "Sleep well," he said, the words little more than a breath in her hair.

  Siri told her body to relax. She forced her breathing to be slow and even, refused to gasp for the great gulps of air her lungs demanded.

  As warmth crept from his body to hers, she felt her bones melting, her flesh becoming soft and supple. Confusion knotted her belly. This strange, unsettling feeling would not leave her. At the same time, old warnings echoed in her thoughts. If he took what she offered so freely, would he ever respect her again?

  Valter had taken her maidenhood, but he had scorned her for giving it up so easily. The old anger, so long stifled, rose in her belly until she burned with it. She could still hear his harsh voice, as he forced her skirts higher, as his big fingers bruised her thighs. "You want it. I know you do. Well, this time you'll get it, little flörtis."

  Think about something else!

  Her children. Where were they tonight? Were they warm? Safe?

  Did they miss their mor? Or had they forgotten her?

  Rosel would remember, she knew. Her daughter had not liked staying with Martine, had always cried when Siri left her to return to Astoria. But little Rolf was so young. The last time she had visited them, he'd shrunk away from her, had clung to Martine.

  Would she ever find them? Sometimes, when the night was dark and her body ached from turning mattresses and beating rugs all day, she had trouble finding even a small kernel of hope alive in her heart. She feared she would grow old searching for them, always alone.

  Ahh, I must stop this feeling sorry for myself. Surreptitiously she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Tomorrow, when they returned to Astoria, she would again go to the docks, would question every riverman one more time.

  Tomorrow! Oh, gode Gud! She would be expected at the hotel tomorrow. When she did not appear to serve breakfast, the Welkins would be angry. Carleen knew where she was and why, but would she conceal Siri's absence?

  Could she?

  "What's wrong?"

  "The hotel," Siri told him. "I must get back as early as I can. As soon as it is light. If the Welkins... My job..."

  "Your job be hanged." Gently he pulled her over onto her back, rose on one arm to look down at her. "Siri, it's not your fault you're stuck here. Surely they'll understand."

  The firelight flickered on his face, glinting off the day's growth of whiskers.

  "They are very strict. But I will tell them why--"

  "No you won't. You do that, Mrs. Welkins will assume the worst. I'll tell them--"

  "The worst? What do you mean?"

  "She'll figure we made a night of it." A small smile came and went, softening his face, making him appear almost boyish.

  "A night?" Realization struck. "Ah, ja. She will. Mrs. Welkins believes that all who work for her are omoralisk. Sometimes I thought she did not believe I visited mina barn. That I met a man, instead."

  "Immoral? You? Great God, Siri, any one who's been around you for any time at all knows you're about as strait-laced as they come." He chuckled. "For a woman who's been married, you're about as innocent as can be."

  Stung, she said," I am not innocent." No wonder he did not want her. No man wanted a clumsy, inept woman in his bed. "I may not be as skilled as the fancy women you have had before, but I can--" She sought the right words, the words Carleen would use. "I can show you a real good time," she quoted.

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. His face had gone hard, still.

  After a moment, he shook his head. "Look, we're both tired. Let's get some sleep." Once more he lay behind her and pulled her against him. His body was not relaxed now, as it had been before.

  Nor could Siri let go of the tension that knotted her belly and her muscles. She had made him angry, and she wasn't even sure why.

  * * *

  Gott in Himmel! It is getting colder. Jaeger p
ushed past the tangled leafless stems, swearing as his coat caught on something. Was everything in this loathsome forest thorned or otherwise hostile?

  Yet another cold droplet found its way inside his collar, making him wince. All the way from Daws' Landing, he had fought his way among ice-weighted branches that often drooped to the frozen soil. Here and there the hillside had given way, and long fingers of mud and debris lay across the trail.

  Wondering if there was any place on the earth where more rain fell, Jaeger wiped the water from his face. Even the broad brimmed hat didn't entirely protect him, for the thrashing fir branches threw droplets in all directions.

  A storm was coming. He'd felt the air grow colder over the past several hours. Now there was a hint of ice in the rain, as if it was turning to sleet.

  It was unfortunate he had been unable to persuade the boatman to wait until after dark for the return journey. Now he would not get back to his room until after midnight. Following this narrow trail in the dark meant that every step he took had to be carefully placed and tested. One misstep and he could find himself careening down the steep, wet slope into the river.

  Crystal would be waiting for him when he returned. Worrying. It was time to do something about her. Although she was amazingly inventive and satisfyingly eager for his body, she was a potential danger to his plans. He must deal with her.

  But not until he had used her to ease his hunger, the hunger that always came when his plans came to fruition.

  He smiled. While he slept warm and satiated in a soft bed, would Lachlan and the woman huddle, wet and hungry, in the drafty stables? Or would they find other shelter?

  Wherever they spent the night, Jaeger hoped it would be cold and damp.

  * * *

  Buff woke sometime later, listening. Something had changed.

  He held his breath. The wind had died down. But there was another sound to replace its voice in the trees.

  A quiet susurrus, almost a whisper. Easing himself away from Siri, he got to his knees, then stood. An ear to the door told him nothing. He cracked it open.

  A puff of freezing air blew in, carrying minute ice particles that stung his exposed face, his bare hand. Damn! I was afraid of this. He slammed the door, immediately regretted it.

  "What is it? Is something wrong?"

  Her voice was husky with sleep, invitingly seductive.

  "Sleet," he said. "We may be stuck here a while."

  "Ah, nej! I must go back--"

  "Siri, there's no way we'll be able to walk that trail with ice on it. We'd be crazy to even try." He knelt beside her, gently pushed her down. "We might as well get a good night's sleep instead of worrying about it."

  "But--"

  "Go to sleep, Siri. There's nothing we can do about it tonight. And we may need to be rested tomorrow."

  Gradually she relaxed.

  He didn't.

  The small room was little warmer than the outdoors, and they had only a few small pieces of wood left. With a sigh, he went to the clothesline and pulled down his britches. Almost dry. Quickly, before he could change his mind, he pulled them on. After lacing his warm but still damp boots onto bare feet, he pulled on his wool shirt and grabbed one of Siri's scarves to tie over his head. No sense freezing to death.

  As an afterthought, he grabbed the Norwegian sweater he'd bought for her. It was supposed to be waterproof. He'd find out.

  He eased the door open, wondering if the watcher was still about. The hair on his nape lay flat, though, and after listening a few moments, he slipped through.

  The distance between the house and the stables had seemed longer this afternoon. It was plenty far enough, he thought, feeling a trickle of icy water make its way down the back of his neck. Rather than going through the stables, he followed the wall around. Why the dickens did they put the woodbin so far from the house? It makes no sense at all. The woodbin at their cabin in Cherry Vale had been no more than ten steps from the door, far enough that any termites it attracted wouldn't move to the cabin, close enough a body didn't freeze while fetching more firewood.

  He took as big a load as he could carry, good sized, well cured logs that would burn slowly and give off plenty of heat. Halfway back to the shed, he realized that the effects of the concussion had all but faded. He no longer felt weak-kneed and wobbly. Must not have been as serious as I feared.

  He still didn't remember anything beyond standing outside the stable door. Had he seen his assailant?

  Siri opened the door for him. "I heard you go," she said as he entered. "Why did you not wake me?"

  "No need for both of us to be awake." He dropped the wood near the fireplace. "Here. Let me get out of these wet things."

  She helped him pull the ice-crusted sweater over his head. While he was removing his boots, she took it to the farthest corner and shook the worst of the sleet from it. Once she had it on the clothesline, she turned to him. "You are so dum! So foolish! What if you had fallen unconscious? You could have frozen to death. Tripped and broken your leg. Gotten lost in the dark. You could have--"

  He did the only thing he could do.

  He silenced her with a kiss.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Siri had never been kissed like this. Mr. Lachlan's mouth was soft on hers, yet demanding, hungry. She sighed into his mouth and gave herself up to paradise.

  With every touch he warmed her, as his hands lingered on her breasts, smoothed the skin of her back, stroked lightly over her bare buttocks.

  I am naked, she realized. Somehow it seemed right that she should be. Unembarrassed she leaned into his embrace, raised her face for more of his mind-drugging kisses.

  "Touch me, Siri," he said into her mouth. "Touch me."

  Her hands, which had been clutching the front of his Union suit, relaxed, as if his words had stolen her bones. Clumsily she flattened her palms against him, feeling the strength of his chest, its motion as he breathed deeply. Under the fabric she discovered a swollen nub, one that fascinated her. She toyed with it. Valter's chest had been so hairy that she had never seen his male nipples.

  He groaned and pressed himself against her.

  The hard ridge of his lem pressed into her belly. As she had with Valter, she fought the impulse to recoil, and stood passive.

  Now he would lay her on her back and push himself in her. Siri could almost weep. For a little while she had felt cherished, protected.

  She had almost felt loved.

  He eased away from her, tipped her chin up. "Siri, what's wrong?"

  Shaking her head, she said, "Ingenting. Nothing...I am ready."

  Once again he picked her up, held her on his lap as he sat on the log stool. Her Union suit fell from her feet. Under her hip she could feel his lem, still hard.

  "The hell there isn't. You were like warm wax in my hands, and all of a sudden you turned into an icicle."

  "You...you surprised me. That is all." She shivered, then leaned against his chest as much to share his warmth as to show her acquiescence. "I am ready for you. Please...let us--" She hesitated, knowing no other word but the vulgar jucka Valter had called the marriage act. Something told her he would be insulted if she spoke that word.

  She wished she could see his whole face, but the fire was on his other side. All she could see was a gold-rimmed profile. His jaw was firm, his eyes closed. When he swallowed, she saw the working of his throat.

  Afraid to relax, Siri held herself stiffly, hands tightly clasped together. Gåshud rose on her arms, and she was afraid he would see it as a sign of fear. She let herself shiver again, so he would know she was only cold.

  His arm tightened around her. After a while his hand began to stroke along her leg, from above the knee to mid-calf. He was staring into the fire, his face turned mostly away from her. Gradually the soothing strokes relaxed her, warmed her from the inside out. His lem must have gone soft, for she could no longer feel it pressing against her hip. She wondered if he had changed his mind.

  She was nodding,
about to drop into sleep when he spoke. "Why do you think men and women make love?" His voice was low, perhaps a little pensive.

  "Women do it to make babies," she told him, certain of her opinion, "and to please their men."

  "Hmmm. And men?"

  "I think they cannot help themselves." She thought about Valter, whose lem had seemed to grow hard and big hourly. "I am happy I am not such a slave to my hungers. It must be oläglig...so inconvenient."

  Did he laugh? She was not certain.

  His hand continued to stroke along her leg. After another long silence, he said, "So you've never felt pleasure with a man?"

  She had to be honest with him. "No, but sometimes I wondered...if Valter was gentle, there was a...a warmth, almost a tingle." Something like she had felt tonight, while he had been kissing her, she realized. Only smaller. Like a seed, instead of a flower. "But it always went away."

  His hand stopped moving on her leg. "You've talked to Carleen. Why do you think she sleeps with the men at the hotel."

  Such a silly question. "For the money, of course. She will not go to a man's bed unless he gives her a present."

  "Is that what she told you?"

  Siri thought back. "Well, no," she admitted. "But she did say I could make more money by warming the residents' beds than I do as a maid."

  His hand moved again, and her skin heated under its touch. "What a shame," he said. "A damned shame."

  "A shame? That Carleen sells herself? Or that I do not?"

  His hand paused at her knee, then stroked higher. "That you've never learned to enjoy what happens between a man and a woman."

  He turned his head toward her, and again she wished the fire was not behind him. All she could see of him was the halo of gold that was his hair and the pale gleam of his eyes. Then his teeth flashed. "Would you like to learn?"

  Djävul! she decided. No doubt about it. Buffalo Lachlan was a djävul, bent on tempting her into sin. She licked her lips. "Ja," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "Ja. I would like you to teach me."