He chuckled softly and curled one arm around my waist, drawing me against him. Dangerous, the faint voice whispered inside, pull away, be cool and distant, don’t let this happen. He curled his other arm around my throat and bent his head forward to rest his cheek against mine. It was warm, smooth as the smoothest leather.
“The Indians,” I said.
“A few Karankawas aren’t going to bother Randy ’n me. We’ve been in much tighter spots than this. We’ve got plenty of guns and ammunition, and both of us are crack shots.”
“So am I.”
“Really?”
I nodded, and he tightened his arm around my waist and massaged my throat with his forearm, his cheek still touching mine. Danger, sweet danger, and I longed to ignore it and give in to the sweet euphoria that was stealing through me. It would be a mistake, such a mistake. I needed tenderness and words murmured quietly and gentle hands softly caressing me but the price would be so high. I wouldn’t be hurt again. I wouldn’t allow myself to be hurt, and every instinct told me that if I gave in to these feelings the results would be disastrous.
He turned his head slightly and kissed my temple, and I closed my eyes and took hold of his arms and pulled myself free, reluctantly, abandoning the warmth and blessed sense of security. He didn’t object. He stepped back and looked at me and shook his head, patient, willing to wait. I began to stroll slowly along the bank, and he fell into step beside me. All the color was gone now, the water black, the sky a dark, dark gray tinged with purple. The first stars were beginning to appear.
“I’m sorry, Jeremy,” I said.
“Don’t be, lass. I’m content to wait.”
“You’ll wait in vain.”
“I think not.”
“I have something I must do.”
“Tell me,” he said.
And I told him about Roger Hawke and the vow I had made and told him how that vow had given me the will to live. He listened quietly, asking no questions, making no comments, and as I spoke my words seemed hollow, the motivation behind them all wrong. One couldn’t live for revenge, not if one wanted to really live, yet even so I knew I must destroy Roger Hawke.
“I wanted him dead at first,” I continued. “I wanted to kill him, as he killed Derek, but now—” I hesitated. “I will indeed be a wealthy woman when I sell my jewels. I’ll find another way to destroy him.”
“Oh?”
“I intend to own Hawkehouse. I intend to spend the rest of my life there. It’s where I belong.”
“You loved him that much?”
I didn’t reply, and Jeremy didn’t press me. He was silent, lost in thought, his hands thrust into the pockets of his breeches. It was growing darker by the minute, the sky a deep purple that merged into black, the stars growing brighter in contrast. We walked, listening to the night noises, and that splendid closeness was gone and we might have been strangers. For all his jaunty aplomb, his cockiness and irreverent, irresponsible facade, he was a deeply sensitive man, far more sensitive than I had suspected. I had disappointed him, and I sensed that I had hurt him as well.
“We’d better go back,” he said. “I’ll get the fire started.”
He turned and strolled away, the bounciness missing from his long stride. I stood there by the inky water for several minutes, alone, feeling the loneliness, feeling, for those few minutes, as alone as I had ever been in my life, and I couldn’t understand why. It was growing cooler, surprisingly cool after the earlier warmth. In the distance I saw a flicker of orange, and soon a fire was blazing and I could see him standing nearby, arms folded over his chest as he watched the flames.
I heard laughter. Corrie and Em and Randolph were returning. I saw them approaching, mere silhouettes in the darkness. Em and Corrie were both chattering. I stood there for another moment, crestfallen, alone, apart, and then I deliberately banished the mood and hurried to meet them. Em was startled and told me I’d given her quite a turn. She’d thought I was an Indian, and Randolph laughed. Corrie told me that she’d heard a gobbling noise and figured if a wild turkey was around there must be eggs.
“And I found two Miz Marietta!” She pulled one from each pocket of her skirt, holding them up. “Aren’t they lovely? We’re going to have fried cornbread tonight. I promised Mister Jeremy.”
“Fish, too,” Randolph said. “Look at these, seven of the finest fish you ever saw.”
“You’re never going to believe this, luv, but I caught one of them,” Em informed me.
“The littlest one,” Randolph said. “I started to throw it back.”
“You’re lying! Mine’s the biggest of the lot.”
They continued to squabble amiably, even after we had joined Jeremy by the fire. The fire burned down to a heap of glowing red-orange coals as Randolph cleaned the fish and prepared them. They were soon sizzling in the iron skillet Corrie had taken from the galley, and coffee was boiling in the coffeepot, the smell heavenly. When the fish were done, Corrie fried cornbread in their grease. The others ate heartily, and I forced myself to swallow a few bites. I had no appetite whatsoever.
“Reckon we’d better turn in now,” Randolph said after everyone had finished and Corrie and Em had rinsed out skillet and coffeepot in the water. “Tomorrow is going to be a rough day.”
“I’m sure I won’t be able to sleep a wink,” Em declared.
“I can hardly hold my eyes open,” Corrie admitted.
“You want me to take the first watch, Jeremy-boy?” Randolph asked.
“I’ll take it. You get some sleep. I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours.”
I took my cloak and, using the bundle for a pillow, settled under one of the trees. Em and Corrie settled themselves nearby, and Randolph sat down, leaned against a tree trunk and folded his arms across his chest. He was soon fast asleep. Em tossed and turned for a while, grumbling about the hard ground and speculating about the possibility of snakes, but she, too, was soon asleep, as was Corrie. Half an hour later I was still wide awake, surreptitiously watching Jeremy Bond as he paced idly around the camp, pausing frequently to gaze at the water or look up at the sky.
He had put the fringed buckskin jacket back on, for it was chilly now, and he carried a rifle. Although his manner was extremely relaxed, I knew he was very alert, cocking his head at every noise. We hadn’t spoken since he had left me on the bank to go start the fire. Em, Corrie, and Randolph had kept up a merry chatter throughout the meal, but Jeremy had been silent, not obviously so. I had been the only one to notice. He had been at ease, had eaten with relish and had smiled at Em’s more outrageous remarks, but he hadn’t said a word to anyone, nor had he looked at me.
He disapproved of my plans for revenge. He thought them unworthy of me and thought less of me for entertaining such plans. I didn’t expect him even to begin to understand. I didn’t expect anyone to understand. I didn’t care what he thought. Why should I care? What could it possibly matter? He thought I was a fool for wanting to own Hawkehouse and spend the rest of my life there, but what could a man like Jeremy Bond know about my reasons for wanting to do so? Hawkehouse would have been my home had Derek lived.… Derek.… I didn’t want to think of him just yet. The pain was still too fresh, too strong inside.
I had made it quite clear that I wanted no part of Jeremy Bond. Hadn’t I? I could never love a man like that. I could never love any man again, not after what I had known with Derek. One day, Jeremy had said, I would see what was in my own heart, and then I would go to him. I knew what was in my heart already. Of course I did. I was fond of him, yes, that was the right word, one couldn’t help but be fond of him, and I was grateful, but love? The mere idea was totally absurd. I might be physically drawn to him, but that was something entirely different … of course it was.
A twig snapped. Shrubbery rustled. Jeremy Bond whirled around, rifle at the ready. I sat up, terrified. A small, furry creature scampered across the ground, snatched a piece of leftover cornbread and scrambled back into the underbrush. Jeremy grinned a
nd lowered his rifle. Seeing that I was awake, he told me in a very quiet voice that it was merely a raccoon and ordered me to go back to sleep. I rested my head back on the bundle and pulled the cloak around me again, but I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep.
Perhaps half an hour passed, half an hour during which I listened to the hum of insects and the rustle of leaves and the gentle slapping of water. Then I was aware of him standing over me, and I lay very still, my eyes closed, my breathing carefully controlled. He knelt down beside me and adjusted the folds of the cloak about my shoulders and then brushed a strand of hair from my temple, his touch light as air. He stroked my cheek with the same light touch and ran his thumb over the curve of my lower lip. I made a sleepy noise and turned over on my side. He moved quickly away and resumed his lazy pacing.
It seemed I could still feel that light, tender touch on my cheek and my lip. My eyelids were growing heavy now, and the slapping of water against the bank was a soothing sound, finally lulling me to sleep, but I felt his fingertips on my skin even as I slept and it was a lovely feeling, and I wasn’t asleep at all, I was still awake. He was leaning over me again and smiling, and I lifted my arms and drew him to me and the beautiful weakness spread through me and I clung to him, sad, so sad that it was only a dream.
Twenty-Three
It was already extremely warm, even though the sun had been up less than an hour. Em and I had wandered away from the camp to perform our ablutions beside a small stream nearby. Unlike most of the other streams we had seen, this one was clear and sparkling in the morning sunlight, the sandy gray banks littered with tiny pinkish-white shells. After Em had convinced herself there were no alligators about, we had removed our clothes and washed ourselves as thoroughly as possible with no soap. Now, dressed again but still barefoot, we shared the brush and comb I had brought along.
“Corrie never ceases to amaze me,” Em remarked, pulling the comb through her long chestnut waves. “She was up at the crack of dawn, chipper as could be. Before I’d even rubbed the sleep out of my eyes she’d already nipped off to wash herself and fetch fresh water.”
“She’s a different person,” I agreed.
“Lord knows she’s been through enough to change any-one. Some people break under adversity. Others show their true mettle. Corrie’s got mettle enough for half a dozen girls.”
“I imagine she’ll have coffee ready by the time we get back.”
“A four-course breakfast wouldn’t surprise me either. Trade you the comb for the brush, luv.”
I handed her the brush and took the comb.
“Jesus, I’m sore all over from sleeping on the ground. I feel like my bones have been pulverized. I must say, though, you were sleeping soundly enough. It took me forever to wake you up.”
“I was awake most of the night.”
“I shouldn’t wonder with all the snakes and things about. I’m surprised I was able to sleep a wink.”
We put on our shoes, refreshed. My thin tan linen dress with its narrow brown and rust stripes was much the worse for wear, torn at the bodice, several rips in the very full skirt that belled out over my petticoats. Em’s pale blue was in no better shape.
“Did you bring any gowns?” I asked idly. “Or were you too busy snatching up candlesticks and enamel and gold boxes?”
“Grabbed a couple of things,” she admitted, “a rich red brocade and that white silk embroidered all over with deeper white flowers, you remember the one I’m talking about.”
“Vaguely.”
“I never wore it. It looks too much like a wedding gown. I imagine I’ll be married in it.”
I arched an eyebrow. Em grinned.
“A girl has to look out for herself, luv. Randolph told me yesterday he reckoned he’d have to marry me when we got back to civilization just to keep me in line. I may take him up on it. I adore brave men.”
“What if he changes his mind?”
“He’s not that brave, luv.”
We both laughed and started back toward the camp, Em chattering blithely about her future plans.
“I look at it this way, luv, once I sell all my jewelry and things I’ll be a rich woman and all the men’ll be after me and I won’t know if it’s me or my money they’re after. Randolph, now, he’s smitten already and hasn’t an inkling how rich I’m going to be. Besides, I think it’s high time I turned respectable. All this adventure gets wearying after a while.”
“Are we going the right way?” I asked.
“Of course, the camp’s beyond those trees. I can hear the men moving about. Randolph’s no prize, of course,” she continued, “but he’s big and strong and honest and sweet in his way and, truth to tell, luv, I’m terribly fond of him already.”
“Em, we’re going the wrong way. I distinctly remember that thick clump of cypress trees. There were several cardinals perched on the branches, remember? You said you’d never seen such red feathers.”
“You’re right, luv. But those footsteps—”
We paused. The footsteps were drawing nearer, moving stealthily through the underbrush. The color drained from Em’s cheeks. She clutched my hand in hers. We were completely surrounded by trees, and the camp was at least a quarter of a mile in the opposite direction. The footsteps stopped. A heavy silence fell over the woods, broken after a moment by the shrill cawing of a bird. I could sense others nearby, sense them straining to listen just as we were. All the horrible stories I had heard about the Karankawas came back to me, and I knew Em was remembering them, too.
“What—what are we going to do?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“I think I’m going to faint, luv.”
“Run. We must run—”
“I couldn’t move. I’m paralyzed. Oh, Jesus!”
The footsteps sounded again, approaching cautiously. A sense of unreality possessed me. We were standing in the center of a clump of trees, and Em was holding my hand in a crushing grip. The morning sunshine streamed down in pale silver-yellow rays. The shrubbery ten yards away began to tremble, branches parting slowly, and in a moment a savage, tattooed Indian was going to step out, and none of it was real. I was unable to move, unable to speak, completely numb with terror.
The shrubbery parted. A man stepped out, letting the branches fall back behind him.
“I’ll be damned,” he said. “White women.”
He was of medium height with burly shoulders and a broad, genial face and brick red hair. He wore muddy brown boots and brown cord breeches and a brown and gray striped jersey torn in several places. He carried a long pistol, and there was another in his belt, along with a knife. Three other men came out from behind the shrubbery, one of them a muscular blond youth who couldn’t be more than twenty years old. All four of them stared at us in amazement, and Em and I were amazed, too, and flooded with relief. Em quickly recovered and placed her hands on her hips.
“What’s the matter?” she snapped. “Haven’t any of you seen women before?”
“Not in the middle of the bloody wilderness,” the redhead told her. “We heard you. Thought you might be Indians. Crept up quietly, ready to fire.”
“Not quietly enough,” she retorted. “You scared us silly!”
“Sorry,” he said amiably.
“I hope you’re with Jeremy Bond,” she said.
“How’d ja guess?”
“Logic, luv. There were two other rowboats, and, besides, I think I saw you on the beach. It was dark, of course, but a girl couldn’t miss a hulk like you.”
“Name’s Marshall, Frank Marshall. This here’s Chris Sampson—” he indicated the blond youth, “and Hurley and Roberts.”
“Delighted to meet you, I’m sure. Just glad you’re not wearing feathers.”
Frank Marshall laughed. Young Chris Sampson looked stern and apprehensive. Hurley was tall and lanky with straight black hair and shifty gray eyes beneath scowling brows. His face was pockmarked. Roberts was a husky brute with curly brown hair, wide pink lips and fri
endly blue eyes. All four men were dirty and bedraggled and heavily armed.
“We’re awfully glad to see you,” I said.
“Where are the others?” Marshall asked.
“Jeremy and Randolph are back at the camp.”
“Not any longer,” Randolph said, moving toward us. “You two gals seemed to be takin’ an inordinate amount of time bathin’ an’ such, thought I’d come see if you were all right.”
“Thought you might get a peek, too, didn’t you?” Em said.
“Mighta had somethin’ like that in mind. Hello Chris, Frank, relieved to see you. You, too, Hurley. Ain’t too happy about seein’ you, Bobby Roberts. Never could stand that plump choirboy’s mug of yours.”
Roberts grinned. He did indeed resemble a husky choirboy, I thought, a hulking, pugilistic choirboy full of mischief.
“Glad you boys made it,” Randolph continued. “Me ’n Jeremy had just about given you up.”
“Fog got mighty thick, couldn’t see a thing. Waves were bangin’ the boat. We figured it’d be smart to head for shore. Damned near got blown away in the storm, crouched in a gulley, prayin’ somethin’ fierce. Tree blew down and hit Bobby on the head. Didn’t hurt him none. Thick skull.”
“What about Wallace and the rest?”
Marshall shook his head. “We found the rowboat, Randy. It was washed up on shore, had big, gapin’ holes in it. Hurley found Jack Green yesterday afternoon. He—uh—he wudn’t a pretty sight, banged up bad on the rocks, bloody gashes all over his body. We buried him on the shore where we found him. Wallace and the other three musta washed out to sea.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Randolph sighed, accepting the information with a lack of emotion that, on the surface, seemed callous.
“Boys knew the risks involved when they signed on,” he said. “It can’t be helped. Reckon we’d better get back to camp. We got a lot of trekkin’ to do. Ship’s sunk. We’re returnin’ on foot.”
We started back toward camp, silent, the men forming a phalanx around Em and me. I felt a heavy sadness inside as I thought about the five men who had drowned. How many more lives would be lost before we reached New Orleans? I could see that Em shared my thoughts. Her hazel eyes were grave, her vivacious manner completely subdued. Jeremy Bond was waiting for us at the campsite, Corrie beside him. He questioned Marshall carefully and, like Randolph, showed no emotion whatsoever when he learned of the fate of the other five men.
Love Me, Marietta Page 39
