“Only Papa will. I’ve a commitment in Yucatán this fall. An expedition is being mounted to study Tikal.”
He should have suspected, he thought. Adam was careful to amuse himself only with women who would make no permanent demands on him. “You amaze me, Lady Flora. Most English ladies wouldn’t venture past the fashionable boundaries of Mayfair.”
“Flora isn’t ‘most English ladies,’ ” her father said with obvious pride. “She can probably ride and shoot as well as you and hold her own with a desert sheikh or a Tartar cossack.”
“Papa, you’re embarrassing me. I’m quite commonplace. I simply like to travel.”
“Commonplace” was not a word he would choose to describe Flora Bonham, James reflected. She reminded him powerfully of any number of depictions of Venus; she had the same overwhelming sensuality. Her flesh above the low décolletage of her gown glowed with a palpable lushness, her violet eyes held a mysterious heat, the heavy mass of her hair, rich with golden highlights lured the touch. And her mouth, full-lipped, provocative, tantalized with an intense eroticism.
He hoped she’d leave for the Yucatán soon, because with the volatile state of territorial affairs, he needed Adam’s full attention in the coming months.
He said as much to Adam later when they’d retired to the library after the billiard game and they were seated before the windows facing the mountains. The stars were brilliant in the night sky, the moon a sliver over the rugged peaks. “You must be deeply enamored,” James said. “You let her win.”
Adam shrugged. “I almost didn’t have to let her win. She’s damned good. Did you see the seven-bank shot she made? The last time I saw one was in Paris a couple of years ago when Duvall won against Francois. She’s very accomplished.”
“In a variety of ways, from the barely concealed lust I observed this evening.”
Adam grinned. “She’s quite astonishing.”
“When is she leaving?” James’s voice held a certain grimness.
“In a day or so.”
“And then I’ll have your attention again?”
“You always have my attention, Esh-ca-ca-mah-hoo,” Adam said.
“Will you leave her tonight?”
“If I have to. Are you asking me?”
“We have to make plans to avoid Meagher’s volunteers or defend ourselves against them, as well as deal with the Lakota who will be in camp soon looking for allies in their war. And I have to leave early in the morning for the summer camp.”
“I’ll see you before you go.”
“After she falls asleep.”
Adam nodded.
“She’s waiting for you now, so go,” James kindly said. “I can find my room without you.”
Chapter Six
She was there when he walked over the threshold into his room, seated fully clothed in the middle of his bed.
“I didn’t know how long you’d be with James. I didn’t know whether someone would come in, a servant or chambermaid. My heart’s pounding like a hammer.”
He softly shut the door. “I gave orders to be left alone tonight.”
She exhaled in relief and fell back on his pillows in a playful sprawl. Then, abruptly rolling over on her side, she lounged in a sweep of pale flesh and crushed azure silk. “You think of everything, don’t you, Mr. Serre?” Her smile warmed the room.
“We try,” he replied with an answering grin. His gaze swung to the ebony-and-ormolu clock on the mantel. “It’s early. What would you like to do?”
“Are there choices?”
“Always.”
“First I’d like to dance with you.”
“Here?”
She nodded. The thought had come to her earlier in the day when someone at the picnic had mentioned the Tuileries, and she’d suddenly wanted to be with Adam in Paris before the eyes of his family and friends. It was a dangerous premise, completely out of character.
“You’ll have to sing.”
“Or you.”
His brows rose as he leaned against the door. “You’re asking a lot.”
“Will you?”
“I’ll try.” And he turned the key in the lock.
When he moved toward her across the large chamber, she felt the now familiar excitement at the sight of him. He was elegant tonight in a black frock coat and embroidered vest, the dramatic sleek length of his hair a primeval flourish to his fashionable attire. And when he stood at the bedside with his hand out in invitation, she saw the same untamed sensibility in his eyes.
“I believe this dance is mine, Lady Flora,” he softly said.
Their fingers touched, and then her hand rested in his and they smiled at each other like lovers—shared jubilation, shared pleasure, shared intimacies forever coded in their memories.
He swung her up into his arms, impelled by the same unbridled emotions that had postponed his conversation with James—his need to touch and hold her, his hunger for the warmth of her body. And she flung her arms around his neck and held him fiercely tight as if she knew beneath the hot passion and desire, the immediacy of his body close to hers, the inexorable passage of time ticked away the minutes of their happiness.
He stood motionless, holding her for an inexpressible moment of pungent pleasure overlaid suddenly by a swamping sense of melancholy.
“Remember this,” Flora whispered, her eyes filling with tears, feeling as though she were losing him already, the sensation so powerful she touched his cheek to reaffirm his presence.
He silently nodded, turning his head to brush her fingers with his lips.
“May of sixty-seven,” Flora murmured, his breath warm on her fingers.
“I won’t forget. The Little People are crying over my shoulder.”6
“James is taking you away.”
“Not tonight.”
“But soon.”
He sighed, knowing how limited their time. “It depends … on the activities in Virginia City.”
“You could be hurt.”
He shook his head. “My medicine guards me.” His soft voice seemed to enfold her as if his own spirit had the power to comfort. “Now sing to me,” he quietly said, placing her gently on her feet. “And we’ll dance together this spring night in May.”
And he joined her in the chorus of the song, his low-voice almost a caress, the words of the love song poignant, as they sang of eternal pledges. He held her close, the rhythm of their movements languid in the lamplit bedchamber, their footsteps a whisper on the plush handloomed carpet.
“When were you at the Tuileries?” he softly queried, as if he knew her mind, as if they might have passed each other in the same ballroom.
“Twice last year … during the season.”
He shook his head because he’d been guarding his herds last winter when the Lakota were ranging west beyond their normal boundaries.
“And the year before in the spring.”
“When?” He wanted to have been in Paris then.
She smiled. “In April during the first race meets.”
“And you saw Dongen win the Royal Cup,” he murmured, a smile in his words.
“Your horse?” She suddenly stopped and looked up at him so she could see his eyes, so she could see the answering pleasure she was feeling.
“My horse,” he softly agreed, pulling her closer, his smile elemental happiness. “And the Tuileries were perfumed with mignonette that evening.”
“I remember the night, and now I know why.”
“Our spirits met,” he whispered.
They made love that night with uncommon tenderness, as if their bodies and minds, their susceptible emotions, were spun-glass fragile, as if the melancholy that overcame them at times muted their previous covetous hungers, as if they were alone together in a collapsing world.
“How do you feel?” Flora softly asked very late that night as Adam lay over her, momentarily sated, resting on his elbows, his eyes in shadow. She gently touched one of the pink shells suspended from his ears.
&n
bsp; “Favored by the gods, bia.”
“Or luck.”
His head tipped slightly to one side, and he gazed at her in mild query. “No mystical perceptions?”
“Why do you wear these so often?” she said instead, indicating his earring with a tapping finger, her pragmatism too well developed for myth.
“They were a gift from my mother when I was born. They protect me from harm. They’re very strong medicine,” he softly added.
The demons came back then, his words recalling all the talk of militias and citizen armies, of plunder and defensive forts over the dinner table. “Will there be killing?” Flora fearfully asked, the calm warmth of his body on hers the antithesis of warfare and death.
“I’ll see that you have an escort. You needn’t worry.”
“And they want to kill only Indians, anyway.…”
“It’s mostly whiskey talk and political expediency. It shouldn’t last long,” he soothed.
“I’m afraid you’ll be hurt.”
“I won’t be. Hush, now. Kiss me.” And he followed his words with satisfying action.
Adam entered James’s room at dawn. Softly closing the door, he ran his fingers swiftly through his ruffled hair before moving toward the bed.
“You look tired,” his cousin said, raising himself up into a seated position, “and damned disheveled,” he added, casting a look at Adam’s hastily thrown-on clothes. “I’ve been watching the horizon lighten,” he meaningfully commented, hooking his arms behind his head and leaning back against the pillows.
“Sorry,” Adam apologized, dropping heavily into an upholstered chair near the bed. “She just fell asleep.”
“Flora Bonham seems different. You seem different.” James’s gaze narrowed slightly. “And so soon after Isolde. I’m surprised.”
“Not as surprised as I,” Adam retorted in a low rasp.
“You met her at Judge Parkman’s, I hear.”
Adam slouched lower in the chair and gazed at his cousin from under his dark brows. “From whom did you hear that?”
“Aurora Parkman, among others. The gossip is rife. In your inimitable fashion you neglected several of the normal conventions of etiquette that evening. Maybe you two shouldn’t have come back into the ballroom”—he paused significantly—“afterward.”
“I’m not sure it was my idea to leave in the first place,” Adam said with a small reminiscent smile. “It’s possible she asked me.”
“And you never say no.”
“I may have thought about it.”
“But not for long, apparently.”
“She was undressing at the time, making it damned hard to seriously consider refusing.”
“What if someone had come in? Her father, for instance.”
Adam shrugged. “They didn’t. What’s the point?”
“The point is I can’t have you in love right now. The situation is too grave.”
Adam’s dark gaze met his cousin’s with a penetrating intensity. “Let me calm you, then. This isn’t love.”
“I’m relieved,” James said with a grin. “Such devotion is unusual for you. Allow me my confusion when I see you openingly adoring.”
“You must be losing your eyesight,” Adam quietly replied. “Is Sherman marching north?” he interjected, the subject of his lovelife abruptly curtailed. “Do we have federal troops to contend with as well as Meagher’s volunteer army?”
“No to both questions,” his cousin replied, understanding conversation pertaining to Flora Bonham was at an end. “But Sherman’s aide, Major Lewis, is on his way to Virginia City to determine the extent of the Indian danger.”
“So we spend the summer avoiding Meagher’s political ambitions and hope for an early winter to drive the militia back home.”
“Something like that. Unfortunately, the two forts they’re constructing are extremely close.”
“And talk of gold on the Yellowstone may be of more interest to the volunteers than war with the Indians,” Adam noted. “Since last year’s treaty negotiations to open up this land remain unratified—an added excuse to overrun the area would be advantageous.”
“Don’t forget the railroads’ interest in the coal here.”
“Nor sundry cattlemen’s keen desire to graze their stock north of the Yellowstone. Damned Storham and his bunch are pressing our borders already.” Adam’s voice had taken on a heated irritation.
“I’ll be picking up the additional weapons you ordered in Fort Benton after I stop at the summer camp with news of Sherman’s telegram.”
“I’ll meet you in Fort Benton. In what—four days?”
“Will you still be alive in four days?” James sardonically inquired, surveying Adam’s fatigued sprawl.
“In case I’m not,” Adam replied with a grin, “you inherit my best horses.”
James laughed. “A dilemma of conscience, then.”
Adam heaved himself to his feet and stretched with a great sigh. “I’m going to sleep now for a few hours. I’ll see you in Fort Benton on Thursday.”
In the following days Adam’s interest, his thoughts and fanciful whims, centered on Flora Bonham. He cleared his schedule of all normal activities, turning over the daily operation of the ranch to Montoya. Beyond the necessary commitments of a courteous host to the earl, and the fatherly duties that Lucie required, Adam devoted himself to unremitting sex with Flora.
Time was limited. They both understood. And they plotted and contrived like impassioned lovers to spend every possible minute together. They snatched kisses in shadowed corners, behind hastily closed doors; they stole away for heated rendezvous in the midst of the daily bustle; they met by contrived accident in secluded niches and leafy bowers, in the hushed sanctuary of vacant rooms; they spent blissfully uninterrupted hours of the night together, waking each morning with a small ruinous feeling of despair … for another day was gone.
On Wednesday morning, in the shrouded dark of predawn, Adam turned his head on the pillow and watched the door to the balcony open. Faint light from the waning moon outlined the form slipping through the doorway, and as the curtain fell back into place over the closed door, he murmured, “Xatsi-sa,” meaning “Quiet.”
Easing his arm from under Flora’s head with infinite care, Adam slid away from the warmth of her body, and glancing down to make certain she was asleep, he gingerly rose from the bed. Motioning the warrior standing in the shadows toward his dressing room, he followed and, quietly shutting the door behind them, spoke rapidly in Absarokee.
“How close are they? And from what direction?” The danger had to be imminent if his people had sent this wolf, meaning scout, for him.
“They moved across the Crane Nest River yesterday from the southwest,” White Otter replied.
“How many?” Adam strode toward the wardrobes, the paneled room dimly lit by a small kerosene lamp that had been burning every night since James had left.
“Fifty men.”
“Weapons? Supplies?” Swiftly opening a door, he snatched a pair of leggings from the shelf.
“Sharpses, Winchesters. A munitions wagon leaving deep tracks.”
“We’ll move the village into the south valley today. They won’t find it if we stay far enough ahead of them,” he said, belting the waistband closed. “Is the camp alerted?” He reached for an elkskin shirt.
White Otter nodded. “Everything should be packed for moving by the time we return. They were taking the lodges down when I left.”
Adam’s head slid through the beaded neckline. “Have Montoya bring up two ponies, and I’ll meet you in the stables in five minutes.”
“Esh-ca-ca-mah-hoo says you found a new yellow-eyes,” White Otter said, a quirked smile creasing his bronzed cheek. “And more trouble. Will she let you go?”
“I won’t ask her,” Adam said with a grin, pulling out a pair of beaded moccasins.
“A sensible man,” the tall Absarokee softly said. “Do you want your war pony?”
“Yes,” Adam
replied, sliding his feet into the soft leather.
Short moments later, his knife sheath strapped to his leg, his Winchester slung across his back, Adam stood beside the bed to take his farewell. Flora slept with her hand under her cheek like a young child, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing peaceful, serene. When he bent to gently kiss her cheek, she stirred in her sleep, and he stood motionless and quiet until her breathing had lapsed back into the rhythm of slumber. “Pleasant dreams, bia,” he whispered. He stood for a moment more gazing at her, memories of the past days flooding his mind, and then he softly sighed. “Kamba-k ’úewimà-tsiky,” he murmured, telling her “I must go.” He’d stayed too long already, with the militia tracking down his clan. And they’d both understood from the first that their time together was brief. It was over.
He turned and strode from the room.
When Adam entered the nursery, he woke up Cloudy first. She came to with a start when Adam touched her shoulder, but she quickly recognized his native gear and, struggling her bulk into a seated position, briskly said, “The militia must be close.”
“Close enough to move the summer camp out of their way. White Otter’s here and I came to say good-bye to Lucie.”
“Do you know when you’ll return?” She automatically straightened her nightcap and tucked in errant wisps of her sandy-colored hair, her notions of nicety a constant in her life, even when attired in a rumpled nightgown.
“As soon as I can. Take care of Lucie for me.”
“As if you need tell me,” she said with a small sniff, “since I’ve been with Lucie from the day she was born. More likely I should be telling you to take care of yourself with the bloody militia riding up and down looking to shoot anyone remotely resembling an Indian. Like the heathen Sassenach in forty-five when they massacred my great-grannie’s clan and nigh on every other Highland family.”
“I’m always careful, Mrs. McLeod,” Adam said with a smile. “And we’re well armed.”
“Superior firepower will win the day, my uncle Roddie always said, and he should know, with customs men on his trail most of his life. But I see you shifting politely on those beautiful moccasins, so go and wake Lucie and be gone. Except one last thing,” she added in a staccato rush. “Will the Bonhams be staying on? Lucie’s monstrous fond of them both.” A note of compassion underlay her normal resolute delivery.
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