Devon stood and his head throbbed. Cord! He couldn’t believe it of Cord, that he would take Linnet away against her will, at least not when she already gave him what he wanted. Or did she? What was she doin’ out in the snow that day unless she’d run away from Cord? Devon could imagine that if she had run away, Cord would be mad enough to do anything.
He drank several gourds full of water and went outside into the early morning. Gaylon was snoring on some bags of flour. He’d obviously finished the bottle of whiskey that Devon had left.
“Gaylon!” Devon shouted, and the old man opened one eye. “I’m goin’ after Linnet. It looks like Cord’s taken her off.”
“You sure she didn’t wanta go? It ain’t like there’s another man around here pays her any mind.”
“I ain’t got time to argue with you. Get me some jerky while I saddle my horse.”
Linnet sat in front of Cord rigidly. He had run his hand over her body freely at first, but had grown angry at her stiffness and had soon ceased. Now they rode in silence. She would not allow herself to relax for fear she’d fall asleep, and she wanted to stay very aware of the direction they traveled. She would wait for a chance and then escape and make her way back to Sweetbriar.
He did not stop until well into the next day, and Linnet was so tired she could barely walk, but Cord looked as fresh as if he had just rested. “Here, sit down.” He pushed her to the ground. “Ain’t nobody followin’ us.” He laughed. “It ain’t gonna be easy keepin’ this from my little cousin. After I get tired of you, I’ll sell you to one of the other trappers, then I’ll just breeze into Mac’s town sweet as you please, and he won’t know the difference.”
She listened to his words, but to his voice more. “Why are you afraid of him?” she asked quietly.
Cord’s face nearly turned purple as his rage mounted. “Afraid! Cord Macalister afraid of a little thing like Mac?”
“You say you’re not afraid, but I hear something else in your voice.”
He drew back his arm to strike her but she sat still, her eyes steady and unafraid. She knew there were worse things than being beaten.
Cord recovered his smiling facade. “I guess you’re a right smart girl. It ain’t that I’m afraid of Mac but it goes a little deeper than what most people see. Somethin’ I know and he don’t is that he’s not my cousin, he’s my brother.”
Linnet’s eyes widened.
“Slade Macalister was my pa, too. He warn’t much more than a boy hisself when I was born, but even so he should of claimed me, ’stead of leavin’ me with them people. Never could abide those preachin’ people. I was Mac’s age ’fore I found Slade, and it always galled me that he never told nobody I was his son.”
“But I don’t understand,” Linnet said. “Agnes knew Slade, and all the people knew him long before he came to Kentucky. They would have known he had another wife.”
“Not wife, little missy. I was the result of one night’s tumble in a field when Slade Macalister was just a pup.”
She considered for a moment and then said quietly, “Did Slade ever know about you?”
“He should a’ knowed!” Cord said with venom.
Linnet began to understand. When Cord was an adult, he came west searching for his father, expecting his father to recognize him, the hate in him building when he was not recognized. “You must resemble your mother.”
He eyed her carefully. “My ma died cursin’ Slade Macalister. He made her life hell. I grew up with her livin’ with her parents, ol’ man always preachin’ at me, tellin’ me I was a child of lust and sin.” He gave an ugly grin. “I broke his jaw ’fore I left, the same day my ma died.”
“So now you’re repaying Slade by hurting his son.”
“That’s right. Last year I took some little girl away from him and now I’m takin’ you.”
“But there I’m afraid you’re wrong. Devon doesn’t care for me. Didn’t you know that when he had a chance to kiss someone, it was Corinne, not me? I only teach him to read.”
“You tryin’ to get me to go after Corinne?”
“No!” She hadn’t realized that it sounded that way. “No,” she said more quietly. “It’s just that Devon doesn’t love any woman since what happened with Amy Trulock.”
“Know her name, don’t you? Look, I ain’t crazy, and you can’t talk to me like I was. I wouldn’t of carried you off ’cept you made a fool of me ’fore ever’body in Sweetbriar.”
“I didn’t! Cord, at least I didn’t mean to.”
“No use tryin’ to talk your way out of this. Fact is, I’m beginnin’ to feel like a little lovin’ right now. Come here.” He grabbed at her, and she jerked back, his hand tearing away the shoulder of her dress. “Ain’t gonna do no good to fight me. Why don’t you just be real still and enjoy what I’m gonna do?”
She walked backward, away from him, and tripped over the trunk of a fallen tree. She fell heavily, her back on the ground, her legs over the tree.
Cord stood over her, hands on hips. “Just the way I like ’em—legs up in the air.” He knelt and ran his big hand along the inside of her thigh. “You’re rounder than I’d thought. I like nice round legs.” His other hand ran inside her other leg.
She pushed up on her elbows, trying to get enough leverage to be able to move away from him. Her long skirts tangled about her, one calf pressed between the log and Cord’s heavy body. His hands moved farther up her body. She felt a rock against her fingertips and stretched to reach it. With all her force she brought the rock down on his head, surprised when so much blood began to flow all over her and the masses of white fringe entangled about her.
Her heart pounded, raced, as her first thought was to see to his wound. No, she cried to herself. She could feel his heart against her thigh and knew he was alive. She would have little enough time to escape before he woke. She pushed hard to get him off her body and tore her skirt from waist to hem on the tree.
She stood, dazed for a moment, unable to think what to do or where to go. Think, Linnet, think! she commanded herself. Get away, south toward Sweetbriar. Go quickly and steadily. Do not run, but keep an even pace. She walked as fast as she could, taking long, steady breaths, listening always for any sounds of pursuit, trying hard to be as quiet as possible.
She was so incredibly thirsty, yet she did not dare stop for water. By the sun it was late afternoon when she fell. She landed on her back but her fall triggered a rotten tree and it crashed across her leg. She bit her hand to keep from screaming when she saw it strike her leg, but then she recovered enough to wonder at the lack of pain. She sat up to examine what had happened, unable to move her foot. Her foot was in a hole and that was what had made her fall, yet the heavy log now pinned her to the place. She pushed but didn’t have the strength to move the log.
Somehow, she was just too tired to care at the moment, too tired to expend any more energy, and she lay back and looked up at the sun filtering through the elm leaves and went to sleep.
“Where is she?”
Cord looked up from the stream, a wet cloth on his bleeding head, to see Devon standing over him. He turned back to the water. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Cord, I want to know now!” Devon’s voice was deadly.
When Cord turned again, he held a pearl-handled skinning knife. “You been askin’ for this a long time, and I’m gonna give it to you.”
Devon also withdrew the knife at his side and they circled one another, bent, eyes locked together. Cord had never believed in the strength of Mac, had always thought him skinny, but Devon’s body was trim, steel, and now he was drawn taut and ready, his long years with his Indian relatives showing in every move.
“You look more like one of them Injuns ever’ day,” Cord sneered. “Tell me, how come you want this girl? She don’t look like no squaw.”
Devon did not speak, his face a solemn mask, unreadable, his mind cleared of all thoughts but survival. Cord frowned when he saw he did not ruffle Mac’s concentration. He lunged with his kn
ife, but Devon easily sidestepped, his maneuver almost graceful.
Cord had killed many men in knife fights, but he’d never fought one of Devon’s ease and whiplash movements. “Think you’re real fancy, don’t you, boy, dancin’ around like that? But how’ll you do with a real man?”
Cord’s powerful arm swept out and encircled Devon’s waist, an unexpected move, and Mac’s knife flew out of his hand. Devon brought his elbow down into Cord’s ribs, feeling them crack beneath the blow. Cord released him, but only briefly as his foot went out and both men rolled together on the ground, Cord on top. He lifted his arm to plunge the knife into his brother’s throat, but Devon caught his wrist and there was a battle of strength, of testing arm against arm, man against man, as sheer brute strength would show who would be the winner, the man left alive.
Cord’s face showed not only the strain but his puzzlement at the incredible strength of the smaller man. Minutes passed, immobile, as they each tried to move the hovering knife, but Devon’s training, the perseverance he had learned from his Shawnee brothers, won out. The knife slowly began to turn toward Cord’s stomach and the sweat rolled off the man as his fear began when he saw where the path of the knife led. He grunted when it sank into the hard muscles.
Devon pushed the man from him, saw that he was still alive, then went to the stream to clean some of the blood and sweat from his body. The cold water helped revive him and he hid his face in his hands for a moment. He was not a good Shawnee, for he did not enjoy the sight of his enemy’s blood.
He went back to Cord and pulled the knife out of his stomach, wiping it on some moss before returning it to the sheath at Cord’s side.
“Where is she?” he asked the staring man. “Cord, I don’t want to kill you, but I will. Tell me where she is and I’ll put you on your horse. There’s another settlement just north of here. You can get help there. You’ll live if you tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know,” Cord finally managed to rasp. “She run off seven, eight hours ago. I been followin’ her, but can’t find her.”
Devon nodded, then put his arm under Cord’s wide shoulders and helped him stand. Cord didn’t protest when Devon half-lifted him into the saddle. He’d already underestimated Mac’s strength once and he wouldn’t do it again.
When Cord was on his horse, bent, one hand on the oozing knife wound, he looked into his brother’s eyes and for the first time there was no hatred between them, only a bond bought with shared blood, both spilled and what came from a mutual father.
Chapter Ten
LINNET HEARD THE HORSE’S QUIET HOOFS LONG before she saw anyone. She tried frantically to move the log that pinned her but could not. A twig snapped, and she knew someone was near.
“Lynna.” It was no more than a whisper, but she twisted toward the sound, tears already beginning to flow. She saw him outlined by the early morning light, and her eyes filled. She opened her arms to him. “Devon,” she whispered.
He came to her quickly and clasped her to him, soothing her. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she managed to choke out. “My leg—”
He left her to examine her leg and quickly moved the log away. She moved toward him, pulling him once again close to her. “Oh, Devon,” she said in his ear. “You came. You knew. I don’t know how, but you knew.”
He buried his face in her hair, smelling the rich forest smell of it. “You wouldn’t run away. You’d never run away.”
She laughed, joyous, knowing what he meant. It was so wonderful to have him near, to think everything was going to be all right. “You are always there when I need you, always near. You are the brother I never knew.”
He drew back from her, his face contorted with rage. “I watch you with other men,” he said through clenched teeth, “and you call me brother. It’s time you learned I was a man.”
She opened her mouth to speak but could not as he ran his hand down the front of his shirt and half tore it open, then jerked it from his body and threw it aside. His skin gleamed, so alive, so smooth, the Devon she had first seen, muscle and quiet strength.
He pulled her roughly to him and for the first time his mouth touched hers. How unlike the kisses of Cord! Where his had been pleasant, Devon’s kiss was fire, a startling sensation that started at her mouth and seared its way down her body to her toes and back again. He did not need to force her mouth open because Linnet just as eagerly wanted to taste his sweetness as he hers. Her arms went around his neck to draw him closer, his skin touching hers at the torn shoulder of her dress, and it sent little shivers, tremors to the depths of her.
She pressed her body against him, and he lowered her to the ground and she felt his weight on top of her. She was burning. His mouth left hers and she moaned in protest, but he ran his lips along her neck and she arched to give him access to any part of her he desired. Her hands touched his hair, luxuriating in the soft thickness of it.
His hands tore away part of her dress and he touched the beginning curve of her breast. “Oh, Devon,” she whispered, the sound blending with the lush richness of the forest around them.
“Yes, Devon,” she murmured, “Devon!” His hand encircled her breast, the thumb arousing the pink crest. She pulled his mouth back to hers, the aggressor as she explored the moist cavity, honey, nectar so sweet yet so demanding. His hand ran along her leg, the skin exposed from hip to ankle. Her heart thundered in her ears.
He pulled away from her and her body felt lost, needing more of him. She held her arms up but touched only the now-cold air. She opened her eyes. Devon knelt over her, legs apart, straddling her hips, and he was smirking at her, one lip almost curled.
“Remember this the next time you’re with one of your other men and the next time you think I’m your brother.”
She realized he was laughing at her, that what to her had been a new and beautiful experience had been nothing to him but an act to prove his maleness. Her hand came from the ground and she hit him across the face with all her might. He did not try to stop her, and the sound echoed in the forest. She lay still as she saw the red print of her fingers on his cheek.
He stood then and walked away. She was too angry to cry, and her fingers shook as she tried to put the pieces of her dress back together. She didn’t hear him walk back, but Devon slipped his shirt about her shoulders. She threw it from her as if it were a vile, filthy thing, the way she felt after his humiliation of her.
“You are less than a mile due north of Sweetbriar,” he said, his voice heavy. “Take the horse and return there.”
She did not look up but knew he was gone.
She sat in silence for just a moment before hot anger raged through her. She was innocent of the things he accused her of! She grabbed his shirt, ran, leaped on the waiting horse and began a frantic search for him. He must have heard her approach because he stood still, looking up at her expectantly.
She had nothing as a weapon but his shirt, which she used as a whip to strike him. “Cord Macalister is a better man than you are!” she screamed at him. “At least he’s honest! No wonder Amy Trulock chose him.”
With that, she dropped her end of the shirt, kicked the horse forward to ride away from him.
But Devon was faster than she as he made a leap, and in a moment both of them were tumbling to the ground, his mouth taking hers with a breathtaking force. Linnet buried her hands in his hair and returned his kiss with matching fire.
“Damn you, Linnet! Damn you!” he murmured, his mouth moving down her neck.
She tried to bring his mouth back to hers, but he stopped her.
“I’ve waited too long for this and you’ll not rush me.” He began to kiss her slowly, softly, his hand against her cheek. Forgotten were any grievances, any hostilities, there only existed before them the culmination of long months of stored and buried desires.
Devon unbuttoned Linnet’s gown, the pale skin exposed to him. “I want to look at you,” he said very quietly, only a whisper really, but with none of a whisp
er’s harshness.
She looked at him, his eyes so gentle, and she had no thoughts but that Devon was near her, that he touched her, that he was finally hers. Her look answered him, and carefully he slipped the torn dress from one slim shoulder, his lips following his hands. Linnet was not aware of the rest of the gown going, but she lay nude before him and she was glad she pleased him.
“You’re beautiful, Lynna, beautiful.”
His hand on her sent little shivers of delight through her, the contrast between her smooth skin and his work-hardened palm making her more aware of the maleness of him, the vitality of him. He did not kiss her mouth again but her neck, the line below her cheek, the soft spot below her ear. He ran his face along her perfect, jewel-like collar bone and she felt the soft beginning whiskers on his jaw.
When his mouth first touched her breast, she gasped aloud, in wonder as well as pleasure. She arched against him, felt him draw her closer, the rough, heavy, coarse bottom of his pants against her thigh, and the contrast of him was wonderful.
“Devon,” she said.
He came back to her mouth, smiled at her, his lips curving, so close, so warm. He sought her mouth and she opened it to him and he drank of her, needing her. The passion in her began to rise, replacing the wonder and the awe. She met his kiss, pressing her body closer, pulling him to her, hands in his hair, entwined about her fingers. She greedily tasted his mouth, roughly, hungrily.
“Wait, sweet, you go too fast.”
He pulled away from her and smiled, touched her temple with one finger. She felt angry, cheated. She did not want him to leave, but wanted more kissing, more touching, more and more, until she would die from the want.
Devon moved farther from her side, lightly touching her body, her stomach, thighs. Suddenly, he did not want to wait any longer. He knelt beside her on the forest floor, watching her. Linnet’s fingers ached to touch the golden skin and she put her arms up to him again and he grinned at her as he removed his pants.
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