Love Song For A Raven

by Elizabeth Lowell

  „I don’t feel that way about you,“ she said distinctly. „You’re a man, Carlson Raven. You’re as fine a man as I’ve ever met. That’s all that matters to me. That won’t change whether I’m here in Totem Inlet or on the far side of the moon. And I can’t bear the thought of you being raised without love, without someone to appreciate what you’ve become.“

  Janna’s voice broke. She turned away quickly, replacing the spiky, fragile urchin in its nest of stone. Impatiently she wiped off her tears on the thick sweater that she wore. It was damp and smelled subtly of the sea and the man who had worn it before he had given it to her to keep her warm.

  „Janna.“ Raven’s voice was deep, gentle, gritty with restraint.

  He pulled her to her feet and put his work-hardened palm beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his. He started to speak, saw her tears and felt breath rush out of his lungs as though at a blow. He bent and brushed her eyelashes with his lips. The effort it took to stop after those comforting, undemanding kisses shocked him. Slowly he released her chin, caressing the line of her jaw with his fingertips as he withdrew his hand.

  „I wasn’t unhappy,“ he said softly. „Among the Haida, children belong to their mother’s moiety, and boys are initiated by their mother’s brothers rather than by their fathers. My uncle raised me, as is the custom among my people.“

  „And your mother?“ Janna asked unevenly, knowing that she shouldn’t ask… unable to stop herself.

  „By the time I was six my mother wasn’t capable of caring for herself, much less for a son. She abandoned me and took up full-time drinking. My uncle adopted me under both tribal and Canadian law four years before she died. Eddy is a good man, a strong man, a kind man,“ Raven said deeply. „In the summer he fishes salmon and in the winter he carves argillite into images as old and unique as the Haida language. You’d like Eddy. He would love you. He has nothing but disgust for women who are too spoiled to walk the Queen Charlottes in a storm.“

  Janna looked intently at Raven, measuring the emotion that lay beneath his words. She sensed that he didn’t talk casually about his parents – or lack of them – yet he had talked to her. As she looked up into his black, gleaming eyes, it was all she could do not to throw herself into Raven’s arms and plead that he notice her as a woman. But throwing herself at him would be a disaster. Whatever Eddy might like, Raven himself was drawn to tragic, fragile blondes who wore silk scarves that exactly matched their mysterious blue-green eyes.

  „Do you think Eddy’s man enough to eat urchin soup?“ Janna asked lightly, hoping Raven wouldn’t notice that her smile quivered on the edge of turning upside down.

  Raven smiled suddenly, transforming the dark, harsh planes of his face. „I can’t wait to find out.“

  When Janna saw Raven’s smile, emotion gusted over her like wind over the surface of the sea. She turned quickly and looked out at the water. Another squall line was sweeping in. „How long do we have to wait?“ she asked.

  „For the soup?“

  „For the squall.“

  Raven’s glance followed hers. He frowned as he saw the dense, blue-black wall of clouds advancing toward them on the back of a freshening wind. „Just long enough to get to the boat, if we’re lucky. Damn. What the hell was I thinking of? I know better than to turn my back on the sea.“

  „No time for oysters?“ asked Janna, thinking of the small oyster bed they had passed on their way to the mouth of the inlet.

  „I’ll get some. You go on to the boat and stay dry.“

  „What about you?“

  „Getting wet will teach me to keep my mind on the weather.“ And off how sexy your hipslook when you bend over and sort through the contents of a tide pool, Raven added silently.

  „But you’ll run out of dry clothes,“ Janna said.

  „I’ll wear a sleeping bag.“

  „No way,“ she said, shaking her head firmly, making light flicker and run through her softly curling cinnamon hair. „I’ll wear a sheet and give you back your own clothes.“

  The thought of Janna naked but for a dark blue sheet made Raven smile despite his promises to himself not to think of her in any way except as a friend or a sister.

  Janna didn’t see the very male smile because she had already turned and started up the shore toward the part of the inlet where the Black Star was moored. Raven watched her for a few moments, admiring the quintessentially feminine swing of her hips. With a muffled curse he admitted to himself how much he itched to trace Janna’s graceful spine and the smooth, full curves of her bottom with his tongue and fingertips. She would feel so good, warm and firm, soft and womanly, filling his senses even as he filled her. Would she like that? Would she like being teased and tasted and finally taken by him?

  The direction of Raven’s thoughts was rapidly making walking uncomfortable for him.

  Cursing silently, he wondered how he was going to keep his hands off her for the two more days of rain and wind that the storm was predicted to run.

  “Raven?“ called Janna.

  He looked up and realized that he had stopped walking while he fought his unruly thoughts and hungry body. Furiously he swore beneath his breath. Selfcontrol had never been this much of a problem for him, even when he had been a boy in the first raw rush of sexuality.

  „Is something wrong?“ Janna asked.

  „No,“ he said, his voice almost harsh. „I was just wondering how much longer we’ll be shut up in this damned inlet.“

  „Oh.“

  Janna smiled brightly, meaninglessly. She turned and walked away from Raven as quickly as possible, all the pleasure gone from her day. She had been enjoying every instant of being marooned with Raven. It was deflating to realize that he was counting the minutes until the storm let up enough to permit them to leave. Deflating, but not surprising. If he had ever fantasized about being trapped in a deserted inlet, it would be Angel who filled his dreams, not a strange brunette with an off-the-wall sense of humor.

  Raven, on the other hand, was the kind of man Janna had dreamed about long before he had fished her from the cold sea. His intelligence appealed to her as much as his strength, and his laughter made her feel as though she had stepped into a cataract of sunlight. The thought of being wanted by a man like that – really desired – made her tremble.

  The squall line came ashore just as Janna scrambled into the boat’s cabin. The second log that Raven had lashed to the original mooring log made it easier for her to walk along the bobbing „dock“ to the boat without slipping. Even so, she was grateful that she wouldn’t have to attempt crossing the erratically moving surface in the rain.

  She smiled almost sadly. It had been very thoughtful of Raven to round up another one of the old, weathered logs that lined the inlet and add it to the „dock“ just so that she wouldn’t risk a dunking every time she came or went from the boat. She had watched in fascination as he stripped to his waist and maneuvered the log into the water. The raw strength of Raven’s body had been almost frightening.

  Yet she had wanted nothing more than to run her hands over that powerful flesh, savoring the male heat and strength, the textures both smooth and intriguingly furry. She wondered if his sweat would taste like the sea or would have the astringency of cedar. Or perhaps his taste would be a blend of salt and evergreen and man, a mixture as complex and elemental as Raven himself.

  „He could taste like caviar and cherry pie for all you know or will know,“ Janna muttered to herself. „Or lightning and rain, or wine and – oh, the hell with it. Stop torturing yourself over what you can’t have and make some tea. He’s going to be wet and cold by the time he gathers a bucket of oysters for dinner.“

  While the water heated Janna put out two mugs, each with its own tea infuser. She liked her tea fairly mild, with lemon peel and sugar. Raven liked his tea strong enough to etch steel. Then he added canned milk and sugar in the British fashion. Janna had tried it. She still wasn’t sure what it had tasted like. She knew what it had not taste
d like, though. Tea.

  As soon as the water boiled she poured it into the mugs, carefully leaving enough room in one for the generous amount of milk Raven would add. She stepped across the narrow galley aisle and sat at the custom-made dining table that filled one side of the small cabin. The table was larger than most ship’s tables because Raven was larger than most men. At night the table was lowered, fitted into a groove and covered with a custom-made mattress. Normally Raven simply left the bunk made up and ate his meals sitting on one of the padded seats in the stern of the boat. Since Janna had joined him, he had insisted on setting up the table every morning and taking it down after dinner every night.

  Janna looked toward the small triangular cabin in the bow of the boat where she slept. There was a narrow bunk running down either side, leaving a wedge-shaped aisle in between. One look at the bunks had told her why Raven didn’t sleep there. He would have hung over everywhere. For her the bunk was quite comfortable. For him it would have been a bad joke.

  Absently Janna tested her tea by pulling out the infuser and looking at the color of the liquid running back into the mug. Perfect. She cut off a bit of lemon peel with a galley knife. It was lethally sharp, as were all Raven’s knives. She was grateful. Only a sharp knife held by a skilled, strong hand would have been able to slice through the tough fabric of the life vest that had bound her to the sinking rowboat.

  She shivered unconsciously and added a teaspoon of sugar to her tea. Carefully she re-wrapped the small piece of lemon that was all that Raven had had in his cooler. She had been grateful to find even that. Lemons on the Queen Charlotte Islands were a rare and exotic life form.

  Restlessly Janna looked around the boat. Her glance fell on the small writing tablet and pencil that Raven had found for her so that she could make sketches. Even as she reached for the pad, she decided against it. The ruled lines would distract her, which simply meant that she was too edgy to sketch.

  She went out to the Black Star’s stern. The canopy was snapped in place, keeping off both wind and rain, making another cabin out of the stern of the boat. The sound of rain was continuous, relentless. Normally she found it soothing. Now she just wanted to hear Raven’s voice. She leaned forward, staring through the clear plastic windows in the canopy. There was nothing to see but rain. It was coming down so hard that she could barely see the shore.

  The boat rocked gently against the fenders protecting the hull from the logs. Janna closed her eyes. For a long time she listened to the rain and the wind and the restless sea. She was used to being alone, yet she was not used to being lonely. And that was how she felt right now. Lonely.

  „Hello the Black Star! Oysters coming on board.“

  Janna felt warmth flood through her. Even as she told herself that she was a fool for letting her heart and her hopes race, she set aside her tea and rushed over to unzip a section of the canopy. A bucket emerged into the opening, followed shortly by Raven himself. He fastened the canopy again and then turned toward Janna. He was as wet as a seal despite his waterproof jacket. He peeled off the jacket, shook it and hung it on a peg before he sniffed the air.

  „Ahh,“ he rumbled, „my favorite dinner. Roast haunch of tennis shoes with a side order of baked jeans.“

  Laughter bubbled from Janna as though she were freshly opened champagne. Raven’s whimsical sense of humor had been as unexpected and endearing to her as his gentleness. She held out her hand for the bucket, only to notice that it held a bottle of wine as well as oysters.

  „You have, er, unusual oyster beds in the Charlottes,“ Janna observed, pulling out the wine bottle.

  Raven grinned. „Old Haida secret.“

  „Someone must have let the French in on it, too,“ she retorted, reading the label. „How did you know I love Chardonnay?“

  „Like I said,“ Raven answered, his voice muffled as he bent down to pull off his soaking shoes, „you look like a woman who enjoys her senses.“

  „What did you do to your hand?“ Janna asked suddenly, setting aside the wine.

  He looked at the back of his left hand. There were several thin lines of blood welling. „Barnacles,“ he said, shrugging. What he didn’t say was that he had been thinking about Janna when he should have been thinking about what he was doing. „No big deal,“ he added, cleaning off the skin with a quick swipe of his tongue and then examining the shallow cuts.

  „It could be a big deal if you don’t take care of it,“ she said crisply. „Barnacle cuts are notorious for getting infected.“

  She went back to the galley and returned in a few moments with hot water and an antibiotic salve. Before Raven could object she took his hand and bathed it carefully. She bent over his hand and turned it toward the light. The cuts were shallow, clean and should heal quickly. There was really no reason to worry about them. She should let go of his hand and get back to the cabin.

  But Janna could not let go. The temptation to raise Raven’s broad hand to her lips and kiss away the minor hurt was almost overwhelming. All that prevented her was the knowledge that the intent of her kiss would be more sensual than healing, more hungry than comforting. Silently calling herself a hundred kinds of fool, she prolonged the contact by bathing his hand again, touching him in the only way that she could.

  Raven sat motionlessly in the stern seat, savoring the gentle warmth of Janna’s hands. Her hair had come loose from the clip she wore at the nape of her neck. Tendrils of rich cinnamon curled softly across her cheeks like darkly shimmering flames. In the subdued light her hair glowed with life. He wondered what it would feel like to have that cool, silky hair falling freely over his bare arm, his chest, his thighs. Then he wondered why he was tormenting himself over a woman he would not let himself touch.

  Janna dried Raven’s hand with the same gentle thoroughness with which she had bathed it. She smoothed antibiotic salve over the tiny wounds, taking her time about it, doing it twice. When there was no further excuse to touch Raven, she reluctantly released his hand.

  „There you are. Nearly as good as new.“ She heard her own voice and knew that it was too husky, almost breathless.

  „Thanks.“

  Raven flexed his hand to keep from reaching out and burying his fingers in Janna’s beautiful hair and pulling her mouth down to his. He wanted to tell her how much he had enjoyed having her concerned over his minor scrapes and having his big, work-roughened hand touched as though she cared if he were hurt even by such a small thing as barnacle cuts. Normally he disliked women who fussed over him, oohing and cooing over every tiny scrape. Janna was different. She had cared for him so quietly and deftly that she had left him feeling cherished rather than smothered.

  „You should have children. You’d be a fine mother. Gentle hands and…“ Raven’s deep voice died into silence as he saw the sudden stiffening of Janna’s body. She straightened and turned away from him so quickly that she almost stumbled. „ Janna?“

  „I forgot your tea,“ she said tightly. „It will be strong enough to dissolve steel by now.“

  „Sounds perfect to me,“ he rumbled, smiling.

  There was no answer. Raven frowned, wondering what was wrong. Normally Janna enjoyed teasing him about the strength of the tea he drank, just as he enjoyed ribbing her about the „hot sugar water“ that she preferred. He got up to follow her and demand to know what was wrong. In three longs steps he was in the cabin.

  „Janna, what – “

  „As your mother surrogate,“ she interrupted in clipped tones, „I feel compelled to point out that you’re dripping all over the floor.“

  „Deck,“ he corrected her automatically, frowning.

  „Deck.“

  Raven’s eyes narrowed as he took in the barely restrained anger radiating from Janna. He watched as she reached blindly into a drawer and brought out a punch for the can of condensed milk. She opened the can with a single savage stroke, spilling some of the thick, creamy fluid in the process. Carefully he reached past her, took the milk and metal punch, and
set them beyond her reach.

  „What’s wrong?“ he asked.

  „Nothing.“ Janna heard her own cold word echo in the silence, watched a thread of milk spread thickly on the counter and hung on to the shreds of her self-control with every bit of willpower she possessed. „Sorry,“ she said finally. „Guess I’m like you.“

  „How so?“

  „Wondering how much longer we’ll be ‘shut up in this damned inlet.’“

  Hearing his own words repeated like that made Raven flinch. „I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’ve enjoyed the time here. I can’t remember ever laughing so much.“

  „Yeah, a regular dream come true for you,“ Janna said with a bright, empty smile. „You never had a mother and I’m great motherhood material. Pity you’re too old for me to adopt. We could have a lifetime of laughs.“

  „Janna-“

  „Here,“ she said, interrupting, setting Raven’s tea within his reach. „Drink this before it eats through the mug. I’ll open the oysters. You change out of those wet clothes before you get cold.“

  „Yes, Mother,“ Raven said dryly, reaching for the top button of his shirt.

  Janna flinched as though she had been slapped. Raven’s black eyes narrowed as he saw her reaction.

  „I didn’t mean that as an insult,“ he said evenly.

  „What woman could be insulted by being told she was great mother material?“ Janna asked in a flat tone.

  Raven started to say something, hesitated and settled for unbuttoning his shirt. After he pulled on dry clothes and draped the wet ones over anything handy, he went out to the stern. The canopy kept out wind and rain, but did little to preserve the warmth that made the cabin cosy.

  „Aren’t you cold?“ he asked, eyeing Janna’s long, bare legs gleaming beneath the tails of one of his flannel shirts.