The Outlaw and the Runaway

by Tatiana March

  Celia took a step toward him. She tripped on her feet, her bare toes catching on the long hems of her nightgown. Roy reached out both hands to steady her. Holding her by the upper arms, he restored her balance, but her body seemed oddly languid, and now that he thought of it, there was a slight slurring to her speech.

  “Celia, have you been drinking?”

  She flashed him a mischievous grin. “Perhaps I have. Miss Ada gave me a cup of tea that tasted peculiar. She said it would put hair on my chest. Not that I’m enticed by the prospect.”

  As Roy looked down into her radiant face, he felt his resistance crumble. Celia seemed so happy, her emotions flowing as freely as a waterfall. He had taught her that, had given her the courage to embrace her feelings instead of bottling them up. And yet he was refusing to give in to his own feelings of need and longing. Not just because he wanted to protect her from harm, but because of his own ingrained fear of hurt, caused by his history of rejection and abandonment.

  He spoke gruffly. “I can’t promise you a future.”

  “Who cares about a future?” Although Celia’s tone was flippant, her expression was serious, almost fierce. “I want to live in the present. I want happiness now.”

  “Then I’ll do my best to give it to you,” Roy replied. His grip tightened on her upper arms as he slowly pulled her toward him. When he could feel her hips butting against his, he marshaled the last remaining shreds of his caution and eased their bodies apart. “Celia, there are ways a man and a woman can give each other pleasure without risking a child. I can show you those things, but when the time comes you must make me stop. Don’t let me take it all the way to the end. Promise me that.”

  He could see curiosity in her eyes, perhaps even a flash of rebellion at the boundaries he was setting. But she gave him the promise he had demanded. A muttered, reluctant promise, but a promise nonetheless—a promise he hoped she could keep.

  The final traces of resistance swept away, Roy pulled her close once more and lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her with all the hunger that had built up inside him during their days together on the trail. And more than that, he kissed her with a longing born from his years of loneliness within a family that had rejected him. A longing that had grown and flourished in the harsh environment of an outlaw camp.

  Fresh from her bath, Celia smelled of her fragrant soap, combined with a hint of whiskey from Miss Ada’s spiked tea. Roy inhaled deep breaths of her scent. Her hair was still damp, and he buried his hands in the thick curls, feeling their silken weight.

  He could feel her arch up against him, the feminine contours of her body sharpening his desire. With a growl of impatience, he broke the kiss and lifted his head so he could look into her face. Her complexion was flushed, her eyes shining. Her lips were parted and moist from his kisses. Torn between the reluctance to let her go and the need to get even closer to her, Roy took a single backward step. For an instant, he stood still and let his gaze sweep down her body, hidden by the folds of the long nightgown.

  It was wrong; he knew it. In his mind, he went over every objection, including the possibility that they might let things go too far and create a child. But his need was too great, his longing too fierce. Just as Celia had insisted, he’d allow himself to live for now and let tomorrow take care of itself.

  Brushing aside the last of his scruples, Roy gathered the flowing fabric of Celia’s nightgown in his hands and slowly pulled the garment up over her head, until he could toss it aside and let his eyes feast on her nakedness.

  The golden light that filtered in through the yellow muslin curtains made her look like a wood nymph, a fairy-tale creature, beyond the touch of a mortal man. Her breasts were full, her hips rounded, a womanly figure. While he stared, transfixed, a cool breeze through the open window stirred the air in the room. He could see Celia shivering.

  “You’re cold.”

  He barely recognized the low, husky timbre of his own voice. Saying nothing more, he picked her up and carried her to the big brass bed and settled her under the covers. She wriggled to lean against the pillows and watched him, excitement battling apprehension in her expression.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “We both want it.”

  His eyes never left hers as he removed the borrowed clothing he had only a short while ago put on. Fully naked, he paused and stood by the bedside, letting Celia look at him, just like he had looked at her only seconds ago.

  With a hesitation that held a hint of alarm, her gaze drifted downward, came to rest on his straining erection. From the fascinated curiosity on her face it became evident to him that she had never seen a naked, aroused man before.

  “Have you ever...?” Celia’s voice quivered.

  “Yes...I have.”

  Part of him wished he could deny it, that she could be his first, just as he would be her first, but he was a man with normal desires, approaching thirty, and despite his isolated life he had found several occasions to satisfy his physical needs. With a fleeting smile, he added, “I know what to do. It is better if one of us does.”

  “I know what to do, too.” She flustered, red flags of embarrassment burning on her cheeks. Her attention shifted back up to his face. “I mean, I’ve read about it...in books that a lady isn’t supposed to read.”

  Roy pushed the covers aside and climbed up to sit on the mattress, facing her. He could sense the mental struggle within Celia, could almost read her thoughts. That starched-up lady part of her was stirring up trouble, reminding her that decent women didn’t let a man into their bed without the bond of marriage.

  And despite everything he had told her before, despite the impossibility of a lasting union between them, he wanted to give her some token of belonging, some reassurance that what was about to take place between them meant something more than just a moment of clandestine passion.

  “Have you ever read up about Indian marriage customs?” he asked.

  Celia nodded. “Apache braves stake their horse outside a girl’s wickiup. If she brings out a bucket of water and the horse drinks it empty, they are married.”

  He reached out, curled his hand at her waist and slid it upward until it met the rounded swell of her left breast. “Some other tribe...I don’t know which...they press their hands over each other’s heart...” he flattened his palm against her rib cage “...and once their hearts beat in the same rhythm, they are married.”

  For a long moment, he waited for her to respond. He could feel her swift heartbeat beneath his palm, could feel the heavy drumming of his own pulse in his veins. He was about to reach out with his free hand, wrap his fingers around Celia’s wrist and guide her, but just then she moved of her own volition and pressed her palm to his chest.

  “Can you feel it?” Roy whispered. “Ta-dam...ta-dam...ta-dam.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your heartbeat needs to slow down,” he told her. “Take deep breaths.”

  He could feel Celia’s chest rise and fall as she regulated her breathing, could hear the faint sound of each unhurried inhale and exhale. Letting his mind leap ahead, he pictured their bodies intertwined, imagined the pleasures they would share.

  Beneath his palm, he could feel her heartbeat slow down, while his own pulse was accelerating. He closed his eyes and let the mental images of their physical union take hold, adding to the almost-painful force of his arousal, increasing the urgent pounding of his heart.

  “Now,” he said. His eyes blinked open. “Can you feel it?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Ta-dam. Ta-dam. Ta-dam.”

  For a few moments longer, they sat still, their palms pressed against each other’s warm skin while their hearts beat in complete symmetry. Tenderness welled up within Roy. The apprehension he’d seen in Celia’s eyes while she’d studied his naked, masculine form was gone now. That small private ceremony between them, that small piece of make believe had overcome her
moral scruples, given her the reassurances she longed for.

  His mind flickered back to his first night with a woman. The feel of her feminine shape, her soft skin beneath his hands, the pleasure of burying himself in her welcoming body, had seemed like a miracle. But what had truly overwhelmed him was to be so near to another living person. To feel the warmth, the comfort of closeness, the human response, the sense of life meeting life, sharing a moment of togetherness.

  As a child, he’d never been held, never been hugged. When he was a baby, his mother must have taken care of him, but he could not remember. Usually, he’d only been touched by another person when someone hit him or shoved him or kicked him. When he grew to be a man, he experienced a handshake, even a masculine pounding on the back, but those tokens of camaraderie were too fleeting to fill the sense of isolation within him.

  A tumble in a whore’s bed had eased his solitude for a moment, but as soon as he’d pulled his clothes back on again and walked out of the room, that feeling of being alone had always returned, like a chilly mist that lingered inside him, never lifting.

  But now, as he sat facing Celia on the bed and felt the bond of trust between them, something in his troubled mind eased. He turned his wrist, a small movement that brought his hand into full contact with her breast. The intimacy of the gesture swept over him, sending a rush of desire through him. His eyes not leaving hers, he brushed the pad of his thumb across the peaked nipple. Celia gave a small moan of pleasure and tipped her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat.

  Leaning forward, Roy pressed his mouth to the hollow between her collarbones. Beneath his lips, he could feel her pulse speeding up again. He let his lips roam over her neck, the shell of her ear, the line of her jaw, until he finally settled his mouth on hers.

  She parted her lips to welcome him. Her hands raked into his hair, anchoring him close. Roy let his arms circle her and hauled her tight against his chest. Despite Celia’s feminine curves, there was a frailty about her, a difference in their strength that reminded him of the need to be gentle.

  Minutes ticked by before Roy eased their bodies apart again. The impact of daylight on his normally covered brown eye added to his already-overloaded senses. In awestruck silence, he studied Celia’s features. Her hair shone like molten gold in the yellow light that filtered in through the curtains; her skin looked smooth and white, like alabaster.

  What have I done to deserve this moment, to have this woman offer herself to me, in the afternoon sunshine that allows me to see her nakedness, her beauty?

  Was there a balance of misery and happiness in each person’s life, and after all his suffering this was his reward? If so, he did not resent the acts of cruelty he had faced, for they had earned him this moment.

  All of a sudden, his own pleasure seemed unimportant. More than anything, he wanted to give Celia a taste of the passion she craved. He eased her down on the bed and leaned over her. Slowly, as gently as he could, he began touching her, stroking her, until she trembled in the throes of her own need.

  “What is this?” she murmured, her tone thick and husky. “It feels like my skin is too tight and I’m burning all over and I’m throbbing in places a lady should not mention.”

  “It’s all right,” he replied. “Just close your eyes and feel it.”

  Her eyelids fluttered down, creating a barrier of privacy that Roy hoped would allow her to give in to the physical sensations. Carefully, aware of the rough skin and thick calluses on his hands, he reached down between her legs and teased and rubbed the slick ridge there, watching the reaction on her face until he could see an intense frown that told him she was ready, and with a final caress he sent her over the edge.

  The violence of her release took him by surprise. With an inarticulate cry, she bowed up on the bed, her body taut and still. Then she sank back down to the mattress and a series of tremors rocked through her while her cries faded to throaty murmurs.

  Alarmed, Roy leaned over her and studied her features. Her mouth was open, her eyes tightly shut, her breathing rushed. “Celia, are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  Her eyes blinked open. Her gray eyes, normally so luminous, were as dark as storm clouds. He could read awe in them, perhaps even a trace of shame at her wanton reaction, but then her lips curved into a smile, the kind of secret, tremulous smile that came from finally having discovered the pleasures shared by most of mankind.

  “Are you all right, Celia?” he said again. “I didn’t hurt you?”

  “Yes, you did,” she told him softly. “You made my heart shatter. And when it came back together you were trapped inside it. Whatever happens, you will always be with me. You will always be in my heart.”

  “Celia...” Roy let out a sigh, a sound of frustration as much as of regret. “You know that this can only be what you said it would be. Happiness for now. For tonight.”

  Gently, she reached up and touched his cheek. “I know. I meant that I will have a memory of you, of this moment, locked in my heart. It will be something beautiful I can carry with me, wherever I go, whatever happens to me.”

  The mention of the future, of how they would have to go their separate ways, flooded Roy with a sudden sense of gloom. He rolled onto his side and pulled Celia into the circle of his arms and held her tight. She burrowed against him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck, her warm breath fanning over his skin. Soon the rhythm of her breathing grew even and he knew she’d fallen asleep.

  For hours, Roy held the sleeping girl in his arms. Evening cool invaded the room, easing the heat in his body. Suppertime came and went but Celia slept through it all. No one knocked on the door. Twilight fell. Sounds drifted in through the open window—birds singing their evening chorus, a coarse male voice shouting a greeting and mules clipping along the trail as another trader passed by.

  Night darkness thickened, and still Celia didn’t stir. Roy held her, feeling her heartbeat, breathing in her scent, enjoying the feel of her naked body against his.

  He knew it had been wrong to let the intimacy between them deepen but he could not bring himself to regret the night. She deserved those brief moments of happiness. They both did. The best he could do now was to get Celia the money she was owed and send her off to find some place of safety. Somewhere she could forget about him and set about building a secure life for herself. An independent, affluent life, even if a lonely one. A life that did not expose her to the dangers of an outlaw camp or to the grief of watching her man dangle lifeless at the end of a rope.

  Chapter Ten

  Yawning, Celia sat up on the bed and stretched. The room still held the nighttime cool, but she could see the dawn light filtering in through the yellow muslin curtains. Roy was gone. She closed her eyes and recalled the feel of his naked body against hers, his mouth on her skin, the incredible sensations he had triggered within her...

  But reality intruded. Her mind raced ahead, to the outlaw camp, to the life beyond. She had told herself it would be enough to seize happiness for now, even if just for a fleeting moment, but was that really true? Was happiness even happiness at all, if a greater sense of emptiness followed in its wake? It had been easy to say she wanted a life as an independent woman, but such a life might be lonelier and bleaker than she could tolerate.

  A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Miss Celia?”

  She snagged her nightgown from the floor and pulled it on. “Come in!”

  Miss Henrietta shouldered the door open and bustled in carrying a breakfast tray. “Mr. Hagan’s gone to get the horses ready. You get this lot inside of you. Might be a long time before you’ll taste decent cooking again.”

  While Miss Henrietta deposited the tray on the bedside table and hurried out again, Miss Mabel strode in through the open doorway. She carried Celia’s dark blue riding suit draped over one arm. “Your outfit pressed quite nicely. It’s possibly a little shrunken, but I c
ould see no stains or rips.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you for everything...”

  “Hush,” Miss Mabel replied with a flap of her hand. She came to stand beside the bed, pulled over a small wooden chair and sat down, her eyes intent on Celia’s scar. “No, don’t avert your face,” she scolded when Celia turned aside, using the excuse of reaching for the coffee cup on the breakfast tray.

  Celia touched her cheek. “I try to ignore the curious stares...but sometimes I’m so aware of them, it feels like there’s a branding iron scorching my skin.”

  “How would you like it if I could make your scar disappear?”

  Startled, Celia sat straighter on the bed. “Disappear? But how?”

  “Well...” Miss Mabel bent over her and rubbed the puckered skin with her fingertips, examining the texture. “Not quite disappear, but I can make the color blend in.” She produced a small porcelain jar from her skirt pocket. “This cream will darken your skin. If you brush it over the scar, very carefully, making sure you get none on the unmarked skin, the scarred area will darken to match the rest of your face. Use it every day for a week or so, until the scar turns the same color as the surrounding skin, and then occasionally to maintain the shade. I’ll show you how. Tip your head aside.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Cinnamon and cocoa beans and a tiny bit of a poisonous herb called bishop’s weed. Now, tip your head.”

  Bishop’s weed.

  Celia rolled her eyes at the name. It had been a bishop who caused her to suffer because of her scar, so the herb might be a fitting remedy. She tilted her head to one side and felt the deft strokes of a brush on her cheek. While Miss Mabel applied the cream, as carefully as if painting a masterpiece, the elderly madam spoke quietly.

  “So you have become an outlaw’s woman... No, keep still. Don’t shrug... You plan to marry him...? Keep still, I said... You know, sometimes it is better for a woman to be like a man—to take a night’s pleasure and ride away.”