by Carol Finch
"It seems you and I are stuck with each other . . . temporarily," she conceded. "I may be your captive, but I cannot and will not become your whore. I complied with your terms to ensure my safety . . . only that." She lied without batting an eye, praying that Hawk would not test her resistance to his magic spell during the time they were together.
He propped himself up on an elbow and reached over to trail his index finger over her bare arm, but she shrank away as if scorched by his touch. Her frosty tone and her open refusal of his caress spoiled the moment. He retaliated without thinking.
"I have not lived in the wilderness all these years in celibacy," he said sharply. "You are not the only woman this side of the Mississippi. Indeed, I have known several who would be eager to exchange places with you."
Rozalyn vaulted to her feet and glared at him. "Then search out your harlots and bed every one of them," she snapped. "As a matter of fact, I shall be eternally grateful to be spared your attention. Indeed, I would rather confront a grizzly bear."
As Rozalyn dragged her pallet from the pack horse and made up her bed, Hawk slammed his fist onto the ground, cursing his impulsive rejoinder, knowing it would surely come back to haunt him.
After properly berating himself for his stupidity, he stepped into his buckskins, then set about making his bed, which he slept in alone. For several minutes he lay staring up at the ceiling of stars, mulling over several comments that might ease Rozalyn's irritation with him.
But he thought better of voicing an apology. A stone wall would soften sooner than this stubborn chit. Rozalyn was mad as hell and his only recourse was to let her steam and stew. Once she had simmered down he would reopen the subject, using considerably more diplomacy than he'd employed this time. They were not going to spend every night sleeping on separate pallets, Hawk vowed. Perhaps the only way to get along with Rozalyn was to give her her way—but not on this matter! Hawk was only willing to concede for the moment. If he were not allowed to touch her during the long months they spent in each other's company, he would not be able to keep a clear head and thus protect them from the dangers of the wilderness. There are subtle tactics for getting one's way, Hawk reminded himself as he drew the quilt over his shoulder. He was going to devote his spare time to devising some.
Chapter 13
After two days of strained silence, Rozalyn's temper was rising. Hawk continued to sport the smug smile that irked her each time she glanced in his direction. Although Hawk had been polite and considerate, considering the circumstances, she was determined not to be wooed back into his arms. She had sworn there would be no more passionate encounters and she had meant it. She had very little else left; she was not about to relinquish her self-respect.
Flouncing onto the ground after a long day of traveling, Rozalyn turned a cold shoulder to her companion as she choked down her meager ration of pemmican. To her, it tasted a great deal like sour grapes. When she dared to glance in Hawk's direction, he was studying her with calculating green eyes, and plastered on his face was that infuriating grin she was beginning to detest.
"What could you possibly find so amusing for hours on end?" Rozalyn asked challengingly.
He lifted one shoulder and then let it drop while he chewed on his meager meal. "You," he replied pleasantly enough. "You are waging civilized warfare, minx. If the daggers you've been glaring at me were real, I would be the recipient of so many stab wounds, water would run through me like a sieve."
Rozalyn reacquainted him with her knife-hurling glare. "Believe me, Hawk, were I to get my hands on a weapon of any kind, there would be nothing civilized about the tortures I have in mind for you. Indeed, I'm not certain your head on a silver platter would satisfy me, not after what you've put me through."
Hawk heaved an exasperated sigh. He had been pursuing a new tactic—giving Rozalyn no further cause to despise him—but even his cheerful, accommodating demeanor didn't faze her. It seemed she had her heart set on hating him, and she appeared to be thriving on working at it.
"Are you so intolerant of every man who falls from your good graces, your highness?" Hawk snorted, deciding to throw diplomacy to the winds since it had gotten him nowhere with this foul-tempered witch who continued to breathe fire at him.
When Hawk threw down the gauntlet Rozalyn quickly snatched it up. Her eyes burned into him like hot blue blazes. "What the hell do you expect me to do? Thank you for kidnapping me? Praise you for whisking me from civilization and dragging me off to only God knows where?" Her agitated gaze flickered down her torso and she slapped away the ant that had been foolish enough to take an overland route across her leg. "You ripped my only gown to shreds and forced me to dress like your younger brother. You feed me tasteless rations that would make a starving wolf turn up his nose. And you—" Rozalyn had glanced over to see that Hawk was paying no attention at all. He was looking right past her, as if she weren't even there. That did it! "Dammit, would you at least look at me while I'm speaking to you? I am not your horse. I am a woman who has been sorely put upon. I cannot endure much more of this existence." Still, he did not do her the courtesy of glancing in her direction. Rozalyn was at her wit's end. "Confound it, Hawk, why don't you just shoot me and get this over?'
When Hawk snatched the pistol from his belt and aimed it at her, Rozalyn's mouth dropped open and her eyes bulged from their sockets. For God's sake, she was only trying to make a point! She hadn't expected him to take her literally. Rozalyn swore she had viewed her last sunset when the flintlock exploded and a bullet roared past her shoulder. Although her ears were ringing, she heard a pained growl from close behind her. With sickening dread, she swiveled around to see a large bobcat keel off the ledge behind her and land in a heap at her side.
A terrified scream was trapped in her throat when the cat attempted to rise, and instinctively, Rozalyn vaulted to her feet and flew into Hawk's arms, knocking him off balance.
With a pained grunt, Hawk landed on his back, Rozalyn on top of him. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he snatched up his other pistol, then peered around the shapely bundle of buckskin in his lap to make certain the wounded cat would not launch a second attack. When the beast sank back and lay motionless on the grass, he arched a taunting eyebrow.
"Now, what was it you were saying? Have you suddenly decided I'm not so offensive after all?" Flashing her a roguish grin, he combed his fingers through her unruly hair, tilting her pale face to his. "Now that you have me where you want me, perhaps you might disguise your passionate craving for me behind an appreciative kiss. After all, cherie, I did just save your—"
Indignant, Rozalyn jerked back as if she had been bitten by a bobcat. Then she flung herself from the arms of the contemptible rogue who saved her life one minute only to mock her the next. She wobbled away from Hawk on shaky legs, determined to get a grip on herself after her near brush with disaster. Damnation, she had run to Hawk as naturally as she drew a breath, but the last place she wanted to be was in his powerful arms. She was vividly aware of how vulnerable she became when he touched her. She again vowed there would be no more touching. It always led to intimacy between them, and she and Hawk had taken their last tumble in the grass.
When Rozalyn reached the pack horses, she rummaged through the saddlebags until she located the brandy Hawk kept stashed from sight. Her shaky hands folded around the flask, and she pulled the cork to take a drink. Although she was searching for newfound courage after the hair-raising incident, the liquor set her throat afire and she almost choked on it. Desperately, she tried to catch her breath but it simply wouldn't come.
Chuckling, Hawk swaggered over to whack her on the back. "Really, mademoiselle, I thought you were too sophisticated to guzzle brandy like a backwoodsman."
His taunt only stoked the fires of her anger. Flinging Hawk a challenging glare, Rozalyn tipped the flask and choked down another fiery gulp. Then, fighting to keep from sputtering, she thrust the liquor at her nemesis.
"If you are going to force me to dress like a he
athen, I might as well behave like one," she snapped. Her voice was not as strong as she had hoped. Instead of railing at Hawk she was croaking like a sick bullfrog.
Hawk laughed. Then he took a sip of brandy before holding out the flask to his companion, whose hair cascaded about her like a silken cape. "By all means have another drink. Far be it from me to tell you what to do. But don't blame me if you wind up with a headache. This brandy will knock you for a loop, little brother," he teased, a grating smile on his face.
Rozalyn grabbed the bottle. "I can hold my liquor as well as you can so don't lecture me on temperance. As a matter of fact, the less you say to me the better. I would prefer to converse with yonder steed."
While Rozalyn downed another long swallow, Hawk bowed exaggeratedly before her, fighting like the devil to keep from laughing. "As you wish, cherie. If you prefer the horse's companionship to mine, then discuss your dire situation with him. No doubt, he will be a more attentive listener than I."
Turning up her dainty nose, Rozalyn moved around to confront the beast of burden's face. In that position she took another swallow of brandy. The fire had burned itself out now, but her nose and lips were becoming numb. She really didn't care. The brandy had taken the edge off her temper, and a false sense of security washed over her as she continued to freely sip from the flask.
"Do you know what a miserable excuse for a man your master is?" she asked the chestnut steed, her voice slurring noticeably. Rozalyn's hazy gaze careened toward Hawk who had plopped down on his pallet to finish his unappetizing meal. "Well, I'll tell you. Hawk is a heathen, a brute."
When the steed snorted, seemingly in agreement, Rozalyn beamed in satisfaction and took another drink. "Even you know a horse's—"
"Your language is not befitting a lady," Hawk cut in, flinging her a disapproving frown. "I have not stooped to name calling and I would appreciate it if you didn't slander my good name.”
"I am not talking to you," Rozalyn insisted, an ornery smile turning down the corners of her mouth. "I was speaking to the horse and it is my firm belief that he will carry no tales." The horse pricked up his ears and flared his nostrils at the scent of the brandy now held beneath his muzzle. Rozalyn hiccupped, grinned sheepishly, and then continued, "S'cuse me. Now where was I? Ah yes, your disgusting master . . ."
For more than an hour Hawk sat silently, listening toRozalyn ridicule him in her conversation with the pack horse. At length, Rozalyn's voice began to drag and she had difficulty keeping her train of thought. Finally she found it necessary to plant herself on the ground to avoid falling down. Hawk bit back a grin. The little imp was drunk. He had never seen this side of Rozalyn, and he could not help but chuckle at the comical expressions passing across her face.
When Rozalyn rose clumsily to retrieve more brandy, Hawk came to attention. However, her weaving footsteps caused her to collide broadside with the pack horse before he could reach her. The animal sidestepped skittishly, and Rozalyn was thrown backward. Her agility had been drowned in brandy so she landed in a heap.
A miserable groan escaped from her lips when she attempted to get her bearings and climb to her feet. The world was spinning furiously about her and she was no longer certain which way was up. Had night fallen or had the liquor blinded her?
Before Rozalyn could determine the answer to that question, she found herself hoisted from the ground and set upon her feet. But her buckling knees refused to bear her weight and she would have collapsed if Hawk had not slid a supporting arm around her.
"Fetch another bottle," she requested slurrishly. And then, holding the drained flask up to the moonlight, she smiled a silly smile. "This one seems to have a hole in it. All the brandy has leaked out."
Hawk rolled his eyes heavenward. "I think you have had enough for one night. You are not going to appreciate the headache that will greet you at sunrise. If you drink another bottle of brandy, you may not wake at all," he lectured.
His preaching slid off her like water from a duck's back. Heady sensations had her reeling and she didn't have a care. Nothing Hawk could say would upset her; she was sitting on top of the world. Or was she beneath it? Rozalyn couldn't tell.
"I can tolerate another drink," she assured him. "As you can plainly see I am in full command of my . . ." Rozalyn frowned when the thought she had wanted to put to tongue flitted away with the evening breeze.
"Your senses," Hawk prompted, steering her toward her pallet.
Rozalyn reversed direction to aim herself toward the saddlebags, weaving unsteadily "Ex . . . actly," she murmured sluggishly and then grumbled when her fingers seemed all thumbs. It had suddenly become impossible to unfasten the lacings on the leather bag. "I could use your assistance, Falcon."
"The name is Hawk," he corrected disdainfully.
Her head swiveled around, and she wondered which of the two mountain men she saw had driven her to drink. "I knew that," she declared over her thick tongue. "Why couldn't you have taken a normal name when you crossed the Mississippi? Chester or Sam." Rozalyn hiccuped again and then frowned when her once-deft fingers fumbled over the lacings. "But Hawk? Heavens, one would think you were a feather-winged fowl who alights on tree branches. Can you?"
The ludicrous question and her ridiculous expression set Hawk to chortling. This time he made no attempt to muffle his mirth. His long strides took him to Rozalyn's side and with one lithe movement he scooped her into his arms.
"Of course I can fly," he declared. Then he steadied his, inebriated nymph's head before it rolled off his shoulder. "But not as high as you are soaring at the moment."
When Hawk had deposited Rozalyn on her pallet, he returned to fish a brandy bottle from the saddlebags, still chuckling at the lingering vision of an uninhibited minx with glassy eyes and wild raven hair. Lord, she would regret her overindulgence the following morning. How well he remembered the night he had attempted to put this distracting witch from his mind by drowning his troubles in a bottle. He had gained nothing but a throbbing headache for his efforts. Since that night Hawk had limited himself to one or two drinks. Once he had taken his limit, he returned the flask to the saddlebags.
A muddled frown plowed his brow when he returned to the pallet where he had deposited Rozalyn. She had vanished into thin air! Sweet Jesus, all he needed was to track that intoxicated bundle of trouble through the wilderness in the dark. Had she decided to flee from him in her condition? No doubt, the liquor has armed her with bravura, he thought sourly.
"Dammit, Rozalyn, where are you?" Hawk called, his keen eyes scanning the shadows. "Rozalyn!" His booming voice resounded about him, but Rozalyn did not respond.
Hawk flinched and lunged for the rifle that lay beside his bedroll. Bracing it against his shoulder, he aimed the weapon toward the sound that had startled him. When several leaves drifted down from the overhanging branches of a tree he lifted his eyes to see an oversized bird perched above him.
Cursing Rozalyn's feather-brained antics Hawk set the gun aside and glared up at her. "What the sweet loving hell do you think you're doing? Come down from there before you break your foolish neck!"
His sharp tone had no effect on her, for Rozalyn was thoroughly convinced she could fly. Fluttering along the branch, she prepared to spread her wings and soar.
"Watch your step!" Hawk shrieked when she overextended herself. "Dammit, woman, are you out of your mind?"
But Rozalyn was past hearing, and Hawk's heart leaped when her foot slid from the limb. As far as she was concerned anything was possible while she was floating on a sea of brandy. She had but to stretch out in flight and she would be airborne. Testing that theory, Rozalyn raised her arms to take to the air.
"Good God!" Hawk snorted in disbelief. He had stalked toward the tree trunk to retrieve the daring minx, but the moment he realized what she intended to do, he darted beneath her.
Before Rozalyn made a crash landing beside the fallen bobcat, Hawk snatched her in midair and then gave her a sound shaking.
"Damnation
, you could have killed yourself," he growled furiously.
Rozalyn's head snapped backward and then rolled lifelessly on her shoulders as her body became limp in Hawk's trembling arms. Grumbling over the disastrous chain of events that had led to this moment, Hawk strode back to tuck Rozalyn beneath her quilts.
"Isn't it enough that she hates me?" he said to the heavens. "Must she drink herself senseless each night to avoid me?" When no divine answer appeared in the night sky, Hawk heaved a frustrated sigh, then sank down beside the sleeping bundle of mischief. When his anger dwindled, a sentimental smile rippled across his lips, and he reached out to brush her tangled ebony mane away from her face so he might trace the sensuous curve of her lips.
"Sleep well, sweet princess," he murmured before he bent to press a light kiss to her unresponsive lips.
After reloading both pistols and placing them beside his pallet, Hawk stretched out to grant himself a few hours of sleep. But when he closed his eyes, he pictured Rozalyn conversing with the pack horse, then flapping her arms as if she were about to loft herself into the air. A muffled chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he wondered if Rozalyn would remember her antics when she woke from her brandy-induced sleep.
An agonizing groan tumbled from Rozalyn when she dared to open her eyes the following morning. The bright light was blinding and she quickly blocked it with her arm. The abrupt movement set her head to spinning, and her stomach lurched as if she were riding out a storm at sea.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty." Hawk Mercilessly watched Rozalyn turn green around the gills. "Would you care to join me in a cup of coffee before we break camp?"
