Scarlet RIbbons

by Judith E. French

  A bubble of laughter rose in Sarah's throat. "Obediah said only a slattern dared go uncorseted, but I could not pole the ferry so bound." His mouth covered hers again and their tongues touched, sending shocks of excitement through her.

  An applewood log snapped on the hearth, and Sarah inhaled the sweet scent, knowing she would never smell applewood again without remembering this night . . . this man. She leaned toward Forest provocatively, savoring the heady sensations of his touch . . . thrilling at the love words he whispered into her ear.

  Waves of longing spilled through her . . . longing to give herself body and soul to him. The buds of her breasts thrust against the linen of her shift, each nipple hard and erect. Hot, tingling desire, stronger than she had ever known possible, flicked at her flesh with tongues of fire.

  Trembling, she pulled down one shoulder of her shift, then the other, sliding off her garment and standing before him completely nude.

  Forest's eyes traveled over her firelit skin, and he groaned deep in his throat. "My beautiful Sarah," he whispered.

  "I want to make you happy," she cried. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how to please you."

  "You please me no matter what you do," he answered hoarsely. He caught her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to meet his burning kiss.

  She could not get close enough. Drawing in great gasps of air, she molded her body to his, feeling the length of his hard desire, opening her mouth to accept his hot, thrusting tongue. The taste of him was clean and sweet, like honeyed velvet.

  "Undress me," he commanded.

  Sarah arched her back and teased his lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

  Forest moaned and closed his eyes. "Witch," he uttered.

  She laughed softly and took his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping gently. Her lips traced a path across his whiskers, down his neck and then back up to his ear. "You want me to take off your clothes?" She blew softly into his ear, then licked it with feather-light caresses. "All of your clothes?"

  "Yes, yes," he breathed.

  "Kneel down."

  He did as she asked, and she gently drew the shirt over his head. She dropped to her knees on the floor beside him, and her fingers found the bandage on his side. The linen was clean, with no sign of renewed bleeding.

  "I would not have you injure your wound because of me," she whispered. She let her fingers move to his chest, stroking, massaging, teasing the buds of his breasts until they strained against her touch. He moaned again, and she chuckled, kissing each nipple in turn and laving the swellings with her moist tongue.

  Forest loosed the pins from her hair, letting the dark silk fall around her bare shoulders. "Ah, Sarah," he murmured. "You'll kill me with kindness."

  Her moist kisses trailed lower, across his flat stomach. His skin was hot beneath her lips; she could feel his body trembling as her own. "Stand up," she urged him softly.

  "Sweet torture." Forest rose unsteadily to his feet. "Have your will with me, woman."

  She kissed the top button of his breeches and slowly worked it open. "You want me to do that?" she teased.

  "Yes." He shuddered. "Yes."

  She released the second button and slipped her fingers inside the flap of his breeches. "Again?" she asked. "Shall I go farther?"

  "Again."

  Sarah kissed the third button, running her hands over his narrow hips and down the length of his hard, muscular legs. "Shall I undo this one too?" She slid her hands up the insides of his thighs, taking care not to touch his throbbing shaft.

  "Yes." He drew in a long breath. "And be quick about it, wench, or I'll rip these damned breeches open and have ye on the floor."

  Sarah laughed, releasing the third and fourth buttons. The pulsing urgency of her own desire was difficult to contain. Her face was only inches from his tumescent manhood, and the bulge in his breeches proved his eagerness to have this love-play over and done.

  "Have I helped enough?" she asked innocently.

  "Undo the damned buttons, Sarah!" Forest bellowed.

  She kissed the fifth button, and the sixth, undoing them with a slow, tantalizing motion. Without warning, she seized the waistband of the breeches and pulled them down about his calves.

  "Sarah, what in the name of—" Forest grabbed for her as she dodged away and dove giggling onto the bed.

  Still laughing, she burrowed between the sheets and pulled them up over her head. "Shame on you," she cried, her voice muffled by the cloth. "To ask a decent girl to do such things."

  Cursing under his breath, Forest stood first on one foot, then the other, as he ripped off his boots, socks, and then the tangled breeches. With a roar, he leaped on top of the bed and pulled the covers aside. "Woman!" he threatened. "No more of your torture."

  Sarah's eyes were huge and liquid in the firelight. She opened her arms to him, crying out with pleasure as he lowered his head to kiss her breast, moaning as he sucked and licked at her aroused nipples. His hands moved over her, stroking . . . caressing . . . fanning the waves of desire within her body.

  "Torture me, would you?" He settled his hard body over hers, pressing his swollen member against her. "Ah, little Sarah, but I know something of torture myself," he rasped.

  She strained against him, undulating her hips and entwining her legs with his. He lowered his head until their lips met in a sweet, all-encompassing kiss of shared passion. Their tongues tangled and withdrew and met again. His skillful fingers teased her swollen nipples until they ached . . . until she arched her back to offer first one and then the other to be loved.

  He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, turning it to run his tongue along the blue vein at her wrist . . . and then the soft underside at her elbow. Sarah's body shuddered with desire as he kissed her breasts and the dark line that lay between her navel and the nest of dark, curling hair. He moved lower and caressed her inner thigh, and then the soft flesh behind her knee.

  "Forest . . . Forest," she moaned.

  "Tell me," he commanded hoarsely. "Tell me what you want me to do to you, little Sarah."

  "Love me," she cried. "Love me now!"

  His cry of joy mingled with hers as they joined flesh and spirit . . . giving and receiving . . . letting themselves be swept up in the tide of mutual rapture.

  Finally, when both lay spent and exhausted, Forest cradled Sarah in the crook of his arm and held her so close she could hear the beat of his heart. "Sweet Sarah," he murmured. "Sweet, sweet Sarah. I will love you all the days of my life." He stroked the hair tenderly away from her face. "And I swear to you," he promised softly, "that so long as you live, I will never take another woman."

  "No," she protested. "You can't—" Her words were muffled as he silenced her with a lingering kiss, and then another, and another, until both forgot what she had tried to say, and they got on with the more important business of loving.

  Chapter Twenty

  A Woman’s Courage

  Sarah and Forest covered only seven miles the first day of their journey. The temperature rose to just above freezing, and they were buffeted by wind and sleet. The wagon wheels bogged down in the mud and melting snow, and the horses sank to their fetlocks in the slush. Sarah and Forest spent the night in the one-room cabin of a Patriot farmer, along with their host, his wife, her father, and five children.

  "It was too warm in the cabin," Sarah remarked as Forest drove the team out of the farmyard at dawn the following day.

  His shoulders stiffened. "I'm sorry. I didn't expect a crying baby," he mumbled, "or the fleas."

  "I wasn't complaining," she replied. "I just said it was warm." The floor before the hearth had been hard, but Sarah had slept in worse places. At least there were no rats or groping hands, as there had been on her terrible sea voyage to America. No one had been seasick, and no one had died and been left in the adjoining bunk for two days until the stench reached the upper deck.

  Forest drew his cloak closer around him against the wind. "I'm not sure it's right, dragging you in
to this," he said gruffly. "It's not too late for you to go back to King's Landing."

  Sarah's eyes glowed with an inner light. "It was too late the first time I took you to my bed," she murmured. A warm smile lit her face. "You're stuck with me. I'm here, and I'm not going back."

  He scowled and hunched forward, his gloved hands clenched around the leather reins.

  Sarah stared at the narrow road ahead. It was colder this morning; the ground had frozen hard during the night. That would make it easier for the team to pull the heavily laden wagon. The dapple-gray had taken command from the first hour they'd hitched the animals together. The other horse was a big roan mare. The mare followed the dapple-gray's lead well enough, but she had to be coaxed to pull her share of the load on a grade.

  Sarah tucked her hands inside her cloak and adjusted the bread-filled pouch inside her gown that made her look nine months gone with child. Forest had laughed when she'd shown him the large, round loaf of raisin bread that she proposed to sew inside her dress.

  "I've heard of women having a bun in the oven," he'd quipped, "but this is the first time I've ever seen one with raisins."

  Forest's remark had brought back the memory of a similar statement by her would-be-blackmailer, Roman Clough. If Roman and his wife returned to the inn before the two weeks were up they would find it empty. She didn't believe they'd carry out their threat of going to Isaac or the sheriff until they'd made every possible effort to extract the money from her. The journey would give her time to think.

  Sarah wiggled on the hard wooden seat, trying to find a comfortable position. She glanced sideways at Forest, but he was deep in his own thoughts and didn't notice. She reached under the seat and pulled out a thick wool blanket. Nudging Forest, she got him to stand up so that she could slide the folded blanket under them.

  Forest grunted something that could have been annoyance or a thank you, and sank back into his reverie.

  "You're welcome," Sarah said with unconcealed amusement. She settled on the blanket cushion, convinced it was an improvement over the spring-less seat.

  She still hadn't decided what she was going to do about Roman and Belle. If she told Forest about their attempt to blackmail her, it would mean admitting that Obediah was dead—dead under peculiar circumstances. There would be an investigation by the authorities, and it would be her word against Roman's that Obediah had died of natural causes. Suppose she went to jail? What would happen to Joshua? Even if Forest believed her story and wanted to protect Joshua, the law would be on Isaac's side.

  Face it, Sarah, she admitted to herself, you've committed an illegal act by hiding Obediah's death. You've cheated Isaac of his property and Joshua's guardianship.

  It was a man's world. Since she was twelve years old she had been wronged by men, and it wasn't fair. Now the injustice was extending to her son. Only a man would decree that a fatherless child would be better off with a male guardian than the mother who had borne him. The law might be hundreds of years old, but it was wrong.

  Isaac Turner was a monster. She would never let Isaac have Joshua—not if she had to bury Isaac beside Obediah to prevent it.

  The front right wheel hit a rut, and Sarah was thrown against Forest. He steadied her with a strong arm. "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Just jolted two eyeteeth loose."

  Forest looked at her sharply.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep from laughing at him. "No, I'm fine," she assured him. "What kind of women are you used to that you expect me to break apart from a rut in the road? Is your sister such a fine lady?"

  His complexion darkened. "I didn't mean to insult you," he said shortly. "You're prickly this morning."

  "I'm prickly?" she demanded. "Not half a mile past you were trying to send me back." She tilted her head and regarded him shrewdly. "And you're doing it again—changing the subject. Whenever a man doesn't want to talk about a thing, he changes the subject. I asked about your sister. Rebecca, is it?"

  "What do you want to know about her?" The road ahead was fairly level and blown free of snow by the wind. Forest jangled the reins to quicken the team's pace.

  "She'd not approve of me, would she?"

  Forest shook his head. "That's not a question I'll answer."

  "I knew it. And your mother? What did you say to her of me? Does she know I'm your doxy?"

  Forest yanked back on the reins. The horses came to a sliding halt as he dropped the reins and seized Sarah's hands. "I'd kill a man who said that of ye," he said coldly. "You'll not repeat it!"

  Sarah's composure faltered in the face of his sudden anger, but she refused to retreat. "Those people back at the cabin," she insisted, "do you think they believed I was your sister?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "It matters to me."

  Sarah slid over on the seat and looked up into his face with an unwavering gaze. "I laid awake a long time last night," she admitted. "The thought kept preying on my mind that those good people might believe me a wanton." She suppressed a shiver. "And what will happen when we reach Valley Forge and Washington's army?" she continued softly. "What then? What will they call me? Patriot or whore?"

  Forest's lips whitened with rage. "I've never struck a woman," he murmured vehemently, "but by God, if you say such—"

  "Lay a hand on me," Sarah warned, "and I'll kill you! No man will strike me again. Do you hear me? No man!"

  Forest flushed. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I'd never hit you."

  She crossed her arms over her chest and rocked to and fro in silent misery, clenching her eyes shut. He grabbed the reins and shook them over the horses' backs. "Haa!" he called to the team. "Git up."

  Sarah wrestled inwardly with her own troubled thoughts. I've hurt him, and I never meant to, she thought. How could she possibly expect Forest to understand her fears when she was so confused by her own feelings?

  As long as they'd remained at King's Landing, she'd not worried overmuch about her reputation. A woman, even a respectable one, was expected to have male servants. As long as she was discrete in her personal behavior, no one had cause to point any fingers. Traveling alone with a man was different.

  She was silent for nearly a mile and then she raised her head and fixed him with an unwavering gaze. "It was my fault," she admitted. " 'Tis my sharp tongue. But the thought that others would think me wanton preyed upon my mind. What you and I have . . ." She trailed off. "I don't feel like a bad woman, but the church and the law would say I am, so I must be."

  He glanced over at her. "Are you ashamed of loving me?"

  She shook her head. "No."

  "Good." He lowered his head and kissed her. "What we are to each other is no one else's business."

  "I've thought that too, but—"

  "What is right is not always what is written," he said quietly. "I know what I feel for you in my heart, Sarah." He took her hand in his gloved one. "Answer not to me," he said, "but to your own conscience. How many men have you taken to your bed?"

  Her lips paled to chalk. "Two!" she cried. "I swear it on the salvation of my soul!" She shook her head slowly. "Who else would there be? Just you and Obediah—and he was not by my choosing."

  Forest squeezed her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. "Then you would make a poor whore, sweet. Two men is a night's work for most of the camp followers. A woman of your vast experience with men can hardly be called loose." Amusement twinkled in his unpatched eye. "Mischievous, perhaps."

  Color flowed back into her cheeks. "There you go again," she protested weakly. "You and your smooth talk. What did you do before the rebellion?"

  He chuckled. "That makes three times you've asked me that, woman, and my answer is always the same. I built boats."

  "You told me a lot of things," she reminded him. "Most of which were lies. How am I to pick the tiny bits of truth from all that chaff?"

  He shrugged. "Just trust me, I guess."

  "You and the tax collector."

  ~~~

 
As the days passed and they journeyed northward, Sarah and Forest noticed there were few travelers on the road. Those they saw made no friendly advances. It was evident that an atmosphere of tense suspicion gripped the peninsula.

  Once, a poorly dressed child ran out to the road and asked for food. Sarah dug in her basket and handed the boy a loaf of bread. Seizing it in his dirty hands, he ran off without so much as a thank-you.

  "Hard times," Forest said.

  Sarah nodded, wondering if Joshua had eaten well that day. "It's the children who suffer most," she replied. The hungry boy had been without gloves, and his fingers had been cracked and red with cold. "Do you think we should stop and ask . . ." she began.

  "The men at Valley Forge are dying," Forest reminded her. "If you give away all our food before we get there, we go on a fool's errand."

  "Would you have me leave that child with an empty belly?" she demanded.

  "No, of course not. You did no more than I would have. But we can't go out of our way to feed whole families. I'd hoped to persuade other Patriot sympathizers to take supplies to Washington's army, but the land looks picked clean. I've not seen a cow since early morning."

  Sarah gave a snort of derision. "If they've got cows, they'd be lack-wits to stake them out beside the road for any marauding thief to lead away, wouldn't they?"

  At twilight, Forest turned the team off the road and onto a wooded lane. "I know a gunsmith who lives here," he explained. "Abner Freeman. He'll put us up for the night."

  The lane led to a neat frame house and barn. The windows and doors were all shut tight; there was no sign of life except smoke rising from the chimney. Not even a dog barked.

  Forest reined in the team before the door, climbed down from the wagon, and knocked; there was no answer. He rapped again harder, and a sliding bolt grated. The door opened a crack, allowing the muzzle of a musket to poke through. A woman's voice called out. "Who are you and what do you want?"

  "I'm Forest Irons, a friend of Abner's."