by Beth Trissel
Rather than the mustiness of dank stone and moldering leaves, the tantalizing scent of roast game and the cheery crackle of a campfire greeted her. Anticipating a black hole, she gazed around the limestone chamber in wonder. Light bounced off the walls and the fire created a glowing circle.
It was as though they were expected. A plucked pheasant sizzled over the orange flames. A blanket had been spread next to the fire, and another tucked nearby. The spiciness of sassafras wafted from a small pot; a cup waited in readiness.
She spoke through chattering teeth. “You did all this?"
"For you."
Smoke rose to the murky ceiling and back toward an unseen alcove. Vast chambers might lie beyond this first room, but he'd made it snug for a cave. Remorse stabbed at her. “I had no idea—and now—I've spoiled everything."
The lines at his mouth eased. “Perhaps not all."
"Forgive me."
"Warm first. Speak later.” He untied her drenched cloak and spread it to dry. “You must also remove your clothes."
She tugged at her bodice with numb fingers and fumbled the laces. He laid his musket down, slipped off his powderhorn and shot pouch. His vest joined the pile. He unbelted his sash, along with his pouch, knife, and tomahawk, and took off his shirt, adding these to the cave floor. Moisture glistening over his bare chest, he turned to her.
He quickly unlaced her bodice and pulled it from her then untied her petticoats. They fell around her ankles. Covered in goosebumps, she stepped from the mud-splattered cloth and stood trembling in her shift. The damp cascade of her hair lent her no warmth.
"Poor Red Bird. So cold you are."
He laid the bedraggled garments near the fire and swiveled back to her. He bent to unknot the ties that kept her high-top moccasins in place—the moccasins he'd helped her fashion. She stood awkwardly on one foot then the other as he pulled the wet deerskin from her and peeled off her disheveled stockings. She clutched at him for balance and warmth.
"Lift your arms,” he said. “I will remove your shift."
"I'll be utterly bare."
"I have a blanket for you."
She lifted her arms hesitantly and stood as he stripped her clinging underdress. Surely she must be the most immoral woman on earth. Torn between what to shield first, she crossed both arms over her breasts. “I've never been naked in front of a man before."
"Good.” He tossed her shift beside the other clothes.
"But I don't think ‘tis decent."
"It would be far worse if this were common for you,” he said with a smile, his eyes playing over her like twin flames.
She flushed hotly. “Why do you get to keep your breechclout while I've nothing?"
His smile broadened. “You wish it off?"
"I didn't mean—I—never mind."
She broke off as he scooped her up in his arms and bore her a few steps. The smooth slippage of their rain-slicked skin made her embarrassed squirming a disturbingly delightful sensation. He laid her down on the blanket. She snatched at the extra cloth.
"Don't cover all. I will warm you,” he said.
"But you can see everything."
"Close your eyes. You will not know what I see.” He slid beneath the blanket and turned onto his side facing her.
She squeezed her lids together, finding it easier not to be a witness. “I'm a muddy mess."
"No. Only beautiful."
He held her to him. The muscles and heat of his chest pressed against hers was distracting, to say the least. “Oh—I've never felt anything quite like this."
"You will feel more still."
He slipped his fingers over her shoulders and her back, grazing her shoulder blades. She arched her back involuntarily as he trailed along her spine, following the rounded curve of her lower back to circle his hands softly down the slope of her chilled bottom. “Everywhere you are cold."
She nuzzled her face against his cheek. “My nose is like an icicle."
"What of your mouth?"
He lowered his lips and settled them over hers...kindling an inner fire that flamed up in her like an oven. Her trembling lessened as he lingered at her mouth.
"Warmer now?” he whispered.
"Oh, yes."
"Good. We will speak,” he said with sudden firmness. “This time you cannot fly from me."
She opened her eyes to the censure remaining in his. “How can you kiss me that way if you're still angry?"
"You lie bare in my arms. I wish only to love you, yet I must scold.” He traced a finger around her mouth. “I will not share these lips with Rob Buchanan."
"I did not know Rob would kiss me the way he did. I asked him to kiss only my cheek."
"You think he would do this with your fair mouth before him?"
"Rob isn't like Chaka."
Wicomechee shook his head as if he couldn't believe her naivete. “Do you not see how much desire Rob has for you?"
"I wish he didn't."
"Are you certain you bear him none in return? You wept, begged me to spare his life."
"Out of friendship only. I—love you—” she stammered. “I told Rob this."
The disapproval in Wicomechee's scrutiny softened a little more and he wound a tendril of her hair around his finger. “Rob would not hear you?"
"He refused to and said he will take me from you."
"How?"
"With the aid of an army under the command of Colonel Bouquet."
Wicomechee tensed and the mildness in his face vanished.
A shadow grew in her mind. “You know of this?"
"That army is one reason Outhowwa attacked in your valley, to lure the soldiers away from our villages."
"And if they're not lured away, and the Colonel forces his terms?"
Wicomechee said without hesitation, “I will hide you."
"What if you can't? What if they take me from you? I'd rather die."
He grew somber, and for a long moment his eyes alone spoke for him. “Live, Red Bird. I will take you back."
"I never want to leave you, Mechee."
He considered her in bemusement. “Yet you ran from me only a short while ago."
"I was afraid,” she whispered.
His breath warmed her ear. “Do you fear me now?"
"A little. Sometimes you are like a wild animal."
"I am meshepeshe, the panther, who moves through the trees on silent feet so no one knows...until he howls."
She looked into his face and followed every strong line. At times, his dark eyes were very like an enraged panther's, and ever watchful.
He firmed his jaw. “No man will take you from me."
"I pray you're right. Rob says I will forget you and learn to love him."
"Never.” Wicomechee caught her close, crushing her against him. “You belong to me. Not Rob Buchanan."
Charity sucked in her breath, and Wicomechee lightened his near fierce hold. “Do not fear me, sweet one."
He bore possessive lips down on hers. Again, he was the panther, but with a far different purpose now, a panther claiming his mate. She did not yet realize, but she was about to learn. His throbbing groin ached to teach her.
Her lips parted at his urging, and she opened to his tongue. He touched hers, lightly at first, and she touched back in sweet uncertainty, and then he thrust into her mouth with a swelling intensity she was helpless to equal. Fresh goosebumps sprang up in answer to the heat he felt washing through her.
She was breathless when he drew back enough to allow her to speak. “I'm much warmer now."
"You shall be warmer still.” He pressed his mouth over the tempting curve of her neck. “Your soft skin shall bear my mark. Not Rob Buchanan's."
The mantle of her hair shone and whispered against his skin as his lips quested downward. He slid one palm in a long stroke along her smooth side, like a supple young willow, and her wonderfully curved hip. Finally...he cupped his other hand around her mounded breast, circling its plump tip with the barest touch o
f his tongue. She gasped as he closed his lips around the nipple to suckle it. He didn't spare her a single sensation, but moved hungrily between her breasts.
She squirmed under the powerful emotion he sent through her and laid her hands on his shoulders, as if that might steady her. “I think you will do far more than warm me."
He blew softly on a taut nipple flushed deep rose. “Did I say I would do only that?"
Her breasts rose and fell beneath his seductive mouth. “No. But I'm not certain about all of this."
"I am.” He'd never been more aware of every inch of his fevered skin, or of the aching need to plunge inside her.
The fire bathed her in orange-gold light as he glided caressing hands and lips over her womanly beauty. Any last reserve of resistance she still had seemed to dissolve...the fair spirit of the trees bound by love with the panther. What a coming together this would be, wind and fire. She seemed spellbound by him, intoxicated. Where he led, she followed, with less assurance than he, yet with tender passion.
Her seeking lips discovered his neck and she slid her fingers through his hair, over his shoulders and chest, stopping at his abdomen. She wasn't bold enough to explore any further down, but she slipped her hand over his hip, not as curved as hers, and his thigh.
"Mechee,” she summoned in a breathy whisper. “You are so different from me."
"More than you know. Have you ever looked on the whole of a man?"
"Once, by accident when Craig was bathing."
He almost pitied her ignorance. She was in for a shock. Smiling slightly, he rose up on his knees above her and jerked away his breechclout, leaving only the narrow thong that had held it in place.
She gaped at the spectacular difference between them. “Your—” she stumbled, at a loss for words. “Oh my."
Laughter nearly escaped him. “I am not always as you see me now."
"I thought not,” she managed, her eyes asking the unspoken question.
"I must be this way to enter you."
The wonder in her stare increased. “Good heavens. You can't actually mean to put all that inside me?"
He hid a grin behind his hand. “Where else?"
"It's not possible,” she argued.
"I will show you."
"Oh, no.” She scooted away from him and scrambled to her feet. Conscious again of her nakedness, she turned to the side in a useless attempt to shield herself from him. Once more, she tried to cover her glorious body with her hands.
He remained as he was. No need to alarm her anymore than she already was, better to lure her back. Feigning casualness, he gave a languid stretch and lay down with his head propped on one elbow. “Where will you go?"
She darted her gaze around the cave.
"Do you think to hide from me?” he asked.
"Not in here."
He swept his admiring gaze the length of her. “Will you run out into the night as you are?"
She reached down and snatched at the blanket. “Stop looking at me!"
He held onto the cover. “You stand before me."
Her eyes continually returned to his full-blown manhood. “Maybe you need a bigger woman?"
A chuckle rumbled up from his chest and it was all he could do not to howl.
"Mechee. I'm serious."
"I know."
Her face betrayed the workings of her mind as she snatched at ideas and blurted them out. “Couldn't you just go on touching me as you were?"
"You like that?"
She colored the pink that washed the sky at dusk. “Very much."
"You will like more than this. Come,” he coaxed.
She chewed her lip and remained maddeningly out of reach.
If he weren't half crazed with need, he would enjoy her appealing quandary. As it was, he lay in mounting impatience. “Charity, must I chase you through the cave?"
She glanced at the surrounding stone flickering in the shadowed light. With a shake of her head, she dropped cautiously down onto the blanket and back into his waiting arms. He drew her soft curves against him. She trembled from her lovely head to her bare pink toes.
"You shake as if waiting for torture,” he chided.
"I can't help it."
"Calm down."
He trailed his hand over her flat stomach and down between her shapely legs. She stiffened as he slid his fingers where no man's had ever ventured before...slipping lightly over her moist skin, between tempting folds, and her as yet untouched bud.
Squirming at the new sensation, she said, “Mechee—"
"Hush...I'll not harm you."
"Do you promise?"
"Yes."
"Rob promised to let me go after a kiss,” she confided shakily.
Her innocence was astonishing. “He lied."
"What of you?"
"I tell you now. I will never let you go.” He ran his fingers over the tumbled lengths of her hair glowing like red coals in the light. “I will make you niwah, my wife."
"Niwah,” she repeated. “I like this sound. Am I not already yours?"
"Not fully. I am determined to let no man part us. But I must guard you well. You fly without thinking."
"I will be more careful. I swear it."
He covered her vow with his lips, coaxing her to silence while he gently explored within her. She was smaller than he would've liked and she tensed at first, but slowly relaxed as he expanded her with the rhythmic motion of his fingers.
Her reluctance at his seeming invasion diminished at the all-consuming desire he felt pulsing through her in the hammered beat of her heart. There was no part of her that did not seem to thrill at his touch and he pressed his advantage until she ground against his hand, wanting more.
She broke from his mouth. “What are you doing to me?"
Laughing softly, he buried his face in her quivering neck. He understood what she did not, the need that now possessed her for him and all he had to give. And yet, she seemed to have some inherent knowing of why he was made as he was. She gripped his shoulders as he moved over her, pulling his hard maleness down on her as he nudged her legs apart.
With an intensity that sprang from that primal place deep inside, he said, “You shall have my child."
Whether she understood what he was about to do or not, he'd held himself back long enough. Wrapping her in his arms, he eased his manhood inside her oiled warmth with a groan of profound pleasure.
Charity startled as though at a sudden sting. “Stop!” she cried, twisting beneath him in a struggle to free herself.
He held her down, his bliss at odds with her pain. “I cannot. This you must bear to fully join us."
Tears sprang into her entreating eyes. “You said you wouldn't hurt me."
"I regret to. You are small, tight. The pain will ease,” he soothed, and penetrated her more deeply.
She gave an even sharper cry and dug her fingernails into his shoulders as he embedded his shaft in her rich wealth. This was where he'd longed to be from the first and he thrillingly repeated this most compelling of all movements.
"Enough,” she pleaded.
He kissed her damp cheeks and rigid neck. “Not yet. Move with me."
"How? I only want to escape."
"Try. It will go better for you."
She took a shuddering breath and slowly released it. With clear misgiving, she rocked her hips up and down, back and forth, in rhythm with his. He was fully inside her, then partially out, and thrusting in again, like a strange wonderful dance. Yes, he'd done this dance before, but not with the same exhilaration and marvel that this exquisite creature was at last his. If he remained knitted to her like this forever, it wouldn't be long enough.
To his relief, the tension in her face and body faded away and he found her urging him back inside her. This time the moan she loosed was uttered in delight not pain.
"You can bear this torture?” he whispered.
She closed her arms around his neck and sought his lips. “Just."
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Chapter Fifteen
After three stormy days the afternoon sun shone brightly. “Finished,” Charity said to the small dog, her sole companion, and straightened from the river bank. Her newly washed hair dripped to her waist and she wore only her damp shift and moccasins. The clean laundry she'd spread over naked shrubs made the bushes appear as though they'd sprouted dripping linens rather than leaves.
Gazing at the turbulent waterway, she was struck again by how splendid the Kenahway looked glinting in the light. It plunged like a living beast between the ridges jutting high above it, as unlike the river rippling beside the meadow back home as a panther from a kitten.
No meadow spread here. Poplar trees strung along the edge of the water vied for room with sycamores and underbrush. The yellow blooms covering naked witch hazel made an unlikely spot of color along the rough path worn by countless wild animals and sometimes wilder men.
Few settlers came this way now. Many fled their remote homesteads during the recent Indian Wars. Only the very brave or the foolhardy would bring their families out here now to scratch a living from the narrow valleys and hollows tucked among these rugged mountains.
Wet and shivering, Charity searched out a large flat stone farther along the bank and stretched out lengthwise on its sun-warmed surface. Weshe curled on the patchy grass beside her. How good the heated rock and wash of gold light felt to her goose-pimply skin.
"We'll head back in a bit,” she promised herself and the small dog.
If Wicomechee returned from hunting while she tarried here, Emma would send him down from their camp, just a stone's throw away up the side of the ridge...and he'd slip beside Charity. She smiled, envisioning what would follow. Wrapped in happy thoughts of him, she dozed like a cat in a sunbeam.
Growling broke through her drowsy stupor. She roused at the beagle's insistence, but heard only the roaring water. Had the warmth lured a snake from its den—worse, a bear?
She sat up guardedly. “What is it, Weshe?"
Seeing nothing out of place, she swiveled her head and stiffened. A small group of men were approaching with laden pack ponies. Bends in the trail and the river's roar must have concealed the newcomers from her watchful companion until they were only about thirty yards away. She'd never expected to meet anyone out here, let alone white men. Were they trappers? Beaver, mink, foxes, and deer abounded along the river. Would the strangers pass on by harmlessly? They lay between her and the path back to camp.
