Wedding Fever

by Lee Wilkinson

  And each time it would get worse. She would want him just a little bit more, slip just a little bit more into his power, until she was unable to leave him. Then, when his obsession was cured and he grew tired of her...

  Nick glanced back over his shoulder.

  Raine bit her lip and, afraid he would pick up her agitation, as he so often picked up what she was thinking and feeling, tried to calm herself.

  But still the panicky thoughts jostled through her head. She had to get away! Yet leaving on foot was out of the question. She would have to be suicidal to attempt it. And, though desperate, she wasn’t suicidal...

  If only she could get her hands on the keys to the Cherokee...

  Eyes unseeing, thoughts busy, she paddled mechanically until the bottom of the canoe grating against the smooth stony bed of the shallows, startled her.

  Midnight-blue eyes on her face, Nick asked, ‘Something bothering you?’

  ‘No, no...’

  ‘You look to be in a mental turmoil.’

  Oh, but he was too clever by half.

  Raine was naturally truthful, lies didn’t come easily to her, and she was painfully aware that she sounded ill at ease as she seized on what he’d told her earlier. ‘I—I was just thinking of you and Finn rafting down the creek. Surely it must have been terribly dangerous?’.

  He seemed to accept her explanation, however, answering casually, ‘Not really. We only attempted it when the conditions were right.’

  Pushing himself up, he jumped out of the light craft with the cat-like agility that seemed almost disconcerting in so big a man and, a foot steadying the prow, held out his hand. Reluctantly she took it, and was hauled up to step out into an inch or so of lapping wavelets.

  Looking back, she saw a gossamer mist was beginning to form on the lake; the sun had gone and the sky, flaming orange and gold in the west, was flecked with purple cloud. Wings whirring, honking loudly, a skein of geese flew in V-formation low over the water.

  Beneath the trees a blue dusk was creeping out of hiding, and the pungent scent of woodsmoke hung on the hazy air. It was almost evening. Soon it would be night.

  She shivered a little, and in silence helped him carry the canoe the short distance to the cabin and restow it.

  Alongside the veranda was an old tree stump that was used as a chopping block. While Raine went and took off her outdoor things Nick fetched a pile of dry logs and, having stripped off his jacket and hung it over the veranda rail, began to split them.

  Hearing the strokes of the heavy axe ringing out in the stillness, she was suddenly galvanised into action. While he was occupied this was her chance to look for the keys to the Cherokee.

  Heart racing, feeling guilty as a thief, she searched his belongings, going through his trouser and coat pockets with care, but finding only his wallet, a sealed envelope, a folded handkerchief, a penknife, a comb, his house keys and a handful of dollars, dimes, quarters and nickels.

  He must be carrying the car keys on him.

  Biting back her disappointment, knowing she mustn’t appear upset when he came in, she made an effort to calm herself while she lit the gas-lights and boiled water for a pot of coffee.

  By the time Nick had finished his task and carried in a plentiful supply of split logs, the gathering clouds were making it practically dark outside, and there was a spit of rain on the windows.

  Looking up from the meal she had started to prepare, Raine saw that there were several woodchips in his thick fair hair and a fine sheen of perspiration on his hard-boned face.

  “There’s some coffee ready,’ she said.

  ‘Keep it hot,’ he suggested briefly. ‘I’ll shower off first.’

  Hanging his black leather jacket on one of the hooks, he disappeared into the bathroom.

  It was, she realised with sudden hope, the jacket he’d worn the previous evening. Holding her breath, she hurried over to feel in the pockets, and heard the rattle of the keys before her eager fingers touched them.

  Her luck seemed to be in. Along with the keys came an unexpected bonus—her wallet containing her driving licence and credit cards.

  Thrusting it into the pocket of her trousers with desperate haste, she then pulled on a pair of flat shoes and an anorak, and, snatching up her mud-stained handbag, made for the door, closing it behind her with care and wincing when the latch clicked loudly in the silence.

  Heart racing, she crept down the veranda steps and pocked her way over the muddy ground. A breeze had sprung up, blowing a tendril of hair against her cheek and ruffing her half-fringe, and it had started to rain in earnest.

  She felt a qualm or two about starting out in the dark, but she didn’t dare wait until morning. There might not be another chance.

  The Cherokee’s lights were good, and as soon as she’d crossed the creek and found her way back to the logging road the worst would be over, she told herself stoutly.

  But suppose there was nothing to indicate in which direction Bangor lay?

  Mentally squaring her shoulders, Raine decided that it was no use worrying ahead; she would jump that hurdle when she came to it.

  Nervousness making her fumble, she dropped the keys in the mud, wasting precious seconds searching for them. As soon as she had them safe once more, she found the right one and opened the car door. Climbing behind the wheel, she pulled the door to carefully, afraid to bang it, and, hands shaking, fitted the key into the ignition.

  The engine sprang into life immediately. She was just breathing a sigh of relief when the door swung open again and Nick stood there, bare to the waist, a towel slung around his neck. ‘Thinking of going somewhere?’ he asked crisply.

  Shock made her a split second too slow. Just as she tried to press the accelerator he switched off the engine and removed the keys in one swift movement. The next moment she was hauled out, none too gently, and propelled back the way she’d come, his fingers biting painfully into the soft flesh of her upper arm.

  Blinking a little in the light, she watched apprehensively as he closed the heavy door with a decisive thud and pushed home the bolt.

  When he turned to face her, she saw he was livid. With a kind of raging calm, he asked, ‘How the hell did you think you were going to find your way in the dark?’

  ‘You did,’ she pointed out defiantly.

  ‘I’m familiar with the backwoods. You’re not.’

  As he advanced towards her she had to summon every ounce of courage not to back away, and somehow she managed to stand her ground, even when he loomed over her.

  Pulling off her anorak, he tossed that and her bag aside, demanding, ‘Have you the faintest idea of the risks you were running?’

  ‘Getting lost was preferable to staying here.’

  ‘You silly little fool!’ he snarled. ‘The weather’s deteriorating, and if you’d got bogged down or hopelessly lost, the only other people you’d have been remotely likely to encounter would have been hunters or backpackers on the Allagash trip. Most, no doubt, are decent men, but you might have met the sort who would consider a lone woman fair game.’

  Then his anger and exasperation boiled over. ‘I’ve a damned good mind to turn you over my knee and teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry.’

  Terrified of his fury, of the violence she’d aroused, she played the only card she’d got ‘Then why don’t you?’ she cried scornfully. ‘You’re a big strong man. I can’t stop you.’

  ‘Exactly!’ His eyes blazed. ‘And you’d have had even less chance of stopping a group of half-drunken hunters.’

  Her lip curled contemptuously. ‘So I should think myself lucky to be with a man who gets his kicks from telling me what might have happened to me?’

  ‘If we’re talking about kicks perhaps I should show you what might have happened to you.’

  She was wearing a checked woollen shirt, and, taking hold of the lapels, he wrenched them apart, ripping the buttons from the buttonholes and tearing the fabric.

  At her cry of outrage,
he said with icy determination, ‘Unless you want me to rip the rest of your clothes from your back, you’d better take them off. And fast.’

  ‘I hate you!’ she spat at him while, hands shaking, she obeyed his command.

  He stripped off the rest of her clothes and, as soon as she was naked, hooked her feet from under her, sending her sprawling on the rug. He followed her down, leaving her in no doubt that he really did mean to take her brutally, to prove a point and to teach her an object lesson.

  Her breathing was quick and harsh, and her pulse seemed to slam through her veins. But she made no attempt to struggle. She wouldn’t fight him—wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of subduing her.

  Looking at her set face, he said softly, ‘No, perhaps not. Rather than just taking you, I think I’ll get a great deal more pleasure from making you respond when you so obviously don’t want to.’

  Grasping her chin in one hand, he forced her to meet his eyes. Seeing the defiance in her dark-pupiled green stare, he smiled mirthlessly. ‘Well, my darling wife, shall we see how long it will take to set you alight?’

  Lips pressed together, she said nothing.

  His tongue-tip traced the outline of her mouth, then moved across her lips, parting them to stroke the sensitive inner skin.

  She gave a throaty gasp, and he began to kiss her lightly, sensuously. Feeling her lips quiver betrayingly beneath his, he whispered, ‘I don’t think it will take too long.’

  He slid a hand beneath her back and arched her towards him, using his fingers and his mouth and his voice to pleasure her until, lost and on fire for him, she signalled her surrender by turning her face into his tanned throat.

  Moving with maddening slowness, he began to make love to her—a leisurely prolonged building of sensation until she was poised on the brink.

  But, instead of going on to give her the satisfaction she craved, he lifted himself away a little and, spreading his hands over the cradle of her hips, began to move them in a rocking motion.

  She tried to stiffen, but he was in control, making her move as he wanted her to move, generating a liquid heat, building an almost unbearable core of tension inside her with knowledge and consummate skill.

  His lovemaking was as inventive as it was erotic, and finally her whole body jerked and quivered in a wild explosion of ecstasy.

  As though to prove his dominance once and for all, he took her to the heights repeatedly, until she was limp and mindless, her entire being melted by the white-hot heat of passion.

  Then, leaving her lying there, eyes closed, drained of all emotion, he got up and pulled on some clothes.

  A short while later she heard him rattling pots and pans as he took over the cooking of their belated meal.

  The heat from the stove was no compensation for the warmth of his body and she shivered, gathering up her clothes and making her way to the bathroom, staggering a little like someone inebriated.

  She hated both him and herself with a fierce and bitter hatred. Remembering her declaration that if he was up to his neck in quicksand she wouldn’t lift a finger to help, that she’d stand and cheer while he went under, she told herself that though she might not have meant it then, she certainly meant it now.

  She showered and, her resentment growing, deliberately dressed in the things she had worn earlier, though the shirt gaped open, exposing her low-cut bra and the curves of her breasts.

  Let him feel ashamed of the way he had treated her.

  But if he felt any shame he certainly didn’t show it. When she emerged from the bathroom he looked up and, allowing his gaze to travel slowly over her from head to toe, said with cool arrogance, ‘Come here.’

  She knew she should refuse such a peremptory demand, make some kind of a stand for independence, but, though her expression was mutinous, somehow her legs carried her across the few feet of space.

  He had the air of a conqueror when, his hard face triumphant, he bent to touch his lips to hers.

  Jerking away, she demanded bitterly, ‘Another kiss of peace?’

  ‘You broke the truce,’ he pointed out. ‘But hopefully, now the war’s over, this peace will be longer lasting.’

  Raine looked at him with angry, resentful eyes. If he thought the war was over he was wrong! All he’d won was a battle.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THOUGH it rained heavily during the early part of the night, towards dawn it cleared, and Nick opened the curtains to another bright sunshiny day.

  ‘Ideal for a ride to Saskis Pond,’ he remarked. ‘When we’ve had breakfast I’ll pack the kind of picnic lunch Finn and I used to take.’

  ‘Speaking of Finn, didn’t you say he might call?’

  ‘He probably won’t leave Loon Lake until after lunch, so if we get an early start we should be home in plenty of

  When they’d eaten, and the picnic was ready, Nick suggested, ‘If you want to drive round to the Doodys’ with me, we could start from there.’

  ‘Well, I...’ Her eyes strayed to the marks on his hard cheek.

  ‘Ah!’ Realising the source of her discomfort, he fingered the scratches.

  She flushed. ‘What will they think?’

  His eyes held a teasing gleam. ‘When I tell them we’re up here on honeymoon, they’ll think I have a very passionate wife.’

  He watched her colour deepen and, making no effort to hide his amusement, went on, ‘Ah, well, if you’re too shy to come, I’ll leave the car there and ride back.’ Pulling on his coat, he went to the door.

  Unsettled and jumpy, she followed him through the porch and out onto the veranda.

  Taking the steps two at a time, he slid behind the Cherokee’s wheel. ‘I’ll be back in about an hour,’ he called. The door slammed and he was off.

  Raine watched until the four-wheel-drive went out of sight amongst the trees, then, unwilling to stay indoors, she pulled on an anorak and changed her shoes for a pair of boots before walking down to the water’s edge.

  Off to the right a streak of red caught her eye, and she saw a one-man canoe being paddled along parallel to the shore.

  On an impulse she hailed the occupant

  ‘Hi there!’ he replied cheerfully, and paddled towards her until she heard the light craft grate on the stony bottom.

  He was young, little more than eighteen or nineteen, and his fair face was pleasantly open. ‘You don’t sound as though you come from the States,’ he remarked.

  ‘I’m English,’ she admitted.

  ‘Staying in these parts?’

  She waved a hand. ‘At the cabin. What about you?’

  ‘Been on my second Allagash trip. Fantastic!’ He sighed. ‘Unfortunately this is the last day. In less than an hour I’ll be on my way back to Augusta.’

  ‘Presumably not by canoe?’ Raine asked lightly, while her heart leapt with sudden excitement.

  ‘I’ve a pick-up truck parked about a mile away—just off one of the logging roads. I follow the inlet—’ he pointed beyond the creek to a narrow curving arm of the lake ‘—to the end, then all it takes is a short portage.

  ‘Well, I must get on.’ As he began to ease the canoe back into deeper water he added with an engaging grin, ‘I’m picking my girlfriend up in Bangor, and there’ll be the devil to pay if I’m late.’

  ‘Wait! Please, wait,’ Raine begged.

  Looking startled by the sudden urgency in her voice, he paused, water dripping from the end of his paddle. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘Yes, I...I desperately need to get back to Bangor straight away. Please can you take me?’

  ‘Well . . . I suppose so... But surely you have some transport? ’

  Raine was about to shake her head when he added, ‘I caught sight of a big four-wheel-drive on the track only a minute or two ago.’

  ‘That’s my...’ Realising she couldn’t tell him the truth, she broke off. Then, her mind working like lightning, she went on, ‘My American cousin. He’s gone to visit some friends. Letting him bring me up here was a ghastly m
istake, and now to avoid a scene I want to get away before he comes back.’

  The canoeist looked uncomfortable, and, seeing his gaze fixed on her left hand, where her rings had flashed in the sun, she added hastily, ‘You see, I’m married, and I thought I could trust him. But as soon as we got here I discovered he had no intention of keeping things platonic.’

  ‘Have you only just arrived?’

  Taking a chance, she lied, ‘Yes... We managed a very early start this morning.’

  Plainly reluctant to get involved, the canoeist hesitated.

  ‘Oh, please,’ she begged.

  ‘Well, OK... But you’ll have to make your own way to the pick-up. It’s less than a mile if you go direct through the woods...’ He pointed. ‘There’s a narrow trail starts just behind the cabin. It leads to a footbridge that spans the creek above the bend.’

  That must be the old footbridge Nick had talked about, Raine thought.

  ‘Once across that, head for a spur of rock with a single pine growing on it. The pick-up is parked in the lee of it... Oh, and wear something bright orange if you can; it’s the hunting season.’

  Pulling away from the shore, he began to paddle. ‘So long as you don’t waste any time, you should easily be there before me. If you’re not waiting by the truck, I’ll presume you’ve changed your mind...’

  Stumbling in her haste, Raine turned and headed back to the porch, where she pulled on one of the orange plastic waistcoats and a matching woollen hat.

  Though the track was littered with debris from the recent storm, it was comparatively easy to follow, and, afraid of the canoeist leaving without her, Raine hurried over the rough rocky ground as fast as she dared.

  She heard the sound of the creek before she reached it, and she spurred herself on with the thought that the footbridge lay just ahead.

  But when she finally emerged from the trees she saw with a shock that the turbulent brown water had carried away some of the old rotting timbers. Part of the handrail had gone, and on the far side there was a jagged two-foot gap. What was left of the planking was awash.