Cloudcastle

by Nan Ryan

  Natalie continued to scrutinize the crowd, missing no one, double-checking, making sure. Satisfied she could finally relax and enjoy herself, that he was nowhere in the ballroom, Natalie headed for the stairs. She reached the wide center staircase and looked down.

  And her heart stopped beating, then raced madly.

  Kane, stunningly handsome, stood below her, an arm resting on the gleaming bannister, a booted foot propped on the first stair step. He wore a frock coat as black as his raven hair and a shirt as white as the mountain snow. His blue eyes were fastened upon her, in them a puzzling yearning and sadness.

  Instantly it was gone, replaced by that cool, cynically impertinent gleam she'd come to expect. Refusing to look away, he held her gaze and stood silently challenging her to descend the stairs and confront him.

  Telling herself she had no fear of him or of anything he might choose to do or say, Natalie tossed her head, lifted her blue merino skirts, and swept down the marble steps to him. Kane lowered his foot to the floor, awaiting her, white teeth flashing in the dark face, the exasperating glint lighting his azure eyes.

  Fighting the uneasy feelings this man always aroused in her, Natalie would have been greatly surprised at the thoughts filling his dark head as he appraised her.

  Kane watched the flame-haired beauty descending to him and his heart hammered heavily beneath his ribs. She was looking straight into his eyes, daring him to misbehave, assuring him she was not afraid, warning him she could hold her own against him.

  Never would he have given her the satisfaction of knowing just how appealing she was. It was not her fair, feminine beauty alone that made him want her with a passion that burned hot and constant. He'd had dozens of women as beautiful, although it was true that her glorious hair was of a bright copper color that seemed afire under the chandeliers and her skin was so flawlessly white, it looked like fine ivory porcelain.

  It was more, much more. It was the flash of stubborn defiance in her beautiful emerald eyes, the slightly arrogant lifting of her proud, straight nose, the determined set of her firm, small chin. And the rebellious, puffy pout of her lovely lips made him want to mash them in for her.

  Natalie reached Kane.

  "Mr. Covington, I'm glad you could come." She extended her hand.

  Kane took it and reached for the other. She withheld it, drawing it behind her. "What do you want?"

  "Only to protect my manhood, Your Honor." He grinned tauntingly, "I'm afraid you'll be tempted to give my—"

  "Will you keep your voice down!" Natalie hissed, her face turning crimson. Temper flaring, she snatched her hand free.

  "Yes, if you'll keep your thumb and forefinger to yourself."

  "Do you never tire of being crude, Mr. Covington?" She looked around to be sure no one heard him.

  "I? Crude?" Kane pretended surprise. Then he grinned and added, "Your Honor, of all your many talents I do believe acting is your greatest."

  Natalie ground her teeth. "I have no idea what you mean." She gave him a bored, impatient look.

  "You know exactly what I mean." He leaned closer, his breath ruffling the wispy curls on her temple. "Only with me are you yourself Real. Alive. Crude." He added softly, "And then only when were alone. Let's slip outdoors and be ourselves." He chuckled softly.

  Natalie rolled her eyes skyward. "You should never try to be amusing, Mr. Covington. It doesn't suit you."

  "Perhaps you are right, Judge. I'm much better suited to lovemaking, don't you agree?" His long fingers cupped her elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'll make you a bargain, you stop being an actress, and I'll stop being a comedian. We'll be lovers."

  Her jaw tightened and her green eyes flashed with anger and outrage. "Listen to me, Covington, and try your best to comprehend. I want—"

  "Your Honor," he broke in, smiling easily, "your fiancé is coming this way. Either prove me wrong and go right on chewing me out—"he nodded to the approaching blond man —"or prove me right and put on your charming, actress smile." Seething, Natalie was bested.

  She turned and smiled at Ashlin even as she inconspicuously ground the heel of her slippered foot into the instep of Kane's right foot. He didn't flinch or make a sound.

  "Kane," greeted Ashlin warmly, "there you are. We've missed you all day, haven't we, dear?"

  "Oh, all day," said Natalie, not daring to look again into Kane's accusing eyes.

  "Kind of you, Lord Blackmore." Kane shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with the only man in the ballroom likely to acknowledge his presence.

  Kane wondered what this man wanted. He didn't trust Lord Blackmore. No more than he trusted the beautiful woman who was to become Blackmore's wife. The man went out of his way to be friendly. Why? It did not add up to Kane.

  "If you two will excuse me," Kane said, his hand accidentally brushing Natalie's as she stood close. Both automatically glanced at each other, then away. "I see Marge Baker waving to me." He left them as the music started once again.

  Ashlin took Natalie in his arms and questioned, "What was all that about?"

  "All what?"

  "I watched the two of you from across the room," Ashlin told her. "I'm not sure I like what I saw. Should I be jealous?"

  "Certainly not," answered Natalie, inwardly cringing. She was doing exactly what Kane had accused her of doing. She was acting. Pretending. Lying. "Yes!" she wanted to shout loudly and ease her conscience, "you've every reason to be jealous. I've gone to his bed when I've never been to yours! And the callous devil is trying to get me there again. Yes, yes, yes, you should be jealous!"

  "I'm glad," he said, squeezing her hand and pressing her closer. "I can see in his eyes that he desires you and—"

  "Now, Ashlin—"

  "Hear me through, darling," Ashlin chided. "I know Kane desires you… he doesn't bother to hide it when he looks at you." He lowered his lips to her car and whispered, "I don't mind. I'm flattered, actually, for although I'd not trust Covington with my pocket watch, much less my fiancée, I know I can always, unfailingly, trust you, my dear."

  The rest of the evening was sheer agony for Natalie. She dutifully danced with miners and cowboys, laughing and spinning and pretending she was having the best of times. From thick, veiling lashes she cast nervous glances at the unscrupulous man responsible for her misery.

  Carol Thompson had managed to drag Kane onto the floor, and the glow on the pretty blonde's face could have lighted the big ballroom. Carol was a short, curvaceous woman, and her shiny golden head barely reached Kane's wide shoulders. She was leaning back in his long arms, her face lifted almost worship fully to his, her fingers toying with the thick, dark hair at the back of his head, her full breasts resting against his white shirtfront. Her lips were parted, her eyes were shining, her demeanor was one of complete surrender.

  Natalie guiltily looked away. Then back. Her eyes went to Kane's dark face. He was smiling down at Carol, but the expression in his blue eyes was enigmatic. Carol suddenly giggled and pressed her cheek against his chest and Natalie felt her stomach lurch unpleasantly. Kane's gaze lifted from the golden head beneath his chin and fell on Natalie. Their glances collided and held. His eyes flickered, his smile fled, his handsome face stiffened.

  Natalie made a misstep, apologised to her partner, and bit the inside of her cheek.

  What did it mean? What did Kane want of her? One minute he was teasing and goading, making her squirm and bristle with anger, the next he was looking at her as though she had somehow hurt or upset him. But how could that be? He cared nothing for her and had made that clear from the be-ginning. He delighted in torturing her, never missed an opportunity to remind her she was no lady, so why— "—is that the reason?"

  "I… I'm sorry." Natalie looked up into the harshly lined face of her dancing partner. "Could you repeat the—"

  "I was just askin' why you ain't married the earl yet," said the old sourdough, "was you waitin' till the Christmas season?"

  "I…yes, for Christmas," she said, wonderi
ng if she meant it. "We're waiting for the holidays."

  The dance continued and Natalie made a point to steer clear of Kane Covington. Ever conscious of his whereabouts, she managed to stay on the other side of the room from him. After his dance with Carol, Kane left the floor. Alone, he lounged against the wall near the orchestra, arms folded over his chest, seemingly impervious to the whispers about him. Lazily his eyes followed the dancers, and if he was aware that dozens of females were hopefully awaiting his invitation for a dance, he didn't let on.

  The liquor flowed. The music grew louder. The room fairly rocked with gaiety. And finally the inevitable happened. A fistfight erupted… two drunken cowboys wanted to dance with the same young lady. At the same time.

  The orchestra fell silent. Dancers scattered. Ashlin promptly released Natalie and made his way toward the troublemakers, even as others hastily moved out of harm's way. Natalie could not hear what was being said, but she saw Ashlin step in between the angry pair. In seconds the trouble had been quelled and peace restored. Ashlin lifted his hand and signaled the orchestra to resume playing.

  Ashlin was quickly surrounded by admiring, approving friends. His hand grew tired from all the congratulatory shakes. Impressed with his cool show of heroism and forceful exertion of authority, everyone in the room pressed forward to express their thanks.

  Everyone but Kane Covington.

  "Can't you get close enough to tell your handsome knight how proud you are?" Kane's deep, derisive voice caused Natalie to jerk her head around.

  "You way poke fun if you wish, Covington, but I am quite proud of Ashlin." She pushed at a rebellious red curl falling onto her forehead, and needled, "I'm told you let the Leatherwoods run you out of the Gilded Cage." She paused, expecting to see the scoffing grin leave his face. It never happened. Faintly flustered, she pressed on, intent on embarrassing him. "You did not stand up to them as Ashlin would have done."

  "Would you have been proud of me if I had?"

  "Certainly not!"

  "Ah, well, there you are. Why do it?"

  "Are you suggesting that Ashlin—"

  "I'm suggesting nothing beyond your hand for the next dance."

  Natalie gave him a smug look. "I will be enjoying the next dance in the arms of my fiancé."

  "Nope," drawled Kane, "it seems his virile display of manliness has had quite an effect on the ladies." He inclined his dark head across the room.

  A usually shy young matron, her face pink with excitement, was clinging to Ashlin's arm, drawing him toward the dance floor. He was smiling down at her, politely obliging.

  "I suppose you think I'm jealous." Natalie hated herself the moment the words were out of her mouth. The orchestra struck up a Virginia reel. "No," Kane said, shocking her, "I don't think you give a damn."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but was not allowed to respond. Kane's warm fingers took hold of her elbow, slid down her arm to her hand, and entwined her fingers through his. He led her to the floor.

  Couples queued up facing each other in parallel lines. Ashlin, four couples away from Kane, looked at Natalie, smiled warmly, then bowed to his beaming partner as Kane bowed to Natalie.

  The dance began.

  It was fast and strenuous and dizzying. Natalie, warm and out of breath, had no choice but to cling to her tall, graceful, partner as he whirled her swiftly about the floor, swept her beneath the canopy of the other dancers' up stretched arms, and released her so he could prance grandly behind her before pulling her back into his arms.

  Despite the vigorous, fast pace of the reel, Natalie was ever aware of the hard male chest and lean thighs pressing against her. Each movement of his tall, agile body seemed to singe right through her dress as though she were unclothed. She offered silent thanks that the furious timing of the dance and the frequent swings and spins made uninterrupted closeness impossible. She could never have made it through a waltz.

  The music stopped at last and, breathless, Natalie immediately stepped from Kane's arms. Hand at her throat, she swallowed, trying to speak, as all about them the winded dancers headed for the refreshment tables to quench their thirst.

  The music started once more. A waltz. Natalie was backing away. Kane was advancing. She shook her head wildly from side to side. He nodded his slowly up and down. She tried to speak. He said not a word. She held her hands up in an unconsciously defensive gesture. He aggressively took them both in his own.

  "No," she finally managed. "Yes," he calmly countered.

  Natalie winced softly as Kane masterfully pulled her slender body into his sure embrace and the sweet, soft strains of the music filled the room. His touch was firm upon her waist. His long, lean fingers clasped her hand warmly while his eyes, half hidden beneath thick, coal-black lashes, fastened on her parted lips.

  Feeling as though she would surely suffocate, Natalie drew a labored breath and focused on his dark throat above the stiff white collar. When she could speak, she said coldly, "Please do not hold me so tight, people are staring."

  "Are they?"

  "Yes, they'll think."

  "Let them."

  "Ashlin might be displeased."

  "Let him."

  Her eyes lifted to his. "Mr. Covington, I realize you don't care what anyone thinks, but I do."

  "Why?"

  "My life is here in Cloudcastle. While you will stay but a short time, I will live here for—"

  "I plan to stay."

  "You're so wealthy, then, that it is unnecessary for you to work?" She knew better.

  "No. Perhaps I shall find my fortune here." He smiled down at her.

  Natalie started. "Doing what?"

  "Prospecting."

  "I see. And just where do you plan to pan for gold? Turquoise tarn? San Miguel River? Escalante hot springs?"

  "Oh, not pan, Your Honor. I'm not interested in a few ounces of gold dust washed from the streams." He folded their linked hands against his chest. "Thought I'd explore my mountain; see if I can't uncover a rich vein above the clouds."

  Natalie fought the panic rising in her throat. "You're out of your mind, Covington. There's no gold on Cloud West."

  "Hmmm, maybe you're right. Still, I'll take a look."

  "It's winter," she frantically reminded him, "the snows will—"

  "Slow me down, no doubt." He grinned. "I'm in no hurry."

  "Mr. Covington, I really don't think—?"

  "Kane," he corrected her. "Can't you be a bit less formal, our relationship being what it is."

  "We have no relationship," she quickly snapped.

  Deep blue eyes looked at her accusingly. "Don't we?" drawled Kane, coldly. "Tell me, Judge, do you really suppose this self-denial is going to restore your I virtue? To me it's a bit like closing the barn door after the horse is loose." He felt her struggle against him, but his arm tightened, pressing her closer to his hard, ungiving length. Against her ear he murmured, "Self-indulgence may be a sin but a pleasurable one, if I recall." He blew teasingly on a wispy red curl and added, "And I recall the sound of your sighs, the taste of—"

  "My God, I hate you!" she cut him off, her fury rising, slender body trembling.

  Kane stared at the beautiful, angry face turned up to his. Her passions erupted, the green eyes were turbulent, willful, blazing. "I know you do," said Kane, feeling much the same way about her, "I know."

  Chapter Sixteen

  On Sunday morning following the El Dorado Day dance, no sun appeared. Dark, ominous clouds filled a bleak, leaden sky. Outside it was freezing cold, and getting colder. Strong, frigid winds howled at windows. At 9,000 feet, Cloud West was eye-level with the dark base of the rising storm.

  By noontime rain was falling in the high, windswept valley. Black clouds enclosed the mountain peaks as bolts of lightning lit up the darkened drawing room and claps of thunder rattled the windows of the big ranch house.

  Natalie's mercurial mood was as tumultuous as the tempest. Her mind kept returning to Kane Covington. And the mere thought of
him was enough to stir her ire.

  She despised his brooding cynicism and cool, condescending manner. His fondest desire was to humiliate her and he was quite adept at it. Recalled insults filled her with a violent anger and around the drawing room Natalie paced, cursing the day he was born.

  Then her wrath would be swept aside as a feverish sensation of white-hot lust came rushing in to overwhelm her and she could think of nothing save the waltz they had shared. Of how his tall, lean body felt against her own when he had held her much too closely. The warmth of his breath and lips when he spoke into her car, drawling coaxingly, over and over, in that soft Mississippi accent, "I want you, baby. Say you want me." All the while managing small accidental touches of those warm lips against her ear; touches that caused unbearable excitement.

  Fear suddenly claimed her. Kane had said he intended to do some prospecting. The Cliff Palace was not safe. The gold was not safe. And Natalie, pacing nervously back and forth, felt certain that neither she nor the gold would ever be safe.

  Her fear lasted but a brief time. Swiftly it changed back to all-consuming anger. Anger at Kane Covington. Of all her changing emotions, it was strongest. Dominating and engulfing her, it remained with her.

  Natalie was still pacing moodily when Tahomah appeared at Cloud West on that cold, dark afternoon. The Ute shaman came riding down out of the duck black clouds, unfazed by the wild wind and weather. His mahogany face wet with rain, he burst into the warm house, saying without preamble, "Tell me what is troubling you, Fire-in-the-Snow."

  Natalie was not surprised to see him. The old Indian had the uncanny ability of knowing when she was upset or unhappy. Absently running his parted, arthritic hand over the shiny panther's claw, he mutely awaited her answer.

  She could not reveal, even to Tahomah, all that burdened her on that bleak Sunday. Assuring the glum-faced chief it was nothing to concern him, she smiled warmly and attempted to wave the worry from his eyes with a dismissive gesture of her hand. Promptly she turned the subject to the worsening weather.

  Tahomah shook his gray head solemnly and warned that the "demons of winter" were loose upon the land and before they again crawled back into the earth, great changes would take place in the Shining Mountains. Some good, some bad.