Cloudcastle

by Nan Ryan

  Natalie's fever broke at sunup. Peacefully she slept in Kane's arms and Kane, tired, wrung out, flaring passions long since dissipated, dozed too. Unfortunately, it was Natalie who awakened fast.

  At midmorning she slowly roused. Successfully casting off the imprisoning chains of unconsciousness, she begin to come around. Half awake, half asleep, she lay with her eyes closed, resting, stretching, inhaling. Senses languidly awaking, one by one. Through a rapidly lifting haze she heard the snapping of the fire, the howling of the winds. She vaguely smelled whiskey and pinon wood and a unique, unidentified scent. She tasted a dusty dryness in her mouth. She felt warm, smooth flesh against her own.

  Natalie's emerald eyes slowly opened. The first thing she saw was a shiny panther's claw resting on a dark male chest. A little half smile touched her lips as her eyes slid closed once more. Feeling wonderfully safe and secure, she whispered softly, "Tahomah."

  A deep, drawling voice said softly, "Natalie, Tahomah was here earlier and he—"

  Natalie's eyes flew open in shocked alarm. And she saw a dark, handsome face inches from her own. She was staring into the azure eyes of Kane Covington.

  Heart hammering with indignity and frustration, she suddenly became overwhelmingly aware that the two of them were in bed together and that her breasts, totally bare, were pressed to his broad naked chest. Violently she shoved him away.

  "You bastard!"

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Natalie struck out viciously, hitting Kane, and felt a white-hot pain stab through her right shoulder. She winced and again shouted angrily at him, certain he was responsible for her agony.

  Kane swiftly grabbed her flailing fists and held them firmly in one of his hands. He twined lean fingers into her tumbled tresses and held her head immobile.

  "Listen to me, Judge." His face was inches from hers, blue eyes calm, voice low and steady. "You are hurt. You must he still. If you don't settle down, you'll do irrevocable damage."

  Natalie tried to turn her face away even as tiny beads of perspiration dotted her upper lip and she felt she might faint from the pain. Kane's restraining fingers slid from her auburn curls around to grip her jaw.

  "What have you done to me?" she wailed, near hysteria. "You've beaten me, you… you…"

  Not surprised that she would jump to just such an outlandish conclusion, Kane continued speaking in low, quiet tones. "I'm guilty only of saving your life. You were shot, Justice Vallance, while riding on my property and I…"At the word shot, Natalie's emerald eyes widened and her thoughts snapped instantly back to the strange journal she had found at Ashlin's mansion. She shuddered. "… and brought you to my cabin. I removed the bullet from your back," Kane was saying. "Who shot me?" she demanded, continuing to squirm against his restraining hands. "Who?"

  "I don't know."

  "You're lying," she said, her brain spinning with confusion. "You're lying and I want out of here! You let me up, I'm leaving right now." Natalie's bare breasts rose and fell rapidly with her short, nervous breaths, and she glared at Kane.

  "You'll leave when you're better."

  "I'll go now, damn you." She continued to struggle, her spirit unbroken despite the pain and weakness.

  "You wouldn't make it, Judge. There's a raging blizzard and you—"

  "What do you care if I make it or not?" she lashed out at him. "Don't pretend concern, Covington. When have you ever cared about anybody but yourself?"

  Coolly, he responded, "You are absolutely correct. It's myself I'm thinking of now. I'll be damned if I'm going to let you die and have the whole of Cloudcastle blaming me." A muscle twitched in his hard jaw. His bare chest, so close to hers, was heaving and Natalie, even though she was in pain, hissed at him, "You are touching me and I'll not have it!"

  Kane responded by urging her closer, purposely pressing her breasts to the damp, curling hair covering his broad chest. "You'll have anything I hand out. You're not in your courtroom passing down sentences, Judge. You're in my home and I make the law here."

  As she trembled with fury, her emerald eyes shot daggers at him. "You're holding me against my will, Covington, and I… I… demand that… you… you…" Her words trailed weakly away and Kane felt her slender body sag tiredly against his own, her strength completely spent. Tears of frustration were gathering in her angry eyes and her pale bottom lip was trembling.

  "Judge, Judge," said Kane, releasing her wrists and gently laying her down upon the bed. He pushed her wild red hair back off her pale, pain-drawn face, and with only a thumb brushed big tears from the corners of her eyes. "Justice, you're sick. You must rest here for a time. Until you are better."

  "I want my clothes," Natalie ordered feebly, folding tremulous arms protectively over her bare bosom. "You stripped me!"

  Kane rose from the bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. "I left you undressed to give the wound fresh air." He paused then, his eyes searching hers for understanding, comprehension. There was neither. He continued in a low, steady voice. "I was determined to do anything necessary to safeguard your life. Blood poisoning or gangrene is always a danger, so I cauterized the wound." His deep blue eyes flickered with dread. He fully expected her temper to flare anew at the mention of cauterization, the certainty of a telltale scar marring her smooth, fragile back. He waited for the outburst. She remained mute, staring up at him distastefully, nose wrinkling.

  As though she had not heard him, Natalie said scathingly, "Where are your britches?"

  Kane retrieved the discarded buckskins, stepped into them, and stood facing her, buttoning the pants up over his flat belly. "Excuse me, Judge."

  Eyeing him warily, she questioned. "Why were you in this bed with me?"

  "Because," said Kane quietly, raking a lean hand through his disheveled coal-black hair, "you were running a high fever and freezing to death. You've been delirious at times and barely conscious at others. You were restless and thrashing and cold, so cold. I kept you warm. That's all." He presented her with an appealing, little-boy grin.

  Unmoved, but wisely surmising that to order him about would be futile, she asked, "May I please have my clothes?" She was, after all, quite helpless; totally dependent upon him. The best strategy would be to pretend acquiescence while she thought things out.

  Kane's boyish grin broadened and he gave her bare shoulder a pat. "Tell you what. I'll wash your wound and bandage it; then you can put on a nightshirt. Fair enough?" Natalie considered the offer for only a moment. "Fair enough."

  While he sat on the bed behind her, meticulously bathing and bandaging the heat-blackened bullet wound, Natalie didn't tell Kane that she was experiencing a great deal of discomfort. Her wound was throbbing, and knife-sharp twinges of agony were going down her right arm, up her neck, and beneath her shoulder blade.

  Kane sensed it.

  "Hurt bad, Judge?"

  Natalie, facing away from him, shook her head no. "A little. Not much."

  "All done," announced Kane, and obligingly lifted a spanking-clean soft cotton nightshirt down over her red head. "Let me," he commanded gently when Natalie tried to lift her weak arms into the long sleeves.

  As one might dress an obedient child, Kane gingerly worked her slim arms through the long white sleeves of the nightshirt. As soon as small, white hands peeked out from the rolled-back cuffs of the big nightshirt, Natalie snatched the garment down over her breasts, her pale face flushing hotly.

  Suspicious of the unfamiliar kindness shown by this man whom she knew to be cynical, cruel, and cold, Natalie was totally confused. And frightened. And alone. Whom could she trust? Someone had shot her, Kane said. Someone had tried to kill her. But who? And why? It had something to do with the journal. With the gold. With Ashlin? Or was this dark man lying about the whole thing?

  "You said Tahomah was here?"

  "Last night." Kane nodded his dark head.

  "He knew that I'd been shot?"

  "He did."

  Natalie frowned and bit her lip. "Why did he leave me here?
I must speak with him. I must go to him at—"

  "Later, Judge. You can see Tahomah later," said Kane, confident she was going to get well; certain the old chief had been mistaken about not seeing his chosen-daughter again.

  Too tired for further argument, Natalie thought about the old chiefs warnings about Kane being in danger and the revelation that after the twelfth moon she would no longer need to guard the Manitou gold. She absently watched Kane from beneath a veil of lowered lashes as he thoughtfully fluffed her pillows, smoothed the sheet up over her night-shifted shoulders, and spread the lush fur coverlet up to her waist.

  That done, he rubbed his hands together and walked away from the bed. Over his shoulder he said as he reached for a teakettle, "Food. We need food."

  "Fix yourself something, Kane. I'm not hungry." Her eye-lids slipped closed as the pain in her right shoulder sharpened.

  Kane gave no reply. He went about banging pots and pans, heating water, rattling china. Natalie's eyes opened slowly and she let them slide inquiringly around. There was only one room to Kane's mountain cabin. One large, cozy, comfortable room. The big bed where she lay was placed in the cabin's northwest corner directly below two tall, curtained north windows. A heavy night table sat to the right of the bed.

  The kitchen area, where Kane now hummed tunelessly, was in the southwest part of the room. A sturdy eating table occupied the room's center, three straight-backed chairs pulled up to it; the fourth chair was beside the bed. In the very center of the cast wall, a tall, rock fireplace blazed brightly. Before the fire, a long horsehair sofa sat at an angle, facing two upholstered easy chairs. Surprisingly, a deep-piled rug of a rich brown hue covered the floor from wall to wall.

  There were windows on all sides and between those windows, tall bookcases reached to the ceiling. A small scattering of leather-bound books rested in the smooth-grained shelves. On pegs beside the front door hung a black Stetson, leather gunbelt, and various coats and slickers. There was a heavy front door on the south, a back door to the north at the foot of the bed. The many windows were tightly draped and both doors were bolted.

  Kerosene lamps, scattered throughout the room, burned low, casting soft, easy light. The pungent scent of strong, aromatic tea mixed with the faint smells of leather and tobacco and fresh-cut pine. Natalie automatically inhaled deeply… then closed her eyes against the sights and scents of her powerfully masculine surroundings. She longed to be home in her safe white bedroom with its white, white bed and white sheets and white rug and white curtains.

  Idly she wondered what time it was. It could have been noon; it might have been midnight. Natalie, too weary to think clearly, felt her closed eyelids growing heavier.

  A shadow above caused her to lift them. Kane loomed over her, his bare chest now modestly concealed in a clean white shirt. The handsome, hard-planed face was still covered with a dark stubble of beard and his usually clear blue eyes were slightly bloodshot.

  But he smiled engagingly and lowered a tray across her lap. Natalie's eyes fell on a large bowl of steaming hot liquid that looked totally unappetizing. Wafer crackers and a cup of tea looked a bit less distasteful, but far from inviting.

  "I can't, Kane," she told him.

  "You will," said Kane, taking a seat on the bed facing her.

  "I won't. It's time I went home. If you'll be good enough to saddle Blaze for me I'll—"

  "You're far too weak."

  "I'm not weak. I'm fine and I'm leaving."

  "I'll make you a bargain. You eat the broth and drink the tea. You can go home."

  Natalie eyed him skeptically. But she picked up the silver spoon. Amazed at how outlandishly heavy a simple soup spoon could be, she shakily raised the full ladle toward her mouth and barely made it. Exhausted, she lowered her hand and sighed.

  Kane's keen eyes said I told you so, though he did not speak. He lifted the linen napkin from the tray, unfurled it, and tucked it in the neckband of Natalie's borrowed night-shirt. He took the spoon from her, dipped it into the hot, nourishing broth, and lifted it to her lips.

  She had no choice but to let him feed her. She was well aware she could not manage the task herself and if she was to be released from this mountain prison and her dark jailer, she had to eat to fulfill her part of the bargain. It was an ordeal even with his help. Feeling as though the bottom of the big white bowl would never appear, Natalie took ladle after ladle of the dark, salty liquid, stopping now and then to rest. The tea, piping hot and inky black, scalded down her throat and was delicious.

  The ordeal ended at last. Natalie sighed with relief when Kane rose and removed the tray. His back was to her when she put her left hand to the mattress and laboriously levered herself into a sitting position. Breathing raggedly, she pushed at the heavy fur covers and white linen sheet. Managing, after a couple of aborted attempts, to free her bare feet from their folds, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, biting back a cry of anguish as the movement caused renewed throbbing in her wounded right shoulder.

  She sat there, head bowed, long, disheveled hair falling about her pale face, silently commanding herself to step down onto the floor. In answer, she assured herself she would do just that as soon as she took a moment to rest. She was in that position when Kane approached her.

  "What in the name of God are you doing?" His fear for her welfare came out in the form of irritation.

  With great effort she lifted her sagging head. "I'm going home."

  "The hell you are," he said coldly.

  "You promised," she reminded him with as much haughtiness as she could muster. "You said if I ate, I could go."

  "I lied," he told her coolly as he bent and placed an arm under her knees. He lifted her bare feet from the floor and laid her back on the bed, pulling the covers up once again.

  Angry that he had tricked her, too weak to fight him, Natalie sank down into the pillows and attacked him in the only way possible. Verbally.

  "How could I have busted someone as unprincipled as you, Kane Covington? I might have known believing one word you say is a fool's game. Well, you win and shame on me. But know this, you lying southern son of a bitch, I am going home just as soon as you fall asleep or look the other way or go tend the horses. You can't keep me here, you won't keep me here. I am going home and I— Oooohh…" her high brow creased with pain and her eyes clouded.

  "What is it? Judge, are you—" His eyes clouded too, with fear, and he was beside her, his hands on her shoulders, his been racing. The sharp pain passed and Natalie shrugged violently. "Take your hands off me."

  Kane's jaw hardened. He moved his hands, but he placed them, palms flat, on either side of her slender body and leaned menacingly close. And his voice became flint-hard and deadly quiet. "Lady, I saved your life. Well, I owed you one for saving mine, so now were even. Still, while I expect no thanks from you, I'm in no mood to listen to your foolish chastisement. You're a very sick woman and there's a blizzard going on outdoors. I'm as eager for you to get out of here as you are to go. Do us both a favor, behave yourself and gain a little strength, then I guarantee you I'll take you home myself."

  His dark, unshaven face, so close to hers, was set and evil-looking, his full lips thinned and stiff The blue eyes were hard as stone and above them heavy black eyebrows slashed straight, menacing lines above those mean, hooded eyes. Natalie stared up at him. Speechless.

  Wisely remaining silent, she drew a shallow breath and lowered her eyes from his ice-blue stare. And she gave an inward sigh of relief when finally he rose and left her. She watched as he moved about the big room, drawing the dark, heavy drapes. He didn't stop until every curtain covering every tall window was open.

  Natalie blinked as the pervading, all-encompassing white of the snowstorm poured eye-punishing light into the spacious room. As bright as any summer sun, the swirling, blowing snow was blinding in its intensity. The large cabin and everything in it were suddenly illuminated with dazzling brilliance that caused Natalie's head to ache, her eyes to squi
nt and water.

  Kane, moving back to the bed, his brief flare of temper again submerged, said in a low, kind voice, "Judge, there's a terrible storm out them. Won't you stay until it is over?"

  Natalie, eyes smarting from the hot, looked up at him. And she smiled. "I will. If you'll close the curtains; the lights hurting my eyes."

  Kane threw back his dark head and laughed. Blue eyes at once becoming devilish, he came directly to the bed, shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets, and grinned down at her.

  "Say please." Chuckling softly, Kane waited for her upbraiding. "Please, Kane."

  Chapter Thirty

  Kane's laughter ceased.

  His blue eyes narrowed cynically as he gazed down at a strangely sweet-tempered Natalie. She was smiling prettily up at him and it unnerved him far more than her angry chastening had. He didn't trust her. Not for a minute. He could practically hear the wheels of a quick brain grinding inside that lovely red head of hers.

  Mentally cautioning himself to watch her every move, he said simply, "Glad to, Judge. We both need more rest." Hands eased out of his pockets and he turned away.

  Heart drumming in her chest, Natalie watched him move agilely, silently about the room, darkening one by one the tall rectangles of blinding snow-bright light. A scheme was rapidly taking hold. She knew Kane must be fired. Very fired. Likely as not he had slept only two, maybe three, hours since he'd brought her in out of the snow.

  "Kane," she said softly when the last of the heavy drapes had been pulled. "I'm a little sleepy. Would I be imposing if I ask that you lower the lamps as well?"

  "As good as done," said Kane congenially, and went about blowing out lamps, saving the one on the night table beside the bed until last. As his lean brown fingers lifted the glass globe, he looked down at Natalie and said in a voice barely above a whisper, "Sweet dreams, Judge," and the room was cast into semidarkness, leaving only the glow from the stone fireplace.