Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02

by Emerald Enchantment

  “This Box Fox,” he said, and Allison understood that was the dog’s name, even though it was the strange man who resembled a fox. He wore a reddish pelt over fringed pants. Yet despite his ferocious clothing, she didn’t fear him.

  “Do—do I know you?” she asked him.

  “No, I am Jacques Tall Tree.”

  “How did I get here?”

  He pointed towards the cabin door, seeming to see beyond it. “The storm overturned canoe. Old man drowned and probably other man. I could not save them, but you drifted toward shore after you hit the rock. I swam and pulled you out of the water.”

  “You saved my life,” she whispered. She had only his word about the incident, which she didn’t recall at all.

  His voice broke into her thoughts. “What is your name?”

  The question startled her, and when she didn’t reply, he asked again. She looked at him with a blank expression. “I—I don’t know…”

  “You no remember because of the hit on the head, but I think you will soon. You must rest. Your memory will come back.” He seemed quite nonchalant about the whole thing, as if every day he were used to saving strange women with no memories from certain death.

  “But I have no idea who I am,” she mumbled and suddenly felt like crying.

  “Shhh, mademoiselle,” he comforted her and stroked her hair which shimmered across the pallet like the sun on the lake’s surface. “Names no matter to Jacques, but I will call you Angelle. My mother had a picture of an angel when I was boy. I always remember her golden hair.”

  “Angelle.” She tried mouthing the name moments later when he took Big Fox outside the cabin. It was a pretty name, but she instinctively knew that it wasn’t her name yet for the time being, it was as good as any. But why couldn’t she remember? Was the old man who drowned her father? Was the other man her brother? A husband? Why didn’t she feel anything for them?

  Her head started to ache again, and she stopped questioning herself as she drifted into a fitful sleep.

  33

  During the next week Allison heeded Jacques’ advice and gratefully accepted his ministrations. Until she felt stronger, he spoon-fed her like a tiny child and insisted on washing her face and hands with a cool cloth each evening. However, when she was able to get up, she insisted on washing herself. The fact that he had stripped off her wet clothes the day of the accident had bothered her at first, but no longer. She regarded Jacques as a physician of sorts since he was always so coolly detached. The soft lawn shirt he had given her came to just above her knees, and she somehow doubted such an expensive garment belonged to him.

  When the ugly purplish bruise on her forehead turned a pale yellow, she dressed in the pair of boy’s pants and shirt she had worn when he found her. Since her memory hadn’t returned, she readily accepted the clothes as her own though pondered why she would have willingly chosen such an outfit.

  Jacques sensed her growing despair at not being able to recall her past, and one morning after breakfast, he lifted her from the chair and carried her outside.

  “Now, Angelle, you must sit in the sun, walk beneath the blue sky to feel better.” He put her down in front of the cabin.

  The lake was visible beyond the trees, and a shiver ran through Allison. “Two men were killed on that lake. I can’t even mourn them, don’t know who they were to me.”

  “My heart feels pity for them and for you. But you are alive, and you will remember.”

  “How kind you are. I can never repay you.”

  His black eyes flashed with merriment. “Does the mademoiselle cook?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “But if you would show me what to do, I’ll try.”

  “Bien.”

  That afternoon he taught her how to clean fish and cook the catch over the hearth until it was a golden brown. The secret was to cook it only until it flaked. Allison watched eagerly then tried her own hand at it when Jacques let her alone to run a trap line. Upon his return, she placed the plate of trout in front of him. He cut into it, though from its dark brown color she knew it was overcooked and he probably found the fish as tough as leather. He managed to swallow and even to smile. “Next time you must remove from the heat sooner.”

  Allison sighed and sat down. “Whatever I was in my past, most certainly I wasn’t a cook. I hope to thank you in some way for all you’ve done, and I’ve failed.”

  “I have done only that what any person would do. And the fish shall not go to waste. Big Fox shall devour fish.” He got up and placed the trout before the collie. At first, Big Fox expressed interest, but after sniffing longer than Allison thought necessary, the animal retreated to his corner, leaving the fish intact.

  “Even Big Fox won’t eat it!” she cried, but the situation struck her as amusing. Laughing aloud, she was joined by Jacques who then shared with her the trout he had properly prepared earlier.

  She had been with Jacques almost three weeks before he spoke of himself. They sat before the fireplace, Big Fox at their feet. Jacques had always been friendly to her, but now she sensed he wished to put their friendship on a different level. He told her he was a metis, a half-breed. His mother had been a French woman who was captured by a Huron warrior, but grew to love him and stayed on willingly. She had taught Jacques to speak French, though he generally had considered himself Indian. However, as he grew older, he realized he was different from the other children of the tribe, that they treated him as an outsider. His younger sister also felt ostracized and clung to their mother.

  Shortly after his mother’s death, he became a brave to please his father, but still, like his sister, he felt out of place. He realized this was because his mother hadn’t given up her French ways but had instilled them into her children.

  Later, his sister married a trapper but died from child birth fever. Jacques eventually lived at the cabin even after his brother-in-law, Golden Hawk, set out on his own. However, Golden Hawk had recently reappeared out of the wilderness and would soon return from Montreal after trading their pelts.

  “Golden Hawk will be home before too many nights have passed.”

  “Perhaps he won’t be pleased to have a stranger here, Jacques. I really should leave.”

  Concern flooded his face. “No, Angelle. Where would you go?”

  “I don’t know.” She placed a hand to her forehead, then shook her head, her hair streaming down her back. “I am such a bother to you.”

  “Golden Hawk will not mind. I take good care of you. Until you remember, you stay with me.”

  His kindness overwhelmed her. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you again, my friend, and good night. It’s late, and I’m very tired.”

  He nodded. “Tomorrow I show you a shallow part of lake where you may bathe in private.”

  ~

  The days were still warm but the lake was pleasantly cool. Allison gloried in the cleansing water against her bare skin. Jacques had shown her a small bay where she could bathe in private without being seen. Thick foliage covered the shoreline, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of nearby wildflowers. But soon the water grew quite chilly, and she shivered as she pulled on the long shirt, burrowing beneath its softness and warmth. She fingered the expensive fabric and knew again that Jacques couldn’t claim this as his own. The garment clearly belonged to a man of quality. How she knew that, she didn’t know. How she knew how to speak or knew anything perplexed her. Why couldn’t she remember who she was or where she had come from? Was it that she didn’t want to remember?

  She put on her pants and sat down on the grass, shaking her long mane of hair free of water droplets. Big Fox sat nearby and winced as the water hit his large, liquid eyes. He inched closer and rested his head on her knee. “Such a love you are,” she crooned and patted his thick fur.

  An image suddenly flashed before her of a small baby in her arms, but before she could capture it fully, it was gone. She felt shaky and confused, and not even Big Fox’s pawing at her leg eased the s
trange sensation.

  After a few moments, she looked down at the animal. “I must remember, somehow I have to,” she said, wondering if a nameless child in a nameless place needed her. Was she someone’s mother?

  The sound of Jacques’ distant voice roused her from her reverie and she got up and ran toward the sound, the dog following. She saw him some distance away, waving to her.

  “Golden Hawk has returned, Angelle!”

  She waved back, but she wasn’t pleased. She had dreaded the man’s return even though she knew practically nothing about him. Because of Golden Hawk, her days of having Jacques and Big Fox to herself were at an end. The feeling of safety and comfort with Jacques was over. Somehow she knew Golden Hawk wouldn’t approve of her. Probably he was a brooding savage who took very little interest in women since his wife’s death. Jacques had told her the man loved his wife, Little Dove, to distraction and had never gotten over her untimely passing and the loss of his son.

  Well, she had no place to go until her memory returned. And at the moment, it looked rather bleak that it ever would. She’d have to make the best of the situation until she could leave.

  She followed the woodland path to the cabin, and when she entered she didn’t immediately see Golden Hawk. Jacques read her mind. “He is by the lake, hoping to catch our dinner.”

  Smiling at him, she gathered her courage and asked if he had told Golden Hawk about her. Jacques nodded, but slowly. “He says you are my responsibility.”

  “Oh, he does, does he?” She spat out the words in one breath. “I don’t need you or your precious Golden Hawk to take responsibility for me! I can manage quite well without either one of you!” She picked up a plate and slammed it down, pieces breaking upon the floor.

  Embarrassed by her words and actions, she turned and headed toward the cabin door, but her exit was blocked by a huge chest, covered in buckskin. She glanced up to behold the blond-bearded face of the man she knew must be Golden Hawk.

  His eyes were dark brown and piercing, and they swept across her face like a broom swishing away the cobwebs from a corner. She didn’t know what to say, couldn’t utter a sound. Until that moment, she had never seen him, but he stunned her when he spoke, sounding as if a name were being wrenched from the very depths of him.

  “Allison!”

  34

  She hadn’t expected a white man or such a handsome one. He said nothing further. The silence of the man bothered her, and the way he regarded her, almost as if he were viewing something hideous, caused her to back away.

  Did she look so ghastly with her hair all askew and wet, so unfeminine in the long shirt over boy’s breeches, that he would be struck dumb? But he perused her so intensely that she found her breath coming in little gasps. The unfathomable silence was broken by Jacques who stood behind her and placed his huge, bronzed hands on her shoulders.

  “This is Angelle, Golden Hawk.” His voice was soft but steely, almost as if he sensed the blond giant’s utter disapproval of her.

  “Angelle,” the man repeated the name in a tone of disbelief. Finally he moved forward, almost as if in a daze, and placed the day’s catch on the table.

  “Ah, my friend, you have done well.” Jacques picked up the fish and examined them. “Nice big trout for supper.” He looked at Golden Hawk. “Angelle has become a good cook.”

  “She cooks?” asked Golden Hawk incredulously.

  “I have become a very good cook, sir. And if you don’t care to partake of the meal, that is your choice.”

  She appeared tiny and petite as she stood like an angry tigress before Golden Hawk. A small smile quivered at the corners of his mouth. “You’re also a lady of temper, mademoiselle. I beg your pardon. I eagerly await the evening meal.”

  He bowed, baiting her with his formality and left the room before she could think of another retort. Jacques barely suppressed his amusement, and this further annoyed her. Yanking the fish from the table, she took them outside to clean, pleased that Golden Hawk wasn’t lurking about.

  The tone of Golden Hawk’s voice, the surprise when he asked if she cooked, still knifed through her. Instinct warned her there was more to his disbelief than met the eye. And what was that name he’d called her when he first saw her?

  It dawned on her that the shirt she wore belonged to him. Well, she’d wash it and give it right back. She didn’t wish to take the clothes from Golden Hawk’s back.

  As she cleaned the fish, she decided she just wouldn’t think about him at all. Golden Hawk. What a ridiculous name!

  ~

  The thick undergrowth of the shoreline shielded him from view, but he saw her quite clearly as she cleaned the fish with that obstinate glint in her eyes he remembered so well. Still, he couldn’t believe it—Allison, his wife, the mother of his children. What in the name of heaven was she doing here?

  From Jacques extolling her many virtues, he was aware of his friend’s deep feelings for the woman called Angelle, the woman with amnesia from a canoe accident. But never in a million years had he expected the woman to be Allison. At first he thought Angelle would be a conniving schemer who had tricked the gentle Jacques into believing she had lost her memory, only to secure a home and a man’s protection.

  However, what a trick fate had played on him! He left Ireland to free her from himself, knowing she would be safe in Daniel’s arms.

  Dear God, what was he to do now?

  Allison must return to their children, but how could she if she didn’t remember them? She didn’t even remember him! There was no earthly way he could explain why he had left, and in her present state, she wouldn’t care. He couldn’t even tell her he was her husband and convince her of her true identity. He had freed her once, and he mustn’t snare her again. Allison deserved better than him and his deceptions.

  As he stared at her, he grinned. What a woman! Allison Fairfax would never have cleaned smelly fish or worn a pair of breeches and a shapeless shirt. Though he admitted she looked quite fetching in the tight pants with her full breasts bouncing in the loose shirt. He wanted to stride over, take her in his arms and make passionate love to her in the woods. She was still his wife. But he knew he mustn’t touch her, though each night since he’d left Ireland he had thought of her and ached for her. Many times he had wondered if he had made a mistake, but he had known Daniel would care for her.

  “Where in the hell is Daniel now?” he mused aloud. Then the thought struck him that Daniel might have been the younger man Jacques mentioned who had been swept away by the current. He prayed not. But who else would have come all this way with Allison?

  He cursed under his breath. Little Dove had been his first wife, but never had he loved her with the same desire and intensity that he loved Allison. The memory of Little Dove’s suffering had been the catalyst behind his leaving Allison in the first place. He had loved both women, and one had died after bearing his stillborn son, while the other had nearly followed suit. He was convinced he was cursed. Allison must be free of him or she too would die.

  He knew he should leave her here with Jacques, telling him the truth and asking him to return her to Fairfax Manor. Jacques was friend enough to do that. However, he had been too long without her lovely face and lilting voice. “I’ll wait until she remembers,” he said to himself.

  Then he would free her again.

  35

  Jacques, with Big Fox in tow, headed into the woods, and Allison was left alone in the cabin. She finished sweeping the floor, then stirred the stew in the huge pot. Glancing in the hazy mirror on the wall, she realized how bedraggled she looked. She hadn’t brushed her hair in a few days, and she was growing tired of the pants and shirt but had no alternative. However, her hair was another matter.

  She had seen a brush among Golden Hawk’s possessions. The man hadn’t much in the way of material goods, but the silver glint of the object had caught her eye, and now she ached to use it. But would he object?

  After all, she was still a stranger though she cleane
d and cooked for him. However, he didn’t sleep inside at night, preferring the moon and stars as his roof, and Jacques had followed suit. The cabin was now all hers after dark. She put her hands on her hips, eyeing the leather bag which contained Golden Hawk’s possessions.

  “Well, why not?” she asked herself and opened the bag, rooting through finely sewn shirts for the brush which lay at the bottom. She began to brush her hair. How wonderful it felt to be free of tangles. Her hair fell below her waist in flowing golden waves, and a dimple of delight indented her cheek.

  She fingered the brush and felt the thick engraving. The initials P.F. gleamed back at her, and she suddenly realized these stood for Golden Hawk’s name. It seemed odd to think the surly, arrogant man had another name and probably even a family somewhere. Putting the brush back, she touched the shirts with a tenderness which surprised her.

  These are his, she thought, though why she felt so warmhearted mystified her. She didn’t even like Golden Hawk.

  “Can’t a man have anything of his own?”

  She reddened to see the blond giant standing in the doorway, watching her. “I’m sorry,” she said and placed the bag back in the corner where she had found it. “I used your brush. I apologize for not asking your permission.”

  He studied her in silence. He shrugged his shoulders and untied the vest he wore over his bare chest, causing her to avert her eyes.

  “You can use whatever you like. It is nice to see your hair fixed so neatly.”

  His remark infuriated her. She couldn’t help how she looked in the wilderness.

  Somehow she didn’t think Golden Hawk cared one way or the other how she looked. He was always so distant, so cold. She began to think she had committed an unpardonable offense by not drowning and being rescued by Jacques. If only she could remember something of her past—anything! Then she’d go home and leave Golden Hawk to his woodland paradise.