Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02

by Emerald Enchantment

  Walking to her pallet, she picked up the shirt which belonged to him, the shirt Jacques had dressed her in after the accident. “This is yours. I have no need of it now.”

  “You may keep it.”

  “No, I insist. I’ve washed it for you. I … I don’t wish to take your charity.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You took Jacques’ charity. I see no difference, Angelle.” He spoke her name slowly, deliberately.

  “Take it!”

  He took the shirt, but their hands touched and lingered for an instant. Something like recognition flared in her eyes, but she broke away, putting her hand to her forehead.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  “It is nothing but a headache which will pass. I get them quite often lately.”

  “You must rest,” he said and attempted to lead her to the chair, but she managed to move away, presumably to stir the stew.

  “I don’t need your concern, Golden Hawk.”

  “As you wish.”

  “By the way,” she said over her shoulder as he prepared to leave the room. “What does the P.F. stand for on your brush?”

  He stood stock still, then looked her in the face. “Paul Flannery.” Then he was gone, leaving her with the impression that she was supposed to make something out of that.

  ~

  “Where’s Jacques?” Allison inquired of Paul soon after finishing the evening meal. Night was descending, and she found it unusual that Jacques hadn’t returned.

  “He’s visiting his grandmother tonight. The tribe isn’t very far from here, and she’s the only family he has left.”

  “You mean he won’t return tonight?” She attempted to hide her dismay, but as she cleared the dishes, she nervously dropped a spoon which Paul immediately picked up from the floor. He handed it to her, a sly grin on his face.

  “We’ll be alone together, all night.” His voice was whispery soft, and his lips so near to her ear that shivers ran up her spine.

  Her heart hammered and her mouth suddenly went dry, but she managed to meet his stare which challenged her to reply. “I’m not afraid of you, Golden Hawk—or Paul—or whatever you call yourself.”

  “I’m glad of that, but am I safe from you? I don’t want to wake up during the night and find you prowling about as I sleep. You might ravish me, and I’d be helpless to stop you.”

  She drew back in astonishment, then realized he was teasing. Moving away, she took the utensils to the wooden wash tub and immersed them in water. “I assure you, your virtue is safe with me.”

  “How disappointing.”

  “Jacques seems to be lonely,” she said, changing the subject. “I think he needs a wife.”

  “Maybe, but not every woman would be able to adjust to the wilderness.”

  “I have.”

  His smile slowly dissolved. “Do you plan to become Madame Jacques Tall Tree?”

  She turned away from the wash tub in surprise. “Me? I really hadn’t thought about it, but he is a kind and good man. He really would be an excellent husband, and the woman he marries will be quite lucky to have him. He does need a wife and children. I sense he misses his own family, especially his mother and sister.”

  The words tumbled out before she was even aware she had uttered them. How could she have forgotten that Paul had been married to Jacques’ sister?

  The sorrow on his face was so great that she couldn’t think of adequate words to heal his suffering. “I’m sorry about your wife. Jacques told me how much you loved her. At least, you have your memories of her. That’s more than I have.”

  He grabbed her arms. “Memories! I wish I could forget sometimes. Perhaps you’re lucky not to remember the pain one person can inflict on another. Rejoice at the opportunity you have to start over again, but if you can’t, then dig deep down for your memories. Or are they too painful for you? Maybe you don’t want to remember.”

  “But I do! I want to know who I am.”

  He released her, and she ran out of the cabin into the encroaching darkness of the night. She stopped by the shoreline of the lake just as the last remnants of the setting sun slipped silently beneath the horizon.

  She washed her face and hands with the clean lake water, and after a half hour’s time, when it was so dark she could barely see, she made her way back to the cabin in dread. But he wasn’t there when she entered. It was only after hearing a slight noise outside did she see his figure illumined by a fire he must have made to drive away the night chill. She watched him from the window as he sat there, deep in thought, and her heart went out to him. How would she ever apologize for her reckless words?

  Allison turned away and went to her pallet. Pulling back the fur covers, she was surprised to find Paul’s shirt and the silver engraved hairbrush. Cradling them in her arms, she settled herself and went to sleep, somehow aware that in some way he had apologized to her.

  ~

  Allison stirred in her sleep as the rumbling thunder grew closer. Soon, the steady beat of rain upon the roof caused her to come fully awake. She opened her eyes and saw Paul standing over her, watching her intently, seeming to take in every inch of her body.

  She sat up and clutched at the covers, drawing them up to her neck. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Escaping the rain.” He moved closer to the fire, and she noticed his hair was wet and his clothes were soaked.

  “But you can’t sleep in here.”

  He eyed her quizzically. “Why not? It’s my cabin—or would you rather I catch my death outside?”

  “It isn’t proper,” she lamely said though that wasn’t the reason she didn’t want to share the cabin. Jacques had slept only a few feet from her for weeks, and she’d never thought anything about that.

  “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

  She hated how he could always read her mind. “Of course not.”

  He chuckled, and she heard him stripping out of the wet clothes but didn’t dare peep at him as she wished to do. She was certain he’d notice and laugh at her. Suddenly she felt a tug at the covers, and with mounting horror she opened her eyes to discover Paul slipping beside her. “What—!”

  “My clothes are wet, and the furs are drenched. I have no other place to sleep. You wouldn’t turn a desperate man away from the warmth of your body, now would you?” His naked thigh touched hers, and her face blazed hotter than the flickering flames in the hearth. She couldn’t deny him the warmth of his own cabin. “I suppose not,” she said.

  “I don’t think you trust me.”

  “Should I?”

  Before she could protest, he encircled her in his arms, covering her mouth with a kiss which devastated and shook her to her very soul. In long, languid strokes, he caressed her hips, her thighs, pulling her closer and fusing her to him.

  At first, she moaned in protest, but her passion grew under his touch and she found herself responding, melding into him. His hands moved beneath her shirt, seeking her soft flesh, moving along her rib cage to her warm, full breasts. She felt him lifting her shirt and watched his golden head descend to devour a nipple. Tenderly he licked and suckled. Her moans increased, and from the recesses of her mind she knew that the sensations of desire flowing through her seemed right, almost a coming home.

  Her fingers splayed against the downy softness of his broad chest, and she felt the beating of his heart beneath her palm. She wanted him desperately, but she didn’t understand why. They seemed to be forever at odds. She disliked his arrogance and his teasing. Yet now, her senses were aflame with desire.

  His powerful torso pushed on top of her, grounding against her with a primitiveness which took her breath away. “I want … I want,” she didn’t know what she wanted, couldn’t really remember what it was she was supposed to ask for.

  Paul knew very well what she wanted, but unbidden, the memory of the first time they made love in the forest drifted back to him. She had been so young, so trusting, never really questioning his motives—such an easy p
rey. But now, he loved her to distraction, and she didn’t know it. He couldn’t tell her she was his wife because of the pain it could inflict. When her memory returned, perhaps she’d understand what he was about to do. He hoped she’d realize that if he took her willing, soft body, he would be enslaved, never able to let her go.

  Mentally he braced himself, knowing he must hurt her. “Why, you are a hot little one, Angelle. My first inclinations about you were correct. You’re a temptress, out to ensnare a man.”

  She blinked, baffled, as the desire in her eyes slowly disintegrated. “What … what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I’ll gladly, willingly make love to you. What man wouldn’t? But why do you desire me? Jacques sings your praises all the time. Now, he would be an easy mark—or perhaps the challenge excites you.” He twisted a thick blonde curl around his finger. “I wonder if you were ever one of the girls in Madame Piquet’s brothel in Montreal?”

  She sputtered in rage. “What a vile thing to say to me!”

  “Ah, such anger is most becoming. Do you know that your eyes are quite blue when you’re angry?”

  Allison shook furiously. “You’re playing games with me. From the beginning I knew you weren’t to be trusted. I must be mad to have thrown myself into your arms. You’re a mongrel cur!”

  She rolled away and stood up, her shirt rising in delicious abandon above her breasts, her hair a tangled mass of spun gold. She ran heedlessly towards the door but stopped when she opened it. The rain poured down in furious sheets and the ground was drenched. There was no way for her to leave the safety of the cabin.

  “Seems like we’re marooned together, my love.”

  Slamming the door, she settled herself into a corner, covering herself with a pelt. “I detest you,” she growled, but her voice caught in her throat and she couldn’t continue.

  He watched her wipe a tear away and was filled with pain for having intentionally hurt her so deeply.

  ~

  Sometime later Allison was roused from sleep by Paul’s voice echoing through the cabin. She opened her eyes to observe him, sitting bolt upright, staring at the door which apparently had swung open from the storm. It creaked on its hinges as it swung back and forth, buffeted by the strong wind.

  At first she thought he was talking in his sleep, disturbed by the baying wind and the rushing onslaught of rain. “Father,” he repeated over and over.

  Pulling the pelt around her, she crawled towards him, frightened by something she saw in his face. As she drew nearer, she realized he wasn’t asleep but wide awake. In a hesitant, comforting gesture she touched his arm.

  Slowly he shifted his gaze from the open doorway to her. “Did you see him?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  “My father. He stood right there.” He pointed straight ahead to where the door swung wildly.

  “I didn’t see anyone. Perhaps you were dreaming.”

  He shook his head. “He was here and smiling as I’ve never seen him. Why, he looked right at us—smiled at you, too.” His cold hand grabbed her warm one. “What does it mean?”

  She trembled though managed to speak calmly. “You must have dreamt him. Rest now and try to sleep.”

  As she started to move away, his grip tightened. “Sleep next to me, please. I won’t do anything but hold you. I need a warm, breathing body next to mine.”

  Her first inclination was to refuse, but he appeared so frightened and confused. And suddenly she needed to feel his warmth in the cold dark night.

  She got up, shut the door, and without another word, crawled under the covers to be enfolded in his arms.

  ~

  Morning sunshine streamed into the cabin. Paul stirred, feeling a soft leg entwined around his thigh. He opened his eyes, his gaze resting on the gleaming hair of his wife. She lay with her head pressed against his chest and an arm thrown carelessly across his abdomen, her raised nightshirt revealing smooth, round breasts. He felt a stirring sensation in his loins. God, she didn’t know what she did to him!

  He felt he should move away before she awakened and saw his aroused state. He remembered asking her to sleep with him after he saw the disturbing vision of his father. Allison’s body felt comforting next to his in the darkness with the rain falling outside and the play of lightning across her face. They hadn’t talked, just laid there together, bodies touching. But now he wanted to kiss her, and knew he shouldn’t.

  He knew he had acted beastly, hurling those insults at her. One day maybe she’d forgive him when she understood his motives. But for now, he must continue to pretend to feel nothing for her.

  Paul felt her stir. Her breasts rubbed against the side of his chest, and her small hand moved downward. Allison’s eyes flew open, and she withdrew her hand as if it had touched fire. He knew now that she was aware of his arousal. Instead of jumping up and fleeing as he had expected her to do, she moved her head from his chest and looked up at him. There was a slight twinkle in her eyes as if she was pleased with herself.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asked, not bothering to disentangle her leg from his.

  “Yes,” he answered gruffly to hide his true feelings. “And you?”

  “Fine.” She stretched like a contented kitten and lazily pulled her blouse down, covering her breasts. Paul felt acute disappointment, yet wondered why she seemed so comfortable with him. “I had a lovely dream.”

  “What about?” he asked her.

  She blushed, unable to tell a stranger that she had dreamed of a man resembling him, making love to her by a river. Perhaps that was the reason she suddenly felt so at ease with him. She was still enveloped by the wonderful sensations of her dream. Sitting up, she shook her long hair about her. “Nothing you’d be interested in.” She flashed him a dazzling smile. “I must fix breakfast.”

  As she was about to rise, Paul detained her with a hand on her wrist. “Thank you for last night.”

  Allison shook her head. “That must have been an awful nightmare.”

  He wanted to tell her it wasn’t a nightmare, that he didn’t dream it. He knew he had seen his father.

  ~

  Later, after Allison dressed, she started frying deer sausage and scrambling quail eggs. Soon the cabin was filled with delicious aromas. When they sat down to breakfast, they didn’t talk much, but Paul felt an affinity between them.

  Allison regarded him as she ate. There was no doubt about it. The man was handsome and strong. In fact he could have taken advantage of her as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms during the storm. But he hadn’t.

  She blushed, remembering how wantonly she had responded last night, but it was only his nasty comment about Montreal that had stopped the inevitable. In fact she wondered if he had purposely set out to insult her.

  Right now, she found herself grudgingly liking him, having seen his vulnerability. The nightmare had frightened him, and he had needed her. This pleased her, and she realized that she had needed him just as much. But if he touched her again in the same way as last night, she was worried she’d respond in the same way.

  “That was very tasty,” he praised and pushed his empty plate away. He stood up. “I’ll try to catch fish for supper.”

  Allison also got up and started clearing the table. Her back was turned to him, and he spun her around, kissing her so fiercely on the mouth that he took her breath away.

  “I still think you’re a hot little one, Angelle. Maybe I’ll visit you one day in Montreal.”

  With that remark, he turned and strode from the cabin, leaving her open-mouthed and furious. She felt like a fool. And just when she was beginning to like him.

  36

  Jacques’ return the next afternoon brought a sigh of relief to Allison, and she pretended to be overly interested in his ceaseless chatter about his grandmother. Her thoughts were a thousand miles away, though in reality the person she dwelt upon was only yards away, sitting in the shade of a maple tree watching the lake flow lazily past him.

 
; Every so often her gaze wandered through the window to Paul’s broad back then back again to Jacques’ handsome, good-natured face. She poured him a cup of tea and gave him fresh biscuits she had just baked.

  “Soon we’ll need some supplies, Angelle. When winter comes, the winter snows will be upon us and then the lake will freeze over. We must go to Montreal before then. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Yes, I would,” she said, though she was distracted again by Paul who stood up and went to stand by the shoreline.

  Jacques slammed his fist down on the tabletop in pleasure. “Bien! You need some clothes. I shall buy you the prettiest dress in Montreal.”

  Turning her attention back to him, she smiled. “Thank you, that would be very nice and it is kind of you. But I think once we are there, I shall remain. Maybe I’ll find someone who remembers me.”

  His exuberance faded noticeably. “Angelle, you might not have lived in Montreal. Suppose you’re from Quebec?”

  She hadn’t thought of that. For some strange reason, she had assumed she was from the nearest city. But most likely, she assumed wrongly. Paul Flannery was proof of that. “Then I shall go there.”

  “No!” He jumped from his chair and stood before her, his shoulders shaking with emotion. “I cannot bear if you leave me. You must marry me.”

  A nerve twitched at the base of her neck. She hadn’t expected this, even though she guessed Jacques was lonely. In truth, she was fond of him, cared for him a great deal. But marriage? She couldn’t marry him—not when Paul inhabited the same house, not when her heart beat like an Indian’s tom-tom every time Paul was near her.

  “I’m honored, Jacques, but I can’t accept. I have no idea who I am. In fact I may be married already … and have children.” She remembered again the strange impressions she’d been having lately of babies with soft fuzzy hair and large blue eyes.

  He was reluctant to accept that idea and shook his head in denial. Taking her small hands in his, he said, “I love you. Please marry me in Montreal.”