“I … I can’t.” Her voice shook; she knew she’d never be truly happy here in the Canadian wilderness. She belonged somewhere else, somewhere with a man who held her in his arms by a slow-moving river as the smell of wildflowers drifted over them. But where? And who?
Jacques seemed to understand her inner turmoil and gently kissed her. “Think first, then decide,” he told her and left the cabin to join Paul.
She wrapped the uneaten biscuits in a towel to keep until supper, her mind on Jacques’ proposal and Paul’s cruelty the previous night. Did Paul really think she was some wanton, only after a man? In that case, he should know that she had turned down Jacques, but what difference would it make if he did? He didn’t respect her and seemed most eager to hurt her. But then she recalled his vulnerability when they laid wrapped in each other’s arms. Truly, she didn’t understand him.
As she tossed Jacques’ cup into the wash tub, snatches of a song came to her, and without realizing, she started to sing aloud. “My love is like the mountains, beautiful, brave and true. My love is like the meadows, green and fresh with dew. She has my heart, she’ll have my child. She has my passion, ever wild.”
Her head started up quickly with a jerk. “Where did that come from?” she muttered aloud. Then she knew she was starting to remember. Soon, soon, her past might all come back to her, and she could leave and return home. She’d gladly leave this small cabin with its tiring chores of cleaning and cooking, and most certainly she’d be thrilled to leave Paul Flannery. But if she were married, would her husband be able to ignite that same passion she felt in Paul’s arms?
Paul and Jacques stood by the lake watching a boat drift towards them. It was filled with two men, two women and a child. Allison emerged from the cabin just as the boat reached the shore.
“Hello, I’m Joshua Miller,” the older man said and took Paul’s outstretched hand in greeting after the boat grazed the shoreline. “My family and I are settling near here, and we wondered if we might spend the night. My little granddaughter doesn’t seem too well.”
“Certainly,” was Paul’s response.
The boat’s inhabitants all lumbered out to sit beneath the trees while Jacques volunteered to bring them warm tea.
Allison noted the pale little girl who seemed to be about a year old, huddled against her mother’s bosom and immediately could see she was unwell. The mother introduced the child as Tilly, herself as Mary, pointed to the younger of the two men as her husband Richard, and said Joshua Miller was her father-in-law. Joshua then stepped forward and took Allison’s hand in greeting, introducing his daughter, a striking auburn-haired girl of about sixteen, as Dorcas. Almost immediately Allison decided she didn’t much care for Dorcas when her green-eyed gaze lingered on Paul for too long.
“And who might you be?” Joshua asked Allison.
Before she could reply, Paul was beside her, his arm possessively around her shoulders. “This is my wife, Angelle,” he said and grinned at her surprised face.
“Isn’t she lovely?” Joshua asked his daughter who disdainfully ignored the question.
“My wife is indeed beautiful.” Paul ignored both Allison’s gaping look and Jacques who had stomped back into the cabin upon hearing the last remark.
When their guests were out of earshot, Allison turned to Paul. “Why did you say such an absurd thing?”
“It really isn’t that absurd. Would you rather have been introduced as a woman who has been living with two men, alone in the woods for the last month? I’ve just saved your reputation.”
Admittedly, she knew he was right and had extricated her from a potentially embarrassing situation. “Thank you,” she managed to mutter through tight lips.
“Is that all the thanks I get for my gallantry? I should think a kiss of thanks would be sufficient payment.”
“Never!”
“Never say never, love.”
Paul swept her into his arms, shocking her with a passionate kiss in front of the Millers. When he was finished, she almost ran from him, the curious gazes of the Millers following her. She didn’t feel safe until she was inside the cabin with the door securely shut.
Mary helped her with the dishes after supper while Tilly, covered by a fur, slept on Allison’s pallet. “She seems much better after getting some nourishment,” commented Allison to Mary.
“I’m so glad she ate the broth. It will do her good. She hasn’t been eating too well lately because I think she’s teething. She’s always chewing on her fingers.”
“I suppose children will do that.”
“You don’t have children yet, do you?”
Allison started to say yes, but stopped herself. She wasn’t certain she did, and it would certainly sound like a strange answer to say she wasn’t certain. “No, I haven’t any.”
“You will soon enough, I gather. Your husband seems to love you very much.”
Allison colored, remembering the kiss she’d received from Paul in front of all of them.
Mary chattered about the new house she and Richard planned to build when they reached their destination. She explained that she and her family were Tories and had never been able to accept the new American government. Governor Simcoe, the British governor of Canada, had offered free land to those loyal to the crown. The Millers eagerly packed what little they owned and headed for what they called the “promised land”. They had always wished to be landowners, but in New York they had always worked the land for others. Now their dream of working their own land was coming true.
Allison smiled at Mary whom she had come to like. Mary sighed at the end of her explanation. “Dorcas wasn’t too happy over the move. She claims there aren’t enough men in the wilderness to whet one’s appetite. She’s so young and pretty that I can’t really blame her. I know she wished to remain in New York.”
Just then high-fluted laughter drifted from outside, and Allison glanced out the open doorway. Not thirty feet away, Dorcas sash-shayed around Paul, practically hanging onto his arm as he spoke to her father and brother. She wore a frilly blue dress, having changed out of the nondescript gray muslin she had worn when they had arrived. She looked pretty and feminine. Mary noticed, too. “Pay no never mind to Dorcas. She’s a flirt.”
Allison knew that without being told. A very pretty flirt, she was, too. Allison looked down at her well-worn breeches and the shirt now stained with droplets of broth. She was a mess!
“Change into one of your pretty dresses, Angelle. I have a feeling Dorcas will be less noticed if you do.”
“I’m afraid that this is all I have.”
Mary smiled mysteriously, but said nothing. She went to the leather bag which Allison had assumed only held Tilly’s things, and watched as Mary withdrew a lovely green silk gown with pink rosebuds along the neckline, cuffs and hem. “This was a dress I used to be able to wear before I had Tilly. But since then I’ve gained weight, and I’ll never be able to fit in it again, I want you to have it. Dorcas has been after me to give it to her, but she’s got plenty of clothes.” She held out the gown. “Here, you put it on.”
Allison started to refuse the offer, but something about Mary’s expression warned her not to. “Oh, thank you ever so much, Mary.” She kissed the woman’s cheek.
“Give Dorcas some competition,” Mary advised.
Allison twirled around the cabin, holding the dress in front of her after Mary had left to join the others. Dare she wear it? The gown was cut low, and she knew her breasts would strain against the thin material, but she was so tired of the horrid pants and shirt. And she wanted to see Paul’s reaction when he saw her in a dress.
Quickly she stripped off her clothes, careful not to wake Tilly. She washed her face and body, with a wet rag, then tied her hair atop her head with a pink ribbon she saw poking out of Mary’s bag. Then she eased her way into the gown. Her bosom nearly burst out of the gown’s confining bodice but she felt so heavenly and beautiful she didn’t care. And she smelled divine, too. Mary, at one time, had pinned a small
rose sachet to the bodice.
Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she realized with a start that not only did she feel beautiful, she was beautiful! Why, she had never thought that until this minute! She tugged gently at the swishing, swirling skirt. “I’ll show you a real lady, Paul Flannery”—but being a lady was far from her mind as she jerked open the cabin door.
When she was outside, her courage faltered when all eyes turned upon her.
Jacques inhaled audibly, and she was aware of the silent, pleased expressions of Joshua, Mary and Richard. However, Dorcas broke the quiet of the evening. “You promised that gown to me, Mary.”
Allison didn’t hear the woman’s reply to her sister-in-law. All she saw was Paul rising to his feet—his broad shoulders covered by the leather vest, his naked powerful arms and slim waist, his strong thighs. His dark eyes seemed to blend with the darkening sky, impaling her to the spot.
This has happened before! she thought wildly, trying to remember when a sea of people once parted to bring him to her side. But the image quickly died as he came to her and took her hands in his. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. “I can’t remember ever seeing you this lovely.”
His voice, his lips, his eyes mesmerized her, causing her not to question why he should have ever seen her “this lovely” before. Yet it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that she was willingly drowning in his adoration.
The evening air suddenly sounded like a nightingale’s song as Joshua took out his harmonica and played a soft, plaintive tune. Allison moved with Paul as he took her in his arms and gently danced her round the fire. He held her against him but didn’t smother her in his embrace. A cool breeze stirred, and wisps of her hair loosened about her face. She sighed. Had she ever felt such contentment as this?
The mood was broken by Tilly as she toddled out of the cabin, crying for her mother. Since Allison was closest to her, she bent down and scooped up the child in her arms. “Don’t cry, little Tilly,” she crooned softly. Your mother is over here.” When Allison attempted to give Tilly to her mother, Tilly balked and clung to Allison.
“It seems you’ve made a friend,” Mary noted. “She doesn’t usually take well to strangers.”
“Or aunts either, it seems,” Dorcas piped in. “The child never wants anything to do with me.”
“I don’t blame her,” Allison heard Richard say under his breath.
Allison sat down on a makeshift bench, Paul at her side, and talked gently to Tilly who pulled at the ribbon in Allison’s hair until her tresses cascaded like sunlight around her shoulders. Instantly, the child placed the ribbon in her mouth and chewed on it. Tilly whined crankily but refused to leave Allison’s side.
“What shall I do with you?” Allison laughingly said. “I know. Let’s sing a song.”
Tilly’s whining abruptly stopped as Allison began the first verse. “My love is like a mountain, beautiful, strong and true…”
When she finished, the child had quieted down.
Jacques spoke then, jealousy stinging his voice. “That is Golden Hawk’s favorite song, Angelle. I didn’t know you knew it.”
“Is it?” She glanced at Paul who sat in stony silence but abruptly nodded his head at her question. Indeed, she thought this was all so strange. She’d never heard him sing that song.
Tilly wailed her discomfort at that moment and sucked her fingers. She wiggled, and Allison handed her to Mary. “Here’s your mother, Kathleen.”
“Her name’s Tilly, not Kathleen,” Dorcas pointed out with a chill in her voice.
Allison, at first, was puzzled by Dorcas’ stabbing gaze, then she realized her error and laughed. “I’m sorry. My mind must have wandered.”
Unsettling emotions flooded through her because the name had sprung so easily to her lips, and she felt Paul stiffen next to her.
Joshua yawned. “Time to get some sleep,” he told his family. “We got to get an early start in the morning. Mr. Flannery has given the ladies the cabin for the night. We gents will sleep outside. A good clear night and not too cool.”
Instantly Mary bade them all a good night and carried a whining Tilly into the cabin. Dorcas lingered, smiling, her gaze on Paul. Jealousy sliced through Allison because he smiled back at the little vixen. He hadn’t smiled or spoken to her since she sang to Tilly. What was wrong with the man? she wondered. Perhaps he didn’t care for children.
In a matter of seconds Dorcas followed her sister-in-law inside. Allison got up to follow but felt the tug of Paul’s hand on her wrist. “Good night,” he said in a silken voice which caught at her heart.
How changeable he was! “Good night,” she mumbled and slowly disengaged her wrist. Then she joined the women in the cabin.
Mary sat and rocked back and forth with Tilly in her arms, crooning softly until the child grew drowsy. Dorcas brushed her flaming hair until it shown like copper in the candlelight. As Allison changed from her gown into Paul’s long shirt, she felt Dorcas’ piercing stare.
“You’re very lucky to be married to such a strong, able-bodied man,” Dorcas commented. Dorcas laid on a bed of blankets, a slight smile creasing her lips. “Handsome men like him are hard to find in the wilderness. I hope you never do anything that would result in his affections turning elsewhere.”
“Dorcas, hush!” Mary rebuked, as she covered herself and Tilly with a fur.
Allison slid beneath the furs of her pallet, aware of Dorcas’ penetrating eyes upon her. She doubted whether Dorcas would blatantly try to steal another woman’s husband, but what would the girl do if she discovered that she and Paul weren’t married? She shrugged and turned away from Dorcas. Dorcas had every right to pursue him. Since they would be living only fifteen miles apart, Dorcas might do just that after Allison regained her memory and left for home—wherever that was.
Drifting off to sleep, Allison dreamed of a huge house with mullioned windows and graceful gardens. A river flowed slowly past, and in the dream she saw herself kissing a man who made her heart beat faster. Her breath came in ragged gasps. He held her against him and she clung tightly to him. Oh, she loved this man with her whole being! But she couldn’t make out his features. Who is he? she wondered. Yet even as she wondered, she was afraid to see him. Then he looked at her and she at him, and she saw his face with a clarity that made her gasp into wakefulness.
She sat up, the slow rhythmic breathing of the other occupants magnified threefold in her ears. Her head ached, and she felt too stifled to stand the confining quarters a minute longer. Grabbing a fur, she silently left the cabin and headed for the quiet peaceful shoreline of the lake.
Moonlight washed the lake’s surface in a silvery hue. Though the night was fairly mild, there was a slight chill off of the lake, but Allison didn’t feel it. Her body was warm, her head pained her, and she desperately wanted some relief. The headaches were growing more bothersome lately, but that wasn’t what upset her. It was the man in the dream. Why must she imagine herself in the arms of Paul Flannery? Why must she dream of him kissing her, loving her?
Heedless of the dark and the slight chill in the air, she threw the fur on the grass and rushed into the water. Diving under the surface, she came up, breathless, but loving the way her body tingled from the cool refreshing water. Within minutes of paddling around, she felt better. The pain in her head had eased considerably, though the haunting dream resolutely floated through her memory.
She breathed deeply, gazing up at the dazzling array of stars in the heavens and the full moon shining upon her. The water lapped at her thighs, the thin shirt billowing out around her. The night seemed to be for her alone, its dark beauty bewitching her.
A slight splash caught her attention, and looking towards the shore, she saw Paul wading towards her. His muscular chest glowed silver, his face a dark mask. Suddenly she grew aware of her racing pulse and pounding heart. Then as he stood before her, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to pull her toward h
im, smothering her slightly parted lips with a passionate kiss.
The touch of Paul’s mouth left her too weak to protest, not really wanting to protest. She quivered against him, relishing the warmth of his hands as they stroked her wet buttocks then caressed her rounded hips and thighs through the clinging garment.
Without releasing her lips, he then untied the laces of her shirt, slipping it from her until it fell away and floated atop the water. She encircled his neck, merging her breasts with the muscles of his chest. Tingles of delight pricked her when his lips brushed over her throat to the soft curve of her shoulder, then downward to seek the ripe fullness of each breast.
Ecstatic moans escaped from her. Her own hands began to feverishly trace the broad planes of his back. Her body felt on fire, his flesh burning beneath her searching hands, the water about them boiling.
She imagined she dreamed again of the lover beside the river. These sensations were the same, love coursing through every pore of her body. She loved this man in her dreams, the man holding her now. But how, why?
Paul’s breathing grew rapid as his fingers slipped inside her, softly stroking, infusing her with intense pleasure. With ease, he lifted her up, silky legs wrapping around his waist, and then he plunged into her, taking her breath from her. Undulating waves washed over her with each rapid stroke until she could stand no more. Her body shattered and arched against him. Her screams of pleasure were smothered by his mouth, and she felt she floated somewhere above herself.
Slowly, very slowly, she opened her eyes to see a smile lighting his bearded face. She was startled to find herself on shore, lying beside him on the fur. She hadn’t remembered being carried out of the water.
He traced her jawline with his index finger. “You’re very, very beautiful, a heavenly creature. I know why Jacques calls you Angelle.”
What was there about his face that was so familiar? Why did his voice sound like the man’s in the dream? Why must she be in love with a mysterious man like Paul Flannery who had lived with savages and married an Indian woman? Despite his satisfied smile, there was pain in his eyes, and she assumed it was for his dead wife. She was hesitant to say what was in her heart, but she plunged on, knowing she’d find no peace until she did.
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