by Brenda Joyce
But sleep eluded Miranda for a long time.
Chapter 63
It was a glorious morning, Derek thought exultantly as he lifted his wife astride her horse and handed her the reins. She gave him a small smile. To him, it was like a burst of sunshine. He was completely head over heels in love, he knew it, but it didn’t matter. She was his wife—what he’d been waiting for his whole life.
They started out, Derek on foot beside the horse. It was about six miles to the Apache rancheria, and he enjoyed a brisk walk. He would have liked the short trip even better if he ran—endless energy coursed through his veins. But Miranda’s seat wasn’t very good yet, and he couldn’t see her bouncing to a trot the whole way.
After a mile or so he noticed that she was very quiet. He had a stab of fear. “Are you feeling okay today?”
“Oh yes,” she said quickly.
He looked up at her and moved his hand to her knee. “You’re not frightened of my people, are you?” His voice was quiet.
“Oh no,” she protested sincerely.
“Miranda, I’ve been thinking.”
She looked at him curiously.
“How do you feel about this land out here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well”—his heart began to pump harder—“the Texas frontier is always moving west and north. It won’t be long now before there’s a trading post closer than San Antonio. Damn! I’m beating around the bush.” He flashed her a smile. “This is my land. I didn’t think I’d ever be settling down again, but I want to.”
“You want to settle down here?” she said helpfully.
“Yes.” He plunged on enthusiastically. “I’d build us a fine cabin, one we could add on to when we need to. The cattle’s for the taking, you know that. With two men I could round up a herd and start branding. Longhorns are real hardy, you know. Right now it’s mostly a domestic market, but we could drive them to New Orleans, or even St. Louis. We’d live well,” he added, and looked at her closely.
Miranda smiled. “Derek, you’re my husband,” she said softly. “And this land is beautiful. If that’s what you want to do, then I say do it.”
“Are you sure, Miranda? I know how citified you are. I could never live in the city. We’d starve and I’d go crazy.”
She smiled at him, and the soft, tender emotion he saw in her eyes made him swallow, sending his pulse racing. “I think we should start on our ranch right away.”
He laughed and stopped her horse, pulling her out of the saddle, making her cry out in surprise. He kissed her boisterously at first. Then, as his exultation faded, as she stood trembling in his arms, as love swept through him, he kissed her again, gently and tenderly, trying to show her with one kiss how much he felt. It was impossible.
“That is it,” Derek said, almost an hour later.
Miranda stared curiously around her. There were about twenty wickiups just like theirs spread through the sparse glade. A few young children were running and playing together, both boys and girls. Squaws sat in groups, scraping hides, sewing buckskins, sorting gathered vegetables and berries—a scene very much like the one at the Comanche village, only smaller. An infant wailed.
“Are all the men out hunting?” she asked, surprised she felt no fear.
“Nope, they’re over there. Looks like there’s going to be a contest.” Derek grinned, pulling her down. He took her hand.
Beyond the camp she saw a group of men, ranging in age from early twenties to middle-aged. Milling among them were six boys, in their early to mid-teens. Miranda was curious.
As they walked through the camp, a cry in Apache which she couldn’t understand went up, and Miranda knew their presence was being noted. Derek paused and spoke to a heavily pregnant squaw, sitting with two others, all sewing.
“Miranda,” he said, “this is Najilkhise’s wife, Daglnike.”
Miranda smiled. “Hello.”
The woman smiled back, then suddenly began speaking in Spanish, which Miranda understood. “Do you speak Spanish, señora? Welcome to our home. I am happy to share our fire with you.”
“Muchas gracias,” she replied. “And yes, I speak the language, but not that well. Well enough to understand you.”
“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” Derek said as they moved on.
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” she said lightly.
He grinned. “And I’m looking forward to finding all that out.”
“How does she speak Spanish?”
“Many Apache do speak some. In fact, many Apache have some Spanish blood, myself included.”
“You do?” She was dubious, looking at his magnificent but unusual coloring.
He smiled. “My great grandfather married one of his captives, a beautiful Castilian girl.”
“Really?”
“Really. Since the late sixteenth century the Apache had been warring with the Spaniards, and then the Mexicans when Mexico became independent in ’21.”
Miranda was silent. She knew nothing of this history of the new land except what little she had learned in a textbook.
“My brother,” A lean, wiry man of medium height and piercing features stepped forth, speaking in English, and he and Derek embraced with real pleasure.
“This is my wife,” Derek said proudly. “This is my brother.”
Miranda searched the man’s face for a resemblance to her husband, and found it only in the mouth—a sensual, firm curve of lips. Other than that, no two men looked more different. Even in build.
He smiled then, and Miranda saw the resemblance—it was Derek’s smile, incredibly so. “Brother, she is more beautiful than the whole of this land.”
“I think so.” Derek grinned.
Miranda blushed. She was aware of his male interest, and was surprised that Derek was so unperturbed.
“You are just in time—the race is about to begin,” Najilkhise said.
They moved forward to watch. Miranda saw six boys line up, all clad in loincloths and moccasins and head-bands. Their red bodies were wiry and lean, their hair long and loose. A man went from one to the other with a bucket of water and a ladle, giving each boy a mouthful of water. Derek chuckled.
“Each boy is required to finish the race without drinking the water,” he told her in a low voice.
“But that’s impossible.” Miranda gasped.
“Of course it’s possible,” he returned. “This is good training. Sometimes an Apache has to run for hours without water. This is probably a four-mile race.”
The boys took off, running as lightly as deer. Soon they disappeared from view, down a slope. Miranda turned to her husband. “Derek, did you ever run like that?”
He chuckled again. “Of course. My father believed in Apache childrearing ways. And why not? Apache are tougher than any other breed on earth. We spent our summers with the tribe, and sometimes winters, too. I received the same training as any boy, maybe more.”
Miranda was completely enthralled, so he continued. “Pa was an honorary member of the tribe. I’m considered a part of the clan because of my mother. My kin pushed me harder than the other boys to make up for the training I lacked, and, I guess, for my white blood. I’d wake up in the morning and my grandfather would make me run up a mountain and back down, before breakfast. If my performance was bad, he’d make me repeat it at dusk.”
“How cruel.”
“No, it wasn’t cruel, although maybe hard. It’s made me the man I am today.”
“They’re coming back,” Miranda said.
One boy was far in the lead, running furiously now. When he crossed the finish line, he opened his mouth for inspection, a cheer went up, and he spat the water out triumphantly. The rest of the boys finished, all closely behind, but one had swallowed his water. Miranda could see the misery on his face, and his father’s tight-lipped anger as they spoke together. Derek told her in a soft voice that he had tripped and swallowed the water accidentally. “He has shamed not only himself but hi
s father as well.”
Miranda felt sorry for the boy, and he and his father walked away from the group, the youth hanging his head.
A wrestling match followed, between just two boys, the winner of the race and Derek’s nephew, Najilkhise’s son by his first marriage. Derek explained that there was heavy betting going on.
“What do they bet?” Miranda asked.
“Hides mostly, sometimes horses.”
The two boys appeared evenly matched at first. Neither could get an unshakeable grip on the other. They battled silently for twenty minutes, first one on top, then the other, breaking apart simultaneously, to charge and wrestle again. Both boys were panting, their faces red. She was dismayed that no one called a draw.
Then Derek’s nephew got his opponent in a headlock, one forearm across his neck, and he forced the boy onto his knees. Miranda realized that he was strangling him. “Derek! Somebody should stop them!”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “He can admit defeat, and it will be over. But he does not give up.”
Miranda gasped as the boy’s face turned first red then white, and then his eyes closed and he fainted. The winner released him and a cheer went up. Miranda was appalled.
Chapter 64
That night, back at their own wichiup, they sat outside in the moonlight and talked about the ranch, making plans. Derek had his back against a boulder, and he pulled Miranda into the crook of his arm. “To start with,” he said, “I’ll make it a two-room cabin, but we’ll add on every year until it’s a fine house.”
“Two rooms is fine,” Miranda said, surprised that she meant it. Life had changed so much for her.
“One room will be our bedroom, of course, the other for sitting and eating. We’ll cook over a fireplace, but next year, if all goes well, I’ll buy us a Dutch oven in San Antonio. And later, a stove.” He reached for her hand.
She hesitated. “Derek, let’s sell the JB. We can use the money from the sale for everything we need, even hiring help.” She felt him tense.
“No, Miranda,” he finally said.
“Why?”
He frowned. “I’m supposed to use another man’s fortune to take care of my wife? I can’t do it. And that’s that.”
She twisted to look at him. “It’s yours, now, you know that! It’s not mine, not even legally.”
“It’s yours in my mind,” he said stubbornly.
“Then what do you want to do with the JB?”
“We can sell it and put the funds in trust for—” He stopped.
She gasped.
“You haven’t bled. Don’t deny it. It’s two months almost, isn’t it? You’re with child.” His voice was as bleak as his heart at the thought.
“Maybe not,” she said. She felt cold fear. What if she was? What would happen to them? Would Derek turn away from her? She was so afraid that he would. She didn’t even have to look at him to know how much he hated her having Chavez’s child.
“Is there any way it could be John’s?” he asked suddenly.
“No.”
“But John died only two weeks before Chavez captured you.”
Miranda didn’t want to discuss Chavez. The nightmares had gone away, and she didn’t want them coming back.
“It’s not John’s,” she insisted, turning to look at him.
“How can you be sure?” he said grimly.
“John only made love to me three times,” she blurted, then bit her lip.
Derek gaped.
She looked away.
“Why in hell was that?”
“I was reluctant, and he was kind,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was an awful wife to him, Derek. He loved me so much, and I denied him.”
Derek put his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap. “He loved you. You made him very happy, I know it for a fact. There’s more to love than lovemaking, as we both well know. Don’t torture yourself.”
Miranda turned and slipped her arms around his neck and snuggled against him, closing her eyes. His scent was so intoxicating. She inhaled deeply. He stroked her hair.
“You are so giving,” he suddenly said.
“What?”
“You never take, Miranda, and you’re the only woman I know who’s so giving.”
“That’s not true,” she said, thinking he was crazy.
“You never ask for anything. Look at your life, what it’s become. You came out here to marry a rich rancher, and now you’ve become something like a squaw. Our life is hard, at least for you.” He tilted her chin up so their eyes met. “Do you want it differently? Do you…do you want to go back—to England?”
Miranda stared. “Are you giving me a choice?”
“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “I want you happy, but I don’t think I can let you go.”
“Then the question was moot.”
“Please, answer it.” He waited, breathless, his pulse pounding.
She seriously considered it. She knew she didn’t want to go home to her father. But, if she went home married and separated, he wouldn’t be able to marry her off again. Then what? Would it be possible he would let her return to the convent, maybe become a nun? Or go to live with her mother’s kin in France? She tried to imagine what it would be like.
She would never seek Derek again.
Her heart leaped in protest at that single thought. She smiled, then, with the glad realization that she didn’t want to be apart from her husband. What a wonderful thing that was! “No, Derek,” she said, after a long moment. “I want to be with you.”
He stared at her perfect face. It had taken her a long time to decide that, and he wished he knew how she had arrived at her decision. Was he the least of all possible evils? Something wrenched inside him. He loved her so much. He’d told her several times, but she’d never said those words back. He knew that she didn’t love him, and it hurt, badly. He wanted to declare his love again, even without the protective cloak of passion, but he didn’t have the courage. He couldn’t face the silence such a declaration would surely bring, when what his soul and heart cried for was the same declaration in return.
“What are you thinking?” she said softly.
He held her tightly, and caught her mouth with his. He could tell her he loved her in this way. And maybe he could make her love him back, if he loved her enough, made her happy enough. His lips caressed hers, his thumb stroked her jaw. Her mouth opened beneath his, as she returned the innocent kiss. Instantly, his desire rose. She made him insatiable. When they were together, when he was inside her, she was his and his alone, a part of him. His need to claim her in that way was so fierce. His kiss deepened, with it his breathing. He began to tease one nipple with his thumb.
Miranda pushed against him. “No,” she said, breaking free.
He smiled. “No?”
“No,” she said, trying to get up, but his hold tightened, and she was a prisoner in his lap.
“I want you,” he whispered, and holding her head still, he found her mouth again. He was shocked when she pressed against his chest, struggling against him. “Miranda?”
“Not tonight,” she said, breathing unevenly, as much from trying to break free as from the pounding of her pulse that desire had caused. “I’m too sore,” she lied, trying anything to save her the shame of her wanton ways.
He lifted her in his arms without a word and carried her into their wickiup, placing her on the bed of hides. She looked at his face and saw the hunger there. He knelt beside her, fumbling with her braid, and then her hair tumbled free. “Derek,” she protested.
He was kissing her again, at the same time unbuttoning her blouse and slipping it off her shoulders. She was losing control, sinking beneath his onslaught, desire rising hard and fierce and almost frantic. How she wanted him!
“I can at least give you pleasure,” he said huskily, and then he pulled off her chemise and nuzzled her breasts.
She stopped worrying as his tongue worked exquisite sensations across her body. She gripped
his head as his mouth moved lower. She didn’t protest when her skirts, petticoat, and pantalets were pulled off, and when he claimed the essence of her with his mouth and tongue she gasped and moaned and whimpered like an animal. She felt the magnificent flood tide rising, higher and higher, wanted it, craved it. The explosion was more scintillating and brilliant and lingering than ever before.
She lay limp and languid, becoming aware of Derek next to her, holding her loosely, watching her. She turned her head to see him gazing down at her intently, unappeased desire shining in his eyes. He bent, kissing her, and a tremor shook him. He raised his head and smiled tensely. He raised a shaking hand to brush the hair from her temple, then stood. “I’m going to go down to the creek,” he said, and then he was gone.
Miranda couldn’t believe it. She closed her eyes, her heart still pounding. She had said no, but he had taken her anyway, selflessly—but in the most sinful way he could. And she had loved every moment. He had denied himself to pleasure her, and what did that mean? He didn’t care about sin, just the flesh. He probably didn’t even realize how he was treating her, or that it was wrong. And she was shameless, too, there was no escaping that fact. Her mind was weak, her desires strong. She rolled onto her side and wondered how there could ever be a resolution to this issue. She wanted to be a good wife, but she wanted to be a Christian lady just as much.
Or did she?
Chapter 65
He took her by surprise the next day, in the afternoon. She was washing tubers she had resolutely gathered, trying to decide if two of them were the same edible species as the rest. She was on her knees, clad in her buckskin dress, when his arms came around her and he kissed her smartly on the neck. She almost jumped out of her skin.
His hands moved to her breasts, squeezing gently, while he nibbled her ear. She stiffened immediately, horrified that he would come upon her and grab her as if she was some trollop in a saloon. Even so, her body began to tingle and throb. “Derek!” Anger set in.
