by Jenna Kernan
With the rope she used to tie him into his saddle, they strapped each stretcher to a mule. Emma loaded their gear onto Duchess and Scout. Each man took the reins of one of the animals. Scout began to buck and the boy shouted to the man holding the horse. He leaped clear before the front hoof lashed out. Emma took the reins and Scout settled down to walk behind his mistress.
She wondered what kept them from stealing everything and realized the answer was nothing. Strangely, they did not disarm her, as the Russians had. She trusted the tall one’s kind eyes and the one with the broad nose seemed grateful for the care she gave the boy.
She sighed in relief realizing that she had made the right decision in not harming him.
They crossed through the forest, as the shadows grew deep. When she recognized that they descended toward the water, she wanted to howl in frustration. The entire day, she had struggled to find a gap in the cliff. Now, not only was she forced to backtrack, the Indians took her on a simple route that made her arduous passage seem ridiculous by comparison.
She stood at the shore of the Pacific and laughed.
“Turns out I did see it again.”
The men watched her in silence, then continued down the beach. Moonlight glittered bright over the rolling waves. The first to greet them was a skinny yellow dog appearing from the night to run beside the horses, yapping all the way.
Smoke rose beyond the bluff. As they crossed beneath the large boulders on the beach, she saw their village. Large houses stood, unlike anything she had ever seen. Lodges of redwood bark flanked a central building large as a dairy barn.
A woman tending a long row of fish smoking by the fire rushed forward and, like an arrow, went straight to the boy. Emma had no trouble recognizing her as his mother from the concern in her eyes.
These people wore their long hair braided like the Sioux. Their furs and tanned leather seemed painted in unfamiliar patterns. Giant creatures with big eyes ogled out at her from the cape of an approaching man. Beyond him, on the beach, rows of boats rested above the tide line, each one carved from a single hollowed tree trunk. From the bow, elaborately carved animals guided their vessels.
The woman and boy spoke rapidly and Emma studied the pair. His mother looked startled and then stared at Emma, pointing. The boy nodded and the woman rushed to her, throwing her arms about Emma’s shoulders and hugging her tight.
The words were strange but the sentiment familiar. She thanked her for saving her boy.
“You’re welcome,” said Emma, as she patted her back.
Four men carried Jake into a lodge and Emma followed. They laid him on a raised platform, heavily padded with thick brown furs.
“I understand we have a visitor.”
Emma stiffened at the voice speaking English, here in this wilderness. The accent seemed British. She turned to find a man dressed from head to foot in tanned buckskin. A bushy brown beard hid most of his face and marked him as a white man.
She gaped as he chuckled at her astonishment.
“Alexander MacInnes at your service.” He swept his fur hat away and bowed.
Even seeing him, hearing him, she could not believe her eyes. “You’re English.”
“Oh, my poor mother would roll over in her grave. I’m a Scot.”
“How did you come here?” she asked.
He grinned making the crow’s-feet more obvious. His eyes were pale, but in the firelight she could not make out their color.
“I was about to ask you the same, lass. I’m a trader from Fort Vancouver. And who might you be?”
“Emma Lancing and this is Jake Turner. He’s been wounded.”
“Your husband?”
She shook her head and then cursed herself. In her befuddlement she’d forgotten to claim to be Jake’s wife, or should she be a widow once more? MacInnes grinned broadly.
“I am widowed. Mr. Turner is my guide.” Emma looked him straight in the eye and did not fidget.
He laughed. “Guiding you where, may I ask?”
Jake had not prepared her for this eventuality. Retreat was the best option.
“Jake was stabbed. He lost a great deal of blood. Now the wound is infected. Will these people help him?”
“You treated the chief’s son, even after he tried to steal your horses. They’re indebted to you, lass.”
Emma returned her attention to Jake, resting a hand upon his chest to measure his breaths. “He won’t wake up and the fever is worse.”
MacInnes frowned down at Jake. The Indian with the large nose arrived with a white-haired elder. Deep wrinkles etched his face. MacInnes spoke to the men for a time. Then the Scot turned to Emma.
He indicated the man who came for the boy. “This is the chief. He’s called Brings Many Pelts. He thanks you for looking after his son. The man beside him is the medicine man, Talks to Wind. He’ll have a look at your man now.”
Emma moved aside.
Talks to Wind felt Jake’s forehead and cut away his shirt, exposing his chest. Emma’s stomach clenched as she watched Jake’s rapid, shallow breathing. Next the medicine man probed the wound, causing Jake to moan and thrash. Finally, the Indian sniffed Jake’s shoulder, made a face and spoke to the others.
MacInnes translated. “He says the wound is putrefied and his fever is high. He will make a poultice to draw out the poisons. He also will make a healing tea.
“Will he live?” she whispered.
MacInnes translated the question. Emma saw the doubt on the man’s face before the answer came.
“This man is very ill.”
Emma stayed with Jake while they cleaned the wound. She held his hand when a wet poultice, smelling of moss and earth, was pressed to his wound.
Most of the tea dribbled down Jake’s chin, but the medicine man seemed satisfied that Jake swallowed some of the brew. MacInnes came and went, finally insisting she eat.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
“Little Otter prepared a meal. You’re being honored. If you don’t come, you’ll insult your hosts.”
So she went to the lodge of the chief. The smiling woman was indeed the boy’s mother, Little Otter. She patted the pelts beside the fire and filled a bowl for Emma.
The meal seemed to take hours. Her hosts wanted news of her travels. She told them the story they had given the Spanish. Alexander MacInnes sat too close to her and then walked her to the lodge of Talks to Wind. He clasped her elbow, halting her before she could enter the lodge.
“Your man might die. Have you thought of that?”
It was all she could think of, but hearing this stranger echo her fears made her tremble with uncertainty.
“I have.”
“What will you do then, do you think?”
She pressed her lips together refusing to cry.
“You’re a long way from home, lass. I’m sure this tribe would adopt you, if you’ve a mind. If not, I hope you’ll consider coming with me.”
“What?”
“I’m asking you to marry me, lass.”
“Marry you—I hardly know you.”
“I don’t see that as an obstacle. I’d take you to British territory. I’ve a mind to trap as long as possible, then settle in Oregon.”
“Mr. MacInnes, you can’t be serious.”
“I am. If your man dies, you’ll consider my offer?”
To say yes felt like a betrayal to Jake. To say no, seemed rude. “I have to see to Mr. Turner now.”
He accepted this, nodding and withdrawing. She watched him go, wondering what kind of man proposes marriage to a woman he has known only half a day?
Emma slept at Jake’s side upon their buffalo robes. In the night, she reached for Jake and, instead of skin as hot as a stovepipe, her fingers brushed cool, moist flesh. He was sweating! She knelt beside him and offered thanks to God.
In the morning, Talks to Wind changed the poultice. The angry red around the wound was gone and the discharge ran clear.
“This looks much better.”
That afternoon, Jake woke.
He blinked at Emma. “What happened?”
“You’ve been ill, a fever.”
His gaze scanned the ceiling, taking in the rough-hewn logs. “Where am I?”
“An Indian fishing village.”
She grasped his hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
How could he ask after her welfare when he’d nearly died of fever? She cried and he knit his eyebrows.
“I’m fine, now that you’re better.”
He smiled. “I feel weak as my mother’s tea.”
The relief flooding through her made words nearly impossible. “I’m so glad to talk with you again. I thought, I mean, I have so much to tell you.” She gazed down at their clasped hands. “I thought I’d lost my last chance.”
“What did you want to tell me?”
She hesitated. She meant to tell him how worried she’d been. How, in the hours of the night, she accepted that Francisca was right. She loved this man and wanted to stay with him.
Now she remembered his aversion to marriage and doubt crept in. How could she make him understand that she would not ask him to settle? She would wander with him forever if he’d let her.
Sparrow, Talks to Wind’s wife, arrived and gasped, obviously surprised to see Jake up. She called to her husband, who appeared a moment later beaming a great smile.
The two spoke and he checked Jake’s wound. His wife changed the poultice as he prepared some tea over the fire. MacInnes appeared and hesitated as he noted the change in Jake’s condition.
Emma thought she saw a look of irritation cross his face before he greeted Jake.
“Awake at last, my friend. How do you feel?”
“Hungry,” said Jake.
MacInnes laughed and spoke to Sparrow who fetched fish chowder for Jake. Emma was uneasy as she noted that Jake could not hold the spoon or bowl. The fever had weakened him. Seeing him awake made her think all was well, but the recovery had only just begun. Emma fed him like a child. Then Sparrow brought tea. The sweet aroma sickened Emma’s stomach and she wrinkled her nose.
“It’s medicinal tea,” said MacInnes. “I had it when the piles struck me. It clouds the mind but heals the body.”
Jake seemed exhausted from his meal. Sparrow held his head as Jake drank.
Soon he slept. Now Emma felt the weight of her sleepless nights press down on her. Exhausted from worry and tending Jake, she curled beside his platform and slept soundly.
Over the next three weeks Jake ate, slept and drank the medicinal tea. He seemed relaxed and happy.
As he recovered, Emma felt anxious to begin their return trip. The New Year arrived tomorrow and she remembered Jake’s determination to cross the desert in the winter months. But when she mentioned it to him he only smiled and nodded.
He did not seem himself at times. Though they talked at length about the journey, he made no preparations and left his bed only when necessary.
His wound knit leaving a nasty scar, running from the top of his shoulder to below his collarbone.
This cabin by the sea became their home, but she knew they could not stay forever. Restless, she paced the packed dirt floor.
“Do you think you should get up and move about? You need to regain your strength.”
He lifted his hand to her and she sank on the bed beside him. “Why so anxious?”
“Do you feel better today?”
He smiled. “Emma, how do you feel about me?”
“What?”
“How do you feel about me?”
She stared at him, unable to understand the transition in their conversation.
“I have great respect for you.”
He snorted.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me that you love me, that you can’t live without me and that you’ll never leave me.”
She stared at him, astonished. Then she pressed a hand to his forehead. He grasped her wrist and pulled her down upon him.
“Let me up,” she said.
“Nope. I want to kiss you. I want to do more than kiss you.”
Her eyes widened. The mere mention of kisses brought her pulse racing.
“Jake, what are you saying?”
“What I should have said back there in the desert, when I nearly lost you. I’m in love with you, Emma. Have been for some time. I just was afraid to say it. I don’t know what happens now.”
The uncertainty and restraint dissolved in a wave of joy. She kissed him hard. One arm went around her as she fell beside him onto the furs. His kisses trailed down her neck.
He loves me.
Her fingers delved into his thick hair as she brought his mouth back to kiss her once more. He slid into the gap between her legs. The pressure of his arousal made her still. He meant to have her. She hesitated only an instant. She loved this man and she trusted him. He would never hurt her.
He grasped her hand and brought her palm against his arousal until she had the measure of him. Her touch made him tremble.
“See what you do to me,” he whispered low in her ear.
In that moment she knew the power of a woman’s body. When his palms covered her breasts, she gasped at the sharp, exquisite shaft of pleasure shooting through her. She became aware of a rising liquid heat between her legs and the irresistible urge to press herself against him.
“Let me love you, Emma,” he whispered as his hands moved under her tattered skirts, releasing the ribbon at her waist. Clothing fell aside, slipping with a whisper down her thighs. Next he lifted the edge of her buckskin shirt, drawing it away. He stilled to gaze down at her naked figure.
“Lovely as summer in the mountains,” he said and kissed the tender skin below her collarbone.
His shirt had been discarded long ago to allow access to his wound. He released the fastening of his breeches.
Now he drew her against him. She thought the warmth of his body and the soft merging of flesh, the sweetest sensation in the world. She stroked his chest, marveling at the mat of hair, coarse and curling beneath her exploring fingers.
His hand descended between them into the nest of hair at the junction of her legs. Her head fell back as a gasp of pleasure escaped her. His gentle petting sent a shower of sensation pouring through her. The urge to move came strong now and she pressed herself against his hand.
“That’s my sweet Emma. How I long for you. Come and let me make you mine.”
She wanted nothing else in this life than to be his. He rolled between her legs. The stroking continued, as he descended to kiss her neck.
His teeth bit at the lobe of her ear as she noted a pressure between her legs. She realized he had entered her as he slid smoothly forward.
“You’re mine now.”
Was she? She rocked against him and he slid farther within her passage. This time the movement brought only a building tension. She recalled the pleasure and craved it.
They rocked in opposition, first away, then together, each stroke of his body into hers bringing a tightening preparation, like a river building behind a dam.
Then the river broke free issuing out in all directions with waves of pleasure rolling through her. She cried out, arching backward to accept him, feeling their bodies fuse together in that instant like molten lead. They were one.
He gripped her hips and held her.
“Emma, how I love you.” His body slumped onto hers and she accepted him into her arms as she floated on her river, the echoes of the pleasure he brought her rolled like a gentle wave to the beach.
“I never knew it could be like this between a man and a woman,” she whispered.
“Only with the right one.”
“I always thought that being with a man made life unbearable. But despite the hardships, my time with you has brought great joy.
”
He smiled. “I feel that way, too.”
“Maybe there is a way for men and women to coexist, without crushing each other.”
He blinked, his eyelids heavy.
“Maybe so.”
He pulled away and she reached out to keep him there with her, in her. But he slipped.
“I’m too heavy,” he apologized.
She would bear his weight, gladly. He moved to make her more comfortable. Why then did she feel abandoned? Foolish, she decided. He was right here with her. She stroked his hair.
“I love you,” she murmured into his ear.
His eyelids fluttered. Sleep took him. Emma lay her head upon his chest comforted by the slow rhythm of his heartbeat.
That night they slept together flesh to flesh. Emma thought there was no greater comfort in the world than resting in his arms. When he moved, she followed as if they performed some courtship dance.
She slept soundly and did not wake until Sparrow entered the lodge. Emma smiled and blinked at the woman, then realized she lay upon Jake’s bare chest wearing not a stitch of clothing.
Sparrow’s eyebrows lifted. Were Indian women shocked by such things? She did not think so, but Sparrow made a hasty retreat.
Emma took the opportunity to slide from Jake’s arms. He reached for her, but she already stood beside the bed.
“Where are you going?” His voice was hoarse from sleep. “I want to make love to you again.”
“Sparrow was here.”
Jake smiled as if unconcerned. She slipped on her buckskin shirt, bloomers and the tattered blue skirt. Before she had her moccasins on Sparrow returned with Talks to Wind.
Sparrow brought Jake his meal as usual. He did not seem the least concerned to be found in a compromising position with her and ate with a good appetite.
“Where is his medicine?” she asked.
The two exchanged looks and Emma pointed to the bowl they used to bring him the medicinal tea. They shook their heads.
MacInnes arrived shortly afterward, scowling fiercely. Emma lifted her chin as if she was not ashamed, but her cheeks heated.
“You have slept with him?”
“That’s none of your affair.”
“Talks to Wind tells me to say that your man is healed. He does not need the medicine. His mind will clear this evening.”
