by Sandra Clark
Barron looked mockingly at her. 'Does that surprise you?' he asked. 'I would have thought you were quite used to people, especially men, being kind, as you put it—' and before she could deny it, he added, 'Maybe that's why you're such a spoilt brat and need to be taken in hand.'
Colour rose hotly to her cheeks. 'That's not fair—' she began at once, but Barron lifted his hand.
'Listen!' he said. Outside they could hear the sudden racket of the dogs starting up their howling. Then, as suddenly, they fell silent. Far off came a single lone howl. It sounded several miles away, but the howling echoed back and forth in the still, cold air, and immediately the dogs joined in. It was eerie to hear the dogs howl at different, spaced-out intervals, and yet after they all got going again, they stopped, all of them, instantly. It was a sound that lifted the hairs on Belinda's head, and she shivered with more than just cold, and looked in alarm at Barron. His eyes were soft with some emotion she could not name. 'It's the symphony of the Arctic,' he told her.
For a moment neither of them spoke. Belinda was stirred by a surge of unexpected emotion. She let out a long slow breath. Somehow, bit by bit, her fear of Barron was beginning to recede. She felt his glance rest on her for a moment, and slowly she raised her face towards his. The stone lamp gave a warm, glowing luminosity to her delicate skin so that for a moment Barron simply looked long and slowly at her as if drinking in every detail of her features. Then he leaned forward and slowly pushed her hood back without speaking so that her hair came tumbling free in a golden fall of curls. She felt his fingers for a moment, deep in the thickness of her hair, and immediately and unbidden came the recollection of that time at the settlement when he had plunged his hands into the thick coat of the dog he was buying. Swiftly on the heels of that memory came the sequel and the repugnance she had felt. It broke the spell at once, and she jerked her head back. Her face hardened and she averted her glance. Barron stiffened as if she had actually spoken her feelings and when she risked a glance at him, his eyes had regained the hard shuttered look she had seen so many times before.
'Well,' she said, drawing the furs tightly round her knees, 'you still haven't told me how it is that you've managed to appear so propitiously out of the blue?' She regarded him defiantly. He made a movement as if to get up and his reply was curt. 'I was out setting traplines.'
'But you were in the settlement when I left, how on earth did you get up here so quickly?'
'There are ways,' he replied unhelpfully. When she waited for him to continue he said, 'Some routes are unsuitable for greenhorns like you. Especially ones carrying a lot of expensive recording equipment. Personally I've always found it best to travel light.'
'Yes,' she said drily, 'I'd noticed.' She hesitated.
'Any more questions?'
He looked bored. There was a coldness between them now. Belinda couldn't help remembering Ikluk, the cry of greeting, the conversation outside the house, the things Mac had told her about native marriage customs. There were certainly more questions. Instead she only said, 'Questions without answers, perhaps.' She hesitated. 'I suppose you'll tell me why you said I'd have to go native for a couple of days. I mean—' she looked round the snow house, 'you surely don't intend that three people should stay in this place for long. I've had rather enough of Arctic wastes at the moment. I have a rendezvous with a plane from the private charter company soon.' She furrowed her brow. Was it tomorrow or the day after? Her sense of time was all to pot. She looked helplessly at Barron, but he was already speaking.
'They might send out a rescue plane too,' he said. 'I think you can forget your rendezvous with Robinson. Eager though he may be to play the hero, they're not likely to let him try to make a landing here—they'd need a snow-plane. Instead they'll simply get on to the rescue service.'
Belinda had a strange sensation when he said that, as if some vital lifeline had been severed. She hadn't realised what her link with the outside world, through the expected meeting with Chuck, had become. Barron's next words only added to her feeling of helplessness.
'When they see we're holed up safe and snug here, they'll fly off again.' She waited for him to go on, but he merely sat on the edge of the sleeping platform, indifferent and remote, waiting for her next question.
'They'll surely try to rescue us—' her words tailed off. Obviously from the air they would imagine everything was all right, that they were coping with the situation, that they needed no help. 'The three days, then,' she persisted, 'what did you mean by that? Why can't we go back to Sanderson's place—' She trailed off, realising that in the face of his impassive response her voice had taken on a rising note of panic. 'You can't keep me here against my will. I want to tell them to take me back to—if we don't let them know, how can we be rescued at all?'
'I don't need to be rescued,' was the laconic reply. 'I'm out earning my keep. I have lines to set. If I don't work I don't eat. I'm not intending to go back to the trading post till I have my quota of silver fox pelts.'
Belinda stared at him in horror. 'What about me?' she whispered. She had a dark and forbidding vision of the long journey back through the ice and snow to the settlement, both of them, Taqaq and herself, struggling on by foot through the treacherous snow. Her feeling of weakness brought tears to her eyes. 'You're playing cat and mouse with me,' she broke out angrily. 'You've got something planned. Why are you holding out on me?' She looked at him with a face flushed with anger. 'I don't want to spend days on end in this little place. Besides, there isn't room for three people.' The thought of spending so much time in such proximity to Barron brought prickles running up and down her spine.
'There won't be three,' he replied quietly. 'Only two.'
'You mean you're abandoning us, while you go off and kill foxes? Well, that's something,' she retorted.
'I don't mean that at all,' he said carefully. 'I can delay my work for a day or two. I'm not the one who's leaving.'
Belinda stared at him. 'What do you mean? I can't—' she froze. A dreadful thought struck her. 'You mean—' she whispered the name, 'Taqaq? He's leaving?' She paused with a sudden frightened glance at the man beside her. 'He's not—he's not leaving me alone—?'
'No,' broke in Barron easily, 'I shall be here. You won't be alone.'
Belinda's hand flew to her mouth.
'You're not fit to travel just yet.'
'Who says?' she demanded, her voice high with emotion.
He merely shrugged his shoulders. Belinda swallowed. She would have a word with Taqaq at once. She would beg him to stay. She would plead with him. She knew he would stay if she asked him to.
'He must have told you he has relatives round here. We thought it would be a good idea if he took the sled and made his way to their camp as quickly as possible. He's very keen to see someone there, I imagine. It's a small camp some miles east of here. He'll be able to get word to the R.C.M.P. that you're safe, so that your friends back at Two Rivers don't start worrying.'
'But I'm not safe!' burst out Belinda. 'Not at all safe—I'm—' She broke off confusedly.
Barron was smiling strangely. 'Perhaps you're not,' he said simply. 'Perhaps you're in the worst danger imaginable—here, alone with me, a hundred miles from civilisation. Anything could happen. I could kill you after practising unspeakable tortures on your body. No one would ever know.'
Belinda gave him a sharp glance. She knew he was laughing at her, but the knowledge that what he said had a grain of truth in it made her stiffen warily.
'I'm being pleasant now,' he told her with a narrow smile, 'but wait until Taqaq goes. Then I'll reveal my true colours.' He smiled lazily and put out a hand to touch the line of her cheek with the back of one of his fingers. She jerked her head away, drawing her lips back with a cry, and he laughed softly. 'I do like them with a bit of fight. It makes the victory so much more worthwhile.'
Belinda drew up her knees and gave him a steady, unblinking gaze that did nothing to control the beating of her heart. She would not let him see how
her blood was racing violently round her body bringing a flush of unwelcome heat with it. She would be calm and aloof, she decided. No matter how or why Barron had cooked up this arrangement with Taqaq, she would not let him see that she was rattled by it. She would have a quiet word with Taqaq as soon as possible. 'When does he leave?' she asked, her thoughts racing.
'Round about now, I should think,' was Barron's reply.
Belinda's heart gave an extra leap. 'I must see him.' She half rose. 'You said I should say something about my blacking out. That it wasn't his fault,' she said, stumbling close to him in her desire to get outside.
'Wait,' he said, rising quickly to his feet. 'You're still in no fit state to go outside. Stay in the warmth. I'll call him.' He stopped and looked down at her, and Belinda felt suddenly faint. He was so tall, so fit and full of vital good health, and he moved, even in this confined space, with the ease and grace of a wild animal. Her knees were turning to jelly and she felt everything swimming round her.
'Look, you're still not well.' He pushed her gently back among the furs. For a moment he supported her against his arm. 'When you looked so distraught at the idea of not making it in time back to base I nearly suggested that you go with Taqaq in the sled. But it would be too much for you. I don't think I realised just how hard you've been pushing yourself.' He moved his arm away and looked down at her coldly. 'Try not to be such a nuisance. You're only making it difficult for both of us.'
Belinda stared miserably as he pushed his way outside. She could hear the murmur of his voice as he spoke to Taqaq. In a moment Taqaq poked his head into the snow house. 'O.K.?' he asked cheerfully. Belinda nodded warmly. 'Not long and you'll be fighting fit again.' He gestured over his shoulder. 'More blizzard coming up. This is the best place for you. I'll tell them in a couple of days when I get to my people's hunting ground. It's easy for the snow-plane to land. Here it would be dangerous. The drifts are too deep. A message will go through to the trading post.' He raised a hand in some sort of farewell.
'Wait! You can't leave me alone with that man.' She half rose.
'You'll be safer here,' he told her. 'No bear.'
'Must you go?' she asked him weakly.
'Yes. This is the best plan. Lucky for us Amaruq got worried. He guessed we'd come out this way from Sanderson's place. Very lucky.' With that Taqaq was gone.
Belinda closed her eyes. She could hear the dogs yapping excitedly in their traces, then the sound moved round the snow house and began to recede. Soon it was just a faint and distant mingling of howls across the emptiness. When Barron came in, she let her eyelids remain closed.
She had had a thought which brought another wave of unease down, but it was no good bringing it into the open. It was just that Taqaq's parting words had seemed to suggest that Amaruq really had known all along where the Nasaq were encamped. Her suspicions about who it was who had silenced Sanderson, though drawing a blank when she had queried Barron himself, were in fact correct. He had known all along.
She frowned with anger. His attempt to prevent her meeting them seemed to be more than just sheer bloody-mindedness. It was deliberate obstruction. He had even told Mac that they were hunting outside the region altogether. Now he had more or less kidnapped her, dismissed her guide, and was holding her here, a prisoner in the middle of nowhere. All in an attempt to stop her making a few recordings! It seemed now that the chances of her ever meeting up with the Nasaq, or fulfilling her assignment for Derek, were remote in the extreme. It looked as if finally he would get his way. Unless… unless she could escape? She knew it was hopeless. Even if she had been one hundred per cent fit, she would never know where, to start, let alone face the long trek to the camp.
Another disturbing thought puckered her brow. What plans did Barron have for her now he had got her prisoner? What had he in mind, now that she was totally in his power? She lay back in the warm furs, limbs rigid with apprehension. She knew that she would have to play it cool, really cool this time, and avoid any possibility of rousing him to anger. She decided that the best course would be to preserve an almost total silence. She wouldn't speak unless it was absolutely necessary. That way he would soon get the message that she was unwilling to be a party to his games. She had no idea how long he intended to keep her prisoner here, but he would find she did not take kindly to this sort of treatment.
As soon as she heard the sound of his returning footsteps, she turned her back and covered her face. She would pretend to be asleep. Undisturbed like that she could work out a strategy for survival. A feeling of desolation overwhelmed her. How far away Derek and her other university colleagues seemed now. How helpless she was in the territory of this man, this Amaruq—wolf, so-called.
It was the fitful glow of light through the sides of the snow house that woke Belinda late in the afternoon of the next day. The feeling of unreality which had apparently been a symptom of her illness had now disappeared, and the minute she woke she sat up and looked sharply round. Of Barron there was no sign. His sleeping bag was spread out on the platform on the opposite side of the snow house, and seeing it suddenly like that, rumpled, just as he had climbed out of it, sent a little shudder through her. Such proximity to a man who was almost a complete stranger seemed almost indecent, and she wondered if knowing glances would be exchanged if she bothered to mention this part of her adventures to her colleagues back home.
She was just beginning to wonder where Barron had got to when she heard the sound of someone approaching. Involuntarily she put up a hand to try to pat her hair into place—but she needn't have bothered. Barron came straight in with only the most cursory glance in her direction. He crouched down next to the stove, lit it, placed a kettle full of snow on it, then from out of a sort of game bag worn over his shoulder, produced something from it which he proceeded to place in the cooking kettle. Belinda watched, trying to conceal her interest. He seemed quite oblivious to her presence. She found it an ideal opportunity to give him a closer scrutiny than before.
There was, she decided, something commanding in his demeanour, despite his wild hair, which shone with cleanliness and good health. She smiled wryly. He was certainly good-looking, she decided. His knowledge of his physical presence must surely be a contributing factor in his arrogant and high-handed attitude towards her. A man like that must be used to having his own way with women. For him to find one who wouldn't kow-tow to his vanity must be a disturbing experience.
Being with Barron in such intimate circumstances, Belinda couldn't help speculating on his previous experience with women. She became irritable when she pictured the small, dark-haired Ikluk, with the solemn dark eyes and the sweet face of a child. How could such a girl fail to melt the heart of even this man, or if not melt his heart exactly, arouse in him some urge to dominate and impress on her a knowledge of his power and urgency.
There was something sensuous about lying amidst the luxury of fur and leather, and she found she was beginning to drift into a sort of dreaming state somewhere between sleeping and waking. The next hour passed by in this sort of way, but she was abruptly dragged out of this mood by a rough shake on the shoulder. Barron hovered over her with an enamel bowl full of a kind of stew. He offered it without a word and she took it with no word of thanks. It was some sort of partially cooked meat, not, she found to her surprise, particularly unpleasant. He watched her eat with one sardonically raised eyebrow and a half-smile playing round his lips.
'At least I can rustle up a meal from nothing,' he said tauntingly. 'Do you like it?'
Belinda merely gave a half-nod of acceptance, but it seemed to be enough, because he laughed and when she had finished he took her bowl, cleared everything away, and came to sit down on the edge of the sleeping platform beside her. Already the light outside had faded, but he made no move to light the lamp. She could just make out the sharp outline of his jaw when he turned his head away, but his eyes were lost in the shadowed sockets beneath the raven wing of his brow.
'The laconic lady linguist,' he s
aid, settling more comfortably beside her. A little shiver ran through her at the nearness of him. Her breath seemed to catch at the sheer attractiveness of him. She trembled, waiting for him to speak. Instead he merely sat very still, eyes half closed, oblivious to her presence yet again. She let her eyes linger over his shadowed face, then a sudden thought took hold of her. For a moment it made her shudder inwardly. Why was it, she asked herself, that she felt such powerful extremes of emotion when Barron came close to her? Was it love? Could it be love when she felt such anger almost bordering on hatred whenever she felt the whiplash of his biting disapproval? Or was this palpable emotion he aroused so easily in her nothing more than the desire of the flesh? It was desire, yes—a dangerous desire. His savage, almost brutal way of life mixed so strangely with the tenderness and concern he had seemed to show when she was ill. It aroused in her painful sensations which she had never before experienced.
Barron was looking at her closely now as if for signs of further delirium. Belinda wondered what he would say if she revealed her thoughts to him. Laugh derisively, perhaps. Take advantage of the situation, most certainly. Add her to his list of exchange partners, no doubt. When he did finally speak her nerves were already strung up enough to make any answer predictably sharp. She scarcely heard what he said. The words that immediately sprang to her own lips were, 'Don't bother. I don't want any more favours.' Then she could have bitten her tongue off when she realised what he had been saying. His words had been the very words she had wanted to hear ever since arriving at the settlement. He had said: 'Tomorrow I've arranged for you to meet the Nasaq. I'll translate for you if you like.'
Now she stared in dismay at the change in his expression. Her own thoughts were in turmoil. Was this some new gambit in his game of chess with her? What sort of promise was it? Was he hoping to gain her gratitude by making such a promise? She watched in silent misery as he brusquely rose to his feet and moved towards the door.
