by Norah Hess
Matt reined in and watched the well-dressed Jake speak a few words to the driver. When Jake climbed the three steps to the big, handsome door, Matt climbed out of the saddle stiffly. He led Sam off the street and wound the reins around a hitching post in front of the building. Leaping upon the wide porch, he looked into a brightly lighted room.
He blinked at the sight before him. Closely packed under fancy chandeliers ablaze with dozens of candles were fancily dressed men and women. The low murmur of their laughing voices floated out to him. His eyes fell on a long, polished bar running the length of the room. Men, two deep, were crowded up to it, all clamoring for drinks. In a constant hustle three bartenders served them from bottles displayed in front of a mirrored wall.
The majority of the people, however, were gathered around green felt tables. Their eyes were blinded to everything but the game going on before them. Matt's lips lifted in a sneer. "A rich man's gambling house," he muttered.
His eyes rested on a dark, handsome individual sitting at a table, his slender fingers slapping the cards neatly on the soft cover. Mostly women hung around this table, edging each other to get closer to the dealer. A ladies' man, he thought, and dismissed him lightly.
Matt's eyes swung to a corner where a light burned faintly. His body jerked and the breath caught in his throat. Oblivious to the noise around her, Marna sat there, lightly buffing her nails.
He could only gape at the new Marna. The buckskins that he had so loved on her were gone. In their place was a green velvet dress that bared her white shoulders and a good part of her breasts. A large diamond on a thin chain nestled just above her cleavage. Matching earrings dangled from her small ears. He caught the sparkles from her fingers and thought angrily, "She's wearin' enough money to feed them starvin boys for the rest of the winter."
Marna raised her head, and he followed her gaze to Jake, who was hanging up his coat. Her lips spread in an affectionate smile as the big man walked toward her. When he bent and kissed her cheek in a matter-of-fact manner, Matt felt like he had been kicked in the chest. He scowled down at the muddy porch floor in indecision. Should he get on his horse and get the hell away from her, or should he walk in there and shoot the bastard in the head?
Common sense told him he'd never get away with it. He would be grabbed by British soldiers and hung from a tree before the powder cleared from his rifle. And the boys back at camp would still be in their desperate condition.
But there was one thing he had to do. He had to face Marna with his new knowledge. He had to tell her how low he felt she had fallen.
He stepped off the porch and slipped around the corner of the building. After a fast glance up and down the alley, he slipped quickly into a back door.
It was late when Mama left the gambling room. As usual, the young crowd had arrived and swept her into their fun-loving midst. But try as she would, tonight she could not respond to them. Unexplainably, she felt depressingly lonely surrounded by their gay chatter. Finally, against their objecting cries, she complained of a headache and retired.
As she left the room, she knew that the gambler watched her. For a moment she was tempted to turn around and smile the invitation she knew he waited for. But she fought back the urge and climbed the stairs.
Marna pushed open her door and moved through the darkness to the candle in the center of a table. She fumbled for the flint and could not find it. Glancing at the fireplace, she noted the fire was almost out, with only glowing coals remaining. She sighed impatiently. She would have to build it up before she could light the candle. Stooping, she laid small pieces of wood on the coals. When it broke into flames, she struggled a small log onto it. Stepping back, she surveyed the fire with satisfaction. She hadn't lost her knack of fire building. She smiled wistfully. At least she would have the cheerfulness of leaping flames to keep her company.
The heat reached out into the room, burning her face. She took a step back, and froze as her foot came in contact with another foot. She gasped her alarm and whirled around.
Matt, his legs stretched before him, stared into the flames. When she gasped again and grabbed hold of a tabletop, he raised his eyes and deliberately surveyed her. Then, stretching lazily, his eyes fastened on her nearly bare breasts, his lips curled insultingly and he began to rub his groin.
Marna ignored his gesture and ran her eyes over him. His travel-stained buckskins indicated he had been on the road for some time, and the mud splattered on them said that the road had been rough. What was he doing here?
In a nervous voice she stammered, "Wh-where did you come from?"
Her nearness affecting him as it always did, and angry at himself because of it, Matt answered brusquely, "Does it matter where I came from? Shouldn't you be more concerned with where I've found you...and with whom?"
Becoming angry immediately at his old attitude, Marna's eyes flashed her hostility. "It's none of your business where I am or who I'm with. You went off and left me, remember?"
Matt gave a short, ugly laugh. "What was I supposed to do, stay there and watch you carry on with your lover?"
Marna's eyes blurred with angry tears. "I've tried to tell you repeatedly that Jake and I don't have that kind of relationship. I would like to explain it to you now if you'll let me."
His yellow eyes stabbed out at her. "You expect me to believe your lies? You think I didn't see him kissing you downstairs? You think I don't know that you lay with him in that bed every night?"
Without warning Matt's head was jerking with the force of her slap.
In one swift movement he was on his feet, imprisoning her wrists with one hand, his other fastened in the curls on top of her head. Jerking her head back, he stared angrily into her startled eyes. Then suddenly his head came down and his lips fastened on hers. Moving them urgently back and forth, he forced her mouth open and thrust his tongue inside.
Marna struggled fiercely against him, twisting her head and her body. But she was only drawn in tighter as the kiss went on and on.
Suddenly the weakness she knew so well began in her loins, and she struggled all the harder. This time she would not give in to him. She would force herself to be rigid and unfeeling.
She was unaware that Matt had purposely let her struggle while he carefully steered her toward the bed, until her knees came up against it. Her eyes flew open, and she gathered her strength to do battle again, but his hand came up and, with one tearing sweep, her gown lay at her feet. Before she could catch her breath, she was flat on her back in the feathery softness. She struggled to sit up, but he pushed her back. Then, straddling her threshing legs, his hand fastened in her sheer chemise and he ripped it away.
She grew still and gazed up at him. But when his lips curled contemptuously as his eyes stabbed at her nakedness, she drew a sharp breath. This man, whom she loved so deeply and so desperately, was going to degrade her with rape.
An anger such as she had never known threatened to overwhelm her. In a voice that was icy cold, she snapped, "Get off me."
Matt's strangely colored eyes flared wickedly as he hung over her. "You don't mean that, whore," he sneered. "You forget that I know how you like your lovin'. Have you forgotten that night in the cabin? Don't you remember how you clung to me, not wanting to let go?" His hand stroked a breast. "Remember how it was all night?"
She closed her eyes against his taunting words. "That was when I loved you. I hate you now. I hate you with all my being. There is no way in this world I would ever want you again."
A mocking light fought with the pain in Matt's eyes. He dropped his head to her shoulder, whispering softly, "Are you sure about that, Mama?"
Marna started to answer, then caught her breath as his lips began to caress her throat and shoulders. Then his head lay heavy on her breast and she was fighting with everything in her to keep control. Tingling sensations were rushing through her, concentrating in her nipples, turning them hard. She sought to cover them with her hands, but Matt had seen them grow rigid, and she blushed
at his mocking smile.
She bit her lip to hold back her moan when he moved his head a scant inch and took a taut nipple into his mouth. When he curled his tongue around it, sucking slowly, gently, the blood began to drum in her ears. As desire began to stir with a gathering force, she cried silently, I will not give in. I will not let him know. Frantically, she began to beat upon his back with small, hard fists.
She realized that her blows meant nothing to him, that he wasn't even aware of them as he trailed his lips down her flat stomach. She leaned up on her elbows, and at that moment Matt lifted his head and gazed at her out of desire-ridden eyes.
"Do you still say that you don't want me?" he asked huskily.
"Never!" she spat back at him.
Wordlessly he grasped her legs and raised them around his shoulders. She threw herself back on the bed, helpless tears running down her cheeks. Later, she lay limp while he undressed, her eyes upon his muscular body with undisguised hunger. His eyes flared with equal hunger. Sliding between her legs, he entered her quickly. Then, slipping his hands beneath her buttocks, he lifted her hips off the bed. Rising to his knees, he began rhythmically stroking, thrusting, deep... deep.
Marna knew that he watched her face, waiting for that glaze to come over her eyes. She closed them tightly and fought the waves that threatened to almost destroy her. But her body was stronger than her mind and soon she was jerking spasmodically, her arms reaching for him.
She felt his shuddering climax and received his dead weight against her. It's over, she thought, and waited for him to lift himself from her. But he only returned to her breasts, moving his lips over them. She felt him swelling inside her and waited in anticipation.
But this time Matt took her in anger, slamming at her slender body as though he hated it for what it did to him. Marna bit back her tears and suffered his onslaught in silence.
The fire went out, and gray light showed through the windows. Still Matt did not release her. Her limp resistance to his brutality acted as a whip, urging him to take her again and again.
Finally, when her outraged body could not take another thrust and her breasts were sore from his lips and hands, she began to cry. "Please, Matt, no more. No more."
And as though her tears had washed away the fury that had driven him, he gazed down at her, almost in surprise. For a moment she thought the hard eyes had softened. She waited breathlessly for him to say he was sorry.. .maybe even say that he loved her.
But if those words did hover on his lips, the chance to say them slipped away. At that moment the door opened and Hertha stepped inside.
Matt scrambled off Mania and grabbed his clothes. "Hertha!" he gasped. "What are you doin' here?"
Hertha's lips wreathed in a welcoming smile. "I might ask you the same thing, Matt, although it's your right to be here."
Hertha glanced at her granddaughter. Seeing the dark shadows under Marna's eyes, she thought, From the looks of Marna, he couldn't get enough of her. Then, eyeing Matt sternly, she commented, "It's good to see you back where you belong."
Marna lay quietly, seemingly unaware of Hertha's words. But inside she was taut, waiting for her husband's answer.
Her heart turned over when he stated coolly, "I'll be movin' on now, Grandma." Standing up and tucking his shirt into his pants, he smiled at Hertha. "You've saved me a long trip. I was just about to be on my way to the hills to look you up."
"You were gonna look me up? What for?"
"We need medicine real bad at Valley Forge. The soldiers are dyin' every day. Do you have any of your roots and herbs with you?"
Hertha gave a dry snort. "You know I wouldn't go anywhere without them, Matt."
"Good. Will you give me all you can spare?"
Hertha's birdlike eyes grew excited. "I'll do better than that, Matt. I'll go back with you."
Marna's cry came across the room. "No, Grandma. You can't go into a soldier's camp. You could be hurt, or killed."
"I'm afraid she's right, Grandma," Matt said quietly, dropping a hand to her bony shoulder. "That camp is no place for a woman. Hell, we don't even have any whores there."
Bristling, Hertha poked angrily at the fire. Then, setting the poker down, she looked stubbornly at Matt. "You're gonna have a woman now. Me and Marna are the only ones who know how to mix everything proper. Without me, my roots and herbs are no good at all."
Matt studied the thin, stooped body and frowned. Was she strong enough to doctor all those soldiers? He grinned drily, remembering she had been strong enough to put up with Emery all these years. She'd probably stand up better than all the rest of them put together.
He squeezed her shoulder and said, "All right, Grandma, if you insist. It won't be easy, though. Half the time there's not enough to eat."
When Hertha answered, "That won't bother me none," Marna begged again, "Please, Grandma, don't go.
"Now, Marna, you hush up," Hertha said, an edge of irritation in her voice. "It'll do me good to be useful again. I haven't mentioned it, but I've been close to goin' crazy with nothin' to do around here."
She moved to the bed and sat down. Smoothing back Marna's sweated, tangled curls, she spoke soothingly. "I'll be all right, honey. Matt will see to it that nothin' happens to me." Glancing up at Matt standing beside the lire, rubbing his bristly chin, she smiled. "Matt, directly across the hall is my room. In the top dresser drawer you'll find a razor. Go and have yourself a shave."
Matt hesitated, then nodded his head. "Can you be ready by the time I get back? Them boys need your medicine as soon as possible."
Hertha assured him she'd be ready in no time.
When Matt returned, his face smooth and his hair brushed neatly, Hertha and Marna were engrossed in a whispered conversation. Hertha rose hurriedly, mumbling that she would get her paraphernalia together and be ready to leave whenever he was.
The room grew quiet, the only sound an occasional gust of wind rattling the windows. Then the breath caught in Marna's throat as Matt approached the bed. This time she was sure there was a softness in his eyes, and her heart leapt at the thought of what he might say. He had just sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand when voices sounded outside the door. He rose to his feet as the door swung open. She wanted to cry when her father strode in, Hertha at his heels.
Matt's eyes flashed over his hated enemy, quickly taking in the fact that the robust man wore only a robe and that he hadn't knocked before entering. His eyes full of scorn for Marna and for himself, he jerked his coat off a chair and shrugged into it. His hand on the doorknob, he turned, and in a voice harsh with his jealousy, sneered at Egan, "She won't do you any good for a while. I rode the hell out of her all night."
He slammed the door on Marna's anguished cry.
Remorse hit Matt when he came out on the street and saw Sam standing dejectedly in the cold. He raised a fist and shook it in the direction of Marna's window. The beautiful bitch had even driven his horse's welfare from his mind. Never before had he ever neglected the animal. He was looking around for a stable when the back door opened and Hertha joined him. Her eyes fell on the shivering animal, and she clucked her tongue in sympathy.
"Take him around back to the stables, Matt. We'll give him a good feed while I have Jake's man saddle my mare."
Sam stuck his head eagerly into the bucket of warm mash set before him. By the time Hertha's mount was saddled and the bag of "woodland cure" was settled on its back, the stallion had finished the mash and was guzzling water from the trough just outside the stables.
They were almost ready to leave when Matt spied the stack of woolen horse blankets on a shelf. A smile of grim satisfaction lit his face. "I know some fellows who will appreciate these," he muttered, stripping the shelves clean.
Tying half of them on Sam's back, he fastened the rest behind Hertha's saddle. He turned and glared at the roustabout who had taken a threatening step toward him. "That's Jake South's contribution to the war," Matt growled, boosting Hertha into the saddle.
As he swung onto the stallion's back, the stable hand looked at him bemusedly. Who in the blazes was Jake South?
The man decided that he wouldn't question the wild looking hunter. He didn't like the looks of that broad knife stuck in his belt.
Meanwhile, Hertha hid her pleased smile. Matt was hurtin' good. As they rode out of the stable yard, she stated quietly, "Jake's not a bad sort, Matt. You're gonna find that out someday."
Matt's answer was short, "Hah!" and a swift jab to his mount's flank. The startled animal bolted and raced down the street. Hertha laughed and followed him at her own careful pace. Let the fool break his neck if he wanted to. She wanted to hang on to life a little while longer.
After a run of a few miles, Matt reined in the sweating horse and waited for Hertha to catch up. He grinned at her sheepishly, and they rode on at a leisurely trot. Matt rode in silence, his head lowered, the reins loose in his hands. Hertha, her head muffled in a heavy scarf, kept her silence also. She knew what was on Matt's mind, and she knew that he must thrash it out in his own way and time.
Hertha lifted her chin and breathed deep of the sharp, tangy air. It was good to be leaving the city behind and returning to her beloved wilderness. The bustling city was no longer for her. She had been away from it too long.
Mama didn't like it either, she knew. The girl paced the apartment all day, moving from window to window. The long sighs she uttered said plainer than words how much she missed her Kentucky hills.
Hertha glanced at Matt's broad back and wanted to shake him. It was all his fault they were stuck in that noisy city. He had disrupted all their lives, including his own. The mule-headed jackass. Always jumping to the wrong conclusion. Well, she for one would never say the few words that would explain everything to him. He must come to his own terms. Acknowledge to himself that he loved Marna enough to forgive her anything. In her opinion that was the true test of love.
