Petals on the River

  “Sooner?” she repeated, a little bemused. “That’s an odd name for a horse.”

  “Aye, but he gets to where we’re going sooner than the mare.”

  She smiled sleepily at his wit. “And the mare?”

  “Later.”

  “Sooner? And Later?”

  He nodded briefly.

  “Thank goodness you didn’t name your offspring using such logic.”

  Humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Victoria wouldn’t let me.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t either if I were your wife,” Shemaine replied, muffling another yawn.

  Gage’s eyes danced, commanding her full attention. “We’ll discuss it more at length after you’ve given birth to our first.”

  The last dregs of sleep vanished abruptly as Shemaine’s head snapped up. She stared at him in astonishment, having no idea whether he was teasing her again or else predicting a drastic change in their relationship. She decided not to waste time with questions. Indeed, it seemed prudent to beat a hasty retreat.

  Gage observed her flight to the stairs. “Coward!”

  Shemaine halted instantly with a foot on the bottom step. Glancing back at him, she elevated an eyebrow. “Sir? Are you calling me a coward?”

  “Aye.” Gage folded his arms across his chest and challenged her with a direct stare.

  Shemaine faced him, a bit stymied by his slur. “Sir, I would like to know why you choose to call me a coward. To my knowledge, I’ve done nothing deserving of that insult.”

  His wide shoulders lifted briefly. “You obviously assume the worst, Shemaine, and rather than ask questions, you race upstairs as if your petticoats were on fire.”

  A rush of color brightened her cheeks. “It didn’t seem advisable to delve into your meaning, sir. After all, we are quite alone, and I am your bondslave.”

  “And I’m a widower,” he needled. “In dire straits.”

  Shemaine’s blush deepened as she recalled his comments about the ladies of the village and their expectations of a widower. Lowering her gaze to the wooden heron she held, she gently prodded, “You’ve already admitted that you desire me, sir. Should I think otherwise now that we’re alone?”

  “I also said I wouldn’t force you, Shemaine,” he reminded her softly.

  She lifted her head and probed his smiling stare, not knowing what to answer.

  “But there is one thing I would desire,” Gage rasped in a whisper.

  Shemaine held her breath, wondering what would follow.

  “The evening was so delightful, I’d like to end it with a kiss. . . .”

  “A kiss?” Shemaine marveled at the sudden thrill that swept through her and the chaotic beating of her heart. She could only wonder if kissing him in actuality was as delectable as it had seemed in her imagination.

  Gage paced forward carefully, as if stalking a wary dove. “Is it too much to ask?”

  Fearful that her voice would betray the fermenting excitement within her, Shemaine shook her head.

  “You’re not frightened, are you?”

  “No,” she managed, trying to calm her jitters as he stepped near. Lifting her face, she waited in anticipation.

  Gage smiled. She seemed so willing, he thought he should warn her about his intentions. “This will be no simple peck, my sweet, but a kiss between a man and a woman.”

  Strokes of lightning sizzled along her nerves, dazzling Shemaine with the intensity of her excitement. Despite the thundering beat of her pulse, she managed a brief nod. “I understand, Mr. Thornton.”

  Suddenly his arms were around her, snatching her close against him. Her breath escaped her, and for one startled moment Shemaine stared up at him, totally conscious of his unyielding, muscular body. In the next instant, his mouth came down like a plummeting fireball, scalding her lips and forcing them apart in frenzied passion. The suddenness of his ardor overwhelmed her and yet, at the same time, thoroughly excited her. Turning slowly, he pressed her back over his arm as he continued to kiss her with a consuming fervor that left her breathless and a bit faint. His mouth was insistent, relentless, slanting across hers as a fiery torch plundered the warm, honeyed depths with ravenous greed. Her breasts throbbed against his chest, their nipples drawing tight with a yearning excitement, and Shemaine knew if he had touched them at that moment, she would have cried out from the sheer pleasure of it. His purposeful persuasion sapped the strength from her limbs and evoked sharp cravings that spread upward like molten lava from her loins. Of a sudden, she found herself answering his kiss, turning her face to drink in the sultry delights more fully as her arms slipped upward and locked in a fierce embrace around his neck. She felt her small tongue being drawn inward by some force beyond her own and soon it was caressing his and being caressed. The temptation to yield herself to whatever he desired of her was great. His encompassing arms supported her, and now with her eager response, he would no doubt proceed with his manly bent, claiming all that she had to give. And then, what would she be afterward? A plaything for his entertainment and perhaps, in time, a castoff? Like a garment when it has served out its usefulness and been relegated to the rag bin?

  Shemaine found the idea of rejection totally offensive to her nature. Gage had said he would not force her. So it was up to her to put an end to this madness!

  She wedged an arm down between them and pushed against his chest as she turned her face aside. Twisting from his grasp, she stumbled away and then turned to stare at him in wide-eyed amazement with a trembling hand clutched over lips that still throbbed. She recognized a burning hunger in his eyes that was perhaps no different from her own. Even now she was besieged by an overwhelming desire to surrender to that compelling plea. Yet she found a tiny fragment of logic to cling to. It was the realization that if she gave herself to him, she would be fulfilling all the vicious conjectures that were making their way around to nearly every ear in the hamlet. She swore she would not give the gossips the satisfaction of seeing her belly grow fat with child.

  Whirling, Shemaine fled to the stairs and snatched up the candleholder that had been left for her there. She nearly snuffed the flame in her swift flight upstairs, but she knew if she stayed one moment longer in the same room with Gage Thornton, she would be the one to lead him to her bed.

  In her absence, Gage leaned his head far back upon his shoulders and stared at the shadowed ceiling, his self-control sorely strained. His loins throbbed with his lusting need, and with every fiber of his being, he wanted to leap up the stairs and take her down upon her cot. It was the only way he’d be able to relieve the ache that rapidly intensified at the root of his manly being. But he could not! Would not! He wanted far more from Shemaine O’Hearn than the mere easing of one night’s passion.

  With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked out onto the porch. What he needed at the moment was a frigid dousing to cool his brain and his body.

  Shemaine stood near her cot, listening to the sounds of Gage’s departure from the cabin. She thumped a small fist against her chest, hoping to chase away the pang that bloomed there. She was still panting as if she had run a fierce race, but it was only the emotion of tearing herself away from that stirring individual to whom she longed to give herself.

  In an effort to calm the quaking within her, Shemaine let her breath out in halting degrees and began to undress, not even caring to pull the canvas sheets closed across the balustrade. Her clothes were cast aside as she paced restlessly about, and by rote she withdrew a nightgown from the cabinet, yet she felt no desire to don it or to slip into bed. The soft aura of the candle bathed her naked body in its warm light, and she gazed down at herself as one totally removed from the outer shell of her being. Would Gage still think her thin? She gazed down at her delicately hued breasts, remembering how he had perused her curves just before their trip into the hamlet. Curiously she cupped their fullness and rubbed her palms over their soft peaks, trying to imagine how it would feel to have his hands come upon her in a similar fashion. Moments earlier sh
e had been alert to the warm throbbing of her nipples as he held her against him, but now that blissful feeling was absent. There was only the unquenchable yearning to have him touch her, to caress her until she moaned with sensual delight. But her arms were empty . . . and so was the cabin.

  Heaving a shaky sigh, Shemaine dragged the nightgown over her head and smoothed it down over a body that would not be calmed. She was restless and could find no comfort in the haven that had served her well since the day Gage had brought her home. Having listened intently for the sound of his return, she knew he had not yet come inside. In all probability he was still tending the gelding and would be out there for a while. She could not guess how much time had elapsed since they had parted, but it seemed like a century or two. If he only knew how much she wanted him back with her, he’d forget the steed and come running. Then the evening would pass much too swiftly.

  Feeling in desperate need of the calming coolness of the night-borne breezes, Shemaine cautiously made a descent to the lower level. Except for the single candle burning in the back corridor, the rest of the house was dark except for places near the windows where the moon shone in. Shadows seemed impenetrable between the dull shafts of light, yet she knew every stick of furniture, every obstacle between her and the front door.

  The gentle zephyrs wafted across the wide expanse of the covered porch as she went to lean against the rail and gazed out upon the bejeweled night. Crickets and tree frogs filled the glade with sound, and in a tree beyond the pond an owl hooted softly. Patches of mottled light moved in undulating motion on the ground beneath several trees as the moonlight streamed through gently swaying branches that were still sparsely leafed.

  A muted sound, like a soft splashing, drew her attention to the pond, and she peered intently into the darkness enshrouding it. As she watched, a long arm emerged from the shadows, rising gracefully upward, forward, and then downward as it cleaved the water. Another arm followed, and she realized it was a man swimming toward shore. He pushed himself upright in the shallows. There he began soaping and washing himself down. No one had to tell her that it was Gage. Very few men could lay claim to such an exceptional physique.

  Once before Shemaine had watched her naked master. They had been in a shadowed room after he had come in from his nightly bath, and upon her discovery, she had fled in painful embarrassment. This time, she had no intention of giving away her presence. She knew she must enter before he made his way to the cabin, but until then she would observe him much as she had that night. Only now it was different. Her desire for him had replaced her maidenly curiosity.

  The moonlight was favorable, casting her in dark shadows beneath the porch roof while it bathed him with its soft radiance, adorning his long, naked body in glistening raiment. She felt her own body glowing with sensual warmth as her eyes fed upon his nakedness. The sights were there for the taking, and she devoured them all in a womanly awakening, all the while yearning to make her presence known, to slip out of her gown and join him there at the pond.

  Gage climbed out of the water and reached for a towel that he had left on a rock near the stream. Briefly he toweled himself and then laid the linen around his neck. He came forward, scooping up his clothes from the place where he had left them. Quietly Shemaine turned and slipped inside the cabin, opening and closing the door without a sound. She was in the loft when she heard the floor creak in the back corridor. Her heart began to race with anticipation at the thought of him coming upstairs. Then the glow which had partially lit the now-darkened loft began to move, and she realized that Gage had only returned to the back hall to fetch the second candle he had earlier lit. Her legs trembled beneath her as she sank upon the cot in roweling disappointment.

  CHAPTER 13

  The cabin had grown unusually quiet with Andrew taking an afternoon nap and his father working in the cabinet shop with his men. A thrice of days had passed since their last trip into the hamlet, and after finishing her mending, Shemaine tiptoed into the boy’s room to check on him. He was sleeping soundly, cuddled against the cloth rabbit she had made for him. His breathing was heavy and relaxed, and it did not seem likely that he would bestir himself any time soon.

  Carrying a small basket of laundry to the stream in front of the cabin, Shemaine knelt beside a rock at the edge of the brook and began scrubbing the soiled knees of Andrew’s britches. The trilling of songbirds was a joyous and melodious celebration of spring, and with a sigh of pleasure, she sat back upon her heels and scanned the treetops, curious to discover what strange and marvelous birds inhabited this clime and filled the day with such a sweet symphony of song. Their warbling melded with the gentle burbling of the brook, as if conducted by a master musician. Small birds flitted from branch to bush or flew across the open spaces from one tree to the next, while overhead more determined flocks of ducks and geese steadily winged their way northward across the sky. Snowy egrets languidly traversed the heights as well or stalked about the river’s edge in search of food.

  Inhaling a deep breath of fragrant air, Shemaine drank the serenity of the lush glade. Far beyond the wide-spreading boughs of pine and newly greening oak, fluffy white clouds sailed across an azure sky much like lofty ships at sea. On the opposite side of the stream from her, a young stag cautiously approached from the thicket, but upon spying her, he turned and, flagging his tail, bounded off in the direction from whence he had come.

  Into this paradise, the muffled whinny of a horse intruded, provoking Shemaine’s curiosity, for the neigh drifted from the depths of the verdant forest instead of the corral behind the cabin. She peered intently into the leafy shadows until her eyes began to adjust to the gloom. Another nicker reached her ears, drawing her gaze directly toward the sound. Some distance off, she saw a saddled chestnut steed of rather questionable quality tethered to the branch of a tree. A feeling of unease began to creep up her spine as she searched for its rider. Her tension changed abruptly to alarm when she espied a large man in a light-colored shirt and dark breeches creeping through the trees toward her. For a young woman who had spent several months dreading the sight of that hulking form, it was nigh impossible for Shemaine to mistake Jacob Potts.

  With a startled gasp, Shemaine pushed herself upright, bringing Potts to a sudden halt with her movement. His intent changed abruptly, becoming immediately more threatening. Bracing his legs apart, he extended his arms straight out in front of him and cupped his huge hands around the butt of a flintlock pistol, taking careful aim. It was frighteningly obvious to Shemaine what the man had come to do. He would kill her if he could!

  Shemaine was painfully aware of her vulnerability, for she had absolutely nothing at hand with which to defend herself. Her only hope was to flee to safety before he fired. She started to whirl, but before she could lift a foot to make the turn, the explosion of gunpowder rent the peaceful cooing and twittering of birds, sending them flying helter-skelter from the trees and brush. In the very next instant a shot zinged past, slicing open a layer of flesh across her ribs as it went. Shemaine screamed at the pain inflicted upon her and clasped a hand over her left side, feeling an oozing warmth dribbling through her fingers. Frantically she scrambled up toward the cabin, throwing a frightened glance over her shoulder. Potts was busy reloading, but she knew he would soon follow in a zealous quest to catch her before she could make good her escape.

  A shout drew Shemaine’s attention to the area in front of the cabinet shop, and she felt a surge of relief when she saw Gage and all four of his men sprinting out of the structure with muzzleloaders in hand. In the opposite direction the Morgans were racing down the building slip with weapons of their own. Apparently they had all heard the shot, her scream, or both, and perceived that something was amiss.

  Potts glanced around to see the handful of men racing toward him through the woods and promptly decided it was time to leave. He bolted through the trees and, upon nearing the chestnut, dragged the reins free from the branch. Hauling himself astride, he turned the animal about to fa
ce Shemaine and shook a brawny fist as he bellowed at her.

  “ ‘Tain’t over yet, bogtrotter! Not ‘til ye’re dead!”

  Potts whipped the steed about and slammed his heels into the chestnut flanks, sending the horse racing recklessly through the trees. Realizing the tar would be out of range soon, Gage skidded to a halt and brought the muzzleloader to his shoulder. The density of the trees hindered him from taking a clear shot, and he was well aware that he would waste his attempt if he did not time the horizontal movement of the weapon to the rate of Potts’s speed. Swinging the rifle from a point behind his target, he squeezed the trigger as the bore passed in an imaginary line through Potts. Continuing the lead, Gage moved the sights well ahead of the tar to a spot between two trees. The tar had not yet reached that particular site when the gun finally discharged. A deafening roar reverberated throughout the glade as the lead shot zinged through the trees, meeting its mark just as Potts passed between the pair of oaks. A loud roar of pain evidenced the sailor’s wounding, and he slumped forward in the saddle as a large, dark blotch bloomed on the side of his shirt. The horse, confused by the shifting weight, slowed his gait, but Potts, now fearing the marksmanship of the colonial, pummeled the beast with booted heels, cursing savagely as he drove the animal to a faster pace.

  Ramsey stumbled to a halt beside his employer as Gage received a loaded Jaeger from his German apprentice and took aim again, but the darkening shadows and the thickness of the forest obscured the rapidly diminishing target.

  “He’s gone,” Gage muttered in frustration, lowering the rifle.

  “But you vounded him, Mr. Thornton!” Erich Wernher boasted. “None of zhe rest of us could have done as well!”

  Gage heaved a regretful sigh. “Aye, but wounding Jacob Potts is not nearly as beneficial to our existence as killing him.”

  “I think yer woman is hurt,” Ramsey announced, directing Gage’s attention to where Shemaine stood clutching a hand tightly to her bleeding midriff.