Kitabı oku: «Sam's Creed», sayfa 3
Chapter 3
He was crazy. Isabella watched as Sam rested his rifle against the cave wall and propped three sticks shoved through several cleaned fish beside it. A dark stain spread downward and outward from the bandanna tied around his thigh. Blood from where he’d been shot, defending her. She did not know much about bullet wounds, but it looked like a lot of blood. Enough blood that they should have stopped back when she’d told him to instead of continuing on to this cave. Kell slid up beside Sam, sniffed his wound and then whined. The wag of his tail knocked one of the sticks. Sam caught it before it could tumble to the dirt floor. “Easy on dinner, mutt.”
Kell stepped back. Isabella wanted to move back, too, when Sam turned toward her. Except she couldn’t. The wall was to her back and her pride was in her face. After all her bold talk, it would be very humiliating to cower now that they were alone.
She motioned to the wound on Sam’s thigh. “You must take better care of yourself.”
Shadows hid his eyes, but she could tell from the angle of his head that he was looking at her. “Worried about losing your guide to San Antonio?”
“Sí. You are very important to me right now.”
He favored his leg as he brought the fish over. “Good for a man to know where he stands.”
From where she sat, it seemed he wouldn’t be standing much more. The firelight highlighted the paleness of his face and the lines carved deeper at the corners of his eyes. He was hurting and tired. Because of her. She motioned to the boulder across the fire and against the wall. “You will sit and let me tend to your wound.”
“I will?”
“Yes.” Standing, she brushed the dirt from her skirt. “Unless it is your wish for your wound to fester and for you to die.”
His gaze burned a path from her head to her toes. “I can’t say that I’m anxious to meet my maker just yet.”
The intensity of his gaze made her uncomfortable, but oddly enough, not scared.
She pointed to the boulder. “Sit.”
“Is that an order?”
It had been, but maybe ordering a man like Sam around was not such a good idea. She crossed to the saddlebags and rummaged around. “You should think of it as a reasonable request.”
He followed her with that miss-nothing gaze of his. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in response to the look—so strong that it felt like a touch. Her fingers closed over a silver flask.
“When you were thinking of this reasonable request, did you stop to think I’d have to remove my pants to accommodate it?”
She had, but thinking ahead did nothing to stop the blush from rising to her cheeks. She had never seen a man naked. It wasn’t done for a young woman of her station, but Sam did not need to know that. “I will do my best to preserve your modesty.”
While gaining as much of an eyeful as she could. She was very curious about the male body.
Sam didn’t answer immediately. His boot sole scuffed over the sandy cave floor. A glance wasn’t any more revealing as to his mood. The press of his lips could be anger as easily as it could be amusement. He was a very hard man to read.
“Well, I appreciate that.”
Uncorking the flask, she took a sniff. The odor of strong drink made her eyes burn.
Sam grunted as he sat down. “That you can pass on over.”
She tapped the cork back into the bottle. “You will drink it if I do.”
His holster scraped rock. “That’s sort of the point.”
He was always so on guard. “I will need it to clean your wound.”
“Like hell.”
Frowning over her shoulder at him, she pulled out a flat packet tied with rawhide. “There is no need for such language.”
“You ever had rotgut poured over an open bullet hole?”
“I am not so foolish as to throw myself in front of a bullet.”
It angered her that he had. Even more that he wasn’t taking the wound seriously. People died from infection.
“Duchess, I was saving your life. That makes me a hero, not a fool.”
She opened the packet and found a needle and catgut inside along with plenty of strips of material for bandages. She didn’t want to think how dangerous Sam’s life must be that he carried such things with him. Nor did she like how little catgut there was compared to bandages. He must be injured often. She snapped the packet closed and brushed the hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. “You were needlessly reckless.”
“That’s my job.”
He said that as if it was the truth, but she did not think so. Grabbing up the items, she headed back toward him. He watched her the whole ten steps. There was something in his eyes that had not been there before.
She dropped to her knees by his injured leg, wincing as her muscles protested. She was not used to riding so much. “I think you are too enthusiastic in your doing of this job.”
The soft leather of his glove skimmed her temple, tangled in her hair before curving behind her ear, taking the annoying strand of hair with it. “Pardon me, duchess, but what you know about about my job wouldn’t fit on the head of a pin.”
She carefully placed her hands on his thigh, feeling very bold. Women of her station did not get this close to strange men. It was nothing like touching her leg. There was no softness beneath her fingertips. Just rockhard muscle. Which only led her to wonder how else men were different. “I do not think I need to know a ranger’s job to know what I see.”
“And what do you see?”
Muscle bunched under the press of her fingertips. She glanced up, catching his gaze. The answer just popped out. “Trouble.”
For one heartbeat Sam didn’t react, and then he laughed, a deep soft sound that slipped over her nerves like warm honey. She slid her hands higher toward the blood-soaked bandage.
“On that you’ve got the right end of the stick.”
“So maybe I have the right end of other sticks, too.”
“I wouldn’t lay money on it.”
She noticed he didn’t deny it outright. Sam Mac-Gregor was an honest man, if maybe a little evasive. The makeshift bandage was stiff with dried blood. It took her a few minutes to work the knot free.
When she parted the edges, she had full view of the hole in his pants and a glimpse of the raw wound beneath. Her stomach heaved. She swallowed it back. She no longer had the luxury of weakness.
“I think I will decide for myself where to put my money.”
And right now everything she had was riding on Sam. Placing the dirty bandanna on the floor, she indicated his pants. “As I have laid my money on you, I would appreciate your help.”
The humor clung to his expression as he pushed his hat back. “You want me to shuck my pants?”
Her blush rose and her mouth went dry. “This would be helpful.”
Again the brush of his fingers over her temple. And then his fingers were under her chin, lifting her face up. Her senses tuned to the four points of pressure, the softness of the leather glove, the scent of his skin, the cool blue of his eyes.
“You ever ask me that with something more lighthearted in mind, I’ll have them off before you can blink.”
It took her a second to process the meaning through the intensity of awareness arcing between them. He was telling her no. She blinked the cobwebs from her mind. That was unacceptable. “They need to come off now.”
So she could get to that ugly-looking wound, among other things.
The fire popped. The aroma of roasted fish drifted closer. Isabella wrinkled her nose. Sam grinned. His thumb touched her lips.
“Hand me the flask and the kit.”
He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. “Why?”
“Because I’m tired, and hungry, and I’m not wearing long johns.”
Now, that was an interesting fact. “You cannot treat yourself.”
His smile broadened. His thumb pressed harder. Her breath caught as her lips parted. The scent of leather and smoke—the scent of Sam—invaded her mouth on a lazy drift, strong enough that she could savor the illusion of his taste. “I can do a lot of things that would stretch your imagination.”
“We are no longer talking about stitching your wound, are we?”
“We should be.”
His fingers pressed upward in a silent command. The stiffness in her legs made standing more difficult than it should be. The hunger in his eyes made staying put even more difficult. Even Tejala had not looked at her with such want.
“For future reference, Bella, getting on your knees in front of a man is not a good idea.”
“Why?”
His grip shifted to her upper arm as he helped her up the last few inches. “That you will have to ask your husband.”
It was not her imagination that his fingers lingered on her upper arm. Nor that where his fingers lingered, tiny fires seemed to start under her skin. “I am not married.”
“Then you’ll have to wait for the why until you are.”
“This would require patience.” She stepped back, the heat from his gaze strangely finding a home under her skin. “I do not have much patience.”
“So I’m beginning to understand.” He reached into the top of his boot. “Turn around.”
“Why?”
Pulling out a wicked-looking knife, he slid it into the hole in his pants. Material ripped under the lethal blade. “Because today’s been bad enough without you puking up your guts on the floor.”
He saw too much. “I can control my stomach.”
He stuck the knife blade in the fire. A quick glance showed the furrow carved in the hard muscle of his thigh. Blood seeped out in a sluggish flow. Her gorge rose and for a split second she thought she would actually throw up.
With a sigh, he stood. She felt like a monster when he winced. As a result, she offered no resistance when he took her shoulders in his hands. “Do us both a favor and show me how tough you are tomorrow.”
With that, he turned her around. The weight of his hands was not unwelcome. Her reaction to him was very confusing.
The minutes stretched. No sound came from him. Isabella would have felt better if he had moaned or groaned. The silence left her with nothing but her own imagination to fill the emptiness.
“You should let me help.”
He grunted. Something fell to the ground with a small thunk. “Nothing much to do. It’s just a crease.”
“Then why do you need the knife?”
“The bullet was stuck a bit under the skin.”
The small thunk. “It is out?”
“Yup.”
She turned around. He was tying a fresh bandage over the wound. “You did not sew it.”
“No need.”
“It will scar.”
The thought of that bothered her.
“One more isn’t going to kill me.”
“It is unnecessary.”
“A needle and thread is what’s unnecessary. Especially with dinner waiting.”
Isabella couldn’t forget the size of the furrow now hidden by the white bandage. The scar would be large. Unnecessarily so, forever marring the beauty of his thigh. The danger of infection was very real. “Your leg is more important.”
He grabbed up the flask. “Tell that to my stomach.”
Anger, unreasonable and hot, snapped through her. He hadn’t sewn the wound, and now he would waste the only thing they did have to treat it? She snatched the container from his hand. “You are not so big and bad that an infection will not visit.”
“Hand that back, Bella, before I paddle your butt for messing with a man’s liquor.”
The warning in his tone just fed the resentment pouring through her. He had no right to talk to her so, threaten her like a child. Risk himself so needlessly.
She dumped the liquor over the bandage. Too late, she realized what she’d done. She dropped the flask. “¡O, madre de Dios!”
Sam’s face flushed red and his mouth settled into a grimace of agony. She’d never heard such words as what came from his mouth as he grabbed at the soaked bandage. Nor the ones that followed once the alcohol found his wound. He would kill her.
Sam stood. Isabella ran. He caught her before she made it five steps.
“God damn, you get back here.”
She went with his tug, spinning around, fists up as she’d seen her guard Zacharias do when he was going to throw a punch.
Sam just stood holding her, breathing as if he’d run miles, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a flat line…and stared.
And then, catching her fists in his hand, he laughed. A real laugh that scalded her pride. A laugh that made her not care how handsome he was. A laugh that had her struggling wildly as he drew her arms wide and dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. And then her mouth. Their first kiss, and he had not asked!
She struggled harder. He paid no mind, just kept his lips on hers, letting her struggles dictate the pressure in soft slides and quick jerks. Her thighs brushed against his, her chest against his abdomen. Her struggles slowed as anger changed to something softer, something as fragile as the next skim of his mouth over hers. Her arms were pulled wider, bringing her body flush against his much bigger one. His lips parted just a hint. There was the moistness of his breath and then the shocking glide of his tongue, gentle and tantalizing, along the seam of her lips. Lightning flared in a brilliant arc along her nerve endings, jerking her up onto her toes before tossing her back.
Sam let her go. She did not immediately back away, anger and something else keeping her feet planted in place. Though he stood a foot away, Isabella could still feel the pressure of his lips, the heat of his breath, the temptation he presented. Why did he fascinate her so?
She clenched her fists. “You had no right to do that.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t sound sorry, but she was. “I am sorry I poured the spirits on your wound. Though it needed to be done, I should not have done it like that.”
He cocked his head to the side and a grin ghosted his lips. “You just can’t help it, can you?”
“What?”
“Sounding so high-and-mighty.”
“I think my poor English gives the impression of arrogance.”
Sam’s smile broadened. “Yeah, that’s likely it.”
She had the distinct feeling he was laughing at her. He had no right to laugh. He was as wrong as she was. Putting her hands on her hips, she challenged him. “Kisses should not be stolen.”
“I agree.”
“They should be given freely.”
He turned and headed back to the fire, obviously favoring his injured leg. “No one’s arguing with you, Bella.”
He didn’t need to be so agreeable when she wanted to fight. She followed more slowly, her conscience nagging her. The alcohol must still burn. The truth popped out as it always did when she felt guilty. “Maybe I am arguing with myself.”
Sam sat back on the rock and pulled one of the sticks off the fire. A piece of the fillet fell off. In a move almost too fast for her to see, he caught it, tossing it in his hand to cool it. Shadows jumped on the wall in wild accompaniment. Her heart jumped with the same silly excitement as he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Now, why would you do that?”
She owed him for the manner in which she’d cleaned his wound. “Because I think it is wrong to enjoy stolen kisses.”
His expression closed up. “Very likely.”
She’d chosen honesty as a penance, but she had no idea it would be so hard to see it through. It would be easier to let him continue to think what he obviously was—that she was talking about him—but that wouldn’t be fair. Her cheeks burning hotter than the heat coming off the fire, she whispered, “But I enjoyed yours.”
He dropped the fish into the fire. It was the only sign her words had thrown him.
“Why?”
There was a limit to how far she would atone, and he had reached it.
“I do not know why.” She glared at him. “You are a very provoking man. By rights I should shoot you.”
He fished dinner out of the fire. “The man who saved your life?”
She sat down on the rock a couple feet away. “That would make me ungrateful.”
He handed her the other fillet. The one not covered in ash. The consideration made her feel even more guilty.
“But?”
He was an astute man to hear the but in her voice. “You are aggravating.”
“Because I won’t stitch a crease?”
That and other things, but since the other things were nameless worries in her mind, she settled for a simple “Yes.”
He took a bite of his fish. She tore off a piece of hers. It was a little big, but she was in a cave, in the wilderness eating off a stick. Surely manners could be flexible?
He waited until she had the too-big piece in her mouth before saying, “If you think that’s aggravating, I sure don’t want to see what you’re going to make of the fact we’ll be sharing a bedroll.”
Chapter 4
Sharing a bedroll with Sam had not been the exciting thing the forbidden should be. Here it was the next day and she was as much an untouched virgin as she had been lying down the night before. Darn it. She had not wanted him to rape her, but she would have liked to have a little tale about the night she’d slept with the infamous Sam MacGregor. Something more than that he’d rolled up a horse blanket into a bundle, set it between them like a bolster, rolled on his back and ordered her in a gruff voice to go to sleep. That was not what she expected from a man with his reputation.
Which just went to show how inflated legend could make a man’s reputation. Even in her little town of Montoya they had heard of Hell’s Eight and Wild Card MacGregor—a man so cold he could supposedly seduce or kill with a smile. She completely understood the former, and had witnessed the latter, which left only the question of why he had not seduced her. Was she so unappealing to him? The question nagged at her just as thoroughly as the leather of the saddle nagged at the insides of her thighs through her worn, fine lawn bloomers. This land could be very hard on the finer things.
She braced her hands on the pommel of the saddle and pushed up. The brief relief to her rear was welcome. Ahead of her, Sam rode easily, sitting in the saddle as if he was an extension of the horse. None of the weariness dragging at her showed in his posture. The setting sun behind them reflected off the silver conchos rimming his black hat. She glanced over her shoulder. The sunset was gorgeous. Even more gorgeous was the silhouette of another town backlit by the pink-and-orange glow. She bet there was a hotel in that town, and a soft mattress. She scanned the rickety outline of the buildings. Well, maybe not soft, but less hard than the saddle.
“No sense hankering about what’s not going to be,” Sam called back.
How had he known what she was thinking? She lowered her rear gingerly to the saddle. “I was just admiring the sunset.”
“I thought you were pining on the luxuries of town.”
It annoyed her that he did not even bother to look at her as he talked, just presumed to know what she was thinking. Even if he was right. “I do not see what would have pained to stop for one night. You defeated Tejala’s men.”
“Hurt for one night.”
“¿Qué?”
“The phrase is ‘What would it hurt.’”
“Hurt, pain.” She dismissed his correction with a wave of her hand as she gently urged Sweet Pea to catch up. She might have succeeded, except the packhorse they’d taken after the battle yesterday put up a protest. Sweet Pea jerked back. A nip from Kell’s teeth soon changed the packhorse’s mind. Sweet Pea picked up his pace until his nose drew even with Breeze’s flank. “None of it is good.”
“You’ve got a point.”
“So why could we not stay in town?”
“I’m a cautious man.”
“Not that I have heard.”
He shifted in the saddle, enough so she got a glimpse of his profile. It was as uncompromisingly handsome as the rest of his face, and just as compelling. Especially with the hint of a grin denting the corner of his mouth.
“And you believe everything you’ve heard?”
After watching him defeat the bandits of the last town and boldly step in front of a barrage of bullets to save her life? “Yes.”
The dent grew into a crease. He slowed his horse until she pulled alongside, and turned to face her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She pushed the hat brim off her face. He had a gorgeous smile—even white teeth and finely shaped lips. There probably was not a woman he had ever asked to his bed who had turned him down. She wondered if they had noticed how rarely his smile reached his eyes. “Where exactly do we go?”
He ran those eyes over her in a slow perusal, making her vividly aware of the fact that she was still braced on the pommel and also of her promise not to slow him down. “Getting a bit saddle sore?”
“Not at all.”
It was probably the biggest lie of her life. She would have much to confess to her priest when she returned home.
Sam tipped his hat back the smallest bit. The sun reflected off his face, turning the deeper flecks in his eyes to shards of blue fire. For all that he sat relaxed in the saddle, he radiated an energy that crackled. Or maybe it was just her awareness of him that gave the impression of sizzle. She’d never met a man who made her so conscious of the weight of her breasts, the softness between her thighs, the very unique differences of male and female.
“Good to know. I was hoping to get another three hours in.”
Three hours? Her thighs would be raw meat by then.
“It’ll be dark in the next half hour.”
He pointed to the left. “The moon ought to give us enough light to travel by.”
She hadn’t noticed the half-moon rising. She tried again. “What about dinner?”
He reached behind him, flipped open the saddlebag and pulled out a cloth-wrapped parcel. “Here.”
She had to let go of the pommel to take it. Try as she might to hide it, she knew he saw her wince as her thighs took her weight. “Gracias.”
She unwrapped the cloth. Inside were two biscuits and four strips of jerky. Not a whole lot of food. Her stomach growled. She had not eaten since this morning, and not that much then. Fish was not her favorite. Sam reached over and took Sweet Pea’s reins. With a flick of his wrist he tossed them over the horse’s head.
“I’ll lead Sweet Pea here while you eat.”
Sweet Pea jerked away from the flip of the reins. The food tottered in her hand. Dinner almost fell in the dirt. “Be careful!”
“I’m always careful.”
She took a piece of jerky before wrapping up the rest of the food. “This I do not believe.”
“Why not?”
She cocked her head to the side. How much to tell? “I think you do not care much if you live or die, so you do crazy things.”
He blinked and his smile slipped. “That’s what you think?”
“Sí.”
“You think too much.”
It was either think too much or moan over the condition of her thighs. “For this you should be grateful.”
“What makes you say that?”
“If I did not think, I would have nothing to take my mind off the town we are passing. Thinking of the town would make me think of hotels and soft mattresses. Thinking of the mattress left behind would make me realize how unhappy I am. Being unhappy makes me sad. Being sad…”
He held up his hand. “Go ahead. Think.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and took a bite of the jerky. There was kindness in him.
He waited for her to start chewing before he asked, “Are you settled? Can we head on now?”
Good manners dictated she not talk until she was finished eating. If she followed good manners, they would still be standing here tomorrow night. The jerky was very tough. The only option was a nod.
“Let’s move, then.”
She couldn’t stop her groan as the horse took the first step. Sam glanced over his shoulder. “When you were evading the Tejala gang the last six months, you didn’t spend a lot of time on horseback, did you?”
“No.” She took another bite of the jerky. It was salty, and flavored with a spice she didn’t recognize, but to an empty stomach it was very good.
“Where did you hide?”
“In a cave.”
“What drove you out of hiding?”
“Men found the cave.” Vile men with rape on their minds.
“Tejala’s.”
“No. Others.”
“That must have been a bitch.”
“It was not my best day.”
With a cluck of his tongue, Sam urged Sweet Pea to pick up the pace. The horse immediately complied. Isabella had noticed that always happened. Animals liked Sam. Truth was, so did she. Sometimes for reasons she could define and others for reasons she did not understand but which were more compelling than the ones she did. She took another bite of jerky. He was a very interesting man.
“Where do we go?”
He pointed toward the setting sun.
“Another town?”
“No.”
She chewed some more and tried again. “A place that at least has a tub?”
She held the jerky in her mouth while she waited for the answer.
“No, but there’s a pond.”
She swallowed the jerky. “That will do.”
Another tug on the reins had Sweet Pea catching up. “You’re looking forward to a bath?”
“Are you not?”
The side of his mouth she could see tipped up in a familiar smile. “Are you hinting I’m getting a bit ripe?”
“I would not suggest such a thing to a man.”
“You just plan on suffering in silence?”
She opened the napkin and broke off a piece of biscuit. “I am rarely silent, especially when I suffer.”
If she thought his smile was handsome before, it was nothing compared to how handsome it was when emotion filled it.
It took her a moment to remember to breathe.
He tugged his hat down, covering his eyes, leaving only his mouth to focus on. It was a very expressive mouth, given to nuance rather than exaggeration. And right now he was amused. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
With a cluck of his tongue he went ahead, leaving her with a strange tingle in her stomach and a heat that infused her skin with a radiant sensitivity. What was it about this man? Why did he have such an effect on her? There were many handsome men on the Montoya ranch. Many men who walked with grace, fought with power, faced death with courage. Men who had a dangerous edge, but none of them had what Sam had. None of them had his bold masculine appeal that sank beneath her skin like liquid lightning. He could have any woman he wanted, be anywhere he wanted to be. But he was here. With her. That had to mean something. And if it didn’t, there had to be a way for her to make it into something. Something good.
The first time she’d seen him coming up the rise, she’d been praying, asking God to send her a solution to her problem. Folding the rest of the biscuit into the napkin to keep it from crumbling, she wondered—did that make Sam the answer to her prayer?
She bit off more jerky, chewing contemplatively. It was a strange idea, but it had also been a strange prayer. Besides, what was the point of praying if one was not going to believe that occasionally a prayer would be answered?
Even if the timing of Sam’s arrival was coincidence and not divine intervention—she was aware she might be convincing herself because she wanted it to be so—Sam was still a solution to her problem that she could easily live with. She did not kid herself that Sam was a forever man, but he was a man who could probably provide the happiness it was rumored a woman could experience in bed. He would not worry about her modesty, about offending her. About right or wrong. He would merely take what he wanted, give her what she needed. No more, no less. Exactly what she had prayed for. This could work.
Tejala wanted her as a virgin sacrifice to his power. Proof to the people of his town that he was invincible. That they owed him for their existence, and his benevolence could be counted on only as long as they submitted to his will. That’s why he hadn’t taken her by force. He’d left her lying in the dirt, vowing that before he would marry her she would crawl to him begging for the honor to be his wife—the honor she’d rejected. First he would take her pride, then he would take her home and lastly he would take her life. If she let him.
She did not feel like letting him.
Studying Sam, taking in his naturally aggressive posture, his broad shoulders that narrowed to his lean hips, the revolver that rode his hip, she saw a man designed to give Tejala headaches. Tejala would never accept being second to this man, just as she would never accept Tejala as her first man. She might not be able to win their war, but on the subject of whom she gave her virginity to, that battle she could win.
Sam was a warrior like Tejala, but with a difference. Tejala made her skin crawl, but Sam made her want to crawl under his skin. Where she’d be safe. Maybe that was the difference. She took another bite of dry biscuit. Her father had always told her that when she met a man who made her feel safe, who made her heart race, one others held in respect, then she would be looking at the man God had made for her. She grimaced. As a child she had believed him. As an adult she knew things were more complicated.
Her father had been a romantic. A good man, but impractical in some ways. Still, there was merit in his words about looking for a lover. Much more than in the advice her mother had handed out.
Her mother was the opposite of her father—practical to the core. Isabella had always thought her mother had very little respect for her father. Their marriage had been arranged. A good marriage producing a contract that joined property boundaries. She did not think her mother had ever forgiven her father for being caught up in the excitement and romance of making his fortune, for leaving Spain and coming to the territory. Her mother would have been content being the wife of a third son of a respectable family. She was not content being the wife of the only aristocrat in the new land.
That dissatisfaction drove her to want more for Isabella. In her mother’s eyes, Isabella needed to return to Spain to find a husband. Short of that, she needed to marry Tejala and secure the family’s future in the land to which her father had chosen to bring them. Her mother was a great believer in exploiting the rules of the society in which she found herself. So was Isabella. Just not in the same way.
