Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] (27 page)

Simon had no opportunity to develop a plan of assault. He was barely able to see. He knew the two braves were similarly hampered. Shouting at the top of his lungs, he sprang into the clearing.

“Ye . . . ooo! Run, Berry! For God’s sake, run!”

He reversed his hold on his rifle and, grasping it by the barrel, swung the butt in a vicious arc, gambling that the braves would be unable to discharge their weapons. He was wrong. A bullet sang past his ear, but his initial gamble paid off as the butt of his rifle connected with the side of the brave’s head. The man doubled over.

The wind came howling through the trees, sending the skins from the tepee into the fray, swishing and swirling. Simon ran to Berry and with a single slash of his knife cut the bonds that held her wrists.

At that instant one of the squaws landed on Simon’s back and sent him sprawling in the mud. He rolled over in an attempt to shake off the determined woman. She was biting and kicking and her hands wound in his hair. He didn’t want to kill her, but he had to get rid of her! He grabbed her hair, pulled her face around, and hit her with all his strength. She loosened her hold and fell limply to the ground.

The lightning came again, followed by thunder and more lightning. He saw Berry on her feet. The wind catapulted her toward him. He grabbed her arm and together they stumbled back to where he had dropped his rifle when the squaw attacked him. The rain was coming down so hard that it was impossible to see more than a few feet. He half-dragged, half-led the dazed girl toward the forest.

“Can you run?” he shouted.

It had all happened so fast that Berry hadn’t until now realized who had rescued her. Recognition, combined with her fear of the Indians, galvanized her into action. She ran far faster than she had ever believed herself capable of. Several times she stumbled and fell, but Simon hauled her to her feet and they ran on. The rain continued, making the night so black that it took Simon some time to find his horse. But at last they found him in a grove of maples, indifferent to the downpour.

Simon climbed into the saddle and pulled Berry up behind him. Her arms encircled his waist and she pressed her face to his back. Flash followed flash of lightning and the thunder crashed continuously. The wind tore at her hair and the icy rain poured over her. She leaned gratefully against Simon, her breasts pressed tightly to his back and her face buried in his sodden shirt. He moved the horse recklessly through the dense forest. Berry didn’t know how he had found her or where they were going. All that mattered to her was that he was here. This was her man. He had come for her!

It seemed like hours had passed and still the rain came down. Simon kept the big stallion moving at a steady pace. Then the storm was moving away, the thunder and lightning came less frequently, but the rain continued to fall. Grayness crept into the forest as daylight struggled to establish itself. Simon turned the horse, urged him up a rocky incline, and moved in under the overhang of a bluff. He stopped.

Berry was shivering almost uncontrollably and he had to pull apart her clasped hands so that he could dismount. He lifted her down and held her close to his side while he led the horse through a narrow opening in the side of the rocky bluff. They entered a shallow cave, out of the wind and rain.

“I’m sure they won’t follow us while it rains. It’ll give me time to dry my powder.” He pulled a blanket from his pack and wrapped it around her. Then he wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly against him. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or beat you.” His big hands wiped the rain from her face and wrung the water from her streaming hair. “I’ve got to tend the horse and get a fire going.”

Berry’s body ached with cold, her feet and legs almost numb, but the glowing warmth inside her and the wonder of the words whispered hoarsely in her ear—if in fact she’d heard them correctly—were too precious to allow the misery in her body to overshadow the moment.

Simon pulled the saddle from the horse and with his hands rubbed the water from his slick coat. The animal moved obediently when Simon pushed him to stand with his rear to the entrance of the cave. In the gloomy light Berry watched as Simon raked up dry leaves that had drifted into the enclosure. He heaped them in a pile along with some small twigs, then struck a spark with his flint, and soon a small blaze appeared.

“I’ll find some wood. Keep it goin’.”

Shivering, and keeping her jaws clenched to keep her teeth from chattering, Berry knelt by the small flame and fed it with the twigs the wind had blown against the stone wall. When Simon returned, she backed away and watched him strip the wet bark from the dead branches he’d brought in. He didn’t look at her or even acknowledge her presence until the fire was blazing steadily and he had rolled a large flat stone up close to the flame.

“When the stone gets warm, I’ll move it out and lay my powder sack on it. I’ve got to dry the powder so we can defend ourselves if the Indians follow us. I don’t think we have anything to worry about as long as it continues to rain, and maybe not even then. It looks like it’s set in to rain all day. I hope so. It will give us a chance to dry out.”

Simon stood, and for the first time Berry saw him clearly. His thick black hair, which hung almost to his shoulders, was dripping wet. His deep-set eyes looked black as night, but she knew they were dark blue, just as she knew his skin was sun-coppered beneath the black beard that shadowed his cheeks.

“Simon . . .”

“We’ve got to get you dry and warm or you might come down with a roaring case of the ague.” He reached for the blanket and pulled it away from her trembling body. “Pull off that wet thing and I’ll wrap you up again.”

“But . . .”

“No arguing, Berry. Take it off.”

Berry complied, reluctantly.

He enfolded her in the blanket the instant her wet garment left her body. He wrung the water from the shift and hung it on a branch he had dragged in to burn. Then he pulled off his shirt and spread it out to dry.

Berry stood beside the fire feeling awkward and shy. She heard the rain splashing against the boulder at the entrance of the cave. When Simon pulled her down onto the blanket he had spread on the sandy floor, her knees buckled and she almost fell.

“Simon, I’ve got to say . . . I’m sorry.” Her jaws shook when she spoke.

As if realizing how chilled she was, he knelt beside her and gathered her in his arms. The heaven of being held close, her face in the warmth of his neck, was too much. Tears spurted and she tried desperately to control them. All the pain and the humiliation she had suffered, and the rescue by Simon when she had despaired of living through the night, flooded her in a backwash of emotion. She cried, with her mouth against his neck.

“Hush. Hush, darlin’,” he crooned and rocked her gently in his arms. “Shhh . . . You’ve got to tell me about them so I’ll know what to expect.” His warm mouth moved over her wet face. “Ahhh . . . sweet girl, my whiskers will scratch your sweet face.”

Berry’s arm crept out of the blanket and around his neck. Delightful sensations ran through the whole of her being, bringing joy—a consummation of all the yearning dreams she had ever dreamed.

“I don’t care about the whiskers. I don’t care. Kiss me, Simon. . . .”

His lips moved from her cheek, and she knew they were coming to meet hers even before she felt their touch. Slowly, deliberately, his mouth covered hers, pressing gently at first while he slowly sank down onto the blanket and pulled her onto his lap. His kiss deepened and she leaned into it, floating in a sea of sensuality where in a dreamlike state she hovered against his masculine strength. His lips were seeking, and she automatically parted hers in invitation. The touch of his tongue at the corner of her mouth was persuasive rather than demanding, and she gave herself up to the waves of emotion crashing over her.

The soft utterance that came from her throat was a purr of pure pleasure when he expanded the kiss with a pressure that sought deeper satisfaction. The fever of her passion excited him and he tried to meet it with restrained response.

Berry felt her mind whirl and her nerves become acutely sensitized with the almost overwhelming need to melt into him and ease the ache of her aroused body. Caught in the throes of desire, she pressed against him, her arm winding around his neck with surprising strength.

Resisting the pressure around his neck, Simon lifted his head and looked down at her. The face beneath his was pale and beautiful, still and waiting. Her breath came quickly and was cool on his lips, made wet by her kiss.

“Berry, you’re the damnedest woman ever created, and the . . . sweetest,” he said in a raspy whisper. His hand moved to the nape of her neck and his fingers lifted her wet hair.

“Does that mean you’re not . . . angry with me?”

“No, it doesn’t mean that at all. I’m so mad at you that I want to beat you! But . . . I want to kiss you, too.”

“I said I was sorry,” she said, trying to collect her scattered senses.

“Being sorry wouldn’t matter, Berry, if we were dead.” He pulled slightly away, yet she was still in his arms, her head still resting on his shoulder. He was speaking smoothly, reasonably, with no censure in his voice. “You and I are going to have to come to an understanding, Berry. I’ll not tolerate your headstrong behavior. You’ll listen to what I say and you’ll act accordingly. It was a miracle I found you when I did. It was a miracle the storm struck and I was able to get you out of that camp. You would’ve been raped before the night was over.” Now his voice became sharper, more anxious. “Now I want you to tell me everything, starting at the time you left Fain’s.”

Tears filled Berry’s eyes—the result of nerves strung taut by her ordeal and his onslaught on her senses. She was disappointed by his obvious refusal to accept her apology after they had shared the sweetness of the kiss.

“What do you want to know?” she asked, stalling for time while she composed herself. She tried to move away from him, but he tightened his arms, forcing her to remain where she was.

“Everything,” he replied candidly.

“I left Fain’s early. Fish said it was only twenty miles, and I thought I could get there and back in one day, or stay over the night and come back. I couldn’t find . . . my land, and I was on my way back when they . . . took me.” She despised the tears that flowed onto her cheeks, but was rather proud that she was able to steady her voice as she told how the Indians had pounced on her and taken her gun and horse. “One of them wanted to kill me. He was the ugliest man I ever saw. The old man wanted me. When we met the others, the braves tried to trade the old man something for me. The squaws were the worst. They . . . pulled off my . . . clothes and hit me with the switches and . . .” She stopped, her voice choked off.

“And what?” he urged.

“They . . . spread their legs for the men, right there in front of everyone.” A sob tore from her throat. “I didn’t know Indians were like that. I hate them! They’re dirt! Filth!”

“Hold on,” Simon said firmly. “All Indians are not the same, just as all white men are not the same. I figure the ones who took you are castoffs. They were cast out of their tribe for some reason or the other. How many horses did they have?”

“I saw only one, besides my mare.”

“I killed two of them, so that means there’s a mount for each of the braves.” He was silent for a moment. “I don’t think they’ll come after us.”

“The ugly one will. He hated me!”

“I killed him,” Simon said simply. “I had one sure shot and I figured he was the more dangerous one.” He lifted her off his lap and moved over to add more fuel to the small fire. He raked the rock away from the blaze with a stick and tested the heat by holding his hand near it. Satisfied that it was warm but not too hot, he pulled the rock farther from the fire and set his open leather powder bag on it. He turned her shift and his shirt, then went to the mouth of the cave to look out.

“The sky is heavy with rain clouds. It’ll be a while before it lets up,” he commented. He came back, sat down, pulled off his knee-high moccasins, and set them close to the fire.

Berry huddled in the blanket and wondered how he could stand the chill of his wet buckskin breeches. “Where’s your hat?” she asked.

Simon turned and looked at the enormous green eyes staring at him out of her white face. He couldn’t speak for a moment. She looked so small, so vulnerable, but he knew she was tougher than she appeared. He grinned at her and reached out a hand to cup her cheek.

“I lost it when the squaw jumped on my back. She’s probably wearing it now.”

In spite of her fatigue, Berry laughed. “One in your hat, the other in my bonnet. They’ll be a sight.”

Warmth spread through her chilled body at last. She loosened the blanket from around her neck and let it slip to her shoulders. Her eyes searched his face. She didn’t dare lie down and fall asleep . . . not yet. Not without making her peace with Simon. Her eyes burned, and she had to open them wide to keep them from closing.

“Go to sleep,” he said, and gently pushed her down and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll be watching.” He held out his hand, and without hesitation she pressed her palm to his. His fingers entwined with hers.

“Are you still . . . mad?”

“Not too mad to kiss you again.” His lips skimmed her cheek. “You’re a spunky woman. Life with you will never be dull. I may want to beat you, but I’ll want to kiss you, too.”

She clutched his hand, smiled contentedly, and drifted off to sleep.

Berry was astride a great white horse. Her arms were locked around the bronzed body of the man in front of her. Her laughter rang out as he urged the beast to greater speed until it seemed to fly over the short green turf. Soundless words came drifting back to her as they floated up and down with the movements of the horse. She pressed her cheek to the muscled back before trailing kisses from his shoulder blade to where the dark hair grew at the nape of his neck. She arched her back and laughed. The man turned. His eye sockets were empty, and there was no flesh on his face; she knew it was the ugly Indian.