Savage Destiny (The Hearts of Liberty Series, Book 1) (53 page)

"I'm going to build you a house," he decided in that instant. "Not like this one, but a sturdy structure of logs with shutters for the windows and doors you can bar. Will that make you happy?"

"I've only spent one night here," she reminded him. "I'll get used to it in time."

"You won't have to. You're a fine lady and deserve a real house." He had brought corn cakes and venison from the trading post, and set them aside before sitting down on a platform several feet away, to provide her with the privacy he thought she required. After all, she had been raised in a mansion, rather than a one-room house made of bark.

Sorry that he had misinterpreted her apprehension as criticism of his home, Alanna hastened to complete her bath. She scrubbed herself clean and used what was left of her old chemise to dry off. She donned fresh lingerie and the gown Hunter had set out for her. After spending nearly two weeks in the woods, the waistline was noticeably loose. Designed for travel, it was dark blue rather than one of the bright colors she knew he admired.

"I'm sorry this isn't a prettier dress. Does the trading post carry fabrics for women's clothes?" she asked.

"Nothing you'd wear. We'll have to buy you a new pair of boots, but you can throw them away and have others made when we get back to Williamsburg."

Alanna tousled her hair with both hands in an effort to dry it. "I don't need a lot of fancy clothes, Hunter. I used to wear very simple gowns, and that's really all I need."

Her expression and tone were sincere, but Hunter saw a fragile beauty who had already suffered through far too much to be with him. He did not want her again dressing in as humble a fashion as when they had first met. "No, you have pretty clothes now, and I want you to wear them. Earning money has always come easily to me, and I can afford to dress you in fine clothes."

"But if I don't need or want them—"

"I'm too hungry to argue about your clothes. We'll have to eat venison again. Do you mind?"

"No, it was very good." Elliott's valise was right where he had left it, and Alanna could not help but recall that the last time they had dined there, her cousin had been with them.

Hunter noted the direction of her glance and understood the sorrow that had softened her pose. "I'm going after Elliott's body tomorrow. I'm taking a wagon and several other men, so if any of the Abenaki are still lurking nearby, we'll have no trouble with them."

"How many men?"

"Three."

"Do you think four men can defeat more than a dozen Abenaki?"

"Yes, easily," Hunter boasted, "but I'm sure they're gone."

"I still think you should set the traps."

"Can you remember not to get up during the night and step into one?"

Alanna came forward and knelt at his side. She rested her hands on his knee and affected an innocent smile. "I shan't want to get up, if you give me good reason not to."

Hunter reached out to fondle her cheek. She was such a gentle creature, but also a very passionate one. The softness of her skin filled him with a longing that made it difficult to remember how worried he had been about the rustic nature of his house. He was lost in her adoring gaze, and wanted so badly for her to be happy.

"I love you," he whispered. He leaned down to kiss her, and he would have made love to her right then, had her stomach not rumbled noisily and made them both laugh. "I'm being a very poor host. Come sit outside to dry your hair, and I'll roast the venison outdoors."

Alanna followed him outside, and while attempting to be discreet, nevertheless kept a close watch on the forest bordering his home. Their home, she corrected herself, although it did not feel like home to her as yet. With nothing to do, her thoughts soon drifted to Christian. She wished she could think of a new and eloquent argument to soften Hunter's heart toward the boy, but none came to her.

The wistfulness of Alanna's expression wasn't lost on Hunter, but he assumed she was thinking of Elliott, and did not question her. One of the trappers who had shot a deer that morning had shared the meat with him, and as Hunter watched the venison roast, he decided he would have to become far more conscientious. He was now a married man and would have to provide for his family himself, rather than rely on the generosity of the men who had shared their provisions with him in the past. They had admired his skill with his fists, and had used gifts of food to gain his friendship. With the fighting over, he assumed those favors would also be at an end.

After supper, Hunter and Alanna remained seated outside to watch the stars appear. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and leaned against him. Neither had spoken for a long while, and yet she felt perfectly comfortable. He had laced his fingers in hers, and she brought his hand to her lips.

"I do love you, Indian," she murmured with unmistakable fervor.

As much as he was enjoying the moonlight, Hunter wanted to indulge his passion for Alanna even more. He rose and pulled her to her feet. "Let's go inside. Making love on a bearskin is far nicer than making love in the grass."

He was obviously speaking from experience, but Alanna didn't want to hear about other women, so she chose not to ask how he knew. Instead, she led him into the long house and then stepped into his arms. "As long as I'm with you, I don't care where we make love."

Hunter raised his hands to her hair, tilted her head back, and then spread hungry kisses down her throat. He needed her in a way he had never thought he would ever need a woman, and he gradually peeled away her clothing without ever once completely releasing her from his grasp. When she was at last nude, he dropped to his knees and pressed a flurry of kisses across the flatness of her stomach. In response, she slid her hands through the fringe on his shirt, silently expressing her delight before she pulled the buckskin garment over his head.

Hunter ran his hands down the back of her legs, and caressed the tender skin behind her knees with his thumbs. He had never met a woman whose skin delighted him so, but just touching Alanna was an endless thrill. He sat back and pulled her astride his lap, to bring the fullness of her breasts against the flat planes of his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and parted her lips with his tongue, to begin a deep kiss he planned never to end. Holding her tight, he plundered her mouth before slipping a hand between her legs. She was already wet, and when he slid his fingers up into her, she gave a small, grateful moan.

His fingertips wet with her essence, he teased her with a slow, circling touch that made her body's most sensitive bud swell with anticipation. She wrapped her legs around him, hugging him so tightly he had to suck in his stomach to release his belt, but then it was a simple matter to shove his breech-clout aside and enter her with a swift, upward thrust. His shoulders against a sleeping platform, he grasped her waist to guide her motions, and eased her not only up and down, but also in a slow, grinding oval.

Riding the rapture he fueled with each stroke, every inch of Alanna's flesh was pressed against Hunter. Her hands were wound in his magnificent mane, her tongue filled his mouth, and her legs clutched his back with a strength that mirrored her desire. She wanted all he could give and, even after the ultimate joy rocked them both, she clung to him still. Several minutes passed before she felt the need to speak.

"I don't think we needed a bearskin," she whispered, before sending her tongue darting into his ear.

His passions sated for the moment, Hunter groaned, but he then vowed to prove a bearskin's value just as soon as he was able.

Chapter 24

"Of course, I remember you, Miss Barclay," Captain Henderson welcomed Alanna aboard the barge. Expecting Elliott to be with her, he looked up and down the dock for him. "Where's your cousin? Surely you're not returning home alone?"

Hunter had expected such a question, and supplied the answer to spare Alanna the painful repetition of the details of Elliott's death. "We'll need space to transport his coffin." Then he added, "And a cabin."

On one of his barge's stops at the trading post, Henderson had seen Hunter fight, and had been as awestruck as any of the other men who had had that privilege. He had never spoken with him though, and was frankly amazed to find him not only fluent in English, but supervising Miss Barclay's travel arrangements. Preferring to take on that responsibility himself, he reached out to take Alanna's hand.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry to learn of your cousin's death. While our acquaintance was brief, he impressed me as being a fine, young man. I'll find a place for his coffin, and you may have the same cabin you occupied on the way here. Will there be someone to meet you when we reach New York City?"

"I'll be with her," Hunter explained.

Taken aback for a moment, Captain Henderson nevertheless attempted to smile as though he had often seen young ladies from Virginia travel with Indian escorts. Knowing Hunter to be an expert with his fists, he took care not to insult him. "Will you be wanting a cabin, too, or simply passage on deck?"

"My wife and I will share her cabin," Hunter replied.

Assuming Hunter was referring to an Indian woman, Captain Henderson hurriedly surveyed the dock, but he didn't see any women, Indian or otherwise. "Where is your wife? We've a schedule to keep, and must be on our way the instant Mr. Barclay's coffin is loaded on board."

Since they had returned from the forest, Hunter had had several opportunities to refer to Alanna as his wife, and he had savored every one. He was proud to be her husband, but he also took a perverse pleasure in watching how badly he shocked people when he announced the fact. He slipped his hand around Alanna's waist and drew her close.

"She's standing right here."

Predictably, Captain Henderson's mouth fell agape. Alanna had impressed him as being a cultured woman, and he could not reconcile her obvious good breeding with Hunter's announcement. In his travels, he had met a brave or two with a white wife, but he would never describe those women as ladies.

"I don't know what to say," he blurted out.

"You needn't say anything," Alanna responded. "We shan't delay your departure. Hunter's friends are waiting to bring the coffin on board. If you'll just direct them where to put it, we can get under way."

That she could provide such poised directions under what he considered the most wretched of circumstances, sent a shiver down the captain's spine, and preferring to concentrate on his duties rather than the scandalous nature of her choice of husband, he gave a slight bow and excused himself. Hunter returned to the dock to supervise the loading of the coffin, and Alanna moved to the far rail, where the tranquil view of the Mohawk River was undisturbed.

She had such ghastly memories of her stay in the area, it was difficult to contemplate returning to make it her home. She tried to think only of how blissfully happy Hunter made her feel, but she had seen too many men die for that joy to be complete. When Hunter came to her side, she attempted unsuccessfully to hide her sorrow behind a brave smile.

With no hope of being accepted by her aunt and uncle, Hunter readily understood Alanna's downcast mood, and did not torture her further by commenting on it. They were together, and he hoped the prospects for a pleasant life would not elude them forever. As the barge pulled away from the dock, he drew his bride into his arms, and held her for a long moment before speaking.

"I hope the captain's lack of manners didn't embarrass you. I'm afraid his startled reaction is the best we can hope to receive."

"We shan't see him again until our next voyage up the Hudson. It doesn't matter what he thinks."

While Hunter admired her resolve, he was sorry loving him complicated her life. "If things become too difficult, we may have to pretend to be traveling separately," he suggested.

"Are you ashamed of me?"

She looked sincerely distressed by that possibility, and Hunter hastened to reassure her. "No, of course not, but I don't want people to say mean things to you, because you're with me."

He was a tall, well-built, handsome man, but he was also clearly an Indian, and Alanna understood exactly what he meant. "If tasteless gossip bothered me, I'd not have become your wife. Now let's think no more about problems, and simply enjoy the view."

Hunter leaned close to whisper in her ear. "The river isn't half as pretty as you. Which cabin is yours?"