White Dawn (10 page)

The trapper’s lack of sympathy angered her. He didn’t understand. She glared at him. “Why?” she shot back.

“I can’t stay here all day. I have chores to do.”

“I’m not stopping you.” She resumed her position of the night before. She’d missed her Indian’s return yesterday by leaving. Today she’d stay. Maybe he’d been afraid to come and get her while she was in the clutches of this white man.

John raked his fingers through his hair. “Dammit! I’m not leaving you. You’re coming back with me.”

Emily mentally dug in her heels. “I don’t
have
to do anything, John. I know you’re just trying to be nice, and I appreciate it, but I’d rather be alone.” The unexpected flare of rebellion caught her by surprise. Seldom had she ever argued or refused what was asked of her. She’d always tried to please.

But look where it had gotten her.

“You ask too much, Emily. I won’t leave you out here alone.”

“Why not? Everyone else has.” She hated to sound ungrateful; this man seemed decent and kind. But then, so had her Indian lover. He’d been tender and sweet and …then he’d done the worst thing he could do: he’d abandoned her, thrown her love in her face. Like everyone else.

“This is crazy, Emily. Do you want to die? Is that what this is about, and what your refusal to eat is about?” The young trapper’s frustrated voice boomed across the glade.

Shrugging, Emily let her gaze dart around her, searching the wall of thick tree trunks, but she knew no one was there. Before, she’d felt her lover’s presence. She felt nothing now. Nothing except an overwhelming sorrow. “What’s so great about living? There’s obviously something wrong with me that makes everyone just leave.” She laughed bitterly at the disbelief John wore. “Even my mother was willing to abandon me.”

Why had she said that? It had been the first time she’d even allowed that thought to materialize. But it was true: her mother hadn’t leaped from the wagon, hadn’t tried to stop Timothy Ambrose from riding away to their awful fate. Now that it was out, Emily couldn’t stop the flow of bitter words. The anger she’d harbored sought release.

“Oh, yes, she allowed my father to abandon me in the wilderness with no food or weapons. She went with him knowing full well that I’d die out here.” Emily tried to keep the rage from her voice, but the anguish of being abandoned by the family she’d loved and given so much of herself to threatened to choke her.

John bent down. His voice was sad but warm. “I don’t know what happened to you, Emily, or why, but there’s nothing
wrong
with you. They are fools, every last one of them.”

Staring up into his intense gaze, Emily felt her heart leap. She wanted to believe him, wanted to let him make her world right again, but she couldn’t allow herself to trust him—or anyone else—ever again. There was something about her, in her, that others were unable to love. She suspected that John, like her warrior and Father Richard, wanted only one thing from her: her body. And she’d never allow another man to use her that way again.

When strong arms scooped her up, she started, then shrieked, “Put me down.”

“When we get back.”

“I’m not going with you.”

His arms tightened about her. “Yes, you are.”

All the emotions she’d held at bay—the anger, the hatred, the resentment, the misery and the grief of losing yet another loved one—exploded in Emily. She lashed out with her fists, catching her captor square in the nose.

Startled by her attack, the trapper yelped and loosened his hold on her. She slid out of his arms. “Dammit, woman, what are you trying to do?” he cried.

She whirled on him. “Leave me alone! Do you hear me? I won’t go with you!”

John shoved fingers through his hair. “I said you were safe.”

“No, I’m not. You’re nice now, like
him.
Then I’ll get used to it and you’ll leave, too.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The trapper approached.

Emily bent and picked up a rock and threw it at him to force him to keep his distance. He ducked as it flew past his shoulder. “You’re all the same!” she shouted. “My father hated me. He left me to die, and so did the man who told me he loved me. He saved me, took my love, then abandoned me!” Overcome, she sent another rock hurtling through the air. Then another.

The trapper ducked them, and watched warily.

“I hate you. I hate
him.
I hate everyone.” Backing up, throwing everything she could lift, Emily ranted and raved, unable to stop the flood of angry words. The dam had burst. She’d had sixteen years of misery that had culminated in her parents’ deaths, then she’d been abandoned by a man who’d claimed he loved her. How could she trust anyone ever again?

“Yes. Everyone I’ve ever loved has left me. Even my mother!
Even my mother,
” she screeched, hating the woman who’d betrayed her most of all. She blamed her mother for being weak, for not standing up to her father, for not protecting her child from his hatred, and maybe for marrying him and putting them both through this hell.

The trapper jumped forward and grabbed her. She kicked, scratched and fought against him, but he easily caught her hands and pulled her into his arms. “I won’t leave you, Emily. Not ever. I’m here for you. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take you back to civilization—wherever you want to go.” He ran his hands through her hair, smoothing the wild tangle from her face. “You have to believe me.”

Emily laughed, a hollow sound. “Why?
Why
should I believe you when I couldn’t count on my own mother? I couldn’t even trust a priest.” Her voice rose. “He tried to rape me, then told my father it was my fault. That’s why my father left me. Then I trusted that Indian. I shouldn’t have, but I did. He saved my life. I
loved
him—and I know he loved me. I thought I could trust him. He was gentle and kind, like you’re trying to be. But in the end, it didn’t matter. He left me out here to die just like everyone else. So tell me, John—why should I trust you?”

The man looked stunned by her hysterical revelations. She pulled out of his arms and tore off the buckskin shirt he’d loaned her, revealing her scantily clad body to him. “Is
this
why I should trust you? Because you want my body? Will you save me and protect me if I give you what I gave to
him?
”

“Emily—” The man’s voice was choked.

Glaring at him through her tears, she stuck out her chin, then pulled her shift over her head in one violent motion. “If this is what you want, you don’t have to be nice to me. You don’t have to pretend to like me or love me.” She drew in a deep breath, hating herself. Hating him for making her do this. Hating the way his gaze roamed her naked body.

“If this is what you want, you can have it. Payment for taking care of me. Payment for taking me back to the mission. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Just don’t pretend to feel things you don’t. To feel things you can’t.”

She was unlovable, and her whole young life had only been an instruction on why.

Speechless, John stared at her. He couldn’t help but gaze upon her body. Nor could he stop it from responding to what she offered—no, what she demanded he take. Yes, he wanted her, but not for the reasons she tossed at him with far greater brutality than the rocks. Her accusations hit him square in the heart and angered him. What kind of man did she think he was?

The kind of man who would use her and hurt her and toss her aside like those others did.

But he wasn’t that kind of man.

Yet how could she know that? He didn’t blame her for her hurtful words. She’d been deeply hurt, and by so many people. Her mother…

Gulping past the lump in the back of his throat and stifling the desire hardening between his legs, John even figured she had good reason to believe the worst of him. Staring into her eyes, he saw a hidden hunger deep inside, a child within who desperately wanted to believe—a child who desperately
needed
to believe—that there was still good in the world.

It was that child’s yearnings that reached out like thread to bind his soul to hers as if they were joined by the flesh. In that instant, Emily became a part of him.

Drawing on every ounce of willpower he possessed, John picked up his shirt, vowing to teach this young beauty to trust him. Her mouth fell open when he slid his best buckskin shirt back over her head and shoved her arms through the sleeves. As he drew the hem down past her bare buttocks, his fingers skimmed her hips.

Damn!

He struggled to hide his reaction—he didn’t want her to know that he wanted her—but staring down into her tear-bright blue eyes, he suddenly realized she needed absolute honesty from him.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, his fingers kneading the taut muscles there. “Yes. I want you, Emily. You have a body that only a saint could ignore. And I’m no saint. But that doesn’t mean I can’t control myself, or that I don’t have my own brand of honor.” His gaze hardened. “I won’t barter my services for your body.”

“I gave my body to a savage.” She spoke the words harshly, defiantly, standing her ground as if that would make her repulsive to him. As if that would send him running. Well, it was time for her to learn a thing or two.

He cocked a brow at her. “You also said you loved him.” While he was shocked by the truth, it did not repel him. Love was something difficult to ignore, impossible, maybe.

Her eyes turned sad. “It didn’t matter to him—to any of them.” She drew back. “So what do you want of me?”

Ah, good question,
he thought, thinking of his dream, of his Lady Dawn, of his desire firmly banked, of his need to hold her close and ease her pain. He needed to protect her, and he wanted to see her smile. He wanted everything she could give him. But for now, that wasn’t possible. Maybe it never would be.

“How about friendship? I want to be your friend.” Gently, he tucked her hair behind her ears.

“For how long?” she scoffed. “Until I let you share my bed? Why pretend? Why not just skip all that stuff and get what you really want?” Despite her challenging words, something in her eyes flickered. A small light. A tiny ray of hope.

Vowing to see it grow into a steady flame, John understood her need to lash out. He needed to calm her. But he also knew he couldn’t be dishonest in the slightest. “Most men would take you up on your offer, Emily, but I’m not most men. I’m not saying I don’t find you attractive, because I do. I’ve dreamed of you for a long time.” He halted at her snort of disbelief, then shook her gently. “I haven’t done anything to hurt you, Emily.”

Her face crumpled, all fight draining from her. “Not yet,” she whispered weakly, falling to her knees. “Not yet.”

With his eyes growing moist with tears at the pain this woman had suffered, John gathered their belongings, then bent down and scooped her unresisting form into his arms. He swore that he’d give her the one thing she needed more than anything—a friend.

Two days later, Emily gave in to the truth once and for all: her warrior wasn’t coming back. She’d been deluding herself by pretending that he’d only left for the day and had somehow gotten delayed, but that time was over. She’d been silly too long.

She laughed bitterly. She hadn’t fooled anyone, least of all herself. Like everyone else she’d ever loved, her Indian, too, had abandoned her. And no amount of wishing on her part would bring him back or ease the pain of his rejection.

From outside the cabin she heard the rhythmic thuds of an ax slicing through wood. Each blow echoed painfully behind her eyes. Deep inside, her heart felt as though it, too, was being split into thousands of splinters. Rubbing her forehead with her fingers to ease the dull throbbing, Emily tried to stop thinking of her Indian lover. She had to forget him. Forget what they’d shared. It was over. Past. She hadn’t even known him. Not truly. But she
had
known his touch, his kindness, his…

Staring out the windows, she watched the treetops bend and sway beneath the strong wind. Birds flew and hopped from branch to branch, and dull, dry leaves swirled in circles, carried in through the window by whimsical gusts of wind.

The breezes through the shack relieved some of the stuffiness and cooled her. The day had been unbearably hot and the air felt good. A low whine brought her head around. Fang stood in the doorway, watching. Holding her breath, Emily willed the animal to go away. Though John repeatedly assured her the beast was friendly as a dog, she wasn’t so trusting.

The wolf wagged his tail and ran toward her. Emily opened her mouth to call John who, so far, had kept the animal away from her. But when Fang plopped down close by and stared at her with his tongue lolling, she froze, unable to believe that an animal so capable of violence could be so friendly. Surely if she moved wrong, he’d attack. But the wolf’s eyes remained a soft, gentle brown, and he bent his head and nuzzled her hand.

Slowly, Emily ran her fingers through his fur, amazed as he allowed her to stroke his thick neck. When he plopped down on his side, exposing his belly for a rubbing, Emily smiled. She’d never had a pet and, because her father hadn’t allowed her to go visit friends or girls her age, she’d never been around smaller animals. Only horses. And those were only to care for, never, to ride for pleasure.

After a few minutes, Fang snuggled up close, rubbing his cold nose against her neck. He gave her a swift, gentle lick, then rose and walked to the door. He hesitated and looked at her as if urging her to come outside.

When she made no move to get up he left, leaving Emily feeling lost and alone. She’d enjoyed the animal. Somehow his presence had soothed and relaxed her. But he wasn’t hers. When she returned to the mission, she’d leave him behind. Along with the past months, the happiest and freest time she’d ever known.

Reminded that her life was in shambles, that she had nothing—not even the comforting presence of a beloved pet to call her own—Emily rolled over and rested her chin on her fisted hands. She was alone. Just her against a world that seemed too frightening to face. So what now? Where did she go from here?

Home.

She laughed, low and bitter. She had no home. No family.

Not true. You have a father.

Right.
A father who’d turned his back on her mother.

What if he’d never known?

Frowning, Emily thought about her mother. Had she told the man, Matthew Sommers, her real father, about her? Did the man know he had a daughter? If he hadn’t known about her, would he welcome her into his arms? Would she finally find a place where she belonged?

Realizing that her thoughts were taking her onto another path of false hope, Emily squashed the thoughts. More likely her father had taken off when her mother got in the family way. Emily’s presence would be an unpleasant reminder, especially if he was married with children of his own—legitimate children who would not be a blight on his reputation.

Fear of another rejection warned her not to find this man. Why should she go to him? Just because he’d sired her didn’t make him a father. Hugging herself, Emily didn’t know what to do. She had nowhere else to go and had no money to support herself.

She had nothing. A glance at her shift, which she’d put back on because it was cooler than John Cartier’s buckskin, made her spirits sink even further. She didn’t even own a decent dress. Closing her eyes, she sought relief in numbing sleep. But days of slumbering and lying abed left her wide-awake and her body protesting its inactivity. She felt restless and on edge. Maybe a short walk along the river, or even a bath, would help clear her foggy mind.

She sat up and grabbed John’s shirt—to make herself more decent. Staring at the garment, the same one he’d covered her with that day in the meadow, brought forth waves of humiliation, a sudden rush of heat mingled with a buzz of horror that swept through her from the inside out, from her toes to the top of her head. It wasn’t just despondency that kept her hidden in the cabin.

Emily fell back onto the bedding with a muffled groan and buried her head in the shirt she clutched as she remembered how she’d revealed herself to him, and how she’d offered him the use of her body. How could she face him again? Why had she acted in such a shameful manner?

Oh, she knew. She’d done it to shock him. She hadn’t wanted him to be so nice, believing it better to know the worst he had to offer so she wouldn’t get sucked in by his overwhelming kindness. She hadn’t believed his gentleness genuine, hadn’t believed him to be honorable. She’d fully expected him to have taken her up on her offer and proved her right. And if he had taken her up on it, she’d have let him use her body.

She hadn’t cared.

Then.

Surprisingly, she did now. She still had a hard time believing that her shameful behavior hadn’t changed John’s attitude toward her. He continued to treat her as gently as before. Yet she couldn’t keep from being embarrassed—and ashamed.

Fingering the fringe of his shirt, she tried to figure the young man out. He’d wanted her. She’d seen it, recognized the hunger in his eyes; but after the initial moment of shock, he’d dressed her in his shirt as if she’d been a wayward child. Then he’d carried her back to the shack and tucked her in—again with the same tenderness one might show a frightened youth. All while the look in his eyes, the desire he hadn’t been able to hide, told her he wanted what she brazenly offered.

She laughed, a harsh sound of derision. Her father had been right. She was a wanton. A whore. She’d given herself to one man, a savage. Then, a day later, she’d offered her body to another. She wasn’t any better than her grandmother, who gave her body in exchange for money.

But in spite of everything, John’s refusal had relieved her—and that relief scared her. She didn’t want to like him. Danger lay along this path, like a snake curled up waiting for unsuspecting prey. If she pursued it, it would surely lead her right back down the same road to torment and pain. For that reason she stayed away from him, in the shack. Alone.

As if her thoughts had called him to her, John Cartier appeared in the doorway with a tin of water in his hand. Unable to help herself, she glanced over at him. Sweat soaked his shirt, and his hair was damp with his exertions. He looked tired. His eyes were shadowed, dark with worry. For her? Pangs of guilt seeped through her.

“It’s a beautiful day out here. Some sun might make you feel better.” He forced cheer into his voice as he brought her the water and set it down beside her.

Their gazes met and held. His dropped briefly to his shirt in her hands; then he glanced away, a dull flush creeping up his neck. Emily flushed as well and turned her head. Normally whenever he came in to check on her or to bring her water or food, they both avoided eye contact, as if trying to pretend that the scene in the glade had never happened. But it had.

Emily couldn’t forget the desire that had shot into his eyes—or that one moment when time had stood still and some wicked part of her mind had wanted him to take her into his arms. Had wanted to find comfort with this man in the pleasure two bodies could find in each other.

“What do you say? Won’t you come on out for a bit?”

John’s deep voice vibrated through her. She shivered and hugged his shirt tightly to her. “I’m fine here,” she said. She averted her eyes when his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

The more she stared at him, the more she wanted to get up and erase the worry from his features. Annoyed with herself for caring, she stared down at the shirt. Was she so weak a woman that she’d just repeat her mistakes? Let herself get drawn in, come to care for another man who would just hurt her? She couldn’t risk it.

“Can I get you anything then?”

Without looking at him, she shook her head. “Don’t worry, John. I’m not going to die.” That much was obvious, especially as John refused to let her. He plied her with food, broth, tiny chunks of meat, water, coffee. That day they’d returned from the glade, he’d told her clearly that he’d force the food and water down her throat if he needed to.

She’d believed him, sensed his determination not to let her waste away. So she ate, but only enough to sustain herself and ease his worry. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the tender regard he gave her. She didn’t want him to be gentle or kind. Better for him to be mean and self-centered. That way she wouldn’t lose another piece of herself. For she was coming to like this man—it was hard not to like someone as gentle and kind as he—and she knew how dangerous that was. Like the wolf who adored him, Emily felt the beginnings of trust. And that she had to avoid at all cost.

“Emily.” His soft voice drew her gaze once more.

John Cartier hesitated, his expression soft and sad. Then he shook his head. “Never mind.”

He turned to leave, but not before Emily saw a longing in his eyes he couldn’t mask. Yet he hadn’t been staring at her body. His searching gaze hadn’t been filled with lust. It had been filled with something more. Something different from lust. It was the same emotion that she’d thought she recognized in the eyes of her warrior.

Love?

John was falling in love with her? Or at least he thought he was. She supposed she shouldn’t be so surprised; she’d seen the change in his eyes, heard it in his voice, and had felt it in his touch over the past two days. She had tried to convince herself it was just concern on his part, but the truth was now there for her to see. Clearer every day.

Now what? She couldn’t allow him to fall in love with her. Or to
think
he had, she reminded herself. He didn’t know her. He was just lonely and she was here, available. But that wasn’t enough. That would only cause him pain—or her, if she let it. They both needed to realize that love was fickle. It turned on you like a cherished pet, biting the hand that once stroked and fed it.

So what was she going to do? She was stuck out here, in a wild and unpredictable land. She needed him. Was forced to rely on him. Which meant there was only one thing for her to do.

Jumping to her feet, she ran after him. “Wait!”

He turned back to her, his eyes lighting up when he saw that she stood in the doorway, his shirt clutched to her breasts. Emily kept her voice neutral. “You said you’d take me anywhere I wanted to go.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “I did.” His voice sounded heavy.

She picked at the fringe on the buckskin shirt she held. “Take me back to Lake Superior, to the mission where my family was staying. There’s someone there, a friend who can help me find…my family.”

A chill swept over her. The mission was the last place she ever wanted to see again, but she had to find Millicente, had to talk to her and see if the woman might be willing to travel east with her. The sooner she returned, the sooner she’d get some answers and be free to get on with her life. Whatever life there was for her.

The trapper ran a hand over his suddenly taut jaw. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” she said softly. “When can we leave?” Emily didn’t want to hurt him, but she knew it would be kinder to leave him sooner rather than later. And now that she’d made up her mind on a plan, she wanted to leave. The earlier the better. Staying would just risk breaking his heart. Or hers, she admitted in a sudden rush of odd sensations. She had a feeling this gentle, kind and tender man would prove easy to love. She shook herself.

Cartier stared at the wall of trees to his right. “When my grandfather and cousin return.” Without another word, he left to return to his pile of split logs.

Emily moved back inside their shack, leaning against the wall, feeling hollow. She’d hurt him. He’d shown her kindness and courtesy. He’d been gentle and patient. It didn’t seem fair to repay him this way.

Yet she couldn’t give him what he wanted, couldn’t be the woman his eyes said he needed. Nor could she just give him her body. She’d made the right decision. So why did she feel sad at the thought of leaving?

Sighing, Emily ran her hands through her tangled hair. First things first. A bath. Then she’d fix their evening meal. It was the least she could do. She returned to the doorway and peered out. John stood with his back to the shack. He’d removed his shirt as he resumed his woodchopping.

The ax swung high and fell repeatedly. Sweat coated the man’s skin, his legs were spread apart, and with each movement of lifting the short-handled ax over his head and pulling it down to splinter a log, muscles rippled across his back.

The rhythmic thud of metal crunching into wood resounded through the trees. Over and over the heavy blows echoed. Bits of bark and chunks of wood flew through the air. Stopping for a moment, unaware of his audience, John wiped the sweat from his brow with a red handkerchief. Stuffing the material back into the waistband of his breeches, he swung the ax up.

Go bathe,
Emily ordered herself. But her feet refused to move—especially when he resumed his work. His male form held her spellbound. As before, she noted he was much taller and wider than her Indian lover, but every bit as honed. Not a bit of spare flesh graced his immense frame.