Defiant (11 page)

If Connor had been alone, he might have chanced it, but Lady Sarah could neither fight nor was she practiced at woodcraft. Slipping through their sentries with her beside him would be all but impossible. Even attempting it would be foolhardy.

“What of this midwife?” Connor had tried again to persuade Grannie Clear Water not to burden his wedding night with the
unwanted presence of another, but she had refused even to speak of it.

“The midwife’s name is Crow Mother. Turtle Eggs says she is Grannie Clear Water’s younger sister. We cannot bribe her.”

“Does she like rum? Can we drug her?”

“We could try.” Joseph shrugged, then frowned. “But we’d best be far away from here before she awakens and realizes what we have done.”

“We cannae be certain when the old woman will give us leave to go, so we cannot chance that either.” They were running out of possibilities. “Perhaps I could make on as if I were tupping the lass, but leave her intact.”

“Pretend to couple with her without entering her?” Joseph shook his head. “Do you think you can mislead a midwife? What happens if this Crow Mother checks Sarah to make sure her maidenhead is broken and your seed planted? That’s a dangerous game to play, brother. Who’s to say what they would do if they found you had misled them—burn us, burn her, give her to Katakwa to do the deed?”

“Och, Christ!” Connor squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his face in his hands.

He was used to feeling the weight of men’s lives upon his shoulders. He’d gone into battle first as Iain’s lieutenant, then as Morgan’s captain, and then he’d led the Rangers himself—near on two hundred men depending on him for their training, their orders, their survival. But that was nothing compared to the burden he felt now.

He opened his eyes, saw understanding in Joseph’s gaze. “As God is my witness, I’ve ne’er taken a woman against her will. ’Tis one sin at least that doesna lie upon my head. If I do this, she will remember it always. Whene’er her husband touches her, whene’er he takes her to his bed, she will think on this night, and she will hate me.”

“Perhaps, but she will be alive and free. I’d like to think that the woman who was courageous and shrewd enough to leave us that trail would understand that
you
are being forced as well. But tell me—do you think you can do it? Will you be able to rise?”

The lass was Wentworth’s niece, by God! That thought alone ought to have been like a splash of icy water to his cods, but it seemed to have no effect at all.

“Aye.” Connor was ashamed to admit it, but it was true. “Och, she is bonnie, pleasing in every way. Aye, I will rise. My body will find pleasure in it, but I swear my heart and head willna. Joseph, what in God’s name am I to do?”

“Why don’t you ask her? Let her decide.”

I
n the darkness of the lodge, on the other side of the bark walls, Sarah listened. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she heard it all.

S
arah was still lying down, facing away from the door, when she heard him enter. She lay there unmoving, childishly feigning sleep, as if refusing to open her eyes would somehow keep the world and all its horrors at bay.

Major MacKinnon called to her softly. “My lady?”

Do not behave like a witless girl, Sarah. Where is your courage?

She wiped the tears off her cheeks, then slowly sat up, the dread in her heart seeming to weigh her down. “Major MacKinnon.”

“’Tis sorry I am to disturb your sleep, but I must speak wi’ you.”

She stood, turned to face him, whatever she’d been about to say momentarily forgotten as she took in the sight of him. His jaw was clean-shaven, his face startlingly handsome. Firelight emphasized the ridges and valleys of his muscles, made his oiled skin glow like polished bronze, the dark curls she’d seen before gone. His hair was damp, a striped, brown feather tied at the end of one of his braids. He still wore the bands of purple shell on his arms, his leather breeches riding low on his hips. The sheathed knife at his side and the wounds he’d gotten during the fight gave him a dangerous air.

But what she noticed most was the anguish in his eyes. It was a match for the anguish she’d heard in his voice when he’d spoken to Joseph outside.

“Please…Please sit, Major.” She sat, reaching down out of habit to shift her skirts, only to feel leather against her hands. “I wish to apologize for my fit of ill temper earlier. You have risked much for me. It was wrong of me to—”

“Shhh, lady.” He pressed a finger to her lips and sat facing her. “You’re far beyond the world you ken, aye? ’Tis natural for you to be feelin’ afraid and angry about what has befallen you, but you must trust me if we’re to leave here alive.”

He looked away for a moment, his face growing more troubled as he seemed to consider what to say next, his brow furrowed. “I fear I have failed you, for it is on that same troublin’ matter that we must speak.”

She watched him struggle to find the words to tell her what he’d just told Joseph, something inside her touched by his obvious turmoil. “I…I overheard you speaking with Joseph just now.”

His head came up, surprise written on his face, his gaze meeting hers, seeming to study her face. “That’s why you’ve been weepin’. I see the tearstains on your cheeks.”

She raised her palms to her face to wipe away the telltale sign of weakness.

“You understand the choice that lies before you, aye?”

She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “I must decide whether to chance escape, knowing that you and Joseph will die terribly should we fail, or whether to marry you after the Indian fashion and spend tonight…as your wife.”

“Aye, that’s the way of it. ’Tis a hard choice you’re bein’ asked to make, but life is no’ always fair.”

Sarah knew that only too well.

Major MacKinnon went on. “Is there augh’ you would ask me afore you decide? There is little time, I fear.”

She shook her head. “No, sir.”

She’d made up her mind before he’d entered the lodge.

She met his gaze, tried to keep the fear from her voice. “I cannot ask you to chance being burnt at the stake, Major. You’ve already risked your life once for my sake. As highly as I value my virtue, it is not worth two good men’s lives.”

What an irony that her father’s decision to send her away had led her to this—her true undoing. No doubt there were many in London who believed she had no virtue, yet she had left London as a virgin. She would not return as one.

He watched her through dark eyes. “Are you certain, my lady? For I willna take you by force. You must come to me as willingly as I come to you—each of us for the sake of the other.”

She hadn’t thought about it in quite that way, but when he spoke the words, some of the dread lifted from her heart. “Yes, Major, I am certain. But…”

“You’re afraid.” He closed one big hand over both of hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “I promise I shall treat you this night wi’ the same care and devotion I would if you truly were my bride.”

Then to her astonishment, he cupped her cheek, lowered his lips to hers—and kissed her.

Softly, so softly he kissed her, brushing her lips with his again and again, the mere whisper of a touch making her shiver. She might have objected had the sensation not been so…enthralling. Slowly, his touch became more insistent, his lips caressing hers, nibbling them, her lips tingling, going pliant, yielding to his exploration, her eyes drifting shut. Then his tongue traced the outline of her lower lip.

Startled, she gasped, and her eyes flew open.

He was watching her, his blue eyes dark, his voice a whisper.
“My lady.”

And she thought it was over.

But then one big hand slid into her hair to cradle her head, and he drew her against his bare chest, his mouth closing over hers. There were almost too many new sensations to take in all at once, her girlish notions of what it would feel like to be kissed by a man vanishing in a heartbeat. The iron-hard feel of his body surrounding her. The warm scent of his oiled skin. The firm pressure of his lips against hers as he tasted her. His tongue teasing its way inside her mouth with silken strokes.

Then his tongue touched hers, his lungs stealing her surprised gasp as he sealed her mouth with his. Her body seemed to melt, and she sank boneless against him, her hands sliding up the smooth skin of his chest, her lips parting to accommodate him, her tongue meeting his. She felt something pound against her palm and realized that his heart was beating every bit as hard as hers.

Slowly, his kiss stilled, his lips brushing her cheek, her temple. “My lady.”

Breathless and amazed, she looked up into his eyes.

He drew back slightly, his arm still encircling her. “Now you ken the taste of my kiss. Think on that, and dinnae be afraid of what is to come, aye?”

*   *   *

C
onnor couldn’t stop Katakwa’s sisters from taking Lady Sarah from him when they arrived a few minutes later. But he did give them fair warning, speaking in their tongue. “If you pinch her, strike her, or harm her in any way, I will cut you open from throat to womb.”

After forcing a promise from them that Lady Sarah would be allowed to wear his shirt during the ceremony, he followed Joseph through the village to where the big drum sat surrounded by singers. And there he waited, trading jests with the other men without truly hearing a word that was spoken, his mind bent on the lady.

Connor did not want this to be a night she remembered in sorrow for the rest of her days. He did not want to be the man who haunted her nightmares or the reason she shied from her true husband’s touch. He did not want to hurt her—no easy thing, given that she was almost certainly a virgin. As far as he could see, there was only one answer.

He would have to seduce her.

But it would be a seduction like no other, for the bride was not truly willing. He would have to take his time with her. He would have to stir her passion until it carried her beyond fear, beyond shame, beyond reticence to a place where she was aware only of him and how he made her feel. Then, perhaps, he could give her pleasure.

He’d managed it earlier when he’d kissed her. But that had been nothing more than a kiss—and he’d caught her by surprise. Tonight would be very different.

His stomach knotted, and he realized with astonishment that
he
was nervish. Aye, he was nervish. About bedding a lass!

For God’s sake, laddie, she’s no’ the first virgin you’ve tupped.

Nay, she wasn’t. A few young Mahican lasses, eager for a man’s sexual embrace, had chosen him to be their first. He’d made them come with his hands and his tongue until they were so drenched with their own pleasure that his cock had slid easily inside them, opening them to womanhood with little pain. He would try to do the same for Lady Sarah—if she would let him.

Joseph glanced around. “Katakwa is not here. I do not see his men either.”

“Perhaps they’re showin’ their disapproval of the match. Or maybe they’re scoutin’ out a place to ambush us come the morn.”

Joseph nodded. “Either is possible. But look—she comes to you.”

As the drums began to beat, the women appeared leading Lady Sarah. An English noblewoman she might be, but she made a bonnie Shawnee, a band of wampum encircling her slender throat, the doeskin of her skirt clinging to her hips. Chanting a fertility song, the women led her around the bonfire four times. She carried herself with dignity and moved with grace, and Connor’s respect for her grew, just as it had in the lodge earlier this even when she’d given him her decision, refusing to risk lives to protect her maidenhead.

Still, he knew she was afraid. He could see it on her face.

What woman wouldn’t be afraid? Brides were often skittish on their wedding nights, but this was no ordinary wedding night. Lady Sarah was surrounded by strangers who’d killed before her eyes, who’d kidnapped and beaten her, and who were now forcing her to marry and lie with a man she scarcely knew.

She sought out his gaze, her vulnerability tugging at him.

He gave her a reassuring smile and saw relief on her face.

After their final circle around the fire, the women walked toward him, stepping in time to the beating drum, bringing Lady Sarah to stand before him.

“My lady.” He took her hand, found it cold and trembling. “You willna leave my side again so long as we are here, I promise.”

“I am glad to know it, Major.” And suddenly she seemed so young, too young. “Wh-what must I do now?”

“There is naugh’ to fear, lass.” He gave her hand a squeeze and smiled. “Just look into my eyes—and dance wi’ me.”

“D
ance?”

“Aye, dance.” Major MacKinnon grinned, released her hand, and took a few steps backward.

Sarah watched as the young men and women of the village lined up across from one another, many of the women bare-breasted. Stepping in time to the beat, they began to move toward one another, meeting in the middle, then drawing apart again.

“Come toward me, my lady.” Major MacKinnon moved forward, his feet moving in time to the drumming, his body possessed of a masculine grace.

She met him in the center, mimicking the steps of the other women.

“Aye, just like that. Now step away again. That’s all there is.”

Four steps out. Four steps in. It was a very simple dance—less complicated by far than a gavotte or passacaille and driven entirely by the deep beating of the drum, a simple four-four rhythm that broke into syncopation every eight measures.

“You’ve an inborn sense of rhythm, my lady.” He seemed pleased by this.

“I have always loved music.” It never failed to stir her blood, even a simple, repetitive beat such as this. And as she settled in
to the steps of the dance, lulled by the beat, the knot of dread in her chest began to loosen.

It was then she noticed a facet of the dance she hadn’t before—men and women leaning close when they reached the center, whispering and smiling to each other, as if engaged in flirtation. Some even pressed up against each other, the women’s bare breasts caressing the men’s exposed chests. She had never seen anything more lewd—or more sensual.