Defiant (23 page)

“What do we do with it now?” She hurried alongside the two men.

“We boil it, then let it cool.” Connor pushed the cabin door open with his shoulder and followed her inside.

“
I
boil it.” Joseph entered last, closing the door behind them. “Last time, you burnt it.”

Connor glared at Joseph. “We were attacked! What would you have me tell the Abenaki? ‘I cannae fight just now. I’m makin’ candy. Would you like a wee taste?’”

Sarah laughed at the absurdity of Connor’s words, watching as Joseph settled the pails amongst the coals.

And then it was time for supper.

Connor spooned rich stew onto their tin plates, sharing his with her.

Sarah took a bite and had to fight not to moan. She ate several spoonfuls, one after another, before she remembered her manners.

Mortified, she looked up to find Connor watching her, a grin on his handsome face. “I’m glad the meal is to your likin’.”

Soon the men were lost in an argument over who was the better stickball player—a discussion they’d clearly had many times before. Sarah found herself amused by their easy banter and the way they teased each other.

Joseph glared at Connor. “You learned to swing the stick well, but only because you grew up swinging that big sword.”

“So did Iain and Morgan.” Connor’s eyes narrowed. “And we both ken I’m a better stickball player than either of them.”

“If by ‘better’ you mean ‘more dangerous,’ you are right.” Then Joseph turned to Sarah, pointing to a scar on his temple. “Do you see this? He gave me that.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “You yammer and whinge like an old woman. You put your fool head in the way of my stick!”

But as the men jested with each other, Sarah felt herself grow melancholy. She’d never been this close to her sisters. They’d vied with one another, bitterly at times, for their mother’s attention and praise. Sarah had learned early not to confide in her sisters lest her secrets make their way to her mother’s ear. She hadn’t known what it meant to have a friend until she’d met Margaret.

How fortunate Connor and Joseph were to have each other, to share lifelong memories, to trust each other so completely, to know that each of them would always be there for the other. She had no one like that in her life. She might be of noble birth and from a wealthy family, yet, in each other, Connor and Joseph shared riches beyond her imagining.

C
onnor cut a piece of the cooled maple sugar candy from the bottom of his pail and held it to Sarah’s lips. “The Anishinaabeg call it
Ziinzibaakwad
.”

She leaned forward, took the treat into her mouth, then she closed her eyes and moaned, the sound of her pleasure and the brush of her cool lips on his fingers sending a jolt of heat through his groin. “It’s delicious! It melts on my tongue.”

Grateful that Joseph was outside tending the fire and giving him this time alone with Sarah, Connor cut a piece for himself, sucked on the sweet, grainy candy, then offered Sarah another bite. Again she moaned, her lips curving into a smile.

Then she laughed. “Today, I have eaten boiled tree sap and a stew of wild rabbit, old onions, shriveled potatoes, woody carrots, and withered greens, and it seemed a feast.”

“Are such delicacies not common fare at your father’s board?”

She laughed again. “No, and more’s the pity.”

“Wait till you taste honey warm from the hive, salmon fresh from the stream, and ripe summer blueberries.” Connor cut another piece for her, held it out, watched as she ate it from his hand. “Harsh this land may be, but we do have our pleasures.”

She moaned again. Clearly, the lass had no notion of what her sighs and sweet moans did to him, his thoughts turning from candy to more carnal pleasures. And he found himself fighting the urge to kiss her.

If you kiss her now, you’ll pay for it tonight when your cods ache and you cannae sleep.

He fed her another bite, watched the delight on her face, then leaned in and brushed a crumb of golden sugar from her lower lip.

Her eyes flew open at his touch, her gaze locking with his, desire naked in her blue eyes. “Kiss me, Connor.”

He leaned closer, brushed his lips over hers, the contact igniting his blood. “Och, Sarah, your lips are far sweeter than candy.”

She whimpered, her palms coming to rest against his chest.

He slid his fingers into her hair, drew her closer, and—

The door opened, and Joseph stepped in, speaking to Connor in Mahican. “Are you going to help me with this, or are you going to sit there making eyes at her?”

Sarah jumped back from him, her cheeks flushing pink with shame.

Connor gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, fighting back the urge to curse his Mahican brother. “I was about to come out.”

Joseph gave a disbelieving “
humph
,” then walked off, shutting the door behind him.

Reluctantly, Connor stood. “I must go and help Joseph. We’ve need of more wood if we’re to keep warm through the night.”

Sarah nodded, her cheeks still pink.

“Dinnae fash yourself, lass.” He reached down, cupped her chin, raised her gaze to meet his. “Joseph doesna judge you. What he has seen he willna speak of wi’ others.”

Then he bent down, kissed her forehead, and followed Joseph.

S
arah washed the dishes while the men worked outside. Whatever they were doing, it seemed to be taking a long time. And she found herself thinking of Connor. The deep blue of his eyes. The fullness of his lips. The heat of his touch.

One glance from him, and her pulse skipped. One brush of his lips, and her blood seemed to burn. And when he touched her breast…

Even the memory of it made her shiver.

Oh, what was happening to her? In the past week, she’d been taken captive twice, been beaten, violated, forced
into marriage, rescued. She’d yielded her virginity, killed a man, almost been bitten by a poisonous serpent. And now she wanted to ask the man she’d been forced to marry—a common Ranger—to make love to her.

While you are here wi’ me, you are free to do as you choose.

Free to do as she chose.

She’d tried to embrace freedom once with Margaret, and it had led her to disaster, shame, exile. If she were to lie with Connor and the truth should come out, she would be ruined beyond any hope of redemption. But if she did not…

Which would be worse—to take the virtuous path and live out her days in spinsterhood or unhappy wedlock, never having know the pleasures Connor promised, or to risk her very station in society for a single night in his arms?

And Sarah found herself wondering what her life would have been like had she been born a commoner here in the colonies. Would she and Connor have chanced to meet? Would he have loved her? Would she have been happier?

Perhaps.

But she would never have touched a harpsichord, much less a flute, violin, or cello. She never would have set foot in the Theatre Royal. Nor would she have listened to chamber music or watched poor Master Handel—may God rest his soul—conduct
Messiah,
his great oratorio, the swelling choruses of which had made tears run down her cheeks.

Such musings are fruitless, Sarah.

She finished washing the dishes, setting them out so the men could pack them again. She’d just added wood to the fire when the door opened. She turned and saw Connor and Joseph carrying a heavy yoke from which hung a cauldron of steaming water.

“Turn it over.” Connor motioned toward the washtub with a jerk of his head, his voice tight, his muscles straining.

Sarah ran to do as he asked, then stepped back as he and Joseph carefully poured the water into the copper basin, losing barely a drop on the floor.

“We thought you might be wantin’ a hot bath.”

Sarah stared at the two of them, amazed by their kindness, her throat suddenly tight, her emotions already at an edge. “Thank you. You are most kind.”

Connor and Joseph smiled, then disappeared outside with the empty cauldron.

They’d been gone only a moment when Connor entered again, his arms full of firewood, which he dropped by the hearth. He stoked the fire until it blazed, then reached for his pack, drew out the cake of soap she’d used at the lake and the comb Joseph had given her, and set them beside the tub. Then he took his bearskin and spread it across the bed for her. “’Tis no doubt primitive compared to what you’re accustomed to, but it will make you feel refreshed and ease your stiffness and aches.”

Did he truly believe she could find fault with this unexpected pleasure?

She walked up behind him, rested her hand on his arm, felt him stiffen as some strange awareness arced between them. “It’s wonderful. Truly, Connor, I am most grateful.”

“Dinnae be lettin’ the water grow cold.” He turned to go. “No one will disturb you. I’ll be keepin’ watch outside. If there’s augh’ you need—”

“Connor…” His name was out before she could stop herself. “Stay.”

C
onnor’s heart gave a hard knock. He stopped, turned to face her, certain he’d misunderstood. “You want me to stay? While you bathe?”

She stood in the middle of the floor, boldly meeting his gaze. Then she turned her back to him. “M-my braid. It is frightfully tangled. Can you help me?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that she could manage her hair without him, as she’d done for these past six days, but his feet began to move toward her, his hands eager for the feel of those long tresses. He untied the leather thong at the end of her plait and began to unbraid it, moving his way slowly upward, gently working the tangles free. The strands felt like silk between his fingers, soft, feminine. Soon her hair was loosed, hanging down her back in gentle waves, a shimmering curtain of honey gold.

He could have stopped then, but he didn’t, delving deeper into her tresses, caressing the sensitive skin at her nape, stroking her scalp. She let her head fall back, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted. He felt her shiver, felt an answering heat in his blood. And he knew he was treading on dangerous ground.

Slowly, reluctantly, he withdrew his hands. Somehow he managed to find his tongue. “Is there augh’ else?”

She turned and sat in the nearest chair, held up one slender
leg, her doeskin skirt rising to give a glimpse of creamy thigh. “Can you help me untie my leggings?”

What was she playing at? She knew how to untie her own leggings. He’d seen her do it. The little minx! Did she mean to torment him?

Unable to deny her, he knelt before her, slipped off her moccasins, and rested one small foot on his thigh. He unlaced her leggings one at a time, sliding his hands beneath them as he drew them off, caressing the silky skin of one firm calf and then the other, the feel of her making it hard to think. “Have you mistaken me for your lady’s maid, Sarah?”

“N-nay.” Her voice was soft, breathless, and she’d begun to tremble. “You are not my lady’s maid. You are…You are my husband—at least for now.”

Connor’s heart beat hard against his breastbone to hear her claim him thus. He looked up at her, certain she must be jesting. Then he noticed what he hadn’t noticed before. The shy tilt of her head as she averted her gaze. The rapid beating of the pulse at her throat. And her hands—they were clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white.

Was she ashamed? Was she afraid?

And then it came to him.

She wasn’t trying to seduce him. She was trying to tell him she wanted him, but she was afraid to speak the words.

A rush of tangled emotions swelled inside his chest—protectiveness, exhilaration, tenderness, concern, desire.

He set her foot on the floor and took her hands. “Sarah, look at me.”

When she did, he saw longing in her eyes, but also fear.

“Why are you doin’ this? What is it you want from me? Dinnae be afraid to tell me.”

She averted her gaze once more. “You will think me wicked.”

“There’s no’ a wicked bone in your body, lass.” He gave her hands a squeeze.

“I…” She hesitated. “I want to pretend it is our wedding night again.”

So she wanted him to make love to her—this time without the pain of a maidenhead or the intrusions of a spiteful old midwife.

And Connor’s heart beat harder.

Without knowing it, she had just offered him a chance at redemption—or damnation. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to oblige her, to give her the pleasure he’d been unable to give her that night, to sate himself inside her without feeling the guilt that had assailed him then.

Satan himself could not have devised a greater temptation.

But they were not alone in this world, and what they did out here in the forest could have grave consequences for them both when they reached Fort Edward.

Fighting his baser instincts, wanting to do what was best for her, he drew her to her feet. “I cannae deny that I greatly desire you, Princess. But if you lie wi’ me, I fear you’ll come to regret it once you’re safely off the frontier. I dinnae wish to dishonor you or to leave you wi’ memories you wish you’d never made, nor would I steal from you the joy of first finding carnal pleasure in the arms of the man you marry.”

“I will never marry.” There was utter hopelessness in her eyes.

“It cannae be so bad as that.” Why would she say such a thing? “A woman as beautiful and gifted as you must have suitors aplenty. Your father is a marquess. You are descended from kings. Whatever happened in London, your father will surely find you a match such as befits your station, a man who will cherish you and—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips, stilling him.

He drew her hand away, held it. “Nay, Sarah, hear me. Soon—three days at most—we’ll arrive at Fort Edward. You’ll soon be reunited with your uncle, and I’ll return to Ranger Camp. Out here in the wild we have come to ken one another, aye, and to care for one another. And I
do
care about you, lass. But we are from two different worlds. Beyond this forest, I’m no’ thought fit to converse wi’ you, much less lie wi’ you or take you to wife.”