LeClerc 03 - Wild Savage Heart (28 page)

Her movements slow and dreamy, in spite of the cool water, Molly finished her bath. Wading from the river, she stood at the edge drying with the bath sheet and relishing the warmth of the late afternoon sun. Already the air was hinting at the chill that would come as the sun lowered in the sky, but for now it was warm enough for her to linger in her task.

Wrapping the bath sheet around her body, Molly sat on a convenient rock and scrubbed at her dirty clothes. Wringing the moisture out, she spread them to dry, pleased that she would have something fresh to wear later in the week. Men’s pants and shirts were unbelievably comfortable but she missed the feel of a skirt around her ankles. She knew it would be many weeks before she would be able to wear her dresses, and by then they would be a poor fit across her swollen stomach, but she would be relieved to see the last of trousers and shirts.

Her leisurely movements became more rapid when she began to detect the delectable odors drifting on the breeze. After pulling on her trousers and buttoning up her shirt, Molly grabbed her shoes and the bath sheet and walked toward camp. She wrung water out of her long hair as she walked, enjoying the feel of the grass beneath her bare feet.

Unaware of the fetching picture she presented with her pink cheeks and bare feet, Molly smiled sweetly when she approached Hawk.

Squatting beside the fire to check on the cooking food, Hawk was all too aware of the enticing femininity of her presence. He breathed deeply, enjoying the flowery scent of the soap lingering on her skin and hair. He watched as she sat on a quilt he had spread out for her and as she attempted to untangle her hair.

She was serene, tranquil and so female that the male in him threatened to overtake his iron-fisted control.

“I have never had anything feel so good!” Molly sighed as she pulled a brush through her hair.

You have never felt me touching you,
Hawk thought to himself, fighting the urge to speak aloud.

“That water felt like satin.”

My touch would be a feather stroking your skin.

“If it hadn’t been a little chilly I’d still be in there.”

There would be nothing but heat when I touched you.

“And that water tasted nearly as good as it felt.”

Nothing could compare with the taste of you.

Hawk thought feverishly, his desire running rampant through his body.
I would taste and touch and sample until neither of us knew where you began and I ended.

Molly stopped and stared at the profile he presented to her. “You’re awfully quiet. Is something wrong?”

“Watch supper while I take a quick bath,” he replied abruptly, turning so that she saw only his back when he stood. The evidence of his desire was blatantly apparent and he wanted to conceal it from her. He remembered all too well the conversations of his friends who had warned him that white women accepted lovemaking as a necessary evil, not as something to be enjoyed.

“Hawk? Is something wrong?” she asked again.

“No, I just want a quick bath before it turns too cool.” He walked away from her, pleased that his voice had sounded nearly normal.

Molly watched his retreating back, puzzled by the abruptness of his voice. He had been unfailingly pleasant all day and now, suddenly, for no reason he had turned harsh and irritable.

She finished brushing the tangles from her hair and left it loose to dry. The simple meal was ready and the sun was lowering in the sky by the time Hawk returned from the river. His mood was still rather sharp but he was no longer harsh nor did he snarl at her.

“Isn’t it amazing how good it feels to get the trail dust off?” Molly asked as she ate her supper.

Hawk looked with disgust at his strong, capable hands holding his plate and fork and wondered why he had thought that the cold water would be enough to control his raging lust.

The sound of her voice on the sweet evening air, the scent of her filling his nostrils, her long hair ruffled by the gentle breeze, her swollen breasts filling her shirt, her bare feet tucked femininely beneath her …

Molly drifted into silence when Hawk didn’t respond to her simple statement.

Hawk cursed himself for a fool and tried to force his meal down his throat.

She wondered what she had done wrong.

He wondered if he was strong enough to fight himself and win.

She knew she would gladly apologize if only she knew what she had done.

He knew he’d never make it another night with her sleeping so closely by his side. He’d have to make her his.

And he was tormented by the knowledge that she would be horrified if she knew the true extent of his desire for her.

Molly sighed and stared into the fire. She had been raised to believe that a lady never questioned a gentleman when it was obvious that his temper had been aroused. Damn it, she wasn’t a lady, she was his wife and she wanted to know what she’d done to make him so angry!

Her soft sigh drifted around him, seeming to settle in the one spot that needed no further invitation. He eyed her with such hunger and passion that she felt it and she lifted her gaze from the fire.

Molly shivered at the intensity of his burning gaze. His anger was a throbbing, living thing between them. It would be a long night, she decided.

Hawk stood abruptly and left camp. If he didn’t put some space between them he knew he wouldn’t be capable of controlling this craving to find peace within her body.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Molly heard Hawk return to camp long after she had cleaned up the supper dishes and settled down for the night. She had watched the dancing flames of the fire as they ate away at the wood she had put on it, feeling no fear as it burned down and the darkness enclosed her, knowing instinctively that he was within the sound of her voice.

Longing to ask him to hold her as he had done for so many nights, Molly closed her eyes, forcing herself to relax. That fatigue from the journey and from her pregnancy were such that she soon drifted into sleep.

Hawk added another log to the fire and watched as the hungry flame took hold. A cold breeze nuzzled its way down the open neck of his shirt causing him to search through his gear to unearth his coat. Shrugging his way into the deerhide garment, he walked quietly over to Molly.

Pulling the quilt up around her ears to protect her from the chill, Hawk studied her sleeping features. It was not the first time he’d watched her as she slept, but he took pleasure in repeating the experience.

In sleep her face was almost plain, losing its familiar animation and sparkle. With her hand tucked under her cheek and her lips pursed in a pout, she had the appearance of a small child.

He thought of the child she carried. He sincerely hoped it was a male, knowing that he didn’t stand a chance if the babe was a girl who resembled her mother. He would spoil her unmercifully — her slightest hurt, real or imagined, bringing him to his knees.

He could deal easier with a boy, teaching the child to hunt and track, to face life squarely.

His thoughts sobered as he considered Molly raising the child by herself. Perhaps it would be easier for her to raise a daughter than a son. A boy needed a man, a father, that he could emulate. Of course Bear and Kaleb could provide a measure of that need, but that wasn’t the same as having a father.

Hawk fully intended to take Molly to Bear and Linsey, to be sure that she was settled in, and then he would leave. He planned to return at least once a year to be sure she needed nothing, but he knew that she would be safe and well provided for by his foster parents.

But would the child suffer for the lack of attention from the only man he would know as father? Would Molly grow to despise him for not being a husband? Would she ever understand that it was the only way he could protect her from the bitterness and fear his Indian heritage inspired in total strangers? Or would she think that selfishness motivated his actions?

Hawk thought of years far into the future when her warm honey eyes would look at him with loathing. Would she grow old and embittered by the way of life he would force upon her? W ould the child be enough to help her overcome the loneliness of long winter nights, the big cold bed meant to be shared with the warmth of a husband?

He remembered the secret smiles, the yearning looks exchanged by Bear and Linsey. Would Molly long for a mate to share the quiet moments, to understand her thoughts with only a look? Would she cry for someone to hold her when she was^ick? To laugh with her? To share the good times, and bad, that were part of everyday life?

Would she grow to hate him for not being there when she needed the tenderness a woman expects from her husband?

Could he endure her hate?

As if sensing his thoughts in her sleep, Molly moved restlessly beneath the quilt. Hawk tucked several loose strands of hair behind her ear and tenderly stroked the velvety cheek. Unconsciously, he began to chant the wordless melody and watched as it soothed her back into a deeper sleep.

He wondered what she would think of the pounding rhythm of the drums his people used — or the eerie, haunting sound of the wooden flute as it drifted on the night wind. Would she find them repulsive, so strange to her that they sounded threatening?

Or would the seductive beat, so reminiscent of fevered blood pounding through an erotically alive body, reach deeply inside her to the hidden sensuality he suspected lingered there. Would it mesmerize her to the point that she would let her body sway to the captivating rhythm?

He had heard the fiddle and banjo of her people. He had listened to the melodies of the pianoforte and the violins. There was nothing in her past that even remotely resembled the instruments used in the ceremonies of his people.

Only after the full moon had risen late into the night did he stop his song. He rose from beside his sleeping wife and walked downriver from the falls. When he was sure that the time was right, Hawk returned to the camp and knelt beside her.

“Molly?” he called softly. “Wake up,
ain jel ee.”

“Humm? Whatsit?”

Hawk smiled at her murmured response. “It’s time for your surprise.”

“Later … sleep … “

“Later will be too late, you have to see it now.”

When it began to appear that she would sleep through his surprise, Hawk picked her up, careful to keep the quilt around her so that she wouldn’t become chilled.

Aware of being carried, but too comfortable to be concerned, Molly snuggled her head into Hawk’s shoulder. With the supreme confidence of someone who trusts, she didn’t worry about his destination or his reason. She simply enjoyed the feeling of being in his arms.

Hawk stopped on the rocky slab just below the falls. Careful not to dislodge the precious burden in his arms, he sat down with her cradled on his lap.

“Open your eyes, Molly.”

“They are,” she muttered.

“You’re going to miss it and if you don’t see it you’ll never believe it’s real.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pest?” she asked as she peeked from beneath lowered lids.

“Look.” Hawk turned slightly so that Molly was facing the waterfall. He waited for her response, smiling when she jerked away from him.

“It’s a rainbow! At night!” she said in surprise.

“Actually, it’s a moonbow,” Hawk informed her. “It only happens on clear nights when the moon is full.”

The fully formed rainbow hung mysteriously above the falls, its ends disappearing into the mists.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered reverently.

“My people have long considered this waterfall to be a holy place, a place to worship Manitou and to thank Mother Earth for the greatness of her blessings.”

Molly leaned back against Hawk and he carefully tucked the blanket around her shoulders. They sat in quiet contentment and watched the moonbow until it disappeared as the moon moved below the surrounding hills.

Turning her head slightly, Molly smiled at him. “Thank you, that was something to remember. If I told people about this, nobody would believe me.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” Lost in the softness glowing in her eyes, Hawk lowered his mouth to hers.

Surprised by the sudden contact of his lips on hers, Molly sighed with pleasure. The kiss was as soft as the mist rising above the falls, a gentle touch slowly igniting the fires burning just beneath the surface.

Feeling her response, Hawk deepened the kiss. Molly willingly opened her mouth to his invading tongue, struggling to free a hand from the cocooning folds of the quilt.

Misunderstanding her struggle as a sign of her disgust with his kiss, Hawk raised his mouth from hers. With an effortless movement that disguised the strength necessary to accomplish it, he stood with her in his arms.

“Time for bed, little one,” he said in a husky whisper.

“Hawk?” Her voice was rich with bewilderment.

“I apologize for the kiss, Molly,” Hawk replied as he carried her back to camp.

“I don’t want an apology!”