My Angel (42 page)

"From the start you haven't wanted to believe me. You formed a first impression and stuck with it. If I told you I grew up in a log cabin, that my father taught me to shoot and ride, that my uncle bought me an ivory-handled knife and taught me to use it with the expertise of a Sioux warrior, would you believe me? Would you believe I have a half brother who is a Sioux warrior... ?" she let her words hang in the air, watched for his reaction. To judge him now would be hard, but she had to know.

He rose on his elbows, his hair disheveled. "No," he said. "I'd believe you were a good storyteller."

Pain swept through her. She turned her back to him, unwilling to let him see the sheen of moisture gathering in her eyes, unwilling to let him see the depth of her fears. It seemed he
would believe only half-truths and lies about her. She would tell him nothing more until he was ready to listen. Quickly she brushed away the tears, stifling a half sob before it erupted.

"Of course I'm a good storyteller. I learned that craft at my mother's knee. She is half-Sioux. Have I told you that? No? But then had I told you, you wouldn't believe me." She didn't want to belabor a worn-out point. "Apparently we are not going to settle anything this night."

She heard his exasperated sigh emanating from the blankets, the rumpling of pillows and crinkling of sheets. He seemed restless and out of sorts. The devil take him--he should be.

"There is nothing to settle, Angela." His voice in the surrounding darkness did little to ease her fears. "We're not in disagreement. Your past makes little difference to me. It is our future and your safety I am concerned with."

"Alexi, you don't understand. I've not accepted your bargain. I've made a promise to go with you, but my reasons are my own until I choose to divulge them. My background is not worth talking about; even though at times you wish to know about me, most of the time you care not. All you need to know is who I am now and who I will become."

"My lover," he said, his voice warm with passion. He rose suddenly, walking over to her, and she saw that he had not changed clothes. He had chosen to sleep in his buckskins, just as he'd done every night on the trail. He stood with his feet slightly apart, towering over her, pinning her with his gaze alone. "I know you don't accept the title of mistress, and I know you want something else from me, something I can't give--not because I don't want to but because I can't. Angela, I will prove to you I can take care of you and I'll never neglect you. You will want for nothing, and in time you'll be glad I insisted on this relationship."

"I'm sure you believe that what you say is true." She watched the moon and the stars through the open tent flap. They gave small comfort.

"You are stubborn to a fault, but I've come to admire that trait. Together we will have strong children."

"If things go your way, they will be children without a
name," she whispered softly, then prayed Alexi had not heard.

"And if things go your way?" he asked.

"There will be no nameless bastards."

She could sense him stiffen, feel the anger emanating from him. She felt his presence before he turned her toward him, touched and lifted her chin. "You are under my protection, Angela. You will have to see this my way."

"But Alexi--"

"Men support and cherish the women they care for, and in turn the women give their love and affection," he informed her for what must have been the hundredth time, his voice rising slightly.

She tried very hard to control her simmering emotions.

"I've given you all I'm capable of. You cannot have my heart and soul. I will not allow you to have them. You cannot keep me here, and as soon as I find a way, I will leave.''

He moved so swiftly she cried out softly, expecting to be swept into his arms and tossed upon the heap of pillows across the room.

She didn't know what she wanted--except peace.

But he did nothing other than caress her cheek and whisper softly against her ear: "I swear, Angela, you'll be the death of me before too much longer. I am damned if I touch you and damned if I don't. Go to bed. I'll join you later."

She was suddenly tired, and felt very strongly just how vulnerable she had become. This wasn't
America
, and Sam Chamberlain didn't look after her any longer. She was unmarried and on her own in a strange country, with only Alexi's good graces to rely on. She didn't want to make him angry. She wanted to curl up next to him and sleep with his arms around her, feel the warmth of him against her, and know his strength was there to ward off whatever might threaten. She'd wanted him to make love to her, yet now that they were alone again, she prayed for the strength to say no.

One time with him just wasn't enough, and yet one time had to last for an eternity.

He turned down the lantern by the bedside and walked to
the tent opening, his back to her, his fingers gripping the canvas. He gazed at the same moon and the same stars she did. A slight breeze ruffled the fabric he held.

She curled up to sleep, turning her back to him as well.

When she closed her eyes, thoughts of Alexi burned in her mind. All the anger and the misunderstandings surfaced, and, searching her head for a way to convince Alexi of the truth, she found no peace. It seemed to her she lay alone in the bed forever, the wind whispering through the tent flaps, and soft moonglow filtering through the openings.

He didn't come back to bed.

At last she fell asleep but her own ear-splitting scream woke her what seemed like minutes later. He was beside her then, the makeshift bed dipping with his weight. He held her in his arms, stroked her back and made soft, soothing noises.

All she could remember of the dream was searing heat on her back, fire...

And endless pain.

The dream had been so vivid even closing her eyes did not make it vanish. Remembering it horrified her even more. She couldn't move. In her dream her wrists had been tied high on a pole, and with every second the fire searing her back raged higher. She cried out for help, but Alexi wasn't there to save her.

"It's all right, angel," he murmured softly, and with a sigh lay down beside her and pulled her to him. He didn't speak to her or ask what was wrong, and she was so glad that he'd given up his stubborn vigil that she didn't venture to say anything, afraid the fragile peace between them would rip apart at the seams once more.

She thought he slept, but he told her after a moment, "You need never fear as long as you're with me. I will see that no harm comes to you, Angela. You are mine."

"But you're leaving me alone," she said.

"Misha will be with you." The silence chilled her bone-deep. "Angela," he said, the weariness in his tone apparent, "I want your promise you won't try to leave, to escape him."

She shook her head, backing away from him. "No."

"Promise me."

Still she refused. "I can't do that."

He pulled her close. "I fear for your life. The desert is as treacherous as the mountains are dangerous. You don't know what's out there. Please, angel. When I return, we can talk. If you really want to leave, I will help you. Just give me this one chance."

His soft pleas blended with the exotic desert sound and stole Angela's will. She wanted to talk with Devil, needed to make him understand. "All right then." She spoke with little hesitation, knowing she would give him one more chance to right the wrongs he'd done. "I promise."

She heard his sigh, felt him relax against her. She closed her eyes, wondering about the future and what it would now bring. The wind whispered and the moon cast a glow inside the tent.

She pretended she slept. He would leave her soon, and who would save her from the searing heat that awaited her?

Who would protect her in this foreign land? Only Alexi could keep her from harm.

She could win no arguments tonight. With him it was a matter of semantics, and with her it was a matter of the heart.

~ * ~

Misha had taken Alexi's parting words to heart. He'd protect Angela and make sure every comfort he could offer was hers. Short of tying her down, he'd also make sure she could not leave the wagon train. Misha had personally seen to her food, made sure she had sufficient warmth in the evenings. It could get very cold in the desert, he'd said.

Over dinners he'd told her stories about Alexi, about his childhood and the manner in which he'd been brought up--things she'd never thought about. Alexi spoke nine languages fluently. He'd spent his early years in
Constantinople
with his father--the grand vizier--and his mother. He told her Alexi had only decided recently he would honor his mother's wish and adopt the Popov name. He had decided only when he'd been called home to
Russia
. Misha had told her
what little he knew about Turkish customs. And he continued the language lessons Alexi had begun when they first started on this adventure.

Not wasting time on the road, they arrived at Alexi's estate at night. Even with a full moon casting its glow on the earth below, without Alexi the huge mansion high in the mountains appeared lonely and forbidding. No one came out to greet them.

It seemed as if everyone had deserted the home. The grounds and all the servants, she thought, slept peacefully, unaware of their arrival.

A horse nickered softly in the stable, and a lone dog barked somewhere behind the house. The common, everyday sounds warmed her heart. At least the animals spoke the same language here as they did in the States.