Northern Star (8 page)

A soft hand covered his own in the darkness. Hunter didn’t move, knowing his feverish mind was playing yet another trick on him.

His fingers slid from his face, but the soft pressure of a woman’s hand remained against his forehead. “I knew you’d come in my dreams again,” he said without surprise.

The hand trembled slightly, as if debating vanishing, then hesitantly stroked his hair back from his face.

“Tell me, my angel, are you the angel of life or death?”

“Your fever is no longer high.” Her voice whispered, as soft as the palest hue, reminding him of his mother’s Southern tones. “I think you’ll live.”

Hunter’s fingers circled her wrist and pulled her nearer. “Lie with me, I don’t want to be alone…even if my companion is only a dream.”

The woman he’d thought of so often climbed atop the table with him. He could see the velvety black hair surrounding her face, which was still in shadow. Hunter moved his fingers and trailed the lines of her jaw. “I can only see your outline, yet I can sense your beauty with my touch. Lie beside me as you did in the loft.”

He knew he couldn’t stop her if she pulled away, for though her frame was petite, his bandages were chains of restraint about him.

She moved close without hesitation, her body needing his warmth as deeply as he needed hers. She laid a soft cheek atop his unharmed shoulder and her hair circled near his face in heaven-spun softness. “I can’t stay long,” she whispered.

Hunter moved the back of his fingers along her arm. He would almost chance ripping his wound open to make love to her. But tonight the loving would have to be with his words.

She was so perfect. He could feel her shiver as his fingers trailed along her side from her shoulder to her hip, yet she made no move to withdraw.

“The curve of your body is flawless. I would know it anywhere by touch. You’re the one I’ve dreamed of all my life, but you’ve never been so real in my arms. Did I die in the balloon crash? If you are heaven, then I’d fall a thousand times to have you near.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “How can you feel so warm and wonderful in my arms and be only a dream?”

He slid his hand past the white cotton gown she wore
and touched the silk of her thigh. Her body arched to his touch just as he’d known it would. He moved his hand higher to her hip. She moved slightly, bending one knee over his leg in an intimate gesture that warmed his blood as no fever ever could.

He kissed the tip of her nose, then moved down on his pillows until their lips were close. “I’ve longed each night to hold you like this.” His lips moved lightly along her cheek, brushing the corner of her mouth.

She pushed against his chest. “You must be careful. I would not cause you pain.” Her voice had the flavor of the South, exciting him as no Northern girl’s could.

Hunter’s laughter was low against her hair. “You are causing me much pain, my angel, but not to my injury.” His lips touched her lightly as he whispered, “Grant me at least the taste of your mouth.”

His kiss covered her lips, lightly tasting. Her head moved slightly from side to side, brushing his shoulder with her hair as his mouth explored. He couldn’t stop a moan as she parted her lips to allow him entry. His hand slid up beneath her gown to the soft curve of her waist. Her flesh was like a velvet wonder beneath his touch. As his impatient hand ventured upward, she stopped his exploring fingers with the gentle pressure of her hand over his.

Hunter’s action stilled and he pulled his mouth free of her honeyed lips. His words were low and ragged between breaths. “Do you wish me to stop? Does an angel withhold the ecstasy of heaven?” He tried to see into the shadows that hid her eyes from him. Was her hesitance withdrawal or shyness?

Her words feathered against his ear. “I have never…”

Hunter smiled and pulled her close against him. Shyness he could accept, but her withdrawal would wound him mortally. He kissed her cheek and whispered, “It’s all right—even fitting, perhaps—that my dream love be so shy. Love has played a game with me all my life; why
should it vary in my dreams?” He moved his jaw gently against her cheek as he breathed against her ear. “Don’t be afraid. If I harmed you, I’d damn myself to an eternity in hell.”

Her hand slowly raised from his and she leaned toward him with a sigh as his fingers moved hesitantly up to cup the fullness of her breast. It swelled beneath his touch as though begging to be caressed. His lips covered hers once more, and he tasted passion in her mouth.

When he moved away again, it was to taste the warmth of her slender throat and bury his face in the ebony curls. He could feel her rapid breathing and knew their single kiss had affected her as deeply as it had him.

Hunter brushed her silken hair off her shoulder. “I could do that all night.” He moved his hand to unbutton the front of her shirt. “How can my lady be only a shadow? How can you feel so real in my arms?” He pushed the cotton aside and blanketed her breast with his hand. “If I live forever or die tonight, I’ll never forget the feel of you. Promise me, my angel, that you’ll come to me when I’m well and let me love you with more than a few kisses and words.”

She hesitantly kissed his cheek. “I can only promise tonight, and I will only stay longer if you rest and sleep.”

Hunter pulled her under his protective arm. “The promise is easily made, for I am asleep even now. I’ve been so alone for so long, I wouldn’t even frighten a dream away. But I’ll not promise to rest unless you swear by all earth and heaven to return to me when I can love you without restraint. I wish to hold you when there is no fever to cloud my brain and no fire within me but the fire I have for you.”

She reached and touched the strips of cotton. “You feel alone?” That soft Southern accent touched her words.

“Sometimes I think the loneliness will drive me mad. Or maybe it already has, for I’ve been waiting to fall asleep all day so I can dream you’re here with me and forget the
insanity of the world.” He combed his long fingers through her hair.

“You promised to sleep,” she whispered.

Hunter raised her chin gently with one finger. His lips brushed hers with a feathery kiss. His words were low in her ear. “If I am to die of these injuries, let me die with the feel of your mouth against mine.”

Before she could protest, Hunter captured her lips once more. It was a gentle kiss, for he feared she might yet vanish in his arms.

But this time she returned his kiss with more fire than he’d ever have hoped. Her hand moved along his shoulder, leaving tiny sparks of pleasure against his flesh. He caught her fingers and pulled them to his lips. When he tried to draw her other hand forward, she jerked away once more, as if suddenly afraid.

She rose quickly with the grace of a beautiful deer.

“Don’t go!” he yelled. What had he done or said that had frightened her so? “Don’t leave me, my angel.”

She knelt before him, her back straight and proud, her hair touching her hips. She held her hands behind her, which pulled apart the unbuttoned nightshirt even more. “I will not leave you. I’ll be near, but you must sleep.”

“How can I sleep when you are so close? And if you leave me, I’ll never sleep from the longing to be with you.”

Hunter’s fingers moved up to part her shirt more. The button at her bust line gave way to his tugging, and he touched her warm flesh from her throat to her waist. “Your skin is as soft as fine silk.” His hand replaced the few fingers and retraced the path.

Hunter brushed long ebony strands of hair away from her shoulder. “You are the best of every woman in the world rolled into one.” He moved his hand to her throat and pushed the ruffles of her shirt open enough to reveal the swell of her breasts. She didn’t pull away as he ran his fingers tenderly down between her breasts and made tiny circles in the valley
where her creamy mounds met. “You are God’s perfection in creation.” He only saw her outline, yet his other senses could not lie. She knelt above him in royal splendor as he worshiped her with his touch, wishing he could find words to express her beauty and his desire.

The door rattled like noisy thunder in the quiet room. Hunter reached for his gun above the pillows. When he looked back, his angel had vanished as quickly as if she’d slid beneath the table. A beam of light widened from the hallway as a man entered clumsily. Hunter lowered his weapon. No attacker could be so awkward. The intruder must be the guard on duty.

“I see you’re awake, Captain,” a crisp voice said. “I’m on night watch and thought I heard you yell out.”

“I must have been dreaming.” Hunter didn’t try to keep the pain from his voice. The sudden twisting for his weapon had cost him.

“The cook said for you to drink some of her spiced tea if I saw you awake.” The soldier lifted a cup from beside the hearth. “What with the cook’s herbs and a touch of brandy, it’ll make you sleep like a baby and keep those nightmares at bay.”

Hunter suddenly felt very tired and confused. If he’d been talking aloud, could she also be as real as his words? “Did anyone come in or out of this room just now?”

“No, sir. I’ve been standing not three feet from your door all evening. Anybody who’d get past me would have to be a ghost.”

“Or an angel,” Hunter answered, then drank the tea in long gulps.

“Pleasant dreams, Captain.”

“Thanks.” Hunter barely had the energy to hand the guard his drained cup. “I plan to.”

He leaned back against the pillows and thought of the way she’d felt in his arms, of how sweet her mouth had tasted. He tried to remember her soft voice. She was still near; he could feel it.

An hour before dawn, Perry climbed back into her dirty old clothes. She took great care to rub a thin layer of mud over her hands and face. She even smeared a few smudges of rancid lard across her shoulders to ensure that Hunter would no longer think she smelled nice. Remembering the feelings he’d awakened in her had robbed her of sleep. After much thought she’d come to one firm conclusion: She couldn’t allow Hunter to be part of a crime. If he knew she was a traitor and didn’t turn her in, he would be just as guilty as she. He was not the kind of man to take his honor lightly.

Abram was waiting for her at dawn with the wagon ready. Hunter was awake and looked rested, but his gaze watched the sunrise. He was silent, but his eyes showed longing.

Perry climbed onto the seat and looked over her shoulder at Hunter. Her heart tore apart as she saw the sadness in his stormy gray eyes. A sadness not from his injured arm and shoulder but from his heart. She knew he was remembering last night and longing for the feel of her in his arms, and she equally longed to be there. A part of her wanted to crawl into the back of the wagon and hold him forever, but she’d seen the strength in his character. The question weighed heavy in her mind. Would he accept her
if he knew the truth? Would she still see the loving warmth in his eyes if he learned that they fought on different sides? She’d seen no weakness, no compromise in him when he’d faced the deserters the day before. Would he be as unyielding to her if he discovered what she had done?

The cook hurried to the wagon and handed Hunter another cup of her hot herb tea. “You drink this, Captain. You’ll sleep for several hours and wake up feeling a mite better.”

His words for the old woman were kind, but the sadness never left his gray eyes. Almost before he’d finished the last drop, he was sound asleep. The cook pulled the blankets close around his shoulder as Perry watched, wishing she could do the chore for him.

Abram thanked the soldiers and slapped the team’s rumps to start them moving down the muddy road. He seemed in high spirits and unmindful of Perry’s quiet mood. “We’ve a long ride to Philadelphia. Soon we’ll have Hunter where he can get proper care, not that your brother didn’t do his best under the circumstances.” Abram urged the horses forward. He glanced back to make sure Hunter was asleep. “I promised your brother I’d see you safe on the road to your grandfather’s, and I will, too, as soon as I get Hunter tucked away.”

“If I had some money, I could get back on my own.” She remembered the one piece of jewelry she’d taken with her when she’d left home. Unfortunately it was in the packet with her mother’s papers. The papers were miles away in a loft she doubted she’d ever find again.

“Hunter’s got some folks not more than thirty or forty miles from where your brother told me your grandpa lives. He can lend you money, and you could pay him back after the war,” Abram said matter-of-factly. “Just look at it as a loan from a neighbor.”

Perry’s brow wrinkled in thought. She hated to take money from anyone. However, she felt her grandfather would make it good. At least she hoped he would. Her
correspondence with him had been sparse, but he was a Southern gentleman. Perry suspected a brooding feud between her father and her mother’s father, though neither ever spoke about it. The one time she’d seen the two men together, there had been a coldness in the air.

Turning her attention back to Abram, Perry asked, “Isn’t Hunter a Yankee?”

“’Course he is. But his mom was a Southern lady. Her folks still live in the South. I suppose that’s why Hunter hates this war so badly, feeling a part of himself on both sides. He told me more than once about visiting his mom’s folks when he was a boy. She died years before the war. Maybe it was for the best; don’t know if she could have stood seeing her world divided. Anyway, Hunter’s not been back in years, but ever once in a while he gets a letter smuggled through from his grandpa. If this fighting ever ends, I have a feeling that will be the first place he heads.”

“Abram, will you go back with him?” Perry asked.

“Guess I will. Though my memory of the South isn’t nearly as fond as Hunter’s. I was born in Virginia, and from the time I walked, I don’t remember much except beatings. I ran away the first time when I was about six. Didn’t make it free till I was nineteen.” Abram pushed his hat back and continued. “No, can’t say I look forward to going back below the Mason-Dixon line, but I will if Hunter goes. I’ve been with him so long, can’t see changing now.”

Abram paused, deep in private thoughts of his own. Perry watched the countryside slowly rolling past them. The trees lined the road in thick huddles, as if they’d gathered to watch people pass. Everything was turning green with spring. As the buckboard moved farther north, Perry saw fewer signs of war. Here the farms were peaceful and quiet. She saw no hastily abandoned campsites or burned farmhouses. The war seemed far away, almost unreal in this countryside.