Renegade Bride (17 page)

His breath came in short gasps. The icy water splashed him in the face, denying him a clean lungful of air. The far-off shoreline flew by in a blur and the whitewater grew stronger. The current twisted and tossed them violently around huge, jutting rocks. He couldn't get close enough to her. Pulled along ahead of him, Mariah hadn't resurfaced. Endless seconds ticked by like minutes. He lost all sense of time, concentrating only on surviving.

On saving her.

An undertow snatched at him and at Mariah's waterlogged skirts. For a long moment it dragged him down as well, disorienting him. He whirled underwater, clinging tenuously to her sleeve. He felt the stitches give as he was dragged away.

Exploding to the surface, he gasped for breath, counting on the strength of his swimming to save them. He kicked out of the clawing undertow, finally getting in front of Mariah. By a stroke of fortune, his fingers found purchase around her wrist. It took him several horrified seconds to realize that she made no effort this time to grip him back.

Desperate, he hauled back on her with all his strength, drawing her to him. Her limp form sagged against him and her head dropped back against his shoulder.

Terror gathered in a fist at the back of his throat. With every ounce of his remaining strength, he fought the roiling flux of the water, propelling her toward the far shore. He gasped for breath as the tumbling current broke over them. Then, as abruptly as the current had claimed them, it spit them out, pushing them toward the bank.

His first stumbling contacts with the river bottom sent him crashing down into the shallow water with Mariah. Her wet clothes were unexpectedly heavy and his strength nearly gone. He dragged her onto a muddy grass bank, his chest heaving with the effort. Behind them, the river thundered like a disappointed beast, drowning out the sound of the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He laid her on a patch of wild mint. Her body accepted the earth bonelessly. He didn't need to lay a hand on her chest to know there was no breath in her. A sinking feeling stole the remaining strength from his knees and he dropped to the ground beside her.

With a trembling hand, he raked aside the wet hair that partially covered her face. Her skin was chilled and pale, still as death.

Le bon Dieu dans le ciel!
She had already left him.

"Oh, Gaa-hhh-d!" With his head thrown back in despair, the guttural, soul-wrenching cry tore from him. What good did his cursed second sight do him if he couldn't spare her life? He'd known.
Pardieu,
he'd known. He pounded a furious fist on the boning that encased her.

"Damn you, Mariah. Don't you die. Breathe, dammit! Breathe... breathe—" He took her by the shoulders and shook her—mindless, desperate. Her head lolled limply on her neck, her lips slack and tinged an ominous blue.

A trickle of water ran out of her mouth.

Creed froze, his eyes riveted to that small bit of hope. He shook her shoulders again and another trickle spilled out, followed by a gurgling, half-choking sound.
"Mon Dieu—"

He yanked his knife from the sheath at his hip. He shoved her roughly over onto her stomach and flicked the tip of his knife under the waistband of her skirts, gaining access to the heavier, boned top. Edging the blade beneath the bodice of her soaked gown, he aimed for the strings of that damnable corset that had her cinched so tight she could never get a decent breath of air.

With one clean flick of his wrist, the deadly blade did its job, dispatching the heavy fabrics as if they were no more than candle dip. He tore the encumbrances from her, leaving her naked on top but for the transparent shift that clung to her breasts.

Tossing the knife aside, he slung her over his arms with her back to his chest and squeezed the river from her with two shaking jolts.

"Breathe..." he pleaded. "Breathe, Mariah—"

A coughing gag. A sputter of watery breath. Creed felt her diaphragm contract with a short, tentative gasp.

"C'est bien,"
he prompted. "Breathe." He crossed one arm over her chest and cupped her shoulder in his large hand. Her heartbeat bucked against his forearm and his fingertips squeezed her cold flesh—pleading, prompting, drawing her back. "That's it, Mariah, that's it."

She retched river water while he held her, then sputtered again. Shudderingly, she drew in her first clean breath in a heaving gulp.

Creed exhaled in a half-sob and squeezed his eyes shut in silent thanks.
"Oui,"
he said, pulling her hair away from her face to the back of her neck. He watched the flush of life return to her skin.
"C'est bien. C'est bien."

Her chest rose and fell jerkily against his arm. He felt her fingers close tightly around his as a racking spasm shook her.

Finally, she moaned and dropped her head back against his shoulder with eyes closed. "Creed..."

"Shh-hh,
ma petite."
He drew her fully, protectively into his lap.
She spoke his name.
Relief filled him with a shudder. His breath came in shaky heaves. "You're all right now."

"Creed." Her voice was raw and another cough shook her. "So s-scared... h-hold me."

"I will." He dropped his face into the curve of her neck, his cheek in her hair. "Ah, Mariah, I almost lost you." He stroked the hair back off her forehead with his damp palm. Even as he said it, guilt flashed through him like a hot wind. She had never been his to lose.

"The water. I c-couldn't breathe," she rasped, shivering fiercely as much from shock as cold.

"I know." Closing his eyes, he drew in a ragged lungful of air.
Damn. Damn.

She pressed her fingers against her lips. "I c-couldn't reach you. The current kept p-pulling at me—" A sob broke her words.

He cursed into her shoulder, pressing his forehead against her damp skin. "I should never have let you cross,
Dieu...
it was my fault." His voice cracked. "Forgive me, Mariah. I nearly killed you."

She half-turned in his arms until her cheek was pressed against his chest. She clung to him fiercely, her wet flesh fused with his, and shook her head. "My fault, not yours. I s-said I could swim. And if I hadn't—"

He let out an explosive disgusted sound.
"Swim?
The weight of your skirts would have dragged you under anyway. It was stupid of me. Stupid. I knew it. I
knew
it."

She lifted one hand to his cheek and forced him to look at her. "How c-could you have known? No one could have. D-don't do this. We both know why I'm here. Not because you wanted it." She sucked in a breath through her chattering teeth and turned her face toward the river. "I-I panicked. You saved my life and y-you don't even l-like me. You m-might have drowned yourself."

"I don't even...? Ah, Mariah—" He pressed his mouth against her wet hair. "Mariah..." Her arms wound around his back and neck. Through his soaked shirt he could feel the fullness of her breasts. Her nipples, puckered with cold, pressed against him.

A soft, wretched sound came from his throat and he felt the animal burn of desire welling up in him like a night sweat—irrational, uncontrollable. His lips stole over her cool temple and down her cheek, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He gathered her protectively to him and felt her arms tighten around his back.

Perhaps it was his need for reassurance that she was alive that made him forget himself. Perhaps it was the way she clung to him as if afraid he might cast her back to the pagan river gods. Maybe it was none of those things and he was just a fool, longing for things that couldn't be.

The scent of crushed wild mint came from beneath them. He shifted slightly and she slid down into the crook of his arm. Her eyes, like pinwheels of gold, searched his face. Moisture clung to her dark lashes. Her lips trembled as she spoke his name. "Creed—"

Powerless to stop himself, he crushed his lips to hers in a hard, hungry kiss—claiming, possessing her as if she were his. She arched up to him, meeting his urgency with an unexpected desperation of her own. His hand slid down her spine to the rounded curve of her bottom. Splaying his fingers against the cold fabric of her shift, he drew her closer, until she was flush against him. Heat leapt from every point of contact and surged through his veins.

Her fingers twined in his hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still. He breathed her name against her mouth and felt her lips part in welcome as the kiss deepened, shifted, descended. His tongue explored that forbidden cavern. Hers danced timidly with his, untutored to passion. A breath caught in his chest.

He wanted her. Oh, hell. He wanted her in a way he'd never wanted another woman in his life. It wasn't even a conscious thought, but primal. He was on fire, a raw blur of arousal and mindless emotion. She'd nearly drowned and he wanted to throw her on the ground and plant his seed in her.

Self-disgust tugged at his gut, overpowering the other urges that drove him to take her in his arms.
What the hell was happening between them?
She made a sound: a half-sob, half-moan when he lifted his head and broke the kiss.

"Damn," he cursed through clenched teeth.

Mariah sat up and pressed a fist to her mouth, horrified by what she'd just done. His kiss still bruised her lips. Her brain was fuzzy and whirling and heat spiraled through her despite the chill.

She couldn't look him in the eye and had no idea what to say. Should she say, I'm sorry, or I didn't mean it?

But she had. God help her, she had.

Creed raked his fingers through his wet hair. Cursing again, he shrugged out of his soaked shirt and wrapped it around her, covering her near-nakedness.

As if that gesture could make either of them forget.

Color tinged her pale cheeks and her lips were swollen and red from his kiss. He shook his head. "Mariah, that was....
Dieu,
I didn't mean for that to happen."

Her eyes searched his. "I didn't either," she said truthfully. "I was just so s-scared." Another coughing fit seized her. She pulled the edges of his shirt together, glancing forlornly at the ruined things scattered around on the ground nearby. They looked as if they'd been ripped off her by an angry bear.

"I had to cut them off," he said defensively. "You weren't breathing when I pulled you out. That damnable contraption you wore would have finished the job. I had no choice."

"It's all right. I..." She met his uneasy gaze. "Thank you. That sounds completely inadequate, but—"

He shivered involuntarily and looked away. "Look, it's freezing. Let's get warm before we catch our deaths."

She placed her hand on his bare arm and the heat of his skin warmed her fingers. "I'm all right. I'll be fine as soon as I can change into something dry."

Creed looked suddenly uncomfortable. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

Mariah frowned. "What?"

"It's about your clothes..."

"My valise? What about it?"

"I lost it."

"Lost it?" she echoed weakly.

"It came unhooked from my saddle when I was reaching for you. The last time I saw it, it was tearing downstream, headed for parts unknown."

"Oh. Oh, my." She looked down at herself in horror. "What'll I wear? I don't even have a needle and thread to fix this."

"We'll think of something." He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to her feet. "We need a fire. You're freezing. The horses can't be too far from here unless, God forbid, they've run off somewhe—"

The low, rumbling growl of an animal came from just beyond the hedge of huckleberries that lined the bank, cutting off his thought abruptly.

"Creed—"

"I heard it. Get back." Creed drew Mariah behind him and picked up his knife from the ground. With a silent curse, he realized his gun was safely tucked into his saddlebags thirty rods upriver.

The snarl came again, louder this time. From under a dappled green branch came a wolf, stalking them slowly on long, powerful legs. His silver and black fur stood up at the nape of his neck. His slanted, golden-eyed gaze was pinned on them. He had the look of a hybrid—half dog, half wolf. But there was only wildness in his fierce expression.

"Creed—" Mariah whispered, tightening her hold on him.

He backed up two steps, but the river was at their feet. "Yah-h!" Creed shouted, feinting forward with a slash of his knife. The wolf shied, but didn't retreat. "Yahhh! Go on!" This only made the wolf more aggressive and it bared its teeth in a snarl.

"Mahkwi—down!"
commanded a voice from the opposite side of the clearing.

Incredibly, the animal responded instantly, dropping to the ground with a compliant wag of its silvery tail.

Creed's heart thudded dully in his chest. Dragging his attention from the animal to the trees, he saw a man mounted atop a magnificent brown and black appaloosa, coming toward them through the shadows at a fast trot. Behind him, he trailed two pack mules as well as Buck and Petunia.

The rider broke through the trees, fending off the lower branches with his fringed forearm. With the sun in his eyes, Creed couldn't make out his face, but his youthful silhouette was familiar as he dismounted and scratched the panting wolf behind the ears. He was a bear of a man with long, sun-streaked brown hair and a full beard to match.