Savage Destiny (The Hearts of Liberty Series, Book 1) (8 page)

Alanna was exhausted. "Will you please ask Ian—no,
beg
him—not to bring Graham Tyler here ever again? The only time he ceased talking was when he was forced to pause for a breath."

"Really? I didn't notice. He dances very well."

Noting her shyness, Elliott had been Alanna's partner for the first dance, and between her considerate cousins and the enthusiastic Graham Tyler, she had danced more that evening than she had her entire life. She sank down on her bed and kicked off her slippers. "I suppose he does," she reluctantly agreed. "He's not unattractive either, but my ears positively ache from the sound of his voice."

"Perhaps he was merely nervous. You're very pretty, Alanna. It's only because you bury yourself here that you aren't surrounded by suitors."

In Alanna's mind, suitors were inexorably linked to proposals of marriage, weddings, and babies, which was a most unsettling sequence. Preferring not to encourage the direction of her cousin's thoughts, she covered a wide yawn, then rose, and began to remove her gown. By the time she got into bed, she was half-asleep, and when Melissa left their room twenty minutes later, she did not hear the door close behind her.

Melissa thought she was the first to reach the dock that night, and when she didn't immediately see Hunter, she was insulted. She would have returned to the house, had he not stepped out of the shadows within seconds of her arrival. He had already removed his shirt, and the moonlight sculpted his muscular frame with a haunting perfection that left her staring in awestruck wonder. She might have asked him where he had been most of the evening, but he didn't give her the chance.

Hunter was tempted to scold her for giving Ian more attention than she had given him that night, but decided there were far better ways to spend his time. He caught her in a joyful embrace and, delighted to find her again wearing only her nightgown and shawl, he turned his welcoming kiss into a seductive demand for total surrender. Melissa was soft and warm, her petite figure perfect in all respects; her weight provided a slight burden when he lifted her into his arms. He doubted anyone else would visit the dock that night, but there was a secluded spot shielded by a hedge nearby, and it would provide the privacy he craved.

Melissa hadn't been carried since she was a child. Excited by the strength of Hunter's embrace, she wrapped her arms around his neck and again freed his hair from the cord at his nape. When he placed her on her feet, she leaned against him to savor the warmth of his broad chest. In the next instant, he pulled her down into the grass. Had she realized how much he wanted, it would have already been too late to protest, but his kiss muffled any objection she might have wished to make.

Determined this time to keep Melissa with him until he was ready to send her away, Hunter's kisses were slow and deep. His caresses were tender, his touch knowing and sweet, and when he slipped his hand beneath her nightgown and slid it up the smooth skin of her bare thigh, she was too lost in his affection to push him away. He ran his hand over the gentle swell of her hip, tilting her body toward him. It was a simple matter then to separate her legs with his knee, and his fingertips brushed the soft cluster of curls nestled between them.

Far from random in his approach, Hunter knew how to please a woman, and precisely where an easy touch could create exquisite longings he was only too willing to satisfy. He soon felt Melissa tremble with desire, as he continued to explore her most tantalizing secrets with a slow, circling motion. He paused occasionally to dip his fingers into the sweet feminine nectar her body had created to ease his way, and silently rejoiced that she would welcome him so eagerly. When he could no longer delay making her his own, he loosened his belt with one hand, shoved his breeches aside, and plunged deep within her. As her body convulsed with the shock of his forceful thrust, he was stunned by the realization that she had been a virgin.

The blissfully romantic moment shattered by searing pain, Melissa tried to cry out, but Hunter's hand closed over her mouth before she had uttered more than a tiny wail. Betrayed by her own desires, she choked back her sobs, but she knew this time she had blithely encouraged Hunter to take her much further than she had wished to go. She stared up at him, and rather than a handsome man with flowing black hair, she saw only a savage, and knew that should anyone ever learn what they had done, her reputation would be irrevocably ruined. Heartbroken by her own willful folly, she waited for Hunter to speak.

"You should have told me I would be the first, and I would have been much more gentle," Hunter whispered. "I love you, and you belong to me now." He raised his hand from her mouth, but kissed her before she could reply.

He began to move with slow, shallow thrusts, which he hoped would not cause her any additional pain. No longer responsive, Melissa lay still in his arms until he had found his own release, even if he had not provided her with the pleasure he had intended. Mistaking Melissa's horrified sense of shame for merely shy wonder at the power of love, he pulled his clothing back into place and helped her to her feet.

"I want to shout with joy, but I know we must be quiet. Remove your nightgown and wash in the river," he encouraged.

Not wanting to return to her room with any lingering trace of his loving to incriminate her, Melissa allowed him to help her out of the white garment, and then walked down to the river's edge and waded in. The water's chill made her shiver, but that was such a slight discomfort compared with her overwhelming sense of guilt, that she scarcely noticed it. For one terrifying moment, she considered drowning herself, but swiftly abandoned the idea. If she never told anyone what had happened that night, never admitted it to a single soul, no one would ever suspect that she had lost her virginity. Now knowing precisely what to expect on her wedding night, she was confident she could portray a virgin so convincingly that her new husband would believe her to be a chaste bride.

When she left the water, Hunter was waiting to help her again don her nightgown. It had gotten pushed up around her waist before he had entered her, and bore no telltale stains to give away her secret. The instant she was dressed, she turned toward her house, but Hunter reached out to stop her and handed her the shawl she had forgotten.

"Making love will be much better when I get back," he promised. "You will enjoy it as much as I do then."

Melissa dared not tell him that she would never spend another second alone with him, for fear he would complain so loudly he would wake her family. What if he then demanded her for a wife? she agonized. She had been raised to wed a fine gentleman who would give her the same prestigious social position and pampered life her parents had provided.

Unable to bear the possibility she had jeopardized her whole future by foolishly encouraging an amorous Indian's passions, she raised up on her tiptoes to kiss him goodbye, and then fled toward the safety of her home. By the time she had reached her bedroom, she lost her tenuous hold on her composure and had to muffle her sobs with the shawl she had almost carelessly left at her lover's feet.

Unable to tame an ecstatic grin, Hunter remained at the dock, watching the moonlight play on the river and remembering the delectable softness of his beloved's fair skin. He had never expected to fall in love with a white woman, but Melissa Barclay was so irresistibly appealing, he had not been able to help himself. He would have to move far more slowly with her parents than he had with her, but he intended to take Melissa for his wife, and for her sake, he wanted their consent. While he was certain they had never imagined having a Seneca son-in-law, he would strive to make them proud.

Chapter 4

Melissa struggled against the paralyzing fear that all her bright hopes for an advantageous marriage and blissfully happy life had vanished along with her virtue. She was only eighteen, but all because of an irresistibly appealing Indian brave, her whole future lay in jeopardy. Her tears became hoarse, choking sobs as she weighed the necessity of keeping the shame of her disastrous flirtation with Hunter a secret, and the horrible possibility of it being discovered. She would never tell, never even hint that there had ever been anything whatsoever between them.

But would Hunter be equally discreet?
she agonized.

What were the chances he would keep the shocking details of their friendship to himself? Clearly he was a proud man, but if anything, she had minimized whatever compliments Byron and Elliott had bestowed on his talents. He was no braggart, but was that because he had simply not had anything as tantalizing as his affair with her to prompt a boast? Perhaps sleeping with a white woman was the most exciting thing he had ever done, and he would be eager to tell everyone he knew just how easily he had seduced her.

No!
she fought to convince herself. He was too clever a man not to realize Byron and Elliott would not allow him to talk about her as though she were a common trollop. Her brothers would beat him senseless—if not much worse—should they ever hear him speak of her in a disrespectful fashion. A fresh wave of tears followed that thought, for surely she had betrayed her brothers' trust that night, when she had betrayed herself.

"Melissa?" Alanna called from her bed. "Are you sick?"

Oh yes!
Melissa longed to blurt out, but she dared not. She could not take the chance of drawing even the slightest bit of attention to herself. She felt as though anyone with a sharp pair of eyes would see her sinful secret, and brand her a harlot. To her way of thinking, she had merely made a stupid mistake, but unless she could forever keep the scandalous moment buried deep within her soul, her life would never be the same because of it. Hastily searching for an excuse for her tears, she found one she hoped Alanna would believe.

"No," she responded wistfully. "I'm just so dreadfully worried about Byron and Elliott."

Alanna sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bed. "But why? They're grown men, who know how to look after themselves."

"Yes, but they've never gone out looking for trouble as they are now, and I'm so afraid they'll find it."

Touched by her cousin's anguish, Alanna left her bed, lit the lamp on the nightstand, and then went to Melissa's dresser to fetch her a handkerchief. "You mustn't carry on so," she said. "Your brothers are intelligent men. I doubt they'd go into the Ohio Valley if they didn't believe in what they're doing, and their ability to succeed."

Alanna had proven to be so gullible, Melissa became positively inspired. She sat up and made a great show of blotting her tears. "That's just the problem," she complained. "They are too confident, and that folly could place them in great danger."

Alanna had never seen Melissa is such a pitiful state. "I think I ought to wake your mother," she said. "Perhaps you'll find her advice more comforting."

"Oh no! We mustn't bother Mother. If she hasn't realized that Byron and Elliott are putting themselves in terrible danger, then I don't want to risk upsetting her."

Stymied as to what else to suggest, Alanna sat down on the edge of Melissa's bed. "It sounds as though the trip will be long and tiring, but it doesn't necessarily follow that it will be as terribly dangerous as you fear."

"But it can't help but be dangerous!" Having just convinced herself of the peril, Melissa's worries doubled. She had hoped Hunter's friendship with her brothers would prevent him from speaking ill of her, but what, God forbid, if something actually did happen to them? With loyalty to Byron and Elliott no longer a factor, would Hunter feel free to say whatever he chose about her? She bent her knees to provide a comforting resting place for her cheek, and wrapped her arms around her legs. She tried to catch her breath, but tears continued to pour down her face.

Never having realized her cousin was even capable of such abject despair, Alanna sat quietly observing her. She did not doubt that Melissa was dreadfully unhappy, but that she would weep so pathetically over her imagined fears for her brothers' safety just didn't seem plausible. Both young men had made similar trips with the militia, and she couldn't recall Melissa being even the slightest bit upset on any of those occasions. What was different now?

Her first thought was that Byron and Elliott had not been traveling with Hunter in the past. Could Melissa's endless stream of tears be because of the Indian? Was she heartbroken because a man she had insisted meant nothing to her was leaving? Not wanting to upset her cousin with a repeat of their last conversation in which Melissa had stubbornly denied any interest in the Indian, Alanna kept those thoughts to herself. As far as she was concerned, Melissa could weep and sob over Hunter as long as she wished. Alanna was too grateful he would be gone in the morning to complain.