Wilde, Jennifer (33 page)

"Just
thought I'd tell you I'm almost ready," he remarked. "All I have to
do is slip into some fresh buckskins. You look stunning, Marietta. Uh... we
don't
have
to go down for supper..." His eyes took in the bed.

"I
think we'd better," I said coldly.

Rawlins
gave a good-natured shrug and stepped back into the sitting room to put on
fresh buckskins identical to those he had been wearing before, only cleaner.
Instead of boots, he wore soft buckskin moccasins. As we went down to the
taproom, he seemed as jolly and exuberant as an Oxford youth turned loose on
the city with a pocketful of money. Hair still damp, eyes merry, he led me into
the dimly lighted, smoke-filled taproom. There were well over a dozen
rough-looking men gathered around the tables, and all of them watched with
considerable envy as Rawlins led me to a corner table.

"Hey,
Rawlins," one of them called, "you in a sellin' mood?"

"No
chance," he retorted. "This one's special."

"Keepin'
her for yourself?"

"You're
smarter'n you look, Benson."

Maria
served us herself. The food was delicious: sugar-cured ham, hot bread, golden
yams, greens. I was famished and dug into the food with great relish, as did
Rawlins. He drank ale from a pewter mug with his food, and I wondered how much
he had had before he came up to the room, how much of his jaunty humor was
caused by the alcohol. Maria brought hot apple pie with cream after we had
finished, and Rawlins leaped up to give her a mighty hug, claiming it was his
favorite and she was a living angel. Maria blushed with pleasure, girlishly coy
for all her great girth.

Eb
Crawley came to sit with us for a few minutes after we had finished dessert.
His ruddy face was grim as he took the mug of ale his wife brought.

"Another
for me, too," Rawlins requested.

"You've
already had enough, you rascal. You're not going to be able to get back
upstairs!"

"Aw,
don't get bossy, Maria. Just bring me the ale."

Maria
moved away, red skirt swishing. Her husband's dark eyes were filled with grave
concern as he inquired if we intended to push on tomorrow morning.

"Don't
see why not," Rawlins replied. "Hell, there's always talk of Indian
uprisin's. I ain't sayin' they didn't murder that family and burn their wagon,
but it was probably no more'n half a dozen braves just feelin' their oats.
They've probably left the area by this time."

Maria
banged a pewter mug down on the table in front of him, foamy ale splashing over
the rim. Rawlins scowled at her, then lifted the mug to his lips.

"If
I was scared uv Indians, I'd never have ventured down the Trace the first
time," he continued. "I got two powerful rifles, and a pistol as
well, and there ain't a man around 's a better shot than I am."

"Be
that as it may, I think you should reconsider. We got a whole slew of men here
who're coolin' their heels, waitin' for things to calm down 'fore they go on.
It ain't just the Indians, Jeff. I hear the Brennan boys are at it again. Talk
is they waylaid a couple trappers not more'n fifty miles on down the road.
Murdered 'em both."

"You
mean them skunks is still loose and livin'? I'da thought someone would've put a
bullet through their skulls 'fore this time. I knew Jim was outa jail, but I
thought Billy was locked up in Natchez."

"He
broke out. His brother helped him. They killed the jailer, shot another man,
too. They don't make 'em any meaner'n the Brennans. If I had my choice of
runnin' up against a pack of Chickasaws or runnin' up against the Brennan
brothers, I'd pick the Indians every time. Didn't you have a run in with 'em a
couple years back?"

"Sure
did. Beat the shit outa Billy, put a slug of lead in Jim's shoulder. I'd
welcome a chance to finish the job up proper. It's scum like them that gives
the Trace such a bad name."

Eb
Crawley frowned, clearly displeased. "If it was just you, I'd say go on,
get yourself scalped or shot up, but— hell, Jeff, you got the wench here to
consider. You don't wanna take no chances with her along. If the Brennans got
a-hold of her—"

"They
ain't about to," Rawlins replied, finishing his ale. He slammed the mug
down and climbed unsteadily to his feet. "I don't know what's gotten into
you, Eb. You're talkin' like some frightened dude, and you one of the meanest
critters ever drew breath."

"It
ain't a jokin' matter, Jeff. These other chaps—"

"I'm
tired talkin' about it," Rawlins interrupted. "Come on, Marietta,
let's go on upstairs."

He
took my hand and pulled me to my feet. All that ale had quite obviously gone to
his head. He was weaving slightly as we left the taproom, and he stumbled as we
climbed the stairs, crashing against the wall with considerable impact. When we
reached the upper hall, he flung his arm around my shoulders, leaning heavily
against me as we moved on down the hall. As soon as we stepped into the sitting
room, he plopped down in the chair, looking flushed but still quite merry. The
barrel was gone, I noticed, and so were our dirty clothes.

"Lita's
launderin' 'em for us," he explained when I commented about it.
"She'll have 'em all freshly ironed and ready to pack away when we get
ready to leave in the morning. She always cleans my buckskins for me, has 'em
smellin' like new."

"That's
very thoughtful of her."

"Lita's
a swell kid. I did her a favor once. This is her way of payin' me back. Hey,
all that talk didn't upset you, did it? I mean all that jawin' about the
Brennans and the Indians."

"Not—not
particularly, but Mr. Crawley seemed—"

"Oh,
Eb's always gettin' in an uproar about nothin'. You got no cause to be alarmed,
gal. I been travelin' this trail for years and years, know it backwards and
forwards. There ain't a man alive more capable of gettin' you safely to
Natchez. You just put all that talk outta your mind, hear? It ain't worth
thinkin' about."

"I'll
try to," I told him. "I think I'll go to bed now."

"You
go on. I'm gonna sit here a while and have me a cheroot."

"You
intend to sleep here?"

"I
sure as hell ain't gonna sleep out in th' hall. Don't you worry none. Go on to
bed."

I
went into the bedroom and, blowing out the lamp, undressed in the semidarkness.
Soft rays of light from the other room filtered in through the doorway, leaving
the rest of the room a hazy blue-gray. The window was open, and a cool breeze
drifted in. I could smell tobacco burning as Rawlins smoked his cigar.
Completely naked, I climbed under the covers. The coarse linen sheets were cool
and clean, smelling of soap. I felt a certain apprehension. Thus far Rawlins
had made no attempt to make love to me, but then we had never shared a bed.

Perhaps
a quarter of an hour passed before he finally stepped into the doorway. He
leaned against the frame with one shoulder, peering at me with a thoughtful
look in his eyes. I gripped the sheets nervously, watching him. Rawlins
noticed. He grinned sheepishly.

"Don't
get yourself all riled up, wench. I ain't gonna do nothin' you don't want me to
do."

He
pulled off his buckskin tunic and tossed it onto a chair, slipped out of his
moccasins, and kicked them across the floor.

"Aren't
you going to blow out the light?" My voice was tight.

"Reckon
I'd better, at that."

He
stepped into the other room. A moment later there was only darkness. I heard
him come back into the bedroom, heard him struggle out of the clinging buckskin
leggings. Pale rays of moonlight slanted in through the window, tinting the air
with a faint silver glow, and I could barely distinguish his naked body as he
draped the leggings over the side of a chair. A moment later he sighed heavily
and climbed into bed beside me. The springs creaked. The mattress sagged with
his weight, causing me to roll over against him. I moved back over quickly, but
his leg still touched mine. I could feel his warmth, smell flesh and
perspiration and ale.

"You
all snug and cozy?" he inquired.

"I—I'm
almost asleep."

"Nice
to be in a real bed, ain't it?"

I
didn't reply. I was acutely aware of his nearness, and I experienced familiar
sensations in spite of myself. Disturbed, I tried to make my mind a blank,
tried to ignore the male body sprawled out beside me, but it was impossible. I
remembered the time he had kissed me beside the wagon the day of the fair. I
remembered the dizziness and the delight as his strong arms held me and his
lips worked over mine, summoning an instant response. I had felt disloyal to
Derek then because another man had been able to arouse the physical response
Rawlins had aroused.

"I
been lookin' forward to this for a long time," Rawlins said.

"Jeff,
I—"

"Didn't
wanna force myself on you before," he interrupted. "Figured I'd wait
till you snapped outta your trance. You've been grievin' for Hawke, I know, and
I was willin' to respect your grief."

"Please
don't. Please just—"

"I
know Hawke meant a lot to you, wench. I reckon you was near 'bout crushed when
he sold you like he did, in a fit of anger. That's the past, over and done
with. I'm gonna make you forget all about him, and that's a promise."

Shifting
position, he pulled me into his arms and covered my mouth with his own. It was
a long, leisurely kiss. He held me loosely, savoring my lips with his own, his
right hand gently massaging my breast, and my head seemed to swim. Raising his
head, he chuckled softly and stroked me with fingertips that tenderly explored.

"A
man like Hawke—-he don't know how to appreciate a woman like you. Me, I reckon
I appreciated you the moment I first laid eyes on you."

"Jeff—"

And
then he lowered himself on me as though I were a cushion, and he kissed me
again, lazily, and I found myself wrapping my arms around him, pulling him
closer. I was alive with sensations I thought I would never be able to feel
again. Rawlins entered me, moving slowly, savoring each second, savoring each
sensation, using my body as a great musician might use a cherished instrument,
tenderly. I seemed to be soaring through space, waves of ecstasy sweeping me
further and further away from sanity and reason, and I forgot about Derek,
forgot about everything but this man, this moment. He shuddered, sinking his
teeth into the soft flesh of my shoulder, and I cried out, clasping him to me
as I was swept into a realm of incredible pleasure like nothing I had ever felt
before.

It
was mid-afternoon, two days after we had left Crawley's Inn, and I was
exhausted. We had been riding hard all day, with only a short break for lunch.
I had grown to detest Jenny, my mule. She had balked several times already
today, once in the middle of a small stream we were crossing. I had promptly
tumbled off, landing in the water with an enormous splash. Nothing was hurt but
my pride, and Rawlins's riotous laughter hadn't helped a bit. The heat was
intense. We were traveling through real wilderness now, and the trail was much
rougher than anything we had passed over before.

"I'm
tired!" I protested.

"You'll
never make a pioneer," he taunted.

"I've
no
desire
to be a pioneer."

"Expect
me to mollycoddle you, don't ya? If we stopped everytime you started gettin'
tired, we'd never reach Natchez."

"Jeff,
I mean it. I'm exhausted."

"Just
keep forgin' ahead," he called amiably. "We'll take a rest 'fore too
much longer."

I
sighed and dug my knees into Jenny's sides, urging her on. My blouse was damp
with perspiration, my skirt bunched up over my knees. A swarm of insects buzzed
in the air. I slapped one of them off my arm. The sun beat down fiercely,
slanting through the thick tree limbs to burn my skin. Crawley's Inn seemed a
distant paradise. Rawlins moved on ahead, leading the third mule behind him,
and I dared not lag too much. This wild, savage land was terrifying, unlike
anything I had ever seen before, and, too, I couldn't forget the talk about
Indians.

The
trail wound through the dense woods, sometimes vanishing altogether, it seemed,
hardly worthy of being called a trail at all. Although Jeff assured me the
Trace was the main thoroughfare through the wilderness, we had encountered no
one. This territory had been ceded to the English after the French and Indian
War—Jeff had regaled me with tales of that conflict, most of them featuring
hordes of howling savages—but I failed to see why anyone would want it.
Although it did have a certain majestic splendor, it was much too vast, too
wild.

At
least Carolina had been partially civilized, with farms and plantations and
settlements abounding, Charles Town a thriving port. I felt a stab of pain,
remembering, and I forced all thoughts of Carolina out of my mind. I wouldn't
think about it, I vowed. That was behind me. My life had taken another abrupt
turn, and survival was all that mattered now. I was going to survive, and I
wasn't going to end up in a brothel in New Orleans. Already I was contemplating
my escape. It was out of the question now, of course. Where would I go? But
once we passed through this wilderness, once we reached civilized country
again, I would give Jeff Rawlins the slip at the first opportunity and,
somehow, make a new life in the French and Spanish territory.