Chapter 9 #3
His horse edged very close to hers. “There is the savage Sioux blood—and the fact that I straddle those fences!”
“Let go. You wanted to ride tonight; let’s ride.”
“And it seems you always want to fight. Let’s have at it, then!”
“I am not going to sit out here in the middle of the night in the snow and argue with you!”
“Excuse me! I think I was leading the way in silence when you decided it was important to inform me that I was a tyrant.”
“You are a tyrant. May we go, Major Trelawny?”
He studied her for several long moments; then he nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”
He kneed his horse, moving away from hers. Thomas broke into a lope. Her mare followed instantly. She was glad that she was a competent rider; otherwise she’d have been thrown into the snow.
They rode hard for at least fifteen minutes; then he slowed their gait. She knew that he would never abuse the horses. When she looked around herself, though, she felt a fierce chill, for now there were dark pine forests to their left and, still, the endless white snow stretching ahead.
They continued on in silence for another hour.
Her limbs grew cold and stiff.
Sloan kept riding.
And riding.
She realized that he was accustomed to these long hours of riding without a break. He could probably go on throughout the night. She could barely move her legs or wiggle her toes. She’d never taken the time to change. She wasn’t even wearing proper riding boots, just lace-up shoes with small heels.
Her fingers…
Even with the woolen gloves she had taken from the pocket of her cloak, they were freezing. And everyone had kept insisting that the night was so warm! She had been comfortable herself, near the heat of the house, on the porch. But out here…
In the never-ending white snow…
It was absolutely freezing.
She gritted her teeth. She wanted to scream and shout at Sloan, but she forced herself not to do so. She wasn’t going to let out a cry for mercy. She’d be stronger than he was, and she’d never falter. Never.
They kept riding…
The pines seemed to have a life of their own.
They swayed in the darkness—huge, looming shadows.
She heard rustling noises from the trees, and she searched through them nervously.
Miners had been killed near Gold Town. Sioux had attacked Fort Pease.
The Indians weren’t fools, and many of them were like Sloan, able to travel great distances at high speeds when they were alone or in small war parties.
There was a cracking sound in the pines…
As if someone had stepped on a branch.
She couldn’t feel her fingers.
She was frozen…from the cold—and from her fear.
Finally, despite her determination, she snapped. She reined in and started shouting. “You arrogant, vicious fool! It is freezing out here. I am going to die from exposure, if I’m not fricasseed by one of the Indians following us in the trees. I’m not riding any farther, I’m not, I’m not, I—”
She broke off. If she didn’t ride, what was she going to do?
He reined in and swung around, staring at her with narrowed eyes.
“Are you cold?” he queried politely, as if he hadn’t begun to feel the least chill. “You should have said something.”
“I did say something. I said that I didn’t want to leave tonight, that I wanted to ride back with the others in the daylight.”
“Ah, but we’re newlyweds, remember? And this is so much more romantic.”
“Romantic! Major Trelawny, the woman you married is an iceberg—of your own making!”
He shrugged, amused. “Umm. I wonder. There’s a lodge just ahead.”
“A lodge?”
“Sioux lodge.”
“No…wait, no—I don’t want to stop at a Sioux lodge, Sloan—”
But he was loping over the snow once again, and she had no choice but to follow.
Somehow, within what looked like a solid mass of dark-green shadow, he found a path. She kneed her horse to follow him closely along the path.
They came to a clearing, bathed by the moonlight. She could hear the trickle of a creek nearby. In the center of the clearing was a large, wind-weathered, ramshackle tipi.
“Don’t worry—it was abandoned months ago,” Sloan said, dismounting from his horse.
She still sat her mount, staring at the tipi.
She’d never seen one close-up before. In the moonlight she could see that the outsides of the skins had once been painted, but wind and weather had taken their toll upon the patterns.
They seemed to run together, yet as she continued to look, she saw that someone had very artistically painted a buffalo hunt: red buffalo ran in mass with a field of warriors racing behind on ponies, and behind them, women and children ran along on foot to take part in the kill.
“Come down.”
She drew her gaze from the tipi. Sloan stood by her, reaching up.
“I can get down myself.”
He shrugged and went back to his horse, unlacing his saddlebags.
She tried to dismount. Her limbs were frozen. They wouldn’t work.
Her foot caught in the stirrup. She started to fall, and for a moment she was terrified that her mare would panic and run, and drag her through the pines until her head was crushed.
But Sloan was there, lifting her, disengaging her foot.
“You know, I could probably stand dead center between Sherman and Crazy Horse and have less chance of injury than you seem eternally determined to inflict upon yourself!” he informed her.
“I can walk,” she told him.
He let her go. She started to fall despite her words, her limbs refusing to work. That time, he swept her up.
“Really, please, do allow me the honor,” he murmured lightly and entered the tipi.
He set her down on the ground, and she realized that there was a flooring of rough hide as well.
It was dark, yet there was a small opening to the sky in the center of the tipi, which let in some moonlight. Sabrina could vaguely see Sloan moving about; then she heard the flare of a match, and in a minute he had a fire going.
“That was quick,” she murmured.
“It was set; I stopped here on my way to Hawk’s.”
She was shivering wildly then, unable to feel her feet. Sloan stood and went to her, towering over her. He hunched down in front of her, taking her hands. She tried to snatch them back; he pulled off her gloves and let out an irritated oath.
“Why didn’t you tell me how cold you were?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“You could have said—”
“You wouldn’t have believed me.”
“When you tell the truth,” he informed her, “I believe you. When you pull stunts like tonight, when you suddenly decided to tell me that you were sick, I know damned well that you’re lying.”
He rubbed her hands vigorously between his own. Warmth began to return to them.
“Give me your feet.”
“My feet!”
“Your feet.”
“I’m all right—”
He caught her knees, drawing her legs out before her. He made quick work out of the laces of her delicate dance shoes. “This is incredibly stupid footwear for riding—”
“Indeed it is, but then, I didn’t know that I was riding tonight.”
“I gave you fair warning. You had time to change.”
“Fair warning!” she exclaimed, then winced and let out a startled gasp. He had taken off her shoe; then his fingers had moved swiftly up her calf to her thigh and her garter, and her stocking was pulled free.
She froze.,
But he warmed her foot between his hands, as he had done with her fingers and hands. He seemed to sense exactly when feeling returned to her, for he started on her second shoe—and stocking—then. He warmed her, but she still shook.
“Your cloak is damp,” he said, taking it from her shoulders. “You need to be closer to the fire.”
She didn’t fight him as he picked her up bodily and moved her toward the fire, setting her down close to the flames. She hugged her arms around her chest, still shivering but delighting in the warmth of the blaze.
Then he left her.
He had been gone several minutes before she swung around, searching for him in the dark shadows outside the tipi. She might be furious with him, but she didn’t want him leaving her out here in the middle of nowhere!
But just when she might have stood up and called out his name in sheer panic, he returned, carrying a prepared coffeepot. He set the coffee on the fire, then departed again, returning with his saddlebags and their bedrolls, which he dropped on the floor. He glanced at her then and frowned.
“You’re still cold.”
“I’m thawing,” she assured him dryly. But he sat down at her side and drew her against him, ignoring the fact that she instinctively stiffened. He started to rub her arms and her shoulders, then let out an impatient oath. “You’re still damp. How did you get so soaked?”
“How in God’s name do I know? It was cold, the air was damp, icicles formed on my nose and then melted— how do I know?”
He pressed her forward, squaring her shoulders, then began working on the elaborate lace ties and buttons that closed her dress. She felt his fingers, and a tremor shot down the length of her spine. “Don’t—don’t, please, I’m freezing, I’m—”
“Because you’re wearing cold, wet clothing, Sabrina. Don’t worry. I’ve told you what I expect from a wife, but I haven’t brought you here to force you into anything— well, into anything you don’t want to do.”
“I don’t want to do anything, except warm up,” she assured him quickly. “Meggie sent some of my things. Something warm, dry.”
“She did. But you’ve got to get out of the wet before you get into the dry.”
She went still, biting her lip. She felt her gown loosen, then felt his hands as he pulled it over her head.
She was left in chemise, corset, pantalettes, and petticoat.
She kept shivering as he laid the dress out some distance from them, and she was surprised to see that he seemed to be taking care of the garment.
She was clenched into a tighter ball, shivering away, when he returned to her.
He started to reach for her, and she twitched—involuntarily.
His hand fell. He turned away from her, pulling a blanket from the bedroll and throwing it atop her. “Get the rest of your things off and put that around you.”
The blanket landed on her head. She came to life, ripping it off, staring at him furiously.
“You are a dictator—” she began heatedly, but it was the wrong accusation at the wrong time, and she cried out suddenly as she found herself being dragged to her feet and spun around. His hands were on the ties to her corset, wrenching it free.
“I’m a damned dictator, and you, Sabrina, are a spoiled brat with a chip on your shoulder like a two-ton brick—”
“Me?” she inquired incredulously, trying to spin free. “I don’t need your help!” she told him.
“My dear wife! I’d not dream of letting you struggle alone!
” he said, jerking on the ties to her corset, sending her spinning back around.
Then the garment was free and falling off her, and she was blinded and stumbling as he pulled her soft cotton chemise over her head.
She reached to retrieve it but missed, for he suddenly caught her by the knees, and she wound up down on the hide flooring, her bare flesh now warmed from the heat of the fire.
She gasped for breath as he caught the drawstring to her petticoat, then that of her pantalettes, and each garment was ripped free even as she stuttered out that certainly she could manage on her own.
Naked, she grabbed wildly for the blanket he had given her, wrapping it around herself, and coming before the fire on her knees. “You accuse me of having a chip on my shoulder! How dare you!—”
“My love, you must be warmer. And I haven’t even heard a word of thanks. Never mind—I live to serve,” he assured her, his tone light.
“Don’t taunt me. Just because I’m trying to be calm and rational. This can never really work—”
“You had your choices, Sabrina,” he said, and the lightness left his voice. “I remember them well, even if you don’t. I didn’t drag you to the altar.”
“Yes, but—”
“Yes, but what?”
“I just don’t think that I can do this! I’m an Easterner, Sloan. I haven’t an adventurous bone in my body.”
“You made a vow. To me. I won’t let you break it. You can do anything you set your mind to. You can be absolutely charming when you want to. I watched you in action tonight.”
“You watched me in action!”
“You’re an incredible flirt.”
She inhaled sharply. “You’re missing the point! Sloan, you didn’t intend to marry! I’ve heard that from everyone.” She hesitated only a second, her eyes narrowing. “And you call me a flirt! I spent the evening learning about a few of your conquests.”
“My conquests!” he returned, and seemed startled. “You’re talking about the past, my love, while I’m referring to the present. This evening, my love, I arrived to find you flirting outrageously—”
“Flirting!” She was on her feet and almost forgot the blanket.
She managed to grab it before it slid down her body.
“Flirting! Major Trelawny, you are wrong about so much! You are simply an impossible basta—” She broke off, dismayed, not wanting to call him a bastard because he literally was one. “An impossible wretch!”
She startled even herself with the force of her voice as she shouted at him.
But all he did was slowly cross his arms over his chest. “Am I indeed?” he asked.
“I think that you expect far too much, and I can’t begin to see what you want—”
“Well, then, maybe we should discuss what I expect and what I want. Here, now—this very moment.”
Quite suddenly, she didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to solve anything that night. She wanted to sleep and gather her strength and wits together.
“Wait, Sloan!” she protested. “It’s very late. I’m tired—” she began, then broke off warily as he strode toward her.
“Sloan—”
“Here and now!” he assured her, reaching out. She flinched from his touch, but he simply snatched the blanket cleanly away from her.
He was dead still for a moment, as stunned as she was. They stared at one another; then his eyes slowly swept up and down the length of her as she felt her blood rushing to her face.
“Here—and now,” he repeated with a deadly quiet. “Let’s assess our situation.”
“That’s not fair at all!” she whispered.
“Why not?”
“You have the advantage!” she gasped out.
“Shall I take off my clothes, too?”
“No!”
“I wouldn’t dream of denying you—me.”
“Sloan, damn you—”
“Fine! Then I shall assess the situation. As I see it.”