Chapter 25 #3
For a moment, it seemed they were suspended in a tow of water, held in the centre of the river. More strong strokes took them sideways.
Was it her imagination, or had the river slowed in its purposeful action of dragging them into danger? Although still forceful, it seemed that at last back paddling on their left side only was taking them closer to safety.
There was no rapidity to the slowing of either the river or the canoe, just a gradual decline in both the force of the water and the canoe’s direction.
Rapidly flowing water slowed to ripples diminishing further with each stroke of the oar, each forceful leap of the birch bark canoe.
With a sudden thud and grating of shingle, the curved bow buried its leading edge into a crescent of rough beach.
Soaking wet and tired out, Lochranza was jerked forward, in the process almost hitting her face against the jutting prow, her hands now gripping the sides of the canoe, her wrists straining with the tension of staying in the boat.
With a swift sideways motion, Ethan swung the rear end of the boat round, jumped out into shallow water, went to the bow and, using every ounce of strength he possessed, dragged it further into the shingle until he was sure the river would not reclaim it and leave them stranded.
After that, he fell onto his back, arms outstretched, chest heaving as he gasped for air.
She scooped from the few inches of water from the bottom of the canoe. Kneeling down beside him, she let it trickle through her fingers onto his face.
Chest still heaving and barely covered by his shirt, he murmured something, then opened his eyes. His teeth flashed into an immediate smile.
‘We’re still here?’
Relieved to see he was unhurt, she smiled down at him. ‘Don’t sound so surprised. I had no intention of drowning. I’ve too many things in my life that I haven’t done yet.’
By turning away she hoped to hide her intention. Because he did not immediately respond, she thought she’d succeeded, but, of course, she counselled that on reaching a logical conclusion this darling man had a habit of falling to silence.
‘There’s plenty of time to talk about what you saw back there and what happened in Jamaica.’
‘I know that.’
She couldn’t bring herself to talk about it, as though it were nothing important. For the moment, she preferred to keep the horror of it locked away in her mind.
‘You have to come to terms with it,’ he said to her.
She shivered, as much for being damp as for locking down her resurrected memories.
Ethan pushed himself onto his elbows stating his intention to make a fire. ‘And if you could do something with those fishes? I’m starving.’
She knew he was trying to keep her mind occupied. Most women would have had hysterics by now. Lochranza gave no sign of it.
‘Seeing as I don’t have a pot, it will have to be spit roasted.’
There was time to exchange smiles, as much for relief they’d come through their ordeal as for anything else.
He commented that daylight would soon turn to twilight and he had a fire to light.
Before the moon came up and threw its gossamer glow down into the canyon, droplets of juice was dripping from the fish and onto the fire. The smell was amazing and although Ethan had remarked about the noise and smell of the fish, Lochranza had insisted they eat.
‘Berries will not keep us going and we need our strength.’
He gave in gracefully enough, setting the fire immediately beneath the overhang and thanking God that his tinderbox was still dry despite their waterlogged journey.
The fish was a feast of the highest order, liberally stuffed with what looked like some kind of wild garlic she had recognised and picked from shallow earth at the foot of the cliff. There being no berries growing roundabout, they saved some of the fish.
Just as Ethan had prophesied, the smoke from the fire dissipated when it hit the rocky ceiling of the overhang. Anyone trailing them might smell fish cooking, but no smoke would act as a beacon. Smoke could be seen at a great distance; smell did not travel so far.
Most of the fish consumed, a portion set on a rock in the sun to dry, they sat there looking at each other, both aware that if they didn’t find more food they would starve before completing their journey.
Although it would mean rising at dawn, she stated her intention of catching and cooking another fish before leaving.
‘If we have time,’ counselled Ethan. ‘And you’ll have to be careful. The water here is faster-flowing than where you caught the other one.’
‘But the fish are still leaping.’
He told her that he’d noticed. ‘You might not entice another one into the canoe. I think you wore that one out with all that swimming.’
They spread their clothes on the rocks to dry, then looked at each other, entranced by each other’s nakedness.
Lochranza tutted, smiled and shook her head accusingly. ‘We don’t have a modesty curtain. Mrs Prendergast would not approve!’
They closed together, their bodies cool in some places, warm in others.
Wrapped in his coat, they lay in the darkness, their faces lit by the glowing embers of the fire. He clasped her closer, kissing her forehead, caressing her as though afraid she might suddenly vanish.
She snuggled deeply into his arms, relishing the warmth and the smell of him. When she closed her eyes, her senses were intensified, his smells mixing with that of green leaves. Such a wonderful summer. Such a wonderful spring, but before that…?
So much violence. First in New Orleans, then in the Indian village which had also invoked the horror of an earlier time when she’d been only a child. Had it been just a random act, or had somebody wanted her dead?
She shuddered.
‘You’re cold.’
‘Yes.’ It wasn’t the whole truth, but her body was weary and sleep, although it would be welcome, promised to be fitful, her mind so full of a lifetime’s images it simply refused to rest.
He hugged her more tightly and in doing so made her feel as though nothing could touch her whilst his arms were about her. He was like a rock, better still a sea wall capable of withstanding any battering Nature could throw at it.
Gathering her closer, he murmured comments into her ear regarding the night at Fort Charlotte.
As he whispered deliciously naughty things into her ear, she looked up at the shifting boughs of pine trees high up on the cliff face waving like open fans against the night sky.
The hand that worked the canoe paddle was spread now over the curved expanse of her breast. They made love naked beneath a ceiling of stars, the heavy coat thrown to one side.
* * *
In the morning, she woke to find his arms still around her, his body warm against hers.
Sensing her shift against him, he tightened his grip.
‘I must fish,’ she whispered, her breath coming in short sharp gasps.
Despite her verbal protest, her body went its own way, desire tingling from her lips all the way down to her toes.
‘I must fish,’ she repeated, a weak reason not to give herself to him again, but one her logical side insisted on. ‘We need to eat if we are to spend our time making love.’
‘Breakfast doesn’t matter.’
She was trapped by his kisses and soon imprisoned by his weight lying on top of her, the hardness of his thigh pressing hers apart.
A tough instinct for survival screeched at her to deal with the necessities of life or rue the consequences. Nothing she tried worked and anyway her resolve was weakened, dulled by the need to feel his hands on her breasts, his hardness between her legs.
The arched sprigs of dwarf trees looked down from the top of the cliff. They might have been faces for all she cared. Love and lust were all that mattered. She was with the man she loved and the effort of loving him – even if it included starvation – was well worth enduring.
Only once they were totally sated did they fall apart, lying naked, both looking up at the sky.
He told her to stay there for a while before getting dressed and that he wouldn’t be long. ‘I’ve wood to gather and food to find.’
It amused her that he was off hunting as naked as the day he was born.
By the time she’d washed herself in the shallow water close to the shingle beach, Ethan had returned.
‘Water,’ he said, handing her the water bottle. ‘You need to drink, though slowly. Don’t gulp.’
He made no comment that she hadn’t yet dressed, but then, neither had he. Others, used to being fully covered in European clothes, would have still harboured awestruck wonder, ravishing each other with their eyes, if not their bodies.
A fleeting thought entered Lochranza’s mind; in being at ease with each other’s nakedness, they had become at ease with each other. Some people never experienced such a thing.
When she tilted her head back to look up at him, she felt the ends of her hair tickle her back, almost to waist level. ‘Don’t you think we’re incredibly lucky, Ethan?’
‘To come through that river? We most certainly are.’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said, her upturned expression full of hope and peace with herself. ‘Us. Being here naked.’
The look in his eyes was unfathomable – a positive glow. ‘Drink some more water.’
She cupped her hands whilst he poured into them. She sipped. Never had fresh water tasted so good, icy and straight from the river. Some of it trickled through the gaps in her fingers and down between and on her breasts.
Ethan lowered his head, his tongue lapping up the film of moisture.
‘That tastes good.’
Sitting there naked with Ethan MacKinnon felt incredibly natural. She felt no desire to hide her body from his eyes, to cover it as though it were something to be ashamed of.
She smiled. ‘It’s running down my belly.’
He laughed. ‘No more! I’ve had enough.’
She didn’t ask him what he’d had enough of, certainly not the water. It had been only a trickle.
Yawning, she stretched her arms, relishing the freshness of the air beneath her armpits, down her back, over her belly.
‘I suppose I’d better drink as much as I can to stop my stomach from rumbling, otherwise our pursuers are likely to hear me from five miles away!’