Chapter 19 #2
Wrapping the blanket securely around her, she scooted downward. “Good afternoon, I think. It is still afternoon, isn’t it?”
Swift Hawk stiffened. But when he glanced over his shoulder at her, there was nothing but good humor on his features, though he did not smile. “It is still afternoon, though it is late.”
“Yes, I thought so.” She crawled down even farther so that she might sit up. “It isn’t dark enough outside to be night.”
He nodded but remained silent, his attention seemingly on the fire as he poked at it.
“Are you cooking something?”
“Haa’he.”
“Did you bring something with you to cook, then?”
He chuckled at that, but still he didn’t look at her. “I have been hunting.”
“You have? In this weather? Are you crazy?” She had scooted down far enough now to take a seat beside him on his right.
“No, not crazy. The rain is not falling as heavily now, and I was hungry.”
“Ah, hungry. It reminds me that I would be very hungry right now if you had not found me—and had I survived the storm. I don’t know how to justify what I did, leaving the caravan like that.
It’s only that I was so concerned over Julian that I quite forgot to bring anything with me.
I fear that I am once again indebted to you. ”
Again she noted that he stiffened. But that wasn’t all. Even though they were carrying on a conversation, his gaze seemed to center anywhere but on her.
At some length, he voiced his thoughts. “You are not in my debt, Miss Angel. Had I not sent your brother on this errand alone, you would not have placed yourself in danger. The fault is mine, not yours.”
Angelia sighed. “No, you are wrong, but I thank you for attempting to make the responsibility yours. I am afraid that my brother sometimes thinks with his heart, and not with his head, as did I today.”
“I am uncertain whether your brother thinks with his heart or with misguided impressions.”
“Hmmm. That’s an interesting concept. What are misguided impressions?”
“Your brother senses, sometimes he sees, things that are not there, and he misses things that are. It is a hard lesson for a scout to learn, for with his mind, he must perceive what is there to perceive, and nothing else.”
“Ah, now I understand…I think.” She dropped into silence, although after a slight pause, she said, “Do you think Julian is safe?”
“Haa’he, I do. It is my belief that he is lost. When this rain ceases, I will ride out to find his trail and discover what has happened to him.”
“His trail? But it’s raining. Won’t that wash it away?”
“I will find it.”
“He’ll be hungry now too.”
“He has his gun with him. He knows how to use it, and he knows how to build a fire. He is probably having a good adventure.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are right.” She fell silent for interminable minutes. “I’m sorry I have caused you so much trouble.”
He shrugged, and again he stared away from her, looking, it seemed, at most anything but her.
After a slight hesitation, she asked, “Mr. Hawk, is there anything wrong? I mean, I know that our last words to each other were hardly amicable, but…”
“There is nothing wrong.”
“I don’t believe you. Why, since I have sat down here, you have hardly looked at me. I realize I must appear a sight, what with my hair in disarray and such, but—”
“You are beautiful.”
Those words, and the passion behind them, caused her to pause and to send him a speculative glance. “Thank you. But it does seem to me as if you are acting strangely. Usually you at least glance at me when we speak.”
“Perhaps that is because when we typically talk to one another you are dressed.”
“Oh.” Her eyes grew wide, even while a cascade of warmth swept over her nerve endings.
She didn’t know what else to say, and so she dropped the subject entirely. “What is it you are cooking?”
“Prairie chicken. I looked for a buffalo, for I would have welcomed skinning one. But I could find none. There are two prairie chickens here. One for each of us.”
“Hmmm. It smells delicious, but I don’t think I could eat one of those entirely by myself.” She glanced at the chickens, which were sizzling, blackened by the fire, the aroma of them enticing beyond belief. Her stomach growled. “Are they almost ready?”
“They are. Are you hungry?”
“Very much.”
“Eat as much as you like. We will save the rest, for it might make a good soup.”
“But what will I eat the chicken with? We have no utensils, no plates, nothing. And the meat looks very hot.”
He took one of the chickens from the fire, smoke rising as the juices fell into the flame, and scooting the chicken from the stick that held it, he placed it on a slab of wood in front of her. Glancing at her, he slanted her a smile. “Fingers will do, I think.”
She grinned back at him. “Oh yes. Of course.” Delicious.
She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the meal was set before her.
Truth be told, it seemed the most savory of feasts she had ever eaten.
Juicy, succulent, cooked to perfection, the meat almost fell from the bone, while juices ran down her chin.
She wiped at that chin. After a moment, she held up greasy fingers. “Mr. Hawk, I have no napkins, I’m afraid.”
He looked around her. “The grass, your blanket, are best for this. Although a wise Indian will wipe the grease in his hair—it is known to be good.”
“In his hair?”
He nodded. “Makes it healthy.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I wish you hadn’t told me that. The next time I run my hands through your hair, I’ll…think…about…” Her words trailed away as her eyes grew big. Dear Lord, why had she said that?
Instantly, his gaze met hers, and they stared at one another for what seemed an eternity, the air practically steaming around them.
At last, he turned his face away from her.
She bit her lower lip. “Mr. Hawk, I’m sorry I said that.”
He remained silent.
“Actually,” she went on to say, “I’m sorry I said all those things to you the other day. I know I hurt you, but I didn’t know how else to impress upon you how precarious our situation is.”
Swift Hawk prodded the fire with a stick. “What does this word ‘precarious’ mean?”
“It means risky, not on solid ground, uncertain, dependent on the favor of others.”
He jerked his head to the left, his eyes still withheld from her. “You do not need to apologize. I understand why you did what you did. You were protecting me, as well as your brother.”
“And myself, as well. Yes, that’s right. But I should have…”
Silence reigned. He glanced at her. “Yes?” A single eyebrow lifted.
She pressed her lips together. Should she tell him the truth? If she did, it would strike a blow to all her well-thought-out plans. But what good had all those plans done her, except to give her more heartache?
Perhaps the truth, well stated, was a better idea. Besides, she could feel his hurt, even now.
Drawing in a deep sigh for courage, she squared her shoulders and plunged in. “I wasn’t quite truthful with you, I fear. Well, I was truthful, in a way, but…well, no I wasn’t, but… What I mean to say is that…” She paused, and he didn’t utter a word. Just looked at her.
Angelia beheld that stare and caught her breath. “The truth is, I meant to…to give you the wrong impression. I did it purposely…so as to discourage you. But in doing so I…well, I left out a few things. Maybe they’re important things.”
Again, he remained silent, though his eyes were trained on her.
Defensively, she drew the blanket around her and dropped her glance to the ground. “That day, that morning, when we made love, it was true that I wanted to do something good for you, but…well, what wasn’t true was that…that this was…the only reason…that I acted…as I did.”
A very long silence followed. After a time, he said, “I know. As soon as my anger left me, I realized this was true.”
“You did?”
He nodded. “That day, when you were in my arms, we touched one another and there were no secrets between us. For days I have known why you said what you did. And it is honorable. I honor you.”
Angelia nodded, a slight movement on her part. Another thought occurred to her. “Are you certain it was honorable, Mr. Hawk?”
Again he lifted that eyebrow of his.
“In truth, if I am as honorable as you say, why should I care what others think?” she asked. “Why should I be concerned about what they say? Am I not my own person?”
“But a person must live with others.”
“Yes. And people must also live with themselves. They must be true to who they are—no lies, not even to oneself. Mr. Hawk,” she said, trying her best to meet his gaze, “I have done you and myself a disservice. After all, when a person’s heart races at the mere thought of being near someone else, when she thinks of him constantly, when she wants to be near him, should she not be with him?
And when a person loves another person—”
She got no further.
In an instant, he had come up onto his knees and knelt before her, taking her in his arms, his lips paying tribute to her, kissing her cheeks, her hair, her neck, her lips.
“You love me.”
“Yes.”
She wondered if this was the answer he wanted to hear, for he frowned. After hesitating, he looked at her and said, “Why do you love me? I, who can give you none of the things a woman desires most?”
“Can you not?”
He shook his head. “What I said to you is still true. I cannot put you above my duties. At least not now. And you deserve better than what I have to offer you.”
“Do I?”
“Haa’he.”
“Are you trying to discourage me, Mr. Hawk?”
“No,” he replied instantly. “No, it is only that I do not understand.”
“I see. Perhaps that is only so because you are not looking at this directly. What you must comprehend is that you give me what I desire most: the shelter of your arms, the offer of spending the rest of your life with me. And besides…”
He drew her in toward him and held her face against his breast. “Besides?”
“I yearn to be with you, Swift Hawk.”