Daughter of the Sword (18 page)

Through a blur of tears, she saw his dear, dark head; she longed to cradle it against her and whisper that nothing mattered except their love.…

Only it did.

“Shall we go by the buffalo wallow?” he asked in an expressionless tone.

Unable to speak, she shook her head. She wanted only to be home, to give way to the storm of weeping building within her.

They rode for a long time in silence. At last he said, “I'm going to paint my way west, probably spend the winter in California. By the time I come back in the spring, things may have changed. Unless you forbid me, Deborah, I'll ask you again to come with me.”

Her heart sank at the thought of his leaving but rose because at least he wasn't definitely, positively putting her out of his life—though it might be better for them both if he did.

“Things may change by spring,” she said tersely, “but it'll probably be for the worse.”

He gave her an almost humorous glance. “And I thought Americans were optimistic!”

“In the long run, yes, but I don't see how anyone can expect anything but trouble for the next few years.”

His gaze touched her, lingered. The longing between them was almost palpable. How could he go away? Life would be all one color without him, the dry, sere, yellow-brown of the prairie in autumn, the frigid white of winter. But if he came in the spring, oh, then she would live again! For that little while. It was something to hold on to, however doomed. Something
might
happen. Peace might be nearer.

Or—she scarcely dared think it even to herself, yet she couldn't keep from it—Dane might decide to live in the Territory.

“Whatever happens,” he promised, “I'll see you in the spring.”

Her scalp prickled at that. To make such a vow seemed an almost sacrilegious daring of fate. He was making a long, hazardous journey; she lived in a wild land in wild times. “Don't promise,” she said hastily, as if trying to avert a curse. “Just come if you can—if you still want to—”

“Oh, my love,” he said, “if I were in my grave, I'd still want to!”

As they rode up to the stable, Thos came out and offered to see to the horses, but Dane said he was riding on to Lawrence. “You can take care of your sister's horse, though,” he said, swinging down and lifting Deborah lightly to the ground.

“I can't keep her!” Deborah protested.

“What else can I do with a lady's horse?” shrugged Dane. “Would you want it on your very tender conscience that I sold her to someone who might not be as good to her as you'd be?” He chuckled, hands still on her waist. “Think of Chica, not your pride.”

“But the saddle—”

“The livery stable owner traded it to me for a pair of boots. He won't want to trade back.”

She moved away from his hands. The feel of him was an indelible brand. Whatever happened, she was his—even if they never possessed each other; even if they never met again.

“You make it hard to say no.” Her voice was tremulous and she thought her face must be as naked.

His mouth curved down. “You say no with great facility, sweetheart. But since it's you I love,
you
with all your stubborn resolves and absurdities, I suppose I can't cavil with fate for surrounding my special rose with extremely spiky thorns.”

He bent his head and kissed her. She answered with total yielding, melting into him, trying to be part of him. Shaken, he put her from him. Obsessed by her own yearning, she still thrilled triumphantly at the trembling that ran through his tall, strong body.

“Little witch,” he murmured as Thos came out of the stable, “you flow against me like that when there's nothing I can do about it but ache and dream of you! But you're so young! If any other man can woo you from me, better he does it now.”

He shook hands with a surprised Thos, then adjured him to take care of his twin, and going to the cabin, he made an expeditious farewell to Leticia and Josiah. He refused dinner. The whole family waved him off. Deborah was half-glad, half-sorry that he couldn't kiss her again.

Thank goodness, though they must be full of questions, the family didn't ask them right then, but went about their evening work and let her watch the big gray horse and its rider vanish into the distance.

Her heart felt wrenched from her body. She had to wrestle with all her strength against the wish to saddle Chica and ride after him—beg him to stay, or, if that failed, go away with him. Her family would approve. They wouldn't blame her; they'd even be relieved.

In a conflict like that of this border, which was only an exaggerated concentration of the hatred and mistrust growing between the North and the South, slave and free states, what did one person matter, one young woman?

Very little, probably. Except to herself. But that, really, was the essential thing, the core of her being.
Good-bye, my love,
she said silently.
Good-bye, my darling. Be safe and well and happy.

He was out of sight now. Tears streamed from her eyes as she stared into that emptiness. It seemed an eternity till spring.

The family was clearly perplexed, and as supper neared an end, Deborah found it impossible to bear their tactful, worried glances. Might as well say it straight out to all of them at once rather than have to go through it with each of them separately.

“Dane asked me to marry him,” she said, trying to keep her tone steady. “He won't stay in Kansas, so I told him no.”

Thos stared at her in shock. “Well, for heaven's sake, 'Borah, why should he stay in Kansas?”

“He doesn't have to, but I do.”

Father cleared his throat. “Daughter, your mother and I talked about this after your young man called on us yesterday. We agreed it would be best for you to be in a safer place. Don't feel you must stay because of us.”

Why was Judith watching her so enigmatically? Unable to speak for a moment, Deborah shook her head. “Why won't anyone believe I care about what happens here? It's not just because you're here. I belong, too! I can't go off and forget it!”

“But—” Thos began.

Leticia put her hand over Deborah's and pressed it. “That'll do, Thos. So long as Deborah's not staying because of the family, it's her decision.”

“She looks mighty unhappy about it!” Thos snorted.

“Things more important than bein' happy,” Judith said unexpectedly. Her tawny eyes regarded Deborah with approval instead of with their usual guarded skepticism.

“He's coming back in the spring,” Mother said. “By then things may be better.”

Deborah nodded mutely. Rising, she began to clear away the table.

Judith, helping her, murmured consolingly, “He be back, Deborah. He be back.”

But what good would that do if nothing had changed?

Deborah supposed that Rolf would go with Dane. A few days after the parting, she was grooming Chica, a task she enjoyed both because she loved the little mare and because Chica was Dane's gift. Chica's ears pricked up and she whinnied as a rider came into view on the rutted trail to town.

A bay horse. And from his arrogant posture and massive shoulders, Deborah recognized him long before she could make out his features. Rolf. The wrong brother.

Alarm shot through her. Thos was in town delivering the paper. Rolf had been circumspect of late, but there hadn't been much choice, they hadn't been alone. Now, to all purposes they would be, since Judith must be warned to keep out of sight.

Going to the cabin in a casual manner, Deborah stepped inside and warned Judith. “Don't come out even if you hear us quarreling,” she said. “There's something about Rolf I don't trust.”

Judith's teeth showed. “Don't fret your mind, Deborah! If it sound like I need to come out, I do it so he won' know what hit him!”

She made for the lean-to while Deborah, reassured by Judith's promise, went outside and pretended surprise as Rolf trotted up the lane. “I thought you'd gone to California,” she said as he sprang down and looped his reins around a post.

He smiled at her, green eyes watchful. “I was—invited. But Dane couldn't lasso and drag me all the way.”

“You—you're staying here till he comes back?”

“That distresses you?”

She shrugged, carefully working the tangles out of Chica's mane. “I should think California and the way there would be much more interesting than Lawrence.”

“Ah, but you see,” he said and laughed, “with Dane gone, things become extremely interesting.”

He'd moved to stand across from her; now he ran his hands over the mare in a proprietary way that made Deborah go stiff.

Challenging his amused gaze across Chica's withers, she said coldly, “You won't find me interesting, Mr. Hunter. My feelings haven't changed.”

“Mr.
Hunter?” he mocked good-naturedly. “Come now, we know each other better than that!” She said nothing, concentrating on Chica. “My feelings haven't changed, either,” Rolf said slowly. “And you
do
interest me; in fact, you're the only woman who's ever done so for more than a fortnight.”

“Even Dane's almost-fiancée?” Deborah couldn't resist asking.

Rolf lifted one shoulder. He was strikingly handsome today in a fringed doeskin vest over his full-sleeved, open-throated white shirt. He was holding his black slouch hat, and his golden hair shone bright in the sun. “So he told you about that? Mighty dull young lady. If he hadn't chosen her, I'd never have looked at her. I spared him years of boredom.”

“Is that what you're trying to do now?”

“Lord, no!” The pupils of his eyes contracted to tiny points, and in the harsh light, the usually dark jade irises glowed with almost a sulfurish cast. “You're the only woman I've ever wanted enough to marry.”

“That's unfortunate. I don't wish to marry you.”

His mouth hardened. She was glad Chica was between them. Then, again, he began to caress the mare, his hands sensitive and sure. The way he'd touch a woman? Deborah pushed the unwelcome thought away, startled and revolted at the awareness of him that shot through her, though she didn't like him, didn't trust him.

Was that what Dane's lovemaking had done? Awakened her senses, brought her to ripening when he wasn't there for the harvest? She must be winter, then, the sleeping, frozen earth, until he came back.

As if guessing the treachery of her quickened blood, Rolf laughed. “I'm not sure that what you want counts all that much in what you do. You wanted to marry Dane, I'll be bound, but you didn't.”

“If you know that much, you know why.”

“My noble brother sees it as his duty to take you away from here. I wouldn't.” Rolf gestured expansively. “Have me, Deborah, and I'll join Lane and scourge the pro-slavers or jog along with old Brown on slave-stealing—anything to help your cause.”

“Anything for a fight,” she said wonderingly. “You don't care at all who wins Kansas—whether we come in as a slave state or free!”

“Not a particle,” he said cheerfully. “But if we were married, I'd serve your cause.” He slanted her a teasing look. “As keen an abolitionist as you are, that should persuade you to take me.”

She made a sound of revulsion. “It's terrible that you'd be willing to kill over something you don't believe!”

“Believing's what makes it holy?” He chuckled derisively, but there was jealousy in his voice. “If Dane had made the same offer, you'd have thought him a hero!”

“He wouldn't fight unless he believed. Besides, I don't think Englishmen should get mixed up in our troubles.”

“Afraid we'd recolonize you?”

Deborah didn't answer. She was appalled at Rolf's light-hearted proposition. He might have been asking her to dance. Why hadn't Dane taken him away? Was this more of his waiting to see if she resisted Rolf before venturing himself? Didn't he realize how jealous his younger brother was? She believed that his obsession with her sprang mostly from her being the woman Dane wanted. As if realizing that he was antagonizing her, Rolf shrugged and stopped stroking the mare.

“Aren't you going to ask me in?”

“No. Thos is in town, as I suspect you perfectly well know!”

“I'm thirsty.”

“Would you like buttermilk, water, or coffee? I'll bring it to you.” He colored to the roots of his waving hair.

“I want to come in your house and sit down, damn it! It's not as if I hadn't often been a guest.”

“When Thos or my parents were here. If you want to wait outside till they come home, you're very welcome to.”

He stared at her so angrily that she decided to try vaulting onto Chica and making a bareback dash if he tried to touch her. He crossed his arms resolutely and she thought he'd schooled himself to be patient.

“All right. I'll call when your family's home, sweet Deborah.” Stepping around Chica's head, he took Deborah's free hand and brought it to his lips. “Give me some credit for doing this instead of what I want to,” he said huskily. He almost flung her hand from him, then turned abruptly to his horse.

Mounted, he watched her broodingly. “You'll be mine. I want you to want it, to choose me over Dane, so I'll play your game. But don't doubt the end.”

Spinning the big bay around, he was off, raising dust. Deborah's breath escaped in a rush. Thank goodness, he was gone! She shivered in spite of the heat. That he hadn't used force, that he'd thought her alone, yet respected her, was more troubling in a way than if he'd pulled her to him as he had that first time they met. He must love her.

That could be dangerous. She remembered his kiss, touched with her own blood. Was there no way to be rid of him? Deborah pressed her face to Chica's shoulder. Why had Dane left her?

The winter would be so long.

The next day was Sunday. Rolf, impeccably turned out in a black suit, sat behind the Whitlaws, perturbing Deborah so much that she scarcely heard a thing Reverend Cordley said. He accompanied them to the buggy and eagerly accepted when Mother invited him to come out for dinner, promising to catch up as soon as he got his horse from the livery stable.