Blue Moon (5 page)

He pulled himself up until he was standing on the porch. She grimaced when he dropped the beaver carcasses on the wooden deck, so he picked them up again and carried them around the corner out of sight. When he came back, she was standing with one hand braced against the rail that surrounded the porch. Her slight figure was almost lost inside the dress. He took in the rest of her. Dirty, she had been lovely. Clean, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

In that moment he knew that he could stand there forever just for the privilege of watching the sunlight shimmer on her hair, to see the soft breeze lift the ends of her flowing curls and tease them around her shoulders. To see her stand there and look back at him made his head swim and his mouth go dry. Surely his physical reaction had nothing to do with her. Surely there was something else wrong with him, something behind this strange surge of longing, the overwhelming need for something elusive and far more than he had ever wanted out of life before.

Olivia seemed hesitant to step away from the rail. Why
would
she dare move, he wondered, with him standing there staring at her with his one good eye like some kind of a madman? The only way to break the spell was to concentrate on anything but her.

“The dress and shawl were my mother’s,” he said abruptly.

She ran a hand over the smooth doeskin. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not fancy.” He felt as if his throat were closing up and could not get more than two words out.

“Still, it’s very nice. It feels like velvet. The shawl is wonderful.”

“You look better.”

He almost told her she looked beautiful.

He was no saint, just a flesh-and-blood man, and right now his flesh and blood were taking over his rational thought. If the whore down in New Orleans had not laughed in his face, if he had ever had a woman, maybe he would not be standing here salivating over Olivia Bond, wondering what it would feel like to take her in his arms and make love to her. As it was, he could only imagine how it would be to run his hands over her smooth skin, to wrap himself in her long hair, to bury himself inside her.

His heart was thundering in his chest, his blood hammering at his temples. He was either going stark raving mad with desire or coming down with some terrible disease.

He forced himself to concentrate. Her color had faded except for two bright spots high across her cheeks. It was a moment or two before he realized she was starting to weave. Without thinking, he went to her, slipped his arm around her waist, felt her sag against him.

She smelled of soap and sunlight and fresh air. Her hair was as soft as down. Holding her, he felt weightless, as if moving through a dream. A glance at her face, suddenly so near, and he saw her thick sable lashes flutter.

He held her as they walked back into the cabin, kept his arm tight around her waist. They stepped around the wash-tub. Near it there were still small puddles of water on the floor. He imagined her standing naked in the barrel, splashing water over herself, kneeling with water beaded on her skin as she washed her long hair. There was a tightness in his loins, a very loud pounding in his ears. He did not release her until she was lying on the bed again. He drew away from her slowly and stood back. His arms felt empty. Quickly he turned away and went back outside to get her some water; he came back in with a mugful.

He waited until she had taken a few sips and then asked, “Are you all right?”

Olivia nodded, frowning with concern. “I got a little dizzy all of a sudden.”

“You’re still weak on your feet, is all.”

“Surely I should be feeling better by now.”

“You’re moving about more every day.”

She laced her fingers together, looking at them, then back up at him. “Why are you being so kind to me? I can’t possibly repay you.”

“
Why
?” He was confused by her question.

She sighed. “You have been nothing but kind and I … well, I don’t—” Huge tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She quickly brushed them away, but not before one plopped on the bodice of the doeskin.

Noah watched the droplet widen into a small circle as it soaked into the soft leather.

“Don’t cry.” He didn’t mean for the words to come out as harsh as they sounded.

Immediately she looked over at him and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” That, too, came out as a harsh command. At a complete loss, he paced over to the table and sat down on a stool and watched her, wishing he knew something, anything of dealing with women.

•   •   •

Olivia tried to stop her tears. She was unused to such kindness. Noah LeCroix was quickly proving to be more honorable than any man she had ever known.

She put her hand to her temple and rubbed it slowly. Her head no longer ached as badly as before, and she really had felt stronger until the light and woozy feeling had come upon her so suddenly, surprising her as much as Noah’s rush to her side.

She had expected him to grab the stool she had carried out to the porch and shove it under her, but he had slipped his arm around her. Instead of recoiling in fear of his touch, she had experienced a breathtaking sense of security, a quiet sense of peace, almost as if she no longer had to battle alone to protect herself. The comfort of such a feeling had reduced her to tears.

And more, she had known the flush of desire, the need to be held by Noah LeCroix, which had come as more than a shock. After what she had been through, physical attraction to a man was something she had been sure she would never, ever feel.

Confused, frightened by her feelings, she knew she had to get away from here, from him, from what being alone with him was beginning to do to her.

“I shouldn’t be here. I have to go—”

“You’re safe here,” he assured her.

Her throat closed. She choked back a sob. Being safe was a dream that had evaded her for so very, very long.

“Don’t do that!” For the first time, he raised his voice and spoke to her sharply. Noah stood up and began to pace, tracking through the water she had splashed on the floor.

She tried to stop crying, to wipe away tears as fast as they could fall.

She licked a tear off the corner of her mouth and watched him grow more and more uncomfortable until finally he turned to her again.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m no good at this.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. Then he stopped pacing and stood beside the bed. “You want more water or something?”

She shook her head.

“Are you hungry?”

She began to hiccup down sobs. Olivia buried her face in her hands and shook her head no. She held her breath as she tried to pull herself together. He was getting more agitated the more she cried. Finally, when she thought she had herself under control, she looked up at Noah. He was still there at her bedside, his hands clenched into fists. She tried to smile, managed half of one, and saw him relax a bit.

“That’s better,” he muttered, sounding more perturbed than relieved. “Listen, I’ve got those beavers to clean.”

She knew she would be seeing the back of him soon. He had the look on his face she had come to recognize, the one he always wore right before he walked out.

“You’ve been so good to me. I wish there were something I could do to repay you.” She had nothing to give. No coin, no worldly goods. Nothing but herself, her body. Certain that the idea came from some dark, soiled corner of her soul, she was appalled at herself for even thinking it, knowing full well that before she had been torn from her family, she had been so innocent that such a thought would never have crossed her mind.

“I can cook for you,” she said, recalling her old life. “I can clean and sweep and straighten things for you.” It was a meaningless offer, for he appeared to be quite self-sufficient.

“You don’t owe me anything. I wasn’t about to leave you out there alone to die in the swamp. Anyone would do the same.”

“No.” She shook her head, quite certain of it. “Not everyone would help a stranger, especially a woman alone. Not everyone would be so kind. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

He turned away. “I don’t guess you’ve run into too many half-breeds with one eye.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He still looked as if he wanted to leave, and yet he tarried.

“What is it?” Olivia asked.

“You could clear up one thing for me, if you would.”

She nodded, knowing what he was going to say. When he spoke, the request came as no surprise.

“You can tell me what you were doing lost out here in the first place. You didn’t just fall out of the sky.”

There was so much to tell, mostly things she did not want anyone else to know, but she could tell him some of it; she owed him that much.

“I was traveling to Illinois from Louisiana with an English family, Stanley and Polly Marlborough, and their baby daughter. I met them in New Orleans and in exchange for the privilege of traveling north with them, I cared for their little girl.”

As her story slowly unfolded, her tears were replaced by her lingering outrage at Stanley Marlborough. Noah walked to the table and pulled out the remaining stool, sat down and continued to give her his attention.

“Around noon of the day you found me, we stopped the oxcart along the trail and had taken our midday meal and rest. Polly and the baby were asleep in the shade of a hickory tree and I had decided to walk to a nearby stream to wash up a bit and clean the eating utensils.”

Olivia paused long enough to reach up and tuck her hair back behind her ears, then she gathered the shawl close. Outside, the birds seemed to be pouring out all the singing they had been denied during the rainstorm. The gentle breeze was still blowing the last of the clouds away, but inside the cabin the air was still. Noah watched her in silence and waited patiently to hear what she had to say.

“I had just wandered down to the stream when Mr. Marlborough came up behind me, grabbed me by the arms, turned me around and pulled me up against him.” Remembering, she reached up and touched her fingertips to her mouth. “Before I could scream, he covered my mouth with his. I tried to pull away.”

Lost in the memory, she fell silent, seeing it all over again. Then she shook herself and continued. “Finally, I managed to pull away from him and started running, through the water at first, right through the streambed. I ran up the bank on the other side and did not look back. I didn’t notice the forest growing more dense until it was too late and I had turned down a trail that led into the swamp. I was afraid to look back, afraid Mr. Marlborough might be searching for me.”

Stanley Marlborough was young and able, not yet twenty-five, with the fine features of an English aristocrat: clear blue eyes, ruddy skin, sandy hair. Used to having everything he wanted, he was so angry that he chased her at first. She heard his footsteps pounding close behind her, his breath coming in ragged bursts. When he slowed and fell behind, she reckoned he was more afraid of Polly than he was determined to catch his quarry. Still, she raced on, long after she could not hear him anymore.

“By the time I realized I was lost, I was too confused to find my way out. I wandered down one path after another until dusk, and then I was terribly frightened that I was going to have to spend the night alone in the swamp. I heard a bobcat scream, started running and hit my head on a fallen log. That’s the last thing I remember before I woke up here.”

Noah had not moved. He sat so still that she thought he was not listening for a moment, until she looked hard into his face and what she saw there made her shiver. His expression had darkened to one of barely suppressed anger, one she would not have guessed him capable of.

“That explains it.” He was looking at the floor now, his voice so soft she barely heard.

“What?”

He lifted his head and looked directly at her. “Now I know why I saw all that fear in your eyes when you awakened.”

“I didn’t know where I was.”

“It was more than that. You were afraid of me, because of die way I look.” He gestured toward his eye patch and scar. “But it was also because of what that man tried to do to you.”

She felt the sting of tears again, and reminded herself that Noah would become upset if she cried again. She blinked the tears away.

“What that man tried to do to you was not your fault.”

She wiped her face, smearing tears down her cheeks. Could he really understand? Would anyone ever understand how confused she had been without the faintest idea why he had attacked her? She had done nothing to deserve his unwanted attention. What if there was some flaw in her? Something that she unwittingly did that encouraged the worst in a man?

“Thank you for saying that,” she said softly, still in doubt. “Especially since you really don’t know me at all.”

“I know enough.” Noah got to his feet, nudging the stool back under the table with his foot.

She knew he was eager to tend to the grisly task of skinning the beavers, but he lingered at the foot of the bed.

“You let me know as soon as you feel up to heading out of here and I’ll take you to the edge of the swamp.”

He walked out without a second glance and, oddly, Olivia felt a wave of regret. She wished she had not told him anything about her experience with Stanley Marlborough. She wished she had simply made up some story about becoming separated from her traveling companions, but she owed him the truth—it was the least she could do for him. He had shown her only kindness, asked nothing else of her. She would not hide the truth from him, as she would have to from so many others for the rest of her life.

But now that he knew, did he seem more anxious than before to be rid of her?

Noah walked around the porch to the back of the cabin, pulled his skinning knife out of its sheath, raised it high and plunged it into the wooden railing. Then he braced his hands, one on either side of the knife, and tightened his fingers around the smooth cypress. He had no idea what Stanley Marlborough looked like, but he could easily imagine an Englishman’s mush-colored face and the feel of a scrawny neck between his hands.