Marna (11 page)

But before entering the cabin, he pulled his fresh kill
from Sam's back and swung it high in a maple sapling.
He had spotted the marks of a large mountain cat not
too far away. The scent of the fresh meat might lure the
animal toward the cabin, but the slender whip of tree
would never bear its weight, and the meat would be
safe. If the frosty weather held, they would have fresh
meat for a long time. Well into the trapping season.

Stripping the saddle from the stallion, Matt staked
Sam only a few feet from the door, just in case the cat
was hungry enough to try to attack the horse.

Stepping upon the porch that Marna had argued for
also, Matt propped-the saddle against the wall. He
stood at the entrance, suddenly unsure of himself.
Should he knock? he wondered. Irritably he reminded
himself that the cabin was his home.

Still he didn't go barging in, but opened the door
quietly, the leather hinges barely squeaking. Moving
inside, he carefully wiped his feet on a dressed deerskin
placed there. His eyes swept the empty room, and it
was as he'd imagined. The fire burned brightly, casting
leaping shadows on the hearth and a bearskin rug a few
feet from it.

A fresh candle lit the table, and his glance took in
the two plates and mugs sitting opposite each other.
Moving to the fire, he lifted the lid off the kettle and
took a long sniff. He heard Marna's door open, then
heard her ask in a shy voice, "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat a bear," he replied.

Silently, and avoiding his eyes, she brought the plates
from the table. With a long-handled ladle she filled
them with tender pieces of meat and fresh vegetables
bartered from an Indian. She placed the plates on the
table and returned to the oven to pull out a pan of
golden corn bread. Returning to the fire once more, she picked up the coffeepot and announced quietly, "Supper is ready."

The stew was delicious, with a flavoring of herbs
Matt had never tasted. The coffee was fresh and strong.

At first he attacked the food in the manner he was
used to doing with the hunters. He forked great chunks
of meat into his mouth and chewed loudly. But gradually he became aware of the disapproving looks shot his
way. From under lowered lids he watched Marna cut
her food into small pieces, then chew slowly. Stubbornly he persisted in chomping and slurping. After a
while, though, the noisy consumption of his food became obnoxious even to his own ears. By the time he
was on his third cup of coffee, he was sipping as quietly
as Marna.

Later, as Marna cleared the table, Matt filled his pipe
and stretched out on the fur rug. Leaning on an elbow,
he puffed contentedly as he stared into the flames. How
long had it been since he had felt such well-being?

Marna finished tidying the kitchen area and pulled a
bench up to the fire. From a wooden pail turned into a
sewing basket, she pulled out a shirt of Matt's and
began mending a rip in the sleeve. The fire snapped
cheerfully, the dirge of a cricket somewhere around the
hearth blending in. A comfortable silence existed between them.

Matt lay on his back, his arms pillowing his head
His eyes traveled often to Marna's rich curves. He wondered what it would feel like to have that ripeness lie
beneath him, rising to meet his thrusts. Without warning, desire was shooting through him, burning like a
fever. His gaze rose to the face bent over the sewing,
and he jerked his eyes away and stared moodily into the
fire.

Damn her and her strange notions, he fumed inwardly. And Hertha was just as strange. Otherwise she
would get after the girl, make her take more pride in herself. If the old woman could come up with something to cure snakebite, surely she could find something
to protect the girl's face. He threw a fast glance at
Marna. He felt like asking her again to wash the grime
off her face. Maybe even demand that she did.

As he wavered back and forth, debating whether to
use his power as a husband or just forget about her
completely, a knock sounded at the door. Marna hurried to answer it When she greeted Caleb, a frown
gathered between Matt's eyes. What in the blazes did
Caleb want?

Matt glowered at Caleb. Caleb took a step toward
him, "Matt, I want to talk to you seriously. The whole
camp knows you don't love Marna. That's one reason
Corey acted the way he did last night." He paused a
moment to form his next words. "I love Marna and
want to marry her. A real marriage in every way. Will
you release her?"

Marna stared up at Caleb, a small gasp rushing
through her lips. Her heart raced. Caleb was sincere.
Her eyes swung to Matt. What would her strange husband answer? She began to tremble in dread apprehension. He would agree, of course. He would be only too
glad to be rid of her ugly presence and sharp tongue.

Matt stood rigid, seething inside. Caleb had a hell of
a nerve marching into a man's home and asking for his
wife. Did he think a man would just turn over his wife
like he would a clean pair of buckskins? It would serve
him right if Matt did let him have her. Let him feel the
bite of her tongue. Maybe he could see beyond that
curving flesh then. That body that made a man ache
until he could hardly stand it. Pulled at him until he
wanted to kill every man who looked at her.

Matt's face showed none of the thoughts. His voice
cold and unemotional, he said, "I'll be keepin' her."

Angry disappointment clouded Caleb's face. He
glared at Matt a minute, then paced rapidly through the
door.

With a grim look, Matt slammed the door and leaned
against it, his dark eyes stabbing out at Marna. "How
often does he come here?" he demanded.

Marna's chin came up sharply. "This is the first
time."

Matt gave a disagreeable laugh. "I'll just bet. I'll bet
every man in this camp is laughing behind my back.
That's why Corey sneaked over here last night. He
wanted his share, too."

Marna's head bent lower with each crushing word
flung in the air.

His emotions out of control, Matt did not see
Marna's distress. A devil had risen in him, and all he
could think of was to beat her down with more cruel
words. Towering over her, he sneered, "What do they
do, throw a blanket over your head?"

The words had no sooner left his mouth than he
longed to call them back. But before he could say
something to take away the sting, Marna gave a tortured cry and darted into her room.

The door slammed and he stood looking at it. Should
he follow her, ask her to forgive him? He slowly shook
his head. What could he possibly say that would wipe
away the hurt he had given her? She could have nothing
but hate for him now.

Sighing, he threw a wistful look at his bed. His careless, angry words had taken care of that. Picking up his
rifle, he stepped out into the night and reluctantly made
his way to the men's quarters.

Without lighting a candle, Marna stumbled through
the darkness of her room and threw herself on the fragrant cedar bed. Dry-eyed, she stared into the blackness. Her hurt was too strong even for the comfort of
tears. All her life she had been called ugly, and likened
to many things. But the sarcasm her husband put into
his words had spoken more plainly than any descriptive
phrase he could have used.

Unconsciously her fingers curled into fists. How she hated him. If only she were a man. She'd beat his hateful mouth into a bloody smear. As for washing her face,
never! Never, as long as she lived. Let him be stuck for
the rest of his life with a wife whose ugliness would
embarrass him among his friends.

Oh, I could have had him in my bed, she assured
herself, remembering how his eyes had quickened as he
watched her. All I'd have had to do was wash my face
and he 'd have been at me. But if he's only looking for a
pretty face in a wife, then hes not the man for me.

She folded her arms across her breasts, pushing back
the tingle that had risen at the thought of Matt's making
love to her. Her lips firmed in a hard line. What a fool
she'd been for ever wanting such a pride-filled, superficial man like that to love her. He did not know the
meaning of true love.

The lonely sound of the wind and the creaking of
pine boughs outside her window brought the relief of
tears. Adrift between wanting the comfort of her grandmother's arms, and recognizing that she would always
be denied the love of a husband, she finally lost herself
in sleep.

When Matt arrived at headquarters, the men were just
breaking up a card game and preparing to go to bed.
A heated argument was going on as to who would use
Corey's squaw when he was finished with her.

A low moan drew Matt's attention to the pair lying
in a dark corner. Dove stared vacantly at the ceiling,
limp and exhausted, waiting for the fat hunter to finish
with her. Pity stirred in Matt. By the end of the trapping season the girl would be burned out, old beyond
her age. Corey's treatment of the young squaw had
caused her to lose her sanity. It was rumored that he
had caused the death of two Indian women. In both
instances the two had gotten with child and had miscarried due to his heavy demands on them. They had hemorrhaged to death. Yesterday Matt had learned that
Dove, too, was in a family way, and he wondered how
long it would be before she lost her burden.

Corey's heavy body slumped over the thin form of
the young girl, and it seemed that he would sleep now.
He lay inert, breathing evenly. As Matt continued to
watch, Dove began weakly to inch her body from beneath the great weight. She was almost free when the
hunter stirred and mumbled an oath. She stared up at
him in dread as his hand fastened in her hair. Half
asleep, he growled, "Where do you think you're goin',
bitch?"

She gave a small whimper of pain as she was jerked
back in place. Silent tears ran down her cheeks.

The other men had also been watching in disgust.
They yearned to pull Corey off the girl, but the law of
the hills dictated no interference between a man and his
squaw. She was his to do with as he pleased, and out of
pure meanness Corey was going to keep the squaw in
his bed all night. The two who had argued over Dove
rolled themselves up in their blankets silently. She was
half dead anyway, and neither one wanted any part in
finishing her off.

Matt glanced at Caleb, who stared glumly into the
fire. He knew where the hunter's thoughts were. In the
same place as his own.

Matt stretched out on a bunk. His blood surged
through him, and he burned with the longing to make
Marna's body tremble and strain against him. He could
almost feel the length of her white thighs against his
own. For a fleeting second he was determined that he
would return to the cabin and claim her. He had every
right She was his wife.

But when he sat up and reached for his moccasins,
he remembered the cruel words he had flung out at her.
He lay back down. He didn't have the nerve to go to
her.

He rolled over on his side, determined to put his wife
out of his mind. If he continued to dwell on her like
this, the first thing he'd know, he'd be hooked. He
wouldn't care how awful she looked.

Close to an hour later Marna awakened with an
urgent thirst. The salty tears had left her throat parched
and dry. She rose and entered the other room and made
her way to the water pail. But when she dipped the
long-handled gourd dipper in, it scraped against the
empty bottom.

She frowned in vexation. Laying the dipper on the
table, she picked up the pail and headed for the door. It
was a white night, so brilliant each tree and boulder
stood out distinctly. She peered across at the men's
quarters, and all was quiet. Her soft lips lifted in a
sneer. She hoped her husband was enjoying his squaw.
Determined not to waste her thoughts on him, she
stepped off the porch.

As she made her way quickly to the sparkling water
that gurgled from beneath a cabin-sized boulder, she
shot anxious glances into the forest There were so
many night creatures out there, but they would not
bother her, she tried to assure herself as she dragged
the pail through the trough Caleb had dug out for her.
She was in the act of lifting the full vessel when a
clattering of stones rolled down the side of the brushcovered stone ledge. She crouched to the ground,
shivering. Was that" awful Corey spying on her? She
turned her head to one side, listening. The rattle came
again, only this time accompanied by a sharp snorting
and hissing.

She went rigid with terror. She knew that sound so
well. Her eyes flew up to search the brush, and her
blood froze. Perched on the ledge, ready to spring, was
a huge mountain cat. Its eyes were twin points of shining red. Overcome by panic, Marna forgot her grand mother's teaching about facing out a cat. Instead, she
dropped the pail, wheeled, and raced for the cabin.

As she ran she could hear Matt's hound baying in the
distance. Why isn't he here guarding the camp? her
frantic mind screamed.

The cabin seemed miles away, and she threw a quick
look behind her. The cat was nowhere in sight, and her
heart fluttered, wondering where it was. She heard Sam
snorting fearfully, and she raced on.

She was almost at the porch when she heard the
warning growl at her heels, then felt the animal's heavy
weight upon her. As she was brought to her knees,
piercing screams ripped from her throat. Sharp claws
dug into her shoulders. Instinctively her hands grabbed
the porch step, and she screamed again, calling Matt's
name.

Her heart racing until she thought it would surely
burst, she struggled to crawl upon the porch and gain
the safety of the cabin. But just as her fingers touched
the boards, strong jaws clamped over her thigh. Dear
God in heaven, she prayed as the cat flung its head
back and forth, trying to drag her loose.

Her fingers slipped, then quickly found the porch
post. She hung on desperately, the blood trickling down
her back, her strength waning. She tried to scream
again, but only a harsh grating sound came from her
throat.