Maverick Heart (15 page)

If Freddy had been any other properly bred English girl, it would have been a novel sensation. But she had ridden bareback in her rowdy youth and absolutely loved it. The feel of the power between her thighs was exhilarating, rather than terrifying. “Oh, Rand,” she breathed. “I think we’re actually going to get away.”

“I’ve never been so glad in my life that you’re a neck-or-nothing rider,” Rand muttered as he mounted his own pony. His legs nearly reached the ground on either side of the animal.

Freddy
tsked
as she examined the halter that provided the only control she had over the Indian pony. “I suppose it doesn’t matter that I probably can’t stop this animal, because I don’t want him to stop anytime soon.”

“Thank you, Willow,” Rand said. “We’ll be forever
in your debt. If there’s ever any way I can repay you—”

“I want nothing from you, white man. One further warning I will give you. Do not lead the soldiers back to this place. We will be gone from here long before you can return. And Hawk will be watching and waiting with many braves to ambush and kill you. Now go.”

Freddy didn’t have to be told twice. She kicked the Indian pony hard and the animal jumped into a stiff-legged trot with Rand not far behind her.

Freddy felt like shouting. Once away from the village, they loped until the horses were winded, then slowed to a walk to allow them a rest. “We’re free, Rand. We’re free! All we have to do is keep riding south and—oh, my God. How do we know we’re going in the right direction?”

“I thought she pointed us in the right direction.”

“I assumed you knew which way to go.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“You’re a man. You’re supposed to know these things.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Freddy halted her mount, and Rand pulled his pony to a stop beside her. She looked up at the sky. “Isn’t there some way you can tell from the stars which direction is north?”

“I think so. But I never learned how.”

“What now?”

“We could wait till daylight. I could figure it out
then. Assuming the sun comes up tomorrow, of course.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“I wasn’t joking. Look at those clouds scudding past the moon. If it rains we’ll be out of luck.”

“We can’t stop. You heard what Willow said. Hawk will come after us as soon as he returns. We need to get to the fort before then.”

“Then I suggest we keep riding in the same direction,” Rand said. “And hope it’s south.”

“I guess we don’t have much choice.” Freddy kicked her horse into a mile-eating trot, and Rand followed after her.

Unfortunately, they were headed due north.

“I’m hungry, and I want to go home.”

“You sound like a seven-year-old,” Rand said, ruffling Freddy’s hair as he would a pouting child’s.

“Oh, surely ten or eleven at least,” Freddy quipped.

She met Rand’s heavy-lidded gaze and glanced quickly away from the tenderness—mixed with something not quite so benign—she found there.

Rand’s arm circled her waist as they lay spooned together. The rising sun hadn’t yet warmed the ground, and she snuggled close to share his warmth. She felt surprisingly safe and secure, even though they had no shelter over their heads, no weapons to defend themselves against predators, animal or human. She knew Rand would protect her with his life.

She had awakened to find him watching her, his gray eyes lambent, his lips full. Instinctively she had recognized the signs for what they were. She had stretched lazily, like a cat, letting her breasts brush against his chest and causing him to make a sound in his throat somewhere between a grunt and a groan.

She wouldn’t have known what to do if he had taken advantage of her invitation. She was merely testing her sexual wings, making a little soaring trip and flying right back to the nest. She supposed the fact that she felt free to tease him meant that she trusted him. Which surprised her, because she was not normally a trusting sort of person. At least not where young men—the kind who might compromise an unwary female and force her into an unwanted marriage—were concerned.

“I know I’m used to being a little indulged,” she said.

Rand snorted at the understatement.

“But I’ve always believed that if the circumstances ever arose when I needed to be strong, I could be.” She swallowed over the surprising lump of feeling that clogged her throat. “I don’t feel very brave at the moment, Rand. In fact, I’m feeling pretty scared.”

Rand closed his arms tighter around the woman he loved, bracing for the pain that occurred when he strained the muscles in his wounded shoulder. He understood her fear. They had spent the night along the bank of an unknown river, hidden amid thickly overgrown cottonwoods
and willow trees matted together with tough vines. Completely lost.

“I’ll take care of you, Freddy,” Rand murmured. “I’ll be strong for both of us.”

But his comment was more wishful thinking than fact. He had been so weakened by his wound that they had been forced to stop after only a few hours of riding. As soon as the sun began to rise he realized it was a good thing they had stopped, because they had been headed in the wrong direction. It was sheer luck they had stumbled upon this river in the dark and been able to quench their thirst. He planned to follow the river south today, in the hope it would lead them to civilization, preferably not of the Indian variety.

“I wish I knew how to make a trap,” Rand said. “We’ve seen enough rabbits to fill both our stomachs. Of course, I have nothing with which to start a fire, so we’d have to eat our rabbit raw.”

“I could never eat a rabbit,” Freddy said, “cooked or raw.”

“Why not? They’re quite tasty, actually. Roasted, I mean. I’ve never had occasion to eat one raw myself.”

Freddy made a face. “My father raised rabbits for food on his summer estate. I used to sneak in and play with them when they were babies. I could never eat one after that.”

“You’d be surprised what you could eat when you’re really hungry.”

“Not rabbits. Please, Rand. How about a pheasant? We’ve seen plenty of those, too.”

“Pheasant it is,” Rand said. “Since I can’t catch either one, you might as well wish for what you want. Raw pheasant. Sounds delightful.” He smacked his lips.

Freddy chuckled. “That’s what I like about you, Rand. You could always make me laugh.”

“Is that all you like about me?” Rand knew he was taking a chance asking such a personal question. But if he was going to woo and win her, he had to know what she admired in a man.

“You’re not afraid to take chances,” she said. “Like coming all the way to America to seek your fortune.”

“I didn’t have much choice. My father left me nothing in England.”

“A lot of men would simply have chosen a rich wife and—” Freddy cut herself off.

Rand smiled. “Has the difference in our circumstances finally occurred to you, love? Yes, you have a fortune, or will someday, but no, that isn’t the reason I came courting.”

“I never thought for a moment—”

He kissed her to shut her up, because of course the thought had occurred to her. A little late, perhaps, but she wasn’t as grown up as she liked to think. He was barely four years her senior, yet he didn’t think he had ever been as naive or innocent as he believed her to be even now. Yet it was that very innocence that drew him. He had always believed the greatest beauty was to be found in an unfolding bud.

The instant Rand’s tongue touched her closed
lips, Freddy wrenched free. It was the same thing he had tried to do when he kissed her in the tipi, the first time her toes curled. Of course, they had been curling pretty regularly ever since. She stared at him, eyes cautious, a little anxious. Maybe it was a trick of some kind, something meant to make her believe he was
the one
, even though he wasn’t her Prince Charming. She had to admit it was working.

“It definitely wasn’t your fortune that attracted me to you, Freddy.”

“What was it, then?”

“Fishing for compliments? If only you were fishing for fish. There are people in the Far East, I believe, who actually eat raw fish.”

Freddy watched his lips curl into a mocking smile and smiled back at him, wondering all the while if he was going to kiss her again. An undercurrent of tension shimmered between them. Because she wanted it to happen again. And suspected he did, too.

She found it difficult to describe everything she was feeling. Agitated. Excited. Breathless. And curious about what would have happened if she had let him do with his tongue whatever it was he had been about to do.

“I fell in love with your eyes, Freddy,” Rand murmured against her forehead.

“My eyes?”

“You have the eyes of a dreamer—open and trusting and full of possibilities. I want to share
those dreams, Freddy. I want very much to be a part of them.”

His lips caressed her temple, slid down to close the eyes he had professed to love, then kissed the tip of her nose, and finally, at long, long last, found her mouth. Her lips were waiting for him.

Rand held Freddy loosely, ready to release her if she made the slightest effort to be free. She had done nothing to protest his kisses, but her cheeks had grown roses, and her eyelids remained lowered. She was a picture of maidenly modesty. He wondered what would happen if he kissed her as he wanted to, with his tongue, and touched her breasts with his hands and mouth.

Their mouths met and clung. Her lips were softer than he had imagined lips could be, yielding, totally unFreddylike. He broke the kiss and watched as her tongue slid out to harvest the dampness left by his. Tasting him.

“I want to kiss you, Freddy. May I?”

“All right, Rand.” She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed and pursed her lips into a bow.

He fought to keep from laughing, knowing that would be fatal to his cause. “Relax,” he murmured in her ear.

Her eyes flashed open. “I can’t re—”

He covered her mouth with his, letting his lips settle on hers, letting her feel the weight of them, the firmness, before he sent his tongue probing the seam of her lips, demanding the secrets of her mouth.

She jerked away once again and stared at him,
wide-eyed. “What was that … what were you doing, Rand?”

“It’s part of kissing.”

“Nobody except you ever kissed me like that!”

“I hope not! That kind of kissing is reserved for men and their—”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Mistresses?”

“A smart man will teach his wife how to please him in bed.”

“What about her pleasure?” Freddy demanded.

“Pleasing her is a great part of what pleases him,” he answered quietly.

“I see.”

“Do you?”

Truthfully, Freddy conceded, it was all a bit confusing. But she didn’t want to air her ignorance in front of Rand, not when he had already accused her of behaving like a child. She wanted him to see her as a woman. She didn’t want to examine why that should matter when she had already told him she couldn’t marry him. She settled back into his embrace and began idly tracing the line of his stubbled jaw. She was afraid to invite another kiss, uncertain whether she wanted to take any step leading to greater intimacy with him. Especially when she didn’t love him.

“I’ve never felt a man’s beard before,” she said, subtly withdrawing from the subject of kisses. “It’s odd how good it feels. Just now, when you kissed me, your beard scraped my cheek and … it
made me shiver.” She shivered again, remembering the experience. “Does it hurt when you shave?”

“No,” he said with a strangled laugh.

“Why do you suppose hair grows on a man’s face?”

“I have no idea.”

“I like how the stubble looks on you. Sort of dark and dangerous. It makes you seem almost a stranger. Only, I know I’m safe with you.”

Like a lamb with a very hungry lion, Rand thought as his genitals drew up tight. He was going to explode if she didn’t stop speaking so provocatively, touching him so intimately.

They were completely off the subject he had originally wanted to pursue, but he was willing to let her mind wander where it would. It was akin to their fanciful conversation about rabbits and pheasants. Since there was little he could do to change himself overnight into her ideal man, he would simply have to be the man he was and hope she could learn to appreciate him.

His body responded poignantly to the feel of her fingers roaming the flesh at his throat. He inched himself away so she wouldn’t be able to detect his arousal—not for her sake, but for his. He had spent a hellish night wanting to touch, wanting to taste the woman in his arms, yet bound by honor to keep his distance. Now she seemed willing, and he was having the devil of a time putting honor above other, more urgent, needs. That was despite the ache in his shoulder, which warned
him he might well be biting off more than he could chew comfortably.

“Stop wiggling,” Freddy chided. “You keep moving my pillow.” She rearranged her head on his arm and sighed in contentment.

They lay in silence, watching the sun rise higher in a wide blue sky. Two jays chattered like an old married couple, while the wind rustled the cottonwoods, and the river tumbled noisily over its stony bed. They could have been lying beside a peaceful brook in England.