Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (33 page)

"Don't tempt me."

"That would solve the problem for you, wouldn't it? You'd have no choice to make. You'd be a widow again."

"What a perfectly horrid thing to say!" This time several of the steers started to move restlessly. "Look, Max, this isn't going to work. We can't talk now."

"Then meet me by that cottonwood when you're relieved," he said, pointing to the only tree of any size, located on the opposite bank of the muddy creek they'd camped by.

"And if I don't?" she asked, swallowing when he stood directly beside her, his hard green gaze fixed on her face.

"Then I'll bloody well drag you kicking and screaming. And no one shall say me nay, madam."

She watched him stalk away and rubbed her aching head. If only she weren't so tired and filthy, she might be able to think straight. Maybe the accumulating layers of trail dust were clogging her brain. But arrogant as his statement was, she did know Maxwell Stanhope. Limey or Baron Ruxton, he was a man of his word. Worse yet, everyone around that campfire would probably cheer him on, blast them!

Should she go to him...or refuse and take the consequences?

Chapter Seventeen

Max waited beneath the shadows of the cottonwood, so weary that sleep should have claimed him, but too tense for it to be possible. Instead, he paced. Would she come? What would he say to her? "This is the last time I listen to voices inside my head," he muttered, tossing away a dry blade of grass he'd been chewing on. How long had it been? He looked at the moon, judging how high it was. Bronc must have relieved Sky by now.

He thought about his threat. Could he actually humiliate them both by tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her through the camp as if she were his possession? That would solve nothing, only alienate her more. He pounded his fist against the rough bark of the cottonwood and cursed. "Bloody hell!" He'd broken open the stitches she'd sewn on his hand. He was an idiot. But then, wasn't that a congenital condition of besotted men?

Certainly his father had never been so afflicted. But Harry had. Of course, Lodicia had never behaved the way Sky did. From all reports after her death, she'd been a proper English lady. A wry smile strained at his lips when he considered how his uncle would have handled a wife as headstrong and independent as Sky Eyes of the Ehanktonwon.

He was in the midst of wrapping a handkerchief around his hand when he heard a soft rustling noise and looked up. She walked deliberately toward the tree, as if going to her own hanging. "Defiant to the bitter end, eh, love?" he murmured as he waited hidden in the shadows.
Let her wonder if I'm the one who decided not to talk.

Sky's mouth felt as if she'd swallowed a tumbleweed whole. What if he were back in camp, laughing at her? After the embarrassment she'd caused him by refusing to share his bedroll, he might believe this served her right. Max was a proud man. Sky had not intended to hurt him, but she was willing to admit—to herself at least—that she feared she would succumb to his touch if they spent any time together.

When she reached the tree, she stopped, trying to penetrate the darkness beneath it. Then his voice. "I won't fall on you like a ravening wolf, Sky."

"Considering the threat you made out there"—she gestured toward the herd—"I might have reason to doubt that."

"I said I'd drag you to my bedroll, not that I'd rape you, Sky. I've never forced a woman in my life."

"You've never needed to, Max. Women flock to you adoringly. But I have been forced...and it...it made my first husband afraid of frightening me..." Her voice trailed away. She had not meant to dredge up those painful memories. He already knew about the bluecoats.

"You've always felt guilty for enjoying something with me that you never shared with him, haven't you?" His tone was softer now. "I had hoped we were past that, but I see I was mistaken."

"It's more complicated than that."

"That's pretty complicated, already. Father Will's ghost has been hanging over us since the day we met. I thought once you asked me not to kill Deuce that Brewster had been laid to rest."

"He has—or, he was until I found out you needed a real marriage to fulfill your uncle's will. You made me love you...and then...and then, after I shared all my secrets with you, I learned what you should have told me the day we made our bargain."

"I didn't know then, Sky. I honestly believed I required a wife in name only, a marriage that could be annulled, that I could walk away from. I found out about the codicil when I first spoke with Bartlett in London."

"Then why didn't you tell me in London?" she asked, wondering whether or not he was speaking the truth now. No, she knew Max would not lie.

"I was afraid you'd ask for an annulment and find another man to avenge Brewster." His voice was bleak. "Don't tell me you would not have done it. I know you well, love."

Her shoulders slumped. "Yes," she said in a small voice. "I probably would have bolted. But not because of Will... Although I didn't know that my grieving for him was over then. Now I realize that I was using him as an excuse..."

"For what?" he prompted, stepping closer to her.

"When you made your impulsive offer in Bismarck, you had few choices and little time. I was convenient. But I have mixed blood. I was raped. I'm scarcely the kind of woman you would have picked had circumstances been different."

"You are exactly the woman I would choose. The only woman I want—strong, maddeningly willful, intelligent, beautiful, passionate." He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, willing her to believe him. "What's past is past, love. I'm not cut out to be a lord. My life is here, not back in English society. I know who you are...and I love you for it...all of it."

Sky trembled. "Yes," she choked out, "you do know everything, I suppose. I've shared my past, but you've held back so much."

"I can explain about Cynthia—the viscountess. I was twenty and she was a decade older when—"

"She took advantage of you?" Sky interrupted bitterly. "I honestly don't give a damn about the peccadilloes of your youth, Max. It's the foundation of our marriage that concerns me. Can you blame me for believing the worst when I read that telegram?"

"To hell with the will! I'd give every penny of the money to Cletus if I thought it would win you back—but how could I support us then? Continue my life as a bounty hunter? And what of your people? I want to help them. The inheritance would be an incredible blessing—for them and for True Dreamer's people."

"How noble," she said coldly. Was he telling the truth? She honestly did not know. Her own insecurities, bolstered by a lifetime of prejudice, caught between red and white worlds, as she was, made her vulnerable. She could no longer trust her own judgment.

"The only reason I want our marriage to continue is because I love you, Sky."

"And because I hold your nightmares at bay?" When he made no response, she persisted. "Do you love me enough to tell me why you have them? Why you resigned from the army and scorned a Victoria Cross? Why you became a bounty hunter?"

His arms dropped from her shoulders and he stepped away, turning his back. "You ask too much. You've admitted it took you months to realize that you were ready to start over..."

"And you aren't ready to share your painful memories with me as I did with you. You said the past is past, Max. Then why can't you let it go?"

"I have...but, God above, it won't let me go," he said in a strangled voice.

"Then the only way to break free is to trust me with it," she pleaded.

He stood and watched her walk away, holding his bleeding hand against his chest, hoping the throbbing physical pain would take his mind away from the anguish twisting his soul. But nothing could do that.

When he finally returned to camp, he was amazed to see Sky sitting on his bedroll. "What are you doing here?" he asked softly, not daring to hope.

In an equally soft whisper, she replied, "You can't hold the nightmares at bay without me. Besides, everyone treats me as if I'm a traitor or a fool for staying away We will sleep together until we reach the reservation—but sleep only—is that clear?"

A tight smile spread across his mouth. "Always dutiful, Sky...even if you're coerced by a couple of old men and a child. I'll settle—"

"You're bleeding!" she said louder than she intended, but only Numbers stirred. After giving them a quick inspection, the dog lay back down beside Fawn.

"I may have opened the stitches. It's not bad."

Sky jumped to her feet and led him to the low embers of the fire, stirring them into fresh flames. She unwrapped the handkerchief and the bandage beneath it. "I'll have to clean it off before I can tell if it requires restitching. How did you do it?"

He gave her a bitter smile. "Pounding on the tree trunk while I was waiting for you."

She snorted in disgust and walked silently to the back of the wagon to get her medical supplies. Were all men idiots?

His hand did not require restitching, but she wrapped it tightly after disinfecting it and giving him a whispered tongue-lashing. Then they slept side by side, too exhausted to stay awake in spite of the unsatisfactory conclusion of their conversation.

* * * *

In the morning, Fawn and True Dreamer smiled broadly when they saw the placement of bedrolls, assuming the arrangement would continue permanently. Even Bronc appeared relieved that whatever was troubling husband and wife appeared to be settled.

They continued north and forded the Red River without incident. After all his years as a drover, Bodie knew a place around the bend from where Max, Sky and True Dreamer had made their almost deadly crossing. Burkburnett was a few miles out of the way, but the current was slower and the streambed more level.

A day later they lost a steer. After it placed one hoof in a prairie dog hole and broke its leg while evading Sky's lariat, Bronc shot the animal to put it out of its misery. Everyone did their share of the work, butchering and salting down most of the meat to preserve it, and they only lost one day.

They reserved enough fresh beef to last for several days. Max applied himself to making a roast with dried vegetables in the Dutch oven that night. It turned out fairly well. "You can be my trail cook any day, yer lordship," Bodie said, wiping his mouth and going back for seconds.

"This is a gift from the Powers," True Dreamer intoned.

Sky and Fawn chuckled while Max glowered at the old medicine man.

The trip through the reservations was slow, complicated by various jurisdictions and "officials" who demanded tolls to let a herd of cattle cross their land. Usually, Max was able to buy them off cheaply. At one place, a white marshal, who had strayed far from his town limits, tried to extort ten dollars a head from a man he thought was simply a "dumb Injun-loving foreigner."

Once he learned the funny accent belonged to the infamous Limey, he quickly backed off and rode away with Numbers barking furiously at the heels of his galloping horse until he disappeared over the nearest ridge. The little dog, which had put on considerable weight since changing owners, continued to dance, count and generally delight them all, but most especially Fawn.

Max was particularly happy because the more attention she paid to Numbers, the less time she had to think up ways to devil him about becoming his "second wife." Her healing had progressed so fast that not a mark was visible on her face, arms or legs. Everyone was grateful, for she was a lovely and loving child.

As the little group sat around the campfire on the last night before reaching the Cheyenne reservation, Fawn fed her pet bits of meat from her plate. Max smiled and said, "Have a care there, before he grows so fat and you so skinny, no one will recognize you, or that he is indeed a dog and not a pig ready for roasting."

Numbers barked in protest and turned in a circle on his hind legs, waiting to see if that might earn him another sliver of beef, but Fawn defended his honor. "No one will dare touch Numbers. He is far too clever and he does not look like a pig!" Then another thought occurred to her. "Do you think I am too skinny, Stalker?"

He had to grin.
Well, old boy, you brought this one on yourself.
"No, I was only jesting, Fawn. You are just right, not too thin at all."

She brightened, placing her empty plate on the ground. Numbers' tongue busily polished it clean before she could utter a word. "That is good. If you ever change your mind, I promise that I won't get too skinny to be your second wife."

Sky choked back a laugh and looked at her husband as if saying, now what are you going to do? True Dreamer's mouth curved in what might have been a grin but he maintained his composure.

"Lil' gal sure does have a one-track mind when it comes to her plans for you, Max," Bronc said with a guffaw.

Max looked at Fawn's face, ignoring the others. After a moment, he said, "Young lady, are you jesting with me?" He waited a beat, then added sternly, "Tell the truth now."

"But I am not a lady, Stalker."

"One day you will be," Max said and suddenly realized he had meant that as a promise. Yes, one day when she was ready, he would return for this wonderful child…if he lived. He might not have a wife, but by God, he would have a foster daughter to love. Then, his head snapped up, and his eyes locked with True Dreamer's. The old man nodded, and slowly both of them smiled.