Petals on the River (60 page)

was besieged by an overwhelming desire to surrender to that compelling

plea.

Yet she found a tiny fragment of logic to cling to.
 
It was the

realization that if she gave herself to him, she would be fulfilling all

the vicious conjectures that were making their way around to nearly

every ear in the hamlet.
 
She swore she would not give the gossips the

satisfaction of seeing her belly grow fat with child.

Whirling, Shemaine fled to the stairs and snatched up the candleholder

that had been left for her there.
 
She nearly snuffed the flame in her

swift flight upstairs, but she knew if she stayed one moment longer in

the same room with Gage Thornton, she would be the one to lead him to

her bed.

In her absence, Gage leaned his head far back upon his shoulders and

stared at the shadowed ceiling, his self-control sorely strained. His

loins throbbed with his lusting need, and with every fiber of his being,

he wanted to leap up the stairs and take her down upon her cot. It was

the only way he'd be able to relieve the ache that rapidly intensified

at the root of his manly being.
 
But he could not!
 
Would not!
 
He

wanted far more from Shemaine O'Hearn than the mere easing of one

night's passion.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked out onto the porch.
 
What he

needed at the moment was a frigid dousing to cool his brain and his

body.

Shemaine stood near her cot, listening to the sounds of Gage's departure

from the cabin.
 
She thumped a small fist against her chest, hoping to

chase away the pang that bloomed there.
 
She was still panting as if she

had run a fierce race, but it was only the emotion of tearing herself

away from that stirring individual to whom she longed to give herself.

In an effort to calm the quaking within her, Shemaine let her breath out

in halting degrees and began to undress, not even caring to pull the

canvas sheets closed across the balustrade.
 
Her clothes were cast aside

as she paced restlessly about, and by rote she withdrew a nightgown from

the cabinet, yet she felt no desire to don it or to slip into bed.
 
The

soft aura of the candle bathed her naked body in its warm light, and she

gazed down at herself as one totally removed from the outer shell of her

being.
 
Would Gage still think her thin?
 
She gazed down at her

delicately hued breasts, remembering how he had perused her curves just

before their trip into the hamlet.
 
Curiously she cupped their fullness

and rubbed her palms over their soft peaks, trying to imagine how it

would feel to have his hands come upon her in a similar fashion. Moments

earlier she had been alert to the warm throbbing of her nipples as he

held her against him, but now that blissful feeling was absent.
 
There

was only the unquenchable yearning to have him touch her, to caress her

until she moaned with sensual delight.
 
But her arms were empty .
 
.
 
.

and so was the cabin.

Heaving a shaky sigh, Shemaine dragged the nightgown over her head and

smoothed it down over a body that would not be calmed.
 
She was restless

and could find no comfort in the haven that had served her well since

the day Gage had brought her home.
 
Having listened intently for the

sound of his return, she knew he had not yet come inside.
 
In all

probability he was still tending the gelding and would be out there for

a while.
 
She could not guess how much time had elapsed since they had

parted, but it seemed like a century or two.
 
If he only knew how much

she wanted him back with her, he'd forget the steed and come running.

Then the evening would pass much too swiftly.

Feeling in desperate need of the calming coolness of the night-borne

breezes, Shemaine cautiously made a descent to the lower level.
 
Except

for the single candle burning in the back corridor, the rest of the

house was dark except for places near the windows where the moon shone

in.
 
Shadows seemed impenetrable between the dull shafts of light, yet

she knew every stick of furniture, every obstacle between her and the

front door.

The gentle zephyrs wafted across the wide expanse of the covered, porch

as she went to lean against the rail and gazed out upon the bejeweled

night.
 
Crickets and tree frogs filled the glade with sound, and in a

tree beyond the pond an owl hooted softly.
 
Patches of mottled light

moved in undulating motion on the ground beneath several trees as the

moonlight streamed through gently swaying branches that were still

sparsely leafed.

A muted sound, like a soft splashing, drew her attention to the pond,

and she peered intently into the darkness enshrouding it.
 
As she

watched, a long arm emerged from the shadows, rising gracefully upward,

forward, and then downward as it cleaved the water.
 
Another arm

followed, and she realized it was a man swimming toward shore.
 
He

pushed himself upright in the shallows.
 
There he began soaping and

washing himself down.
 
No one had to tell her that it was Gage.
 
Very

few men could lay claim to such an exceptional physique.

Once before Shemaine had watched her naked master.
 
They had been in a

shadowed room after he had come in from his nightly bath, and upon her

discovery, she had fled in painful embarrassment.
 
This time, she had no

intention of giving away her presence.
 
She knew she must enter before

he made his way to the cabin, but until then she would observe him much

as she had that night.
 
Only now it was different.
 
Her desire for him

had replaced her maidenly curiosity.

The moonlight was favorable, casting her in dark shadows beneath the

porch roof while it bathed him with its soft radiance, adorning his

long, naked body in glistening raiment.
 
She felt her own body glowing

with sensual warmth as her eyes fed upon his nakedness.
 
The sights were

there for the taking, and she devoured them all in a womanly awakening,

all the while yearning to make her presence known, to slip out of her

gown and join him there at the pond.

Gage climbed out of the water and reached for a towel that he had left

on a rock near the stream.
 
Briefly he toweled himself and then laid the

linen around his neck.
 
He came forward, scooping up his clothes from

the place where he had left them.
 
Quietly Shemaine turned and slipped

inside the cabin, opening and closing the door without a sound.
 
She was

in the loft when she heard the floor creak in the back corridor.
 
Her

heart began to race with anticipation at the thought of him coming

upstairs.
 
Then the glow which had partially lit the nowdarkened loft

began to move, and she realized that Gage had only returned to the back

ha11 to fetch the second candle he had earlier lit.

Her legs trembled beneath her as she sank upon the cot in roweling

disappointment.

CHAPTER 13

The cabin had grown unusually quiet with Andrew taking an afternoon nap

and his father working in the cabinet shop with his men. A thrice of

days had passed since their last trip into the hamlet, and after

finishing her mending, Shemaine tiptoed into the boy's room to check on

him.
 
He was sleeping soundly, cuddled against the cloth rabbit she had

made for him.
 
His breathing was heavy and relaxed, and it did not seem

likely that he would bestir himself any time soon.

Carrying a small basket of laundry to the stream in front of the cabin,

Shemaine knelt beside a rock at the edge of the brook and began

scrubbing the soiled knees of Andrew's britches.
 
The trilling of

songbirds was a joyous and melodious celebration of spring, and with a

sigh of pleasure, she sat back upon her heels and scanned the treetops,

curious to discover what strange and marvelous birds inhabited this

clime and filled the day with such a sweet symphony of song.
 
Their

warbling melded with the gentle burbling of the brook, as if conducted

by a master musician.
 
Small birds flitted from branch to bush or flew

across the open spaces from one tree to the next, while overhead more

determined flocks of ducks and geese steadily winged their way northward

across the sky.
 
Snowy egrets languidly traversed the heights as well or

stalked about the river's edge in search of food.

Inhaling a deep breath of fragrant airt Shemaine drank in the serenity

of the lush glade.
 
Far beyond the wide-spreading boughs of pine and

newly greening oak, fluffy white clouds sailed across an azure sky much

like lofty ships at sea.
 
On the opposite side of the stream from her, a

young stag cautiously approached from the thicket, but upon spying her,

he turned and, flagging his tail, bounded off in the direction from

whence he had come.

Into this paradise, the muffled whinny of a horse intruded, provoking

Shemaine's curiosity, for the neigh drifted from the depths of the

verdant forest instead of the corral behind the cabin.
 
She peered

intently into the leafy shadows until her eyes began to adjust to the

gloom.

Another nicker reached her ears, drawing her gaze directly toward the

sound.
 
Some distance off, she saw a saddled chestnut steed of rather

questionable quality tethered to the branch of a tree.
 
A feeling of

unease began to creep up her spine as she searched for its rider.
 
Her

tension changed abruptly to alarm when she espied a large man in a

light-colored shirt and dark breeches creeping through the trees toward

her.
 
For a young woman who had spent several months dreading the sight

of that hulking form, it was nigh impossible for Shemaine to mistake

Jacob Potts.

With a startled gasp, Shemaine pushed herself upright, bringing Potts to

a sudden halt with her movement.
 
His intent changed abruptly, becoming

immediately more threatening.
 
Bracing his legs apart, he extended his

arms straight out in front of him and cupped his huge hands around the