Sweet Savage Eden (35 page)

“Do you care, then?” Jamie said softly.

Jassy kept her eyes from him and concentrated upon the length of her hair. “I should hate to think of
you
overly bloodied.”

“I shall ask them to kill me quick.”

She threw the brush at him. He laughed and leapt out of bed, naked and sleek and graceful, and swept her up into his arms. He dropped her down upon the bed, and he stared at her a long time, holding her tight, feeling their hearts thud together and smiling at the sizzle of
anger in her eyes. “I think that you do care, my love. Just a little bit. So kiss me. Let me bring the feel of you, the scent of you, the taste of you, into the heart of the fray.”

“There is no fray—” she began, but his lips had found hers, and in a matter of moments she was caught up in a tempest again. He kissed her everywhere and swore that he would remember her taste, just as he would recall, in the cold and lonely nights to come, the fullness of her breasts and the curve of her hip, the musky perfume of her soap mingled with what was all woman about her. His words, his kisses, inflamed her again and again. She was amazed that he could leave her so sated one moment and be back to touch her again even as she sighed and closed her eyes. It was a long and tempestuous night, and in the morning she could barely awaken. Jamie rose, left her, and came back again. He kissed her lips. “I leave in an hour. You must come down.”

To her own surprise she clung to him, her arms about his neck, her bare breasts crushed to his chest. She buried her face against his neck until he slowly released her. “You must come down,” he repeated huskily, and then he was gone.

She awoke fully at last, stretching her hand across the bed and finding that it was cold where Jamie had been.

She crawled out of bed, shivering. The November morning was brisk and cold. She thought about calling for Molly or Kathryn. The fire had died out in the hearth, and she would have dearly loved a long, hot bath. But she was very cold, so she quickly washed, pouring water from the pitcher to the bowl, and scrubbing with the cloth neatly folded on the stand. She dressed in one of the warm wool gowns she had made, and came out on the landing.

She ran into Robert Maxwell, who was just coming from his bedroom. He offered her a wry smile, rubbing his freshly shaven chin. “Good morning, Jassy. You’re up and about.”

“Yes. Jamie is leaving soon.”

“Lenore is still sleeping. I should awaken her.”

“Let her sleep, then.”

“Ah, but this is the New World, and a new way, and I believe that we all must get accustomed to it.”

He was still very handsome, Jassy thought. He had always had his quick smile ready, and he was ever courteous. Sometimes he could still make her heart flutter, and he could make her laugh when she was low. But something about the way she felt about him was changing, and it had been doing so for a long time now. She wondered it it was because Jamie more and more filled her thoughts. Whether she was hating him or longing for him, he was always on her mind, a strong, definitive presence, and one that she could not shake.

“I suppose we must,” she said softly. “But then, you can go home if you choose, Robert. I cannot.”

“I cannot go home,” he assured her, “for I have no home.” He laughed suddenly and touched her cheek with gentle affection. “Ah, Jassy, you are the best of the lot of us, do you know that? They would label you a bastard, but you’ve inherited the best of the nobility, and the very finest of the common lass. You will survive, and survive well, and put the rest of us to shame. We shall flounder, as we did on the ship, and you shall lead the way.”

“I did nothing—”

“You did. You were brave and determined, and we admired you very much, with all of our hearts.”

His tone was earnest and his voice was soft, and it was a calming salve against the fears that had lived with her so long. She stretched up on her toes to kiss him. It was not with passion of any kind, but with nothing more than the deep, sisterly affection she was coming to know for him.

“Good morning, Jassy, Robert.”

The startling sound of her husband’s voice drew Jassy back to her solid feet, and she spun upon the landing. Jamie stood at the foot of the carved stairway, a curious smile twisting his lips, his dark eyes hard upon them.

“Good morning, Jamie,” Robert said heartily. “And you are off, so I hear. I wonder what I shall do without your leadership.”

Robert offered Jassy his hand, and she took it. She was innocent, and she was not going to let Jamie’s hot eyes condemn her. At the base of the stairway Robert handed her over to Jamie very properly, and Jamie accepted her hand from his friend. She felt the simmering ire within him. She lifted her chin, ignoring it.

“Robert, I imagine that you shall do fine in my absence,” Jamie said dryly. “See to your house, man, for it is almost completed, and I find that the workmen have done very well. Let’s sit to breakfast, shall we, for then I must take my leave.”

He led them down the vast hallway to the table at the rear of it. Here the fire in the hearth burned healthily, and a cauldron of something simmered above it. Amy was there, stirring the stuff inside. She smiled happily at Jassy. Jassy smiled back, aware of Jamie’s fingers, a burning vise upon her.

“A Scottish porridge,” Amy advised her. “Good against the cold and damp here, milady.”

“It smells wonderful.”

“Of course, we’ve game too. His Lordship is a fine hunter, and we never lack for fowl or venison. There’s cold meat atop the table already, and bread and milk.

Jassy freed herself from her husband’s touch and found her place at the table. Robert and Jamie joined her, and she gave her attention to the meal, complimenting Amy, who admitted that she had prepared the porridge as Jonathan was busy plucking the wild turkeys that Lord Cameron had brought in that morning.

Jassy cast her husband a quick glance and found that his eyes were upon her speculatively. He smiled. “The day always starts early here, my love.”

“You’ve been hunting already?” Robert demanded.
“Today?”

“Aye, that I have.”

“On a day that you will leave? And imagine, you could sleep late and be damned with labor back home in England.”

“Perhaps.”

“Well,” Robert said, “it is the life that I would choose.”

“And you, Jassy?” Jamie inquired, his tone light, “I believe that you would have preferred such a life.”

Things had gone so well between them for so long. Had it all been illusion? That morning he was angry and mocking, and it infuriated her and cut deeply. She did not wish to fight that morning, but he had seen her kissing Robert, and his temper had flamed, no matter how he attempted to conceal it. He did not trust her. What had they between them, then?

She replied to him bitterly. “I did not come from such a life, milord,” she reminded him, aware that Amy Lawton heard her every word. “But I was not given a choice, if I recall. Besides, my home, sir, is the gutter, as you deem important to remind me at times.”

Amy, about to set down a bowl of porridge, stiffened. Jamie’s eyes glittered, his temper rising. He idly drew his finger upon the back of Jassy’s hand. She did not dare draw away.

He smiled above her head to Amy, his dark eyes alight, his mouth curved into a sardonic, wickedly appealing grin. “She married me for my money, you see. It has been a grave disappointment for my lady to discover that she had married not for silver and crystal, but for a raw log home in the wilderness.”

Amy flushed crimson. Jassy longed to kick Jamie beneath the table. Robert laughed uneasily.

Jassy stood. “How dare you, Jamie Cameron—”

“I only ended what you chose to begin, my love,” Jamie said, his eyes narrowing. He used his foot to pull in her chair, causing her to fall back into it. “Sit, my lady. You have not dined as yet. And you must. Mustn’t she, Mrs. Lawton? It is cold and hard here, and she must keep up her strength.”

“Milord, I am sure—” Amy Lawton began.

“That it is none of your affair. Quite right, Mrs. Lawton. You are the very soul of discretion, and we are well pleased with you.” He stood suddenly, impatiently. “Lady Cameron is with child, Amy. Our babe will be born in February, though she conceals her state well in
those voluminous skirts. You will, I trust, see to her welfare while I am gone?”

Amy gasped softly, staring at Jassy. “Milady, I did not realize—”

“So you are with child,” Robert breathed, startled.

Jassy kept her furious eyes pinned upon her husband. “Yes.”

“You said nothing on the ship,” Robert said. “None of us knew. Even now you did not tell us—”

“There was little reason to do so.”

“We should have been taking greater care of you.”

Jassy stood again and smiled down at Robert ruefully. “Why? Joan Tannen received no special care. They sent her down to the common quarters. Her baby died and she died. And no one thought a thing of it. She was a commoner, as I am myself.” She turned to leave.

Jamie caught her arm. “You are my wife,” he reminded her softly, “and for that reason alone, madame, you will take care.”

She pulled away from him, wondering just what his words meant, if he thought that she should take care for her health’s sake, or for their child’s sake … or if she should take very special care that he not discover her again as close to Robert Maxwell as he had that morning.

Tears suddenly stung her eyes as she lowered her head and rued the argument that had sprung up between them. He was entering the Indians’ territory, and they were at tragic odds.

They had always been at tragic odds, she told herself. The change had been an illusion.

“Jassy—” Jamie said, catching her arm again.

“I do intend to take the greatest care, milord!” she said, raising her lashes at last, and meeting his eyes with her own, glazed with tears. “And may I suggest, milord, that you do the same yourself?”

He smiled suddenly, tensely. He pulled her against him, there at the table. “Kiss me good-bye,” he whispered to her.

She did not need to kiss him. He kissed her. Passionately, forcefully, violently … then tenderly. Her heart
thundered, she could scarcely breathe, and she could taste him and all the salt of her tears. When he released her at last, she was dizzy, and she could barely see, for she was blinded with her tears.

“Good-bye, milord, take heed!” she said, and she pushed away from him, ran for the stairs, and fled up the length of them.

XIV   

J
assy saw her first Indian brave on the tenth of December, when Jamie had already been gone for almost two weeks.

She was beyond the palisade with Sir William Tybalt as her escort, and she was covered with soot and smudge, industriously studying the art of musketry. Elizabeth was at her side, shivering with each recoil of the weapon, and warning Jassy that she could bring harm to her child.

“Elizabeth, this is very important—” Jassy was saying when she saw the curious red-skinned man upon the pinto pony.

He was perhaps fifty yards away from them, observing them. There were a half dozen men behind him, but none of them was noticeable, not when the startlingly proud figure sat before them on his horse.

“It is Powan,” Sir William said, standing between the women and the warrior. Jassy peeked around Sir William, fascinated.

Even atop the pony it was evident that Powan was a tall man. His buckskin-clad legs were very long, and dangled far below the horse’s belly. He was not so much red as he was a deep, deep bronze, and his eyes were the darkest mahogany color Jassy had ever seen. He carried
his head with the air of a king, and his features were somehow noble, too, high-boned and broad, long-nosed and square-jawed. He looked at them with a penetrating gaze, an autocrat who wore a cloak of blue-and-white plumes over broad, heavily muscled shoulders. Despite the growing December chill, he wore no shirt beneath the cloak, and Jassy could see tattoos of primitive hunting scenes upon his arms.

“Powan?” she murmured.

He carried a feathered and sharpened shaft, some kind of a spear, but he held it more like a scepter than a weapon. He nudged his pony and advanced upon them. Despite the fact that they were basically alone with Sir William by the fencing, Jassy was more curious than frightened. Perhaps it was a dangerous fascination, brought on by the endless stories she had heard of the Algonquin family savages. But surely there could be no real danger. The men were busy collecting the last of the winter harvest from the fields, and carpenters and laborers worked on various dwellings within and without the palisade. Nearer the river, a number of the women were busy with candlemaking, dipping and stringing their tallow. Powan had come with only a handful of braves. Jassy was aware that her knowledge of the Indians was limited, but instinct told her that this was a peaceful venture.