Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (31 page)

"The little lady didn't suffer at his hands, did she?"

"No. I don't believe so—at least she says not—but emotionally, she must, have lived through hell."

"She's got spunk, I've seen this for myself."

"Yes, but she's never had to deal with a man like Murdock. And I pray God she never will again."

"She'll get over this."

Damon watched Ezekiel move through the narrow channels with the expertise of one born to the swamps. After an hour Ezekiel guided the boat onto the Canoochee River, which carried them swiftly along in its current.

Damon glanced down at Royal. Her face was muddy, her hair tangled, her gown torn and dirty. He could only guess what horrors she had suffered. His arms tightened about her protectively. This incident with Murdock had made him realize how important she was to him. He had done a lot of thinking and had come to a conclusion. He could not return to his unit until she was safe.

She sighed in her sleep when he touched her cheek. Preston Seaton was a good man, and a duke at that. She would be safe with him. But how could he give her up?

"Ezekiel, does Reverend Camdon still live outside Savannah?"

"He did as of a week ago."

"I want you to bring him to the hunting lodge when we arrive."

The old man nodded. "I wondered when you would come to that."

"I have no choice, Ezekiel."

The old man laughed merrily. "I see what you can't, Damon. But then, I always did have a keener eye than you."

"Damn it! I have to give her the protection of my name and move her to Swanhouse. Otherwise how can I know she will be safe?"

"I reckon you best ask her 'bout that. She may just not care to let you sacrifice yourself for her." Ezekiel snickered. "Mighty noble of ya, I'd say."

Damon scowled. "You think I'm doing this for another reason?"

"You'll know that better'n me. But I never knew a man to make a sacrifice 'less'n he was gettin' somethin' out of it for himself," the old man said, chuckling.

Could Ezekiel be right? Was he fooling himself by acting noble in offering protection to Royal when all along it was what he wanted? Was this his last effort to keep her from marrying the Englishman, who would surely take her to England where he would never see her again?

Why did he feel this cold emptiness inside? Damon wondered. Why did he ache with a feeling of great loss?

31

Royal was awakened when the boat bumped against something solid. It was near sunrise, and she opened her eyes when Damon stood with her in his arms.

"Where are we?" she asked sleepily.

"At my hunting lodge," Damon informed her.

She lay back against his shoulder, still too weary to move.

He carried her up the steps and into the lodge. Moving through the outer room, he placed her on the bed in the sparsely furnished bedroom. He pulled the covers over her and watched her as she slept.

Ezekiel lit a candle and waited for Damon. Tiptoeing out of the room, Damon closed the door and joined Ezekiel, who had a fire going in the hearth and coffee brewing.

"You still want me to get the reverend?"

"I haven't changed my mind. If I let her go back to Savannah, Murdock might get to her again. But as my wife, she will go to Swanhouse, where she'll be well protected."

"Why didn't you take her straightaway to Swanhouse?"

"You know I can't do that unless we're married. I thought it might be wise for her to stay here until she regains her strength. You can gather supplies and inform Alba and Tobias that she's safe."

"I'll fetch the reverend by tomorrow night."

Damon nodded. "That will give me time to talk to her."

"I know'd how you feel about her—it's clear as a day in April. And I reckon that for a long time she's felt the same 'bout you."

"Are you forgetting the Englishman?"

"You could always hand her over to him." Ezekiel smiled as if he knew a secret. "Or don't you want to let her go?"

"Let her go? Hell, she's not mine to keep."

Damon walked to the window and stared out at the gathering dawn. "I can't recall a time in my life when I was so unsure of myself, Ezekiel. Georgia is under the heel of the British, and General Washington stays in the North while we flounder. I don't know what the hell is going to happen from day to day."

"That's not what's really bothering you tonight," Ezekiel observed. "It's the little lady what's got you in a spin." He poured a cup of coffee and carried it over to Damon. "I've seen women come in your life, and I've seen 'em go, but I ain't never seen one get to you like this one has."

"I know," Damon admitted reluctantly.

"She's the kind you marry—the kind you make a ma to your offspring."

"I know that, too."

"Why don't you send for the Englishman?"

"You have a long night ahead of you, Ezekiel," Damon reminded him in an irritated voice.

"You're a fool, Damon Routhland."

"Among other things."

Damon watched the wind ruffle the branches of the pine trees outside the lodge. "I have to go back to Murdock's camp after Royal is safely at Swanhouse."

"I kinda figured you would."

"If I don't, he'll try to take her again."

"That'd be my thought. Say when you're ready to go, and I'll go with ya."

Ezekiel picked up his pack and headed for the door. "As for Miss Royal, seems to me you might want to ask her about her feelings." He paused with the door open. "I'll be back soon as I can."

"I'll expect the minister by tomorrow," Damon insisted.

Ezekiel gave a mocking salute and was gone with a parting shot. "Yes, sir, Colonel."

Damon stood at the window, watching the sun streak the eastern sky with its brilliance. He was weary, so he moved to the leather chair and sat down, placing his coffee cup on the floor beside him. Leaning his head back, he fell asleep immediately.

***

Royal awoke and looked about her, expecting to see the crude walls of the hut. But these walls were of polished logs—and instead of the dingy cot she had lain upon in Murdock's camp, she was tucked beneath a soft down comforter.

Blinking her eyes, she remembered that she was in Damon's hunting lodge. She eased herself out of bed and groaned from the bruises on her body. Marie had got in her blows, she thought with irony.

Pushing the door open, she moved cautiously into the outer room. Her gaze ran the length of the log walls, taking in every detail. This was definitely a man's room, with unpolished wooden floors, a bearskin rug, leather chairs, and a table made out of logs. Along the walls were several stuffed animal heads. Over the mantel hung a musket.

Her eyes fell on the chair near the window, and she saw Damon asleep there. She moved forward tentatively, not wanting to disturb him. When she stood over him, she had the strongest urge to reach out and touch him. With his guard down, he looked so vulnerable. His dark hair fell across his forehead, his long lashes made shadows against his cheek. His firm mouth was parted just a bit, and she remembered vividly how those lips had once awakened a fire within her body.

Troubled by her thoughts, she glanced down at her mud-caked hands. As quietly as she could, she moved out the front door.

A warm sun beat down on her. It was glorious to be free of Murdock!

She walked along the river until she could no longer see the cabin. She waded into the river until she was waist deep in the cold water. Like tiny needles, the swift current made her tingle as it washed the mud from her gown and body. She then dunked her head and scrubbed her long golden tresses, wishing for some of her rose-scented soap.

"Royal, what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

Damon stood on shore, hands on hips, glaring at her. "Come out of that water at once!"

A mischievous light danced in her eyes. "Why don't you come in and get me?"

There was irritation in his voice. "Royal, the river is swift, and if you aren't a good swimmer, you can be carried downstream. I'm in no mood to dive in and pull you to shore."

She smiled to herself as she dove under the water, kicking her feet so she would not surface. Alissa had taught her to swim at Chiswick one summer, and over the years she had become quite proficient.

Damon waited tensely for Royal to surface, and when she didn't he plunged into the river, boots and all. Frantically he dove under the water, searching for her. At last he came up for air and found her nearby, laughing at him.

He was amused by her, and his irritation melted away. "You little baggage, I thought you were drowning."

She swam over to him and clasped his arm playfully. "You're wet," she taunted.

His dark brows came together, the smile faded, and his jawline hardened. "And you are a naughty little girl who needs to be taught a lesson."

Her laughter chimed out, and she dove under the water, trying to evade him, but he reached out and caught her gown and dragged her to him.

"So," he said, his irritation returning, "I see you still like to play games. What does one do with a naughty little girl?"

She tossed her head back and looked up at him. "Anything you wish, sir. You are my lord and master." Her mouth clamped shut as the words were spoken. Yes, she thought, he was her lord and master.

The amber in his eyes deepened to a bright gold while he inspected her closely. "I know what I'd like to do." His hand drifted up to her hair, and he pulled her closer. "I'd like to torment you the way you have tormented me. I want to invade your dreams the way you have invaded mine."

The sunbeams dancing on the surface of the water were reflected in the depths of her blue eyes. "I... feel... I want..." She shook her head in confusion, unable to voice the deep love she felt for him. It was too overpowering, too unsettling.

His fingers bit into her flesh. "Do you love Preston Seaton?" He had to know.

"Yes, but—"

Damon had been watching her, and when he spoke, his words puzzled her.

"Are you cold marble or warm flesh, Royal?"

She took his hand and placed it against her cheek, knowing her action was provocative. "As you can feel, I am flesh like any other woman," she said softly.

"Damn you," he ground out, lifting her in his arms and carrying her ashore. "Have you no notion about how to behave with a man?"

He placed her on her feet and glared at her. "Are you so innocent that you don't know what you're doing?"

There was a ring of longing in her voice, and her eyes were wistful and seeking. "I don't know how to act with you, Damon. You are the authority in my life. When I asked you to find Preston for me, you did, at risk to your own life. You came to me like an avenging angel when I was taken by Murdock. How should I act with you?"

He steered her toward the lodge. "If this is your way of saying you are grateful to me, a simple 'thank you' would be sufficient."

He pulled her along so swiftly that she had to run to keep up with him. She glanced at him and found a scowl on his face. She had displeased him again. Would she always make him angry?

Once inside the lodge, he pointed to the bedroom. "Get those wet clothes off. You'll find a robe to put on until they dry."

"I'm hungry," she told him, pausing to lean against the door frame.

"After you have changed, you can eat while we talk. There is something I want to discuss with you." There was an expression in his eyes that she couldn't interpret.

"We could talk now," she suggested, curious as to what he wanted to discuss with her.

"Sometimes you're a woman, and sometimes you remind me of a little girl," he said in exasperation. "Will you get that wet gown off?"

***

Royal was seated before the fireplace with a plate of fried trout in her lap. "This is wonderful," she said, licking her fingers. "I wish I could eat like this every day."

Damon was seated with his back propped against the wall, one long leg drawn up in front of him. "It is nice, isn't it? When I was a boy, my father and I would come here to hunt and fish. At night we would sit here as you and I are doing now and eat our catch."

She stood up and moved to the table. "You don't get much chance to do that anymore, do you, Damon?" she asked, picking up a dirty dish and plunging it into sudsy water.

He handed her his plate, while he picked up a drying towel. "No, but it is always kept in readiness. Ezekiel sees to that. This is the one place where I can escape when the world comes crashing in on me."

She turned to look at him. "Does the world crash in on you often?"

He smiled down on her. Royal was shapeless in his robe, which was too long for her and had to be belted at the waist. She had rolled the sleeves up to the elbows, making her look like a little girl playing dress-up. "Since you landed on our shores, my world has tottered a few times."

"I have caused you a lot of grief, haven't I?"

He took his finger and dabbed at a speck of soap on the tip of her nose. "Just a bit."

His hands moved into her hair, and he turned her face up to him. "When a woman looks like you, I suppose she can't help how men react to her."

There was puzzlement in her eyes. "Do you truly think I am pretty?"

He rubbed her golden hair through his thumb and forefinger. "You are devastatingly beautiful," he admitted huskily. With a jolting shock, he realized that he had pulled her into his arms, and he pushed her away and stepped back a pace, striking a pose of indifference he was far from feeling.

"Don't worry about the dishes," he said harshly. "Just go to bed."

Royal watched him move to the window, and she went to him, troubled by his sudden coldness. "Have I done something to displease you, Damon?"

"No, it's nothing you've done."

He pushed open the window, needing fresh air, and a sudden gust of wind blew out the candle. The only light came from the dying embers in the fireplace and the moon riding high over the treetops. He was fighting the urge to take her in his arms and hold her until his body stopped trembling. He gripped the edge of the window and turned his back to her.

"Go to bed, Royal."

She placed her hand on his shoulder. "But, Damon—"

"I said go to bed!"

"You said you wanted to talk to me."

"That can wait until morning. Get some rest."

"Could I ask you something first?"

He turned to her impatiently. "What is it?"

There was a look of bafflement on her face. "You have told me that I don't know what I do to a man, and you're right. I am often puzzled about the attraction between a man and a woman."

"I don't think we should be having this conversation."

"You are my guardian," she reasoned. "Whom would I go to for advice if not to you?"

"Good Lord, Royal, has no woman in your life ever talked to you about this?"

"No, should they have?"

"Perhaps if your mother had lived," he reasoned. "I can't help you. You should ask Alba. Yes," he said in a rush of relief, "that's what you should do."

She shook her head. "You know Alba well enough to know that would not be possible. She's adamant about what is proper and what isn't."

"She would not approve of this conversation, and I don't either." His voice was filled with kindness. "Perhaps you really should go to bed now."