Susan Johnson (27 page)

Sitting back on his heels, he was gazing at her, his muscled form like some pagan god, broad-shouldered, powerfully built, his silver eyes like jewels.

When the silence had lengthened, her sovereign need blindly ordained, she spoke his name: “Trey.” The tone was not diffident or hesitant; it wasn’t the voice of the woman who had been retreating from his affection or kindness or warmth. The woman he’d met at Lily’s was back, the bewitching woman from the ranch.

He held his hands out then, and she saw that they were trembling. “I’m like a young boy. You affect me that way.” He smiled a crooked, rueful smile. “I’m not used to this.” He placed his hands solidly, carefully, on the taut muscles of his thighs and inhaled deeply. “You mustn’t leave me again.” His handsome face grimaced.

Empress couldn’t answer in a way that would please him, for at base, they wanted different things, but this night, at this moment, she only wanted him. They were in accord.

Sliding her hand out from under the quilt, she held it out to Trey, and in the short seconds before his lifted, it seemed as though they’d never touched before. As though the passion were achingly new. That feeling of newness was a novelty to the large man kneeling in the fragrant hay, like turning back time or holding the moon in your hands.

“Come, you must be cold,” Empress whispered, her eyes taking in the athletic, strong arms and chest, Trey’s elegant long-boned hands lying atop his hard thighs. It was winter and he was nude.

“I’m not cold,” he murmured. “I’m hot.” The sensation was like stepping out from a sweat lodge into a chilly night: You never felt the cold. But it was more, he knew, even if she didn’t understand. His body was heated from within. “See,”
he said, and his hand stretched out toward hers, the gem-cut seal on his ring flashing.

Empress waited as if she’d waited a lifetime to know his touch, saw his lean-fingered hand move toward hers, and wondered how wanting could fill your entire body like this until the fierceness of it poured over in suffocating waves. Her lips still tingled from his kisses that had wakened her. And physical desire, suppressed and contained in the small, crowded cabin during the past days, was peaking like a storm out of control, reckless, heedless now of the self-denial she exercised.

Trey’s fingertips touched hers and then slid down, interlacing smoothly until their hands touched, palm against palm, his long fingers curled around hers. His skin was hot. So hot, her first thought was,
He’ll warm me.

“You’re cold,” he whispered. “Are you afraid?”

Terrified
, she wanted to say,
that you’ll engulf me with the flaming passion you give away so lightly.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she said, and his teeth flashed white in the dimness of the loft.

His grip tightened on her small hand, and the smile in his voice was tinged with soft suggestion. “I’d forgotten how exciting you are. I can discard the sonnets, then; my fierce kitten is in form.”

Her upper lip slowly curved, and her eyes half closed. “I’ll eat you alive,” she murmured.

A flicker of surprise glinted in his eyes before he drew her hand to his mouth and, opening her fingers, pressed her palm to his lips.

She shivered, stabbing pleasure tearing through her senses.

Lifting his mouth, Trey responded in a husky growl that was vehement, not with anger but with excitement. “We’ll have to see who does what to whom. If I recall,” he whispered, his tongue tracing leisurely over the soft pad of flesh rising toward her thumb, “we’re rather evenly matched.” And it all came back in a rush—searing memories that had been obscured in the previous days of tender glances and stolen kisses, of childish games and children underfoot. He’d forgotten that she’d confidently forced the pace as often as he, that she had initiated unguarded pleasure in equal measure. He
had forgotten in all the dulcet domesticity that when Empress Jordan was hot, she took his breath away.

A moment later he was lying above her, bracing on his elbows, the feel of her body soft beneath him, cushioned by the padded quilt separating them. Trey’s mouth hovered above hers and he smiled. “Let me know,” he said, his grin full of mischief and affection, “when you’re warm enough to move the quilt away.” His eyes shone with lazy amusement. “And then I’ll decide whether”—there was a considering pause—“when,” he finished in a quiet, intense voice.

That night, with the gentle animal sounds below them, the glistening moonlight and stars above them, the summer-sweet scent of pasture rich in their nostrils, minute by minute, with tempestuous joy, with sureness and delicacy, they gave to each other their gift of love.

The following week was the stuff of fairy tales. The children adored Trey, and the days were spent
en famille
, Empress happier than she thought possible. She had everyone she loved near, and the joy the children experienced in Trey’s company was a tangible happiness.

Emilie preened under Trey’s teasing compliments, while Genevieve simply viewed him as her personal Roland. In the courtly world she avidly followed in the medieval tales of knightly deeds, the paladin who saved France at Roncevaux had always been her hero. The melding of folklore and reality was complete in Trey, as far as she was concerned.

Guy treated Trey as a loved older brother, and Eduard spent every waking moment in Trey’s arms, on his lap, or perched on his shoulders. Even as Empress apologized for the imposition, she knew that short of tying her baby brother down, Eduard’s behavior was fixed. Trey only smiled and said, “We get along great, don’t we, Eddie?” For which he received a sticky, warm hug.

“He misses Papa and Mama,” Empress explained. “He was so young when they died, he couldn’t understand.”

“Two brothers and two sisters younger than I died. I know how terrifying death is when you’re young. He’s no problem. I like sticky hugs.” His smile was mischievous.

Empress blushed, recalling their heated lovemaking at night
when the children were sleeping. They’d christened their sweet-scented hayloft bed the Nest, because of its balmy perfumed security and bliss, and Trey’s look made all Empress’s lush memories crest.

A week passed in their isolated mountain cabin, halcyon and rich with sweet emotion. They talked of the days ahead and the weeks ahead, and Empress dared for the first time to consider Trey in more permanent terms. Each night in their enchanting hideaway he whispered that he loved her, and each day he worked on the farm, helping Guy build and repair, setting the fences and outbuildings to rights. “When spring comes,” he said, looking out on the snow-covered valley, “we’ll get some more horses up here and put in the crops properly.”

Empress’s heart filled with contentment. He spoke of the future—their future.

“And when spring comes,” he murmured in a husky, warm voice that night when he held her close, “I’ll show you where the crocus first peaks through the snow, and I’ll make you a bed of alpine trillium and lay you in it.…”

When Empress’s fever began, she brushed it off as just the initial stages of a cold. But by evening she was burning up, and when she started vomiting, Trey panicked.

He knew nothing of medicine and could only follow her instructions, mixing some hot spirit teas to soothe her stomach and take down the fever. By morning she was worse, not better, and Trey was terrified. People died every year of the winter fevers. His own family had been decimated by illnesses that had begun as innocuously. And they were seventy miles from the nearest doctor. If Empress weakened, it would be too late in another day or two to take her out.

He woke the children early while Empress fitfully dozed, his mind made up. Whispering instructions to them all to dress and pack, he told them that they were going out on snowshoes. He wanted a doctor for Empress. With the children’s help, he made oatmeal and toast and saw that they all ate and dressed warmly. He lifted Eduard down from the homemade high chair, wrapped him in his outer clothes and
large blanket, and stood him in the packsack while the girls put on their caps and mufflers.

Guy left enough hay in the small corral for the horses and the cow; the chicken feed was left open and available. While everyone stood dressed and ready, Trey bundled Empress in a quilt, then buttoned her into his buffalo coat. “We’re going back to the ranch,” he said when she protested the additional warmth. “I’ll have you outside in a minute.” She was flushed with fever, her eyes brilliant with illness, and the dark fear, with him since childhood, crept back. What if she didn’t get better? Even the doctors hadn’t been able to help his brothers and sisters. He shut his eyes briefly and said a silent prayer to his spirits,
Listen to me, Ah-badt-dadt-deah, she cannot die. Do you hear me? Give her strength.
It was neither meek nor submissive. Trey wasn’t a humble man; the plea was as powerful as the man who uttered it, simple and unreserved in its request.

Picking up Eduard in the packsack, he put it on his shoulders, adjusting the Hudson Bay capote under the straps, settled the headband across his forehead, and walked over to Empress’s bed. He took her in his arms, walked out of the cabin, and saw that all the children were ready. Stepping into his snowshoes last, he smiled, said, “Hang on, Eddie,” and in the lead started across the snow-drifted valley. They had forty miles to walk to the nearest cabin. From there Trey could send for help.

The children were awkward at first on the snowshoes, although there had been some practice after they were completed and their progress was slow. Even with Trey breaking trail, he had to travel slowly with the children, stopping often to rest, and at midday pausing to eat. Trey cleared a space of ground, using the net shoe to shovel away the snow, and build a fire. He cut fur boughs and made a bed to lay Empress on, near the fire. While the children ate the food they’d carried in their small packs, Trey tried to feed Empress. He begged her to eat, but she had weakened since morning and would only swallow a little.

At the speed they were traveling, Trey knew they wouldn’t reach Swenson’s that night, as he’d hoped. The children couldn’t travel as fast as he. They’d just have to keep going through the night. Empress had drifted into a kind of
stupor from which it was difficult to rouse her. They’d keep going until they came to Swenson’s. There was no other choice.

By late afternoon it was necessary to rest more frequently; the children were trying to keep up, but Trey was walking slower and slower, and they were still falling behind. So he would stop, make a small fire, and let everyone rest for a time, then cajole and encourage them to go on. Every muscle in his body screamed, and only the utmost exertion of will kept his own feet moving. The parts of his body that didn’t ache from overuse were numb from the cold and the burden of carrying Empress and Eduard both. Luckily Eduard had fallen asleep a short time ago, so the pack on his back no longer moved; it was only dead weight now. He’d almost fallen twice when Eduard abruptly shifted his position without telling him.

Darkness was no more than fifteen minutes away, and it was evident that the children were near exhaustion. Genevieve was only eight, and for the last hour Guy had been pulling her along, his jaw set hard with the effort. But his thin face was white with fatigue, and he wouldn’t last much longer. Genevieve had begun crying once during the afternoon and was immediately silenced by her brother and sister. “Pressy’s sick,” Guy had said, “and we
have
to keep walking. When you can’t anymore, I’ll carry you on my back.” Emilie had coaxed, “Be strong, Genny, because Trey is already carrying Eduard and Pressy. Don’t cry, and I’ll give you my book about Roland.” Genevieve gulped, sniffed, and trudged on.

Trey felt like crying himself at the daunting journey still before them; at the fear he felt every time he looked down at Empress, so still in his arms, her breathing ragged and irregular; at the poignant courage of the three young children behind him who had gone through so much in their brief lifetimes and were endeavoring to conceal Genny’s tears from him to relieve him of an added burden. But crying, of course, wasn’t a practical option. There were very
few
options. The children could go no farther. They couldn’t be left alone in the wilderness. Empress had barely roused since midday, and he would have preferred going on. But they would have to
camp and let the children sleep, then start very early in the morning—and pray Empress was still alive.

“We’ll go on until dark,” he told the children. “Only another fifteen minutes. Can you manage?”

Trey received three plucky smiles and a hoarse, tired affirmative from Guy. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

A heavy growth of cedar, black-green in the dimming light, bordered the open ground they were crossing. In all the whiteness, distances were deceiving; it wasn’t as close as it looked, but it would be their camp that night. Stolidly he set his gaze on the dark margin of the upland pasture; wearily he set one foot in front of the other. With heartache he contemplated the cedar grove as their night camp. Perhaps it would be Empress’s dying place. He wanted to scream in rage at his helplessness.

Blue and six men came riding out of the shadowy cedar, their horses laboriously advancing through the high snow. At the sight of Trey and his small party, Blue whipped his paint forward. Trey stopped dead in his tracks.

There
was
a God, watching over him.

Having seen the torture of Trey’s progress, Blue hastened to take Empress from his cramped arms when he reached his side. Quickly sliding the band off his wet forehead, Trey swung the sleeping Eduard into his arms and handed him up to another rider. Since the search party was well equipped, Blue suggested they camp for the night. Trey refused.

White and strained with fatigue, he said, “You stay with the children. I’ll take Empress to the doctor.”

It was unthinkable in his condition. He’d carried Empress for ten hours.
⁹

So everyone stayed in the saddle, Empress cradled across Trey’s lap. He talked to her as they rode, but she didn’t answer him, not even in the faint whisper with which she’d responded before. She’d been failing all day. Hadn’t eaten. Only drank sparingly, although Trey had pleaded. “Let me sleep,” she’d murmured last. But that had been three hours ago, and Trey was afraid.