The Willows (34 page)

For the first time, she stopped to
consider just where it had taken her. Pausing to glance about the
cabin, she realized with surprise that he no longer seemed so
dreadful to be here, how the room had softened, become less
threatening, less shady. When had her perceptions begun to
change?

As if a door opened in her mind, she
could picture Michael sitting with the children, bowing to do all
in his power to keep them together.

A tightness grew in her chest, and
uncomfortable mixture of longing and envy. Despite all the
hardships they must bear, their poverty and separations, Michael
and the children were united by blood. They were a
family.

I have my own family, she tried to tell
herself. Stubbornly, she clung to the mental picture of her father,
uncle, and cousin, all huddling close, keeping vigil, praying for
her safe return.

“
For once, be honest with
yourself.” Michael’s words rang through her mind, causing the image
of her family unity to dissolve. In truth, father was no doubt
immerse any bottle, uncle any game of cards, while Edith celebrated
her absence with a large smile. No one had gone charging out to
find her and bring her safely home as Michael had done for Jude;
Gwen’s family remained in their own private worlds. A salty tear
slipped down her cheek, and she brushed at it angrily. How absurd
of her, to wallow in self-pity. Why, keep on this vein and she’d
soon be convincing herself that not even Lance cared what happened
to her. Which was ridiculous, for her brave and wonderful
Lancelot’s must this very moment become searching the countryside
for her.

The thought should have made her happy,
and it might have, yet she been unable to bring his face to mind.
But each time she tried to picture him, Michael’s dark features got
in the way.

Damn that man. Bad enough he must
invade her dreams, must he now take over her waking hours as
well?

It was this room, she decided, so
decidedly his room, and so big and empty now with nobody else in
it. Alone, except for the dying candle, her mind felt compelled to
replace each conversation she’d had with him, to analyze every
expression that ever crossed his face.

It bothered her, how rarely she’s seen
him smile. Gwen was used to men falling all over themselves to gush
about her beauty; Michael’s indifference had her questioning the
things she’d once found so important. He unsettled her, this man,
left her wanting to prove she was far more than a pampered
Princess, that she was certainly more attractive than some wretched
rat.

Running a hand through her tangled
curls, she grimaced. Clearly, she proved previously little this
evening. With her hair lip and frizzled and so dirty and damp, she
could hardly blame Michael for overlooking her more positive
attributes. Why must she looks so awful, whenever he made an
appearance?

Not that his opinion met a thing to
her, she thought with a sniff; she could survive quite nicely
without his regard. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be occasionally
clean and tidy when she encountered him. It gave a girl confidence,
knowing she looked her best. Perhaps she need not come off feeling
worse and that exchange, if just once, her face new the benefit of
soap and clean water. Sponging herself off each night and morning
seem puny efforts in this stifling heat; what she truly needed was
a bath, a good, long soak in a...

The tub!

With all the days’ excitement, she had
forgotten the tank of water Christopher had shown her. Hell vividly
she pictured it, filled up and waiting, and away where she could
renew herself. She imagine the water, still warm from the day’s
heat, silky and smooth against her tired limbs. How glorious it
would be to submerge her body, how soothingly the water could
caress her parched skin. And when she emerged, clean and glowing
like a goddess from the sea, just see if the stubborn Michael could
resist her then.

Seduced by the prospect, she quickly
shed her dress and pay coats and stripped down to her underwear.
The candle blinked when she reached for its, warning that she might
have to do her bathing in the dark, but she couldn’t bring herself
to care. Enticed by the prospect of clean, reviving water, her feet
were already taking her across the room.

Outside a soft gust blew out the
candle. Sitting down the useless blob of wax, she stood on the
porch, letting the salty breeze flow through her hair. Overhead,
cypress branches intertwined, letting in patches of moonlights,
leaving pockets of black through which she must pass. Lytle seem to
distract her vision, except for the Erie food of an owl somewhere
out in the bayou.

She shook herself, forcing herself down
the steps. Unknown creatures might lurk in the night, but so did
that tub of water. Pulling her like a sirens born, she could almost
hear its whisper.

Rounding the corner of the cabin, she
discovered a path of moonlights and follow it’s gratefully to the
end of the cabin. It was a brief patch of light, for in the yard,
branches once more joined overhead to cut off the moonlight.
Dismayed, Gwen hesitated, her mind teamed with what might lurk in
the darkness. Was it worth going forward?

In her mind, she saw Michael’s look of
disgust, and was soon marching determinedly toward the tub. She
wanted her hair clean, wanted all of her to look her best. Just
once, let that man see her as a desirable woman.

She was almost at her destination when
she heard a noise. Thinking instantly of what might be slithering
at her feet, she raised for the relative sanctuary of the tub. With
utter relief, she believed into it, failing to anticipate that
she’d find another person already inside.

With a startled gasp, the occupant
scrambled up to stand beside her. Suddenly far too aware of his
tall wet form, Gwen recognize Michael’s identity and his state of
undress all at once.

Her hands pushed at him as she edged
backward. In her crazy state, she forgot their close quarters, and
would have tumbled over the lip of the tub had he not reached out
to catch her.

“
Gwen?” He said, his hands
closing hard and firm around her. “Gwen,” he repeated, his voice a
husky whisper as he answered his own question.

He pulled her closer yet, insanely
enough, she was happy to find him here, to know he had not yet gone
away. She could see little in the dark, but she needed no light to
know what he wanted. She could hear his desires in the quickness of
his breath and could feel it pressed hard and urgent against her
thigh.

She, too, was breathing rapidly, she
realized in a daze. She also felt a throbbing she could not
contain.

Time began to race, as a hat on the
night of her capture, when she’d sped blindfolded along the river
towards her fate. Equally sightless now, she raised her head to
offer her lips, knowing she could no more stop this kiss then she
could have slowed that the boat. She was tumbling forward some
greater force took control of her body, brought her tight against
Michael’s hard, eager frame.

Time stopped, his lips poised a mere
heartbeat away, as if he meant her to choose. They had come to a
bend in the river, she thought dizzily. Take the wrong fork and
there would be no turning back.

She reached up for him, knowing there
was no choice. Michael would take her and she would not stop him;
they’re joining was inevitable.

As such, she found a special sweetness
in the lips that met hers, a certain rightness she could no longer
deny. How it fired her, the touch of this man, how his mere
presence brought her alive. Molding her body against his, she could
feel the dampness of his flesh seep through the thin cotton of her
underwear, as if there were nothing between them. Ignited by the
thought, she reached up to cradle his head, keeping his lips firmly
fixed to her own.

Moaning, he sent his hands roaming, and
down her hips and up, up to frame the breasts aching for his touch.
Using his thumbs, he traced large circles around her swollen
nipples, the erect peaks stretching out to meet first his touch,
then his mouth, as he dipped down to kiss them, that cotton of her
underwear proving no defense against the hot, moist magic of his
tongue.

Week with desire, it was all
she could do not to stand upright. She knew this was madness. It
was wild and crazy and so unlike her, yet she clung to Michael,
coming alive beneath his clever touch, even while her mind waged a
mental tug-a-war. He was her kidnapper, her brain protested, but
her heart declared him a magician.
This
man’s a thief, stealing into your dreams each
night
, common sense went on.
Can you trust him not to steal your
heart?

He reached for her strap of her bra,
sliding it down over her shoulder, and with a start, with a start,
she came to her senses. “No,” she murmured. Appalled at herself,
she pushed at his chest. “No, I can’t. I mustn’t.”

He would not let her go. Tightening his
grasp, he held her silently, firmly, his heart thundering so near
her own.

“
I came for a bath, she
protested. “Just a bath.” Feeling him stiffen, ease away, she
blurted out, “It was all a mistake.”

But was it? She’d heard him say he
meant to wash up; had coming here been some unconscious desire to
be with him?

As he moved away, stepping out of the
tub, Gwen began to shiver. It was not the water and the damp shifts
that left her feeling chilled, she suspected. It was the fear that
her only real mistake had been in pulling away.

With regret any sense of loss, she
reach out for him, but in the dark, with his back turned to her, he
didn’t see. She saw him in a spot of moonlight, bending down for
his close, jamming his legs into his trousers.

She went instantly warm as she realize
how intimately she’d been touching his naked body. It was wrong,
against all she’d ever been taught, so why did she feel this over
dipping sense of loss? Why was a so hard to remember she hated this
man?

“
Please, don’t be angry,”
she found herself pleading.

“
Angry? Forgive me, but I
just made it mighty ass hole of myself. And, I might add, you did
your best to help.”

“
No, I didn’t… You didn’t…”
Embarrassed and feeling guilty she stepped back from the tub. “Oh
Michael, I’m sorry.”

He moved towards her, holding his shirt
in his hands. She held her breath as he passed into the darkness
comment letting it out as she felt his warmth close he sighed
her.

“
Why didn’t you stop me
sooner?” He asked quietly.

“
I don’t know. I feel so
confused.”

“
Well, I am not confused, my
lady. I know exactly what I want.”

His words would ripped into her, made
her burn. It was all she could do not to fall back in his arms. “I
am a lady,” she protested, to herself as much as to Michael. “Can’t
be behaving like this. It’s not proper.”

“
No, ma’am, it’s not. But is
proper the way you want to be feeling right now? Or you rather be
tasting a little bit more of the magic?”

Felt a thrill of excitement, a hot,
forbidden need. “You don’t understand,” she protested, alarmed by
how she longed to touch him. “A lady must think of her
reputation.”

“
Really?” His voice cut into
her. “Are you worrying about your reputation, or is it Lance you
are thinking about?”

She have forgotten all about Lance, and
her vow to be his forever. Biting her lip, she took another step
backward. She must be every bit as shallow as Michael believed her
to be, for she cannot bring lance’s handsome, golden features to
mind, while even in the dark, she knew every last detail of
Michael’s face.

“
I see.” From his
emotionless tone, she knew he taken her silent as
assent.

“
You don’t see.” The words
burst out of her. “You can’t possibly, when I don’t see clearly
myself. Ever since coming here, I feel like I’m in a flood of
confusion, being swept up by some current and taken off from all I
know and hold dear. Ever since I can remember, I’ve planned my
future of around the Lance, and around the Willows. I made a vow to
marry that man, a promise that leaves no room for you, or the
children, or some cabin in the swamp.”

Even as she said the words, she knew
they weren’t quite true. Slowly, these people were inching into her
heart, setting up camp there.

As if this wasn’t enough, Christopher
suddenly called for her, out in front of the cabin.

Her first thought was to go to him, but
when she realized she was in her underwear, a fairly damp underwear
at that, she froze. “He mustn’t see me,” she whispered to Michael.
“Not with you.

“
I imagine your reputation
is safe.” Michael didn’t bother to mask his irritation.
“Christopher can’t say much, and I doubt he will be talking to
Lance.”

The boys’ second screams seem nearly
more urgent. “I’m going to him,” she announced, worried now. “You
wait here.”

She heard his low, muttered voice
behind her, but she was already hurrying to the front of the cabin.
Christopher needed her, and besides, she was glad for the
interruption. Five more minutes she have been back in the man’s
arms.