Too Far to Whisper (12 page)

Rosalind’s thoughts distracted her to such an extent, she lost concentration on her footing and stumbled. Shadow heard the splash behind him and whirled around to find Rosalind sprawled on her stomach in the shallow stream. In two long strides he reached her, then grasped her beneath her arms and pulled her, sputtering and red-faced from the water.

“Perhaps we should rest for a while,” he suggested as he slipped his arm around her waist and guided her to the rocky bank. When they both were seated, he pushed the dripping hair from her eyes. “You should have told me you were growing weary.”

“I am
not
weary!” Rosalind said, wiping her face against her wet sleeve. “I merely slipped, ‘tis all.” Inadvertently, she shivered.

“It might be a wise idea to remove your wet garments and wrap yourself in the blanket,” Shadow said.

Rosalind pulled her soggy clothing more tightly around her and eyed him warily. “Do not concern yourself. I shall be just fine. Wet garments will not affect my ability to keep pace with you.”

“If you insist.” He shrugged. “But do not complain later when your lips turn blue and your teeth begin to chatter.” 

Rosalind could tell by his voice that he was teasing her. “If that occurs,” she said, “I shall build a fire.”

Shadow smiled. “And shall we also send smoke signals to anyone who might be tracking us, in case the fire alone is not clue enough to our whereabouts?” The thought suddenly struck him that she might be attempting to tell him she wanted to be found – that the time had come for them to part ways. His expression sobered and he looked directly into her eyes. “Unless you are ready for them to find you?”

His words caught Rosalind unprepared. She had not thought much about when she would part from Shadow and allow herself to be found by Elias and his searchers. Was she ready to return to her life at the Corwins’?  She could not tear her eyes from Shadow’s as he awaited her answer.

“I am not yet ready to be found,” she said, rising to her feet. “Therefore, should we not be moving along?”

Shadow hesitated. “You are certain you are ready to continue?”

“Quite!” she said.

Shadow rose, took her hand and led her back into the stream.

“How much longer will it take to reach Portsmouth?” Rosalind asked.

“About three days,” he said. “’Twould be unwise for us to follow the most direct path.”

“Of course it would!” she said, frowning at the water. “In truth, I have become rather fond of cold, numb feet and ankles! And I think the water dripping from my hair is a lovely touch!”

Shadow looked at her and laughed.  At that moment, Rosalind thought it was the most wonderful laugh she had ever heard.

* * * * *

Nathaniel Corwin’s homecoming was not at all what he had anticipated. He had spent two weeks thinking of naught but the innocent woman-child he had left behind. He held no doubt that if Rosalind knew of the thoughts that had occupied his mind during the course of his voyage, she never would consent to wed him, for he had imagined making love to her in every conceivable manner. He placed the blame solely on Rosalind for his current state of frustration. Because of her, he had not enjoyed the company of a comely wench or two, as was his usual custom whenever his ship dropped anchor in a port. His marriage to Rosalind, he decided, would have to take place soon, very soon. He would go mad if he had to remain celibate for much longer, especially with Rosalind living in his house, sleeping in the chamber directly above his and constantly tempting him with her beauty. He was impatient to make her his wife – to give her a wedding night she long would remember. Nathaniel smiled at the thought. She would be fortunate if he allowed her to sleep at all on their first night together, for he felt certain it would take all night, perhaps longer, to fully sate his lust. Indeed, he mused, his little blond angel would be lucky if she were able to walk the next morning.

Eager to embrace his betrothed, Nathaniel burst into the Corwins’ sitting room and called Rosalind’s name. Silence greeted him and he saw not a soul about. Tossing his pack onto the floor, he craned his neck toward the staircase and again shouted for Rosalind.

Grace, her eyes red and swollen, emerged from the kitchen. “Welcome home, Captain,” she said, looking at the floor. “Your mother requested that I send you to her chamber posthaste upon your return.”

“Is something amiss?” he asked.

“Aye,” she softly answered, biting at her bottom lip. “But ‘tis best if you learn the news from your mother.”

Without another word, Nathaniel bolted up the stairs.

Abigail was lying in bed, her head propped against three pillows, her eyes closed.

Nathaniel approached the bed. “Mother,” he whispered.

“Welcome home, my son,” she quietly answered, not opening her eyes. “Please, be seated.”

He obeyed, staring expectantly at his mother. Abigail’s lashes slowly lifted and she turned to face him. “You must help Rosalind.” Her words barely were audible. “I fear she is in grave danger.”

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. “Please, tell me what occurred.”

“The Indian, Shadow Runner, murdered Jonathan. Ere your father and Matthew could transport him to the gaol, he managed to escape.”

“And Rosalind? What of Rosalind?”

Abigail tore her gaze from her son’s concerned face and again closed her eyes. “All evidence suggests the Indian has taken her hostage.”

Nathaniel’s hands clenched into fists. “When?”

“Just last eve.” When she opened her eyes, tears spilled from them and ran down her cheeks. “Please, Nathaniel, you must find her. Your father and Matthew departed here ere we discovered that Rosalind was missing. We thought she still lay asleep in her chamber.”

Nathaniel placed his hand on his mother’s arm. Before he could speak, she added, “I cannot help but imagine all of the terrible things the poor girl may already have been forced to endure at the hands of the savage.”

Unconsciously, Nathaniel tightened his fingers around his mother’s thin arm. “God as my witness, Mother, I shall find Rosalind and return her to you unharmed. You must have faith.”

He rose, and then leaned to kiss her on the forehead. “Now promise me you will try to get some rest. All of this worrying is not good for your health.”

Abigail managed a weak smile. “I shall try. Godspeed, my son.”

* * * * *

A fine mist dampened the cool night air. Rosalind found it difficult to believe that only a night ago she had been too hot to sleep and now, she was craving a warm bath and a stack of quilts. She wondered if she ever would grow accustomed to the changeable weather. She had seen it snow in April and become unbearably hot in November.

She and Shadow had walked in the stream for most of the day, finally stopping to eat and rest for the night as the sun was setting. Now, here she lay on the hard ground, attempting to find a comfortable position. Her back ached and her muscles felt as if they had been tied into thick knots. Grumbling, she finally sat up and braced her back against a pine tree.  She tugged at the blanket that hung about her shoulders, but it offered little warmth against the moist, chilly air. The fact that her skirts still were damp from the stream only added to the chill she felt. She wished she would have possessed the foresight to bring extra blankets and clothing…but how could she possibly have known then that Shadow would not be making this journey alone?

Rosalind turned to glare at Shadow, who seemed oblivious to the night’s dampness and the hard ground as he slept peacefully beneath a tall pine. He wore Matthew’s shirt and lay on his side with his arm cradling his head. He slept like a man who had not a care in the world, and for a moment, she resented him for it.

A chorus of howls in the distance suddenly sliced through the forest’s silence.
Wolves!
Rosalind’s breath caught in her throat. With no fire to keep them at bay, she held no doubt that she and Shadow would become dinner for the beasts.

“Dear Lord, all the searchers will discover of me is a pile of shredded garments!” She did not realize she had spoken the words aloud until she heard them echo in her ears.

Shadow instantly sat up, his hand instinctively reaching for the carving knife, which he kept at his side. His keen eyes scanned the area before coming to rest on Rosalind.

“I-I am sorry,” she apologized. “I did not mean to disturb your sleep. The wolves’ howling startled me.”

“You are trembling,” Shadow observed. “Come, sleep here beside me.” He patted the pine-needle covered ground next to him. “I shall keep you warm…and safe.”

Rosalind did not move. Although she found his offer tempting, she knew it would not be proper for her to lie with a man who was not her husband…especially when that man was a savage.

Another howl, this one nearer, put an abrupt end to her concerns about propriety. Rosalind quickly crawled over to Shadow and snuggled against him, her back pressed to his stomach. Shadow reached over and took the blanket from her shoulders, then covered them both with it. His arm fell protectively across her waist, pulling her more tightly against him.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked. His breath was hot against the back of her neck.

“Yes, thank you,” she whispered, finally allowing herself to exhale.

Rosalind always had held the belief that sharing a bed with a man would be no different than sharing one with her sisters, but she soon realized there was no comparison. Shadow’s strong, solid form molded perfectly to her back, as if it had been expressly created for that purpose. She allowed her thoughts to wander, boldly imagining how his body would feel against hers if they shed their garments.   Shadow was so muscular, his skin so taut and smooth, she was certain that lying naked with him would feel…well, wonderful. Her thoughts drifted back to a story Ben once had told her about Indians and how they disliked body hair to such an extent, they painstakingly grasped the hairs between two clamshells and pulled them out one by one. At the time, she had laughed at her brother and accused him of telling tales, but now, after having had the pleasure of seeing Shadow’s smooth, hairless chest on more than one occasion, she suspected Ben just might have been telling the truth.

Shadow wondered if Rosalind had any idea of the effect she was having on him. Each time she moved, unintentionally rubbing her backside against his loins, he gritted his teeth. He tried to concentrate on something other than the warmth of her body and her soft curves pressed against him, but his attempts were futile.

“Shadow?” Rosalind’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you asleep yet?”

“Nay,” he answered.

She hesitated before asking, “Will you take your father’s place as sachem when he…dies?”

“I know not,” he said, sighing. “I fear I have been gone too long and my people may think I have adopted too many of the ways of the English to deserve such an honor.” He paused before adding, “Also, I am a wanted man now.”

“Do
you
believe the ways of the English have altered your way of thinking?”

He shook his head, knowing full well they had. Why else, he wondered, would he be lying here with a white woman and speaking to her in her own tongue while the gallows awaited him, all because he had tried to protect her? And why did the thought of Rosalind marrying Nathaniel disturb him to such a degree, he had to bite back his anger whenever the subject was broached?

“You promised to tell me about the stealing the sheep,” she reminded him. “I still wish to hear the story.”

“If I tell you, will you then go to sleep?”

“I promise,” she said.

“A cousin of mine, Little Bird, was not in good favor with his father,” he began. “It seemed that no matter what Little Bird did, he failed, which made him a constant source of shame to his family, and the object of much taunting in our village. One day, I invited Little Bird on a hunt with me – I suppose because I felt sorry for him.”

“But what does all of this have to do with the Corwins’ ewe?”

“I am getting to that,” he assured her. “While hunting, we happened upon the Corwin’s land and spied a pen with sheep in it. Little Bird became obsessed with the notion he could greatly impress his father if he were able to gift him with a fine, fat ewe – especially one that belonged to a rich English settler.”

Shadow paused to chuckle at the memory. “He wanted to capture it and bring it back alive, so he climbed into the pen and wrestled with the ewe…with the ewe winning. He then decided he would have to kill it, so he withdrew his knife and attempted to swiftly take the sheep’s life…but also failed at that. The sheep’s bleating grew so loud, it attracted the attention of Elias Corwin and several men who were with him at the time. The moment Little Bird heard the men’s shouts nearby, he dashed back into the forest with the speed of a frightened deer. At the same time, the ewe fell over onto her side, and I noticed the jagged gash near her ribs. Little Bird’s knife apparently had left its mark.”

“I should have run off and found safety in the forest, but I could not allow the sheep to suffer. I intended to climb into the pen, quickly end the animal’s life with my knife, and then leave with a peaceful mind. Alas, before I could finish carrying out my plan, I looked up to find Elias standing there with a musket pointed directly at my head. Had I shown any resistance, I am certain he would have taken great pleasure in shooting me.”