Captive Bride (40 page)

 
When Bear-Claw graced her with his compassionate grin, Rozalyn relaxed a bit. Propping herself upon an elbow, she accepted the steamy broth. "It is very good," she complimented, and then opened her mouth to accept the next heaping spoonful Bear-Claw had waiting for her.

 
"Didn't I tell you?" Bear-Claw beamed in satisfaction. "Wait until you sample my johnny-cakes and corn pone. The very aroma of them will set your mouth to watering, missy."

 
While Rozalyn quietly sipped her porridge, Bear-Claw rambled on, skipping from one unrelated topic to another. The longer he talked, the less apprehensive Rozalyn became about sharing a cabin with the aging hunter. Slowly, she warmed to him, deciding that the mountain man was a mite windy but harmless.

 
Now she knew where Hawk had heard his tall tales. Bear-Claw rattled off one story after another until drowsiness overcame her. Rozalyn eased back onto the bed and snuggled beneath the warm fur covering. Peacefully, she slept while Bear-Claw kept constant vigil over her.

 
The longer he sat silently studying the blue-eyed beauty the more attached to her he became. It was easy to understand why Hawk had impulsively dragged this lovely creature of civilization back into the wilderness with him. Just peering into Rozalyn's bewitching features gave a man a warm feeling. Although Rozalyn could not remain here in the wilds forever, she could provide Hawk with memories to last a lifetime.

A quiet sigh tumbled from Bear-Claw's lips. It was a shame Hawk had not consulted him before venturing from the mountains. Hawk could have spared him the agony he'd feel upon surrendering this exquisite beauty to Aubrey. Although Hawk had discovered how it could be between a man and a woman, he must face the inevitable pain of losing this lovely creature. Bear-Claw found himself wondering if perhaps Hawk wouldn't have been better off with his freedom than living with the despair of knowing there was no future for him with Aubrey DuBois' daughter.

 
"Of all the women in the world, why did Hawk have to get himself involved with this one?" Bear-Claw grumbled while he climbed the ladder to the loft where his pallet awaited him.

 
Bear-Claw had never bothered to tell Hawk about the feud between DuBois and the Beaudelairs because he saw no need. Aubrey had dealt with Hawk at rendezvous, but he had never known the trapper's true name. That wasn't unusual. Almost every man who ventured into the mountains took a new name and a new identity. Bear-Claw hadn't thought it wise to stir up the painful past if it wasn't necessary, and things had been going well until Hawk had made the mistake of traveling to St. Louis. That was where the trouble had started. If Hawk had stayed put, Aubrey would have been none the wiser and the young woman would not have found herself caught in the crossfire of an undying feud.

 
Heaving a disgruntled sigh, Bear-Claw wriggled beneath the fur robe. A clash between Aubrey and Hawk was inevitable. DuBois would never permit his daughter to be linked with a Beaudelair, not after all that had happened years ago. Hawk would have to accept harsh reality. Bear-Claw supposed that was one of the reasons the younger man had decided to spend a few weeks alone in the wilderness. He'd needed time to come to terms with the truth and to accept his fate. How many weeks would it take for Hawk to relinquish his obsession for this enticing beauty? And God forbid, what would happen if Hawk couldn't give Rozalyn up as he had promised to do in his ransom note to Aubrey?

 
Confound it. If Hawk had listened to Bear-Claw's advice, he'd have been satisfied to live the life he'd made for himself in the mountains. But no, the lad was overeager, hot-blooded. He had an uncommon need to see progress and change. My God, Bear-Claw grunted sourly, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Hawk had invited homesteaders to journey into this wilderness to set up housekeeping! It was getting so a man couldn't live in harmony with nature without having neighbors breathing down his neck. Hawk lived twenty miles from Bear-Claw's crude cabin and that was close enough. A man needs his space, Bear-Claw mused. The closer he came to people, the more entangled his life became. Bear-Claw had seen enough tragedy and heartache, he wanted no part of it. He, too, was plagued by old, unhealed wounds, and they were much easier to tolerate when there was nothing or no one around to remind him of life as it had once been.

 
For almost a full week Rozalyn enjoyed Bear-Claw's company. The dizziness had ebbed and her tender left ankle had begun to mend, thanks to the hermit's natural remedy. Although Rozalyn had no complaint about the meals Bear-Claw prepared for her or the long hours they spent conversing on a myriad of subjects, she was developing a severe case of cabin fever. She longed for activity, something to distract her from wondering when Hawk would return and whether he had missed her. Was he plagued by the same, discomforting loneliness that tormented her?

"I would like to ask a favor," Rozalyn begged as she sipped a mug of Bear-Claw's own concoction—a brewed tea. Although it varied greatly from the drink Rozalyn had sampled in civilization, she had acquired a taste for the potion.

 
"Anything," Bear-Claw generously offered. Then he leaned close to flash her a wry smile. "Anything except divulging my recipe for johnnycakes, that is."

 
Rozalyn giggled at his teasing grin. "I wouldn't dare attempt to copy your special recipe. It is something else I request of you." Her lashes fluttered up to study his ruddy face. "Teach me to survive in the wild, just as you once taught Hawk. I feel inadequate in these mountains."

 
Bear-Claw frowned pensively for a moment, grappling with her request. Finally, he nodded agreeably. "That is a great deal to learn in so little time, but we will make an effort."

 
So Rozalyn's introduction to survival in the wild began. Bear-Claw patiently taught her to skin the game he brought in for their meals, and he gave her lessons on food preparation and storage, as well as instructions on sewing buckskin garments. Sewing was a skill Rozalyn had heretofore overlooked. Indeed, Bear-Claw was eager to share his knowledge until Rozalyn insisted that he teach her to become accurate with his rifle.

 
After he watched Rozalyn take aim with the flintlock and consistently hit the targets he had set for her, he agreed to allow her to clutch his prized weapon. "Brace your legs and hold the rifle firmly against your shoulder," he instructed. "Hold it steady, and with authority. No, no, girl. I didn't say choke it!" Yanking the weapon away, he showed Rozalyn the proper way to cradle the rifle.

 
Rozalyn did as she was told, or so she thought. But she was too interested in taking aim over the long barrel and impressing Bear-Claw with her marksmanship. Before the mountain man could add another word of caution,

Rozalyn squeezed the trigger. A surprised squawk erupted from her lips when the rifle kicked like a mule, slamming against her shoulder and knocking her completely off balance. While she lay sprawled on the ground, Bear-Claw calmly strode over to retrieve his weapon.

 
"You didn't steady the rifle firmly against your shoulder. I noticed that right away. You are a mite impatient, flatlander . . . but you'll learn."

 
When Bear-Claw ambled away, Rozalyn scraped herself up off the ground and then followed after him. His footsteps took him to the river, where he intended to proceed with the next facet of her education. Announcing that it was time to learn the proper procedure for setting a beaver trap, Bear-Claw waded into the cold mountain stream. Reluctantly, Rozalyn, too, eased into the icy water, grimacing when chills ran up and down her spine.

 
Having found a natural dam in the rivulet, Bear-Claw cocked the trap. "Put this contraption into the water, just deep enough for the width of one hand to move between the surface and the trap trigger."

 
Carefully, the mountain man drew the attached chain to its full length and then secured it by driving a sharpened stick into the river bed. Motioning for Rozalyn to accompany him, he waded to the bank to locate a willow twig. "Next you must peel the stick and dip it in the bait." He stuffed the twig into the end of the antelope horn that dangled from his belt. "This is what we trappers call medicine," he explained with a wry grin. "It is a secretion taken from a dead beaver." After handing Rozalyn the twig, he gestured back to the river. "Take the stick bait and carefully place it above the submerged trap. The scent of the bait lures the beaver to spring the trap on his paw. The trap will drown the beaver before he can free himself by gnawing off his snared paw."

 
Rozalyn made the mistake of jerking straight up when Bear-Claw described the cruel trapping method and the tormented captive's painful means of escape. Her abrupt movement caused her to lose her footing on the mossy rocks. She yelped in surprise as she went splashing into the icy stream. Muffling a chuckle, Bear-Claw lumbered into the water to offer her a helping hand.

 
As the mountain man assisted her to shore, an embarrassed smile crept across her lips. "You must think me a clumsy oaf."

 
"No, just a mite green," Bear-Claw corrected. "But you'll learn."

 
By the end of week one, Rozalyn had heard that familiar phrase so often that she wanted to scream. She swore she would never accomplish even the simplest task without bungling it. Her first experience in building a temporary lodge was disastrous. She painstakingly stretched animal skins over several flexible saplings, but their tops were not tightly secured so the bent trees broke loose, flinging the skinned tarp to the ground several feet away.

 
"I know," Rozalyn grumbled disgustedly, stalking over to retrieve the tanned skins. "I'll learn . . . eventually. I only pray that I will live long enough to get the hang of this."

 
Bear-Claw plopped down on a fallen log and cast his annoyed companion a teasing grin. "I didn't say this was going to be easy," he'd reminded her with a soft snicker. "You must practice the task time and time again until you get it right."

 
Although he did his damndest to prevent it, a skirl of laughter bubbled in his chest. He remembered the previous night when he had shown Rozalyn how to prepare a bed of coals to warm her when sleeping in the wilds. She had neglected to scoop enough dirt into the hold to sufficiently cover the smoldering coals, and when she'd squirmed down onto her cozy nest, her blanket caught fire, nearly roasting her like a duck. Bear-Claw had doused her with water before she'd been set ablaze.

 
"Would you care to try your hand at making another warm bed?" he asked.

 
Rozalyn frowned at the grinning mountain man. "My backside was sufficiently scorched last night," she assured him grouchily. "I don't think I will undertake that task again for a few more days. Since I cannot endure much more heat, I intend to avoid sleeping over fires until the burns have healed."

 
When Rozalyn finally managed to complete their overnight lodge, Bear-Claw scooped up the stack of skinned beaver hides. Patiently, he taught her how to scrape the skin, stretch it over a willow hoop, and then set it out to dry. Rozalyn was extremely proud of herself for completing the task without chopping off her fingers in the process.

 
She was slowly learning the techniques required for surviving in the wild. Although she was not yet proficient in them, she knew the basic necessities, and the weeks of constant instruction had distracted her so she did not spend all her time wondering when Hawk would return.

 
Bear-Claw reminded her of Harvey Duncan. He could spin the liveliest yarns, thereby preoccupying her on the long night when her thoughts inevitably turned to Hawk. She was now totally at ease in the mountain man's presence, and his companionship made her days without Hawk less difficult to bear.

 
Nodding in approval after tasting the beaver-tail soup and hoecake Rozalyn had prepared for their noon meal, Bear-Claw complimented her efforts. "You have become a full-fledged mountaineer."

 
A proud smile blossomed on Rozalyn's lips. "
Merci, monsieur."
Gracefully, she curtsied before him. "I had a most competent instructor."

 
When Bear-Claw glanced past her to stare out the window, her eyes followed his gaze and then her heart almost stopped beating. A lone rider was approaching the cabin. Impulsively, she vaulted to her feet and dashed through the door to greet the man who had long filled her dreams.

 
A wide smile stretched Hawk's lips when he saw Rozalyn running toward him. Her blue eyes were dancing with the lively sparkle he had not been able to forget the past three weeks, and her shiny raven hair trailed wildly behind her as she closed the distance between them. His hungry gaze swam over her flawless features and her curvaceous figure now clad in form-fitting buckskins. God, how he had missed this gorgeous creature whose smile was as radiant as the summer sun.

 
Hawk grunted uncomfortably when Rozalyn leaped at him, her arms curling tightly about his neck. The feel of her body instantly aroused him, and her feminine scent warped his senses. He stood there, a rifle in one hand, the horse's reins in the other, and Rozalyn draped about his neck like a clinging vine, determinedly fighting the urge to rid himself of horse and weapon, and then squeeze the stuffing out of this lovely minx.