Gypsy Lady (45 page)
He
took to joining her for the evening meal. Afterwards, lying sprawled on the
ground with his back resting against the wagon wheel, he attempted to draw her
out of the cool shell she had retreated into, but found her maddeningly
elusive. Physically she was there, so close he could reach out and touch
her,
and Catherine would have been shocked if she had known
how often he
ached
to take her in his arms
and hold her near.
But
suspicious of every overture he made and grimly determined to quell any
weakening of the protective shield she had
erected,
she froze inside whenever he was near. She was polite when he spoke and
interested in what he said, but only if he kept to impersonal topics. And
Jason, viewing the calm stranger's smile she reserved solely for him, would
have liked to have shaken her until her teeth rattled—or kissed her until she
melted against him.
Yet,
in spite of everything that lay unresolved between them, they were slowly
learning about one another. There was a silent, tacit understanding that they
did not discuss their past. Nor did they discuss their future. Incidents that
had occurred prior to their meeting at the gypsy encampment and things that
happened on this journey were perfectly acceptable.
Frequently,
unable to help
herself
, Catherine's rippling laughter
pealed out at some particularly amusing tale he told. Jason was totally unaware
that even his lazy, slanting smile could cause Catherine's heart to thump painfully
fast. Nor was he aware of the very attractive, virile picture he presented
leaning comfortably against the wheel of her wagon, his green eyes glinting
with enjoyment. But Catherine, watching him from beneath lowered lids, a soft
light in her violet eyes was almost overwhelmingly conscious of it.
One
night as they sat talking—or politely fencing—Jason said casually, "Well,
this time tomorrow I hope we'll have reached our destination. You'll be glad to
see the last of this wagon."
Catherine's
head jerked up and with natural curiosity, asked, "Where are we going? You
never did tell me."
His
eyebrow rising, he said coolly, "You also never asked."
Swallowing
the desire to snap a sarcastic retort, she asked sweetly instead, "Well,
I'm asking now. Where are we going?"
An
unusual smile hovered about his mouth, a faraway look in his eyes, and his
voice held a softness to it that made Catherine look at him closely when he
said, "It's called
Terre du Coeur,
Land
of the Heart, and it's acres and acres of land that lies almost halfway between
Natchitoches, or Fort St. Jean Baptiste as some of the older people call it,
and Alexandria on the Red River." His voice almost dreamy, he continued,
"I inherited it on my majority from my mother and she from her mother.
It's wild, untamed, and more beautiful than one can imagine." He shot her
a wicked glance and murmured, "Rather like you." But as her smile
froze, he added hastily, "There
are a house
and
outbuildings that were built in my mother's youth, but very little has been
done to bring the land into production. Mostly the land has been used to fatten
cattle, although some acres have been cleared for cotton. The women of my
family have always married well, and they had no practical use for it. Probably
if there had been more children, it wouldn't have come to me, but being an only
child has its advantages as well as its curses!"
A
slight frown crossing her forehead, Catherine stared at him and asked very
carefully, "Why haven't you done anything with it before now?"
Pointedly,
he retorted, "I never had a wife before."
Nearly
stuttering in her hurry, Catherine changed the subject. Being his wife was one
thing she didn't want to talk about, and her haste was such that she missed the
faint gleam of amused disappointment that flickered in his green eyes.
If Catherine lived to be a
hundred, she would never forget her first sight of the massive wood and brick
house at Terre du Coeur that was to become her home.
The
house crowned a small rise, ascending like a shimmering yellow jewel, a topaz
set on a lush expanse of green velvet lawn. Many years ago the tall, wooden
columns of the first story had been tinted a pale yellow but now, faded by the
hot sun, they gleamed creamy white in the late afternoon sun. The brick, once
bright ochre, was bleached flaxen by the weather and the burning rays of the
sun. Built when Jason's Spanish grandmother had been a mere child, Terre du
Coeur betrayed its Spanish origin by the wide bow-shaped staircase on the
outside of the house, forming a graceful, sweeping arch that led to the cool,
vine-draped upper story. Recessed French doors opened onto the shaded verandas
that encompassed three sides of the house, and the hipped roof with its deeply
protective slant jutted beyond the verandas making them cool retreats from the
moist heat of the day. Delicately carved railings were covered with honeysuckle
and trumpet creeper, the
leaves .
shining
"
darkly green against the paleness of the wooden railings. Yellow and orange
trumpet flowers blazed vividly in the mass of greenery, and the sweet scent of
honeysuckle drifted through the air.
Catherine
had been unprepared for a house in the middle of this apparent wilderness,
especially one appearing as it did, flanked by encroaching, pungent-smelling
pine trees and huge oaks. She blinked with surprise when the trail they had
been following opened onto the large clearing where the house sat. At their
approach, the house—which had at first seemed deserted—leaped to life, and in a
matter of seconds the weary travelers were engulfed by a crowd of smiling and
excited men, women, and children who unexpectedly appeared to greet the new
arrivals.
Later,
Catherine learned that Terre du Coeur was more like a settlement than merely a
plantation; that behind the main house, hidden by a belt of tall pine trees,
were smaller houses where many of the men who had traveled this particular trip
with Jason lived with their families. But today, sick to death of the swaying
wagon, she was just thankful for the smiling black servants who made those
first hours in her new home heavenly.
Jason
came back to her wagon and grasping her firmly about the waist, lifted her
down, holding her against him as he did so. Surrounded by his arms and under
the interested view of the entire tiny community, he bent his head and kissed
her long and searchingly, then raising his mouth from hers said softly,
"Welcome to Terre du Coeur, my little fire-eater."
Unable
to think clearly and stunned by the caressing quality of his voice, Catherine
allowed herself to be led meekly upstairs by a bustling little woman he called
Susan. Susan showed Catherine into a bright, cool room and then, muttering she
had to see that the other servants were doing their jobs properly, vanished.
For a
moment Catherine stood staring blankly at the bare, wooden-planked floors, the
stark white walls that were naked of any ornament, and the sparse furnishings.
There was a massive four-poster mahogany
bed, that
gleamed darkly against the pristine whiteness of the walls, an equally massive
but delightfully and ornately carved wardrobe, and in the same heavy Spanish
style a dressing table with red velvet-covered stool. These were the only
objects in the appallingly large room. Even the huge brick fireplace in one
corner couldn't detract from the room's size.
Not
certain what she was to do next, Catherine walked back outside and stood on the
veranda staring down at the hive of activity that was taking place beneath her
window as the wagons were unpacked and put away. She felt a pang of regret when
her wagon was driven off around the side of the house; it was in that moment
dearly familiar to her, even the bruising hardness of the wooden seat, and she
almost wished they were still traveling.
She
wandered back inside, thankful for the coolness of the interior and immediately
noticed another set of carved double doors. Upon opening them she discovered
herself in another room. It was, if possible, larger than the one she had just
left, and it was empty. Not one object marred its echoing hollowness. Frowning
she walked slowly back into her room and froze at the sight of Jason lying indolently
on the bed, a lazy grin creasing his face.
"Well,
what do you think of it?"
Truthfully,
Catherine answered, "It's awfully large, isn't it?"
"Hmmm, perhaps.
But by the time all the
furnishings and geegaws you will no doubt fill it with are added, I'll probably
have trouble winding my way through the house without stumbling over some
object."
"You
don't know that! And where," she asked sarcastically, "am I to find
all these furnishings and geegaws you mention here in the middle of
nowhere?"
His
grin widening, he casually kicked off his boots, and they fell with a loud
clump to the floor. "Soon,
petite,
I'll
show you the storerooms. My grandmother once thought she'd like to live here
and consequently brought an excessive amount of God knows what with her. Some
of the stuff will be useless or ruined, I'm certain, after this many years, but
there'll be enough for you to start doing something with. And those wagons we
brought with us, love, weren't exactly empty! Whether you'll approve of the
cloth goods and materials I selected
is
another
story."
Arms
akimbo, she glared at him, resentment building in her breast. Levelly she
asked, "Is that why you brought me with you? To arrange your house and run
it for you?"
Lying
on his side, propped up on one arm and lazily taking his time, his eyes swept
meaningfully over her slim body. "No, that's not the only reason you're
with me."
Ignoring
the teasing light in his green eyes as well as the unspoken challenge, she
asked stiffly, "Where are you putting my son? I want him near me. I shall
want him to sleep in the same room."
Jason's
smile vanished, and his jaw tightened. "I'm afraid you'll be too busy
sharing a room with me to worry about
him!
But
allay your mother's
fear's
. I haven't sent him to the
servant's
quarter's
. He's across the hall and down a
few doors, being fussed over by Jeanne and Sally. For now, they can tend to him
as well as you, and there are enough servants around so that he won't be
neglected!"
The
sneer in his voice was very obvious, and for an instant she was almost overcome
by the desire to hurl Nicholas's parentage into his insolent face. But in her
own way as proud and stubborn as Jason, she bit back the words and instead
asked pointedly, "Do I
have
to share
a room with you?"
"Where
would you suggest I stay? At the moment this is the only room with a bed in it.
Unless," he drawled, "you expect me to sleep in the quarters with the
men or the servants."
Rising
suddenly from the bed, he walked over to where she stood her eyes bright with
frustration and anger. Reaching, he gently pushed a stray curl behind her ear.
Catherine was unbearably conscious of the warmth of his fingers as they lightly
brushed her cheek and of the hard, lean body that stood only inches from her.
She
wouldn't meet his eyes and stared at the floor as if hypnotized, fighting the
traitorous urge to fling
herself
into his arms and cry
that it didn't matter where he slept as long as he took her with him! His
voice, husky with emotion, as he cajoled softly, "Will it be so bad
sharing a bed with me?
",
did nothing to slow the
rapid racing of her pulse.
As
she continued to stare at the floor, his hand slid down her cheek and capturing
her chin, turned her face upwards to his. His eyes searching hers he said
slowly, "You did it once, kitten. And I seem to remember we made a bargain
to try to make something of our ill-starred marriage. Did you find me so
distasteful after only one night that you had to put an ocean between us and
present me with another man's son?"
Silently
her heart cried out, "Oh, God, Jason it was never
that!
But how could our marriage be anything when all
you ever wanted was a brood mare?" But words were said only in her heart,
and hurt again by his determination to invest her character with such vile
traits, she willed a steely note in her voice and taunted, "Does it bother
you to think of me in another man's arms, his lips kissing me as you do and our
bodies creating a separate life?"
His
grip on her chin tightened so hard that her eyes were misty with sudden tears
of pain. And as if to still her lips from saying more, his mouth descended on
hers with a bruising strength. There was no joy, no passion in that kiss; it
was meant to punish and hurt and, at last releasing her mouth he snarled
against her tremulous lips,
"Mon Dieu!
You
ask
that!
Yes, it bothers me! After
I saw you in New Orleans, there were nights I woke dreaming I had your soft,
white throat in my hands, and if my dreams—" he laughed harshly,
"nightmares would be more likely—were true, I'd have strangled the life
out of your bewitching, betraying body!"
His
hand had unconsciously encircled her slim throat and raising her head, she
stared up fearlessly into the dark, lean face above hers. Jason's gaze was
locked on her mouth, and a white line of anger near his lips revealed more
clearly than words the fury that must have racked him. Driven by a force beyond
her she jeered, "What's stopping you?"
She
felt a slight tenseness leave his body at her challenge and as the white look
faded, his lips curved slowly, incredulously, into a deeply sensuous smile. His
hands left her neck and pulled her tightly to him. "No, oh no, little
love, if I was to kill you, you'd haunt my dreams until the day I died.
This
way, I have you where I want you, when I want you,
and you can no more deny the attraction between us than I can!"
Then
his mouth took hers and he lifted her up and carried her to the bed. Her senses
swimming and her blood clamoring with desire, Catherine resolutely ignored the
cry of outraged pride that demanded she resist what every bone in her willing
body yearned for, and hungrily she responded to the passionate urgency of Jason's
lovemaking.
It
was quick taking, with few preliminaries, his body merging swiftly with hers as
if there were some compelling force that drove them together. Even so it was,
as always, eminently satisfying, and afterwards as they lay naked on the
rumpled bed, their bodies still locked together, Jason muttered against her
throat, "Why is it like this between us?" There was a note of dull
anguish in his voice and Catherine, her eyes luminous from remembered passion,
could only stare dumbly at the ceiling, groping for an answer that did not come
to her.
Gently,
Jason's lips traced her jaw line, his hands now softly caressing where before
they had been painfully demanding. "Why do we tear each other apart with
words? Yet, I have only to touch you and nothing else matters—I could in this
moment forgive you anything, but I know, and you do too, that as hour from now
we'll be clawing at each other, each trying to be the first to draw
blood!"
Jason's
words were spoken low, more to himself than her, and at the underlying tone of
wondering sadness Catherine's felt her whole being
melt
with love. Tentatively her fingers stirred tenderly across
his
dark
head, delighting in the feel of his black hair. For the first time, driven not
by passion bat by love, she voluntarily caressed him, but neither one of them
noticed it
As if
ashamed of admitting the pull between them, Jason suddenly jerked away, and
leaving the bed he began to dress; and any trace of the mood of seconds before
vanished. His face fell into
it's
familiar sardonic
east, killing the hesitant words that hovered on Catherine's lips.
Silently
she slid, from the bed and, as quickly as he, put on her clothing. Whatever the
meaning behind it, that little interlude of queer introspection was over, and
their habitual state of cool hostility was in force again.
Catherine's
first week at Terre du Coeur flew by in & kaleidoscope of shifting scenes
as Jason, in a surprisingly amiable mood, acquainted her with the estate. The
first few days she suffered dreadfully from the heat, having only the elegant
riding habits made in France to wear when riding over the estate. One morning,
looking thoughtfully at her face, damp with perspiration, Jason had a. trunk
unearthed and sent up to her room. Catherine was delighted to discover it was
filled with garments that a much younger Jason had outgrown. Many of the masculine
clothes were of no use to her, but the trunk also contained several pairs of
practically new breeches that didn't hang too badly on her slender frame and a.
number of snowy white linen and silk shirts. With the help of Jeanne and one of
the other women, the clothes were altered to fit.
and
thereafter, Catherine never went riding in anything but Jason's cutdown
breeches and: shirts.
