LeClerc 01 - Autumn Ecstasy (6 page)

It was mid-morning before Kaleb reached the river. He had walked until darkness and the falling snow had forced him to stop. He was too near his goal now to risk getting lost in the vast wilderness and die from the cold.

Wasting no time in uncovering the canoe, he pushed it into the river and jumped into the back. Turning it into the swiftly flowing current, he headed back the way he had come. The river fought his passing, making each mile seem like three as he used every ounce of his strength to paddle against the strong current.

By late afternoon, Kaleb knew he had no choice but to seek shelter. Sweating heavily from the exertion of fighting the current, he shivered each time the bitter wind crept into the folds of his coat. Squinting through the haze that lay thickly on the river, he searched for the long familiar landmarks that would lead him to cover.

Kaleb found the entrance to the nearly hidden stream that branched off the river and maneuvered the canoe past the overhanging branches. With a less strong current to fight, his paddling became easier, but with fewer trees overhead the snow fell thicker. It took the rest of the afternoon for him to find the lean-to he had constructed years earlier and used only occasionally. As an early evening turned the gray sky to black, Kaleb pulled up on shore, carefully secured the canoe and shouldered his heavy pack.

Inside, the lean-to was total darkness, but he moved with sure memory and soon had a small fire warming the tiny structure. Kaleb fed the fire from an ever ready stack of dry wood at the back of the lean-to and cursed the fates that let him get so near before forcing him to stop.

For four years he had searched — a search that had taken him far and more than once should have cost him his life. He had known only their names, not their faces. It rankled that they had crossed his path once before but he had not known them for who they were. Now, through pure chance, he had found his enemy; he knew their faces. But for the early blizzard he would have begun his revenge.

The wind blew against the sides of the lean-to, and the fire danced in the darkness. He took some satisfaction from knowing they, too, would have to wait out the storm. As the blazing wood turned to glowing ashes, Kaleb Smith promised himself that Jeb and Zeke would never know spring.

Only by instinct and an overpowering will to survive was Luc LeClerc able to continue toward the promise of warmth. The unseasonably early blizzard had caught him unprepared several days from his cabin. He fluently cursed his own stupidity in three languages. His years of living with the Shawnee as well as being an experienced trapper had taught him to always be prepared for the unexpected.

Luc smiled grimly to himself as he walked head down. If he froze to death, the fault rested solely on his own shoulders. The signs of a storm had been clearly evident when he had been only a day away from the cabin, but he had chosen to ignore them. When the first gentle snow flakes had started to fall, he had cursed vividly but continued to set traps and check the ones already in place. By the time he started his journey back, the flakes were no longer gentle, and now he stumbled with exhaustion still more than two miles from the protection of his cabin.

His journey had been successful; several small animals had been in his traps. Their fur was not yet as thick as it would be later in the winter and therefore not as valuable, but the meat from the carcasses would be welcome.

If he lived long enough to eat it.

Doggedly, he trudged on, constantly looking for the familiar landmarks to guide him home. It was too late to stop and make shelter. He knew that he would be frozen before he could build a fire and make the protection of some kind of a lean-to.

His grim smile deepened. His Shawnee family would shake their heads sadly when they found his frozen body. They would wonder where they had failed and why he had not learned the simple lessons they had shared with him.

As darkness descended the storm intensified. The snow began to fall so thickly Luc could see only a few feet in front of him. Knowing that the cabin was just a short distance away, he determinedly continued, hoping that he had not strayed off the path in the blinding storm.

Watching as he put one foot in front of the other, he almost missed the cabin. It was only when he ran into the side of the structure that he realized he was home.

Using his hand as a guide along the outside wall, Luc walked to the door, pulling on the rope that released the guard bar inside. He stumbled into the room, discovering it was nearly as cold as the outside had been, but the promise of warmth beckoned.

Luc knelt wearily at the fireplace. In the gloom he saw the haphazardly stacked wood. Instantly alert, he reached for a small log with one hand and grabbed for the knife at his hip with the other. Moving in a blur of speed, Luc rose, turned and pulled the knife free. Fully prepared to face an unfriendly intruder, his alert gaze wandered around the room. There was no one in sight and no place large enough for a man to hide. When he was satisfied that there was no danger, he replaced the knife and turned again to the fire.

Sweeping aside the large logs, Luc replaced them with kindling. His only concern once more was the warmth now within his reach. A small spark turned to a golden blaze, and he added the larger logs slowly. He was careful to keep his frozen hands from the fire, knowing if he warmed them too quickly he risked losing them.

When the fire was burning brightly, he removed his heavy, ice-coated deerhide coat. The stew he had made before he left still hung on the hook beside the fireplace, and he moved the pot and its frozen contents toward the heat. His body cried out for sleep while his belly complained of hunger. He would wait until the food was warm, eat and then sleep until the storm abated.

As he stood near the fire, Luc realized he had carried the animal carcasses inside with him. He knew he should take the time to clean them, but his tired body refused to make any unnecessary movements. Picking them up from the floor where he had dropped them, he carried them to the door and placed them outside the cabin. More than likely some animal would find them before he woke, but at the moment he did not begrudge losing them. The fight to get home had consumed his considerable strength to a point that he wanted only to rest.

The stew came to a bubbling boil, its aroma filling the cabin. When he found his cup and plate on the table instead of the shelf, he filled them, but his gaze continuously scanned the room. Someone had been in his cabin during his absence, someone who either did not know how to start a fire or had waited until the ashes were almost dead before adding more wood. It was not unusual for a traveler to seek shelter in someone else’s cabin. It was unusual for that person to have moved on during a blizzard.

When his stomach was pleasantly full, he carefully added more logs to the blazing fire and turned toward the bed and its tumble of furs and blankets. The far side of the cabin lay in shadowed darkness, but already the heat was beginning to warm it. The ice coating his clothing began to melt, making the garments wet and heavy. Chilled by the dampness, he removed them as he crossed the room, falling nude into the bed. The furs warmed his body, the heat radiating from his shoulders to the tips of his toes.

With a contented sigh, grateful to have survived in spite of his own stupidity, Luc rolled from his side to his back. His hand lay on something in the bed beside him … something soft, warm.

Something alive.

CHAPTER THREE

Run! Run! He’s getting closer. Ground’s uneven, mustn’t fall. Tripping. A tree root?

Snake!

No! No!

Zeke! … can’t move .
.
. can’t breathe. .
. .

“Shet up, girlie, or Zeke’ll have ta hug ya to deaf.”

Behind him… an Indian! Garishly painted, moving without sound … reaching for Zeke’s scraggly hair. A feathered tomahawk slicing through the air.

A grisly tool of death aimed for his head.

Scream!

Scream of death.

Luc turned his head, his alert gaze searching for his knife. It lay where he had left it, on the table in the center of the room — another foolish error in judgement that he had no time to berate himself for at the moment. He could depend only on his own strength and a surprise attack.

Exhaustion forgotten, Luc whipped back the concealing furs, turned and threw himself on top of his intruder. He straddled the body beneath his and pulled the arms above the head.

Linsey’s nightmare turned to harsh reality as the breath exploded from her lungs. She struggled against his immense weight, trying to free her hands from his hold.

Luc judged that his captive’s strength fell far short of his own, and in the flickering light he let his gaze roam. His eyes widened in amazement, and his hold slackened. A woman!

“Mon dieu
,” he whispered in the French of his childhood. ”What are you doing in my bed, little one?”

Too frightened to hear him, Linsey knew that she must fight for her life. A man, too large to be Zeke, was holding her down. That he spoke both English and French did not register in her mind. To her he had to be the thing she most feared … an Indian.

Taking advantage of the momentary easing of his hold, Linsey freed one hand and raked it down his chest. She twisted and turned, her hair streaming out around her, flipping over her face so that she could not see her captor.

Too startled to respond quickly, Luc looked down at his chest and the ragged trails of blood made by her fingernails. He grunted when her closed fist landed with surprising force in the center of his stomach. Grabbing her wildly flailing arm, he pulled it back with the other one above her head. The heaving of her slender body hardly moved his, and he leisurely studied her.

Even in the murky light it would have been impossible for him not to notice her hair. It was magnificent: a summer sunset of reds and golds; autumn leaves in the glory of full color; tarnished copper promising untold beauty. He searched for a description and could not find it. Her hair was a little of each and yet none.

An artist would despair never finding the shades and hues to paint it on canvas.

Her face was molded with delicate features, a tiny, slightly upturned nose and a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks. He longed to see the color of her eyes beneath the finely arched brows. His gaze drifted lower, to the creamy skin of her full breasts. Her chest rose and fell rapidly from her struggles, and he felt himself hardening as he dwelt on the tender buds peeking through the strands of long hair. He wanted to put his lips on them and sample their sweetness. Lower still was her narrow waist, gently rounded hips and flat stomach. His manhood throbbed with a life of its own when he realized it was nestled against the soft curls of her femininity.

“Tukwahkee Sh’kotai,
Autumn Fire,” he whispered in Shawnee, his voice harsh with sudden longing. “Are you a gift from some god to warm my long, cold winter nights?”

Linsey heard his voice, and her fear intensified, nearing the breaking point. She no longer doubted that he was an Indian. The terrible tortures her cousin had hinted at were about to befall her. She stiffened, searching beyond her terror for hidden strength. If he planned to torture her, she might not be able to hide pain, but he would never see her fear.

Luc gasped when she opened her eyes … green eyes, sparkling with the vibrant color of emeralds or new leaves of spring. Again he was left wanting a description.

Linsey’s defiant gaze saw hair as blue-black as a raven’s wing, without the slightest hint of a curl. His face was hidden by the murky shadows, unveiled in the flickering light. Distorted by slopes and ridges where none should have been. A demonic specter created from the fires of hell.

Her scream splintered the silence. It echoed through the tiny cabin, reverberating off the walls. She screamed like one who had been touched by the burning hand of the devil.

“Easy, little one.” His deeply husky voice was quietly soothing. “Do not struggle so hard. You will harm yourself.”

There were many questions that needed an answer, but he knew that first he must reassure the girl, for he was well aware of the effect of his appearance on most people the first time they saw him.

“Shhh.” He smoothed the silky mass of tangled hair from her face as Linsey struggled to free herself from his hold. Fearing she would injure herself while thrashing around, Luc held her firmly and talked quietly until she began to show signs of tiring.

“You grow weary of this struggle, eh,
petite ange
?” He cupped her cheek within his massive hand, rubbing her soft skin with his work-roughened thumb. He gritted his teeth when her breasts heaved against his chest, their pointed tips seeming to burn into his flesh. His stomach rested in the hollow of hers, and the throbbing hardness of his loins ground against her thigh, needlessly reminding him how long it had been since he’d shared his bed with a woman. He knew most men would take her in spite of her terror, perhaps deriving greater pleasure because of it. But it was not his way. He would find no satisfaction in rape.