Loving Katherine (14 page)

It was a long night. Watching the sky turn pink, Roan waited for the rising of the sun, getting up from his place beside her as it hovered at the horizon. She rolled over, her forehead wrinkling as the bandage on her head came in contact with the ground beneath the blanket. Her eyes fluttered open, mere slits against the pale glow of dawn, then opening wide as she focused on him.

He stood a few feet away, tucking his shirt into his pants, his gaze on her, his eyes openly admiring the early morning dishevelment of her. Her braid had come undone during the night hours, and her hair tangled about her face, spreading beneath her head like a dark stain against the blanket.

“Time to get up already?” she asked, her fingers furrowing through the length of her hair as she sat up, loosening and removing the cloth he’d wound about her head. She winced as she pulled the pad from its place, then frowned as she examined the cloth closely.

“Any pus on that bandage?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It looks pretty clean, just a little fresh blood.”

“Let me take a look at it.” Kneeling behind her, he probed gently at the shallow wound. “We’ll find a place to stay and get you a real bath,” he told her. “But for now, how about if I just pull your hair back to keep it out of the way? I’ll braid it up for you, all right?” His hands busied themselves as he spoke, smoothing their way through the long strands and dividing the thick length into three sections. His fingers worked slowly as he concentrated on forming it loosely into a braid.

“Does anyone need to know what happened?” she asked, her head lowered as he completed his task.

“I kinda doubt anyone is gonna miss that bunch,” he said dryly. “We probably don’t need to spread the word we killed half a dozen men.”

She blanched. “Six? We killed six men?”

“One got away. Guess it was only five.” He frowned at her. “Your brother and I did the most of the shootin’, Katherine. But your shot there at the end probably saved my life. That doesn’t count as a killin’ in my book.”

She pulled a piece of twine from her shirt pocket and offered it to him. “Tie my braid with this,” she said, considering his theory. Somehow it eased the guilt she’d been carrying. Taking a man’s life was no small thing. Maybe if she looked at it from Roan’s point of view, she could live with it.

His fingers were awkward as he handled the twine, looping it about and tying a knot. “Guess I’d better learn how to do this, hadn’t I?”

“I’ll be fine in a day or so,” she told him. “I need to tend to myself.”

“Well, for now, tend to yourself out in those bushes,” he told her bluntly, “while I get something cookin’ for us to eat.”

They rode out less than an hour later, Roan keeping Katherine close by his side as they traveled. By noon, the sun was hot and his gaze was searching as he surveyed the hollows beneath her eyes. He was all for stopping and making camp for a couple of days, but Katherine gritted her teeth.

Within a few hours, though, she gave in gracefully when he suggested an early day, breathing a sigh of relief as she slid from the back of her mare. He eased one arm around her middle and led her to a grassy spot near the river.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get closer to a town, honey,” he told her as she sank to the ground with a sigh. “You’d feel better with a good soak in a hot tub.”

“I’ll settle for a pan of warm water,” she told him wearily. “And a clean shirt would be nice. But I think I’m out of clothes.”

“We’ve been pushin’ pretty hard. How about if we stay here for a couple of days, and I’ll wash up our things and let ‘em dry on the bushes tomorrow. I think you could use a day to rest.”

“I don’t want to hold you up,” she said staunchly. “I’ll be fine.”

He was silent, assessing the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the lack of color in her cheeks. “Those horses of yours could use a different pace for a day or so, anyway,” he said finally. “Maybe I’ll try my hand at workin’ with them tomorrow, while you take it easy.”

She looked up at him questioningly. “You’re going to wash my clothes and tend to my horses?” The thought of Roan Devereaux doing her laundry was a picture her mind found hard to accept, and her mouth curled as she contemplated the idea.

“I’ve washed out my shirts in a river a time or two already. Yours are put together the same way. Shouldn’t be any problem to scrub ‘em out when I do mine.”

“And I’m going to rest under a tree while you take care of things?” she asked politely.

“Sound’s like a good plan to me,” he told her.

“You wanta talk about it, Katherine?”

“Am I keeping you awake?”

He thought of the shifting and squirming she’d been doing. His smile was secret, hidden against her hair. “More than you know,” he said with amusement.

She stilled, stiffening in his embrace. Curled around her beneath the blanket, he was warm at her back, his arm heavy across her waist, his hand tucked discreetly at her side.

“You dwell too much on things you can’t do a dadburned thing about, honey.” His voice was low, carrying to her ear in a hushed reprimand.

She twisted beneath the burden of his arm, and he lifted it to allow her the space she sought. Turning to her back, she searched the heavens as if she might find the answer to her questions there.

“See the Big Dipper up there?” he asked her.

She nodded, her hair brushing his cheek, and his hand lifted to smooth it against her head.

“That was the first thing my mammy taught me about the sky at night. She said that dipper was chuck-full of beautiful dreams, and if I were to close my eyes and think about all the nice things in the world, why, that big old dipper would tip out just the right dream for a little boy like me.” His chuckle was tender with remembering, and Katherine found her mouth curving in a smile as she considered the thought of Roan Devereaux as a child.

“Did it work?” she asked after a moment.

“Oh, yeah,” he told her cheerfully. “I had the best dreams any little fella could hope for. Of course, the bedtime stories she told me probably helped a little, now that I think about it.”

Katherine picked up his hand from where it rested against her waist. Her fingers intertwined with his and she rubbed her thumb against his wrist, idly, without purpose. “I never heard a bedtime story,” she confided softly. “But I used to have dreams.” She slanted a glance at his profile, there where he’d managed to get just inches from her face. “I always hated to wake up from them,” she continued with a sigh. “I’d open my eyes in the morning sometimes and then squeeze them shut quickly and pray I could go back to the dream.”

“Did it work?” His fingers twisted against hers and he carried her hand to his mouth, his lips brushing against the cup of her palm.

She shook her head. “No…sometimes I couldn’t even hold on to them long enough to remember them through the day.”

“What did you dream about, Katherine?” His mustache was brushing softly across her fingers now, his lips warm and damp beneath it.

“Oh, lots of times about having a place to call my own. With a dog, or maybe a cat with kittens, and flowers and a big kitchen garden. I always wanted lilac bushes.” Her voice trailed off, and her breasts rose as she filled her lungs with an unsteady breath.

“Did you live alone in your dreams?” He’d somehow gotten her index finger against his mouth and she felt his hot breath on it as he spoke. His tongue moistened the tip of that suddenly sensitive finger, and his lips coaxed it to rest just inside his mouth.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, aware of a confusing tingle radiating throughout her body, her whole concentration focusing on the liberties his tongue was taking.

He released her finger reluctantly, kissing the length of it and curling it into the fist she’d made of the other three. Now he concentrated on the vulnerable flesh of her wrist, his mustache brushing back and forth against the fine network of veins that pulsed with her heartbeat.

“Roan…what are you doing?” she asked, her eyes closing as she relished the sensation of his mouth against her skin.

“Just lettin’ you know my touch,” he said quietly, releasing her hand to lie against his chest, while he turned himself toward her. “Tell me what’s goin’ through your head, Katherine. Don’t lay there broodin’ about things. Trouble’s lighter if you share it, you know.”

She cast him a look of amused scorn. “Did your mammy tell you that, too?”

He shook his head. “Figured it out all by myself. I’m real good at listenin’, honey.”

She shivered against him, and he tugged her closer. His mouth resting against her temple, he kissed the finely pored skin, careful to leave the wound untouched. They’d decided to leave it uncovered, Katherine vowing the air would heal it better without a bandage.

“Does your head hurt?” he asked.

“No, only if I forget and touch it. It’s really only a scratch, Roan. A cut on the head always bleeds like a mortal wound. I remember when Lawson…”

“What do you remember?” he prodded.

Her words were slow as she forced them from her memory, reluctantly visualizing the young boy he’d been. “Lawson was hit by a rock once, when we were coming from school. The bigger boys used to chase us home and tease us because we were new and Lawson didn’t want to fight them. Anyway, when one of them threw a rock, it hit him on the back of his head and he bled something fierce. I made him sit on the ground so I could look at it, and I tore a piece of my petticoat to make a bandage.”

“Did the boys leave him alone then?” he asked.

“They were pretty impressed that he didn’t make a fuss over it. And there was an awful lot of blood. I think it scared them. They thought they’d really hurt him bad.”

“What happened then?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. I just thought of it, that’s all. Pa told Lawson we all had to take our knocks in life.”

“The boys didn’t chase you, did they?” he asked quietly.

She laughed with derision. “No, I was too little and scrawny for them to notice. I got my share of attention later on in life. Sometimes I used to wish I wasn’t a girl.”

He hugged her close. “I’m awfully glad you’re a girl, Katherine.”

“Don’t know how you can tell, with the boy’s pants and shirts I’m wearing these days,” she scoffed.

He rose above her, supporting himself on his forearms as he allowed his chest to rest gently against her. “Oh, I can tell
all right. Every time you twitch that little tail of yours, every time you clamp those long legs around the sides of that mare, I notice how nicely you’re put together, Mrs. Devereaux.”

She held her breath, taken aback by his nearness, the sudden proximity of his mouth, as he whispered the outrageous compliments.
He’s going to kiss me,
she realized.
Like he did in the hayloft.

And then her thoughts burst into a thousand small fragments, glittering behind her closed eyelids like sparks from a newly lit pine log, as his mouth enveloped her own and claimed it with tender care.

T
he moon was a slender curve in the sky, just over Roan’s left shoulder. Then he shifted, leaning up on his elbow, and the moon vanished, replaced by the shaggy silhouette of his head, hair long over his collar. Katherine watched in silent anticipation as he scanned her pale countenance.

“The moon and stars take all the color out of you. Leaves you lookin pale and dark-eyed. Makes me feel sorta like I’m takin’ advantage of you, Katherine,” he told her, his voice holding a tremor she wondered at. Roan with uncertainties was beyond her imagining. Always so sure of himself, so ready to take charge. And now he was hesitant, wondering at her well-being, holding himself back for fear of hurting her.

She smiled at the thought. With all she’d been through during the past few days, she’d learned one thing. Roan Devereaux would never knowingly cause her pain or sorrow. She considered the idea, looking at the man above her with new vision, seeing him with the eyes of her heart. Twice, she’d known him as a warrior, his eyes narrowed and hard, his hands meting out swift judgment, harsh and fearsome in his fury. Then, too, she’d watched him in quiet times, gentling a fretful filly, using those same hands to mend or repair or build anew. She’d listened to him confiding
his memories. Good and bad, she’d heard his secrets, some of them at least.

She’d touched him, her fingers sensing the strength of his muscles and the awesome power of his body. She’d known the passion of his caresses, the hard, driving need of his openmouthed kisses against her tender flesh. His hands had held her in kindness and caring, with desire sometimes, and in the simple need for comfort. He’d gentled her as easily as he’d coaxed the bay mare to accept him as her master.

And now he was watching her with a hesitancy she groped to understand. As though he waited for a sign, a signal of sorts. As if he would not encroach on her further without the certain knowledge of welcome on her part.

A rush of emotion filled her, swelling within her breast and causing her throat to ache with longing as she sought to pierce the darkness, see deeply within the eyes of the man whose every breath matched her own. His broad chest touched her tender breasts, only the fabric of their clothing separating the warmth of their flesh. She felt the heat of his body penetrating her skin, soaking into her being like the warmth of the summer sun at noonday. Her heart beat more quickly, her mouth opening as she caught her breath, her mind swirling with the knowledge of her love for this man.

I love him.
She heard the words as if they had been spoken aloud, and she blinked, lest her treacherous mouth let them slip from between dry lips.
I love him.
She tried it out again, bravely considering the words as she uttered them in her mind.
I love him.
With firm resolve, her lips silently formed the syllables, and she accepted the truth she spoke within her heart.

He had given her so much already, so freely, with such generosity of spirit. Could she deny him the one thing he needed from her…the giving of her body? Could she expose herself, flesh and spirit, to his scrutiny and allow him the rights he had waited to claim till she should be ready?

“Katherine?” Low and filled with musing wonder, his voice spoke her name. “Kate, what is it?” His breath blending with her own, he bent low to brush a tender kiss across her mouth.

She shook her head, not ready to reveal her new knowledge, unwilling to allow him entrance to her cache of wondering bemusement. She was filled with it, this sensation of yearning, needing to belong to him in the most primitive of ways.

“Open your mouth for me, honey,” he told her gently. “Put your arms around me and rub them over my back like you did before. I need you to warm me tonight, sweet Kate.”

She did as he bid, her fingers tracing the broad muscles of his shoulders and gripping tightly as his head lowered, his mouth claiming hers with a possession that rendered her utterly breathless.

He sought out the dark secrets of her mouth, his tongue meeting and matching hers, rubbing gently first, then coaxing her to return the favor, as he groaned his pleasure.

He slid his lips from hers, reluctantly, but with firm purpose, breathing hot words of pleasure into her ear as he caught the fleshy lobe between his teeth.

“You smell so good…like warm sunshine and cool water. Like sweet woman…right here under your ear,” he whispered, his mouth claiming the spot as he spoke the words. His hand was at the buttons of her shirt, holding himself up on one elbow, his fingers sliding the buttons from place with ease. Then his mouth followed the path his fingers made, his lips open against her warmth. She wore no undergarment; his searching mouth found no impediment, and he inhaled deeply of the female scent of her breast as his lips captured the jutting peak with a careful, tender possession.

“Roan!” The sharp cry was one of wonder, her hands clutching at his back, sliding quickly up to press against the dark cap of hair, holding him in place. “Roan,” she said
once more, this time in a whispering plea, her fingers clenching his head as she squirmed beneath his weight.

Her response was more than he’d expected, more than he’d longed for. He chuckled within himself, blessing the honesty of this woman he’d married. She had no false pretenses, no coyness about her, only the generous soul of a woman who could tell no lies, hide behind no subterfuge, who could only give herself with all the courage she possessed.

He raised his head from her, heard the shuddering breath she drew, and paused to drop countless kisses across the expanse of her forehead. His hands were firm in their purpose, stripping her from the shirt he’d opened to the waist. His fingers worked at his own clothing, shedding his shirt, loosening his pants, stripping the belt from its place and tossing it aside.

She lay beneath him, her breasts round and full, the hard, nubbed peaks dark against her flesh. Her hands pushed back his hair, and then, as his bare skin was exposed to her vision, she brushed inquiring fingers over the small dark circles on his chest, seeking them out from the hair surrounding them. Her fingers teased him, her mouth firming as she explored the evidence of his arousal. He watched her from hooded eyes, his nostrils flaring, his mouth dry with anticipation.

“Undo your pants, Katherine,” he said finally, when it seemed his urgent need would no longer be stilled.

She slid her hands between their bodies, feeling the brush of hair against her skin, until her fingers completed the task he’d bidden her accomplish.

“Slide them down your legs,” he told her, his voice harsh with the desire he held in check.

She hesitated only a moment, then, lifting herself against him, she wiggled her way from the constriction of the denim pants, finally kicking them off her stockinged feet before she lay beneath him in submission.

He’d managed to insinuate himself there, cradled against her belly, her legs drawn up to hold him, and she felt a moment of fear, helplessness inherent in the position she’d assumed. His eyes were narrowed, slits of darkness peering at her. His face was harsh with an emotion she could not name, his flesh drawn tautly over the bones of his cheeks. His mouth was a straight line, firm and ungiving, with no softening to assure her of his concern for her. And yet she sensed it…the tenderness holding him back, the gentleness harnessing his desire.

Unlike the stallion covering the mare with wild abandon, he held his passion in check, struggling with the urgency of his need, but willing to woo her to his bidding. And the knowledge of his patience and understanding brought a smile of sweet surrender to her lips.

Rising up against him, she murmured soft encouragement, her arms pulling him into her embrace, her face burying itself in his shoulder, lips feverish in their pursuit of his flesh.

“Roan…” It was a plea, spoken over and over again as she offered herself to him, rubbing her breasts against the hard width of his chest, reveling in the sensation of need as she lifted her hips to his fullness.

He slid lower, his mouth once more against her breast, urgently seeking the source of pleasure he’d only begun to explore. Her breath caught in her throat as he suckled her with desperate need, first one side, then the other, his big hands cradling and squeezing as he held her to his mouth.

Then he raised his hips and spoke against her flesh, the words guttural and harsh. “Push my pants down, Katherine. Use your hands or your legs, whatever it takes. Just get them off me.”

She obeyed, filled with a heated yearning that was sweeping its way through her body with each touch of his fingers and mouth against her flesh. His hands slid behind her, lifting her to meet the warm skin she exposed as she
pushed his pants from his body. His arousal was there, pressing between them, demanding and urgent against her belly. She shivered, for a moment fearful as she felt the length and breadth of the insistent proof of his desire.

And then his fingers found her, working gently as he sought her softness, readying her for his taking. Her teeth closed tightly, gritting against the cry of pleasure he drew from her so easily. She rose to meet him, willing him to do as he would, urging him to claim her body as he had her heart.

If he had thought himself a man of experience, if he’d considered himself knowledgeable beforehand, Roan lost those illusions in moments. Nothing in his memory could compare with the female creature he held, nothing he’d felt came close to the anticipation that swelled him almost to bursting as he laid claim to the woman he’d married.

He held her within his embrace, the night air cool against his back, her body beneath him warm and yielding, and closed his eyes as he pierced the evidence of her innocence.

The gasp of surprise escaping her lips brought him a pang of regret—tempered with pride—but it lingered only a moment before it was overtaken by the sheer joy of possession. He rocked against her, clasping her to him, unwilling to complete this act of intimacy, yearning to hold this moment within his breast as a shield against the world about him.

If she could only love him, he thought, holding himself in check, his muscles rigid with the effort. He’d needed to know the love of another human being for so long, yearned to savor this closeness with a woman who’d care about him, whose arms would hold him, lips whisper his name.

“Roan…Roan,” she pleaded with soft entreaty, moving beneath him as she grasped for the elusive pleasure his possession promised. If she had expected pain, she’d have been disappointed, for his taking of her body had brought only a moment of discomfort and then a surge of great joy,
filling her with such marvel and wonder she could scarce contain it.

With patient urging he led her, coaxing her with words and phrases of endearment. Finding new depths of endurance with each breath he took, he brought her to the final knowledge of passion, hearing with satisfaction the small, eager cries she spent against his flesh. And then he sought his own pleasure, only to find it increased by the evidence of her need as she clung to him, rising to his urging, lifting to his words of praise, riding the storm of his desire until it was satisfied within her warm depths.

She clung to him, unwilling to release him from her embrace, aware of his whispered words of comfort as he rocked her in his arms. And then she felt the damp evidence of her tears, sensing his dismay as he urged her to speak to him, his voice comforting against her ear.

“I’m sorry, Katherine. I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world.” His hands brushed at her face, wiping the evidence of her weeping, and his eyes sought hers in the darkness. “It’ll be better next time, honey. I promise.”

She caught her breath in a sob so filled with an almost overwhelming rush of emotion she could scarcely speak. “I’m all right,” she assured him breathlessly. Her fingers sought his, capturing them as they dried her tears, squeezing them in a grasp made strong by the sheer joy that filled her being.

“I know damn well I hurt you,” he said regretfully. “I’m sorry, honey.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No! No, you didn’t, Roan.” Her laughter was exultant as she lifted his fingers to her lips, kissing them one by one, her mouth holding them prisoner as she caught them between her lips.

He was relieved by her declaration, bemused by her actions, and he sought her gaze, content to remain nestled against her warmth, enjoying the sleek length of her legs as she held him a willing captive. Her eyes still dewy with the
tears she’d shed, she smiled in a beguiling manner, her mouth soft and shiny, a bit swollen. His fingers, damp from her kisses, cooled as a vagrant breeze swept through the camp, and his back rippled with the chill.

“We need to get under cover, honey,” he whispered, his fingers warming themselves beneath the fall of hair he’d managed to loosen. It lay in glossy, silken strands about her head, only the evidence of her wound marring its simple beauty. And that narrow, dark slash through her tender flesh caught his eye. It was only a crease, scabbed over and healing, but the thought of what it might have been, of what might have happened, stiffened his resolve.

“I think we’d better try to get on a paddleboat and get off the trail,” he told her. “We can stop in the next river town and check on southbound steamers.”

“Tired of the honeymoon already, Mr. Devereaux?”

The teasing tone, the saucy glance from beneath lowered lids, so unlike the Katherine he knew, unsettled Roan and he lifted himself to lean over her on outstretched arms. He pursed his lips and allowed his eyes to feast on the pale flesh she made no attempt to conceal.

Another surprise. He’d have imagined Katherine wrapping her arms across her breasts or perhaps whispering soft words of protest at his deliberate baring of her body to his sight. But she lay on the rough blanket beneath him, meeting his gaze with all the aplomb of a woman of vast experience, a title she stood no chance of claiming. His mouth twisted in a grin of appreciation as he watched her and saw to his delight an answering grin turn up the corners of her mouth, her teeth gleaming in the faint light of the moon.