This Fierce Splendor (44 page)

She shook her head. “It was very …” She searched for the correct word. “Stimulating.”

He chuckled. “I’m in complete agreement. You’re a constant astonishment to me, my lovely hetaera.”

The smile faded from her lips and she glanced away from him into the depths of the fire. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Say what?”

“I mean, you don’t have to pay me compliments. I think it’s better if we’re honest with each other. I’m well aware that I’m a plain woman.”

He stared at her with blank amazement. It seemed a century since those first days when he had actually believed Elspeth plain. He couldn’t even remember why he had thought it to begin with. Even masked by her spectacles and shrouded in those hideous gowns, he should have been able to see the beauty that was Elspeth. He had a vague recollection of her making some such comment before and he realized now that she could not see her own beauty. Her father had been such a bastard that he’d stolen her pride in the person
she was inside and out. “Did your father say you were plain?”

“Of course.” She didn’t look at him. “But I always knew it anyway. I have a mirror.”

“I wonder what you see in it. Is it what your father saw? No, it couldn’t be that, because then there would be no reflection.” His thumb and forefinger were beneath her chin, turning her face so he could look into her eyes. “Because he was a blind man, Elspeth. Blinded by cruelty, selfishness, and his own ugliness of spirit. You didn’t believe him when he told you there was no Kantalan, why should you believe him when he told you that you had no beauty?”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

“Then think about it now. Do you know what I see when I look at you?” He tugged at a lock of her hair. “This glows and shimmers with light every time you turn your head.” His fingertips brushed her cheekbones. “Your skin is so soft I want to reach out and touch it every time you’re within ten feet of me.” His index finger stroked the curve of her brow. “And your eyes as green as the shamrocks my mother used to tell me about. Lovely eyes.”

“Not … ugly?”

“No. Beautiful.” The words were spoken in a tone only a level above a whisper. “Every bit of you is beautiful. Believe me, Elspeth. Your father lied to you. All I see is strength and beauty.”

Joy cascaded through her, rippling, forming circles of radiance. It was difficult to believe him, but there was nothing but honesty in the eyes looking into her own. “I think you may be a wee bit blind yourself,” she said with a shaky smile. “But I like your mirror better than I do my own.” She could feel the tears burning behind her eyes and she quickly closed her lids to hide them.

Gentleness, kindness, laughter. Every moment he revealed another quality to love, presented her with another gift to enrich her spirit. Oh, and she did love him. She brimmed, flowed, and floated with her love for him. But it was all too much to think about after
what had gone before. “I think it’s time we went to sleep. Unless you have any more whims you wish me to indulge.”

She could feel his gaze on her face for a long moment before his lips brushed her closed lids with velvet tenderness. “I think I’ve run out of whims for the moment.” But not out of love, he thought. He knew now he would never run out of love for her. His love for Elspeth was as much a part of him as his yearning for Killara. “Go to sleep, Elspeth.” He settled down beside her and drew her into his arms. “Sweet dreams, love.”

But they would not be dreams of Kantalan, she thought drowsily, they would be dreams of Dominic and the expression in his eyes when he had called her beautiful.

Rising Star threw back her head, and her throaty laughter rang out. “Patrick, you fool, why don’t you come into the water? I may be huge, but I’m not taking quite all of this pond.”

Patrick shook his head, his gaze on the tops of the trees on the opposite bank. “Maybe later,” he muttered. “I’ll go set up camp. Don’t stay in the water too long.” He turned on his heel and strode quickly off into the trees.

A faint frown crossed Rising Star’s face. Patrick was embarrassed. It had not occurred to her that Patrick would act like this when they had discovered this tiny pond in the foothills. After traveling the harsh desert country for the past weeks, the little oasis had been too inviting for her to resist. She had stripped off her clothes and slipped into the cool water as matter-of-factly as if Patrick had been the child she had known when she first came to Killara. She had forgotten he was now eighteen and possessed a white man’s shame of nudity.

Still, it was a reaction she would never have expected in the Patrick who had ridden beside her, joking and filling the hours with laughter for the last two weeks. Without Patrick she might have fallen into a darkness of spirit that would have had no dawn. He
had not permitted her to step into that void. Every time he had detected any sign of sadness or weariness, he had been there with a comment or a droll expression, taking away the ache before it could sharpen and become pain. He had been so kind and she really should not have laughed at him when he had refused to come into the water with her.

She waded out of the water, picked up the white cotton cloth she had left on the bank, and dried herself as thoroughly as possible. If Patrick had not displayed that unusual shyness, she would have remained naked and let the breeze and the last rays of the setting sun complete the drying. Instead, she hurriedly put on her blue calico skirt and leather tunic and sat down on the grass to pull on her moccasins.

“Coffee’s on,” Patrick called loudly, making a good deal of noise as he walked through the underbrush. An expression of relief brightened his face as he appeared on the bank and saw her. “You’re almost dressed. That’s good. I was afraid you’d be—cool,” he finished lamely.

Naked
was the word he’d intended to use, she thought as she lowered her head to hide her smile of amusement. “Except for my moccasins.” She made a face. “I can’t see over my stomach to put them on.”

“Let me help.” He dropped to his knees and took the moccasins out of her hands. “You should have told me these were causing you trouble before. I’ll put them on for you every morning.” He picked up her foot and slipped the soft cream-colored leather onto it, then rolled it up her calf. He smoothed the leather with his hands and picked up the other moccasin. His cheeks were flushed and his words tumbled over each other. “I can see how you would have trouble. I don’t know how you women manage to—”

“Patrick,” she interrupted gently. “Look at me.”

He kept his gaze fixed stubbornly on the moccasin as he pulled it over her ankle and then up her calf.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” she said softly. “I sometimes forget you are white and not Indian. You seemed so much like the child I used to know that I—”

“I’m not a child.” His voice was hoarse as he pulled down her calico skirt. He sat back on his heels, still looking at the moccasins on her feet.

“I know that.” What words could she choose that would not offend his pride? “I suppose I needed to go back to that other time when I was so happy and tried to fool myself that things were the same. Forgive me.”

“It’s all right. I wanted you to forget about—” He broke off. “Not about Josh. Just what had made you unhappy. I’d never want you to forget about Josh.” He raised his head to look at her.

A ripple of shock robbed her of breath. Oh, no, please God, no, Rising Star prayed silently. Not Patrick. But she had seen that expression too many times in her own mirror not to recognize it when she saw it. The stunning surprise showed on her face, and she knew he could read the realization in her own expression.

He drew a deep breath. “Don’t be afraid. It won’t make any difference. I promise you I won’t bother you.”

“Patrick …”

“No, no,” he said urgently. “I tell you we can go on just the way we were.”

When she knew the pain he was going through? “How long have you felt this way?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Always, I guess. At least it seems that way.”

Oh, God, why couldn’t there be any justice? It wasn’t fair Patrick must suffer too. “You’ll have to go away.”

“No!” The answer was violent. “I won’t leave you. I know you can’t love me, but it won’t hurt anything for you to let me take care of you. You need someone to help you, and you won’t go back to Josh.”

She smiled sadly. “It will hurt you. I know how much it can hurt, Patrick.”

“Because you’ve been hurt?” He drew closer and took her left hand in both of his. “But this is different. I know there’s no hope you could love anyone but Josh.” He forced a smile. “Think of me as one of those knights in the books you used to read to us. They
never expected anything from their ladies, just to carry their favors and fight a pesky dragon now and then. I think I’d be a rip-snorting wonder as a dragon fighter, don’t you?”

She was unbearably moved. Kneeling before her, the last rays of sunlight setting his auburn hair aflame, his young face grave, he could well have been Galahad from that time of courtly love. “Oh, yes, a great dragon fighter.”

He smiled again, this time with the beguiling mischief that was so much a part of him. “And every lady needs a knight when she goes journeying. Why not me?”

She hesitated. Would it be too selfish of her to let him stay with her until they reached Kantalan? He had filled the days with warmth and laughter, and she desperately needed that laughter. “Patrick, I don’t know.”

“I do.” He gave her hand a brisk squeeze and released it. “I’m going with you. Maybe if I find enough treasure to buy myself one of those Oriental dancing girls, I’ll forget all about you. Did you ever think about that?”

“No, I never did.”

“Well, it’s something you should consider.” He stood up and lifted her to her feet with easy strength. “I’m not going to moon after you forever. It won’t hurt you to put up with me for a little while longer. Just until I know you’re safe and happy again. You’ll probably think it over and go back to Josh once we get back from Kantalan.”

She slowly shook her head. “I do love you, Patrick, but it will never be the same as what I feel for Joshua.”

“I keep telling you, I don’t expect you to give me anything.” He smiled and his hard young face was suddenly lit with a gentle beauty. “I’ll be satisfied if you just take. All right?”

“No, it is not all right,” she said quietly. “But we’ll continue to Kantalan together. After that we’ll talk again.”

He let his breath out in a sigh of relief. “Fair
enough.” He picked up the cotton cloth she had used to dry herself. “Now we’d better get back to camp before that coffee boils away.” He took her elbow and turned her in the direction from which he had come. His touch was light but protective.

The glow of pleasure she received from that touch gave her a fleeting moment of misgiving. Then she dismissed it. It was surely natural for her to find joy in Patrick’s companionship after the loneliness she had known. She turned to smile at him. “Thank you for helping me with my moccasins.”

“Putting them on you kind of reminded me of the trick I played on Cort when we were on that trail drive two years ago.” He grinned. “When he was asleep I bored a hole in each of his boots and then strung a piece of rawhide through …” His words rambled on, his tone easy and humorous, but that protective clasp never left her arm until they reached the camp.

There were rain clouds on the horizon.

Ramon Torres frowned as he paused at the crest of the hill. Bad luck. The rain would wash away the signs of Dominic and his
gringa
and he would probably not be able to find them again for a day or so. He had hoped to catch up to them by the end of the week when he had stopped at Rosario and learned they were only two days ahead of him.

Oh, well, he had been fortunate that the weather had held as long as it had. He would try to make it as far as he could on Dominic’s trail before the rain came. Then he would wait out the storm and have time to sit before the fire and dream the death dream. He had been pushing so hard, he had been too tired to give himself that pleasure of late. Perhaps the deity guiding all hunters had intervened to remind him that his thirst would be whetted only if he took time to anticipate.

After all, what were a few days when the kill was so near?

D
ominic slipped under the blanket and gathered Elspeth into his arms. She tried to relax. He was back. Nothing had happened to him. She knew he would sense her tension—as he seemed to sense her every feeling and thought these days. Each time he left her now to check their back trail for signs of Torres, fear made every muscle of her body rigid until she heard the sound of Blanco’s hoofs returning.

“Elspeth?”

“Why do you do it?” she whispered. “Surely Torres isn’t following us. There’s been no sign of him in all this time.”

His fingers gently massaged her rigid shoulders. “It doesn’t hurt to be careful. I don’t like to be surprised.”

She turned to face him. “But you do think he’s still following us, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that. I only want to—yes.”

“Why?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I can
feel
him out there. Waiting.”

She shivered. “Have you ever felt like this before?”

He nodded.

“Have you been right?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

She felt sick as she realized how many nights of fear and tension it had taken to develop in him the instincts of a hunted animal. “Why do you let them do this to you? That Durbin man has no right to send his
horrible killers after you. Why don’t you go after him and—” She stopped, horrified at the savage thought that had come to her.

“Kill him?” Dominic asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” She swallowed. “I know only that it isn’t right for him to do this to you. He has to be an evil, evil man to send men like Torres to try to murder you.”

“Or a man who loved his son and believed that I murdered him.”

“Patrick said it was a fair fight. You didn’t murder anyone.”

“Because I let him draw first?” His lips twisted. “I knew I was faster than he was. Do you know how I felt when I realized he was going to back me into a corner and make me draw? I was glad. I could feel the blood surging through my veins and I felt drunk with power. I don’t know if I murdered him or not, but when I saw my bullet tear into him, I felt as if I had.” He looked down at her. “Maybe I lied to you when I told you I wasn’t a murderer.”