Daughter of the Sword (42 page)

“Deborah's presence has been a joy, not a problem.”

Conrad's tone was courteous, but there were white marks at the corners of his mouth. He and Dane were almost the same height, but Dane was slightly broader of shoulder. Each was tanned by wind and sun and their appearance would have astounded the people on their distant estates. Catching Deborah's anxious silent pleading, Conrad relaxed a bit and grinned.

“You might do something for me, though. If you run into a doctor or blacksmith who'd like to settle in a quiet farming valley, we'd make him warmly welcome.”

“I'll keep it in mind,” Dane promised.

Looking from him to Deborah, Conrad said, “You must have much to talk about. Cobie and I can finish the harvest.”

“You've done too much as it is.” Dane sounded grim. “I'll help.”

And he did, after a search turned up the Whitlaws' cradle, where it lay beneath half-burned straw in the stable. Dane whetted off the rust and soon they were in the field. Following her love, as she had done a year ago, Deborah was happier than she had been since he went away.

They took a longer than usual rest at noon, both because of the heat and because everyone had questions about California and the trip out there.

“Mighty interesting,” Dane summarized at last. “As railroads reach California, it's bound to become an important part of the country. But I got so restless waiting for good weather, when I could start back here, that I've had enough of it.” He smiled at Deborah. “Unless you'd like to make it a honeymoon trip?”

Blushing, acutely aware that Conrad must be distressed, Deborah said they'd talk about that later and led the way back to the field.

After a supper augmented by dried buffalo meat and pemmican, pounded berries, nuts, and tallow Dane had bought from Indians, Deborah and Cobie took turns rinsing each other off. It didn't take long to dry in the warm air, and even though she had to put the same dress on, Deborah felt much fresher when she rejointed the others. Dane rose, taking her hand. “If you'll excuse us,” he said to Conrad and Cobie, “we've considerable things to talk about!”

“You must,” conceded Conrad.

His tone was amicable, but Deborah felt a pang of hurt for him as Dane led her away. This faded quickly, though, in the marvel of actually being with her love again, seeing his strong face outlined against the twilight, thrilling to the warm strength of his fingers beneath her arm, being aware of his breathing, the wonder of his body near her after this long, terrible year.

She hadn't realized how tired she was, how much she needed him. Lovely just to walk like this, share silence together.… He stopped abruptly, covered her mouth with his, held her till the heavy beat of his heart seemed rooted deep in her, as if their blood had joined, their breath, their being.

As he stepped back, catching in his breath, Deborah swayed, would have stumbled, except for his steadying hands. “My love!” His voice was harsh. “Oh Deborah, my love! Maybe I should take you, the way I long to, the way I've dreamed of so many times across so many miles. You'd be mine, then. But you've no family. I must protect you—even against myself.”

“I—I would have been yours last year, Dane.”

“You were too young then. Now you're too vulnerable.” He made her sit by the side of the overgrown road, then located himself a resolute distance away. “I've got to track down Rolf and put a stop to this nonsense he's gotten into.”

Did Dane know about the scalps? Surely not! He couldn't call that nonsense! “How much did Melissa tell you about Rolf and—and me?” Deborah asked.

“That Rolf brought you to her house when you were suffering from shock, that he took care of the funeral arrangements, and that he tore off after the raiders.”

“That's true, but she left out quite a lot. After you left, Rolf often came home for Sunday dinner and began inviting Thos, Sara, and me to go places.” Deborah averted her face, even though it was dark out. Why should she feel apologetic about what would never have happened if Dane hadn't left her? “I thought Rolf accepted that I considered myself engaged to you. But he proposed at Christmas, then went off really angry when I refused.”

In the darkness, Dane seemed carved from stone. “You couldn't be expected to sit home,” he said at last. “It's a bitter dose, though, to know my own brother was squiring you about.”

“It wasn't like that!”

“No?” Dane laughed harshly. “If Rolf restrained himself for all those months, he must have been deeply smitten!”

Deborah ignored that. Dear God, were they quarreling, already wounding each other! “Dane,” she said carefully, “I think you should know that Rolf fell in with some Missourians. He says he didn't know they were chasing Thos, and I believe him. But the gang split up. The party Rolf rode with killed Thos—Rolf didn't get there till Thos had been shot, and he did break away from the group then and bury Thos. But the other party—” Her voice trembled. “They killed my parents.”

“So that's why he had to be the avenger,” Dane muttered, dazed. “Crazy young fool!”

“He told people in Lawrence that I was deranged, but that he was going to marry me, anyway, and take me away for treatment.” Dane gasped. Deborah rushed on, feeling the truth must be known, but not wanting to go into details. “Melissa locked me in a room with boarded-up windows. I don't know if she truly thought I was out of my mind or just pretended to, but if Judith and Sara hadn't helped me, I think Rolf would've smuggled me off to St. Louis.”

“It sounds as if he's the insane one,” growled Dane. “But hell, Deborah! Did you think you could keep a hothead like Rolf dangling for months and expect him to take his dismissal gracefully?”

“I—I
told
him!”

“Men—and women—have a way of believing what they wish, my dear.”

He blamed her! Stunned past anger, Deborah felt as if she'd run up for a kiss and been brutally slapped. As she sat there in the ruins of her joy, she scarcely understood what Dane's tightly scornful voice was saying till the full impact struck.

“And this Herr Lander! Has he been content to wait, too?”

Then the anger came, the bracing outrage. Rising, Deborah spoke in a cold voice, though she was shaking with hurt and fury. “I think I've been waiting for the wrong person!”

She started down the road.

“Deborah!”

She didn't falter or turn. To dream of him for a year! To believe he'd have helped her bear the loss of her family, be understanding and kind! Instead, having been half a continent away at her time of need, he now accused her of enticing Rolf! Even worse, he'd insulted Conrad's steadfast and patient love. She fought back wrathful sobs, struggled for control as she heard Dane striding after her.

“Sweetheart, I'm sorry!” Catching her by the shoulders, he made her face him. “I feel like such a cur, not being here when you needed me, that I guess I'm hitting out at you.” His tone roughened and his hands moved up to the naked flesh of her throat. “Of course men will love you. It's up to me to see they don't trespass.”

He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away. He was still a moment. “Can't you forgive me?”

“You—that was awful, what you said about Conrad! He's sheltered me, he loves me, but he's never expected anything! He hasn't even kissed me!”

“It wasn't for lack of inclination.” Dane's voice was dry. “He must be a man of steel—looks it, too, with that dueling scar and bearing.”

“He was a count, a
Graf
.”

“An earl in England.” Dane threw back his head and laughed. “No one can say you've lacked strange suitors! All right, love, I sincerely beg your pardon! What else must I do? Apologize to Herr Lander for what he didn't know I said?”

Almost disarmed, Deborah said, “Of course not! I just want you to know how good he's been!”

“I'm properly chastised.” This time she didn't avoid his lips, but though his mouth, urgently compelling, coaxingly sweet, left her tremulous, there was a shield between them, a barrier. She could forgive what he said, but she couldn't forget it.

Dane sighed as he lifted his head, then bent again to kiss the curve of her jaw. “Implacable little thing, aren't you?” His mouth brushed the front of her dress, his breath warming her. “Now sit down and let's decide how we're going to do things.”

“What things?” Ridiculous, the way he'd hunkered down out of reach, but she was bemusedly ready to conclude that men often were, to a woman's view, exactly that.

Ridiculous. Stubborn—

He permitted himself to touch her hair. “Our wedding's the most important matter. But I'd best attend to Rolf first of all—give him a choice of joining the gold-hunters, where he could certainly work off a lot of his energy, or going back to England.”

Deborah thought Dane was in for a surprise if he supposed that. Rolf was meekly going to follow his advice. Something had happened to that young man.

Between the time he'd angrily told her good-bye at Christmas and when he'd come back from Missouri with scalps at his belt, Rolf had crossed from wildness, reckless high spirits, into evil. But Dane couldn't believe that; to him, Rolf was still an exasperating but loved younger brother.

“You may not be able to find him,” she said.

“I'll find him.”

“And then?”

“Where shall we be married? Is it important to have your friends, or could we have the ceremony in England?” He chuckled. “That might help Sir Harry adjust to the shock, though I'd reckon he's so anxious to have a bride around the place that he won't care how she gets there!”

Even if she's a commoner from the wilderness?
Deborah didn't voice her resentment, though, startled by what he seemed to be taking for granted.

“But I won't be around the place,” she pointed out, “at least not for years!”

His hand dropped from her hair. “What do you mean?”

“What I've always meant! I'm not leaving till the fight for Kansas is won, till it enters the Union as a free state.”

“My God!”

“I'm not sure God has much to do with it, but my whole family died for freedom. I can't go off and leave them in this ground until I know it's free, that what my family worked for has finally come to pass.”

“I can't believe it!” he said.

Taut with dread, the fear of losing him, Deborah made a tremendous effort to keep her voice level. “I don't see why.” It's what I told you a year ago.”

Under his breath he said something vexed, bewildered, and certainly obscene. “Deborah! Your family's gone! They wanted you safe before, out of this damned place, and they'd want it more than ever now! Your home's burned. Not even you can be crazy enough to try living here alone.”

“I can stay with my friends!” she retorted, braced by anger against the sick, desolate feeling once again trying to engulf her.

“Oh, damn your friends!” He gripped her shoulders, fingers biting till she set her lips tight to keep from crying out. “Do you mean you'd rather take their charity than be my wife?”

“You don't understand anything! You're a hateful, conceited, condescending—
Englishman!
”

“And you're a headstrong, priggish, holier-than-thou wildcat!”

She gasped. “If that's what you think, go back to England and marry some pink-and-white Miss who'll think what you tell her to and do exactly as you say! I never will!”

Wresting away from him, she ran along the road. This time he didn't try to overtake her.

Conrad and Cobie were already in their beds. Deborah spread hers far enough away so that they wouldn't hear her crying. She'd been a fool to long for him, a fool to think he might change! Let him go—and the sooner, the better! She still loved him, but she'd get over that!

Of course she would.

She'd expected him to be gone the next morning, but when she awoke he was drinking coffee with Conrad. Dressing, she cooked the rest of the eggs with bits of sausage. She said as she handed Dane a fork, “We'll finish well before noon. You needn't help.”

“There's something about harvest that makes a person want to see it through.” Dane's tone was coolly polite. But when Conrad and Cobie started to the field, Dane stopped in front of Deborah, barring her way. “I want to talk to you.”

“That never does us any good.”

“I love you, Deborah.”

“I love you.” She said it grudgingly, unwilling, because it was true.

He kept his hands rigidly at his sides, but his gray eyes embraced her till her pulse leaped. She felt utterly soft, utterly yielding, his woman, eager, mutilated without him.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Stay.”

His muscles tightened, cording his neck and jaw. “I'll, take care of Rolf for you before I leave the Territory,” he said. Swinging around, he strode toward the field.

Deborah clenched her hands and clamped her teeth tightly together. Why couldn't he have the decency to leave? Now she'd have to see him in front of her, endure his presence for a few more hours, battle against succumbing. Perhaps it was difficult for him, too. She hoped so.

In a few hours, the last bundle was shocked. Dane put the cradle out of sight in the stable, then splashed his face and arms beneath rolled-up sleeves. Deborah unfastened the Saint Rita's medal and tried to give it to him.

“There's no use in my wearing this,” she said, aching, hurting, wishing him gone.

He said with an edge of mockery, “My willful darling, as patron of lost causes, she's more appropriate than ever.” More softly, he added, “Remember me a while.”

“Dane—”

With a smothered sound, he drew her out of earshot of the others. “Deborah, I'm not just being bloody-minded. I thought most of the night about staying, but it comes down to being pushed into the sort of thing I swore I was done with in the Crimea, and worse, seeing you buffeted and suffering.”