Cherish the Dream Page 3

  Blade, who had stood politely upon the arrival of Nell Henderson, placed his hand on the shoulder of the man next to him, who had also risen, and interjected, “While we are having introductions, Mr. and Miss Gordon, this is Ezekiel Conyers, our scout. Zeke was employed by the American Fur Company when he was a nineteen-year-old Kentucky runaway and has been roaming the Rocky Mountains for the past forty years.”

  Zeke was a venerable mountain man. A full gray beard came down to the middle of his chest and he wore buckskins with fringe hanging from his sleeves and leggings. His leather hat was banded in fox fur with angle’s feather pushed rakishly through the wide brim, and a huge flintlock pistol hung by a wide strap across his chest, its shiny, smooth bore barrel reflecting the orange-colored light of a nearby paper lantern.

  Zeke grinned in fascination at the Gordons. “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, would you look at that blond hair on the two of them! What a twin prize you’d be to some varmint that collected scalps!”

  The skin on the back of Theodora’s neck prickled at his words. Not once had she ever considered her brother’s or her own hair as a “prize,” and she reached nervously for her champagne glass.

  After helping Nell Henderson to be seated, Thomas slipped into the seat beside his sister. Roberts and Conyers regained their chairs. Doggedly, Peter Haintzelman sat down on the other side of the commandant’s niece and shoved the place card beneath his plate, ignoring the twinkle in the captain’s black eyes.

  For a time all talk ceased as the dishes of food were passed up and down the table. Once that task was completed, the guests were free to continue their interrupted conversation.

  “Thank you for including me at your table, Captain Roberts, even though I’m not really a member of your exploring party,”

  Nell Henderson said sweetly, staring across the board at him with her heart in her cornflower-blue eyes.

  Blade smiled back at her, his teeth shining white beneath his dark mustache, the warmth never quite reaching his eyes. “I thought that Miss Gordon, being the only female member of the team, would enjoy your companionship, Miss Henderson, rather than sitting here with an all-male group. I thought you two might want to swap recipes or quilting patterns.”

  Her eyes narrowed, Theodora smiled at the captain. Her voice dripped honey. “Why how kind of you, Captain Roberts. I wouldn’t have suspected you capable of such thoughtfulness,” she cooed, inwardly seething at the patronizing statement. “But I’m afraid I’ll be far too busy on this trip to do any quilting. However, if you consider the subject of patterns so interesting, perhaps you should ask Miss Henderson for one yourself.”

  Anger replaced the smug expression on his face, bringing a feeling of triumph to Theodora. If he thought she would meekly take every insult he dished out, he would soon discover the error of his thinking.

  Nell looked in puzzlement from one to the other and addressed the mountain man turned scout. “Have you fought with the Indians many times, Mr. Conyers?”

  Arrested by her question just as he was about to fork in a mouthful of ham, Zeke scoffed. “More times than I’d care to remember, Miss Nellie. Once I had to outrun a group of eight Blackfoot braves on their Indian ponies. And I was afoot.”

  Thomas Gordon looked up from his plate and whistled softly. “Gosh! However did you manage to escape, Zeke?”

  “Hid out by day and traveled by night. Lost my powder swimmin’ a river and my boots as well. When I finally arrived at a fur-tradin’ stockade, I was near naked and nigh starved to death. But anythin’ was better than lettin’ ’em catch me alive.”

  “Would it have been so awful?” Nell asked, her eyes wide with dreadful fascination.

  Zeke chewed his food thoughtfully. “Awful enough, 1 guess. I once saw the body of a friend of mine that’d been tortured by them heathens. They’d staked him to the ground and—”

  “That’ll be enough talk about torture for now, Zeke,” the captain interrupted. “I’m sure Miss Gordon has already studied the creative ways that Indians deal with their unfortunate captives. That came between bird-watching and plant-pressing, didn’t it, Miss Gordon?”

  Somberly, Theodora turned her eyes on the mocking ones watching her and hid her shaking hands under the tablecloth. No mention of Indian torture had been made in the correspondence coming from the capital, and the thought made the food sit like a lump in her stomach. She’d assumed the travelers would be safe, since they were to be escorted by mounted dragoons. She had accepted that there would be many inconveniences, but not the possibility of capture and mutilation at the hands of savages.

  Still, it wasn’t her intention to amuse the captain by showing just how frightened she was. “Quite honestly, Captain Roberts, I know very little about the natives of the plains. But I have studied ancient civilizations, and human beings are all pretty much alike, I believe. We all seem to be driven by the same basic needs and desires; only the outward cultural trappings are different.”

  After lighting a cheroot from the candle in the center of the table, Blade leaned back in his chair and blew a puff of smoke into the air, a sardonic smile on his lips. His dark eyes seemed to glint evilly in the candlelight. “And have you studied much about man’s basic needs, Miss Gordon?”

  Clearly disturbed by the sudden turn in the conversation, Tom looked questioningly at his sister and then at Roberts. “Would you like to go inside now, Teddy? It’s starting to get a little cool out here.”

  “No, I’m fine, Tom. You go on and enjoy the party. I’m sure Miss Henderson would love to waltz with you.”

  Nell looked at Tom and smiled. “Why I declare, Mr. Gordon, I think that would be a marvelous idea.”

  Watching them depart, Theodora wondered nervously what the captain’s next move would be.

  Unfolding his powerful legs, Blade stood and tossed his napkin on the white tablecloth. His eyes taunted her. “Perhaps you’d care to take a stroll with me, Miss Gordon. I can show you around the fort, since you don’t seem to relish the dancing.”

  “I would enjoy that, Captain,“Theodora replied, standing and shaking out the folds of her green satin dress. Not for the world would she shirk from a head-to-head confrontation with the pompous oaf. She was ready to show the intimidating officer that, if he was determined to be her enemy, she was unafraid of him.

  They left the table, Theodora allowing the captain to steer her around the commandant’s noisy house and into the quiet square of Fort Leavenworth. Behind them she could hear the muffled tones of the festivities as the band resumed its playing in the ballroom. The strains of “Fare Thee Well, You Sweet hearts” carried through the soft spring evening, and the plaintive melody tugged at Theodora’s heart, reminding her that she would soon be leaving.

  Except for the few men on sentinel duty, the square was deserted. Walking beside the tall officer, Theodora discovered to her annoyance that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. He was even larger than she’d first realized. Peeking up at him from the corner of her eye, she noted again his sharp features, almost hawkish with their high cheekbones and strong chin. Lowering her eyes, she took in his muscled legs stretching the cloth of his blue uniform tautly over his thighs. She had never been near a man so masculine, so self-assured, so certain of his own ability to manipulate those around him. She was convinced that he was about to try to control her, and that thought sent a quiver of nervous energy through her body.

  If she’s jumpy now, Blade mused, she’ll be terrified in just a few minutes. After she’s been attacked by a real, live Cheyenne Indian, she’ll run back to Massachusetts so fast she won’t even stop to say good-bye.

  He bent his head. His tone was soft and reassuring. “You seem a little high-strung tonight, Miss Gordon. I hope you weren’t frightened by Conyers’s story of Indian torture?”

  Determined to hide her misgivings, Theodora came to a halt, turning to face him in the lantern light shining from a nearby window. “Now that, Captain Roberts, is an outright lie. We’d deal much better t
ogether, sir, if you wouldn’t mince words with me. What you really hope is that I was frightened to death by his ghoulish tale. Pooh, it will take more than some fireside ghost story to scare me away from this trip.”

  He looked down at her upturned face. The scent of wild flowers drifted up from her golden hair and assailed his senses, causing him to doubt for a moment the wisdom of his plan. He’d never mistreated a female in his life, no matter what the provocation. And she was so damn lovely. Under any other circumstances he’d be competing with Wesley Fletcher in playing the besotted fool.

  “What an intrepid little adventuress you are!” he goaded, refusing to listen to his conscience. “Were you always so fearless, Miss Gordon?”

  The notion that she was a fearless adventuress made her laugh. If the captain only knew how her legs were shaking under the folds of her satin skirt, he’d have a different opinion of her courage. “Being raised in Cambridge, I didn’t have much of which to be afraid, Captain. All my life I’ve been surrounded by gentle scholars and educators. My father and my uncle are both members of the Harvard faculty.”

  “A regular little bluenose,” Blade replied, but his tone didn’t match his sarcastic words. “And a Puritan too, no doubt, if I remember my history lesson about Massachusetts.”

  Slipping his hand under her elbow, he resumed their walk, leading her past the darkened stone storehouse that served both the quartermaster and the commissary department.

  “Yes, some of my ancestors were Puritans, though my family is now more freethinking than in the past. But my mother’s people belong to the Society of Friends. The Gordons have always placed a great emphasis on the use of the intellect rather than on brute force. What about you, Captain Roberts? Do you have some pilgrim roots?”

  A wide grin split his face, and a deep chuckle arose from his chest. She couldn’t have been wider from the mark if she’d shot with a warped arrow. “No, Miss Gordon, I’m afraid my ancestors have always believed quite strongly in the idea that might makes right.”

  Baffled by his laughter, Theodora wished she could see his eyes, but the darkness prevented it. She wondered if he was teasing her. His rapid changes of mood confused her, but she couldn’t deny to herself that he was a stunningly attractive man. If only they could be friends, the journey would be the realization of all she’d dreamed. She didn’t want to prove anything—not to him, not to anyone. She simply wanted to gather all the information she could about the flora and fauna of the western territory, catalogue her discoveries, and bring home the specimens. She’d gladly leave the dangerous work to the men.

  “I thought you might like to inspect some of the horses we’ll be taking,” Blade said, guiding her into a long stable as he’d planned. In a way, he hated to frighten her so, but if it meant saving her life in the long run, they would both benefit from his scheme.

  Inside the steeply roofed building, a scattering of lanterns along the walls gave a soft glow to the piles of golden hay stacked along one side. Except for the horses, whose soft whickers at the couple’s sudden appearance told the intruders that they’d disturbed the animals’ rest, the barn was deserted.

  Theodora, curious to see them, started to move toward the stall of a magnificent gray stallion.

  Kicking the door shut with his boot, Blade seized her elbow and pulled her to him. With one swift movement he had his arms around her and was kissing her savagely. It was a bruising, violent kiss.

  The suddenness of his actions caught Theodora by surprise and she tried to pull away from him. Frightened by the barely leashed power she felt in his muscular arms, she struggled, attempting to break free. Escape was impossible. His firm, demanding lips boldly covered hers, his tongue probing her mouth and touching her intimately. She felt his strong hand slide up from her waist and cover her breast, and the shock of his warm touch penetrating the thinness of her gown ignited a fire inside her.

  Frantically, she tried to pull free of his demanding lips, but he held her head effortlessly in one hand. She felt the power of fingers that could easily crush her skull.

  Drawn to him by an attraction that seemed stronger than her own will, she was frightened, not only of him but also of the strange new sensation she felt leap inside herself.

  When she had first seen him, she had felt that same compulsion surge through her and had turned away lest he read the longing in her eyes. Now, despite his rudeness, that need to be close to him, to touch him and be touched by him, enveloped her, and she swayed, her knees nearly buckling beneath her. Blade felt her passionate response and a thrill went through him. He changed his kiss as she clung to him, no longer punishing her but persuading and appealing. He moved his tongue rhythmically in and out of her mouth, urging her to follow his seductive lead, and felt her return his kiss without reservation.

  As she yielded to his touch, Blade slipped his fingers inside the bodice of her gown, caressing a silken breast and gently touching its rosy peak.

  Desire shot through Theodora. Suddenly frantic with fear of the unknown, she pushed with both hands against his chest. The sound of her dress ripping brought them both to a standstill. Her breath came in ragged gasps.

  Deliberately, Blade released her and stepped back. He quickly regained control, despite the rushing of blood in his veins. His voice was calm and detached. “That wasn’t half bad for a prudish New England spinster whose only knowledge of life has come from between the covers of a book.”

  The crack of her hand across his cheek rang out in the quiet stable, and the force of the blow jerked his head, causing a lock of his straight black hair to fall across his forehead.

  “You animal,” Theodora hissed, as she tried to repair her rent gown with shaking fingers and pull the torn satin cloth over her white breasts. Tears of mortification rolled down her cheeks. Her voice broke on a sob. “Don’t … don’t you ever touch me again.”

  From the door of the stables came a slow drawl. “I should kill y’ for that, Roberts.”

  Wesley Fletcher stood just inside the building, his hand resting on his sidearm.

  “And I should have known you’d follow us, Fletcher,” Blade replied in disgust, turning and blocking the shaking girl from the lieutenant’s sight. “Since when did Miss Gordon’s virtue become your responsibility?”

  “Any woman you manhandle is my concern, Roberts. You’re nothin’ but a filthy breed. You’re not fit t’ touch the hem of a white woman’s dress. If y’ weren’t a senior officer, I’d call y’ out right now.”

  Blade walked over to the lieutenant and pulled a glove from the pair tucked in his belt. “Here, let me make it easy for you, Fletcher.” He struck the man lightly across the face.

  “You’ll pay for that, Roberts!” Fletcher cried, enraged, his hand going to his cheek.

  “I am at your service,” came the scornful reply.

  Blade departed, not once looking back at the girl standing so still and solemn, the tears not yet dried upon her cheeks and her emerald eyes blazing with fury and humiliation.

  But Blade knew he was far from detached. What had begun as a cold, calculated move to frighten her away had turned into the most impassioned kiss he’d ever experienced. Had she realized the effect she’d had upon him, all his planning would have been in vain.

  “Miz Gordon,” Lieutenant Fletcher said as he went over to her, “is there anythin’ I can do?” His pale gaze dropped to the torn gown and lingered there.

  “Yes, Lieutenant, there is,” she snapped, refusing to show just how shaken she really was. “Kindly escort me to Colonel Kearny at once.”

  Chapter 3

  Blade was already out of bed and stropping his razor when the pounding on the door began. Expecting to find Fletcher’s seconds come to deliver the cartel, he opened the door and stood back in an unspoken invitation for the men to enter. But it wasn’t for a duel that the five soldiers had arrived at the captain’s quarters before dawn.

  An embarrassed Sergeant Michael O’Fallon, his three gold stripes shining on his da
rk blue shell jacket, was flanked by four privates, who listened in amazement to the orders barked in his gravelly voice.

  “Captain Roberts, sir,” O’Fallon said, clearing his throat in apprehension. “If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll be taking you to the guardhouse now, under Colonel Kearny’s orders. And you’d best be coming along with no fight, now, for I wouldn’t want to hurt you, sir, you being a West Point man and all.” The threat was a halfhearted attempt at humor, for everyone present knew he would never lay a hand on a senior officer.

  “What the hell’s going on here, Sergeant?” Blade demanded. He walked across the room and jerked a clean shirt out of his bureau drawer. “This is totally against regulations. Have you lost your senses or has Colonel Kearny?”

  “Now, I’m only following my orders, Captain. Naturally, I’d like to take you peaceful like. But if it comes to a fight, well, then I’d have to say I don’t mind mixing it up with you. I’ve always wondered how you’d do in a real donnybrook. Why, I only brought these four along in case I bit off more than I could chew.” Determined to make a joke of the entire proceedings, O’Fallon rubbed his palms together in mock anticipation.

  Sitting down on the lumpy mattress filled with the dry grass the occupants of Fort Leavenworth euphemistically called prairie feathers, Blade reached for his boots. As he pulled them on, he questioned the enlisted man with dawning suspicion. “Are you telling me, Sergeant, that I’m being placed under arrest?”

  “Why, I never said no such thing, Captain. Me and the boys are merely here to escort you to the guardhouse. I said nothing about arresting you, mind you, so don’t go holding a grudge against a man who’s merely obeying orders.”

  Blade stood and grabbed his blue tunic jacket, slipping into it and buckling his sword belt over his tasseled sash. “Any objections, O’Fallon?” he asked, placing a hand on the ornate sword hilt.