Allegiance Read online

  How could she sleep as long as her nerves buzzed with awareness of him? His body heat seemed to radiate outward to envelope her. She thought she heard the faint throb of his heart—or was it her own? His breathing grew deeper and his restless fidgets gradually ceased.

  Nearby, the sharp staccato bark of a prairie wolf stimulated an answering chorus from a far-flung pack. Something in the wild song strummed a chord of loneliness in her soul. She shivered and tugged her meager cover over her ears.

  She must have slept a little, because when she next opened her eyes, the night pressed like black velvet around her. The little gap between the hanging blankets revealed a fire diminished to a few glowing embers; the dew-laden breeze was sharply brisk. It hardly mattered, though. She was cozy and warm.

  Just how cozy registered suddenly when she tried to roll over. The solid wall of Tyler's body curved against her back. His arm lay over her waist, leaving only the thin fabric of her chemise between his flesh and hers. Alarm cleared her brain like a dose of salts and chased away the last vestige of drowsiness. What was she doing insinuating herself half under his blankets? Had she unconsciously nestled close to him for warmth?

  His quiet, even breathing indicated he still slept. What if he should wake and catch her there! Gingerly, she edged away, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

  His hand tightened over her ribs and snugged her back against the heated wall of his chest. Her bottom fit neatly into the angle of his hips and thighs. His grip on her must have been involuntary for his hand relaxed almost at once. His breathing resumed its deep rhythm.

  The shock of their intimacy jolted her. Throwing back the heavy Mackinaw blanket, she quickly rolled away. Wrapped in her own quilt once more, she listened in trepidation for a sign that her sudden motion had disturbed him. Just as she concluded that he would sleep through it, he abruptly sat up and bumped his head on the bottom of the wagon.

  "What's wrong?” His voice was thick and husky.

  "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

  He lay back with a groan. The faint raspy sound might have been his hand rubbing his head. “Are you awake?"

  Foolish question! “I thought I heard something. Maybe one of the horses got tangled up in its rope."

  "I'll check on it.” He sat up again, more slowly, and pulled on his boots.

  He was gone only a few minutes, then he was back, filling the small space with his overwhelming male presence. “Everything seems all right."

  "Good. Is the sentry still on duty? He was drinking a lot."

  "I had to prod him with the toe of my boot to get his attention—not that I'm depending on him. With Jeb out there, we're safer than if we had six dragoons on duty. Anyway, it's nearly dawn.” He removed his boots and lay down amid the soft thrashing of his covers. He spoke quietly. “You know, I had to admire your quick thinking when those soldiers rode in last night."

  "Did I convince them, do you think?"

  "You were so composed. Who could doubt you?

  "Did you find out whether they were looking for us?"

  "I think they were. When they picked up the army dispatches in St. Louis, the constable asked them to watch for two men. They don't know about you."

  "Really?” Amy's mouth went dry. “Then the sergeant doesn't suspect us?"

  "Didn't seem to. He said outlaws are always making a dash for Indian country. One good thing though: it means the constable didn't form a posse to come after us. Jeb had me nervous, constantly watching the back trail. Maybe now he'll rest easy."

  "I wish I could rest easy."

  "Oh? What's bothering you?"

  "I don't like thinking of us as outlaws. I'm a patriot. An upstanding citizen."

  "I know, but Houston and Jackson did set us up as smugglers, which carries a heavy penalty. If we're caught, they wouldn't acknowledge us. We're on our own."

  "Isn't that wonderful."

  "You knew that when you threw in with me—Did you hear something?"

  She peeked through her curtains. “The sergeant's getting up."

  "What's he doing?"

  "Getting ready to leave, looks like. He's rolling up his bedroll, and the others are over by the horses. Saddling up, I think."

  "Good.” He leaned across to see for himself. His warm breath stirred her hair. “Once they leave, maybe we'll have straight sailing for awhile."

  "Why are they riding out so early? It's still dark."

  "It's getting lighter out in the open.” He brushed her shoulder with his bare arm as he lay back on his blanket. “Thank God they didn't spot Jeb."

  Once again, awareness of Tyler's maleness flooded through her, stealing her breath and sharpening her senses. A strange feeling settled heavy in her lower belly. The intimacy of their sleeping arrangements gave birth to a new barrage of images.

  She fought to block them from her mind. “I was thinking ... As long as we know we're not traitors, that's what counts, right? I mean, I'm glad they didn't catch on to us, but if they had, and Jackson didn't stick up for us, it wouldn't matter that much what people thought, would it? We would know."

  "We stand to lose a lot, though. My life in the army would be over."

  She'd realized long ago how much his career meant to him and had figured it wouldn't leave him much opportunity to settle down with a wife and family. She sighed deeply, wondering how much she meant to him, if anything, and whether things would be different between them if his ambitions allowed him more freedom. Admittedly, he displayed a certain fondness for her, but it was probably the same feeling he would have for a sister or cousin.

  With her cover pulled up to her chin, she kept her eye to the gap in the curtains, and it wasn't until soldiers mounted up and rode out of sight that she relaxed. “Tyler, tell me the truth. Are you sorry I came?"

  He took a moment to answer. “To be honest, when I think of the danger I've put you in, I kick myself. But if you're asking whether I'm disappointed in you, no. You're not the whining female you could have been. I admire your stamina. You're a woman with a mind of her own, and I like that."

  His tribute came as a surprise. “Jeb says it's pure stubbornness."

  "In my opinion, it's a sign of spirit and courage."

  Her heart swelled to almost painful proportions. “You'd better point out my shortcomings now, lest I become too vain."

  "Shortcomings? Well, you can't take orders, you argue about everything, and you're entirely too beautiful for this kind of work. How's that?"

  She smiled and reached over to pat him on the shoulder. “That's better.” His bare shoulder felt smooth and cool to the touch.

  His muscles tensed under her fingers.

  She knew instantly she'd overstepped the bounds of propriety, but she couldn't help it. Powerless to stop, she stroked his arm, exploring the hills and valleys of sculpted muscle. Except for a quick inhalation of breath, he didn't react. As her hand slipped down toward his elbow, her knuckles brushed his ribcage. A vivid image of his torso, stripped to the waist, flashed through her mind. He was so warm, so close, so real.

  He seized her wrist. “What are you doing?"

  What she was doing could be interpreted many ways, she thought; the darkness created the illusion of impunity. What couldn't be seen could be denied or explained away. “I was being ... cordial."

  He exhaled audibly. “Don't you ever worry about consequences?” His mild censure told her she wasn't fooling anybody.

  She pulled her wrist free. “Why is it, whenever I come near, you act like a man with a cane beating off snakes!"

  "Is that what you think?” His voice was a rough whisper in the dark. “Didn't your mother ever warn you about untrustworthy men?"

  "My mother died when I was twelve! So what? I can tell I don't have to worry about you. You can't stand to look at me, let alone touch me!"

  A sound of exasperation rumbled in his throat. Out of the darkness, his hand found the side of her face. “I don't want you thinking that, Amy.” His fingers traced her cheek and the lin
e of her jaw. “That couldn't be further from the truth."

  "How can you say that? Every time I hove into sight, you suddenly find somewhere else to be."

  "Nonsense. I couldn't care more about you if you were my own family."

  "That's what I thought.” Disappointment swelled like the throbbing pain of an abscess. “How does your sister feel about the way you treat her? Are you aloof with her, too?"

  He drew back his hand. “I don't have a sister. And if I did—Amy, why are you talking like this?"

  "I'm not your confounded sister!"

  "Of course not."

  "And I'm not a child! Most women my age are married already."

  A long silence melded with the obscurity to make her feel utterly alone. She was glad he couldn't see her tears.

  "I wouldn't say I've been thinking of you as a child. Not by a damn sight. Are you so innocent you can't tell how you affect a man? I try to keep my mind on my business, then you come along stirring up the air with that rose water you put on, or you lay your hand on my arm, and all of a sudden I forget what I'm doing. I can't think. You might as well whack me between the ears with a shovel."

  "Oh, really? Then why do I always catch you scowling at me like a man with murder on his mind?"

  "It isn't murder I'm plotting."

  "Then it must be torture."

  "You're getting closer."

  With an impulsive urge to put him off balance and get at the truth, she threw an arm across his upper chest. “You don't scare me, Major."

  "Shows how foolish you are.” His voice was gruff. He didn't ward her off, but lay tense and motionless in her half-embrace. Beneath her arm, his hard muscles twitched like a coiled rattler preparing to strike. She fought the impulse to withdraw—she desperately needed to know if he was bluffing, needed to know exactly what kind of feelings he had for her.

  She snuggled closer, tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder, and pretended to relax. Perhaps it was all about control. The iron-bound Major O'Donnell, with his inflexible codes, refused to give in to the demands of his softer side. The demands of love.

  "You don't understand what can happen,” he growled finally, as he unwound her arm from his neck. “If you don't stop this, I can't promise—"

  "Are you worried about my safety or your own?"

  "Amy, for the love of God—” He raised himself on one elbow. “You're not the kind of woman I can take advantage of. You're not one of those painted women who trade their favors down on Basin Street in New Orleans. You deserve better."

  "I should hope so, Tyler. Because what we feel, you and I, is not like that. We care for one another, don't we? We have respect—"

  "Don't speak for me. You don't know how I feel."

  A sudden doubt pierced her like a rapier. “You don't want me?"

  His answer came a couple of beats too late. “No, I don't. Now roll over and go to sleep like a good girl.” He lay back and pulled his blanket up higher on his chest.

  "Dash it all, Tyler, you're pretending you don't care."

  "Think what you like."

  She might have believed him if she hadn't just monitored his hammering pulse under her ear. And if his breathing hadn't been so ragged, she might have let him get away with his lie. “Fine. If you don't feel anything, then it won't matter if I lay close to you, will it? I'm chilly. Just give me a moment to warm up.” She cuddled up to him again, her head on his shoulder, and edged her arm back around his neck. “Just think of me as your sister."

  He stiffened, but didn't recoil from her.

  She sighed contentedly. “Sometimes, I fancy living in another world, where wickedness doesn't exist."

  He didn't answer.

  She shifted her head a little, pressing her cheek against his hot skin, listening to the rapid-fire beat of his heart. If her brazen behavior was the sort of thing that shocked church congregations and caused maiden aunts to swoon, then why did it feel so right? “There is a place like that, you know. Here and now. For instance, if you can't see whether or not I'm undressed, then for all practical purposes, I'm not."

  "Very interesting logic.” His voice grated in her ear as he raised a hand to grab a fistful of her hair. “And I suppose, if I can't see you, I'm not really touching you, either."

  "Don't make fun of me, Tyler."

  "Well, damn it all, is this what you want?” He shifted suddenly, threw back her cover and rolled atop her, pinning her limbs down with his own. His weight squeezed the breath out of her as he kissed her hard on the mouth. As his kiss deepened, he moved one hand to caress her body roughly through the only thing she wore—a gauzy chemise.

  She writhed under him, but he held her in place without effort. When she parted her lips, he plunged his tongue into her mouth. His hand slid down to stroke her thigh. The sensation of his callused fingers on her flesh gave birth to an unnamed yearning.

  Her inhibitions evaporated. Suddenly, she wanted to belong to him. And have him belong to her. The conditions didn't matter. All she knew was she had a cavernous vacuum to fill, a desperate need.

  She returned his kiss, her fingers splayed across his heaving chest, capturing his heartbeat under her palm. She came up panting for air. “Yes, that's what I want.” She lifted her head to nibble on his full lower lip, coaxing him for another of his honey-sweet kisses.

  "Little vixen!” With an urgency that matched her own, he raised her chemise, exposing her heated body to the night air. His work-roughened hand, strong enough to wrestle oxen or manhandle heavy kegs of gunpowder into the wagon, moved with surprising gentleness as it traced a path over her hip to her waist, then worked its way higher to cup her breast. “God, I can't resist you!"

  He nuzzled her breasts with his hot mouth, first one and then the other, groaning as the rigid armor of his self-restraint shattered. The instinct to shrink from the savage beast she had unleashed gave way to her own desire, consuming her like a prairie grass fire, primitive and wild. Indescribable sensations radiated throughout her body, sensations that suspended all resistance. Her flesh quivered under his exploring caresses, and she whimpered his name as his fingers slipped between her thighs. An intense ache flared from deep within. She wanted more—had to have more.

  He cursed them both in a hopeless voice as he fumbled with the front of his trousers, then kicked his legs free of the garment. When he loomed over her, she reached up to run her hands over his chest and down his sides, marveling at the symmetry and beauty. With nothing left to wonder about his essential maleness, she shivered with anticipation.

  His fingers explored her gently. “I don't want to hurt you."

  She moaned, tossing her head from side to side. “If you stop, I'll shoot you!"

  He spread her legs and fit his knees between hers.

  It was a delicious kind of pain, the love-making, fierce yet imperative. She bit her lip and clung to him, forcing herself to meet his slow thrust. Once he'd breached her maidenhead, she let her breath out slowly. There was no sweeter torture under heaven.

  In his possession, she found ultimate freedom.

  Her loneliness collapsed on itself as she soared to the highest peaks, cresting with the wildest joy she had ever known. Tyler's strong arms trapped her against his shuddering body, melding her to him, body and soul.

  Afterwards, she drifted in a mind-fog of pleasure, drowsy and euphoric. If she could sleep in his embrace like this every night for the rest of her life, it wouldn't be long enough.

  * * * *

  The sun had risen well above the horizon when Amy woke alone in Tyler's bed. Events of the night before came back piecemeal from the shroud of dreams, merging with reality. The memories left her breathless with awe and hungry for more wondrous love-making. Yawning and stretching under the luxurious Mackinaw blankets, she gloried in her shamelessness. Something as wonderful as what she and Tyler had shared was surely blessed by angels.

  She smiled to herself. It was Independence Day. And her independence was definitely worth celebrating
.

  * * * *

  Walking back to the wagons with his arms laden with firewood, Tyler tried to sort out his feelings, a mixture of confusion and self-contempt, stemming primarily from his gross lack of willpower the night before. He'd vowed to protect Amy, not ruin her. Yet he'd taken advantage, thoroughly and with complete abandon, in spite of his best intentions. What in hell had happened to his self-control?

  And still his heart tripped out of rhythm when he remembered what she'd let him do to her. Had urged him to do! She'd bewitched him completely, wrapping him in a web he had almost no hope of escaping.

  Arriving at camp, he spotted her kneeling beside the fire pit, barefoot and without her bonnet, trying to coax a small blaze to life. She flashed him a bright smile over her shoulder, the smile of a conspirator. At the same time, she radiated wholesome goodness as though she had not yet learned what sin was.

  Even as he chided himself for his lack of judgment the night before, the rush of memories heated his blood. For an hour after making love to her, he'd cradled her slender form in his arms and watched the night dissolve into day with her hair tickling his face and her breath warm on his skin. Reluctant to release her, he'd wrestled with his conscience, trying fruitlessly to convince himself it would never happen again.

  He dropped his armload of firewood in a pile beside the fire pit. “This dry wood should catch fire quicker."

  "All right. I'll have coffee for you very soon."

  He tore his gaze away from her happy face. Even if she didn't realize there would be a price to pay for what they'd done, he knew. Pretending the darkness cloaked a different world, where right and wrong called a brief truce, proved what a naive young woman she was. He couldn't skirt the fact that he'd failed to uphold his moral responsibility. He'd corrupted an innocent girl.

  And God help him, he'd probably do it all over again!

  The rising sun slanted its rosy light over the canvas-topped wagon, highlighting Amy's form, glowing on the white fabric stretched across her back and shoulders, striking her hair like a halo. Without thinking, he dropped a hand on her head as she knelt beside the smoldering twigs. Entranced, he dislodged her combs and loosened the long coils of her blonde hair.