The Outlaw's Bride

Still, she hesitated, for to accept the man as her mate would allow him access to her bed, and she didn’t know if she could accept that. If she could give him her body as he would expect her to. For men were not prone to patience, she knew. The men of her mother’s tribe had proved that with their pursuit of the women they wanted. She’d been apart from all of that, protected by the mixed blood that flowed in her veins.

But no such protection existed now. For this man knew what she was, knew the shame she bore from her mixed heritage and cared little for that stain on her worth. He seemed to look at her as a female who appealed to him, who caused his passions to rise in his body. A woman he would wed and call by his name.

Then she would be…Debra Tyler? Somehow she didn’t think that was his name. That knowledge spurred her to the query that sprang from her lips.

“What is your name? Truly your name,” she asked, looking at the man who sat with such a relaxed demeanor on her porch. His arm did not shift, his leg did not straighten at her words, and he sat as he was, only moving his head to better see her expression.

“You don’t like calling me Tyler?” His mouth twisted in a grin that made her smile in return.

“It’s a fine name. I just don’t think that’s all there is to it,” she answered, knowing that she was right in her assumption. Knowing that he teased her by his words.

“You may be right,” he said quietly. “On the day you marry me, I’ll tell you the rest of it. Will that be enough to merit an answer from you?”

“You’re a determined man, aren’t you?”

“And you are as equally determined, Nightsong. Shall I know your name also?”

“My father’s name was David. I didn’t know his last name until he died. My mother only called him David and I was too young to care about any other name but my own. I’ve been Debra Nightsong my whole life. I never took his name.”

“And what was it?”

“David Thornley. I found it on the deed to this place when my mother gave it to me. I suppose I could have taken his name then, but I didn’t. I’ve always been more Indian than white anyway, and there seemed no reason to change what I’m known by.”

“I like your name. It sings to me.”

She was silent, amazed at his words. That this strong man should be willing to speak his thoughts to her so plainly was more revealing than he could know. It sings to me. The beauty of the phrase determined her in that moment and she stood from her chair to face him boldly.

“I will marry you, Tyler. No matter your name, no matter your past, I will marry you and be your wife. I can’t make any promises to you, other than this. I’ll do my best to be a good wife to you. I’ll work hard to make this a thriving farm for both of us, and I’ll be faithful to you.”

He seemed stunned, his eyes wide, his look one of surprise, and then he smiled, and it was as if the sunlight had come to dwell in that expression of his joy.

“I’ll accept your word, Nightsong. I expect no more from you than what you are willing to give me. If you say you’ll be my wife, that you will work with me to make this place a success, I’ll believe you, and honor your faith in me.”

He raised his body from the step he’d claimed as his seat and rose to face her. His hand reached for hers and he held it firmly, lifting it to his lips. His mouth touched the backs of her fingers, then turned it within his grasp and kissed the palm—a soft, sweet caress that spoke silently of his need for her.

She allowed his touch, indeed welcomed it, for she’d thought of little else since the day he’d first kissed her. Now she wondered if he knew that his kiss was the first she’d shared with a man. And if he did, had he thought her worthy of his attention? Had she responded as he’d wanted?

The questions flew through her mind, and his words put them all to rest as he drew her close to himself, his arms encircling her waist, his hands lying flat against her back. “You are untouched, little bird, a woman without the knowledge of a man, and I’ll treat you as such. I promise you that I’ll be a good husband to you, that you’ll not regret accepting me into your life…and, in time, into your bed.”

“In time?” She couldn’t believe that was her voice, speaking those simple words, repeating his vow to her. The sound seemed too soft, too gentle for the voice of Debra Nightsong, for she’d always been strong and her voice that of a woman of courage. Now she sounded as if she were an unknowing child, asking for explanation of his simple words.

He seemed to understand her need, for he smiled down at her, his hands making soothing movements against her back. “Perhaps not as much time as you want, Debra, but as much as I’m able to give you. I’ll be patient with you for I’m smart enough to recognize that you’re a stranger to the meaning of the marriage bed.”

“I know nothing but what my mother told me of men,” she said simply. “She might have given me instructions of my duty to a husband if she hadn’t died so young, but as it was I came here to the farm as a girl, not yet a woman, and probably not ready to hear such things.”

“Don’t girls of your tribe marry young?” he asked, wondering that no young man had craved her attention during her growing-up years.

“Many of them long before my age,” she said, nodding as if she remembered such things happening. “But my mother kept me away from the men who would have asked for me. She said I was too young to have a husband.”

“And she was right.” Tyler’s voice was strong, his words definite, as if he were thankful for the intelligence of her mother.

“I’m glad she protected me,” Debra said softly, remembering the woman who had cared for her during those years with her tribe. “She taught me to cook, and sew my clothing. My father had shown me how to skin and gut a rabbit. I suppose I could do the same with a deer, but I’ve never shot one. I didn’t know what I’d do with all that meat, and so I just use whatever I can barter with my neighbors for. And I sacrifice a chicken once in a while.”

“On the altar of your hunger?” he asked, his face sober, while his eyes laughed with pleasure at her words.

She smiled, pleased at his humor. “I guess you could say that. Although I’m not often hungry.”

His look was critical. “I’ve noticed. You’re entirely too slim. Almost thin, in fact.”

“Thank you,” she said, and frowned as she recognized that her tone was as chilled as a December morning. “I’ll try to add some weight to make you happy.”

Allowing a grin to curl his lips, he shook his head at her. “You don’t need to do anything but breathe to make me happy, sweetheart. I’ll take you just the way you are, and as often as possible.”

What he’d meant by that remark was a puzzle, she thought, allowing her mind to repeat his words silently.

“You look like I’ve said something to upset you, and I didn’t mean to. I was only being—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I’m not upset, though I’ll admit I don’t understand some of the things you say. I’m afraid I’m a simple soul, Tyler. You’ll have to speak plainly to get through to me.” Her hands pushed at his chest and she stepped away from him, from the hold he’d managed to maintain on her waist.

But even that small move didn’t keep him from her, for his face darkened, as if with anger, and yet he was not harsh as he reached for her again. Perhaps it was fear that spoke aloud, maybe only the innocence she hated, even as she acknowledged its presence.

“Don’t manhandle me, Tyler. I’ve never allowed any man to put his hands on me. And you’ll not be given that privilege, either. Until I marry you, you’ll let me be.”

“Wrong, Nightsong.” His eyes narrowed as he scanned her form, his gaze seeming to dwell on each small part of her, and she felt her breasts beneath her clothing, knew they swelled to fill the fabric of her chemise. His hands were warm against her waist, his long fingers resting just beneath the heaviness of her breasts. He had no right, no reason to treat her so. And she turned on him in anger.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to speak of marriage any longer. Allowing you into my bed doesn’t seem like such a good idea, and unless I miss my guess, you think I’m going to submit to whatever you have in mind for me.”

“All this because I like to touch you?” he asked, his smile lacking humor.

“Is that what you call it? I had to put up with your shenanigans the first few days you were here, Tyler. I’ve managed to get you out of my bed and onto the floor, and unless I change my mind in the near future, that’s where you’ll stay.”

“I don’t think so.”

As a statement of intent it could not be bettered, she decided and she turned from him, the need to hide her tears of major importance right now. And why the man had the ability to make her shed those hated salty drops was beyond her. She only knew that she somehow allowed him to make her feel helpless, like a woman without strength to make her own choices. Debra Nightsong was not a woman to be subdued so easily.

“Have I frightened you again?” His words angered her and she felt her face burn with humiliation.

“You don’t frighten me. You never have. I fear no man, Tyler whoever you are.”

He grinned, the challenge of his frown, the dark anger he’d directed at her a thing of the past. “I think we’re having an argument, Nightsong. Our first, if I’m not mistaken. And I’d just as soon not be exchanging harsh words with you.”

“Then just be quiet and leave me alone.” She turned away, her hands peeling his from her body, and went into the house. The kitchen was dark but she knew her way well and walked across to the hallway and from there to her bedroom. In a house this small there was no trick to gaining the one room she could claim as her own and hope for privacy to be granted her.

The door closed with a solid sound behind her and she leaned against it, her mind spinning. She was so angry at him, and for the life of her she wasn’t sure why. He’d handled her as if it were his right, and that alone was enough to fire her temper. But his intentions were honorable, she’d stake her life on that fact. Yet, she could somehow not give her total acceptance to his proposal, for he asked more than she was willing or perhaps able to give him.

Behind her the door moved, and she recognized that he had lifted the latch, that he was putting his weight against it, moving her from her position. In mere seconds he would be trespassing in her domain—a domain he shared, she reminded herself. Yet, it was the only place she felt safe, and once he intruded, she would no longer have the privacy her heart craved.

“Step away from the door, Debra. I don’t want to hurt you when I push it open.”