Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One Read online

  His voice was loud and gruff by the time he’d finished. Anna felt his fingers work their way to her neck and slowly creep around to her throat, dangerously close to her windpipe.

  “Is that it?”

  She reached up and tried to pry his fingers loose.

  He grabbed her hands and clamped them in his fist. “Is that it?”

  She shook her head violently. My God, he could snap her neck like a toothpick. What could she say? “No, no. I … it’s just what I read, I—”

  His gaze skimmed her hair from the crown of her head to the long, loose curls that lay across the wrinkled bosom of her dress, then up to the hollow of her throat, where she knew her pulse hammered.

  “It doesn’t matter what you say now, white girl,” he hissed. “I’ll never believe you.”

  Anna knew that if she didn’t get ahold of herself, she’d fall apart. She’d beg and plead with him not to hurt her, and she couldn’t bear the thought of crying and mewling in front of this barbaric hun. Whatever he planned to do with her, he would do. Nothing she could say would change his black, savage mind. She glared up at him, needing to stand her ground in spite of everything. “Why don’t you just do it and get it over with?”

  His eyes became a stormy squall. He took another look at her chest. His gaze ignited a fire in her, and, unconsciously, her nipples hardened.

  He looked up, his eyes now the color of sun-soaked granite, his mouth curled into a snarl. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He released her jaw and pushed her away. “Pale, skinny white bitches don’t interest me.” He crossed to the fireplace, his fists shoved deep into his pockets.

  Relief cascaded over her. She touched the bruised skin of her jaw and stared at his back. He might not want her, but the other filthy savage was only shouting distance away. He’d said she was of no use to him here as a teacher, and it was obvious to her now that he wasn’t going to take her to Pine Valley. She swallowed hard. She might survive the shame of rape, even at the hands of that dirty, toothless excuse for a man, but then what? Maybe they would kill her.

  Suddenly, a punishment worse than death stormed her brain. Perhaps they thought to keep her imprisoned, to take her again and again whenever they felt the need. She pushed down the panic that clenched her throat.

  She had to do something to save herself. She just couldn’t give up. Her gaze dropped to the floor again, to the clay handle on the chamber pot that peeped out from under the bed.

  She edged sideways until the pot touched her skirt. Bending down, she slowly pulled the pot out from under the bed. After lifting off the cover and laying it quietly on the floor, she gripped the handles of the pot, making sure she had a good hold on it. If she could just get close enough to crack him over the head, she’d make a rim for it. She didn’t care if she got lost. Anything would be better than this.

  She turned and breathed a quiet sigh of relief, for he was still staring into the dead coals of the fireplace. Slowly she crept up behind him. Just a few more steps and she’d be free.

  Abruptly, he swung around, hitting her arm with the back of his hand. She pulled her hands up to protect her face, tipping the chamber pot in her direction. The pungent liquid splattered against her bodice and her hair before the pot fell to the floor, spewing the rest of its contents over her feet.

  She looked down at her urine-soaked hair and dress and felt the caustic liquid douse her stockings and the hem of her skirt. “This is all your fault!” she screamed. “If you’d taken me to Pine Valley in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened!”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “I knew you’d be more trouble than you’re worth.” He reached out and picked her up, tossing her across his shoulder as he’d done the night before.

  Anna kicked him. “Put me down!”

  He ignored her. He strode outside and started toward the woods.

  Panic clawed at her throat. “Where are you taking me? Put me down!” She continued to scream at him as she looked back at the retreating cabin.

  He reached up and pulled on her hair. She screamed again as pain shot through her head. A bloody vision of her scalp on the end of a stick swam before her eyes, and she felt herself choking on her own spit.

  He continued to tug on her hair, pulling her head back and making it nearly impossible for her to breath.

  He shouted something she couldn’t understand as they headed into the trees. The darkened woods passed quickly on both sides of her. She tried to catch her breath, but each time his foot connected with the ground, his shoulder pushed against her diaphragm. And the more she struggled to get free, the tighter his hold became.

  He stopped abruptly and dumped her on the ground. Anna winced as her bottom hit the dirt, but she bit her lip to keep from crying out and acknowledging his abuse.

  “Well?” One demonic eyebrow quirked up.

  She cringed as the wind blew the smell of urine under her nose. “Well, what?” she gasped as she tried to catch her breath. She was not going to beg.

  He untied the laces of his buckskin shirt and pulled it off over his head, dropping it on the ground beside her. His chest was broad and firm. Each muscle stretched the skin that covered it, each sinew shameless in its potency. Black hair lightly matted his chest, and his skin was a warm brown. He looked fierce, feral, like someone who’d escaped captivity and had become wild.

  Fear expanded through her. She tried to get up, but he pushed her down, resting his foot on her stomach. She moved, attempting to slip out from under him, but he slid his foot higher onto her chest, between her breasts. She stared at the leather-encased thigh so close to her face. She had nothing to lose. She was going to die anyway, but she wouldn’t die without a fight.

  She raised up, reached for his leg and sank her teeth into his calf. The moment he lifted his foot off her, she rolled away from him.

  He made a growling sound, wrapped his hand around her hair and yanked her back.

  She gasped as tears of pain came to her eyes. Reaching back, she aimlessly flailed her arms in the air, hoping to catch some part of him with her fists or her fingernails. Suddenly she was pulled tight against him and could feel his breath near her ear.

  “Listen, you hellcat! Behave yourself, or you’ll be very, very sorry. Is that clear?”

  Anna jabbed her elbow into his belly and stomped on his instep with her bare heel. When neither fazed him, she screamed in frustration.

  “All right, we’ll do it your way.” He pulled a leather thong from his shirt, dragged her hands behind her and bound her wrists. The sound of her heartbeat roared in her ears as he pushed her to the ground again, took a heavier thong from his waist and wrapped it around her ankles.

  Anna squeezed her eyes shut and bit down hard on the insides of her cheeks. She tasted blood. Thoughts of bravery fled. She suddenly knew that nothing had prepared her for the reality of rape. The word alone was frightening, but nothing like waiting for the heinous act itself. If she could have reached her locket and the poison, she would have taken it.

  He rolled her onto her back, her arms straining beneath her. “Do you feel this?”

  The hard, cold blade of his knife was at her throat. Swallowing, she pushed down the scream that crammed to get out, and hoped he’d be quick, prayed she’d faint before he began. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out as he cut away her dress, from bodice to knees. One movement and she knew the knife would break her skin and draw blood.

  He ripped the urine-fouled dress the rest of the way and rolled Anna onto her stomach again, tearing the garment into shreds in his eagerness to get it off her body. Anna felt the cold mountain air assault her skin through her damp underwear as he yanked her petticoat down over her hips.

  He roughly rolled her over onto her back, and she felt his knife pop the hooks and eyes that cinched her corset. With each slice of the blade she expected to feel the cutting sting on her skin, and she whimpered, unable to stop herself. Her corset was ripped open, laying bare the thin fabric of t
he chemise that covered her breasts. Suddenly the unthinkable happened. Her nipples puckered angrily against the cold air.

  Frightened into paralysis, she studied his face. His gaze appeared frozen as it clung to her thinly covered breasts. Her nipples reacted further, and she cringed, horrified that he might think she had any control over the spontaneous action.

  She held her breath as his eyes moved slowly from one breast to the other, then up to where they plumped out above the top of her chemise. As he made a leisurely trip up her neck, to her chin, then to her mouth, she fought the urge to cry, wishing she had the nerve to spit in his face.

  She watched him through eyes filled with fear and desperation. He was vicious and violent, and his features showed it. His skin was stretched tight over his high cheekbones and hawkline nose. His lips were pulled into a snarl. Thinking his mouth was coming closer, she shook her head, her breath moving in and out in desperate wheezing gasps. His eyes, pewter hot, glared into hers.

  “Nicky?”

  She went limp with relief at the sound of the young girl’s voice.

  Her attacker didn’t take his eyes off her. “Over here, June.”

  Anna struggled to regain some of her strength, hoping the young girl might be her salvation. “Help me,” she croaked. “Please, help!”

  The girl walked slowly over and stood next to the savage. “Whatsa matter with her, Nicky?”

  Anna sobbed. She tried to roll onto her side and pull herself into a ball. Her right shoulder was pinned beneath her, and she felt a tingling down her arm as she rolled on top of it. Her face, wet with tears, pressed into the ground. She pulled her head back, trying to spit out the sand that clung to her lips.

  The girl named June came around and squatted in front of her. She looked straight into Anna’s eyes, apparently unable to understand Anna’s fear. “She’s eatin’ sand, Nicky.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Nicolas responded. “I think she enjoys being dirty. I’ve never seen anyone fight so hard against a bath.” He chuckled. “Except maybe Joke.”

  Anna wasn’t sure she heard him right. Suddenly June’s hand was on her face, brushing off the sand. “You don’t want a bath?”

  Anna blinked up at her. A bath? He wasn’t going to give her a bath, he was going to rape her. She rolled over and looked at Nicolas, who had removed his boots and was calmly stripping off his pants. She looked away, frightened and confused. He wouldn’t rape her right here, in front of the girl, would he?

  “Cut her loose, June.”

  June caught the knife and pried it into the leather knots that bound Anna.

  Anna sat up slowly and looked down at her wrists. They were already chafed from her violent attempt to get free. She looked up at Nicolas, then quickly looked away. A flush reddened her neck and cheeks as she realized he was naked.

  “Wh—” She spat out the sand in her mouth and rubbed her hand across her lips. “What are you going to do with me?” Her voice sounded weepy and insipid, and the realization that he would consider her weak now angered her, even though just moments before, she’d been too frightened to care.

  Nicolas walked toward her and pulled her to her feet. “You need a bath.”

  Anna stepped back in a desperate attempt to pull away. “No! Don’t touch me!” She kept her gaze down so she could only see his strong, brown feet.

  “Dammit! You stink of your own piss, and you don’t want a bath? God,” he mumbled. “And you call me a savage.”

  Her fingers were gripped in his so hard, she thought her bones would snap.

  He dragged her toward the water. “June? Toss me that soap.”

  Anna watched the soap sail through the air. When her feet touched the cold mountain water, she dug in her heels and tried to stop. “No! You can’t! You can’t touch me like that! Stop it!” she pleaded as the water hit her knees.

  Nicolas grabbed her around the waist and hauled her out of the water. Anna felt a twinge of relief, until she realized what he meant to do. Not far from them was a wooden dock that stood perhaps ten feet out into the river. Because she’d never learned to swim, she was deathly afraid of water that came up any higher than her knees. She began fighting like a madwoman when he strode to the end and unceremoniously dumped her into the cold stream.

  The frigid water gripped her like icy fingers. She clawed her way to the surface, gasping and sputtering, and trying to push her wet, heavy hair from her eyes.

  “Help!” She swallowed a mouthful of water and found herself sinking again. Fighting the urge to breathe, she kicked her legs and flailed her arms until she broke through the surface once more. She gulped in a breath of air and sank beneath the water. He was going to let her drown!

  Then his hands were on her waist and she was soaring to the surface. She coughed and belched up water, gagging and spitting and wondering why he’d decided to save her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?” He held her around the waist and swam to shallower water, where he stood up. He pulled her arms up over her head and lifted her high against him, with her head resting on his shoulder.

  She inhaled deeply and leaned into him as he wrapped her legs around his hips. All the frustrations she’d experienced in the last half hour suddenly burbled to the surface, and she began to cry. “It’s true, I c-can’t swim.” She hiccoughed as another stream of water dribbled from her mouth.

  “It’s a little late to tell me that now.” His voice held a hint of laughter. It taunted her, and she tried to beat him with her fists.

  “I hate you,” she murmured, so exhausted she found it was hard to talk. “You’re a terrible man … you were going to rape me and kill me.” She could hear the whine in her voice, but felt too weak to care. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Because you stink,” he answered.

  Sometime later, after she’d been bathed and put to bed, Anna fell into an exhausted sleep. When she awoke, her hair was dry and she was wearing her long, white cotton nightgown. Both front and back plackets were fastened. She flushed, wondering if the audacious Indian had undressed her. She couldn’t remember. She flopped against the pillow. What did it matter? She was still alive, and she hadn’t been ravished. At least not yet, she thought, throwing a furtive glance toward the door. She shuddered, wondering if a visit from the dirty blacksmith was yet to come.

  She sat up and slid to the side of the bed. Her toes touched something soft, and she looked down to find a pair of fur-lined moccasins by her bed. As she stepped into them she stifled a delighted sigh. They were warm and toasty against her cold feet. She glanced at the fire in the fireplace and crossed to the window. As she lifted the flap she noticed someone was leaving the barn. When she realized it was Nicolas, a flush stained her cheeks, for the memory of their skirmish in the water was fresh. She remembered clinging to him after he’d pulled her out. She remembered wrapping her legs around his bare middle. She remembered, vividly, that he’d been naked.

  She gave her head a violent shake, and watched him walk toward the dormitory. His stride was broken when the tiny girl who had visited her earlier in the day ran up behind him and attached herself to his leg.

  Nicolas continued to walk, bringing the clinging child with him while she squealed with delight. Then he reached down, plucked the girl off his leg and tossed her gently into the air. Anna’s eyes softened when she saw him catch the girl and snuggle her close to his chest before swinging her onto his shoulders. Not in her wildest imagination had she expected this man, whom she’d thought was going to rape and kill her, to have such a wonderful rapport with a child, even if the child quite possibly was his own. Who was this man who could frighten her into thinking she was going to die one minute, then cuddle small children to his chest the next?

  She swung away from the window and went to stand in front of the fire. The man was a puzzle. He was Bear, the half-savage who flaunted his naked flesh as if he’d always lived without clothes, and pulled her, against her will, into his world. He was also Nicolas
, the half-white who could speak in a civilized tongue and make her feel things she’d thought were long buried. How was she to reach the man inside and convince him to let her go?

  She crawled back into bed and pulled the quilt up around her chin. Tomorrow. She yawned. She’d think about it tomorrow.

  Chapter Four

  The morning sun filtered through the leaves of the oak trees, spraying its filigree pattern on the grass and over the circle of children. Nicolas turned and looked at the snowcapped mountain that jutted from the black forest floor like an ancient tower.

  “He’s watching us,” he said softly, cuddling two-year-old Summer close.

  “Why, Nick?”

  Nicolas glanced at Two Leaf, Summer’s older brother, whose intelligent curiosity and lively spirit were always a source of joy. One of the few children Nicolas had brought to the valley who hadn’t been enslaved by the white man, Two Leaf s boldness and daring were intact.

  “The Spirit in the mountain watches and listens.” He kept his voice calm, hiding from the children his contempt for the white interlopers.

  “He can hear us?”

  “Of course,” Nicolas answered. “The old ones spoke to the spirit often. When they lived here, they called this the valley-in-the-shadow-of-the-spirit.”

  “What’s it called now?” asked June, whose face, which held the promise of wild, savage beauty, also bore healing scars from past beatings.

  “Let’s call it home,” Nicolas answered as Shy Fawn’s child, Cub, scooted toward him on his hands and knees and shoved Summer out of his way. Nicolas balanced Cub and Summer on his lap. He glanced down and smiled as both of them jammed their thumbs into their mouths.

  “Tell us again how the Great Spirit made the mountain, Nick.”

  Nicolas settled the children into a more comfortable position against his buckskin shirt. “The Great Spirit, with his mighty power and strength, pushed snow and ice down from the skies through a hole he made in the heavens,” he began.

  By the time Nicolas had concluded the tale, all of the children, except those asleep on his lap, were transfixed.