Fire Along the Sky
Page 117
She had meant to make him sleep on the other side of the blanket with the soldiers, but that would shame him, she understood that. And what difference did it make, really. She would never see these men again, and they believed her already married. She made room for him on the narrow bed and discovered that he had stripped down to his shirt.
“You cheeky—” She started, and stopped, too much involved with removing Simon's hand from her breast to talk just then. Finally she whispered, “You cannot be serious.”
“If you can be quiet, I can be aye serious,” he answered, his hands roaming.
She caught them up in her own and held them away from her. “We are in the same room with twenty-one strange men,” she hissed.
“There's a blanket.” He tried to kiss her but she turned her head away and felt his mouth on her cheek, as hot as a branding iron.
“Simon. A blanket is not a wall.”
“For a lass who grew up on the frontier you're aye particular, Lily Bonner. How do you think men and women who live in one-room cabins ever get bairns?”
That question silenced her for a moment, because of course it was something she had thought about quite often when she was younger and had first started contemplating the things that men and women did together in the dark. In her own home her parents had a chamber to themselves, but most cabins in Paradise had only one room where everyone slept together. Much like this.
A few feet away a man coughed softly and cursed to himself. Then came the distinct sound of piss hitting the walls of a metal pot in a forceful stream.
The ridiculousness of the situation struck Lily then, and her shoulders began to shake with laughter.
“Ah, that's more like it,” Simon said. “Laughing Lily, come to me, lass.”
“I will not,” she said, fighting off his hands, but with less conviction now. When he caught her up against him and kissed her, the last of her resistance faded away.
“I'll make too much noise,” she said. “I can't help it.”
“That's true,” he said, pressing her down into the thin mattress, his hands to either side of her face. “You are a noisy wee thing when I've got you beneath me. And you wiggle too.”
“You are—” she said, and bit back a gasp.
“Just where I want to be,” he said against her mouth, and caught up every bit of noise she could make in his kiss.
In the morning she waited until the voltigeurs had left the cabin before she came out from behind the blanket to wash and dress in the warmth from the hearth. Simon had gone out some time ago to see to the horses and hitch them to the sleigh. Outside she could hear the voltigeurs, getting ready to be on their way. Lily raised her chin high to face the twenty-one men who had listened to the muffled sounds that came from the other side of the blanket.
If any one of them grinned at her, she would simply pull out the gun that Luke had given her, and shoot.
With this happy thought in her head she stepped out into the bitter morning cold. And found that their number had grown: the clearing around the cabin was crowded with soldiers—proper soldiers, in uniform and standing in formation—with no sign of Simon anywhere.
Lily was too surprised to be frightened until she saw Lieutenant MacLeod's expression, and understood there was some good reason for concern.
Then she saw a band of Mohawk warriors at the edge of the clearing. Among them was a familiar face, and she stepped off the porch in that direction without thinking.
“Miss,” said a very English voice behind her. “If you would be so good—”
“Sawatis!” Lily called, waving. And then, aloud in her surprise and pleasure: “That is my cousin Sawatis. Oh, and see my uncle Spotted- Fox with him.” She was so excited to see those two familiar faces that she forgot again that there was reason to be concerned, and she turned to the man who had addressed her with a great smile.
It would be much later before Lily came to realize how well timed her smile had been; at first, she only saw that the man she aimed it at was blinking in surprise. Then, slowly, he returned her smile with one of his own, albeit small and awkward. The effort made his cheeks jerk, as muscles seldom used will twitch when pressed into sudden service.
As distracted as she was, Lily could not help but note that the smile suited him; it turned a fine-looking man into a strikingly handsome one. Severe, yes, but with an intense quality in his eyes that must draw women to him.
She noted all of this with one part of her mind while the rest of it dealt with the jumble of questions that had no answers: Where was Simon? Who were these soldiers, wearing colors she did not recognize? And oddest of all, it seemed that her cousin and uncle had joined the fighting, on the side of the British Canadians, when Sawatis' brother Blue-Jay was somewhere on the St. Lawrence fighting for the American side.
Then Sawatis and Spotted-Fox were close enough and Lily went forward, quickly, her hands extended, and greeted them both in their own language, the familiar sounds gushing out like water from a crumbling dam. Tears in her eyes, and she dashed them away, impatient with herself.
To each of their children who lived to reach a certain age, Many-Doves and Runs-from-Bears had presented a choice: they could stay at Lake in the Clouds, or leave to make a life among the Kahnyen'kehàka. Blue-Jay had stayed and so would Annie, no doubt, both of them preferring English names and a red and white world to one that was, in Annie's eyes at least, monotone; Kateri and Sawatis had gone.
Kateri had taken a husband from the Turtle clan at Good Pasture, a serious young man called Broken-Blade, who might have also joined the fighting, for all Lily knew. With a pang she realized that she had given these matters—these life-and-death matters—little thought in the face of her own problems. But Good Pasture was a good twenty miles to the east of here, on land that the Canadians called their own, something that the Kahnyen'kehàka studiously overlooked.
“You cheeky—” She started, and stopped, too much involved with removing Simon's hand from her breast to talk just then. Finally she whispered, “You cannot be serious.”
“If you can be quiet, I can be aye serious,” he answered, his hands roaming.
She caught them up in her own and held them away from her. “We are in the same room with twenty-one strange men,” she hissed.
“There's a blanket.” He tried to kiss her but she turned her head away and felt his mouth on her cheek, as hot as a branding iron.
“Simon. A blanket is not a wall.”
“For a lass who grew up on the frontier you're aye particular, Lily Bonner. How do you think men and women who live in one-room cabins ever get bairns?”
That question silenced her for a moment, because of course it was something she had thought about quite often when she was younger and had first started contemplating the things that men and women did together in the dark. In her own home her parents had a chamber to themselves, but most cabins in Paradise had only one room where everyone slept together. Much like this.
A few feet away a man coughed softly and cursed to himself. Then came the distinct sound of piss hitting the walls of a metal pot in a forceful stream.
The ridiculousness of the situation struck Lily then, and her shoulders began to shake with laughter.
“Ah, that's more like it,” Simon said. “Laughing Lily, come to me, lass.”
“I will not,” she said, fighting off his hands, but with less conviction now. When he caught her up against him and kissed her, the last of her resistance faded away.
“I'll make too much noise,” she said. “I can't help it.”
“That's true,” he said, pressing her down into the thin mattress, his hands to either side of her face. “You are a noisy wee thing when I've got you beneath me. And you wiggle too.”
“You are—” she said, and bit back a gasp.
“Just where I want to be,” he said against her mouth, and caught up every bit of noise she could make in his kiss.
In the morning she waited until the voltigeurs had left the cabin before she came out from behind the blanket to wash and dress in the warmth from the hearth. Simon had gone out some time ago to see to the horses and hitch them to the sleigh. Outside she could hear the voltigeurs, getting ready to be on their way. Lily raised her chin high to face the twenty-one men who had listened to the muffled sounds that came from the other side of the blanket.
If any one of them grinned at her, she would simply pull out the gun that Luke had given her, and shoot.
With this happy thought in her head she stepped out into the bitter morning cold. And found that their number had grown: the clearing around the cabin was crowded with soldiers—proper soldiers, in uniform and standing in formation—with no sign of Simon anywhere.
Lily was too surprised to be frightened until she saw Lieutenant MacLeod's expression, and understood there was some good reason for concern.
Then she saw a band of Mohawk warriors at the edge of the clearing. Among them was a familiar face, and she stepped off the porch in that direction without thinking.
“Miss,” said a very English voice behind her. “If you would be so good—”
“Sawatis!” Lily called, waving. And then, aloud in her surprise and pleasure: “That is my cousin Sawatis. Oh, and see my uncle Spotted- Fox with him.” She was so excited to see those two familiar faces that she forgot again that there was reason to be concerned, and she turned to the man who had addressed her with a great smile.
It would be much later before Lily came to realize how well timed her smile had been; at first, she only saw that the man she aimed it at was blinking in surprise. Then, slowly, he returned her smile with one of his own, albeit small and awkward. The effort made his cheeks jerk, as muscles seldom used will twitch when pressed into sudden service.
As distracted as she was, Lily could not help but note that the smile suited him; it turned a fine-looking man into a strikingly handsome one. Severe, yes, but with an intense quality in his eyes that must draw women to him.
She noted all of this with one part of her mind while the rest of it dealt with the jumble of questions that had no answers: Where was Simon? Who were these soldiers, wearing colors she did not recognize? And oddest of all, it seemed that her cousin and uncle had joined the fighting, on the side of the British Canadians, when Sawatis' brother Blue-Jay was somewhere on the St. Lawrence fighting for the American side.
Then Sawatis and Spotted-Fox were close enough and Lily went forward, quickly, her hands extended, and greeted them both in their own language, the familiar sounds gushing out like water from a crumbling dam. Tears in her eyes, and she dashed them away, impatient with herself.
To each of their children who lived to reach a certain age, Many-Doves and Runs-from-Bears had presented a choice: they could stay at Lake in the Clouds, or leave to make a life among the Kahnyen'kehàka. Blue-Jay had stayed and so would Annie, no doubt, both of them preferring English names and a red and white world to one that was, in Annie's eyes at least, monotone; Kateri and Sawatis had gone.
Kateri had taken a husband from the Turtle clan at Good Pasture, a serious young man called Broken-Blade, who might have also joined the fighting, for all Lily knew. With a pang she realized that she had given these matters—these life-and-death matters—little thought in the face of her own problems. But Good Pasture was a good twenty miles to the east of here, on land that the Canadians called their own, something that the Kahnyen'kehàka studiously overlooked.
