HerOutlandishStranger Page 9

  At last she whispered, “Good night” and pushed herself into his arms. She fell back to sleep at once. After what seemed like hours, he managed to peel himself away, rock hard and trembling with need.

  He nearly gave into the raging hunger for her. He was so swamped with desire even his blasted toes ached and it didn’t make his life any easier to know the raging lust could be sated if he simply turned over. Huh. She wasn’t unwilling and then her pregnancy would not be such a shock. But so far he’d managed to keep from turning around—while he was awake, anyway.

  The truth was miserably clear to him. It was one thing to fulfill some bizarre DHUy commission that was basically rape, quite another to make the woman a part of a seduction. The records showed that the man who impregnated her was a stranger, so if he still cared about keeping archives straight, he knew he had to keep his hands off.

  But the records didn’t matter to him nearly as much as the woman he’d gotten to know. When he pondered the question in the middle of the night—ha, in the middle of the day too—he knew which situation was worse for Liza. At least with the one she couldn’t despise herself for the pregnancy.

  The DHU experts hadn’t exaggerated for once. In her peculiar society, she would feel shame, perhaps even loathe herself, should she become pregnant by acting on her own desire.

  He had another, more selfish reason to keep off her. Though their time together would be a short episode in her life, he didn’t want her to think of his memory with disgust. She would hate him if they made love and then he simply vanished, leaving her pregnant.

  Of course that’s what had happened—what will happen—but she didn’t know the whole truth. If he was any kind of agent, she never would.

  *

  In the morning, he packed up while she slept. He froze when he heard a quiet whimper and realized it was the sound of Liza sobbing.

  He knew she cried for her father. He wanted to go to her and gather her in his arms. Instead, he went back to packing the satchels and didn’t soothe her. The way she choked back the sound made him suspect she didn’t want him to hear, so he pretended he didn’t notice.

  No, that wasn’t the only reason he kept his distance instead of holding and soothing her.

  The truth was more selfish: He knew he’d gone too far for his own comfort. He cared too much and had to learn to let go. Their lives were only temporarily entwined. If he wanted to be fair to her and to himself, he’d repeat the word “temporary” a few hundred times a day—huh, make it his mantra. And stop himself falling any deeper in love, if such a thing were possible.

  *

  The days grew warmer as spring progressed and they moved away from the cold central region. As they walked, Eliza no longer attempted to protest when Jas insisted on carrying all of her possessions, or when he clasped her hand to drag her up the steep hills. Her muscles felt so drenched with weakness, she wondered if only momentum carried her forward as they trudged toward Lisbon.

  A sudden thought occurred to her, as she collapsed onto a rocky hillside, so tired she didn’t care about the sharp stones digging into her side. Her monthly courses were quite late. Since she was as regular as clockwork, she knew something had to be wrong. Perhaps the unusual exercise was responsible, she reasoned. The problem was not serious. In fact, she was grateful not to have to deal with the nuisance of blood.

  Several mornings later, she woke, sat up and vomited on Jas’ cloak, blanket and, she discovered to her dismay, his thick leather gloves.

  “Oh no! Oh, I apologize, Jas,” she gasped.

  Jas sat cross-legged nearby holding his ubiquitous block of wood. He stood and handed her a water skin. She rinsed her mouth and sipped a bit of water. The sickness and dizziness abated almost at once.

  “Thank you. I am better now and I shall be fine in a trice, I am sure.” When she looked up at him Eliza saw an extraordinarily bleak frown flash across his face.

  “Now why apologize?” he asked lightly, and Eliza wondered if she had only imagined the fleeting grim expression. “I assume you didn’t get sick on purpose, did you?”

  Without another word, he helped her stand. He gingerly took off the cloak and rolled it into a ball with the blanket. He unfastened the cloak he usually wore, her own, and laid it over her shoulders.

  All the while he chattered to her. “At least it’s a warmish day. I even found running water nearby. I’m good at that, have you noticed? I’m a regular dowser—that’s what I think they’re called. So I’ll get you a drink and wash this out.”

  “Oh no, please do not,” Eliza protested as he leaned over to pick up the bundled cloak and blanket. She took a wobbly step toward him. “I know you despise unwholesome scents.” He put a hand on her shoulder and gently but inexorably pressed her back down to the ground.

  “I’m grown up, usually. Anyways, I’ll cope,” he said dropping into his exotic cant. He tossed her one of the brown squares and strolled off through the tangle of brush. Eliza looked at the square with abhorrence. Had she really thought these things tasted better than dirt?

  When he came back, holding the dripping and freezing clothes away from him, he frowned at the square she still held in her hand. “Eat it,” he demanded. “Won’t be so bad with this.” And he handed her the skin full of fresh, cold water.

  The sight of the food, even the brown squares, which hardly qualified as food, made her stomach quiver in warning. She wanted to throw both objects away from her, perhaps toss them in his face.

  “Maybe it will help,” he coaxed. “Please try it?”

  She sighed and broke off a tiny corner of a square with her teeth, so small she didn’t have to chew. Her stomach didn’t seem to mind. So she experimented with another tiny corner. To her astonishment, after she’d managed to gag the square down, she felt much better.

  “Thank you.” In a dull voice she admitted, “I do not understand what is wrong. I’m better, though I feel so tired. I can’t imagine what has made me sick. I am not feverish, I am sure of it.”

  He didn’t say anything, just tilted his head to the side and studied her with the expression she privately thought of as his “blank, blue-eyed retreat”, the look he gave her when she asked a question he didn’t want to answer. He could shift his gaze from canny to quite absent, she marveled. His eyes even seemed lighter when he hid behind them—a shallow sky blue. Usually their color was a more serious blue, perhaps the reflection of the sky off a deep river.

  Or the blue of the sky around the moon, she thought and hid her smile at her silly thoughts.

  After a long moment of staring back, Jas looked away and pressed his lips tight. He must have caught sight of her cloak, which he’d draped over a spindly tree.

  “I got overenthusiastic while I was washing your wrap,” he said. “Might as well do some more laundry since I suppose we’re stuck here ’til it dries a bit and you recover.” He rummaged around in his bag and pulled out some clothes. As he leaned over, his long hair went into his eyes. He grunted and shoved at the strands impatiently. After rummaging around in his sack, he pulled out a scrap of leather and wrapped it around his hair.

  Liza thought he looked quite dashing with his pale hair gathered in a tail at the nape of the neck. A few moments later he ruined the rakish look by pulling a couple of the cleaner shirts from the sack and putting them on over the one he wore, which gave the clean lines of his form a distinctly lumpy appearance.

  He looked up and caught her smile. He smiled wryly back. “I’m cold.”

  Then he gathered up the rest of his clothes. “You keep the cloak, Liza. Lie down and rest.” He walked over to her portmanteau and started pulling out her garments, inspecting them.

  Eliza stood at once, mortified. “Mr. White! Er, Jas. You once asked me to inform you when your behavior is inappropriate. I can assure you that it is at this moment. Completely inappropriate. I shall care for my own clothing, thank you.” She marched over and yanked away the thin muslin shift he held. “I am feeling much improved.”
>
  He grinned at her. “So I see,” he agreed. “Well then, we can be a couple of gossipy old washerwomen together. Come on.” He led her through the mud and underbrush to the river. They gasped at the icy, fast-flowing frigid water. And as they scrubbed the clothing, they stopped now and then to show each other their bright-red hands.

  Eliza examined the peculiar rectangular scar on his arm. She’d seen glimpses of it before. She assumed it still caused him discomfort since he often kept it uncovered.

  “How did you come by such an odd scar?”

  He blushed deep red, then laughed, staring at the scar. He answered with one of his strange remarks. “Ha! You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear you ask that question, Liza. It doesn’t mean a thing, does it? Just a strange scar, eh? I like that. Absolutely nothing more.”

  He gave no other explanation. Eliza was amused by his puzzling laugh and response— typical of the man. But she politely changed the subject in case he found the scar somehow embarrassing.

  It is odd, thought Eliza as she squeezed the water out of her wool stockings, after all that has happened, how enjoyable she found the day. Perhaps it was a case of taking small pleasures from any details that one could. No, when she examined her responses more honestly, she suspected her pleasure came from being with Mr. White, not from doing a crude washing job in a freezing stream in Spain.

  They took turns washing bits of themselves in the bitter water. As he waited for her to return from the river, Jas built a decent fire for once, to warm them and speed their clothes drying. She watched him attempt to cut his beard, which was quite golden compared to his flaxen hair. He didn’t have a mirror and didn’t seem particularly interested in the job.

  “Please, allow me,” she said. She enjoyed the warmth of his skin and the fleece of his beard as she ran her hands along the lines of his face. But she was slightly unnerved by the intense blue gaze that watched her every move as she snipped with the marvelously light scissors he’d pulled from his sack. After her earlier fancies about his eyes, she had trouble looking at them now.

  She leaned back to examine her handiwork. His face so close to hers made her heart thud too quickly.

  “With your hair pulled back, all you require is a gold earring and you could pass as a pirate captain,” she said, hoping to shake the knot of longing in her chest.

  He laughed, but the deep sound filled her, and his amusement only seemed to draw the knot tighter.

  They sat by the crackling fire. Eliza reveled in the unusual near-cleanliness of her skin and in the heat radiating from the man next to her. They were both glad to take a rest.

  “I am almost happy at this moment,” she said wonderingly. “I would never have suspected I could experience such contentment so soon after my father.” She leaned her head on Jas’ broad shoulder. He froze as he always did when she touched him. Then at last, as she hoped he would, he lifted his arm so she could duck under. His arm wrapped around her.

  She leaned against him, savoring the warmth of his encircling arm. At least during the day he allowed her to show some signs of affection, she reminded herself. Not during their nights together.

  At night, when she lay against Jas, she could think of little except his overwhelmingly male presence. What did he dream? Was he as aware of her as she was of him? She wanted to speak to him at those times, but felt too shy.

  Whatever the reason, she often reached out to him. Yet if she even lightly touched Jas as he lay next to her, he’d instantly awaken and leap up as if she had flayed him with stinging nettles. She was usually so embarrassed he had caught her, she’d pretend to sleep. He would tuck a cloak around her before disappearing for too long in the night.

  Her embarrassment did not linger, though she wondered how ashamed she would feel when she recalled these moments once she was back at home—if she was fated to ever made it to England. Survival seemed precarious in this world.

  At least she could feel that embrace at this moment, with his arm firmly around her, his hand at her waist. She wiggled closer.

  She didn’t crave what Brian Archer had done to her years earlier. That was unpleasant. Although there was that dream in the cave. The fire, Jas’ arm around her, recalled that hallucination of warmth and pleasure. She rubbed the top of her head against Jas’ side. He again drew a sudden, deep breath.

  “Are you troubled?” she asked.

  “Nope. I’m fine.” But he sounded as if he were in pain. She didn’t know why she couldn’t seem to leave the poor man alone.

  Unfortunate man to be chased by such a hussy, she thought with a flash of faintly malicious humor, but she had no intention of relieving his discomfort by moving away.

  She wished she could stop, but she seemed to act without thinking. No, her brain wasn’t thinking, but her body had some fearfully strong opinions. Maybe sorrow turned some women into ravenous animals, seeking consolation anywhere they could. Or maybe she was falling in love with the strange Mr. White.

  “Jas?” she asked softly. “Do you…” She stopped, then blurted the question that had nagged her. “Have you ever been, ah, have you ever lain with a woman?”

  She blushed when he laughed. “You always surprise me, Eliza. I thought you didn’t ask questions like that.”

  He sobered then, and just when she wondered if she had disgusted him, he answered. “Yes, I have.”

  Another silence. Then, harshly, as if she’d dragged the unwilling question out of him, he asked, “What about you, Eliza? Have you ever been with a man?”

  She could have told him the whole truth, but she didn’t want past shame to ruin her enjoyment of their half-embrace. She chewed on her lip.

  “I was engaged once.” She suddenly wanted to change the subject without drawing attention to her elusive answer. She said, “And the night before I met you.”

  She stopped, wondering what she could say next. With the arm that enfolded her, he silently gave her a swift squeeze against his side—too hard. It drove the air out of her. “Nothing,” she said with a small laugh. “I suppose the drug my father gave me created a very improper hallucination.”

  They sat together before the fire, edgy in their silent embrace.

  She turned her face up to his. He did not kiss her but quickly withdrew his arm.

  Disgusted, she knew what he was going to say before the words left his mouth.

  “We should walk.”

  Angry that he should interrupt the moment, she jumped to her feet. And the world grew spotty and black at the edges.

  “Sit back down. How do you feel?” he asked. “Gah, I let you go too long without food.”

  She sank to the ground. “Ugh. No food.”

  In answer, he leaned over and handed her one of his squares and the water. The thought of putting anything in her mouth repulsed her, and she tried to shove it back to him.

  “Go away,” she moaned. “Or I will throw your hideous square of dirt at you.”

  “Sorry. You’ve got to eat it,” he said, not sounding the least apologetic. “Or at least, try. Remember? You felt better after you ate.”

  She groaned but obeyed him and nibbled at the square, trying not to open her mouth too wide.

  When she finished, she sat up. He still watched her steadily and she gave him a tremulous smile. “You were correct. It seems eating is not so ghastly after all. I only wish I knew what is wrong with me. I fear I shall grow more and more weakened.”

  After stalling and wiping invisible crumbs from her hands, she drew a breath and announced her decision. ”Mr. White, I thought I was better but apparently I was mistaken. We should find a place for me to stay until this passes. Alone. I will not have you infected with the illness.”

  “Eliza, I’m not going to catch it.” His troubled eyes, ice-water blue now, held her attention for several long seconds before he continued speaking in a gentle, pleading voice. “Can’t you guess what is happening to you?”

  She shook her head. “No indeed. And…I-I confess I am afraid. I have
never experienced an illness such as this.”

  “Eliza, listen,” he said in the gentle voice that dismayed her more than any of his occasional outlandish moods when he broke into odd language, which he did less and less often these days, or when he mumbled to the piece of wood, which he still did frequently. “You are not ill. You are going to have a baby.”

  She threw back her head and laughed in relief. Just another of Mr. Strange White’s passing fits of absurdity. Then she blushed. “Oh Jas. I may be green but I know what is required to grow a baby. And I assure you that I would know if that had happened.”

  Jas reached for her hands and held them in both of his in an oddly formal way. She felt another pulsation of fear. Not of him, never him anymore, but of what he was about to say. “Yes, something like that could not happen without your knowledge, Eliza. Usually. But I recall, you told me…there was a time when you were neither awake nor really asleep. The cave. You called it a hallucination. Could it be that while you were knocked out, I mean unconscious…”

  Jazz stopped. He would make her draw from her own memory. Not add to it. He continued hesitantly. “You said there was a man.”

  “The dark-haired man.” Her face turned white as paper. “My God, the phantasm. But it was a dream. Nothing more.” She wrenched her hands away from him and covered her face with them. Her whole body trembled. “No, it’s impossible,” she whispered against her hands. “Oh dear God.”

  Neither of them spoke. Only the sound of the crackling fire broke the stillness. And then Eliza broke down and started to cry.

  Jazz knelt by her, waiting and watching her for the long minutes as she denied the truth, then raved at it. At last she looked up, still pale, her enormous eyes wide with horror.

  She leaned toward him and clutched the front of his cloak as she looked into his face. “I know you spoke gallantly by suggesting I had no role in this…dreadful matter, but I assure you, Jas, it was just so. I do not understand. I did nothing. I-I think… I thought nothing happened, but I truly don’t recall clearly. How could it be? I told you how my father had given me a drug. I was hidden. I don’t see how.”