Sagebrush Bride

chapter SIXTEEN





He kissed her deeply, feverishly, as though he were losing himself with every second that passed, and Elizabeth found herself clinging, arching toward him desperately, her body seeking out his instinctively.

It felt so good. So right... the yearning so deep. Warmth began a slow coil deep within her, creeping out into her limbs, making them languid with desire. More than anything, she wanted to give herself to Cutter. It really didn’t matter that nothing could come of it later. Nothing mattered. Only this—the moment. And she intended to seize it. She’d had so few in her life... so very few... and this was one she couldn’t deny herself. Lord help her, but she couldn’t.

So intent was she on the interplay of their mouths that she hadn’t even felt Cutter undo the braid from her hair. But suddenly she was aware that he was threading his hand through the length of it, separating the long, rain-thickened strands with great care as though it were rare silk, freshly washed, instead of damp and unkempt. Like a man consumed, he brought a lock to his nostrils, and they flared with the scent of it. The look of intense pleasure on his face sent a warm quickening through her.

His lips were scalding against her ear. “Sooo long,” he hissed. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He kissed her lobe, nibbling it gently, all the while combing his fingers through the length of her hair. Tilting her head just so, he brushed the side of her face, sighing into her hair. The tenderness of his touch was almost unbearable.

“Lizbeth,” he whispered, “don’t you ever just wanna let down your hair... be free?”

She did. Sometimes the feeling fairly overwhelmed her. Sometimes... sometimes she craved nothing more than to kick off the heavy high-button shoes she wore and run barefoot through the fields... to laugh... How long had it been since she had laughed? Truly laughed? Without realizing it, Elizabeth nodded, her body going limp in his arms. Whatever Cutter wished of her, she wanted to give him in that moment.

Anything at all.

Reverently he spread her hair about her shoulders. Without a will of her own, Elizabeth clung to him wantonly, her head tilted seductively, her eyes closed in delight.

“If you’ll let me,” he began huskily, his voice whispering promises, his lips worshipping her face, “I can show you how easy it is to cut your wolf loose... how good it can be between us.” His knuckles swept across her nipples, and they budded instantly as he stroked them deliberately.

“Feel it?” he whispered as she whimpered. All the while, he stroked the tip of her breast with the back of his hand. Stopping suddenly, he gently tweaked the nipple, rolling it between the roughened pads of his fingers.

The sweetest ache pulled at Elizabeth’s core. Lost in the sensual bliss, she nodded, her voice having fled entirely. Though her eyes were opened, she could see nothing through the sweet haze of pleasure.

“Just say the word,” Cutter coaxed, a ruthless gleam in his eye.

Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. How to say it. Some part of her still understood that to acquiesce was to go against everything decent ever taught her. And though she wanted to, more than anything, she couldn’t step over that line. She arched again, begging without words, and Cutter understood.

With a grunt, he lowered his mouth to the breast she offered so willingly, nibbling at it feverishly, nipping at it through her cotton shirt. He tore himself away, only long enough to fumble with her blouse.

Drinking her fill of him, Elizabeth’s eyes never left his as his free hand undid her buttons. One by one, quickly, deftly. Her breath coming in small gasps, she let him support her with a firm hand behind her back, while once again, the feel of cotton sliding out of her skirt sent quivers down her spine. With his rugged fingers, he laid her blouse open, lifting her camisole, exposing her breasts to the cool air. He dipped his head to suckle one nipple eagerly, while he fondled the other. The coarse texture of his fingers against her soft skin sent a quiver of pleasure rippling through her.

Unable to contain it, Elizabeth moaned with the sheer joy of him. Her hand slid instinctively around his neck. Nothing in all her life could have prepared her for the sweeping sensations that shivered through her body in that moment. As he suckled, a thread burned from her breast to her most secret reaches, and she wanted insanely that he should touch her... there.

Again.

She cried out suddenly. Wicked as the notion was, it scandalized her an instant, but just as swiftly, desire overwhelmed her, removing all coherent thought from her mind. Her fingers curled into his hair.

“Cutter,” she sighed. “Oh, Cutter...”

His answering murmur burned her flesh. “Come with me, Lizbeth. Don’t hold back,” he told her, his whisper savage. Never pausing in his feasting, he peered up at her through his thick, dark lashes, watching her expression intently, his dark eyes smoldering.

Well beyond words now, Elizabeth shook her head no, that she wouldn’t, and lest Cutter misunderstand her, she clutched his head possessively to her heart. Her hands threaded more deeply into his hair, tugging gently in desperation.



That was all the encouragement Cutter needed. Without a word, he swept her up, carrying her to his bedroll. He placed her down upon it reverently, kneeling over her, his lips curving at the sight of her. Her eyes remained closed, as though she couldn’t bear to watch what he was about to do. He kissed her lips reassuringly, coming away with the beguiling taste of her on his lips.

“Lizbeth,” he whispered huskily, his breath hot against her mouth. “Open those beautiful eyes for me, gal.” She did, taking his breath away with the emotion nestled in the depths of them. His breath quickened, sounding as though he’d run a country mile. “Say no now... ”He kissed her softly, hoping like hell she was too far gone to hear or comprehend his advice. “If you’ve any doubts at all... it’ll be too late once I... ”

Groaning as she brushed his face with her velvety soft fingers, he surged forward, thrusting one hand beneath her bottom and lifting her up against his hardness. “Damn me, if it ain’t already too late,” he muttered without regret. His other hand covered her breast as he buried his face into her soft neck. “Much too late,” he whispered.

His fingers skipped down her body worshipfully, then glided the length of her leg, her thigh, lifting her skirt, searing her flesh where he touched her. Like a man possessed, he slid down to kiss the inner length of her thighs, sending delightful shudders coursing through her. While he kissed and caressed her there, his hands worked at the laces of her skirt. Freeing it, he moved up again to nibble her lips as he tugged her skirt down. Almost eagerly, Elizabeth helped him in the endeavor, lifting herself at his will.



Then came her blouse, her camisole... her drawers—all shed before she could even think to protest. All the while he kissed her lips so masterfully, so wickedly, his tongue dipping in, then out, the sensation so intoxicating that she never even realized her nakedness until the cool night air kissed her burning skin.

Mesmerized, she watched as he straightened momentarily to unbutton his own shirt. Peeling it off, he cast it aside. Bare-chested now, he knelt over her, examining every inch of her with his eyes as he’d craved to for so long, not touching, yet increasing her desire with his lusty gaze.

Never had anyone looked at her just so, with so much heat, as though she were beautiful. Never. And to Elizabeth’s shame, she rejoiced in it.



By now it had grown dark, the firelight casting a rosy tint over Elizabeth’s flesh, her breasts, even the darker areolas. Remembering the sweet taste of her, Cutter imagined his children suckling there, and felt white-hot desire knot his gut. Impatient to be inside her suddenly, he brought his hands to his buckle, unfastening it deftly. Removing his gun belt, he placed it gently aside while Elizabeth watched, her eyes wide.



The harsh sound of his buttons popping sent a momentary shiver of alarm rushing through her, but she willed it away. She wanted this, she told herself. So much. And it felt so right. More right than anything ever had before. Still, a lump of fear rose in her throat, nearly strangling her.





As quickly as he could, Cutter removed his boots, then his denims, and suddenly he was free, the night air gliding over his sweat-dampened skin, heightening his pleasure. This, he thought triumphantly, was the way man was meant to be. Free.

His hands touched her knees, urging her legs apart. Elizabeth swallowed convulsively, resisting instinctively. “I—I can’t!”

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered. “You want this as much as I do.”



Elizabeth shook her head.

Cutter’s eyes devoured her. His hand slipped between her legs, and he grinned suddenly. “The hell you don’t!” he hissed.

Elizabeth willed her fear away, remembering only the pleasure she’d felt under his touch the first time.

He eased between her thighs, covering her suddenly, his flesh burning her clear to her soul. And his hardness nudged shamelessly at her private places. Taking her face into his big hands, Cutter kissed her lips feverishly, tiny pecks, then with a tortured groan, filled her mouth with the heat of his tongue.



His body nearly exploded on the spot when she instinctively lifted her knees, tilting herself to give him perfect access.

“So sweet,” he groaned. “So good.”

In response to his words, Elizabeth careened her hips even more. “That’s it,” he coaxed, trembling with restraint, his whisper tormented. Sweat beaded on his brow. “Open for me, bright eyes.”

He was poised at the barrier, his arms straining with the effort of constraint, not wanting to hurt her, torturing himself with the wait. Had to check himself... had to make this good... for her.





Again she tilted, moaning with the ecstasy of his promised intrusion. “Please, Cutter,” she breathed. “Please... ”

Still Cutter didn’t move, only shuddered violently somewhere above her, within her.

Without warning, Elizabeth lifted her hips forcefully, urging him inside, filling herself with his heat. The pain was minimal—too much a part of the pleasure to even be called pain.

With an oblivious groan, Cutter began to rock into her, out of her, filling her and then withdrawing again. Crying out, Elizabeth willed him deeper still, and with her fingers, clawed at his back, silently pleading for the release she knew he could give her. Instinctively her hands slid down to his buttocks.

Following his lead, she moved her hips along with his, whimpering with the exquisite rhythm he’d created, following him desperately. Suddenly, without warning, her body convulsed, fragmenting somewhere deep within. Just as it had the first time. Only the degree so much more. So, so much more. She cried out, kissing his shoulder reflexively, again, and again, grateful in a way she’d never been before.



Feeling her body tighten around him, and hearing her soft cries of release, Cutter gave himself up. Drawing back with a primitive cry, he drove into her with a ferocity that would have startled Elizabeth had she been the least bit aware. With a last grunt, he collapsed atop her with a deeper satisfaction than he’d ever experienced.

Kissing her temple long and hard, he rolled to the side so as not to crush her beneath him, and then hauled her up against himself, hugging her fiercely. He said nothing for the longest time, only stroked her hip and thigh absently. It seemed obscene to tarnish what they’d just shared with mere words. His body glistening with well-earned sweat, he turned a deaf ear to all sound, focusing instead on the ruthless pounding in his chest. It was only when Elizabeth seized his hand and raised it to her face to hold against her cheek that he felt compelled to speak.

His blood pounded through his temples. He swallowed the salty burn in his throat. “Did it branding cattle,” he said gruffly, swallowing again. “I was fifteen... and too stupid to know better when they told me I wasn’t a man unless I could fire the branding iron bare-handed.”

Listening quietly, Elizabeth crushed his hand to her cheek.

For the briefest moment, Cutter could see again the curl of the men’s lips as they jeered him on. In their eyes, he’d been no more than a useless half-breed kid, fit only as a distraction for their boredom. And hell, he’d been too green and too desperate to prove himself to see the contempt in their eyes. He’d learned the game quickly enough, though.

Hugging Elizabeth jealously, he allowed himself to feel again the scorch of the metal rod boring into his palm, searing his fingers, smell the stink of his own burning flesh. And then, with a fierce shuddering, he thrust the memory back again into the graveyard of his mind... where it belonged.

“Anyhow, so now you know,” he said matter-of-factly, without emotion, “and you owe me one.” He brushed her hair gently away from her face, kissing her temple. “Tell me about ‘Greensleeves,’ “ he whispered, squeezing her gently for encouragement.

“Greensleeves?”



For a befuddled moment, Elizabeth couldn’t fathom what he was talking about, and then it came to her, and she felt as though her heart constricted. How had he known? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t ready to bare herself to anyone. Too long she’d kept herself apart from everything but her work, and despite the cherished moment they’d just shared, she couldn’t open herself up for his scrutiny—didn’t know if she ever could. Her eyes misted. Her throat burned. “I-It was my mother’s favorite song,” she said with difficulty, stiffening a little in his arms. “She used to sing it to me as a child. That’s all.”

That wasn’t all there was to it, and Cutter knew it, but he didn’t push it. He gave her a little reassuring squeeze, letting her know that, and then kissed the back of her head with a sigh. Hearing a smothered sniffle, he asked, “You’re not gonna start regrettin’ already, are ya?”



Elizabeth shook her head, cursing herself for a sniveling idiot. Why, she wondered, were her emotions so near the surface lately when they never had been before? She’d always prided herself on being so clear headed, so strong. What had happened to her since meeting Cutter?

“Good,” he whispered, turning her suddenly, and planting a kiss on the tip of her breast. “ ‘Cause I’m not through with you yet.” Positioning himself over her once more, he suckled her gently, and with a whimper, Elizabeth arched toward him, amazed that he could so quickly stir her body to life, awed that his could recover so quickly when her own felt so bone-deep sated.

Almost reverently, he ran his rough hands along the length of her, chasing chills up her spine as his fingers moved up her arms. He pinned her hands to the blanket, and stroked the inside of her palm with his scarred thumb.

The last coherent thought Elizabeth had was that Cutter McKenzie was very, very good at driving away demons, while ironically, Cutter wondered whether he was actually seeking to drive away hers... or his own.





Cutter wasn’t certain what sound it was that roused him. Normally he was a very light sleeper and came awake fairly alert, but not this time. His mind was still cobwebbed from an exhausted sleep. His ears strained to pick up sounds, but nothing was immediately discernible.

Still, his instinct told him someone was there.

He could smell the intruder’s scent in the rain-cleansed air. Despite the fact that he sensed the presence, knew it was there, when his eyes adjusted finally to the darkness, he was jolted to make out the expressionless face hovering so close above his and Elizabeth’s huddled forms.

Silver flickered in the moonlight, and he held himself still.

He knew at once that it was one of the three Indians he’d spotted along the bluff-top, and his eyes quickly scanned the area. He could make out the other two still mounted. They’d remained at least ten yards away, along with the dead Indian’s horse—silent watchers.

Though his adrenaline surged, Cutter resisted the urge to leap to his feet. He cursed himself for his recklessness. Hell, he’d forgotten the Indians were even there. And because of that fact, the advantage was theirs.

And they both knew it.

His gun wasn’t but a foot above his head, but if he dove for it now, he’d be wearing the Indian’s blade through his windpipe before the thought ever finished crossing his mind. Very slowly, Cutter removed his hand from under Elizabeth’s back, trying not to wake her in the process. It’d be better if he didn’t.

“Your woman makes you careless,” the Indian said matter-of-factly, in his thick Cheyenne tongue, admonishing Cutter with a careless wave of his knife.

“But she has fire in her spirit, and in her hands,” Cutter returned just as coolly, “and that is worth a dozen deaths to any man.” His gaze never left the Indian’s. He met the man eye to eye, leaving his thoughts open for the Indian to know.

The Indian nodded sagely, sheathing his knife suddenly. “I had a woman with fire once, but she was slain by the Ooetane.” Elizabeth stretched lazily beside him, and the Indian jutted his chin at her. “She knows the ways of our people,” he said, but it was more an astonished question than a statement of fact.

Inopportunely, before Cutter could reply, Elizabeth chose that moment to open her eyes.



Seeing the strange Indian hovering above them, Elizabeth choked back a terrified scream, but it remained to be seen in her eyes. The Indian’s face contorted.

Elizabeth understood nothing of the exchange between Cutter and the Indian. All she knew was that the Indian sounded irate. And suddenly Cutter turned to her, his look accusing.

“You put white sage on the tomb?”

“I—I what?” she stammered. Instinctively she gathered up the blanket to hide her nakedness. Cutter, on the other hand, sat facing the Indian, as naked as the day he was born. Elizabeth doubted he spared it so much as a thought. He appeared so calm, and it seemed incredible that he could remain so utterly composed when she herself was suppressing a bloodcurdling scream. Clutching her end of the blanket to her bosom protectively, she inched her way to Cutter’s back, taking refuge there.

“He wants to know about the sage,” Cutter repeated brusquely, without turning. “Did you put it there?”

A thousand tortures visited Elizabeth’s mind, every horrible tale she’d ever heard in reference to the Indians—ridiculous as they may have seemed when she’d first heard them. They cut out tongues, shaved scalps, kidnapped women and children, stole away their souls!

“Oh, God have mercy—not on purpose, Cutter!” Her fingers dug into his bare shoulders as the Indian gave her a skeptical look. “I swear it! I really meant no harm!” she declared to the Indian, panicking. “I—I just gathered a handful of blossoms without thinking!” His expression didn’t soften. “I—I didn’t know!” she insisted.

Cutter sighed impatiently, shaking his head. “Lizbeth.”

“What!”

“Shut up.” The command was no less convincing for the soft way it was spoken. Nor was it unkind. His cockeyed smile returned as he turned to speak to the Indian in his own tongue. The Indian nodded once, and responded briskly, then grinned broadly as Cutter added something, more. Suddenly the Indian burst out laughing, and stood to walk away.

“What did you say to him?” Elizabeth demanded at once.



“Nothing you care to know,” Cutter told her honestly, giving her a quick once-over. Satisfied that all her choice parts were well covered, he turned again to watch the Indian mount up and listen to his bantering with the others. At once all three burst out laughing, and glanced again at Elizabeth, all of them nodding appreciatively.

Cutter smiled, sharing a rare moment with his mother’s people—not his mother’s tribe, but it didn’t matter. The connection was still there. He watched their easy camaraderie with a mixture of envy and pride—felt their unspoken grief for their friend. Not one of them looked back to the travois where the dead man lay, but their body movement told Cutter that they were more than aware of him, and their voices were subdued, as though in deference to his eternal sleep. Even their laughter held a note of sorrow.



As they turned away, Elizabeth started to see the crudely constructed cradle hitched up behind the riderless horse. A dark form lay there unmoving, swaddled in rags, and her heart wrenched painfully. She clasped the blanket more tightly to her bosom. It was the dead Indian, she knew without being told.

They’d come to claim him.

“You did them an honor,” Cutter told her. “The white sage purifies. By placing it upon the tomb, you have kept the wicked shades at bay until they could prepare him for his journey to Seyan.” His gaze held hers briefly, then skittered back to the Indians. “They separated in the storm.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and then his eyes, glittering strangely, returned to meet hers. “They know you tried to save him, when you didn’t have to.”



Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. She could sense the profound emotion bottled so deeply within him. Though she felt compelled to, she didn’t look away. “Seyan?” she asked huskily, her voice sounding strange.

“The place of the dead,” Cutter replied softly. “Those who die follow the Hanging Road above to Heammawihio.”

Not about to attempt a pronunciation of that one, Elizabeth nodded. Shuddering, she watched as Cutter threw his head back and scanned the heavens, reminding her of a lone wolf baying at the moon. And the moon—she couldn’t help but follow his gaze upward—it was so big in the sky tonight, yet appeared so solitary. Like Cutter. Bigger than life, yet despite his infuriating nonchalance, there was an inherent loneliness about him that struck at her heart. “Hanging Road?” she asked in a whisper.

“The Milky Way,” Cutter clarified with another quick glance her way.

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, and she nodded. “Oh.” In silence they watched the trio make their way to the bluff, their horses picking their way expertly in the darkness. “And where are they taking him now?”



“Home,” Cutter answered gruffly. “They’re taking him home.” And a part of him grieved over that place he’d never know. That he’d never known.

“Did they explain how it was that he was wounded?” Elizabeth ventured again.

“No.” Cutter’s eyes never shifted, though by now the trio was no longer visible through the blackness. “Didn’t ask.”



“Well, what did they say?” Recalling their strange words, the length of their conversation, she was dying of curiosity over them.

As Cutter turned to her, the shadows disappeared from his eyes. He grinned slowly, his teeth gleaming white in the night. “He wanted to know why you spoke so sharply in their presence—did you hate them for the color of their skin?”

“Of course not!” She choked on her shock. “W-What did you tell them?” To her mind, it was certainly nothing to grin about!

Cutter chuckled. “I told them no—that you didn’t.” His glittering eyes gave him away.

“That’s not all you told them,” she accused him, slapping at the back of his head wrathfully. “What else, Mr. McKenzie?”

“Damn, woman, if you ain’t heavy-handed!” he said. And then he held out his hands to ward her off. “I told them you always spoke so sharply,” he said quickly, “and that you made love like a yellow-eyed she-wolf... and that if they didn’t believe me, they could check out the mile-long marks on my back—stings like the devil!”

Gasping with outrage, Elizabeth mustered enough indignity to smack Cutter again, this time a bit harder. He caught her wrist effortlessly. “You didn’t!” she protested breathlessly, her face heating fiercely. A reluctant smile trembled on her lips.

Cutter’s shoulders began to quake, and then he laughed outright.

“Oh, you couldn’t have!” she cried. “Tell me you didn’t!”

Cutter’s laughter bowled him over, and he fell back on the bedroll. Hooting hysterically, he peered up at Elizabeth’s, “‘Fraid so,” he told her, barely able to speak without breaking into chuckles.

Elizabeth shook her hands free and would have smacked Cutter yet again had the voice not startled her from it.

From somewhere along the bluff-top, the Indian’s disembodied voice resounded clearly in the night.

“Néá'eše!” he said with passion, and as he continued to speak, his voice sounded almost an eerie echo to her ears. It sent chill after chill racing down Elizabeth’s spine, though she had not an inkling what was being said. At the end of the pronunciation, all three Indians began to whoop. She searched for them frantically along the bluff-top, but could see nothing, could only guess at their actions.

They seemed agitated over something.



Cutter’s laughter stopped abruptly, and he, too, shuddered as their sounds faded in the night—only, not out of fear. Without warning he reached up, seizing Elizabeth passionately into his arms, feeling never more connected to someone in his life.

“What did they say?” she whispered anxiously, her lips so close to his that they could have been sharing the same breath.

For the longest moment, Cutter couldn’t respond, could only lie there feeling her heart throb against the beat of his own, his chest feeling near to bursting with pride. Taking a deep breath, he stroked her back reassuringly, and gazed into her expectant face. There was still the slightest twinge of laughter in his tone when he spoke again.

“He said thank you.”

“And?” Elizabeth prodded, knowing all those words couldn’t possibly have amounted to one simple phrase.

Cutter smiled, holding her tightly, anticipating her outraged reaction. “Yeah, well... he also said... Black Wolf, who is gone from among us, was my brother, but—” a quiver sped through him, raising the hairs on his arms “—she who claws at man’s back shall forever be called my friend.”