Carolyn Davidson – The Outlaw's Bride (страница 11)

“He was less than a man, to take a woman without her yielding to him gladly,” Tyler said softly. “He had no right. Men have no rights but those a woman gives them.”

“You come from a different world than I. Women are not cherished by men in my remembrance, all but my father, and the way he was with my mother when I was a child.”

“Then try to remember that and forget the rest,” Tyler told her. “Recall only the good things that happened in your life, the family you lived with here on your father’s farm, the good times you shared with him and your mother. He must have loved you to leave you his land. He must have known you would care for it and keep it as it was.”

“My mother said he loved me.” It seemed but little for a woman to cherish, the secondhand knowledge of her father’s love, but it was obviously a comfort to the woman he held, and Tyler added what warmth he could to the knowledge she held so dear.

His arms were strong, his body warm, and she nestled against him as if she’d come home. Her breath was shattered as she inhaled deeply, the sound faltering, as if she suppressed tears, and he would not shame her by acknowledging her sadness.

“Marry me, Debra. Be my wife, little nightbird. You may not feel any desire for me now, but it will come, I promise you. One day you’ll want me as I want you.”

She tipped her head back and met his gaze, her eyes dark with a look he dared hope might be desire for him. His mouth touched hers again and his kiss was welcomed, her own lips warm against his, her breath sweet. He did not press for more, only the touch of her flesh comforting his own.

Her arms slipped around his neck and she pressed her body closer to his, fitting herself to the length of him, her breasts against his chest, allowing his hips to nestle in the cradle of her own. And if his arousal frightened her, she did not draw back from him, only shifted a bit as though she wondered at the pressure of his manhood against her.

His mouth lifted from hers, his lips closed, for he would not frighten her with his passion, knowing she would fear the touch of his tongue should he use it to force his way into the warmth of her mouth. She clung to him, her hands strong as she held the nape of his neck, her body conforming to the shape of his own.

“You give yourself sweetly,” he said, his voice a low hum in her ear. “I can barely keep from lying you on the ground and taking you for my own.”

She shook her head, rubbing it on his chest, denying his need. “I don’t think I can do as you want, Tyler. My mother told me once that there is pain when a man takes a woman for the first time, that his path is not smooth, that he must forge a way into her body that gives her only pain.”

“There is pain in that,” he admitted. “But it is overcome by the pleasure to follow, if a man is careful, if he is gentle and cares for the woman he beds.” His hands touched her sides, measuring her waist and the width of her hips, then met at her back, soothing the line of her spine with tender strokes.

“I would be gentle with you, little bird. I would not cause you pain if it can be helped.”

She trembled against him, and he knew her fear was real, that she held memories of a time long past, when she had been exposed to the dark side of a man’s needs.

CHAPTER FOUR

THEY SPOKE NO MORE of the offering he’d made to her, Debra only thinking of it, considering the idea of being the mate of a man such as Tyler. And at that, she hesitated, recognizing that she only knew him by that name, and not even certain if it were his first or last.

Tyler. She spoke it beneath her breath, and yet he heard her, for his head came up and he made her aware of his presence. He was near her on the porch, his arm resting on his knee as he sat leaning against the post near the steps. His gaze was dark, and she wondered what it held, for he gave little away, only looked on her as a man might look at a woman he considered to be available.

His eyes touched her but lightly, as if he would not show his desire for her, and yet it lingered there, a potent presence between them. For he’d spoken it aloud, only a day ago, when he’d asked her to consider marriage to him.

Her answer hovered on the tip of her tongue, and she held it quiet, for trust did not come easily to her. He’d done as he said, had given her no reason to doubt his word, had not made any approach to her person but for those few minutes behind the barn, when he’d held her close.

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.”