Moonwitch

“Please…” Wildly, she fumbled for the latch at her back.

“Would you like me to fill you again, my beautiful Selena?”

The door swung open.

Half stumbling, Selena twisted from his grasp and fled into the safety of her cabin, frantically slamming the door shut behind her, leaving Kyle alone to deal with the painful state of arousal he himself had created.

* * *

They spoke little to each other during the remainder of the journey and certainly never regained the friendly intimacy of that first afternoon. Selena spent a good deal of time watching the boils and whirlpools of the Mississippi, pondering what she should do about her marriage.

A heaviness centered in her chest whenever she considered her future with Kyle. She had driven him into the arms of his mistress, she was sure, and the thought filled her with pain.

But her own unfulfilled yearning for Kyle was somehow worse. She had discovered what it was like to be pleasured by a man, by a considerate and tender lover, and her discovery had marked her physically: a hot, restless longing that she couldn’t control; a quickening between her thighs whenever he was near; the tightening of her nipples when Kyle merely looked at her. All these were manifestations of her shameful condition. She wanted to touch Kyle at every turn, to run her fingers through his thick chestnut hair and over his body, to have Kyle possess her the way he had the night of the storm. She had once hoped that he would grow to love her, but sometimes she found herself amending that to a wish that he would simply make love to her again.

She could have brought that about, Selena thought. Kyle might prefer voluptuous redheads like Veronique, but he was attracted to her as well—at least to a small degree. He wouldn’t have refused her advances.

But she couldn’t bring herself to go to him. Not on those terms. Not when he wanted her only for the physical pleasure her body could bring. Not when he would satisfy only her wanton need and not the ache in her heart. She wanted to be his love, not simply the means for him to slake his passion.

Adding to her misery were the conditions on board the steamboat. She had trouble sleeping, for the Washington ran on clear nights and always tied up after dark to forage for wood, even when visibility was poor. She never became accustomed to the excessive noise, either—the roar of steam, the cries of the deckhands and shouted commands of the mate, the sounding of signal bells or the explosive exhaust that announced the approach of the boat for miles in advance.

The only positive aspect of the journey was that she had lost much of her homesickness; the yearning she felt for her island had been far overshadowed by her longing for Kyle’s love.

Yet as they neared their destination, Selena couldn’t help but feel a stir of excitement. She was going to live in a new place, among new faces, with new challenges and adventures. And she had no choice but to be impressed by the virgin wilderness that flanked the river and stretched as far as the eye could see. More and more often she found herself wondering what her new home would be like in this vast, beautiful land that was America.

It was with great anticipation that Selena looked forward to disembarking at Natchez. When the afternoon finally arrived, she was ready hours ahead of time, standing on the small upper deck gallery, with Horatio’s cage at her feet.

Eagerly, she studied the towering red-brown bluffs that rose two hundred feet above the crescent of the river. “Is that Natchez?” she asked with excitement when Kyle joined her at the rail.

“That’s the Natchez landing at the base of the bluff,” he replied. “The town is built above it.”

Lifting her gaze to the windswept heights, Selena could see where the abundant forest of papaw and palmetto and pine that hugged the Mississippi gave way to bright green hills. It looked lovely, basking in the afternoon sun.

But as the steamboat grew closer, the scene lost all of its loveliness. The waterfront was swamped by flatboats and keelboats and edged with half-drowned willows and weather-beaten huts perched on pilings. The landing, which resembled a table of muddy ground, was just as congested as the river’s edge. Crowds of river men and slaves, bales of fur hides and cotton, herds of livestock, throngs of drays and carts pulled by mules all vied for space.

Beyond, on the steeply sloping mud flat, were two tiers of streets crisscrossed by alleyways and scattered with long, straggling lines of flimsy shanties. Above that, the long, winding road that climbed upward from the landing, hugging the bluff, was lined with more rude huts and disreputable-looking taverns.

Soberly, Selena took in the sight of the wretched wooden buildings and rowdy, hard-faced humanity. As the Washington neared the landing, she caught her breath; from the mired earth rose a stinking odor of squalor and musk and decay. She scarcely noticed the blast of steam from the Washington’s boiler, for her attention was absorbed by a raucous brawl between two flatboatmen dressed in linsey-woolsey and drab cloth trousers. They were belching and swaying and wielding murderous knives as they tumbled each other in the muck of the landing.

Selena eyed the fighting with dismay. “This is Natchez?” she said faintly, realizing the ugly mud town was to be her new home.

Chapter Ten

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” Kyle said quickly, seeing Selena’s shocked expression. “I mean, it is—but this is the worst part. The real town is atop the bluffs. This is Natchez-Under-the-Hill.”

“I shouldn’t like to come here at night,” Selena managed in a weak voice as she watched a bevy of scantily clad females spill from one of the taverns a short distance up the nearest street.

“No,” Kyle murmured in a wry undertone. “I shouldn’t think you would.”

They waited until the Washington had moored at the landing and the gangway was set before descending the stairs and bidding farewell to Captain Shreve. As they disembarked, however, Selena skeptically eyed the muddy ground at the end of the plank. Her low-heeled slippers would no doubt sink ankle-deep in the reddish muck.

Gritting her teeth, she protectively raised the hem of her gown, preparing to wade through the mess. But before she could take a step, Kyle startled her by scooping her up into his arms. While she clung to him with one hand, awkwardly dangling Horatio’s cage from the other, he strode across the landing, his gleaming top boots making short work of the mud.

“Will you put me down?” Selena whispered angrily, as he negotiated the throngs of people and merchandise. “This is quite unseemly.”

Kyle glanced down at her, the rugged planes of his face creasing in a grin. “Now there you’re mistaken, Moonwitch. None of the riffraff here would notice if I decided to dance naked in the street. Although,” he amended, “they would no doubt watch you.”

His grin widened at the high color in her cheeks, but he didn’t release her. Instead, he carried her all the way to the livery stables, where carriages and drays were for hire. He stopped short, though, as a bearded, greasy-haired man came reeling out of the stables to block their path. Kyle recognized him as one of the many fur trappers who came to trade hides in Natchez-Under-the-Hill. With straw clinging to his grimy buckskin trousers and fringed shirt, the man looked and smelled as if he had spent the night sobering up in a stall.