The Jewel: The Malloy Family, Book 11 Page 15

  “Gunther, please bring the water.” Isabelle found a solution without lifting a finger.

  It appeared the big man was still as enamored with the beautiful Belle as Mason was. He left his bleeding brother and picked up the barrel of water, hefting the huge weight down to the ground. Charlie darted over and dipped two buckets, scurrying back to the oxen.

  Isabelle followed with another two buckets. The other adults watched while the Chastains brought water to the animals. The sisters were petting the oxen on the neck as slurping ensued. Mason sidled closer to snatch the feed out of the wagon while Gunther was distracted.

  “It’s a good time to stop for a rest.” Camille’s pronouncement might have been funny if it wasn’t so ridiculous. Isabelle and Charlie glared at her.

  Mason hefted the bag of feed and grunted as the pain shot up his hand. No doubt he’d broken a couple of bones. He would suffer gladly for having been the person to smash Karl to a sniveling pile of mush. Some could judge him, but he didn’t care a thing for what others thought. He knew he’d been in the right.

  Catherine appeared out of nowhere and helped him with the bag. As the oxen finished their water, the two of them poured a measure of feed for the animals to eat. The sun had risen more fully and illuminated just how bad the oxen had become. Their hides were mottled and raggedy, their hooves cracked in various places. Even their tongues were an odd color—normally dark, they had a grayish tinge.

  Isabelle was right. The Beckers were killing the animals. Mason’s anger surged anew. They had to wrestle control of the wagon very soon or there wouldn’t be anything left to salvage. The oxen would die if they continued on the same pace and path.

  Catherine looked at him quickly, her expression miserable. Mason knew she didn’t want to be there and she sure as hell didn’t want to be married to an ass like Karl. However, she was a mouse of a woman, someone who would hide in a corner until the battle was over. She would not participate nor would she raise her hand against the Beckers.

  The only advantage was she wouldn’t fight against Mason and the Chastains either. Catherine wasn’t quite neutral, but she was close enough.

  Camille peered at them from the wagon seat, her expression bland. It annoyed Mason that she didn’t care about anyone or anything except for herself. Even with animals, and her son, suffering in front of her. She was a monster from which legends and stories to scare children were based.

  “With Mary gone, Isabelle and Catherine will fix breakfast alone. Gunther, build a fire.” She disappeared into the wagon and left everyone else to do her bidding.

  Mason didn’t realize he was growling until he felt the vibration in his throat. Gunther scowled at him, but he didn’t speak, which was expected. The big man returned the water barrel to the wagon, then pulled out a handful of the precious wood store to start a fire. Mason knew the other man could see how vicious his mother was, but he did nothing to stop her.

  Who was he to judge? Mason had allowed his parents to dictate his life until he was old enough to do something about it. Was he better off after killing his father and alienating his mother? He’d destroyed his family with his actions. Gunther’s family as together, even if they were warped.

  Mason couldn’t imagine what it had been like to grow up under Camille’s thumb. She was formidable and, in that, reminded him of his father. Ruthless and self-absorbed. Camille didn’t have a conscience, so the only way to hurt her was to take away that which she coveted—power and money.

  While Mason’s mind was running through ways to defeat Camille, Isabelle continued to take care of the oxen, ignoring the edicts. She was a hell of a woman, so unlike the women he had grown up with. They wouldn’t have given the livestock a second thought much less take care of their well-being.

  Her actions humbled him, brought him back from the brink of teeth-baring violence again. Deflated, he picked up the feedbag and returned it to the wagon. They had to eat to be strong. If he stopped long enough to think about the women, he would have recognized his actions would make things worse. However, his fury had been boundless and uncontrollable.

  If he were honest with himself, he had learned to control the temper since it had burned out of control most of his formative years. Now the beast had been released and he wasn’t sure he could find the wherewithal to put a leash on it again. If he didn’t, they might not get the wagon back or leave the Beckers behind. Where would that leave Isabelle and Charlie? Alone, homeless and easy pickings for unscrupulous travelers, although they had already fallen prey to some of them. He wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

  That meant he had no choice. He had to control his fury and direct it inward. Use his mind to fight them and not his fists. As if on cue, Karl moaned from within the wagon. Mason glanced at Gunther, who lifted one massive shoulder in a shrug and turned his attention back to the small fire he’d started.

  The big man’s ire had disappeared, but Mason didn’t expect the same from his brother. He had made an adversary of Karl and from this moment forward, they were enemies. Utterly and completely.

  What had he done?

  Isabelle had learned many things from her mother aside from how to provide medical assistance. One area none of her sisters had shown an aptitude was herbs. Most times Maman picked them herself or purchased them from the local apothecary. However, Isabelle had been intrigued by the power of herbs and plants.

  She had taken it upon herself to learn all she could and with each new discovery, she hungered for more. Isabelle had created a small tome of her acquired knowledge, carefully entering information as she learned it.

  Something she had been careful to catalog was poisonous herbs and plants. There were many close enough in size and shape to innocuous plants, she worried she would mistake them for each other. Maman had praised her work and had often used the catalog of plants and herbs as a reference.

  As Isabelle finished with the oxen, her mind had wandered to the catalog, tucked away in the small travel case with her meager belongings. The wagon was forbidden to Isabelle, but perhaps Charlie would be put back inside after they ate. She was surprised her younger sister had been allowed to walk all night beside them. Camille probably had a reason for that, but Isabelle didn’t care to try to puzzle on it.

  She spoke low in her sister’s ear. “Charlie.”

  Charlie frowned and glanced at her from the left. “What?”

  “I need my catalog.” Isabelle had an idea of how to defeat the Beckers and it required the details contained in the book.

  Charlie nodded and picked up the buckets from the oxen that had finished eating. Camille likely wouldn’t allow them to unyoke the animals, but at least they were fed and watered. She took the blanket from the edge of the wagon and wiped down their hides.

  Isabelle couldn’t look at her sister or her eagerness might show on her face. Charlie took the buckets back to the wagon and climbed inside. A low murmur of conversation followed. Isabelle’s stomach danced as she waited for her sister to return with the catalog.

  Two minutes passed, then five. Isabelle finished her task and folded the hideous-smelling blanket. By then, it had been ten minutes. If Charlie had been able to grab the catalog, she would have returned with it.

  “Gunther has the fire ready, Isabelle.” Catherine spoke in her quiet way as she walked past with a pot and a burlap sack.

  With a sigh, Isabelle set the blanket back on the edge of the wagon and resisted the urge to peer inside. She joined Catherine at the fire and set out to make breakfast. The mundane task helped although it was difficult to focus. She had added to her catalog as they traveled west. That was when she’d first seen monkshood, a beautiful flowering plant that could be deadly.

  Enid, an old woman on the wagon train that had taken a shine to her brother-in-law John Malloy, had been a healer. She had taught Isabelle about all the flora and fauna in the west, warning her away from the monkshood
, which she explained was also called wolfsbane. According to Enid, it was supposed to protect a person from werewolves, which was ridiculous, of course.

  Yet healers, skilled ones, used it for medicinal purposes, but only in very limited amounts. Isabelle was not a skilled healer, but she had taken notes based on her conversation with Enid. Those notes were crucial to her plan because she had already spotted monkshood several times. It would be easy to harvest some and put enough in the food to give the Beckers stomach pains, vomiting, diarrhea and, if she were careful, not kill them.

  For all the awful deeds the family had done, Isabelle did not wish them dead. She would remain true to herself and her upbringing. Unless pushed beyond her limit or if Charlie or Mason was in mortal danger, Isabelle could not imagine killing anyone. Contemplating the use of monkshood was dangerous and she could very well kill someone or herself.

  She flipped the cornbread in the pan and waited for the other side to cook. Breakfast wasn’t glamorous, but it would be filling. Gunther watched her, as he always did. The big man scrutinized her every moment he was around her. At first it was disconcerting, but she came to recognize he had lived under Camille’s tyranny all his life and a woman who showed softness was foreign and appealing.

  Mason wanted her to use that fascination for their cause. She wouldn’t like it, but she would do it. She managed a small smile at Gunther and his cheeks flushed. He looked away with a snap of his head and fiddled with the embers with a long stick.

  “Are you hungry?” She shook the frying pan to loosen the cornbread and set the hot bottom on the rocky ground to cool for a moment.

  Gunther made a noncommittal sound and poked at the fire some more.

  “Cornbread is one of my favorites.” She smiled at him. “What’s your favorite?”

  “Cake.” He flushed again as he said it. Isabelle had hopes he would get away from his mother and become the better person she knew was inside him.

  “Maybe one day I can make a cake for you. I’ll need a stove, though.” She looked at the blaze. “I don’t know how to make one over a fire.”

  Gunther grunted and poked at the burning logs some more. Catherine frowned at her as though she knew what Isabelle was trying to do. Within a short time, they had a simple breakfast ready.

  Karl did not join them, but everyone else did. They sat in stony silence and ate the food. As if in unspoken agreement, no one suggested they break camp. The oxen were clearly in need of rest as was everyone else.

  After cleaning up as best she could, Isabelle crawled under the wagon. Mason joined her within minutes. Soon enough they would start walking again, but for now, everyone rested. She snuggled up to Mason’s warmth.

  “I love you.”

  He kissed her forehead. “You are all that is good in my life, Belle. Someday I will lie with you on a bed and we will make love until neither of us can move.”

  She smiled at the thought. She liked the idea of making love with him. Isabelle closed her eyes and was asleep in minutes, safe in the arms of the man she loved.

  It seemed that only moments had passed before she woke. It was nearly dark and the air around them frigid. Isabelle was educated in copulation, or at least the scientific method of copulation. However, nothing prepared her for being up against a man, a very hard, hot man. The cold night air did nothing to cool the raging inferno that spread out from her center to every part of her body. Even her skin prickled and the hairs on her body stood on end.

  This was arousal. This was passion.

  She’d kissed men back in New York. Boys more than grown men, though. Their kisses had been sloppy and wet, confusing to her untutored mouth. What they’d taught her was how not to kiss someone. Mason was far removed from a clumsy boy. His experience was apparent and her mouth astonished by the skill at which he moved.

  He kissed, licked and nibbled every inch of her lips until they swelled, eager for more of his attention. Then he coaxed her mouth open with his tongue with languid motions echoed by his lower half. His hard cock pressed against her belly and she craved more. She wished away their clothing and hungered to run her hands across his bare skin.

  His hands were a marvel too. They caressed and squeezed across her body. They seemed to be everywhere, from her behind to her hips, thighs, breasts and belly. He did not, however, push between her legs. Her core pulsed, crying out for his touch, its memory of his previous visit fresh.

  She groaned into his mouth, eager and almost out of control. His hands calmed her, pulling her back into the moment. An errant tear slipped from her closed eye. She hadn’t known how amazing it could be to make love. Intercourse was a mechanical act. This was making love.

  He unbuttoned her dress with sure movements. When the air hit her overheated nipples, she had to bite her lip to stifle a cry. The combination of heat, cold and pleasure were overwhelming. Then his mouth closed around a nipple.

  Stars danced across her soul. She arched into him, needing more with each passing second. His hand pulled up her dress at the same time he unbuttoned his own trousers. She understood at some level it was happening but could not bring herself to assist or speak. Her world was centered around this man and how he made her feel.

  He kissed his way back to her mouth and across her jaw to her ear. “Are you sure about this, Belle?”

  She made a noise of disbelief. “I love you.” It was the only answer he was going to get.

  “This will hurt, I’m afraid. I cannot take the pain for you, but I can bring you pleasure to ease it.”

  It was not news to Isabelle. Marie Chastain had educated her daughters with books, charts and sketches. Isabelle knew what a cock looked like erect and flaccid, as well as various shapes and sizes of testes. It was all very dry scientific information.

  The man currently pressing his own very hard member into her soft, moist core was surely not scientific. As a history professor, he was academic in his profession. Yet he had become someone else out west. The journey had changed him as it had changed her. At another time in their lives, they would not have met, nor fallen in love. They might have spoken, but as strangers, never as anything else.

  She could not hate the path that led her here to this moment, in Mason’s arms. As he entered her body, joining with her, he suckled her again while his hand found her pleasure button. Again the mixture of everything coalesced in an intensity that stole her breath. He thrust in a rhythm, slow and steady, inching forward with each thrust until he was within her completely. Utterly.

  She moved with him, finding his rhythm and thrusting up as he pushed down. Without warning, she reached her peak, exploding into a thousand pieces of light. He pressed his forehead to hers, their breath mingling as their essences combined. She gasped against his mouth and accepted his life into hers.

  Isabelle wrapped her arms around him, knowing no matter what happened, this was the perfect moment of her life.

  Mason woke in the gray light of dawn, a warm woman snuggled up against him. Her scent tempted him to taste her, to make love to her again. She would be sore and he was no cad. Or at least he’d been told that’s how virgins felt after their first time. Isabelle was his first virgin. She would be his last woman, though.

  That decision was solidified the moment he entered her sweet body. She had accepted all of him into the depths of her core and wrung him dry with her natural passion. Her untutored kissing had excited him, drove him to take her when he shouldn’t have.

  He couldn’t regret what they’d shared, though. Not for a moment. He wasn’t at his best, but he kept his promise and brought her pleasure with the inevitable pinch of pain when a woman lost her innocence. Next time he would be with her in a more comfortable place, perhaps even a bed. A novel thought.

  Everyone was still asleep in the wagon. The only sound to break the morning’s stillness was someone snoring above them. Mason wasn’t going to let anyone know he was awake.
For the first time in days, things were quiet. He didn’t want to let go Isabelle yet. She had had purple smudges beneath her eyes the night before. After walking all night and most of the day, she was beyond exhausted, as they all were.

  Then he had taken advantage of her passion and his own uncontrollable need for her. No wonder she was sleeping so soundly. He shifted then winced when his hand brushed the ground beneath them. His knuckles were cut and scabbed over from yesterday’s fight with Karl. The only upside to his violence was how the other man avoided him afterwards.

  If Mason walked around the corner of the wagon, Karl had disappeared around the other side. He might be afraid of Mason or he might be plotting his revenge. If Mason were a betting man, he would put his money on the latter. History taught him that men of greed who craved power over others were volatile and unpredictable. The only thing Mason knew was Karl wasn’t done yet.

  “What are you thinking about?” Isabelle’s husky voice surprised him.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you, honey. Go back to sleep.”

  “Can’t. After I wake up, I can never go back to sleep.” She yawned wide and long, her jaw cracking.

  “Then rest your eyes at least.” He tucked her head beneath his chin and pulled her closer. He could spend the rest of his life waking up like this.

  “Mmmm, you feel lovely. Warm as a roast fresh out of the oven.”

  Mason tried not to laugh. “I’m a piece of meat, then? I should be insulted by such an insinuation.”

  “You should be. I am a shallow woman.”

  He chuckled against her hair. “You are a very special woman.”

  “One plotting something awful.” Her tone had changed from playful to a chilling seriousness that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention.

  “What are you plotting?”