The Trail to Love and Loss

Patrick

The kiss lingered on his lips longer than it should have. Her every move of beauty, sureness, strength. He could not rid her from my mind. Every spoke time she turned her head, he snatched a whiff of her smell: thick and woodsy, laced with the scent of early spring.

His father should be returning soon, which would be the cause of a great problem. Daya had had enough trouble trusting Patrick, an innocent boy. Hell, she still didn't trust him completely, however convincing that kiss had been. His father was why he had pulled away from her. Of course he had wanted that kiss to go on forever, but Patrick wanted to spare her heart from his people.

Nothing good would come from his father discovering her. He was sure his father would disapprove of them. A proud, self-respecting Englishman did not cavort with lowly Indians. It was just not done. At least, not in public.

Patrick feared for her safety should his father find them out.

As he led her back to the house, Patrick mulled over these thoughts. However, seeing her in the fading sun under blankets of pink and red, shrouds of deep purple and indigo descending after, he found these attempts as warding her off futile. The longing gaze she cast at him confirmed that.

He stopped abruptly, turning to study her body language. Finally, after an eternity, he cupped her face in his curved, weather dried hands and sealed their fates with a passionate kiss.

The kiss seemed to go on forever. He felt Daya push her body against his and he pulled her closer. Her lips seemed to be searching his, a hunger about them that seemed fulfilled only by his kiss.

After what seemed like ages, she pulled away, gripping his calloused, white hand tight in her soft, brown one. She pulled his body, still numb from the kiss, back into the cabin and toward the bedroom.

Patrick woke the next morning in his bed. He slowly rolled onto his side, careful not to wake Daya, who slept soundly beside him. He quieted his ragged breath and moved closer to her. He gently pulled her against him and stroked her long, dark hair which had fallen from the its tight braids and was spread haphazardly across the pillow.

Daya murmured happily in her sleep and snuggled closer. Patrick closed his eyes again and inhaled her smell. She rolled over, her even breathing shuddering. Patrick turned to look at her and she opened her dark eyes slowly. Her long lashes fluttered and she grinned slightly, muttering something in Cherokee under her breath.

Patrick's breath caught in his throat and his gulped. Daya turned away from him and got out of bed. She pulled on her deerskin dress and padded softly from the room. Patrick watched her go with deep interest, noting everything from the way she walked slight on her toes to silence her footsteps, to the way her hair swished gently against her back, to the slight sway in her narrow hips.

Patrick sighed and heaved himself up from the bed. He pulled on his own clothes and exited the room, looking back once as if to make certain that all this had really happened.

As he entered the main part of the cabin, he noticed Daya standing by the door. She motioned silently for him to follow her. Heart racing, Patrick shrugged on a jacket and followed her out the cabin door.

Daya led him through the woods back to her little hut. Here, she bent to the ground and dug through the loose topsoil. After a few seconds, she pulled out a crudely made bow with some arrows in a deerskin sheath. She ran her finger lovingly along the curve of the bow just as she had run them along Patrick's back the night before.

Without turning back, Daya sprinted on light feet deeper into the woods. Patrick followed hastily, trying to match her catlike steps and make as little noise as possible.

nstadB