n't tolerate silence between them with this serenely beautiful view before them. She seized on the first thought that came to mind.
"Sometimes," Rolt acknowledged. "But after the noise of the plant, and the hustle, I like the peace and quiet here. No neighbors to trouble you—human neighbors that is. Just the coyote and squirrel and the loon."
No neighbors, Alanna thought, none that she could run to, whatever the reason. The thought chilled her. She was all alone out here with Rolt. She couldn't help wondering how long the sleeping giant of Mesabi would continue to sleep.
"Alanna."
She jumped at the sound of her name. She tried to conceal it by turning to face him, but she saw the flick of his eyebrow that said he had seen.
"There was something I wanted to ask you," Rolt said.
"What's that?" She brushed a stray curl from her cheek, searching her mind for any question he might want to ask and coming up blank.
"Were you planning to cook tonight's dinner or shall I?" The impulse was to say that she wasn't very hungry. The fact was her stomach felt suddenly very empty at the mention of dinner.
"I will," she agreed, glad of something to do that would take her out of Rolt's company.
Chapter Seven
THE SUN LINGERED with infuriating stubbornness before finally sinking behind the western horizon to end the long summer day. Twilight challenged the encroaching darkness for a brief time, then fled after the sun.
Its departure was Alanna's signal to exit. With a pretense at casualness, she closed the unabsorbing magazine and tossed it negligently on the seat cushion beside her. The action attracted the blue of Rolt's gaze. They had barely exchanged a word all evening.
The threatened discussion of his objections to the sleeping arrangements hadn't taken place. Alanna guessed that he didn't intend the discussion to take place in the living room. She was certain he had another room in mind. Rising from the sofa, she flicked him a deliberately cool glance.
"Goodnight, Rolt," she said in an offhand way, and walked toward the staircase in the hall.
"Turning in so early?" His response was dry with mockery.
Alanna paused on the first step, her hand resting on the banister post. "It's been a long day," she answered diffidently.
There wasn't any wish from Rolt that she have a good night. She took note of the omission as she mounted the stairs. It served to stiffen her resolve. Inside her room, she locked the door. Then, doubting the strength of the lock, she hurried to the long dresser and began pushing it in front of the door, thankful there were wheels on the bottom.
Feeling a little more secure, she glanced around the room, her gaze stopping on the bathroom door. The two guests shared the same bath. Alanna rushed to lock that door and dragged a chair in front of it. There, she thought with satisfaction, the entrances are blocked. Let Rolt try to make his objections now!
Stripping, she changed into her nightgown and robe. It was a clinging silk-like material, ivory with an abundance of lace about the bodice, part of the trousseau her mother had insisted she buy. Alanna would have preferred her shapeless cotton gown, but wasn't about to go look for it now.
Sleep was far from her thoughts. Alanna didn't even go near the bed. She was intelligent enough to realize that her defenses weren't necessarily impregnable. If Rolt should breach them, she didn't want to be lying in bed when he entered the room.
Pacing restlessly, she waited. Her mind ran ahead, rehearsing all the vile, hateful things she would say to him—disgusting, loathsome, a contemptible beast, barbaric and cruel. Alanna would remind him in vindictive terms of the way he had blackmailed her.
If he dared come near her, she would bite and claw at him like a wildcat. Exhilaration flamed through her veins. She was ready to do battle. All her weapons were at hand, ready for use. And she waited for the opportunity, her eyes sparkling, her air confident.
She waited and waited and waited. Ten-thirty, eleven o'clock, eleven-thirty, and still there was no siege at her door. From her window, she could see the square of light shining out from the living room below. Weariness was invading her muscles. The bed looked more and more inviting, but she resolutely remained upright. The mounting tension scraped at her already raw nerves.
Walking to the window for what seemed the hundredth time, she leaned against the frame. What was he doing down there? Why was he waiting? For her to grow tired and lower her defenses?
She stared into the darkness. Then, blinking in disbelief, she realized that the living room light was off. Rolt must be coming upstairs. Spinning, she faced the door.
Her fingers clutched the top of the robe together. She suddenly had visions of Rolt bursting through the door, laughing at the verbal abuse she hurled at him, stripping the gown from her and throwing her onto the bed. Her lips could almost feel the arousing warmth of his mouth.
She thrust the image away. That would never happen. Rolt would not overwhelm her without first feeling the fury of her wrath. Quickly she turned off the light, throwing the room into darkness. Let him think she was in bed asleep. Holding her breath, she listened.
Rolt was at the top of the stairs and moving along the hall. A door opened and closed—it had to be the master bedroom. There was a series of indefinable sounds that might be made by someone getting ready for bed. Water ran briefly, then silence.
Minutes ticked by and Alanna watched the door. There was absolutely no movement from the master bedroom. Gradually she was forced to realize that Rolt had gone to bed. To bed! The silent scream of frustration exploded inside her. How dare he? This was their wedding night! He should be at her door! How could he go to bed! Alanna flung herself on the bed, boating the pillow with impotent rage.
Nearly an hour later she accepted the fact that Rolt had indeed gone to bed and crawled beneath the covers of her own. She slept fitfully, waking at the slightest night sound, till finally, near dawn, exhaustion drugged her into a heavy sleep.