Gabriel tried to drag his gaze away from the curves of her backside. Her nether cheeks were completely exposed, and he could see his handprint, bright red on her soft smooth skin. When she struggled to get away, he caught a glimpse of the pink folds surrounding her womanhood. A wave of lust poured over him.
“I refuse to give in to temptation. I won’t be seduced by a heathen!” He yanked her skirt back down and pushed her away before the wicked craving became too powerful to resist.
Inside, the child whimpered. His angry tone must have frightened her. Ignoring him, the woman darted up the steps, threw open the door, and gathered the toddler in her arms. She murmured softly, rocking the child back and forth, her long hair falling over both their faces.
Gabriel followed her, shocked to see this uncivilized native acting like a loving mother. All he knew of the savages inhabiting these mountains he’d learned from talking to the soldiers and listening to his pastor at the church he and Abigail attended. The Cherokee men were brutal killers, cruelly murdering the white men sent to help them. Their women were pagans, a danger to his immortal soul. The Cherokee language had no words for Heaven or Hell, and they had no laws against fornication or adultery.
He didn’t know why the savage had run away. She was comely, and her nearly unclothed body was tempting. Maybe the soldiers guarding her had tried to rape her. Watching the way she cradled the little one, it occurred to him she may have escaped because she feared her child would be harmed.
Gabriel took a deep breath. The woman had no one to protect her or give her guidance. She needed to learn civilized ways. Running around in such immodest attire would surely put her in harm’s way if he sent her off dressed as she was. Could caring for this savage be the reason the Lord had spared his life?
He reached out and raised her chin to meet his eyes.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
* * *
His voice was very loud. Asila wondered why white people always spoke to her as though she were deaf. She turned her head away.
He forced her head back with one hand and thumped his chest with the other. “Gabriel. Me Gabriel,” he proclaimed. He pointed to her. “You?”
She sighed, refusing to meet his eyes.
“My…name…is…Gab-riel.” He thumped his chest again as he spoke, this time more slowly and even louder, as though sound alone would break the language barrier. “What is…your name?”
Asila could see this nonsense would not end until she responded.
She pointed to herself. “A-si-la.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. I am Gab-riel. You are A-si-la. And your baby?” He pointed to the child huddled on her lap, head buried between Asila’s naked breasts.
“Salai,” she replied softly.
He repeated it, pointing to the child then to her. “Sa-lai. A-si-la.” Then thumped his chest again. “Gab-riel.” He mustered up a smile, as though pleased at the progress they were making. “You Che-ro-kee?”
She nodded. “Cherokee.”
“Well, A-sila, you and little Sa-lai can stay here. Just for a short time, mind you, until I teach you how to behave like a civilized person. Then you must go with the soldiers and join your people. They are taking care of your tribe, sending you to a safe place where you can learn to live like decent folk.”
* * *
She glanced up at him with a spark of defiance in her eyes, as though she’d actually understood his words. This savage would not be tamed easily. She needed to learn how to be compliant and obedient, as well as modest, if she stayed in his home. She’d find herself over his knees again many times in the coming days if she didn’t change her attitude. It was lucky he’d kept Abigail’s hairbrush. He had a feeling he’d need it.
He found himself drawn to the sight of the child’s head nestled between her breasts. One bare nipple peeked out from under the curtain of long hair. His mind flashed back to a hazy memory of how she’d cradled his own head against those lush breasts during the long night.
Gabriel cursed inwardly. The minister was right. These heathen women could lead him straight into evil with their immodest ways.
Jumping up, he headed for the door. “Come. Come with me.” He raised his voice, speaking slowly. Salai began whimpering again. The Indian sat her on the floor and handed her a pot and a wooden spoon. The little one’s face brightened, and she started banging on her makeshift drum.
Gabriel watched impatiently from the doorway. “C-o-m-e,” he repeated, motioning vigorously with his whole arm. The heathen rose, following him as he limped painfully toward the barn, his progress slow.
Once inside, he rummaged in an old wooden trunk tucked away against the far wall. He hadn’t opened the trunk, hadn’t even looked at it in months. Not since the day he buried Abigail. It held all her clothes, her books – even her childhood Bible was crammed inside. Gabriel hadn’t been able to part with her things, but the sight of them lying around the cabin was more than he could bear. He’d thrown everything into the trunk and dragged it into a corner of the barn next to the bales of hay.
“Here,” he said, thrusting a handful of garments at her. “If you’re going to stay in my house, you must learn to dress properly. These were Abigail’s. I know she wouldn’t mind my giving them to you, since you have no decent clothing. She’d say allowing a half-naked pagan to wear one of her frocks was the Christian thing to do.”
Putting the clothes aside, the savage began to untie the deerskin around her waist. It fell to the floor and, before he could turn his head away, Gabriel found himself staring at her naked body, with those firm, lush breasts and a narrow waist curving into full hips. His eyes were drawn to the thatch of dark hair between her legs. She met his stare boldly then lowered her own gaze to the telltale bulge that had appeared in his pants.
The wench was taunting him! She’d soon learn such behavior would not be tolerated. Furious, he sank down on a hay bale and grabbed her arm. In one swift move, he levered her over his thighs, backside up.