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  “You don’t?”

  By his tone, he obviously doubted the truth of her statement, confusing her yet again, setting her own words against her and making her head spin with questions.

  “You’re afraid to try a simple kiss?” he prodded in feigned wonder.

  Margaret’s eyes met his again. “And you are playing some silly game I want no part of,” she snapped, sliding out from beneath his arms.

  But before she could get to her feet, he taunted, “Kissing is a simple pleasure, Maggie. Like the sunset.”

  She scoffed at that. “You think kissing you would be a pleasure?”

  “You won’t know until you try it.”

  Margaret hated to be taunted, but she was, in fact, curious. She couldn’t see that such a gesture held any real merit. “I’ve kissed my father’s cheek because I have true affection for him,” she stated primly.

  Hunter rolled onto his back as he gazed at her. “There’s a difference between kissing a father's cheek and kissing that of your husband.”

  There was certainly a difference in the relationships, but what could be the difference between kissing one man’s cheek and kissing another’s? Exasperated by her own growing curiosity, Margaret chose to attack. “This is a silly game and no doubt, a trick.”

  “No trick,” he said, and it was hardly a game when husband and wife could not share a simple kiss.

  She stared at him a moment, kneeling at his side and ready to escape if need be. “I don’t want you to touch me,” she said

  Hunter raised his arms and cradled the back of his head with his hands. He then turned his head in her direction, offering one side of his face and Margaret leaned forward and lightly pressed her lips to his cheek.

  She did not linger, but sat back on her heels, frowning down at him. “No difference,” she announced. Hunter merely grinned, lying there looking foolish until she found herself smiling. “You look ridiculously pleased.”

  “Actually I’m disappointed,” he said. “You could have put some enthusiasm into it.”

  She laughed at that.

  “It lacked substance,” he said lightly, teasing. “I had hoped for something more than a friendly peck. Chickens peck, Maggie.”

  “Such foolishness,” she muttered and started to turn away.

  Hunter lightly grasped one of her hands. “It’s quite fun being foolish sometimes, don’t you think? Just as it's fun to kiss with a little enthusiasm. But you have to have it in you, Maggie,” he said with well-feigned doubt.

  Her frown mocked him as she eased her hand out of his hold and rested both palms on her thighs. “You know something, Hunter? You should speak to me in Cherokee. Then perhaps I will understand you better.”

  “It is substance. A kiss must have substance.”

  “Is this a challenge?” she asked, arching her finely chiseled brows.

  “Absolutely.”

  She was timid, but Margaret was also just a little bit curious. Just being close enough to him to offer that light peck had felt different.

  She leaned toward him, and Hunter turned his head so that she pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth. That startled her, and she pulled back, but then she titled her head to the side and her soft lips and warm breath caressed his cheek again.

  Come, little one, he coaxed silently, be brave.

  Margaret’s senses heightened as she caught hints of his pleasant scent and warmth. She experimented with the feel of his skin against her lips, and she moved upward, her lips lightly touching just below his eye. She felt strange, but pleasantly so as her lips trailed down one side of his face and toward his mouth, hesitating. There was something very compelling in wanting to touch him with her lips but something frightening, too.

  Hunter could feel the tension radiating from her, but hoped it was shyness and not complete fear…more like trepidation, that this would lead to something more, that she did, indeed, fear. He turned his head toward her, even as he dared to raise one hand and cup her cheek, lightly holding her still. He took her beyond her hesitation by placing his lips against hers, gently, warmly. When she started to pull away, he waited, hoping her curiosity would force her to return of her own accord.

  Margaret stared down at the well-defined masculine lips so close to her own, then lowered her head, tentatively touching and withdrawing before returning to wonder at the pleasant sensation this kissing could promote. It was not at all threatening, touching him this way. And that was curious.

  And the hand that touched her cheek was warm and gentle and a little bit possessive. That, too, was curious.

  She backed off then, watching his hand fall to his side as she straightened, clearly perplexed. When her eyes move higher, Hunter was watching her with an expression she could not define and had never seen on his face before; but that look was entirely sensual.

  Margaret swallowed hard and sought to ease the nervous tension that had sprouted instantaneously within her. “Should we make breakfast now?”

  Hunter laughed lightly. She had made him hungry, but not for food. “All right, little one,” he said in a somewhat strained voice. “But I want you to know I thought that was a pleasant start to the day.” He rolled lithely to his fee and used the act of pulling on his shirt and boots as an excuse for keeping his back to her. Clearly he needed a few moments alone.

  “I’ll get some water,” he muttered as he swept his hand down, easily tossed the wooden pail in the air, and then caught it as he started off toward the river.

  Margaret frowned at what she considered strange behavior on his part.

  By the time he returned, Margaret had the fire going and was struggling to shave thin slices off a side of bacon. Hunter left the water near the fire, then knelt beside her and took the knife. He tested the blade with the pad of his thumb. “This needs honing.”

  Margaret moved far enough away so that she would not be touching him as she began making the coffee. She was still getting over the kissing and now found she couldn’t forget the feel of his hand on her cheek or the feel of his lips beneath her own.

  Once the coffee had brewed and the bacon and beans were plated, Margaret seemed to concentrate on her food for quite some time before actually eating. The suddenly her blue eyes snapped up and narrowed as she honed in on his face. “Was that the lesson you said I would learn this morning?” she asked suspiciously. “Was kissing you the lesson?”

  Hunter hid his smile but he was pleased; so she was thinking about that? But to her he said only, “Well, I suppose there was a lesson in that, of sorts, but there is another lesson, Maggie, after we eat.”

  “And that would be…?”

  “I’m going to teach you how to defend yourself.”

  “As in fighting? You expect me to fight?”

  “Not fighting as a man would fight. But a woman can learn to protect herself. Even a small woman can disable a man if she knows how.”

  Margaret’s brows arched upward. “A man of any size?”

  Hunter nodded, oblivious to the intent behind that particular question. Then he frowned in turn as a glowing smile slowly spread across her face. The imp! “Not against me, woman,” he laughed.

  Margaret chuckled and dipped her head as she scooped up a forkful of beans. She thought it an excellent idea to learn how to defend herself against him. In fact, she thought she needed lessons in more than physical defense; often he left her feeling emotional challenged as well.

  Once they had eaten and tidied their campsite, Hunter moved well away from the fire and motioned Maggie to join him.

  Felling a distinct rush of anticipation, and somewhat uneasy, she walked slowly toward him and stopped several paces away.

  “It occurred to me last night that this is something you should have been taught years ago,” he said as he shortened the distance between them.

  “I don’t think my father has ever thought about self-defense,” she said quietly. “And who else would teach me?”

  That was true. Still…”There are bo
und to be times when you find yourself among people you don’t know or can’t trust, like those two visitors of yesterday. You didn’t like them, and they frightened you because you felt vulnerable. Is that a fair statement?”

  Margaret nodded her head, although she was disconcerted by how much he seemed know and understand about her. In fact, she sometimes wondered if he understood her better than she did herself. She had never given a conscious thought to her vulnerability; life was what it was.

  “All right,” Hunter said, watching for any display of skittishness. “I’m going to walk behind you,” he warned as he put words to actions. “And then I’m going to put my arms around you.”

  Margaret nodded her head slowly.

  He stepped closely behind her and folded his arms across her chest, locking one strong hand onto the opposite forearm. “All right, little one?” he asked softly.

  Margaret nodded her head again but swallowed as if her throat had squeezed, preventing her ability to do so with ease. This feeling of entrapment was not all comfortable for her but she stood still, trusting him for the first time since their marriage. Why she would suddenly trust, she would have to determine later.

  “Now, how do you think you could force me to let you go?”

  She thought about that as she raised her hands to test the strength of his hold around her.

  “You can’t pry my arms apart, Maggie,” he said softly. “But men do have some vulnerable points, just as women do.” He loosened his hold somewhat, giving her room. “Look down at our feet. If you were to suddenly and quickly grind your heel into my instep, the pain and surprise would cause me to at least loosen my hold. Once you feel that happen, and have enough leeway to turn slightly toward me, move your arm briskly forward and bring your elbow back sharply, with all your strength, into my ribs.”

  He put his hand around her forearm and demonstrated the movement.

  “Is this the way the Cherokee fight?” she asked.

  Hunter laughed. “Darling, when it comes to fighting, everyone will do whatever must be done.”

  Darling?

  Hunter hadn’t been conscious of the endearment, but Margaret was fully aware…and surprised.

  “Now we’re going to try something else,” he was saying as her mind began to drift in directions completely opposite of fighting. “But remember,” he warned, gaining her attention. “I’m your husband. You are not supposed to hurt me.”

  Margaret chuckled at the thought. Hurting him would be the equivalent of a flea hurting a dog. Anything more severe than a pesky bite would be pure luck.

  Hunter released her and took a step back. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready,” she choked, doubling in two as she turned hysterically giddy over her own self-doubt.

  Hunter frowned as he watched her turn toward him, her hands covering her face as she slowly straightened.

  Margaret’s eyes roamed up from his boots to his wide shoulders, and the control she had been gaining was lost as she began to laugh again. “I’m really supposed to disable you?” she asked. “Hunter, that would be like a mouse trying to fell a tree. How is he even supposed to life the ax?” She howled again with laughter as he grinned at her inanity. “I’m sorry,” she continued as he waited patiently for her to regain some semblance of control. “It just struck me as funny.”

  He enjoyed her reaction; he liked to see her laugh. It was the first time he had heard her laugh since his return to Treemont. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited as he continued to smile at her.

  “I’m all right now,” Margaret said eventually, choking briefly as she wiped tears of laughter from beneath her eyes.

  Hunter shook his head, doubtful that she was steady as yet. “You’re certain you’re ready?”

  “No,” she teased, but turned her back to him. “Yes.”

  Hunter stepped forward and threw his arms around her.

  Before he had fully captured her, Margaret snapped her arm back, driving her elbow into his midsection with such sudden force that he immediately released her.

  At his grunt of pain, Margaret whirled to face him. “Oh, Hunter,” she cried, genuinely dismayed. “I didn’t mean that to happen.”

  “I know, Maggie,” he said quietly as his hand massaged his ribs. And then a lopsided smile appeared on his face as he realized her honest distress. “Now you see how you can also use the element of surprise as another weapon.”

  Margaret covered her mouth with her hand as she continued to stare in obvious concern.

  He was moved by her reaction and took her hand in his. Squeezing her fingers lightly he said, “It’s all right, little one. I’m not hurt.”

  She nodded, acknowledging his statement, but continued to frown.

  “Now that you’ve mastered that maneuvers,” he teased, “I hesitate to go on to the next.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t do this anymore.”

  “But you see now how easy it is?”

  She did. And suddenly her concern for him was forgotten. This was serious business to him.

  Rubbing his thumb slowly across her knuckles, he added, “Now that you are free of your attacker, you must run. If you aren’t able to get away, there is something else that you can do.” He dropped her hand and stepped very close to her. “Suppose you have been successful only in stunning him and he continues to hold you?” He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled ruefully. “Little one, I ask you not to lose control of your actions this time. You could ruin our hopes of having children if you do.”

  Margaret’s frown deepened even as her cheeks turned brilliant pink.

  Hunter knew she was going to be uncomfortable with this and chose to speak casually, as if they’d had such discussions on numerous occasions. “The most certain way of disabling a man is to strike hard between his legs. If you are far enough back, you can kick him. If he has a hold on you, bring your knee up sharply. Once you strike there, Maggie, I guarantee you will be free.”

  She groaned and turned her head away, mortified by this discussion. Her rosy complexion turned to a deeper hue as he spoke, and now she could not face him.

  Seeing her embarrassment, Hunter decided to end the lesson. He silently pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms gently around her, amazed that she would permit such an action. “Do you understand?” he asked softly. “Do you realize the power you have gained with that bit of knowledge?”

  She slowly nodded her head against his chest.

  “Remember, you have the skills to gain control of the situation.” He ran his palm lightly down her arm and then he released her.

  Margaret had collected herself somewhat by this time, although she felt foolish on many levels. And, talking about a man’s anatomy was not something she did every day. Still, she was glad to have the knowledge he had shared with her. If only she had known these things a year ago, perhaps she might have escaped before she’d been struck unconscious.

  CHAPTER 15

  During the few remaining hours before they reached Hunter’s home, Maggie had ample opportunity to mull over his morning games of kissing. It was true she had noticed something she’d never before experienced when she had kissed him, when he had lightly caressed her. And it caused her considerable concern. She was confused and somewhat anxious now because, quite simply, she wanted to experience more. The control he had granted her, the nearness of their bodies and their lips and the sensations that had stunned her, made her wonder just how much more he would allow before he became the typical male and took malicious charge of the situation between them. It was true that the touch of his hand had produced in her a yearning that stemmed from her imagination; from a girl’s dreams of what it would be like to be touched in other places by a man of her choosing; to be touched gently, tenderly, as he had touched her face. She realized these thoughts were futile and tried to shrug them off. After all, they were just dreams and, as she now knew, had no basis in reality. Besides, he probably hadn’t liked her kisses. How could he? She was comple
tely lacking in experience and, added to that flaw, she was no longer pretty.

  She stared at his hands as they capably held the reins of the matched bays. She had watched those hands quiet a nervous animal and knew them to be gentle, but she had also watched those hands lift and work, and she knew them to be extremely strong. Margaret also knew that the day would come when he would put those hands on her with more in mind that a silly game of kissing, and she could not help but shudder at the thought.

  Hunter’s attention was drawn to her as the quiver that ran through her body brought their shoulders into brief contact. “What’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly breaking the long silence.

  “Nothing.”

  His frown deepened when she would not look at him. “’Nothing’ would not set you to trembling. Are you ill?”

  “I’m not ill.”

  “Why does genuine concern make you snappish?” he prodded.

  Still feeling peevish, she countered his question with one of her own. “Why did you marry me?”

  He was startled by her question and pulled back on the reins to halt the bays even as he turned on the wagon seat to face her. “Where did that come from?”

  Margaret’s right hand rose and fell in agitation as she continued to stare straight ahead. “I’ve asked myself since morning why you really married me and I can’t come up with a logical answer.”

  Hunter softened his demeanor in the face of her anxiety; he realized her mind must have been working frantically for the past hour or two. He placed both sets of reins in his right hand and attempted to turn her face in his direction. “Look at me,” he said softly when she stubbornly refused to look at him. He dropped his hand to his lap then, not wanting to use physical pressure to make her turn. “I thought we had settled this. What has brought this on, Maggie?”

  And, she exploded before his eyes. “I’m going to a place I don’t know, to live with people I do not know. And I am going there with a man I don’t know…and do not wish to know. Does that explain it to you?” she cried.