forgiveness quick enough. Pleading for mercy, no doubt. Sorry she’d ever schemed him into her wicked little web.
Moss lay over her in the darkness. His chest to her bosom, he pressed her back against the hardness of the table. Her flesh was soft, yielding, more rounded than he would have suspected. He inhaled the sweet, fresh feminine scent of her and enjoyed it more than he should have.
His past experience with women had been raw and ribald and infrequent, more transaction than tryst. Those women smelled of cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey. This woman exuded fragrance that could never be priced. The wholesomeness of it was alluring, enticing. Moss could feel his own heart pounding against the softness of her breast.
He felt the gentle flutter of her breath upon his cheek and realized how close her mouth was to his own.
He could kiss her. He could kiss her now within the cloak of inky blackness of the unlit kitchen. He couldkiss her as he had wanted to that day by the creek. Not with the halting, hesitant respect he had shown, but with the full force of his most carnal nature. And there was nothing she could do to stop him. Nothing she would do to stop him. It was his right. He was her husband. Lustily he opened his mouth above her lips.
“Don’t you think it’s too dark in here?” she said.
He stopped short. “What?”
“Don’t you think that it’s way too dark in here?” she repeated. “I cain’t even see what’s right in front of my face.”
“I’m right in front of your face,” Moss answered, only inches above her.
“Well, it could be you, or somebody else,” she told him. “I cain’t see nary a thing.”
Nonplussed, Moss straightened up. “Someone else?” he muttered.
“Well, it could have been someone else,” Eulie continued. “I’m no forest creature what can see things in the night and all. Don’t you have no candles?”
“What?”
“Don’t you have no candles?” she asked again. “Iffen you don’t, well, I can make you some. Just some alum, tallow, and cotton cord, and a bit of wax myrtle goes good when it’s prime. Melt it down and pour it in the molds. Have you got molds? If you don’t, I can dip them. My mama taught me to make dip candles. I ain’t done it in a while, but I still can. I make some of the best tallow candles on the mountain, even if I do say so myself. They don’t hardly smoke none at all.”
Moss was tempted to put his hand over the woman’s mouth.
He walked over to the kindling box and pilferedthrough it until he found a good-sized pine knot. He laid it on the fireplace hearth and stirred the fire momentarily before he speared it with the poker. He held the pine knot in the red hot coals for a minute or two until it flamed to light. The strong scent of scorching resin filled the room.
“Can you see good enough now?” he asked her.
She was sitting up on the table, still wide-eyed but smiling at him sweetly as if she weren’t the most exasperating woman on the face of the earth.
“Much better,” she answered.
Moss banged the pine knot into the heavy firebowl on the mantel. Its shiny tin reflector threw the light back into the room, bathing every corner with a bright yellow glow.
His stringy-haired bride continued to chatter, explaining to him the advantages of candles, as if she were the wisdom of the Good Book itself and he a know-nothing oaf.
“And candles last a lot longer than pine knots,” she said, barely pausing to take a breath.
“I don’t think we’re going to need all that much time tonight,” Moss interrupted. “Take off your dress.”
That shut her up.
She sat on the table with her mouth open, but silent at last.
Moss folded his arms over his chest and leaned cross-legged against the chimney rock to watch her. She didn’t make a move.
“Take off your dress,” he repeated. “You wanted to be my bride, didn’t you? Well, you may be ignorant of a lot of things. But surely you know that to be a perfectly
Moss lay over her in the darkness. His chest to her bosom, he pressed her back against the hardness of the table. Her flesh was soft, yielding, more rounded than he would have suspected. He inhaled the sweet, fresh feminine scent of her and enjoyed it more than he should have.
His past experience with women had been raw and ribald and infrequent, more transaction than tryst. Those women smelled of cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey. This woman exuded fragrance that could never be priced. The wholesomeness of it was alluring, enticing. Moss could feel his own heart pounding against the softness of her breast.
He felt the gentle flutter of her breath upon his cheek and realized how close her mouth was to his own.
He could kiss her. He could kiss her now within the cloak of inky blackness of the unlit kitchen. He couldkiss her as he had wanted to that day by the creek. Not with the halting, hesitant respect he had shown, but with the full force of his most carnal nature. And there was nothing she could do to stop him. Nothing she would do to stop him. It was his right. He was her husband. Lustily he opened his mouth above her lips.
“Don’t you think it’s too dark in here?” she said.
He stopped short. “What?”
“Don’t you think that it’s way too dark in here?” she repeated. “I cain’t even see what’s right in front of my face.”
“I’m right in front of your face,” Moss answered, only inches above her.
“Well, it could be you, or somebody else,” she told him. “I cain’t see nary a thing.”
Nonplussed, Moss straightened up. “Someone else?” he muttered.
“Well, it could have been someone else,” Eulie continued. “I’m no forest creature what can see things in the night and all. Don’t you have no candles?”
“What?”
“Don’t you have no candles?” she asked again. “Iffen you don’t, well, I can make you some. Just some alum, tallow, and cotton cord, and a bit of wax myrtle goes good when it’s prime. Melt it down and pour it in the molds. Have you got molds? If you don’t, I can dip them. My mama taught me to make dip candles. I ain’t done it in a while, but I still can. I make some of the best tallow candles on the mountain, even if I do say so myself. They don’t hardly smoke none at all.”
Moss was tempted to put his hand over the woman’s mouth.
He walked over to the kindling box and pilferedthrough it until he found a good-sized pine knot. He laid it on the fireplace hearth and stirred the fire momentarily before he speared it with the poker. He held the pine knot in the red hot coals for a minute or two until it flamed to light. The strong scent of scorching resin filled the room.
“Can you see good enough now?” he asked her.
She was sitting up on the table, still wide-eyed but smiling at him sweetly as if she weren’t the most exasperating woman on the face of the earth.
“Much better,” she answered.
Moss banged the pine knot into the heavy firebowl on the mantel. Its shiny tin reflector threw the light back into the room, bathing every corner with a bright yellow glow.
His stringy-haired bride continued to chatter, explaining to him the advantages of candles, as if she were the wisdom of the Good Book itself and he a know-nothing oaf.
“And candles last a lot longer than pine knots,” she said, barely pausing to take a breath.
“I don’t think we’re going to need all that much time tonight,” Moss interrupted. “Take off your dress.”
That shut her up.
She sat on the table with her mouth open, but silent at last.
Moss folded his arms over his chest and leaned cross-legged against the chimney rock to watch her. She didn’t make a move.
“Take off your dress,” he repeated. “You wanted to be my bride, didn’t you? Well, you may be ignorant of a lot of things. But surely you know that to be a perfectly
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