Emma hadn't heard him creeping up to where she was dressing by the river.
The sound must had been muffled by the gurgle of the stream running over
the smooth rocks of the cold northern landscape.
He grabbed her from behind, his hand covering her mouth so that she couldn't scream. Emma struggled, trying to wrest herself out of his grasp and avoid the hands that were making their way to her half-covered breasts. Fletcher released his grip slightly, just enough to force her against the trunk of one of the large pines that grew down almost to the water's edge. He turned her roughly so that his fetid body was pressed up against her.
"I knew it" he leered, his eyes devouring her half exposed body under the opened shirt. One hand held hers above her head while the other cupped her breast. She felt with sickening horror the evidence of his rising excitement and shrank away instinctively. She cursed her lack of caution. The water had seemed so inviting; It had been weeks since she had been able to bathe and the grime and dirt of the travel had begun to wear her down. Also, the thought of being able to take off the tight bandages that she had been wearing day and night to flatten her chest had proved too tempting to resist. The men had seemed eager to spend their precious afternoon off drinking and telling tales around the camp fire so she had thought she would have been safe, especially in this remote spot.
He leant in further towards her, his right knee forcing itself between her legs, his breathe, hot and stinking of moon-shine, warm on her cheek. God, he was disgusting she thought. He was awful at a distance, but this close he smelt like the rotting moose carcess they had passed yesterday.
"I knew you was no boy, I could smell it" he continued, obblivous to her shivers of disgust. Emma tried to think her way calmly out of this situation, after all, she had found herself in similar tight spots before. Maybe appearing to go along with it would be her best option; She had her knife, but it was wrapped up in her trousers, a few metres down the river bank. If only she could get to it.
Without warning, Fletcher went flying backwards, his body rolling almost into the creek itself. He lay there, stupidly, staring at Genet who had appeared out of nowhere and now stood over him with his whip pointed threateningly.
"Get out of here before I gut you" he snarled, the large knife on his belt serving as sufficient threat to make the younger man quail. Fletcher clambered to his feet and took off, cursing under his breath.
Genet turned to Emma, who had covered herself hurriedly as best she could with her discarded jacket. She stood silently returning his glare calmly. Ever since she had joined this motley crew he had been the one who she had been cautious to stay away from, as many of her companions seemed to do. He was a large man, in his forties maybe, with the look of someone that was very good at surviving this rugged environment. He always wore a long coat, it's shoulders covered in trophies of matted fur. Her impression of him was that he was terse, arrogant and on occasion vicious. But his accent was what surprised her as it suggested an upbringing in a civilised house on the other side of the Atlantic.
Out of the two men, he was probably the most dangerous of the two. Fletcher was vicious, but not cunning. Emma had watched Genet since the journey had begun. His moods were mercurial. He could be harsh to his fellow travellers and yet gentle to his hounds. There was a deliberateness about all his actions that had intrigued her but now slightly frightened her. He was too intelligent to be fooled easily and she had a suspicion that his happening upon her and Fletcher was no mere accident.
He walked over to where her clothes lay and retrieved the small knife that she had dropped in her haste to grab her clothes.
"You'll need something a little bigger than this to protect you once Fletcher tells his story" he drawled, her dagger in his hand.
"A gentleman would turn around while I get dressed" she countered, refusing to be any more rattled by the turn of events.
"I'm no gentleman' he replied, his gaze never leaving her as she slipped on her trousers and tucked in her shirt. There was no point wearing the restrictive bandages that she had bound herself with, Fletcher would hardly keep his adventure to himself. Well, she considered, that at least was a relief.
"Can I have my knife back?" she asked, trying to keep her voice free of any quaver of fear. "I don't think so. I'll look after it for now" the smile returned. She was starting to get worried. "after all, I don't want you trying to cut my throat in the middle of the night"
Unsure how to respond to this she chose silence as the safest option. Suddenly she had a nasty suspicion that maybe her ruse had never fooled him and he had just been biding his time until a suitable moment arose for her to be in his power. Damn, why the hell hadn't she stayed in Vancouver instead of wanting to prance around the north living the hard frontier life? Cutting her hair and trying to disguise her figure seemed to be a great plan that the time, but it seemed that she had not fooled everyone.
He drew close to her and she found herself, once again, involuntarily stepping backwards until she could feel the course bark of the pine behind her. This tree was getting to be habit forming. But, there was a difference this time, it wasn't just fear that she felt. Her emotions were tempered with something else that felt disturbingly like excitement. As he leant in towards her she noticed that he looked a lot cleaner than Fletcher and for some reason smelt a lot better. Obviously she wasn't the only one around here with some regard for personal hygiene. He smelt of wood smoke and tobacco, with an undefinable musky tang. It was appealing, she guilty admitted to herself.
"Unless you prefer the advances of Fletcher and his friends, you'll be travelling with me now". He hadn't touched her, but his voice alone implied his meaning well enough. She had no choice. Either she accepted his 'protection' or spent the next few weeks or so of the journey defending off Fletcher and his cronies; Men that hadn't seen a woman in months. As reluctant as she was become Genets' woman, she was less enamoured of having to spend every night awake in fear of sudden attack. No, she admitted to herself, she had no option.
Emma nodded slightly. It was a deal. An unfortunate deal she reminded herself sternly. After all, while he might smell good, she had no idea what kind of man he was. He was certainly no gentleman. Honourable men in her experience did not try to blackmail women into their beds. Instead they provided stead fast loyalty and protection for nothing more than a thanks and perhaps a chance to faun at your feet., at least in the good old days. Genet would demand more than that; much more. She tried to ignore that her pulse had quickened at the thought.
He stepped away and turned to walk back to the camp site that lay some way down the river. Emma followed, always keeping a little behind, her thoughts in turmoil in her head.. Maybe she was over reacting, maybe he just wanted to keep an eye on her. But, if he didn't? Ever since she had joined the group in Dawson as a hired hand she had found herself watching him, at first because the other men seemed to regard him with a mix of respect and fear and then because he seemed, well, different. He certainly wasn't traditionally good looking, his face brown and worn with the weather and his hair thick, dark and unkempt. He was also much older than the men that she had been attracted to in the past.
Maybe it was his voice, deep with the slight accent from her homeland that made her curious to know his history in this land of immigrants. Maybe it was his gruff manner, his unpredictable nature that had made her spend the evenings watching him drink at the camp fire. It certainly wasn't his conversation, he hardly spoke, except to his dogs or to shout orders at Cooper, his lackey. The other men were wary of him, but listened and obeyed if needed. Even Simpson, the organiser and pay master of this expediation paid him the respect due to a man that knew his job and knew the land.
They reached the camp, an untidy collection of wagons and dirty tents that had comprised their travelling home for weeks now. A posse of some of the younger men were huddled around Fletcher, his voice barely audible. While she couldn't hear what was being said she could tell by his tone that she was the subject. The talking ceased as one of his companions saw Genet and her enter the small clearing. She stopped outside the semi circle of logs that had been dragged roughly around the fire the night before as Genet strode in to the middle of the camp. The men watched him silently, putting down their tools and mugs of booze to observe.
His message was short, and to the point. "If any man touches her, he's dead"
No one seemed ready to argue the point. Genet seemed satisfied at their lack of response and sat himself in front of the fire. Emma was left standing behind him, too aware of the how unfriendly looks she was getting from Fletcher and his companions were. The other men were regarding her with open ****, their eyes lingering on the curve of her chest under her shirt. This morning she had been a callow youth, too unimportant to suffer anything more than some teasing and rough housing. Now, she was the enemy of some and a mystery to others. Fletcher's pride had been hurt by Genet's interruption and her evident dislike of his advances, but the others would perhaps be angry at her intrusion into their domain. Certainly they had a right to be irked at her deception. This whole thing was turning into an object lesson about thinking things through before committing herself to a plan.
Tom, Simpson's young son, ran up to her and paused, a look of bafflement on his childish face.
"you look.different Jack" he said quietly to the harsh laughter of Fletcher in the background.
"It's cause he is actually a she. Bitch has been deceiving us the whole time" he shouted at the lad, taking a long drag of his mug of whisky. Genet threw him a warning look for his log that stilled his tongue and he returned to sipping from his mug.
"Oh, does that mean you don't want to play with me anymore?" Tom asked quietly, scuffing his foot in the dirt, head downcast. Girls in his experience weren't much fun. God, even he is going to treat me differently now she thought angrily and who knew what his father would think. She had been taken on as a hired hand to look after the horses, but now that it was out that she was a female he had every right to turn her out at the first town they came to.
"No, it doesn't mean that. And you can call me Emma" she said smiling, suddenly realising that Genet hadn't bothered to ask what her real name was. Tom took her hand and excitedly began chattering away about the bear cubs they had caught the day before. Their party had found their mother dead, a victim of an unwise clamber up an unsteady rock slope. Simpson was overjoyed to have found them and his plan was to take them to the nearest settlement at Dawson and try to organise their care there while they carried on their journey north in search of new species of deer and moose. .Tom seemed happy with her explanation; at least this was one person who had no problems with her transformation, she thought wryly.
Emma spent the rest of the afternoon keeping Tom out of harm's way, tending to her chores and staying out of the way of the other men. After dinner, during which Jack was the only one who talked to her until he was sent off to bed, Simpson asked her to talk to him in his tent.
He was an educated man, a naturalist that had come to this wild part of the world to study bears. In a different place Emma could imagine herself sharing interesting dinner table conversation with this quiet man in some well -to-do household. She understood from his sone that his mother had died from a long illness only some short time before and grief was still stark on her husband's features.
"I would never have hired you to come on this expedition if I had realised that.." he paused, uncertain how to phrase it delicately. He was frankly concerned by her presence on this trip. He was a man of his time, certain that women were incapable of surviving hardships or physical exertion. Although he had thought Jack a fit and useful lad, he couldn't see Emma in the same light although they were the same person. There were also other matters to worry about.
"To be honest, I'm a little concerned about the wisdom of having you on this expedition, given the, um, situation and conditions" he continued, trying not to let his discomfort at the idea of a single woman living in close proximity to ten men.
"I'm also afraid that you may be...vunerable to some unwanted attention" he said, phrasing his concerns as delicately as he could. He was unsure what sort of woman would have put herself in this position, but even a woman of the lowest character didn't deserve to have the unwanted attentions of men like Fletcher and Genet forced upon her.
"Please don't worry yourself, I'm perfectly safe. Genet will look after me " she replied quietly, aware that Simpson would understand the situation perfectly .
Simpson looked startled. "Genet? This can't be of your own choice. Can it?"
"I'm happy with the arrangement"
Simpson frowned, confused by this turn of events. But the girl seemed happy enough and while he would obviously have to reconsider her character in light of these events, there was nothing much he could do at present. They were far from civilisation and even his protection might not have done her much good, but still, an animal like Genet? Uncultured, even vicious on occasion. As he bid her farewell into the night he sincerely hoped that she understood the kind of man she had allied herself with.
Emma returned to the dimming camp-fire, banked up against the long night. Fletcher and some of the other men had turned in for the night, untidy bundles of furs and blankets huddled around the fire. Genet was no where to be seen, he must have decided to spend the night in his canvess tent instead and indeed she could see the shadow of a man lit by lamp light in one of the nearby tents.
She paused, weighing her options, then pushed back the flap. He was sitting at the back, lounging on a pile of rugs and blankets, one hand wrapped around a whiskey bottle. She closed the tent behind her and sat down by the entrance, her face lit by the lamp. He said nothing, just sat and swigged away at his bottle, his face impassive.
God, this was awful. What was she supposed to do, sit here until he decided to jump on her? She was tempted to grap a blanket and go sleep outside. Least you know where you are with a grizzly or wolf she thought. With a man like this, it was like trying to track a snowflake on a winter's day.
"I'm going to sleep" he growled, stoppering the top of the bottle and wrapping himself in his furs. "Turn out the lamp"
She did as she was bid and then sat there in the dark listening to the gentle snoring of George the cook out by the fire. Now she was surprised. Being mauled, she had expected. Certainly she had expected him to claim his 'right', after all they had a deal. But to be ignored? No, this she hadn't predicted. Of course, Emma reasoned, she should be relieved, but strangely she felt more...let down and annoyed. As she wrapped herself as best she could in the musty furs her last thought before sleep claimed her was that he probably only wanted her around to wash his socks.
When she woke the next morning he was gone and she could hear the sounds of the camp packing up around her. She washed her face and helped herself to coffee from the pot over the fire. George gave her an encouraging smile and then a slightly less encouraging wink. Well, at least he was still friendly to her, most of the other men were avoiding her like the plague, most likely too afraid of Genet's threat to want to get too close to her. Weird thing was, Genet didn't seem that keen to get close to her either. God, she was being riduloous. Rather than thanking her lucky stars that he wasn't beating her and making her do all kinds of terrible things, he was leaving her alone. But she wasn't grateful. In fact, Emma had a nasty suspicion that she was sulking. Damn it to hell, if she was honest with herself, she had been strangely attracted to him the first time she had seem him the that dive of a bar three weeks ago. Obviously, even after him realising that she was female, the feeling had not been mutual. Quickly swallowing her luke warm coffee and what was left of her pride, she stalked off and did her part in getting the cavalcade moving.
The day was wonderful, clear and crisp. Thick virgin forest land rose up on the mountains above them as their horses and wagons picked through the grassland that surrounded the river. Their target for the day was to make it to the end of the valley before working their way over the low mountain pass and down to the small settlement of Dawson in the next couple of days. From there, Simpson hoped to stop for a few days to replensish their supplies and she suspected, get rid of her. The whole reason she had wanted to go on this accursed trip was to see the far north, but now, that dream may have been shattered.
At the end of the day, the once again made camp, but the day had worsened and a storm seemed ready to unlease itself down the valley. The fire was lit and horses tended to, Emma taking especial care to try to calm a nervous mare frightened by the echo of thunder through the mountain tops.
Both horse and woman started when they heard a voice from behind them.
"Not a wise move for a girly to be here all alone.not with all the wild animals around" Fletcher drawled, playing with a wicked-looking knife in his hands.
"Not really that good at taking a hint are you?" she sneered. He may have caught her at a disadvantage last time, but this time she was dressed, armed and not at all intimidated.
Fletcher laughed and started to advance, his knife held out in front. Obviously, his game plan had changed, he was after more than just an unwilling bed mate this time. As he lunged at her, she side stepped and brought her elbow down hard on his exposed back. He stumbled forward, but turned and swiped at her again. In one quick move she grabbed his arm and disarmed him, making sure to cruelly twist his limb in the process. He let out an involutantly moan with the pain and clutched at his arm.
"Bitch" he cried savagely, this time charging at her in a desperate move. One quick step to the left and he tripped over her foot and fell heavily onto the ground in front of the mare who snorted threateningly. Emma knelt by his prone body and pressed his own knife hard against his throat.
"Next time I'll kill you, understand?" her voice cold and calm as she pushed the knife a little harder into his flesh and a small tickle of blood gathered on the blade.
Fletcher nodded silently, his breathe coming raggedly with fear and pain.
Emma stood and turned to go back to the camp, wiping the knife clean on her pants as she left. Looking up she froze when she saw Genet standing by a tree a few feet away. He must have watched the whole incident.
"You should have killed him" he said as he watched Fletcher struggle to his feet, whimpering as he held his broken arm.
Emma stopped and stared at Genet. She found herself suddenly angry at this sullen man, who had obviously been quite happy to stand by and watch her get stabbed. She ignored the logical voice in her head that pointed out that she was more than capable of looking after herself.
"If it had been you, I would have" she hissed.
Genet laughed mirthlessly "If it had been me, I wouldn't have lost". Emma tried to push past him, but he stood in her way. Fletcher hurried off to the left of them, but at this moment they were both concerned with other things.
Now Emma was really angry and started to bring the knife that she still carried in her right hand up, to get Genet to move aside. Noticing the movement he grabbed the knife and it slipped from her grasp to be thrown aside. A smile grew on his face as he grabbed her hands so she couldn't escape. His face was inches above her's, his breathe warm on her face. . She looked up at him defieantly.
"I think it's time that you realised who is boss around here" Genet growled and kissed her hard. At first Emma was motionless with shock, but then , against her better judgement felt herself return the kiss with equal force. The solid warm bulk of his body pressed against her and she felt sheltered from the wind and weather by his embrace. His right hand moved upwards and cupped her breast through the thick cotton of her shirt and she let out an involuntary moan of pleasure.
It was only the sound of Jennie, her mare, whinnying with fright at the rising wind that made her pull away, her lips bruised and a little raw from his stubble. Unsure of what do say or do, she slapped him.
Genet laughed, a sound she had never heard before. "We'll finish this later" he drawled and walked off towards the camp rubbing his cheek and chuckling to himself. God, she hoped that they would, she could still feel waves of desire coursing through her body. Damn it, that man, she cursed. Emma calmed Jennie, stroking her flanks and led her back to where the other horses were tethered. Well, she thought, at least I understand now how he thinks. He wants a fight, not some passive little creature to lie there and whimper with shock every time he comes close.
The weather worsened quickly, so after a hurried meal and checking that the fire was protected enough from the wind and rain to survive the night, everyone retreated to the relative protection of their respective tents and wagons. Since the kiss Emma's nerves were in shatters, she almost wanted to cry out loud with the force of her wanting him. She watched him tend to his hounds and marvelled that he could be so gentle with his dogs and yet so contrary with men. He had made no idle comment before, he would have killed Fletcher if he had challenged him. She had heard tales that he had killed men before, in a saloon fight down south last winter over some pelts. This was the kind of man that she wanted to share her bed with? Perhaps she had gone crazy, but at the moment it didn't seem to be her brain that was making the decisions. She had spent too long apart from any kind of affection. Maybe this was the best way for now. At least later she could reason to herself that she had been given no choice.
When he motioned her to follow him into his tent with a look, she followed, her legs weakening with every step. The moment she was in the canvass tent he practically threw her down on the mound of furs that were strewn on the floor. There was no time to undress, clothes were tugged aside as they almost devoured each other in their need. In one swift move, Emma pushed Genet down and sat astride him, his face registering a glazed look of surprise before his eyes closed as she lowered herself onto him and they both caught their breaths with the sheer pleasure of it. She was so close to the brink already, there was no time for teasing or love games, just a need to drive him into her and bring the release she was so longing for. With a cry she felt herself come and in the same moment she felt his release inside her.
She slumped on to his chest, still covered in the thick wool of his jacket and they lay there, still entwined, both unwilling to move, his arms holding her close.
Through the rest of the night, while their companions burrowed down in their blankets and waited out the fury of the storm, Genet and Emma found themselves drawn again and again to each other. Only when they were both too tired to stay wake any longer and they lay naked together wrapped in the furs of the animals of the north did they finally surrender to sleep. Both had fought well, both had conquered the other time and time again until they were sated.
As sleep claimed her, she couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard Genet whisper into her hair "If he ever comes near you again I'll kill him for you".
The storm passed by early morning and after two further days of good riding they were over the pass and rode into the settlement of Dawson. It was a town like many in the north, muddy, noisy with two saloons , a hard ware store and a couple of other small businesses that made a living off the trappers and hunters that travelled through the region.
Emma's feelings were mixed about their arrival. She was longing to have a bath with hot water and soap and eat something different for a change. George, lovely old man that he was, seemed to only have one dish that he could prepare, beans. But she sensed that Simpson had designs to make her leave the expedition and stay here instead. He didn't seem unhappy with her work, but he always looked uncomfortable in her presence now. He didn't understand why she would have come into this wilderness in the first place and he certainly didn't understand why she seemed happy to share Genet's bed.
Emma had kept her suspicions to herself and Genet had not mentioned anything. He was a man of few words, except for a choice few that he employed with his dogs or Cooper, his hired dog handler. She didn't mind that, talking had only led to more confusion in the past with men. It was perhaps better that it was his actions that told her his feelings. They had fought once over the last week, over socks of all things.
One fine morning, after a tough ride the previous day, Simpson decided to allow his men to spend the morning doing those small chores that were required on a long trip such as theis, mending equipemnt, washing anything that had got past the point of being merely smelly. Emma was sitting at the fire fashioning the bandages that she had earlier used to hide her sex into some undergarments. Without warning two pairs of very dirty socks, brown with grime fell at her feet. She looked up to see Genet standing over her.
"Wash these and there's some holes" he growled and began to turn back to his wagon.
"Do it yourself" she replied, kicking them out of her way. He swung back to face her, tapping his whip in his right hand against his boot angrily.
"What?" Genet said quietly. The other men had stopped and were watching with interest this little exchange, curious to see if Genet's apparent good humour with her would finally be at an end.
Emma stood slowly and brushed her trousers down and carefully placed the sewing she was doing onto the rough hewn stool she had been sitting on.
"I said do it yourself" she repeated slowly and clearly, making sure she was in earshot of her audience.
Genet advanced at her, raising his whip until the tip of it brushed her just under the chin.
"You'll do what you are told" he snarled, unaccustomed to defiance in his dogs or his women.
Emma reached up and gently took hold of the tip and pulled it away from her throat.
"No, I won't. I'm your woman, but I'm not your slave" her eyes never leaving his face. She wasn't frightened although he had used his whip on both his dogs and Cooper in her presence in fits of anger. This confrontation was being driven by anger though, but by something else, perhaps a need to assert himself.
He let the whip drop. "I'll deal with you later" he muttered, stalking off towards a worried looking Cooper. Emma sat back down and returned to her sewing. George, who had spent the length of their little talk watching interestedly from the other side of the fire, sat beside her.
"You're the first person I've ever seen stand up to him" he said admiringly. "I thought he would beat you for sure" he chuckled although Emma wasn't so amused by that observation.
The rest of the day the men made sure they stayed out of Genet's way and Emma received one or two wry grins from men who were secretly impressed that she had stood up to him, when they hadn't.
Genet never mentioned the socks again and if their love making that night had been a little more rough than usual, neither complained. That night, Fletcher had left, taking a horse and some grub with him. Few mourned his leaving and Emma found herself relax more than she had in days.
But, now, they were going to be in a town, if such a collection of motley wooden shacks could be called a town. Fear that if Simpson asked her to leave, Genet wouldn't stand up for her, started to creep into the pit of her stomach. She refused to be dumped off in this god forsaken hole because she made one man feel awkward and another had tired of her.
The horses were stabled and the wagon containing the two bear cubs put in a quiet spot behind the less scruffy of the two saloons. Four men were posted to act as reluctant guards over their stay with Simpson sure to check that all was well with the animals he had taken such care to catch.
Genet. Simpson, his son and her were staying at the Silver Dollar in the rooms upstairs above the riotous bar-room below. The rooms weren't too clean, but the bed was soft and there was hot water to be had. Emma immediately organised herself a bath and when she returned to the room found that Genet had left a scrawled note and a pile of money on the bed so she could get herself a dress. She laughed at that, a dress? Well, taking in her reflection in a nearby mirror, maybe it would make a chance not to look like a boy for a change. She had seen the looks their party had got from the whores and patrons below. Simpson and his boy were of little interest, but Genet and the half-boy-half woman with him had caused the conversations around the gaming tales to hush.
Genet was obviously known in these parts, certainly the looks from the men weren't overly friendly. A couple of the women gave him the kind of meaningful smiles that implied that they too were not entirely strangers to him. Grabbing the money Emma set off down the one street and entered into the hardware store that sold everything that a man could want in these parts, except for a dress that didn't make her look like a nun or a school mam. Emma reasoned that there was no point buying clothing that made her look plainer than she already did, she would be better off sticking to her traveled stained shirt and trousers that at least highlighted her long legs and waist.
Wandering out of the store she almost ran straight into a woman, about her own age.
"Oh, sorry" they cried in unision, and then both laughed. She recognised the other woman from the saloon, she was one of the younger whores there, pretty in a blonde mousy way with a face that already seemed to be aging before it's years.
"You don't know where I could get something to wear do you?" Emma asked and explained her predictement. Her companion, whose name she found out was Betsy was more than eager to help, especially when Emma showed that she had more than enough money to spend.
Within minutes she found herself in a room back at the saloon that Betsy obviously shared with five or six of the other girls. It was strewn with discarded dresses, stockings and makeup and smelled strongly of cheap french perfume.
The young whore rummaged around in a trunk and finally pulled out a slightly crumpled dress. It was mostly black, with lace trim and a low cut bodice. Betsy explained it had been a gift from an affectionate client but she had never worn it as the colour washed her out. With her help and the aid of a corset and some simple hair tricks Emma stared at her reflection. The black suited her perfectly and while the dress was a little tight in the bosum it was only in her favour.
"You look gorgeous" sighed Betsy, touching the curls that she had somehow got into her short hair and secured in place. Emma gave her a quick hug and forced her to take all the money that Genet had left her ignoring her shocked refusals.
The saloon was packed as she made her way down the open stairs to the room below. All the tables were full of men huddled around playing cards and drinking themselves into various states of oblivion. In the corner a piano was playing and a doxy singing half heartedly to a bar room tune. Over towards the long bar that spanned the entire length of the left side of the room sat Genet, Simpson and a couple of the other men in the eam, including a rather enederabrated George who was looking rather worse for wear.
As she approached the table she was gratified that Betsy's work hadn't been in vain as wolf whistles followed her across the room. The men's game had evidently just ended with Genet pulling a healthy pile of cash towards him, to the evident despair of George. One of the whores with the come hither eyes was lurking behind Genet;s chair, hoping to benefit from his gain. The woman spotted her approach before the others and gave her a cold galre before backing off and resuming her search for a soft-touch for the night. Tom sat on his father's knee keenly interested in all that was going around him and surreptiously trying to drink out of an unattended glass of whiskey.
Genet looked up as she arrived and his shape intake of breath suggested that he was impressed in her change in appearance.
"Wow" was all that Tom could say and jumped off his fathers knee to beg a chair for her from a nearby table. George gave her a big wink to indicate his approval.
"Ah, lass, if I was twenty years younger..." he laughed draining his glass. Emma sat between Genet and Simpson who didn't seem quite what to make of her now that he saw her out of her rough men's clothing. Genet had still not said anything, but she wasn't surprised. His expression said it all and when he ordered one of the saloon women to get a bottle of champagne she understood his feelings.
The wine was warm and the glass less than clean, but it beat coffee out of a battered tin mug. The men played another game of poker, every so often she would catch Genet looking intently at her and she found herself blushing under his gaze.
After a couple of tentative starts she found herself deep in conversation with Simpson. The man was well travelled, articulate with a natural ability as a story teller, although usually too reserved in company for anyone to ever benefit. He shared his experiences in the Orient and Africa and was gratified by both her attention and her intelligient questions. For a woman that he had lately thought must have been from the lowest rungs of society, he was forced to reevaluate his opinion. If her conduct was unbecoming of a woman of higher class, her manner of conversation and even accent suggested otherwise. He found himself intrigued by why such a creature would have voluteered in disguise for such a expediation but refrained himself from asking such personal questions. Truth be told, he was also shocked that such a woman would share the bed of Genet, a man who he respected as a hunter but disliked in his manner and personality. Genet seemed to be decidedly untrustworthy and capable of cruelty to those who opposed him. Yet, that said, Simpson could detect that the man held Emma in some affection, although he seemed either reluctant, or incapable, of expressing it.
After a few more hands and fiddler joined the piano man and the music took a more jaunty tone and the women began to pull their new-found friends up to the dance floor for a canter. Tom solemnly asked for her hand and laughing Emma agreed and danced with the boy, although he was half her height. It had been years since she had danced, but it seemed that she hadn't forgotten how and she found unexpected joy in the simple moves around the floor. After the first dance ended a young man, in his twenties and obviously dressed in his finest attire for a big night out in town asked Tom for her hand, which after a polite bow, he relented. The newcomer was an awkward dancer and keep blushing everything he looked at her, must to both her amusement and that of his friends seated at a nearby table. After that partner a number of other young bucks clamoured for a dance, but Emma laughingly declined and made her way back to the table. Although she would have loved to dance with Genet, she would never have pressed him on it and she suspected the dancing was not his forte. What ever his past was, and she suspected it was English and very different from his present circumstances, he had never told her, although to be honest, she had never asked. The life that she had lived forbade the telling of life stories and he seemed perfectly at ease with the great divide of knowledge about each other that separated them. Past lovers had demanded personal histories and details about her family and childhood, perhaps in some desperate way to connect with her on some level.
With Genet, there were no questions and consequently no lies. It was a relief. She callapsed into her chair, and drank some champagne with a laugh., not noticing that she appeared to have interrupted a conversation between Genet and Simpson.
"We're leaving, I've ordered some dinner for our room" Genet stood as she rose, sligthly mysterified, by their sudden departure. She said a brief farewell and as an afterthought took the champagne bottle with her as Genet took her arm led her up the stairs.
Once in the room, she could contain herself no longer.
"What was that about?" she asked Genet who was sitting on the bed taking off his boots. He didn't look up as she spoke and with a sigh of frustration she took a swig of her bottle.
"You're drunk" he said calmly.
"No I'm not.if anyone's drunk it's you" she retorted, her anger flaring. She had been having a good time, talking and dancing with men who actually had the charm to compliment her on her looks and her dress. Unlike this oaf, who spent all his time thinking about his damn dogs and grumbling about the weather. The nightly activities under the furs were all very entertaining, but the bad temper of the man in contrast to others made her question why she had chosen to stay with him.
There was a knock on the door and a boy entered with a tray of food that he put on the table. Genet threw him a coin and he scampered out.
'Eat" he grabbed a plate and sitting on the bed started devouring his food.
God the man was annoying, and a messy eater."I'm not hungry" she said sulkily, suddenly realising that the bottle that only she had been drinking out of was now empty. Maybe she was drunk, she certainly felt light headed and the food smelt appealing, but her pride stopped her from taking any. Genet just grunted and kept eating.
"When are we moving out of here?" she asked idly, trying to break the silence that enveloped the room.
Genet looked up sharply and put his plate down beside him ,wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
"Simpson thinks we should move out the day after tomorrow. He wants you to stay here" he said quietly, his eyes never leaving the frayed matt that covered some of the rough wooden floors.
The empty bottle slipped from her hand as she froze in shock. So, after all, he had made up his mind, and he hadn't even had the guts to tell her first but had resorted to getting Genet to break the news to her. Not that it was evidently any hardship for him, he probably suggested leaving her here. After all, it was clear he had no feelings for her. God, the dress, of course, she was so stupid. It was his way of trying to butter her up and provide her with a way to make some money when he left. If she was a whore for him , why the hell shouldn't she be a whore for others.
Hot tears threatened to overflow as she struggled to her feet damning the tight and uncomfortable dress as she did so.
"And I bet you were overjoyed to hear that weren't you? I bet it was even your idea!" she accused, kicking the fallen bottle towards him. He looked up at her, his face unreadable as always. "I.."he started, but she cut him off "I don't care.." she shouted and stormed out running down the stairs obivious to the stares of those around her. Regaining her composure a little she stalked out the front doors and into the cold black night. Although there was lamp light in many of the shop windows she almost missed her step twice just trying to negiotiate her way to the street. There was no where for her to go but to the stables where the horses were kept. At least there she would be warm and have time to think. As she picked her way down the narrow alley to the back of the saloon her heart stalled as she heard a familiar voice in the dark in front of her.
"Didn't think I was going to let you get away did you?" Fletcher drawled, coming closer towards her so that she could she him in the faint light of a nearby shack. She turned to run, but to her horror there were two large men recking of whiskey blocking her escape.
"Not after what you did to me girly. You owe me bitch" he snarled and the two men grabbed her from behind so that despite her struggles she couldn't escape. Fletcher came close to her, and she felt a wave of fear when she realised that he had a bowee knife in his left hand. His right was still in a sling. There was no point in screaming, no one could hear her over the music and roudy noise of the barroom and she wouldn't get a squeak out before he cut her throat.
"I'm going to make you pay for what you did to me" his breath stank of old tobacco and booze. As she tried to turn her head away his knife came up to her throat. Emma shut her eyes against it all, hoping that what ever happened next it would be quick.
All she heard next was the loud retort of a pistol and the sensation of the knife leaving her throat. Suddenly her arms were free and she slumped to the ground. Fletcher lay in front of her, a black puddle growing on his shirt in the lamp light. She heard hysterical sobbing and the calm part of her brain worked out that it was coming for her.
Then someone was with her and his arms wrapped around her gently. "Are you alright?" Genet asked, checking as best he could in the dim light for any marks. She nodded, trying to control the sobs that racked her body.
Genet helped her up and then lifted her into his arms and carried her back into the saloon, small crowd drawn by the sound of gun fire parting to let him through. He paused by the door and addressed the room that had hushed with their entrance.
"I've shot a man outside. If anyone has a problem with that I'll be upstairs". No one said a thing, their vision glued to Emma, her head tight into Genet's shoulder, her dress torn at the sleeve. Genet assended the stairs, carrying her weight as if she weighed nothing and took her into the quiet and seclusion of their room.
"You can put me down now" she said quietly Her crying had subsided for the most part, and she wiped her eyes and laughed self-conconciously. He lowered her to the ground, but held her in his arms, reluctant to let her go. Emma was grateful for that, glad to be enveloped in his bear hug, her nose full of the smell of man nad tobbacco. It made her feel safe and protected, but a memory came flooding back. This was a ruse, a phantom. Tommorrow or the next day, he would be gone. But rather than being driven to anger, she was driven by want, desperate to make this last moment last. He may be leaving and maybe she would hate him for that later, but now she needed him.
Later, when the noise from below had quietened and they were lying cocconed in the warmth of each other Genet finally explained why he had followed her outside.
"You never let me finish" he said out of the blue. Emma turned to him, her brow raised in puzzlement. She started to speak, but he hushed her.
"What I was trying to say when you stormed off, was that I told Simpson I would quit if he fired you" he continued quietly.
"Really?" Emma was shocked into dumb ineloquence. She felt giddy with a joy that shocked her, realising that although she hadn't admitted it to herself earlier, for some god unknown reason she had grown to care for this difficult, contrary and tacturn man, more than she had allowed herself to care for someone in years.
Genet stroked her hair, it's ringlets fallen out and slightly damp. He couldn't find the words to say what he felt, but he could find them to explain what he would do. "I'll never leave you".
He grabbed her from behind, his hand covering her mouth so that she couldn't scream. Emma struggled, trying to wrest herself out of his grasp and avoid the hands that were making their way to her half-covered breasts. Fletcher released his grip slightly, just enough to force her against the trunk of one of the large pines that grew down almost to the water's edge. He turned her roughly so that his fetid body was pressed up against her.
"I knew it" he leered, his eyes devouring her half exposed body under the opened shirt. One hand held hers above her head while the other cupped her breast. She felt with sickening horror the evidence of his rising excitement and shrank away instinctively. She cursed her lack of caution. The water had seemed so inviting; It had been weeks since she had been able to bathe and the grime and dirt of the travel had begun to wear her down. Also, the thought of being able to take off the tight bandages that she had been wearing day and night to flatten her chest had proved too tempting to resist. The men had seemed eager to spend their precious afternoon off drinking and telling tales around the camp fire so she had thought she would have been safe, especially in this remote spot.
He leant in further towards her, his right knee forcing itself between her legs, his breathe, hot and stinking of moon-shine, warm on her cheek. God, he was disgusting she thought. He was awful at a distance, but this close he smelt like the rotting moose carcess they had passed yesterday.
"I knew you was no boy, I could smell it" he continued, obblivous to her shivers of disgust. Emma tried to think her way calmly out of this situation, after all, she had found herself in similar tight spots before. Maybe appearing to go along with it would be her best option; She had her knife, but it was wrapped up in her trousers, a few metres down the river bank. If only she could get to it.
Without warning, Fletcher went flying backwards, his body rolling almost into the creek itself. He lay there, stupidly, staring at Genet who had appeared out of nowhere and now stood over him with his whip pointed threateningly.
"Get out of here before I gut you" he snarled, the large knife on his belt serving as sufficient threat to make the younger man quail. Fletcher clambered to his feet and took off, cursing under his breath.
Genet turned to Emma, who had covered herself hurriedly as best she could with her discarded jacket. She stood silently returning his glare calmly. Ever since she had joined this motley crew he had been the one who she had been cautious to stay away from, as many of her companions seemed to do. He was a large man, in his forties maybe, with the look of someone that was very good at surviving this rugged environment. He always wore a long coat, it's shoulders covered in trophies of matted fur. Her impression of him was that he was terse, arrogant and on occasion vicious. But his accent was what surprised her as it suggested an upbringing in a civilised house on the other side of the Atlantic.
Out of the two men, he was probably the most dangerous of the two. Fletcher was vicious, but not cunning. Emma had watched Genet since the journey had begun. His moods were mercurial. He could be harsh to his fellow travellers and yet gentle to his hounds. There was a deliberateness about all his actions that had intrigued her but now slightly frightened her. He was too intelligent to be fooled easily and she had a suspicion that his happening upon her and Fletcher was no mere accident.
He walked over to where her clothes lay and retrieved the small knife that she had dropped in her haste to grab her clothes.
"You'll need something a little bigger than this to protect you once Fletcher tells his story" he drawled, her dagger in his hand.
"A gentleman would turn around while I get dressed" she countered, refusing to be any more rattled by the turn of events.
"I'm no gentleman' he replied, his gaze never leaving her as she slipped on her trousers and tucked in her shirt. There was no point wearing the restrictive bandages that she had bound herself with, Fletcher would hardly keep his adventure to himself. Well, she considered, that at least was a relief.
"Can I have my knife back?" she asked, trying to keep her voice free of any quaver of fear. "I don't think so. I'll look after it for now" the smile returned. She was starting to get worried. "after all, I don't want you trying to cut my throat in the middle of the night"
Unsure how to respond to this she chose silence as the safest option. Suddenly she had a nasty suspicion that maybe her ruse had never fooled him and he had just been biding his time until a suitable moment arose for her to be in his power. Damn, why the hell hadn't she stayed in Vancouver instead of wanting to prance around the north living the hard frontier life? Cutting her hair and trying to disguise her figure seemed to be a great plan that the time, but it seemed that she had not fooled everyone.
He drew close to her and she found herself, once again, involuntarily stepping backwards until she could feel the course bark of the pine behind her. This tree was getting to be habit forming. But, there was a difference this time, it wasn't just fear that she felt. Her emotions were tempered with something else that felt disturbingly like excitement. As he leant in towards her she noticed that he looked a lot cleaner than Fletcher and for some reason smelt a lot better. Obviously she wasn't the only one around here with some regard for personal hygiene. He smelt of wood smoke and tobacco, with an undefinable musky tang. It was appealing, she guilty admitted to herself.
"Unless you prefer the advances of Fletcher and his friends, you'll be travelling with me now". He hadn't touched her, but his voice alone implied his meaning well enough. She had no choice. Either she accepted his 'protection' or spent the next few weeks or so of the journey defending off Fletcher and his cronies; Men that hadn't seen a woman in months. As reluctant as she was become Genets' woman, she was less enamoured of having to spend every night awake in fear of sudden attack. No, she admitted to herself, she had no option.
Emma nodded slightly. It was a deal. An unfortunate deal she reminded herself sternly. After all, while he might smell good, she had no idea what kind of man he was. He was certainly no gentleman. Honourable men in her experience did not try to blackmail women into their beds. Instead they provided stead fast loyalty and protection for nothing more than a thanks and perhaps a chance to faun at your feet., at least in the good old days. Genet would demand more than that; much more. She tried to ignore that her pulse had quickened at the thought.
He stepped away and turned to walk back to the camp site that lay some way down the river. Emma followed, always keeping a little behind, her thoughts in turmoil in her head.. Maybe she was over reacting, maybe he just wanted to keep an eye on her. But, if he didn't? Ever since she had joined the group in Dawson as a hired hand she had found herself watching him, at first because the other men seemed to regard him with a mix of respect and fear and then because he seemed, well, different. He certainly wasn't traditionally good looking, his face brown and worn with the weather and his hair thick, dark and unkempt. He was also much older than the men that she had been attracted to in the past.
Maybe it was his voice, deep with the slight accent from her homeland that made her curious to know his history in this land of immigrants. Maybe it was his gruff manner, his unpredictable nature that had made her spend the evenings watching him drink at the camp fire. It certainly wasn't his conversation, he hardly spoke, except to his dogs or to shout orders at Cooper, his lackey. The other men were wary of him, but listened and obeyed if needed. Even Simpson, the organiser and pay master of this expediation paid him the respect due to a man that knew his job and knew the land.
They reached the camp, an untidy collection of wagons and dirty tents that had comprised their travelling home for weeks now. A posse of some of the younger men were huddled around Fletcher, his voice barely audible. While she couldn't hear what was being said she could tell by his tone that she was the subject. The talking ceased as one of his companions saw Genet and her enter the small clearing. She stopped outside the semi circle of logs that had been dragged roughly around the fire the night before as Genet strode in to the middle of the camp. The men watched him silently, putting down their tools and mugs of booze to observe.
His message was short, and to the point. "If any man touches her, he's dead"
No one seemed ready to argue the point. Genet seemed satisfied at their lack of response and sat himself in front of the fire. Emma was left standing behind him, too aware of the how unfriendly looks she was getting from Fletcher and his companions were. The other men were regarding her with open ****, their eyes lingering on the curve of her chest under her shirt. This morning she had been a callow youth, too unimportant to suffer anything more than some teasing and rough housing. Now, she was the enemy of some and a mystery to others. Fletcher's pride had been hurt by Genet's interruption and her evident dislike of his advances, but the others would perhaps be angry at her intrusion into their domain. Certainly they had a right to be irked at her deception. This whole thing was turning into an object lesson about thinking things through before committing herself to a plan.
Tom, Simpson's young son, ran up to her and paused, a look of bafflement on his childish face.
"you look.different Jack" he said quietly to the harsh laughter of Fletcher in the background.
"It's cause he is actually a she. Bitch has been deceiving us the whole time" he shouted at the lad, taking a long drag of his mug of whisky. Genet threw him a warning look for his log that stilled his tongue and he returned to sipping from his mug.
"Oh, does that mean you don't want to play with me anymore?" Tom asked quietly, scuffing his foot in the dirt, head downcast. Girls in his experience weren't much fun. God, even he is going to treat me differently now she thought angrily and who knew what his father would think. She had been taken on as a hired hand to look after the horses, but now that it was out that she was a female he had every right to turn her out at the first town they came to.
"No, it doesn't mean that. And you can call me Emma" she said smiling, suddenly realising that Genet hadn't bothered to ask what her real name was. Tom took her hand and excitedly began chattering away about the bear cubs they had caught the day before. Their party had found their mother dead, a victim of an unwise clamber up an unsteady rock slope. Simpson was overjoyed to have found them and his plan was to take them to the nearest settlement at Dawson and try to organise their care there while they carried on their journey north in search of new species of deer and moose. .Tom seemed happy with her explanation; at least this was one person who had no problems with her transformation, she thought wryly.
Emma spent the rest of the afternoon keeping Tom out of harm's way, tending to her chores and staying out of the way of the other men. After dinner, during which Jack was the only one who talked to her until he was sent off to bed, Simpson asked her to talk to him in his tent.
He was an educated man, a naturalist that had come to this wild part of the world to study bears. In a different place Emma could imagine herself sharing interesting dinner table conversation with this quiet man in some well -to-do household. She understood from his sone that his mother had died from a long illness only some short time before and grief was still stark on her husband's features.
"I would never have hired you to come on this expedition if I had realised that.." he paused, uncertain how to phrase it delicately. He was frankly concerned by her presence on this trip. He was a man of his time, certain that women were incapable of surviving hardships or physical exertion. Although he had thought Jack a fit and useful lad, he couldn't see Emma in the same light although they were the same person. There were also other matters to worry about.
"To be honest, I'm a little concerned about the wisdom of having you on this expedition, given the, um, situation and conditions" he continued, trying not to let his discomfort at the idea of a single woman living in close proximity to ten men.
"I'm also afraid that you may be...vunerable to some unwanted attention" he said, phrasing his concerns as delicately as he could. He was unsure what sort of woman would have put herself in this position, but even a woman of the lowest character didn't deserve to have the unwanted attentions of men like Fletcher and Genet forced upon her.
"Please don't worry yourself, I'm perfectly safe. Genet will look after me " she replied quietly, aware that Simpson would understand the situation perfectly .
Simpson looked startled. "Genet? This can't be of your own choice. Can it?"
"I'm happy with the arrangement"
Simpson frowned, confused by this turn of events. But the girl seemed happy enough and while he would obviously have to reconsider her character in light of these events, there was nothing much he could do at present. They were far from civilisation and even his protection might not have done her much good, but still, an animal like Genet? Uncultured, even vicious on occasion. As he bid her farewell into the night he sincerely hoped that she understood the kind of man she had allied herself with.
Emma returned to the dimming camp-fire, banked up against the long night. Fletcher and some of the other men had turned in for the night, untidy bundles of furs and blankets huddled around the fire. Genet was no where to be seen, he must have decided to spend the night in his canvess tent instead and indeed she could see the shadow of a man lit by lamp light in one of the nearby tents.
She paused, weighing her options, then pushed back the flap. He was sitting at the back, lounging on a pile of rugs and blankets, one hand wrapped around a whiskey bottle. She closed the tent behind her and sat down by the entrance, her face lit by the lamp. He said nothing, just sat and swigged away at his bottle, his face impassive.
God, this was awful. What was she supposed to do, sit here until he decided to jump on her? She was tempted to grap a blanket and go sleep outside. Least you know where you are with a grizzly or wolf she thought. With a man like this, it was like trying to track a snowflake on a winter's day.
"I'm going to sleep" he growled, stoppering the top of the bottle and wrapping himself in his furs. "Turn out the lamp"
She did as she was bid and then sat there in the dark listening to the gentle snoring of George the cook out by the fire. Now she was surprised. Being mauled, she had expected. Certainly she had expected him to claim his 'right', after all they had a deal. But to be ignored? No, this she hadn't predicted. Of course, Emma reasoned, she should be relieved, but strangely she felt more...let down and annoyed. As she wrapped herself as best she could in the musty furs her last thought before sleep claimed her was that he probably only wanted her around to wash his socks.
When she woke the next morning he was gone and she could hear the sounds of the camp packing up around her. She washed her face and helped herself to coffee from the pot over the fire. George gave her an encouraging smile and then a slightly less encouraging wink. Well, at least he was still friendly to her, most of the other men were avoiding her like the plague, most likely too afraid of Genet's threat to want to get too close to her. Weird thing was, Genet didn't seem that keen to get close to her either. God, she was being riduloous. Rather than thanking her lucky stars that he wasn't beating her and making her do all kinds of terrible things, he was leaving her alone. But she wasn't grateful. In fact, Emma had a nasty suspicion that she was sulking. Damn it to hell, if she was honest with herself, she had been strangely attracted to him the first time she had seem him the that dive of a bar three weeks ago. Obviously, even after him realising that she was female, the feeling had not been mutual. Quickly swallowing her luke warm coffee and what was left of her pride, she stalked off and did her part in getting the cavalcade moving.
The day was wonderful, clear and crisp. Thick virgin forest land rose up on the mountains above them as their horses and wagons picked through the grassland that surrounded the river. Their target for the day was to make it to the end of the valley before working their way over the low mountain pass and down to the small settlement of Dawson in the next couple of days. From there, Simpson hoped to stop for a few days to replensish their supplies and she suspected, get rid of her. The whole reason she had wanted to go on this accursed trip was to see the far north, but now, that dream may have been shattered.
At the end of the day, the once again made camp, but the day had worsened and a storm seemed ready to unlease itself down the valley. The fire was lit and horses tended to, Emma taking especial care to try to calm a nervous mare frightened by the echo of thunder through the mountain tops.
Both horse and woman started when they heard a voice from behind them.
"Not a wise move for a girly to be here all alone.not with all the wild animals around" Fletcher drawled, playing with a wicked-looking knife in his hands.
"Not really that good at taking a hint are you?" she sneered. He may have caught her at a disadvantage last time, but this time she was dressed, armed and not at all intimidated.
Fletcher laughed and started to advance, his knife held out in front. Obviously, his game plan had changed, he was after more than just an unwilling bed mate this time. As he lunged at her, she side stepped and brought her elbow down hard on his exposed back. He stumbled forward, but turned and swiped at her again. In one quick move she grabbed his arm and disarmed him, making sure to cruelly twist his limb in the process. He let out an involutantly moan with the pain and clutched at his arm.
"Bitch" he cried savagely, this time charging at her in a desperate move. One quick step to the left and he tripped over her foot and fell heavily onto the ground in front of the mare who snorted threateningly. Emma knelt by his prone body and pressed his own knife hard against his throat.
"Next time I'll kill you, understand?" her voice cold and calm as she pushed the knife a little harder into his flesh and a small tickle of blood gathered on the blade.
Fletcher nodded silently, his breathe coming raggedly with fear and pain.
Emma stood and turned to go back to the camp, wiping the knife clean on her pants as she left. Looking up she froze when she saw Genet standing by a tree a few feet away. He must have watched the whole incident.
"You should have killed him" he said as he watched Fletcher struggle to his feet, whimpering as he held his broken arm.
Emma stopped and stared at Genet. She found herself suddenly angry at this sullen man, who had obviously been quite happy to stand by and watch her get stabbed. She ignored the logical voice in her head that pointed out that she was more than capable of looking after herself.
"If it had been you, I would have" she hissed.
Genet laughed mirthlessly "If it had been me, I wouldn't have lost". Emma tried to push past him, but he stood in her way. Fletcher hurried off to the left of them, but at this moment they were both concerned with other things.
Now Emma was really angry and started to bring the knife that she still carried in her right hand up, to get Genet to move aside. Noticing the movement he grabbed the knife and it slipped from her grasp to be thrown aside. A smile grew on his face as he grabbed her hands so she couldn't escape. His face was inches above her's, his breathe warm on her face. . She looked up at him defieantly.
"I think it's time that you realised who is boss around here" Genet growled and kissed her hard. At first Emma was motionless with shock, but then , against her better judgement felt herself return the kiss with equal force. The solid warm bulk of his body pressed against her and she felt sheltered from the wind and weather by his embrace. His right hand moved upwards and cupped her breast through the thick cotton of her shirt and she let out an involuntary moan of pleasure.
It was only the sound of Jennie, her mare, whinnying with fright at the rising wind that made her pull away, her lips bruised and a little raw from his stubble. Unsure of what do say or do, she slapped him.
Genet laughed, a sound she had never heard before. "We'll finish this later" he drawled and walked off towards the camp rubbing his cheek and chuckling to himself. God, she hoped that they would, she could still feel waves of desire coursing through her body. Damn it, that man, she cursed. Emma calmed Jennie, stroking her flanks and led her back to where the other horses were tethered. Well, she thought, at least I understand now how he thinks. He wants a fight, not some passive little creature to lie there and whimper with shock every time he comes close.
The weather worsened quickly, so after a hurried meal and checking that the fire was protected enough from the wind and rain to survive the night, everyone retreated to the relative protection of their respective tents and wagons. Since the kiss Emma's nerves were in shatters, she almost wanted to cry out loud with the force of her wanting him. She watched him tend to his hounds and marvelled that he could be so gentle with his dogs and yet so contrary with men. He had made no idle comment before, he would have killed Fletcher if he had challenged him. She had heard tales that he had killed men before, in a saloon fight down south last winter over some pelts. This was the kind of man that she wanted to share her bed with? Perhaps she had gone crazy, but at the moment it didn't seem to be her brain that was making the decisions. She had spent too long apart from any kind of affection. Maybe this was the best way for now. At least later she could reason to herself that she had been given no choice.
When he motioned her to follow him into his tent with a look, she followed, her legs weakening with every step. The moment she was in the canvass tent he practically threw her down on the mound of furs that were strewn on the floor. There was no time to undress, clothes were tugged aside as they almost devoured each other in their need. In one swift move, Emma pushed Genet down and sat astride him, his face registering a glazed look of surprise before his eyes closed as she lowered herself onto him and they both caught their breaths with the sheer pleasure of it. She was so close to the brink already, there was no time for teasing or love games, just a need to drive him into her and bring the release she was so longing for. With a cry she felt herself come and in the same moment she felt his release inside her.
She slumped on to his chest, still covered in the thick wool of his jacket and they lay there, still entwined, both unwilling to move, his arms holding her close.
Through the rest of the night, while their companions burrowed down in their blankets and waited out the fury of the storm, Genet and Emma found themselves drawn again and again to each other. Only when they were both too tired to stay wake any longer and they lay naked together wrapped in the furs of the animals of the north did they finally surrender to sleep. Both had fought well, both had conquered the other time and time again until they were sated.
As sleep claimed her, she couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard Genet whisper into her hair "If he ever comes near you again I'll kill him for you".
The storm passed by early morning and after two further days of good riding they were over the pass and rode into the settlement of Dawson. It was a town like many in the north, muddy, noisy with two saloons , a hard ware store and a couple of other small businesses that made a living off the trappers and hunters that travelled through the region.
Emma's feelings were mixed about their arrival. She was longing to have a bath with hot water and soap and eat something different for a change. George, lovely old man that he was, seemed to only have one dish that he could prepare, beans. But she sensed that Simpson had designs to make her leave the expedition and stay here instead. He didn't seem unhappy with her work, but he always looked uncomfortable in her presence now. He didn't understand why she would have come into this wilderness in the first place and he certainly didn't understand why she seemed happy to share Genet's bed.
Emma had kept her suspicions to herself and Genet had not mentioned anything. He was a man of few words, except for a choice few that he employed with his dogs or Cooper, his hired dog handler. She didn't mind that, talking had only led to more confusion in the past with men. It was perhaps better that it was his actions that told her his feelings. They had fought once over the last week, over socks of all things.
One fine morning, after a tough ride the previous day, Simpson decided to allow his men to spend the morning doing those small chores that were required on a long trip such as theis, mending equipemnt, washing anything that had got past the point of being merely smelly. Emma was sitting at the fire fashioning the bandages that she had earlier used to hide her sex into some undergarments. Without warning two pairs of very dirty socks, brown with grime fell at her feet. She looked up to see Genet standing over her.
"Wash these and there's some holes" he growled and began to turn back to his wagon.
"Do it yourself" she replied, kicking them out of her way. He swung back to face her, tapping his whip in his right hand against his boot angrily.
"What?" Genet said quietly. The other men had stopped and were watching with interest this little exchange, curious to see if Genet's apparent good humour with her would finally be at an end.
Emma stood slowly and brushed her trousers down and carefully placed the sewing she was doing onto the rough hewn stool she had been sitting on.
"I said do it yourself" she repeated slowly and clearly, making sure she was in earshot of her audience.
Genet advanced at her, raising his whip until the tip of it brushed her just under the chin.
"You'll do what you are told" he snarled, unaccustomed to defiance in his dogs or his women.
Emma reached up and gently took hold of the tip and pulled it away from her throat.
"No, I won't. I'm your woman, but I'm not your slave" her eyes never leaving his face. She wasn't frightened although he had used his whip on both his dogs and Cooper in her presence in fits of anger. This confrontation was being driven by anger though, but by something else, perhaps a need to assert himself.
He let the whip drop. "I'll deal with you later" he muttered, stalking off towards a worried looking Cooper. Emma sat back down and returned to her sewing. George, who had spent the length of their little talk watching interestedly from the other side of the fire, sat beside her.
"You're the first person I've ever seen stand up to him" he said admiringly. "I thought he would beat you for sure" he chuckled although Emma wasn't so amused by that observation.
The rest of the day the men made sure they stayed out of Genet's way and Emma received one or two wry grins from men who were secretly impressed that she had stood up to him, when they hadn't.
Genet never mentioned the socks again and if their love making that night had been a little more rough than usual, neither complained. That night, Fletcher had left, taking a horse and some grub with him. Few mourned his leaving and Emma found herself relax more than she had in days.
But, now, they were going to be in a town, if such a collection of motley wooden shacks could be called a town. Fear that if Simpson asked her to leave, Genet wouldn't stand up for her, started to creep into the pit of her stomach. She refused to be dumped off in this god forsaken hole because she made one man feel awkward and another had tired of her.
The horses were stabled and the wagon containing the two bear cubs put in a quiet spot behind the less scruffy of the two saloons. Four men were posted to act as reluctant guards over their stay with Simpson sure to check that all was well with the animals he had taken such care to catch.
Genet. Simpson, his son and her were staying at the Silver Dollar in the rooms upstairs above the riotous bar-room below. The rooms weren't too clean, but the bed was soft and there was hot water to be had. Emma immediately organised herself a bath and when she returned to the room found that Genet had left a scrawled note and a pile of money on the bed so she could get herself a dress. She laughed at that, a dress? Well, taking in her reflection in a nearby mirror, maybe it would make a chance not to look like a boy for a change. She had seen the looks their party had got from the whores and patrons below. Simpson and his boy were of little interest, but Genet and the half-boy-half woman with him had caused the conversations around the gaming tales to hush.
Genet was obviously known in these parts, certainly the looks from the men weren't overly friendly. A couple of the women gave him the kind of meaningful smiles that implied that they too were not entirely strangers to him. Grabbing the money Emma set off down the one street and entered into the hardware store that sold everything that a man could want in these parts, except for a dress that didn't make her look like a nun or a school mam. Emma reasoned that there was no point buying clothing that made her look plainer than she already did, she would be better off sticking to her traveled stained shirt and trousers that at least highlighted her long legs and waist.
Wandering out of the store she almost ran straight into a woman, about her own age.
"Oh, sorry" they cried in unision, and then both laughed. She recognised the other woman from the saloon, she was one of the younger whores there, pretty in a blonde mousy way with a face that already seemed to be aging before it's years.
"You don't know where I could get something to wear do you?" Emma asked and explained her predictement. Her companion, whose name she found out was Betsy was more than eager to help, especially when Emma showed that she had more than enough money to spend.
Within minutes she found herself in a room back at the saloon that Betsy obviously shared with five or six of the other girls. It was strewn with discarded dresses, stockings and makeup and smelled strongly of cheap french perfume.
The young whore rummaged around in a trunk and finally pulled out a slightly crumpled dress. It was mostly black, with lace trim and a low cut bodice. Betsy explained it had been a gift from an affectionate client but she had never worn it as the colour washed her out. With her help and the aid of a corset and some simple hair tricks Emma stared at her reflection. The black suited her perfectly and while the dress was a little tight in the bosum it was only in her favour.
"You look gorgeous" sighed Betsy, touching the curls that she had somehow got into her short hair and secured in place. Emma gave her a quick hug and forced her to take all the money that Genet had left her ignoring her shocked refusals.
The saloon was packed as she made her way down the open stairs to the room below. All the tables were full of men huddled around playing cards and drinking themselves into various states of oblivion. In the corner a piano was playing and a doxy singing half heartedly to a bar room tune. Over towards the long bar that spanned the entire length of the left side of the room sat Genet, Simpson and a couple of the other men in the eam, including a rather enederabrated George who was looking rather worse for wear.
As she approached the table she was gratified that Betsy's work hadn't been in vain as wolf whistles followed her across the room. The men's game had evidently just ended with Genet pulling a healthy pile of cash towards him, to the evident despair of George. One of the whores with the come hither eyes was lurking behind Genet;s chair, hoping to benefit from his gain. The woman spotted her approach before the others and gave her a cold galre before backing off and resuming her search for a soft-touch for the night. Tom sat on his father's knee keenly interested in all that was going around him and surreptiously trying to drink out of an unattended glass of whiskey.
Genet looked up as she arrived and his shape intake of breath suggested that he was impressed in her change in appearance.
"Wow" was all that Tom could say and jumped off his fathers knee to beg a chair for her from a nearby table. George gave her a big wink to indicate his approval.
"Ah, lass, if I was twenty years younger..." he laughed draining his glass. Emma sat between Genet and Simpson who didn't seem quite what to make of her now that he saw her out of her rough men's clothing. Genet had still not said anything, but she wasn't surprised. His expression said it all and when he ordered one of the saloon women to get a bottle of champagne she understood his feelings.
The wine was warm and the glass less than clean, but it beat coffee out of a battered tin mug. The men played another game of poker, every so often she would catch Genet looking intently at her and she found herself blushing under his gaze.
After a couple of tentative starts she found herself deep in conversation with Simpson. The man was well travelled, articulate with a natural ability as a story teller, although usually too reserved in company for anyone to ever benefit. He shared his experiences in the Orient and Africa and was gratified by both her attention and her intelligient questions. For a woman that he had lately thought must have been from the lowest rungs of society, he was forced to reevaluate his opinion. If her conduct was unbecoming of a woman of higher class, her manner of conversation and even accent suggested otherwise. He found himself intrigued by why such a creature would have voluteered in disguise for such a expediation but refrained himself from asking such personal questions. Truth be told, he was also shocked that such a woman would share the bed of Genet, a man who he respected as a hunter but disliked in his manner and personality. Genet seemed to be decidedly untrustworthy and capable of cruelty to those who opposed him. Yet, that said, Simpson could detect that the man held Emma in some affection, although he seemed either reluctant, or incapable, of expressing it.
After a few more hands and fiddler joined the piano man and the music took a more jaunty tone and the women began to pull their new-found friends up to the dance floor for a canter. Tom solemnly asked for her hand and laughing Emma agreed and danced with the boy, although he was half her height. It had been years since she had danced, but it seemed that she hadn't forgotten how and she found unexpected joy in the simple moves around the floor. After the first dance ended a young man, in his twenties and obviously dressed in his finest attire for a big night out in town asked Tom for her hand, which after a polite bow, he relented. The newcomer was an awkward dancer and keep blushing everything he looked at her, must to both her amusement and that of his friends seated at a nearby table. After that partner a number of other young bucks clamoured for a dance, but Emma laughingly declined and made her way back to the table. Although she would have loved to dance with Genet, she would never have pressed him on it and she suspected the dancing was not his forte. What ever his past was, and she suspected it was English and very different from his present circumstances, he had never told her, although to be honest, she had never asked. The life that she had lived forbade the telling of life stories and he seemed perfectly at ease with the great divide of knowledge about each other that separated them. Past lovers had demanded personal histories and details about her family and childhood, perhaps in some desperate way to connect with her on some level.
With Genet, there were no questions and consequently no lies. It was a relief. She callapsed into her chair, and drank some champagne with a laugh., not noticing that she appeared to have interrupted a conversation between Genet and Simpson.
"We're leaving, I've ordered some dinner for our room" Genet stood as she rose, sligthly mysterified, by their sudden departure. She said a brief farewell and as an afterthought took the champagne bottle with her as Genet took her arm led her up the stairs.
Once in the room, she could contain herself no longer.
"What was that about?" she asked Genet who was sitting on the bed taking off his boots. He didn't look up as she spoke and with a sigh of frustration she took a swig of her bottle.
"You're drunk" he said calmly.
"No I'm not.if anyone's drunk it's you" she retorted, her anger flaring. She had been having a good time, talking and dancing with men who actually had the charm to compliment her on her looks and her dress. Unlike this oaf, who spent all his time thinking about his damn dogs and grumbling about the weather. The nightly activities under the furs were all very entertaining, but the bad temper of the man in contrast to others made her question why she had chosen to stay with him.
There was a knock on the door and a boy entered with a tray of food that he put on the table. Genet threw him a coin and he scampered out.
'Eat" he grabbed a plate and sitting on the bed started devouring his food.
God the man was annoying, and a messy eater."I'm not hungry" she said sulkily, suddenly realising that the bottle that only she had been drinking out of was now empty. Maybe she was drunk, she certainly felt light headed and the food smelt appealing, but her pride stopped her from taking any. Genet just grunted and kept eating.
"When are we moving out of here?" she asked idly, trying to break the silence that enveloped the room.
Genet looked up sharply and put his plate down beside him ,wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
"Simpson thinks we should move out the day after tomorrow. He wants you to stay here" he said quietly, his eyes never leaving the frayed matt that covered some of the rough wooden floors.
The empty bottle slipped from her hand as she froze in shock. So, after all, he had made up his mind, and he hadn't even had the guts to tell her first but had resorted to getting Genet to break the news to her. Not that it was evidently any hardship for him, he probably suggested leaving her here. After all, it was clear he had no feelings for her. God, the dress, of course, she was so stupid. It was his way of trying to butter her up and provide her with a way to make some money when he left. If she was a whore for him , why the hell shouldn't she be a whore for others.
Hot tears threatened to overflow as she struggled to her feet damning the tight and uncomfortable dress as she did so.
"And I bet you were overjoyed to hear that weren't you? I bet it was even your idea!" she accused, kicking the fallen bottle towards him. He looked up at her, his face unreadable as always. "I.."he started, but she cut him off "I don't care.." she shouted and stormed out running down the stairs obivious to the stares of those around her. Regaining her composure a little she stalked out the front doors and into the cold black night. Although there was lamp light in many of the shop windows she almost missed her step twice just trying to negiotiate her way to the street. There was no where for her to go but to the stables where the horses were kept. At least there she would be warm and have time to think. As she picked her way down the narrow alley to the back of the saloon her heart stalled as she heard a familiar voice in the dark in front of her.
"Didn't think I was going to let you get away did you?" Fletcher drawled, coming closer towards her so that she could she him in the faint light of a nearby shack. She turned to run, but to her horror there were two large men recking of whiskey blocking her escape.
"Not after what you did to me girly. You owe me bitch" he snarled and the two men grabbed her from behind so that despite her struggles she couldn't escape. Fletcher came close to her, and she felt a wave of fear when she realised that he had a bowee knife in his left hand. His right was still in a sling. There was no point in screaming, no one could hear her over the music and roudy noise of the barroom and she wouldn't get a squeak out before he cut her throat.
"I'm going to make you pay for what you did to me" his breath stank of old tobacco and booze. As she tried to turn her head away his knife came up to her throat. Emma shut her eyes against it all, hoping that what ever happened next it would be quick.
All she heard next was the loud retort of a pistol and the sensation of the knife leaving her throat. Suddenly her arms were free and she slumped to the ground. Fletcher lay in front of her, a black puddle growing on his shirt in the lamp light. She heard hysterical sobbing and the calm part of her brain worked out that it was coming for her.
Then someone was with her and his arms wrapped around her gently. "Are you alright?" Genet asked, checking as best he could in the dim light for any marks. She nodded, trying to control the sobs that racked her body.
Genet helped her up and then lifted her into his arms and carried her back into the saloon, small crowd drawn by the sound of gun fire parting to let him through. He paused by the door and addressed the room that had hushed with their entrance.
"I've shot a man outside. If anyone has a problem with that I'll be upstairs". No one said a thing, their vision glued to Emma, her head tight into Genet's shoulder, her dress torn at the sleeve. Genet assended the stairs, carrying her weight as if she weighed nothing and took her into the quiet and seclusion of their room.
"You can put me down now" she said quietly Her crying had subsided for the most part, and she wiped her eyes and laughed self-conconciously. He lowered her to the ground, but held her in his arms, reluctant to let her go. Emma was grateful for that, glad to be enveloped in his bear hug, her nose full of the smell of man nad tobbacco. It made her feel safe and protected, but a memory came flooding back. This was a ruse, a phantom. Tommorrow or the next day, he would be gone. But rather than being driven to anger, she was driven by want, desperate to make this last moment last. He may be leaving and maybe she would hate him for that later, but now she needed him.
Later, when the noise from below had quietened and they were lying cocconed in the warmth of each other Genet finally explained why he had followed her outside.
"You never let me finish" he said out of the blue. Emma turned to him, her brow raised in puzzlement. She started to speak, but he hushed her.
"What I was trying to say when you stormed off, was that I told Simpson I would quit if he fired you" he continued quietly.
"Really?" Emma was shocked into dumb ineloquence. She felt giddy with a joy that shocked her, realising that although she hadn't admitted it to herself earlier, for some god unknown reason she had grown to care for this difficult, contrary and tacturn man, more than she had allowed herself to care for someone in years.
Genet stroked her hair, it's ringlets fallen out and slightly damp. He couldn't find the words to say what he felt, but he could find them to explain what he would do. "I'll never leave you".