Page 26 of Echoes of Twilight (Dawn of Alaska #4)

26

H e never should have kissed Bryony. The kiss haunted Mikhail that night and into the next morning, when he sent Bryony back into the canoe with her brother, even though every part of him wanted to insist she ride with him.

But he couldn’t have everyone in his canoe, and it still made the most sense to put Bryony—who was better at handling a canoe than Dr. Ottingford—in the canoe with Heath.

The river was calmer today, the current helping to pull them along as they paddled. But it wasn’t enough to distract him from the sound of Heath snapping at Bryony over her paddling technique, nor was it enough to distract him from the way Bryony’s shoulders stiffened each time.

But the Wetherbys’ family issues weren’t any of his business, so he clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep his attention on his own canoe, where Dr. Wetherby tried to follow his lead.

By late afternoon, the trees lining the banks had grown dense, but he still spotted a suitable place to camp—a small stretch of gravel beach with just enough space for their tents and a line of evergreens that would help shield them from the wind. He guided his canoe to shore and leaped out, gripping the bow and dragging it up the bank before turning to help Dr. Wetherby.

He avoided looking at Bryony as she and Heath hauled their canoe to the riverbank, though he could feel the weight of her gaze on him.

The chatter around the fire was quieter than usual too. Bryony didn’t seem to be talking to much of anyone. Not him, not her father, and certainly not her brother. She fixed biscuits and washed dishes in silence, and once dinner was finally cleaned up, she took her journal and headed to a spot farther down the beach for the last few minutes of daylight.

Fortunately, when Mikhail woke that night, pulling himself out of a dream where he searched and searched the river for Bryony but never found her, she didn’t wake.

Or if she did wake, she didn’t come to try waking him from his nightmare.

It was just as well. They might not have discussed their kiss, but they both seemed to have the same opinion about it. It shouldn’t have happened. Not when they’d be going their separate ways soon.

The next day of travel was much the same as the previous one. The river remained calm, and there were no rapids to contend with, nor were there any encounters with Tlingit or Tahltan Indians. The forested banks grew denser, the air sharper and cooler, carrying the scent of pine and snow. The only difference in travel was they reached the fork where the Iskut River met the Stikine. It was a beautiful stretch of river, with the banks curving and bending in multiple places, their waters blending in shades of blue and green. But the best part about reaching the confluence was that the Stikine shifted its course, bending westward toward the ocean, which was now less than forty miles away.

The faster, stronger current of the Stikine carried them forward with less effort, and the wide banks made it easy to navigate the occasional boulder or swirling eddy.

Eventually he signaled for the group to stop at a sandy inlet. He rowed his own canoe toward the shore, then stepped into the shallow water and heaved it the rest of the way onto the sand. “We’ll eat whatever food we have left for dinner. Tomorrow we’ll be in Wrangell, so there’s no need to hunt or prepare a big meal.”

“Tomorrow?” Bryony looked up at him from where she was unrolling her tent. “I didn’t realize we were that close.”

Four more hours of daylight, and they could have reached Wrangell that evening, but the winter days were too short to allow them to travel into the evening. “Yes, tomorrow. And if we can catch a ship in Wrangell, we’ll be in Sitka the following day. If we need to take canoes to Sitka, it will take an additional four days of travel, maybe five.”

“By Jove, we’ve nearly done it.” Dr. Wetherby came up and slapped him on the back, a wide smile spread across his face. “I have to say, I owe you my thanks, Amos. We were in more of a pickle than I realized back in that valley, but you got us out, and all without losing any research.”

“He didn’t get everyone out,” Heath muttered as he stalked past with his tent, then busied himself setting it up.

The others followed suit, each setting up their tents, then moving on to check the specimens or start a fire or do whatever task they’d made a habit of performing each night as they traveled.

Mikhail set up his own tent, ate a few leftover biscuits and some pemmican, then started sorting through his pack. As the trip progressed, he’d thrown more and more things into it in case they found themselves needing certain items later.

Only when he checked the pocket on the side did he come away with a stretch of rough, handmade rope and a handful of broken twigs.

Bryony’s snare. He’d promised to show her how to set it up properly, but he’d killed a deer for dinner that first night, and they had so much venison, they hadn’t needed to set a snare. The day after that, they’d battled the snowstorm and spent the night in a cave. The next night they’d huddled under the outcropping of rock in the pouring rain, and after that...

Well, at some point he’d just plain forgotten he’d promised to teach her how to set one up, and it seemed like a skill she should know.

She was sitting on a log she’d rolled beside the fire, her journal open on her lap when he approached. A brief glance at the pages told him she was working on her map of the river, a rather detailed one that marked boulders and rock faces and smaller streams.

He could think of a half-dozen guides and cartographers who would find it useful.

“I’m afraid the twigs broke, but I still have your rope.” He held his hand open. “Do you want me to show you how to set up a snare? We can find more twigs.”

Her eyes lit with curiosity, and she snapped her journal shut. “Yes, please. I would love that.”

She followed him to the edge of the woods, where he showed her how to look for good sticks and how high she wanted the sticks to be above the ground.

He tried to ignore how close that required them to be as he crouched beside her. Tried to ignore it when a strand of her hair brushed his cheek. Tried to ignore how memories of their kiss two nights ago kept rising in his mind.

He didn’t know the exact day she’d be leaving Alaska with her family and Dr. Ottingford, but it wouldn’t be long. While they might stay in Sitka for a week or so before departing, a month from now, their time together in the wilderness would be forgotten, left behind for only the mountains and forests to remember.

It happened every year at the end of an expedition. He said good-bye to people he’d been with day and night for months, rarely hearing from them again. His relationship with Bryony was no different.

So why did the thought of saying good-bye to her make his chest feel tight?

* * *

She should be more excited. For months, all Bryony had wanted was to know she’d be able to get home. And if standing on the sandy banks of the harbor in the small Tlingit village of Wrangell, Alaska, wasn’t confirmation that she’d be back in Washington, DC, soon, then she didn’t know what was.

Her father and brother and Dr. Ottingford couldn’t stop smiling. They were talking to some of the natives, her father pointing to trees and asking questions about the foliage, even though the town was covered in a dusting of snow. Mikhail was engaged in a serious conversation with a severe-looking man who wore a colorful cloak with beading on the edges. She assumed him to be the chief, but perhaps he was an elder. From what she could figure out, certain tribes had chiefs and others had elders, and she didn’t know which type of leader ran the village of Wrangell.

All she knew was that everyone was happy to finally be out of the wilderness—except her.

She knew she should be happy, knew she should be trying to learn everything she could about the flora and fauna from the native women. Knew she should be thankful that she was only a few days away from boarding a ship in Sitka headed for Seattle, where they’d take a train the rest of the way home.

So she couldn’t explain why the sight of the village made her throat grow thick. Why part of her wished she was still lost somewhere in the wilderness, trekking up a mountainside and watching as the valley below grew smaller and smaller.

She tried to take everything in, tried to commit as much of the village to memory as possible so she could sketch it in her journal later. The clan here respected Mikhail. That had been evident before they’d even pulled their canoes ashore, when people from the village had recognized him and started calling to him in Tlingit.

Two other men in finely appointed cloaks were standing with Mikhail and the Tlingit leader now, and they all seemed to be agreeing with what Mikhail had to say.

Not knowing what else to do, she found a log to sit on, pulled out her journal from her pack, and started sketching, but she didn’t get very far. Not because she ran out of time but because her gaze kept drifting to Mikhail. More and more men from the village came to talk to him, almost as though they respected him the way they might a chief.

Then a ship arrived. It was beautiful, sleek, and polished with masts that stretched toward the sky, and the sight of it made her feel even sicker. Everyone in the entire town was excited to see it, but she could barely stop herself from running to the bushes and retching. It belonged to Mikhail’s family somehow, and the captain said he could have them in Sitka by sometime tomorrow.

Mikhail spoke of his family in such normal terms. He talked about how he missed them, how much his oldest brother had sacrificed to send his two sisters to law school and medical school, and how his youngest brother still acted more like a boy than a man.

But the ship rocking gently in the water told a different story, as did the way the entire village of Wrangell reacted to Mikhail’s presence. The Amoses were more than just a large family that loved each other. They had both wealth and sway with the Indians.

“Do you want to eat?”

She turned to find Mikhail had somehow escaped his throng of admirers and come up beside her, holding fish and a dense cake in his hand.

For some reason, all she could think of was the rabbit they’d caught in her snare that morning, waiting to be roasted over the fire. He’d taught her in fifteen minutes how to do something she’d struggled for weeks to do on her own.

“You may as well.” He extended his hand closer. “Smoked salmon tastes better than anything Scully will cook aboard ship, trust me.”

“Are we leaving for Sitka today or in the morning?” She took the salmon from his hand and put a bite into her mouth, the flavors of fish and salt strong on her tongue.

“Today.” He gestured toward the ship, where crates were being lowered from the side into long, narrow canoes. “We’ll board as soon as the crew is done unloading the blankets.”

“Blankets? Are those... Does that mean...” She swallowed. “Are the blankets because of me?”

The skin around Mikhail’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “Of course. You know what the bargain was.”

The first canoe reached the beach, and villagers rushed to help lift the crates out of the boat. One man pried the top off a crate and held up a blanket. It was basic gray wool without the slightest bit of embellishment, but everyone reached out to touch it with excited smiles on their faces.

“You’re telling me that two hours after we arrived in Wrangell, one of your family’s ships just happened to arrive, and it was carrying two hundred blankets?” She turned back to Mikhail. “How did they know the blankets needed to be sent here?”

“They didn’t. The ship was carrying seventy-five blankets. I ordered them all to be dropped off here. We’ll get restocked when we go to Sitka and have the rest delivered before the Aurora heads back to Seattle, along with the pail of beads.” He said it as though it was nothing, as though he’d paid no more than a few pennies for her release, and rerouting his ship was about as inconvenient as being served green beans at dinner when he preferred peas.

Just how much was her freedom costing the Amoses? She opened her mouth, fully intending to offer to pay him back, but another question emerged instead. “If the warriors had taken me, would I have ended up here?”

“Yes.” Mikhail pointed to one of the men standing on the beach. “That’s the man who wanted to marry you.”

He seemed so different now, holding a blanket rather than a gun and smiling as he spoke to an older woman. “Did you tell the chief about the bargain? Is he upset about it?”

“Elders run the clan here, and they’re quite happy with how the negotiation turned out. The Russians were always willing to make trades to keep peace when needed. But the Americans frown more and more on the old way of doing things, and the elders were concerned about how the government might have responded had the hunting party taken you captive.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Mikhail looked at her, his golden eyes searching her face.

For a moment, she thought he might take another step closer. That he might lower his head and kiss her again, never mind that anyone who looked their direction would be able to see them. But he took a step back instead.

“I didn’t do much, just fostered a deal the same as any other guide would. Best make sure all of your things are packed. We’ll leave soon.” Then he turned and walked away.

They boarded the ship less than an hour later, and she was shown to a cabin with polished wood and warm bedding and a mattress that was far softer than the ground she’d spent months sleeping on.

She ran her hand along the wood beside the small, circular window. Mikhail could probably captain this ship if he wanted to, or at least spend his summers in a large, sprawling house filled with comforts.

But he gave all that up each year so he could guide expeditions with the goal of keeping everyone alive.

Oh, she’d spent two weeks with him in the wilderness. How had she not realized just how honorable of a man he was?

A knock sounded at the door. She opened it to find a sailor with a washtub. She hadn’t asked for a bath, but she could guess who had ordered one on her behalf.

But even after she’d washed and gone to Captain White’s cabin for dinner—where her father and brother and Dr. Ottingford were staying—and feasted on far better fare than she’d had the entire time she’d been in the wilderness, she couldn’t make herself sleep.

It wasn’t that the ship rocked too much. Quite the opposite. It glided seamlessly through the water, but that only made things worse.

Did everything about Mikhail Amos have to be perfect? Even the ship his family owned?

She threw off her covers and huffed, then tromped to the opposite side of the cabin and slid her trousers back on. She tucked her shirt into them before opening the cabin door. The instant she stepped outside, the scent of salt and sea greeted her, so very different from the cold mountain air and spruce. The moon was out overhead, not quite full, but still large enough to cast a silvery beam on the water. She watched the light dance across the waves, then raised her head to look at the moon itself. Stars floated overhead too. Not as many as she’d be able to see with a new moon, but still more than she could view in Washington, DC.

“Bryony?”

She turned to find Mikhail stepping out of the wheelhouse, which shared a wall with the front of her cabin.

He came toward her, the sound of his muklucks quiet on the deck. “What are you doing out here? Is something wrong with your cabin?”

“No, the cabin is perfect.” Too perfect, actually. But how was she supposed to explain that was her problem?

“Is dinner not sitting well in your stomach?”

“No, dinner was delicious too.”

Mikhail chuckled, then shook his head, one of those rare smiles flashing across his face. “Not too many people call Scully’s cooking delicious. If that doesn’t say just how poorly I fed you, I don’t know what does.”

“You didn’t feed us poorly. We had meat every night.”

“But not gravy or corn bread cooked in an oven that controls the temperature.”

“You did well, Mikhail.”

“Then what’s keeping you awake?” He took another step closer, the wind from the ocean toying with his loose hair. “After sleeping on a bedroll for months upon months, I assumed you’d fall asleep the second your head hit the pillow. Is the mattress uncomfortable?”

She swallowed, then turned her gaze to the mountains, their black humps shrouded in shadows beneath the moonlight. “I’m going to miss this place.”

He was silent for so long that she found herself turning to face him again. It was a mistake, especially with the way the breeze kept toying with his hair. Did he realize how handsome he was standing there, with the lantern light from the side of the wheelhouse playing across the dips and planes of his face and warmth shining from his golden gaze? Or how his hair caught the faintest glimmers of moonlight?

Her heart gave a small, traitorous flutter, and she turned her gaze back to the mountains. “I don’t know why I’m going to miss Alaska. I shouldn’t. We almost got trapped in that valley for winter, and if we hadn’t gotten out before the snow came...” Her throat grew tight and she swallowed. “I should probably hate this place after everything that’s happened. I should want to go home and never see it again, but instead I don’t want to leave.”

Mikhail leaned against the side of the railing. “Remember when we talked about publishing your journal?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there’s a publisher in New York City who keeps asking me to write a book about Alaska. I’d like to send him a letter about publishing your journal and maybe include a sample of your writing and sketches. Is that okay?”

“Yes, but...” She licked her lips. He’d talked about helping her get her journal published the first time he’d seen it, but he hadn’t mentioned it since, and she assumed he’d forgotten about the offer. “Would you really do that for me?”

“Of course. There’s also a cartographer I communicate with back in Washington, DC. He’s trying to map the entirety of Alaska, and I know he’ll want to see your maps. I’ll write him as well.”

Another flock of hummingbirds took flight in her stomach. “I’m not sure my maps will be much good. They’re not exact. I didn’t measure distances like a cartographer would or take painstaking notes. I just wrote down the things that made the biggest impression on me.”

“What you have will still be helpful.” He nudged her arm with his elbow. “God’s given you so many talents. Promise you won’t bury them once you get back home.”

Talents. She drew in a shaky breath. She didn’t feel talented when it came to cartography, nor did she have any official training. Father and Heath had always treated her maps and the other parts of her journals as a waste of time. And she’d always assumed Richard and his publisher were merely patronizing her when she asked if a couple of her maps could be included in the field guides she’d already published.

But was Mikhail right? Could her maps be beneficial if she got them into the hands of the right person?

She sunk her teeth into the side of her lip. “I suppose I could try giving my maps to your cartographer friend to see what he thinks. But did Father tell you his plans for me once we return home? He’s hoping the next secretary of the interior will be a widower, or a bachelor.”

Mikhail grew motionless beside her, his jaw set in a firm line. “Dr. Ottingford informed me.”

“I don’t want to marry the next man my father picks, secretary of the interior or not.” She wasn’t sure why she was telling him such a thing. It wasn’t as though he had any say over her life, or that she’d ever talk to him again once she left Sitka.

“Then don’t. Go home and publish your book. You’ll make enough money to live on, I’m sure of it. And remember to send me a copy of the previous publishing contracts you signed for Evelina to review. I’m guessing you’ll have even more money coming to you now that Richard’s no longer alive.”

And that was why she’d told him about her father’s plans. Because even though she and Mikhail Amos hadn’t known each other long, she could trust him to find a way to support her.

He nudged her again with his elbow that rested on the railing. “If your book gets published and people like it, maybe you can come back and join me on another expedition, then write another book.”

“You’d take me on another expedition?” She jerked her head up to meet his eyes. “Even with everything that happened?”

He ran his eyes down her, his throat working. She couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking, but the moment stretched between them, long and languid while the ship swayed beneath their feet.

“Yes, I mean it,” he finally said. Then he took a step closer, the boards of the deck creaking with his weight.

The breeze chose that moment to kick up, lifting her hair until it tangled around her face.

She reached up to tuck the errant strands behind her ear, but Mikhail’s hand came up first, his fingers brushing hers before anchoring her hair behind her ear.

Except he didn’t pull his hand away once her hair was pinned in place. He kept it there, on the tender spot behind her ear, until the feel of his fingertips caused her skin to grow warm.

Then he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers.

She shouldn’t let the kiss happen. She knew that as surely as she knew the stars would fade with dawn. And yet, the moment his mouth touched hers, every last thought fled her mind, the world narrowing until there was no ship or crew or expedition. There was only the two of them.

He deepened the kiss, his movements unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. Which was odd, because they didn’t have any time left together. They’d arrive in Sitka before dinner tomorrow, maybe even before lunch, and then... then...

Then he would write a publisher for her. That’s as far as their relationship would go. She didn’t even know if he’d come down to the dock and say good-bye when she left Sitka. At one point he’d talked about her meeting his sisters, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about that recently either.

Mikhail moved one of his hands up to cup the side of her face, then slid it down to cradle the nape of her neck. His thumb brushed against her jawline, and it was suddenly just too much. She couldn’t be on the deck with him, couldn’t be kissing a man she was never going to see again.

She wrenched herself away, her heart pounding against her chest.

Mikhail stared at her for a moment, as though trying to make sense of what had just happened. But she knew what he’d say the moment he came back to his senses.

The same thing he’d said last time.

So she spoke first, repeating his words right back to him. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Then she turned and stalked back to her cabin, shutting the door firmly behind her.