Chapter 4

Catherine spoke to Vincent out of temper. She was very tired, too tired to watch her tongue, and he had objected to her plans.

"Vincent, I am just not going to put up with any foolishness. You are going to sleep with this sleeping bag under you. I am going to sleep on it too. And we are going to cover both of us with the other one. It’s cold down here. That means we share the blankets and the body heat. Now just you be quiet and learn to live with it!"

Vincent also was very tired. He was hurting, he felt utterly helpless to take charge of the situation, and he was frightened for Catherine’s safety and his own. He had a temper too.

When he spoke his face was expressionless and his voice was low and silky soft. "Since I am in a helpless position, one would assume that you would be conscientious about not taking advantage of it. However, I can see that such an assumption would be ill-founded."

She bristled. "Yes. Such an assumption would. Now sit up so I can put this blanket under you."

"That will not be necessary. If you will hand me the bedroll, I will make my own sleeping arrangements."

She stood up, rigid with anger. "Damn it, Vincent, will you quit thinking only of yourself! Your body heat is all that kept me from freezing last night, but if you want to be so damn stiff-necked about it, sleep by yourself! I’ll see you in the morning!" She threw his bedroll at him, picked up hers, and marched off down the path.

"Catherine…wait…Catherine!"

She stopped, but didn’t turn.

His worry for her took precedence over his temper and his reluctance to sleep next to her. With some difficulty he reined in his anger. "All right! We’ll do it your way." He couldn’t resist adding: "You might have let me know that you needed…these arrangements in order to be comfortable."

She wheeled around; now she was furious. "You thought I just couldn’t wait to snuggle up to you, did you? Well, I assure you, I can live without you. If you would lend me your body heat for the night, it would make me more comfortable, but I certainly wouldn’t want to impinge on your sacred person!"

That swept away his restraint. Coldly: "I believe that I may be able to stand it."

Catherine didn’t want to leave him and spend the night alone. She bit her lip, then curbed her temper far enough to answer. "All right! Let’s get this done." She began to unroll the blankets in cold silence. The remaining bed-making was done without further conversation.

When they were finally under one blanket, Catherine moved as close as she could get to Vincent. His body was stiff and unwelcoming, but she molded herself to him and threw a leg over his.

His response to this move was immediate and angry. He pushed her leg off him forcefully. "That is totally unnecessary."

"Maybe for once in your life you’ll let me decide what is necessary!" Her anger at him was compounded of more than just the immediate situation, or perhaps she wouldn’t have goaded him any further. However, the worry and strain of the past two days, culminating in their present situation, combined to make her unable or unwilling to control her temper. She deliberately put her leg back where it had been.

Vincent also had been under very great strain, both physical and emotional for forty-eight hours. He was consumed with guilt over his spying on her most private moment, and most of all, over the physical effect it had had on him. He was not able to remember what he had done without wanting to die on the spot, and the thought of confessing to Catherine that he had stolen physical pleasure from her without her knowledge or consent, was unbearable to him. He knew that he must tell her if their relationship was to continue, but he also believed that the confession could end that very relationship forever.

All of these things made the present situation untenable to him. And as if his guilt weren’t bad enough, he could not banish the memory of Catherine’s bared body, and the feeling so vividly imagined of her hands on him. This combination, together with her deliberate provocation, moved him to snap at last. His temper, never shown to Catherine but well-known to Father and his childhood friends, rose up to control him now. He raised himself up on his elbow, leaning over her with imminent danger of injuring his tethered leg. His hand gripped her shoulder with enough force to leave a mark, holding her down while he hissed at her, "Be very careful. You’re treading on thin ice here!"

This was fuel to Catherine’s fire. No one, no one, threatened her! "Get off me, you great oaf! Who the hell do you think you’re talking to!" She struggled against his hand, to no avail. "Get off me! I’ll do what I please, and say what I please!"

Vincent glared down at her while his face turned red with rage. "You think so?" he growled. Then, in the blindness of his temper, his desire for her swept over him to make him do something unthinkable. "Try saying something now!" His mouth came down on hers and he kissed her, passionately, with anger and desire so mixed as to be one emotion.

In an instant, after the first amazement had subsided, she was a willing captive. Her arms came up around him and she kissed him back. For a long moment his lips softened and he drank deep of the wet heaven of her mouth, his tongue stroking her lips, and then moving inside her mouth to stroke her more intimately, until Catherine’s ecstatic pleasure in the kiss was made apparent by her soft moan. At that he jerked back, his face a study in confusion. "Dear God! What… Catherine, move away! Get away from me!" He rolled away from her as far as he could, lying on his back with his face turned away from her, his chest heaving with his panting breath.

Catherine, gasping in shock, and feeling still the marvelous touch of his mouth on hers, did as he asked without thinking about it. When she was no longer touching him she looked back at him. His hands were clenched into tight fists, his eyes were closed, on his face was a look of agony. And she couldn’t miss also that he was in a visible state of arousal.

Her bad temper was forgotten as if it had never been. She wanted with a burning immediacy to reach out and touch his body, run her hands over his broad chest, slide them down, down, until she caressed the swelling at his groin. But his suffering was evident, and she could do none of these things. They would only make him suffer more, in his present paroxysm of guilt.

Finally, after several minutes, Vincent spoke, still not facing her. He stared up at the rocks above him, intermittently visible in the light of the flaring torch, as he said, painfully, "I…don’t know what to say to you…I can’t say I’m sorry…it’s inadequate. And what else can I say? I’m ashamed, Catherine. Ashamed of my temper, and of my weakness." His eyes turned and barely glanced at her before going back to the rocks above him. There was another silence; then, in a soft voice as if he talked only to himself, he said, "…I’ve wanted that…" He seemed to come to himself then, and he turned back to her. "Oh, Catherine, I am sorry. I had no right..."

"No. Let’s not talk about rights. You know you’re given the right, that’s not in question." Catherine turned to him, reaching out her hand. "…And I should say I’m sorry. My terrible temper! I do apologize, Vincent, I… "

"Oh don’t! Please don’t. The fault was mine…"

"No it wasn’t! I should never have…"

"If I hadn’t..."

They spoke together, and both stopped abruptly.

"Well, I guess that takes care of apologies. We seem to have covered that ground pretty thoroughly." She smiled at him sadly, then looked down at her hands. "Let’s just forget it, shall we?"

Vincent turned his head to look at her. His voice was low, husky. "I won’t forget it…"

"Nor will I…" She looked up at him then, and their glances caught and held. In that long look was all of the passion so long suppressed, the joy at the kiss finally realized, the aching desire for more, so much more…

They said very little else that night; conversation was confined to the matters at hand. When they lay down together at last, pressed close in their skimpy blankets, sleep was long in coming to both.

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Catherine woke as the gray light was just beginning to pick out the high points of the rocks. She turned her head to find Vincent’s eyes on her. "Hello". She said softly.

"Hello." His reply was equally soft.

Impulse ruled her in this moment of waking, and her hand came up to stroke his softly furred cheek. "Oh, Vincent, I love you so much!" Her voice was soft and tender, and her hand touched him gently.

He looked back at her, a long look equally tender, until he became conscious of the danger in that tenderness. He opened his mouth as if to say something, hesitated, then shook his head slightly, turning his eyes away from her. He pushed the blanket off him and sat up.

The thought of the kiss they had shared burned in his memory, making every look or touch suspect. How could he keep from kissing her, now that he knew the ecstatic pleasure of her mouth? He shook his head again, and turned to practical matters, his defense against an almost irresistible desire to kiss her and kiss her…No! He must not think of it!

"I want to be free of this beam. Let’s get it moved." His voice was almost brusque.

Catherine lay still for a moment, surprised and hurt by his reaction. What was he thinking? She knew that he loved her, why couldn’t he just say it? But she knew also that it wasn’t so simple for him, particularly in the light of recent events. She sighed to herself, and resolved to be patient, but in her mind also the kiss burned. When she looked at him her eyes were drawn irresistibly to his mouth. How she wanted to explore it with hers! How she wanted to lie under him while he kissed her and kissed her….

She sat up quickly. "What can I do?"

He was examining the beam that had him pinned. "I think that the first thing to do is to move some more rock. I’m sorry about that, you’ve already done yeoman service in that area, but the more rock we can get off the end of the beam, the easier it will be to lift it. However, this will need to be done carefully, not to start any more rockslides. You could be thrown over the edge of the ledge by a slide underfoot, and I’m vulnerable down here under it also." He looked rueful. "I’m sorry to say such worrying things, but we’ve got to be clear, both of us, what we’re doing, and what the dangers are."

"You’re right, of course." She tilted her head and smiled at him. "I’m pretty much able to take the truth, you know."

"I do know that, but it…hurts me to have to worry you in any way." He smiled rather shyly at her. "I know you’re strong. I’ve seen a great deal of evidence of that, not the least of which has occurred since we’ve been in this situation. You’ve been marvelous. I’m full of admiration for your bravery, believe me." He smiled again, wryly this time. "And my admiration is not for a woman who’s brave, but for a person who is dealing bravely with a strange environment, and a frightening situation."

She grinned. "Thank you. You knew exactly what I was thinking." She turned and began the climb.

Vincent watched with apprehension while Catherine climbed carefully up the rock-pile to the place where the beam disappeared. She stood for several minutes, appraising the situation, while he waited below, helpless.

She spoke at last, slowly, still looking down at the rocks. "Vincent, I don’t think I can move any more rocks. The pile goes up rather steeply above the beam to a point past where I can reach. I’m afraid there’s no place to begin where there aren’t other rocks that may be dislodged."

"All right. Come down...with care, please."

When she was safely down, they turned their attention to the lever and its fulcrum.

"We need a rock that’s roughly rectangular, and three to six inches high. A brick would be perfect, See if you can find something bricklike." Vincent spoke while he still surveyed the situation. "We’ll need to have it relatively flat on the top and bottom. We don’t want it to tilt the lever, and swing you out over the drop-off."

She came back in a little while with a rock that was about twelve inches long and four inches high at the high end, tapering to two inches.

"Good! That will give us a gradation of heights. Now, place the small end of the lever under the beam, beside my foot. The rock will go under the lever, as close to the beam as you can push it." He helped her by lifting on the lever until she got the rock within six inches of the beam.

"All right. This is the moment. Now, when the beam lifts, I’m going to pull my foot out just as soon as I can. I’ll keep telling you to push down harder until I feel the beam lift. All right?" He gave the situation a final appraisal, and issued a final correction. "No, not there, swing the lever in a little bit, and get closer to the end. Now!"

"Not yet…lean harder…not yet. it’s starting to lift…a little more…done!" He pulled his foot triumphantly out from under the beam, just as a warning rumble told him that the rocks were going to come down.

"Catherine! Move!!!"

Vincent’s voice galvanized Catherine, who’d not been looking up at the rocks. She dived for Vincent, narrowly missed by a roaring cascade of rocks that took the beam and the lever over the edge of the drop-off, and left a large pile of rock where she had been standing.

"Are you all right? Did anything hit you?" Vincent frantically looked her up and down.

"I’m fine. Just a couple of bruises, I think." Several rocks had hit her, but as she stood up it was clear that there was no real damage done. She stood for a moment and looked over the edge of the drop-off, where dust came roiling up from the displaced rocks.

She turned back to find Vincent standing right behind her, and as she looked up at him, his arms came around her and he pulled her tightly to him. "I nearly lost you. A second, one second later...!" His head came down to press his face into her neck. "Catherine….Catherine…"

"It’s all right, my love, I’m here…I’m right here…" She stroked the back of his head as he struggled to gain control of himself. After a few seconds he raised his head.

"Yes, you’re here. With me." He dropped his arms and took a step back. As he did, he yelped and sat down suddenly on the ground.

"Oh God, Vincent, your leg!"

He sat with his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to subside. "Yes…" he said finally. "My leg…"

Catherine knelt down to look at his right leg. As she laid her hand on it she glanced up at him. "I’ll try to be careful." Slowly she began to unlace his boot. With the laces off the boot was loose, and came off easily. Next came his pantleg. She pushed it up a few inches and gasped.

"Oh, Vincent!" His leg was solidly black and blue nearly to his knee. She pulled the sock gently from his foot and heard a hiss of indrawn breath as she did so. "Sorry, oh, I’m sorry." As she looked at the extent of the damage tears ran down her face. The bruising continued all the way to his toes. The skin was broken in only one spot, but the cut was directly on the shinbone, and it was right down to the bone. It had not bled very much that she could see.

"It’s all right." Vincent smiled grimly. "I’m beginning to get feeling back in it. I don’t think there was any permanent damage. There must have been some blood circulation."

"Maybe not permanent damage. I certainly hope not. But there’s damage, Vincent. You can’t walk on this!"

"Not for a while, anyway. After the blood is circulating well again it’ll start to heal. In the meantime, we’ll have to make a crutch. Then I’ll be able to move."

He hesitated before he added reluctantly, in an attempt to reassure her, "…I heal very well as a rule. Father says too well! The first time I had a serious injury, he was astonished at its healing ability. In his words, ‘It’s unnatural!’ But it is natural…for me." He looked down, unable to meet her eyes. His shame was apparent, as if he had confessed to a crime.

Between them there was for a moment the stark reality of his physical differences: manifested on his side with shame and guilt, on hers with love and admiration. Catherine shook her head mentally as his head went down. Would he never understand that her love for him was, in part, because of his differences?

In the meantime, because he healed well didn’t mean that he didn‘t feel pain. Catherine shook her head. Tears were still running down her face. "Oh my dear, this must hurt. Is there anything at all I can do to help? I…I guess not, is there? If I could…" She stopped, unable to speak.

"There is something you can do. Get the first aid kit, it’s sitting right over there on the pack. Then you can clean and bandage the cut. That will be a great help."

She gulped, and straightened. "Yes, of course, I can do that." And she proceeded to do just that, in a very workmanlike manner. When she was all done, she sat back, took a deep breath, and started to cry again.

Vincent looked at her quizzically. "Are you falling apart now? After all you’ve done, are you going to faint at the sight of a little cut?"

She couldn’t help but grin. "OK, OK…I’m all right." She sniffled and rubbed her nose. "I’ve bandaged a few cuts in my time, but never one with the bone showing before." As she said the words she began to cry in earnest. "Oh Vincent, I bet it hurts," she sobbed.

"It’s all right, there now, it’s going to be fine, it feels much better now that it’s bandaged." Vincent lied to her cheerfully, the way he would have to a child, patting her on the back all the while.

She grinned up at him through her tears. "I’m not nine years old, and I know it hurts like a sonofabitch."

He grinned back, showing those sharp white teeth that always made her long to kiss him. "Yes, it does. But you’ve done what you can, and it’ll quit in a while."

She sat up straight, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "OK, all done. Vincent, what are we going to do now? This is not just a bruise. You shouldn’t be walking on it for days."

"Well, not today, anyway. You’re right, this is going to complicate things somewhat. We’ll have to make some decisions." He paused, thinking. "I think we’ll have to plan on spending at least one more day here, maybe two. That means we’re going to need water." He looked up at her again. "You’ll have to go for it."

She straightened further. "All right. Draw me a map."