Warrior Moon Page 4

  He drew her close to him, leaning his face near hers. “You will kill me if we ride south.”

  Her heart thudded in fear, but she felt a flash of anger for his arrogant treatment of her when she had saved his life by her attention. “You’re too tough to kill!” she snapped, angry with him, jerking her wrist to try to break free. His fingers tightened around her slender wrist and he caught her other hand, holding them both easily with one hand while she struggled against him.

  “If you tie me up and go north, I can’t help you when you lose consciousness!” she snapped, glaring at him. She felt his anger as she looked into his brown eyes. He leaned closer to her and her heart pounded in fright, yet she wasn’t going to give up on going south to rescue Phoebe.

  “I don’t know that I can stay conscious, so you’ll get your way; but beware the day I’m well,” he said in a quiet voice that frightened her.

  “When we get to a town, I’ll get help for you.”

  “A white doctor won’t tend me,” he said, closing his eyes as if he were in pain.

  “I’ll tell him you’re my husband, and then he will.”

  Lone Wolf focused on her again. “Don’t tell anyone that. You’ll be persecuted or they’ll think you’re a captive and take you to the nearest fort. Or worse.”

  She frowned, staring at him, wondering what experiences he’d had to make him have such an opinion of whites. She thought about her father and his hatred of Indians, of Hollings and his mistreatment of them, and she realized that Lone Wolf was probably correct.

  “I’ll get help for you some way. I have to go south and get my sister. My father intends her to marry next month on her sixteenth birthday. I don’t have time to ride north with you. And if you were going to die, you already would have!” She knew better than that because she had seen soldiers look on the mend and then suddenly they were gone, but she had to get Phoebe.

  Vanessa pulled her wrist from his grasp, and his eyes narrowed. “We’re in danger of being found, so we should go,” she added.

  “How many soldiers are with your wagon train?”

  “Fifteen.”

  He frowned and placed his hand on her shoulder, sitting up straighten. She knelt to let him place his arm across her shoulders. Avoiding his wounds and keenly aware of his body, she put her arm around his back above his narrow waist.

  “Ready?” she asked, his face only inches from hers.

  He nodded and they stood. She felt his weight sag against her, and then he was on his feet and they moved toward his saddled horse. He mounted slowly, inching his leg across the horse and settling in the saddle. “Give me my knife and pistol.”

  She hesitated, looking into his dark eyes and feeling uncertain what he might do once he was armed. She shook her head. “How do I know you won’t use them on me?”

  He stared at her and his anger was unmistakable. “I won’t harm you because I need you. If I don’t live, White Bird can’t survive out here alone,” he answered solemnly.

  Vanessa retrieved his gun and knife and handed them to him, watching him place the knife in a scabbard at his belt, the gun in the waist of the buckskin pants.

  She placed White Bird on her saddle and mounted to turn toward the south. She looked over her shoulder at him and saw him following her, his dark eyes filled with anger.

  After a time she dropped back to ride beside him.

  “Why doesn’t your sister run away as you did?” he asked, studying her.

  “She’s younger and much more obedient so she needs my help. Phoebe does what Papa tells her to do.”

  “And you don’t?” he asked, still gazing at her with curiosity in his eyes.

  She raised her chin. “Sometimes I’ve opposed him; that’s why I’m being sent to a convent. I’m eighteen; and Papa thinks after a year at a convent, I will be submissive enough that one of his friends will marry me.”

  “You’ll never reach that convent,” Lone Wolf said matter-of-factly. She looked at him sharply, wondering if his prediction were a threat against her life.

  “I have another sister, Belva, who is ten years old. Phoebe and I won’t run away and leave her with Papa, so I’ll get both Phoebe and Belva and then we’ll all go out West.”

  “Two sisters? How can you get two sisters away from your father if he doesn’t want you to?”

  “I will,” she said, determined to succeed.

  “If your father doesn’t want any of you, why doesn’t he just let you go?”

  “Because he expects to make a marriage for Phoebe and later for Belva that will give him good connections in high places and make his daughters wealthy women.”

  “There is an advantage to our way of life,” Lone Wolf remarked, and she glanced at him, surprised at his intelligence and subtlety.

  They became quiet, and she glanced back over her shoulders, looking at the vast expanse of land. She experienced a momentary fright because she couldn’t tell the direction unless she could see the sun or the north star.

  Lone Wolf gritted his teeth against the pain, wondering if he would survive to get White Bird back to their people. His anger smoldered because for the first time in his adult life he was helpless and had to do what someone else ordered. He looked at the woman, knowing the moment he got his strength back he would take her and go north. He could satisfy his body with her because he would not bed a Kiowa maiden without marriage and he was not ready to wed again, but the white woman was different. He felt a grudging respect for her, though, because she had stood up to him today even when he knew she was frightened by him.

  He worried about White Bird; he had to live for her sake. He didn’t want her raised by whites—the woman might be kind, but others would persecute the child.

  They were riding to an army fort. His anger increased, burning as steadily as the pain in his wounds. The woman could not possibly ride into a fort, take her two younger sisters, and ride out without her father stopping her.

  Lone Wolf knew it would be his death if they reached that fort or anywhere close to it.

  If he survived, he should regain some of his strength and, before they reached the vicinity of the fort, he would take charge and turn north. And when he did, he would take the woman with him. When he remembered the pale-skinned lieutenant deliberately shooting Tainso, Lone Wolf drew a deep breath, his hatred fanning bright like flames in a prairie wind.

  Lone Wolf glanced at Vanessa, his gaze drifting over her. She was innocent—and the thought of taking revenge on an innocent left him with a bitter taste.

  Toward noon the sun rose high overhead. A hawk circled above them on rising air currents while they rode toward a line of junipers and cottonwoods; and Vanessa hoped to find a creek, praying there would be water. Her stomach churned with hunger, and Lone Wolf was beginning to sway in the saddle.

  They rode into the trees, moving beneath branches in the cool shade. After a time they approached a meandering muddy creek that looked welcome to her. They rode alongside it for a quarter of an hour with Lone Wolf in the lead. She kept expecting him to stop to allow the horses to drink; but when he didn’t, she moved beside him to tell him to halt. Before she could speak, he reached across and placed his hand on her arm.

  She glanced at him and watched him withdraw his knife. Her pulse drummed as he reined his horse close to her, his leg touching hers. Leaning over, he clasped her shoulder. His warm breath fanned on her, and once again that blazing awareness of him shot through her.

  “If there’s trouble, take White Bird and go,” he whispered. “Someone’s behind us.”

  Startled, Vanessa gazed up at him. “If you’ll give me the pistol, I’ll help you.”

  “No,” he said. “Now get down off your horse.” He held White Bird’s arm and whispered in her ear, and she nodded.

  Glancing behind them, Vanessa dismounted. She didn’t see anyone approaching or hear anything out of the ordinary. Nearby a bird whistled and a breeze rustled cotton-wood leaves, but there was no other sound.

 
Lone Wolf dismounted as well, then he led the horses between junipers, motioning to Vanessa to follow. With White Bird still on the back of the paint, Lone Wolf held the reins to both horses, standing between the two.

  Branches scraped Vanessa and she paused, facing him. He reached out, his dark eyes as unreadable as ever, and pulled her to him, turning her so her back was against him. Her heart thudded, and she was aware of his strong arm banding her waist, of standing against his long length.

  For the next few minutes, she forgot danger. Instead, she was intensely aware of her body against his, startled by the reaction she had to him every time she was close to him. And then she decided he had been imagining noises because nothing was happening. There was only silence and the warble of a bird. She shifted impatiently, trying to turn to look at him.

  “I don’t—”

  He placed his hand over her mouth. It was a light pressure, his dark eyes boring into her, and she blinked in surprise. He moved his fingers, tracing them across her lips slowly and shaking his head. She knew he was signaling her to stop talking, yet her awareness was of the light drag of his fingertips over her lips, a sensual touch that made her breath catch. As her lips parted, his eyes narrowed. She realized her reaction to him and his perception of it, and she blushed hotly.

  A harness jingled and she turned, feeling cold because someone approached. The sounds of hoofbeats and the deep voices of men mingled with the creak of saddle leather and her heart quickened with fear. Lone Wolf’s arm tightened around her waist and he pulled her tightly against him, his hand holding his knife.

  Four

  “Who the hell could she have met? Who could she be riding with?” The snarling voice carried loudly, and Vanessa felt a chill run down her spine as she recognized Sergeant Hollings’ voice.

  Vanessa glanced up at Lone Wolf, who stared ahead. Afraid White Bird would be terrified, Vanessa twisted around to look at her. White Bird stared at Vanessa and sat still, and Vanessa realized the child must have been accustomed to situations like this because of the clashes between the Indians and the soldiers.

  The noise of the soldiers and their mounts grew louder, bridles jingling and horses snorting. The riders sounded as if they were headed straight toward them, and Vanessa felt a momentary panic.

  With impassive features, Lone Wolf gazed over her head, and then his eyes shifted to meet hers. Forgetting her fright, she stared back at him, wondering about him and his feelings toward her because he must be accustomed to considering all whites his enemy.

  His dark eyes were impassive, devoid of emotion. Did he ever show fear or joy? Was he capable of laughter? When her gaze lowered to his mouth, her breath caught.

  Behind her, bushes rustled and her attention was drawn back to Hollings, her fear returning with a rush. The voices were louder now. Hollings sounded angry. If he found them, he would kill Lone Wolf, and she suspected he would kill White Bird as well.

  Growing more alarmed, Vanessa glanced around again to see if White Bird were afraid. The child lay on the horse’s neck, and she watched the white woman with the same unfathomable expression that Lone Wolf exhibited. With their dark skin and buckskin clothing, Lone Wolf and White Bird blended into the surroundings, but Vanessa’s blue dress and pale skin might be discernible.

  As the men rode closer, Lone Wolf drew her against him, shielding her body with his. She was pressed against his chest, his arm around her, and Vanessa’s heart thudded wildly. She felt his smooth, warm flesh beneath her cheek, the heat from his body, his strong arm encircling her.

  Voices and horses were loud, yet Vanessa was more aware of the man holding her. Without thought, she reached up and placed her hand on his right side. She inhaled his male scent, the faint traces of the smell of leather. His muscles were as solid as the rocks that dotted the land.

  Twisting to look over her shoulder, she saw Hollings ride into view only yards away. His wrinkled blue uniform was stretched tight over his squat, thick body. Long tufts of pale yellow hair stuck out from beneath his hat brim. Private Jergen rode beside him, and the other soldiers followed. She counted swiftly, determining that there were eight men in all, only one rider not in uniform. She didn’t recognize him, but she remembered seeing him in the wagon train.

  The soldiers splashed across the creek. To Vanessa’s horror, Sergeant Hollings and Private Jergen stopped to water their horses while the others rode on.

  “How the hell could she find someone to travel with out in this godforsaken desert?”

  “I dunno, sergeant. No one else is missing from the wagon train.”

  “If someone had followed us from Fort McKavett, we would have seen them. Out here you can see five hundred miles in any direction until you’re near a river and trees. She didn’t take any horses, yet we’re following two horses; so she’s traveling with someone. Who the hell is it?”

  “Maybe a renegade took her. That Parsons woman said the colonel’s daughter went down to the river alone to bathe.”

  Sergeant Hollings spat a long stream of brown tobacco juice at the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I wish I’d known that. I’d like to have that wench under me. Damn waste to put her in a convent without a few good rides first.”

  “Lordy, the colonel would kill you!”

  “Her pa would never know. She’d be ’shamed to tell and she’s headed for a convent anyway. If we find her, we’ll pleasure ourselves before we take her back. Get her off alone.”

  “That woman’s body makes a man nearly burst just looking at her. You don’t think she’d tell?”

  “Hell, no. I know these prissy women. They get ’shamed and they don’t want any of their menfolks to know what happened.”

  Vanessa’s face flamed, and she couldn’t look at Lone Wolf.

  With a jangle of spurs, both men dismounted and knelt to splash water on their faces from the stream. As they stood up, the private pushed back his hat. “Maybe she had a lover and he trailed after her and met up with her.”

  “No.” Hollings shook his head. “I’ve been stationed at McKavett and I’ve been in a detail assigned to her pa. He’s working on the railroads for the army. He watches his older girls like a hawk. No one can even steal a kiss unless he has the old man’s approval and no one has that except some old buzzards those girls wouldn’t want to kiss. He’s marrying the middle one off to Major Thompkins.”

  The soldier sneered. “Damn. Feel sorry for her. All kinds of rumors about how his last two wives died.”

  “Last three. There were three wives, and they all died violently. And each time he gets a new one, she’s younger. The middle sis is the prettiest one.”

  “I’ve seen her,” the private said. “She’ll be wasted on old Thompkins. He must be forty years older than she is.”

  “We ought to catch up with them today. Judging from the tracks, we’re not far behind at all. We’ve got to get his daughter back; our careers will end if she gets away from us. The colonel has powerful friends in the army. And when we get her, we’ll make this trip worthwhile. Let’s go.”

  They mounted and she watched them, her cheek still pressed against Lone Wolf’s bare chest. It seemed impossible that they would lose the trail, but she hoped it happened. She could hear Lone Wolf’s heart beat in a steady thump that wasn’t accelerated with fear the way hers was.

  When Lone Wolf released his grip, she looked up into his eyes. They were so dark brown they appeared black, the difference between the irises and pupils barely discernible. He gazed down at her with a steadfastness that caused her pulse to drum. He touched her cheek lightly. The touch was gentle, so at variance with the wild, rugged man he appeared to be. Her gaze lowered to his sensual mouth, the full, prominent lower lip, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

  Blushing because she knew little about kisses, she shifted, turning to look at White Bird.

  “They’re gone, but we’ll wait,” Lone Wolf whispered, his warm breath fanning on her temple, and she was acutely awa
re of even that faint contact. “They could double back. They have a scout who is leading them.”

  His words chilled her. How could anyone find tracks on this dry, pebbly, grass-covered ground? “Hollings doesn’t like Indians,” she whispered. “I don’t think he would be kind.”

  “No, he would not be kind,” Lone Wolf whispered in return, a sardonic glint in his eyes. “No soldier would be.”

  She wondered about his experiences with white soldiers. Was that who had caused his terrible wounds? She still felt embarrassed by Hollings’ crude talk. And now she knew she wouldn’t be safe with him either.

  “White Bird hasn’t made a sound,” she said.

  “Early in life, Kiowa children learn to keep quiet. Babies are allowed to grow as they please, except they all must learn to avoid crying, because it could jeopardize everyone else in moments like this.” He looked down at her solemnly. “If the soldiers catch us, I’m not strong enough to defend us. If we turn north now, we can get to my people.”

  And she wondered how safe she would be with them. She shook her head. “I have to get to my sister. The wedding is set for next month.” She looked at White Bird. “Someday I want my own children, and I’ll never have any if I’m in a convent.”

  He tilted up her chin and looked into her eyes. “You will have your own, Vanessa.”

  Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at him. She felt uncertain with him because she had never known a man like him. He was as wild as this land they crossed. He ran his finger across her mouth again, and her heart thudded against her rib cage. It was another slight touch, the faintest friction, yet it became intimate as he stood watching her. Her lips parted, and she felt overwhelmed by him, knowing she was having an intense reaction to a man she could trust only because he was so weak he needed her.