Warrior Moon Page 5

  She felt unable to get her breath or move, and then he stroked her forehead and looked beyond her and the spell ended. “We go quickly now,” he whispered. “We can’t head south for a time because that’s the way they’re going. If you won’t go north, we’ll go west.”

  She mounted, holding White Bird whose eyes were large and solemn. Vanessa kissed the girl’s forehead and squeezed her; and when the child looked up at her, Vanessa smiled. As White Bird smiled in return, Vanessa hoped she wasn’t afraid.

  Lone Wolf led the way, and she wondered what it was costing him to sit up and take the lead. They rode down the center of the muddy creek. It seemed a risky thing to make so much noise, yet she was certain Lone Wolf knew more about survival than she did. He swayed, and she felt a stab of fear for him. They needed to keep traveling to get away from Hollings. In seconds Lone Wolf squared his shoulders and sat up straight again.

  The soldiers had tracked them easily and quickly. With Lone Wolf’s wounds, the three of them couldn’t travel fast. Would Hollings catch them? She shivered, thinking about Hollings’ words.

  For the next hour, they followed the creek, riding through water that would leave no trail. When they finally emerged from the water, they followed the line of trees. To her right, she could see the sun slanting in the sky and was satisfied they were headed southwest. Lone Wolf reined in to look at her.

  “We stop here and eat and rest. We’ll travel at night because when we leave this creek, we’ll be in the open.”

  As he faced her, she saw the grim lines of pain around his mouth. The bandages were soaked again with bright red blood. “Your wounds are bleeding,” she said, fearful for him, wanting him to survive even though she barely knew him.

  He nodded, and she suspected he had pushed himself to his limit. He swayed in the saddle and then gripped it, dismounting awkwardly. As his feet touched the ground, he kept going, slumping and collapsing to sprawl unconscious.

  Vanessa dismounted quickly, lifting White Bird down and moving the horses away. Vanessa rushed back to feel Lone Wolf’s pulse. It was fluttery. He had to stop traveling and get medical attention. Should she have ridden north with him? She felt torn between her need to get to Phoebe and the need to get help for him. Vanessa unpacked quickly, handing a plum to White Bird and spreading a quilt for her.

  Unpacking a quilt and getting a canteen of water and the bottle of alcohol, she worked swiftly. Wondering if she would have anything left to wear if she had to keep tearing her clothing into strips for bandages, she took out her nightgown.

  She knelt beside him again, trying to get a quilt beneath him, so he would be off the ground where she could wash his wounds and avoid getting dirt in them.

  His eyes fluttered and opened and he shifted, moving onto the quilt and sitting up.

  “You’re bleeding badly. I have to change your bandages,” she said, suddenly disconcerted because it was easier to touch his bare skin when he was unconscious. “I’ve seen doctors take care of the wounded at the hospital in Shreveport,” she said. She was rambling, her words tumbling out too fast. “My first home was in Shreveport and then I went to Kansas. Now we’re living in Texas. My father takes his family with him when he moves around.” She sat back to look at Lone Wolf. “I’ll try to tend your wounds.”

  He nodded, staring at her with a distracting directness that addled her thoughts. She glanced at White Bird, who was seated on the ground, her small dark fingers busy stacking a pile of pebbles.

  “I’ll get her something to eat first,” Vanessa added. Aware of his constant watchfulness, Vanessa handed White Bird an apple. When Vanessa gazed at their meager food supply, she had a new worry because they had eaten nearly everything. Shoving that concern aside, she picked up her nightgown and moved back to him.

  “May I have your knife?”

  He handed it to her, and she sat on the quilt beside him and shook out the gown. He caught her wrist, and his touch sent currents of heat across her nerves.

  “You tear your good clothing.” His dark hand slid to the white gown. As he held it, she drew her breath, gazing at his blunt fingers. He stared at the gown, and she realized he was imagining her in it. Her cheeks flushed hotly as she stared back at him. He reached out to take a lock of her hair in his hand. “Your hair is red like a sunset in the time of snows.”

  His voice was deep, playing over her senses like his touch. She drew in her breath and with an effort looked down, taking the knife to cut the gown. He placed his hand on her wrist again.

  “I can’t replace it for you,” he said quietly.

  “I don’t mind. I can get another gown.” She ripped it, and he reached over to help. In minutes they had the gown in long strips. She dreaded the next part, wishing he would close his eyes. “I have to cut away the bandages.”

  He nodded and sat up straight, his legs in front of him. She scooted close, intensely aware of his constant observation. His face was only inches away; her hands brushed his chest. She slipped the knife beneath the strip of cloth on his shoulder and she cut the binding. When it came away, she rose to her knees to unwrap it, trying to reach around him, feeling self-conscious as her breasts brushed against his shoulder. Finally the bandages came away, and he drew in his breath.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  Dark eyes stared at her in another impassive look. She shifted her attention to the wound.

  It was still draining, but it held no offensive odor and she hoped no infection had set in. “I want to take away all the bandages at once and then redo them,” she explained, sliding the knife under the bindings across his rib cage. As she unwound them, he held up his arms. Her fingers fluttered over his skin, and she was acutely conscious of each slight contact.

  She met his dark eyes and wondered what he was thinking. He seemed stoic and solemn, keeping his thoughts to himself. Lone Wolf was a good name because even in the brief time she had known him, he seemed a solitary man, fierce, arrogant, and a leader.

  When the bandages on his side came free, he inhaled as she pulled away the pad of cloth.

  “I know I hurt you.”

  “I’m aware you try to avoid hurting me. This is nothing.”

  She glanced at him, suspecting he meant what he said because he seemed as tough as an old steer. “I think many men would not be alive now with wounds like this.” She tried to work as gently as possible. “I put alcohol on your wounds before because one of the soldiers at the hospital in Shreveport said that’s what someone did to clean his wound when he was in the field. You weren’t conscious the last time I put alcohol on you. It’ll hurt dreadfully, but it might keep infection from setting in.”

  He merely nodded and waited in silence while she looked down at his leg. His large fingers brushed her slender ones as he took the knife from her, cutting away the bandage around his thigh. When he handed the knife back to her, amusement seemed to dance in his dark eyes. It was the first time she had caught such an expression in them.

  She blushed, knowing she was shy around him. She knew little about men, and even though she had worked in the hospital, the staff had shielded her as much as possible. Most of her work had involved taking mail to patients and reading letters to them, writing letters for them, or helping feed them. Never had she cared for a man’s body as she was having to now.

  He unwrapped the bandage, and she tossed it with the other blood-soaked pads to wash because she would have to use them again. She poured water on his wounds and then she got the bottle of alcohol, looking at the small amount of liquid she had left. She bit her lip, dreading putting alcohol on him while he was conscious.

  He took the bottle from her and poured the liquid on his wounded leg without a change in his expression, and she was amazed at his toleration of what must have been terrible pain.

  She picked up a bandage, and he took it from her as she placed a clean pad of folded cloth against his dark leg. His leg was sinew and muscle and bone, as fit and strong as the rest of his body. Vanessa tried to keep
her gaze from drifting to the front of his tight buckskins, remembering his arousal when she had tended him before.

  He wrapped a strip of cloth around his leg, and she reached out to secure it. “I think the more you move your arm, the more your shoulder bleeds,” she said in a low voice, conscious of touching his inner thigh.

  She looked at his side, aware this was the worst wound with a jagged tear in his flesh. “Ready?” she asked, and he nodded.

  As she poured the amber liquid on his wound, he drew in his breath. Pouring it on the back side, she felt a tight knot of sympathy, glad it was over and done. She folded a cloth and placed it against his side in front, another in back.

  “Hold these in place.” She began to wrap a long strip around his middle, brushing against him even more than when she had removed the bandage. She was inches from his face again, trying to avoid looking at him, but her gaze seemed drawn with a compelling force.

  Suddenly, she became aware that the top buttons of her riding habit and shirt were unbuttoned, that she was leaning over him, and the only place he could look was down her dress. She tried to shift away, but as she looked into his dark eyes, her hands became still, her heart missing a beat. When his gaze lowered to her mouth, she felt on fire. He leaned closer and her lips parted, her breath catching in her throat.

  He was so close; the expression on his face showed clearly his intention, and she shut her eyes. His lips touched hers, a faint contact that seemed to shift the ground beneath her with its impact. His lips brushed hers, warm and firm, a touch that kindled heat low inside her. He slid his hand behind her head, his lips settling on hers firmly, parting hers.

  Lone Wolf’s mouth moved on hers, and then his tongue touched her lower lip and her eyes flew open in shock. Heavy-lidded, with lowered lashes, he watched her, his dark eyes stirring a tremor inside of her. As his hand behind her head pulled her closer, his tongue slipped over her lower lip, touching her tongue.

  Her heart raced, and the heat building in her made her shift her hips. A soft moan caught in her throat while his tongue played over hers and went deep into her mouth in a possessive thrust. She felt faint with the sensations which streaked through her. Without thinking, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm and was dimly aware of the firm muscle. He continued to kiss her until she trembled from the fires he had kindled. Unaware of what she was doing, she placed her right hand on his thigh.

  Vanessa’s heart thudded violently. She had only been kissed a few times by young soldiers she had known, and those had been sweet chaste kisses, not a sensual torment that whisked all thoughts from her mind, a kiss that left her feeling hot and weak and made her want more.

  He leaned back, and her eyes slowly opened to find him watching her with an unfathomable look. “You are as warm as summer,” he said, “a woman meant for loving. Your red hair is like sunshine.” He leaned forward to brush her lips again. “Summer,” he whispered.

  She moaned softly with pleasure, unable to resist, yielding to him and wanting him to kiss her again. When he stopped, she looked up at him.

  “You are a beautiful woman.”

  She felt beautiful with his words even though she knew it was impossible after traveling across country. Her hair was a tangle and her riding habit wrinkled, but his words flowed over her like a golden cape. His hand slid from her head to her shoulder.

  “You are ready for a man’s loving, Vanessa.” His words stirred another rush of warmth. He closed his eyes, and a frown crossed his brow. “I lie down now. The blackness is coming.”

  Startled, she placed her arm around him, more aware than ever of his body against hers as she eased him to the quilt. Her gaze traveled the length of him, and she stared at the thick bulge against the front of his buckskins and realized how aroused he was from their kisses.

  He caught her hand, and she looked at him, blushing because she had been staring. “Go back and look for the soldiers. White Bird will stay with me.”

  Vanessa nodded and stood up, moving away from him, but unable to avoid taking one more glance that raked down his long body.

  Turning away, she walked without seeing where she was going, her thoughts a jumble over his kisses, her mouth still tingling, and her body aching strangely.

  She heard him say something in a low tone to White Bird. Vanessa walked back the way they had come, climbing up the slope. She moved cautiously, keeping close to the ground and peering over the top of the rise across the open land they had covered.

  No one was in sight, and she felt a rush of relief. If the soldiers trailed them now, there was nowhere to hide or run and Lone Wolf was in no shape to flee.

  She slid down the embankment and went back, looking at him sprawled on the ground, thinking about his kisses and feeling hot all over again. She had never been kissed in such a bold manner. Her heart drummed, knowing she had yielded with shameful eagerness. She had resisted boys at home who had wanted to kiss her; why was she so susceptible to Lone Wolf? And she knew he was no boy. He was a man in every sense. He was self-assured, arrogant, brave. And so far there had been nothing savage about him toward her, yet he had no strength to do anything harmful.

  She thought of her father’s tirades when Indians had attacked his railroad crews. How he hated Indians! And if he knew she was traveling with one—

  Vanessa’s mind slid away from that image, and she shivered and rubbed her arms. He would have Lone Wolf beaten and killed and he might banish her from home forever, yet he had all but done that when he had decided to place her in the convent.

  Kneeling beside White Bird, she pointed to the rocks. “You’re building something grand. A house?”

  “House?” the child repeated, smiling at Vanessa. “’Nessa.” She climbed into Vanessa’s lap, hugging her and turning a lock of hair in her fingers.

  Vanessa held her close, feeling the tiny body in her arms, thinking White Bird was sweet. At the thought that White Bird’s mother had been killed in a battle, Vanessa tightened her arms around the child and crooned softly to her.

  She couldn’t bear to think about the little girl’s loss. White Bird was still too young to understand what had happened, but the bond between a mother and child was so close that White Bird had to feel the void.

  Vanessa reached for the portmanteau and pulled out one of the hard, dried biscuits and a jar of damson jam. In minutes, she had the biscuit broken apart, covered with jam. She fed bites to White Bird, singing to her all the while.

  Lone Wolf heard the singing and turned his head slightly to watch Vanessa feed White Bird. She seemed to love the little girl as if she were her own child, and the love between them grew with each hour even though they didn’t speak the same language.

  His gaze slid to Vanessa’s mouth; it was hot and ripe for a man’s love. She was innocent, unawakened by any man. He felt his body heat as he remembered her soft moan of pleasure when he had kissed her, her surprise when he had invaded her mouth with his tongue. What should he do with her?

  Had he been well when he’d first found her alone at the river, he would have taken revenge. The whites had violated Eyes That Smile, and then they had stabbed her and left her to die slowly and painfully. It had been a crew of men working on a railroad. Lone Wolf and six other warriors had hunted them down and taken revenge, but it hadn’t been enough to stop the hurt that he felt every time he remembered finding his wife’s body. He felt the familiar hurt that still tore his insides, particularly when he learned the men had been paid a bounty for killing her.

  He heard Hollings say Vanessa’s father was a railroad man. Lone Wolf hated them more than the soldiers.

  He could take Vanessa captive, take her back to his tribe. She would fight him, but he knew from the few stolen kisses that she would not fight long. Anger surged in him. The whites hadn’t cared how much pain they had inflicted on Eyes That Smile. Nor on the people who loved her. And the same with Tainso and his brother, his mother, all his loved ones who had died at the hands of whites. As he watched Va
nessa rock White Bird, emotions warred in him. She was brave and intelligent and loving, and he admired her even as he still wanted to take her for revenge against the hated whites.

  He was weak in body and spirit, Lone Wolf chided himself angrily. When he was stronger, he would take revenge; and then he and White Bird would ride north. As swiftly as he made the decision for revenge, logic argued that Vanessa was innocent where Eyes That Smile’s death was concerned. Almost twelve moons ago she had died, and he had not been with a woman since. His body was clamoring for satisfaction.

  He looked at Vanessa again. He ached from the few sweet, hot kisses he had taken. Lone Wolf studied the spill of red-gold hair over her back and shoulders. When she had leaned over him, her clothing had gaped open and he had seen the full, lush curves of her pale breasts.

  He remembered that moment when he had seen her in the river. She was hardy, bathing in the river in November, riding with him and running away from her people. And she was brave and loving, so loving to White Bird, who responded fully. The child had lost both parents. At the thought, he felt another tight knot of pain constrict his heart.

  He needed to be with his people. His gaze drifted over Vanessa again. He must take her captive. She would fight at first like a she-lion, but he knew the way to win the battle. Once again, Eyes That Smile’s vision floated in mind. He hated whites. Even as good as Vanessa had been to them, there were moments when he felt his anger burn fiercely.

  He stared at the sky, calculating the hour and how many days’ ride before they would near Fort McKavett. Now they were headed southwest and if they didn’t change course soon, they would cross into New Mexico Territory. Another wave of faintness came. He ached and hurt all over, but there was no putrid odor so the wounds were clean. The shots had gone through him without striking anything vital. He felt as if ribs were cracked because of the pain he felt when he moved and took a deep breath. His head swam and he closed his eyes, listening to Vanessa’s lilting song, which soothed him to sleep.