Captive

by Heather Graham

  “Miss Warren, what are you doing?”

  “Trying to make peace.”

  “This is not the place—”

  “Mr. McKenzie—”

  He set his coffee on the cherrywood nightstand by the bed and reached forward suddenly, almost losing the sheet. He wound his fingers around her wrists and drew her forward, almost against him.

  “My, my, Miss Warren, let’s get to the truth here. I’m your first Indian. I speak English. I’ve got white blood. You’re curious. Intrigued. Maybe even a bit tempted. Well, then. Touch while you’ve got the chance.” He drew her palm against his chest, held it there while she gritted her teeth and struggled against him. “Ah, look at that! The color did not rub off. And guess what, Miss Warren? There’s no other difference. Two arms, two legs, one …” His gaze dipped down to his lap. “Or did you want to check that out, too?”

  She went dead still. Her eyes narrowed sharply, but she gave no other sign of her fury. “I don’t need to. I’d damned well bet it was pronged! You are atrocious.”

  “You came into my bedroom! What would your fiance say?”

  “I haven’t got a fiance—”

  “I’ve told you I think he’s a damned good man, Miss Warren. Don’t be cruel to him; you’ll have the devil to pay.”

  “He’s a gentleman; he’d never hurt me.” She tugged her arm, but he held it fast. “Why do you insist on behaving like such a wretched bastard?”

  “Because you’re playing games, Miss Warren!” he suddenly roared and released her wrist.

  She drew her hand back, tried to slap him. He was ready and caught her wrist again. “I told you, not again.”

  “Let me—”

  “No, let me. You’re playing with fire. You want your truces, you want to pick and poke and query. Well, you’re a fool, Miss Warren. And I guarantee you, you’re going to get hurt.”

  “Mr. McKenzie, please quit worrying about me!”

  Just who was he worrying about? he wondered. He was the one in agony, sitting with the woman almost on top of him, the sheet tented up in protection of his “pronged” desire.

  He released her, twisting to throw his legs to the floor and sit up at her side, dragging his sheet along with him. He pressed his temples between his palms, then stared at her again. “Miss Warren …”

  His voice trailed away. She was staring at his shoulders. She looked forward, then down to her now folded hands. Miles of red hair seemed to fall around her, shadowing her features.

  “I did come to make peace,” she murmured.

  “Don’t make peace. Don’t try to make peace. Don’t stay in Florida. Go home. Go back to Charleston. It’s a beautiful city.”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t exactly my choice to come here.” She was still for a moment and then shrugged. “I was ordered to come here. Army boys and I, Mr. McKenzie, have much in common. We are all supposed to jump on command.”

  “If he doesn’t send you out of here, he is a fool. He will lose you. He is hated, and you are in danger.”

  “Well, he considers himself above any threat, Mr. McKenzie. And I am not unhappy to be here. In fact, I’d be quite happy if it weren’t for the fact that … never mind. I love what I have seen so far. I’ve been reading about the Florida territory all my life. I am anxious to see St. Augustine, Jacksonville, Tallahassee. More. I want to sail by the Keys sometime at a leisurely pace; I want to swim in the rivers. I want to see and feel and taste it all.”

  “You’ll feel a knife at your scalp, Teela.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Marry Huntington if you want to stay here. He’s absolutely infatuated with you. He’ll jump when you snap your fingers.”

  She stood up. “I don’t want anyone to jump when I snap my fingers, McKenzie. And John is very nice. But I’m not going to marry him.”

  “Oh? You’ve decided already.”

  “I’m not in love with him.”

  James laughed, which definitely seemed to offend her. She barely managed to lift a hand when he caught both her wrists and dragged her back down beside him. “You’re not in love with him? My dear Miss Warren! I am familiar with your world, and you and I both know that love doesn’t always enter into marriage agreements. Your stepfather has conceived what he considers a very proper arrangement for you. What right have you to object?”

  “It’s not my choice, Mr. McKenzie.”

  “You’d refuse John just because your father chose him?”

  “Stepfather.”

  “All right, you’ve refused John just because your stepfather chose him?”

  “No one will make me marry.”

  “No,” he said softly. “John would never make you marry. But perhaps you should get to know him better.”

  She stared at him. Her eyes seemed like emeralds, liquid, shimmering. Strands of her hair curled over his fingers. He suddenly lifted his hand, bringing hers with it, placing her palm and fingers over his cheek this time. She didn’t wrench away. Soft as silk, her fingertips moved over the contours of his face. He caught her wrist again. He meant to set her hand away. Instead he turned it within his own and lowered his head, kissing her palm, the tip of his tongue teasing its center. He heard the ragged intake of her breath. When he looked into her eyes, she was staring at him still. He leaned toward her. She moistened her lips. Her eyes half closed, her lips parted.

  He should have left her just sitting so. Ignored the seduction. Let her know that she couldn’t ignite the least bit of hunger within him …

  But she could. And did. A hunger that was almost physically painful. It twisted inside him. Grew with each encounter.

  He leaned closer. Touched her lips with his own. Closer still. He enveloped her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Stroked her face. Her throat. Again, she tasted like mint, and the fires of hell roared through his body, making his erection painfully hard. His arms guided her downward until she was half flat upon his bed. Her hair was entangled around him. Her palm fell against his cheek, his shoulder. Warnings shouted within his mind but went unheeded. He caught the hand that touched his burning flesh and brought it low over the sheet against him. He brought her fingers down over his body, down, over the heat of his erection.

  She twisted from him then. He thought he heard a desperate “No!”

  He released her instantly, then shoved away from her. She didn’t move; she seemed to lie there stunned.

  “Damn it, Miss Warren, get the hell out of my room. Don’t play games with me; I am not a swamp toy. I cannot be touched and played with, and set back upon a shelf.”

  She leapt up and spun, clearly eager to strike. But he was up himself, heedless of the sheet and his very obvious physical condition. Firmly, he guided her to the door. “Out!” he commanded, and set her into the hallway, closing the door in her wake.

  The door opened immediately again.

  “The damned thing is pronged!” she swore, then slammed the door.

  He heard her footsteps hurrying away. He paused, shook his head, and then laughed.

  But his laughter faded, and he felt a grip of pain. Cold fingers closed slowly around his heart. She really was playing with fire, a moth to a flame, but now he wondered which one of them would get burned.

  Maybe she wanted to flirt with him, a Seminole, just to irk Warren. Maybe that was her game.

  He swore softly aloud.

  He had best leave his brother’s house before tonight.

  He spent the afternoon with Jarrett, giving him the names of those Indians who were ready to accept the government’s determination that they go west.

  John Harrington, he discovered, had already traveled to Tampa, and would spend a few days there before returning. A contingent of marines, recently assigned to the base, would join John to bring Teela inland and north. It would be a long and hazardous journey for her. “Warren is insane,” Jarrett told his brother. “There are skirmishes almost daily. Hostiles raid a farm, so the whites go in and decimate a village. And he wants his dau
ghter traveling through it!”

  “Harrington will protect her.” He shrugged. “John is popular, even among my people.”

  “Yeah,” Jarrett agreed unhappily. “The brave who scalps him will regret it, but then he will cherish that scalp for the rest of his days!”

  James felt a cold chill. It was true.

  “If Harrington moves with a large enough force, he won’t be bothered. We have had tremendous losses lately, Jarrett, but there will be warriors to fight until the end of time. Unless the whites do manage to kill every last one of them.”

  “James, you have to take care—”

  “Yes, even you have to take care, brother. The time is coming quickly when we are no guarantee for each other.”

  Jarrett sighed, standing in front of a window to the rear lawn. “The war will not come here. I will not let it.” He smiled suddenly, and James was aware then of the sound of laughter coming in from the lawn. He rose and joined his brother.

  The women were out there. Tara, Teela, and his own little Jennifer. The back lawn to the trees sloped slightly, and Tara and Teela were teaching Jennifer how to roll down the thick green grass.

  “It’s a nice sight,” Jarrett murmured.

  It was. Tara with her golden hair, Teela with her fiery red, Jennifer with her ebony black. All were dressed in soft pastels. The scene was peaceful, natural.

  “I may head back inland tonight,” James murmured.

  “I think I’ll go see my daughter a few minutes now, if you’ll excuse me?”

  “Be my guest,” Jarrett said.

  James exited the house and came out onto the porch, still watching the trio. Little Ian McKenzie slept in his cradle, oblivious to all the shrieking going on around him.

  Jennifer suddenly saw him. “Daddy!” she yelled happily. A second later, she was a little ball of fire, running for him, vaulting up into his arms. He hugged her close to his body. Tara and Teela, both panting slightly, came up behind her.

  “We rolled!” Jennifer told him.

  “So I saw.”

  “I can’t believe Teela had me rolling out there!” Tara exclaimed, laughing.

  Jennifer placed both her palms on James’s face, drawing his attention to her. “Teela is fun.”

  “I think I shall ask Jeeves for some lemonade,” Tara said. “Of course, I’ve something stronger if you wish, James?”

  “I don’t care for anything, thank you, Tara,” he said.

  Jennifer was squirming down from his arms. “I’ll help Aunt Tara get lemonade,” she announced.

  She disappeared, hand in hand with Tara. For a fleeting moment it was painful to see his daughter disappear so. Then he was simply grateful that she had a wonderful, loving home when he spent so many of his days without food or lodging, traveling through swamp and bog, sometimes fighting, sometimes trying desperately to stop the fighting.

  “You are lucky,” Teela told him. “You have a beautiful child.”

  “Do I?”

  “You question that?”

  “I don’t. I just wonder if you do.”

  “Ah, that damned chip gets bigger and bigger, McKenzie.”

  He shook his head. “You’re stubborn and naive, Miss Warren. I have some influence with Harrington. He’ll get you out of here safely.”

  “You have influence with him?” she queried, somewhat amused. Well, maybe she had the right to be amused. No one’s influence would be needed for John Harrington to want to marry Teela Warren.

  “Influence to get you married quickly,” he clarified coolly.

  “McKenzie, I’ve told you. You needn’t worry about me.”

  “Can’t help it. It’s a concern for the scalps of others.”

  She flushed but lifted her chin. “McKenzie, if I choose to, I will marry Harrington, but I shall never do so on another man’s say-so. And Mr. McKenzie, I don’t run easily.”

  “You should.”

  “I love it here.”

  “You haven’t seen the bloodshed yet.”

  She shook her head, looking at him. “But I have seen a sunset. I’ve seen the most extraordinary birds. I’ve seen wild orchids and cabbage palms. Cypress hammocks, moss dipping from the trees to touch the water …” Her voice trailed away. She looked at him again, as if she could feel the intensity of his stare.

  “You should get out of here while you still can.”

  “Thank you for the words of warning. They are duly noted,” she said, and started to walk by him.

  He caught her arm, drawing her back, amazed by both the passion and the fury that seemed to seize him.

  “Damn you, but you should learn to take care. I’m not giving warnings, I’m giving promises. Play with a savage wilderness, and you may not leave it alive.”

  She tried to wrench free from his hold. He couldn’t quite manage to let her go. She lifted her chin.

  “Your brother’s skin is darker then yours, McKenzie,” she said.

  He tightened his grip on her. “The next touch is for real,” he said very softly.

  She fought his grip to free herself again. This time he forced himself to let her go.

  She turned her back on him with tremendous dignity, and nearly bolted for the house.

  At dinner that night, Teela sat across from James. Jennifer had come down to eat with the adults, and they kept the conversation casual. The little girl was gravely aware of the war and the consequences of it; she had lived with it long enough herself. No one felt she needed to hear too much about it, and so the conversation ran from theater and literature to plants and beasts, with nothing said about guns, knifes, battles, or danger.

  James McKenzie could be charming to his daughter, Teela realized. And to his sister-in-law as well. Teela herself seemed to be the only one cursed with drawing his venom. But then, she had tried to cross some inner sanctum, she realized.

  She had watched him last night. Watched him when she had danced with John Harrington, watched him when he had paused to talk to people in the foyer before he ran up the stairs. He had been polite but distant.

  She had watched the women who waylaid him. Watched their eyes. Watched the way they liked to touch him when they talked. She had felt the most absurd pangs of jealousy.

  Then last night she had lain awake, staring at the ceiling, remembering the feel of his lips. And she should have been ashamed and horrified by her behavior. She’d always been confident, stubborn, and determined, but she had never even considered behaving so recklessly with any man.

  This was something entirely different. This was something that had taken hold of her. She wanted so badly to touch him again. And again. Feel his skin. The ripple of muscle. She liked the feel of his eyes on her, no matter that they mocked her. She wanted to know him, understand his thoughts, crawl beneath his skin. She burned with her thoughts, amazed by them, alarmed by them. But they remained.

  And now, in the midst of a statement about architecture in Charleston, she suddenly remembered how his hand had taken hers. Brought it down. She remembered the feel of him, the intimate feel of him, the heat, the life, the almost violent promise within the pulse …

  He meant to scare her away.

  She was scared.

  But she still wanted to touch. She felt flushed. She set her fork down, her appetite lost.

  He was staring at her. As if he remembered as well. He was strikingly handsome. His shirt so white, his hair so dark. Eyes so grave.

  “I must leave after dinner,” he announced, drawing his eyes from hers to look at his brother as he spoke. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a few things to pack. Jennifer, come help your father. Then I’ll tell you a story and tuck you into bed.”

  “James,” Tara said, frowning, “surely you can stay awhile longer.”

  Jarrett set a hand upon hers. “Tara, perhaps he cannot.”

  “I’ll say good-bye,” James told her.

  She nodded, tried to smile, and looked down at the table.

  “Miss Warren,” he said.

 
; Teela looked up.

  “It has been a pleasure to meet you. I will pray for your safety.”

  “I will pray for yours,” she responded politely.

  He turned and left the room, Jennifer at his heels. Teela stared quickly down at her plate. He was leaving. She needed to be thankful. She might do something impossibly embarrassing. She might …

  What?

  She didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. He was leaving. She’d never felt this way before; she would never do so again.

  She felt like crying.

  “It seems a rather glum night,” Jarrett said softly. “Miss Warren, are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes, of course … tired, I suppose,” she said.

  “We’ll understand if you wish to retire for the evening,” Tara told her.

  Teela nodded, making no pretense. Her host and hostess were probably just as eager for their own privacy this night. “Thank you both so much for your hospitality. It is wonderful here.”

  “We’re glad you’re happy,” Tara said.

  Teela smiled, then fled from the dining room. Upstairs, she shed her clothing and dressed for bed.

  She paced her room.

  She heard footsteps in the hall, conversation in the room next to hers. Male voices. The brothers saying their farewells.

  How could Jarrett let him leave? she thought angrily.

  How could Jarrett stop him? she answered herself wearily.

  She lay down. She tried to close her eyes. Tears stung them.

  She heard Jarrett bidding his brother good-bye.

  She raced out to the balcony, beneath the moon glow. She stepped into the bedroom she knew was his.

  But it was empty. He had gone.

  With a soft sob she turned and ran back to her own room. She leapt into the bed, shivering. She closed her eyes, damning herself for the full bath of tears that threatened to come sliding down her cheeks.

  She opened her eyes to blink furiously. She gasped then, sitting up.

  The moon was full that night. And the detailed length of his height was silhouetted there in the balcony doorway. Broad-shouldered, half-naked, he stood there, staring in at her. She swallowed back a scream, staring at him. She was in the darkness. He was in the light. Yet she was certain he could see the wide-eyed amazement on her face, while she could make out nothing of his features.