Once convinced she was unharmed, he picked up his carbine from the ground, put his arm around her waist, and turned toward his stallion. “We’re leaving now.”
Leading her to War Shield, he tossed her up and mounted behind her. He wheeled the stallion past the grotesquely sprawled corpse —and headed out of the coulee.
They raced for miles across the plains, away from the rising sun as it gradually burned through the dense fog. Finally, Blade pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. He lifted her down. “We’ll walk for a while and give War Shield a rest.”
“Will they follow us?” Theodora asked, astonished at the pace he’d set. She looked back over her shoulder, half expecting to see a war party hurtling out of the waning mist.
“No. I led them the other way. Those weren’t bird calls you heard back there. The Gros Ventres never expected a Longknife to know their tricks and turn the tables on them, so they were easily fooled.” Blade’s words were clipped and harsh as he continued. “All except that clever buck who found you. But he paid dearly for his cunning. He’ll never walk his ancestors’ hunting grounds.”
She glanced up at Blade. He’d lost his hat, and his black hair, which had grown well past his collar, was as thick and straight as the dead Indian’s. It reminded her that he and the Gros Ventre had forefathers who were much the same. “You mean in the Indian’s afterlife?” she questioned in confusion. “Why not?”
His answer came in a low, terrible voice. “Because I strangled him. That’s the one thing a warrior fears most, for his spirit is unable to leave his body at the moment of death. It remains forever trapped inside his corpse, never to find the promised hunting grounds.”
“You don’t really believe that, Blade?” She skipped along beside him in an attempt to keep up with his long strides.
“That buck believed it, and it was the last thought he had before he died.”
Theodora was silent for a moment while she pondered the meaning of his words. “If he hadn’t attacked me,” she asked hesitantly, “would you have choked him to death?”
“No. I’d probably have slit his throat.” Blade shrugged. “For a warrior it’s an honorable way to die.” He stopped and looked down at her; she could read the unspoken words in his eyes. Any man who harms you will suffer the worst possible death I can give him.
They walked side by side in silence until Theodora looked up at him. “It would have been a lot safer just to shoot him.” Blade scowled and looked across the open country. “When you’re caught by yourself on the plains, you always save your last shot.”
The sun’s glare soon replaced the cool fog, and the temperature rose steadily until Theodora was certain it was well over a hundred. She’d tied the ends of her torn blouse together in an effort to keep herself covered and protect the fair skin on her neck and chest from sunburn. There was nothing she could do for her bare arms, for her other sleeve had been torn off as well. Her skirt hung in tatters. Her wide-brimmed hat had been lost in the first mad rush of the buffalo, and the afternoon heat plastered her hair to her head. Despite her efforts, she knew she’d be blistered and burned the next day.
Although he was without a compass, Blade seemed to have no difficulty determining their direction. With the sun as his guide, he rode without pausing across the dry land of cactus, greasewood, and sagebrush, and Theodora gradually realized that he was heading west.
“Shouldn’t we turn north soon?” she questioned at last from her place in front of him on War Shield. She believed the stampede had driven them southward, and the members of the expedition had to be miles due north.
Blade looked down at her cradled in his arms. His sensual mouth twitched with amusement that she would question his ability to travel on the unmarked plains.
“With that herd of buffalo as large as it was, there’ll be more Gros Ventres to the north of us. If we went that way we’d run right into them. Anyway, Conyers will be leading the men westward as quickly as possible.”
At the thought of the others leaving them behind, she sat up straight. “Won’t they wait for us?” she cried, unable to keep the fear from her voice. “Peter told me never to move if I became lost. To wait until a search party found me. If we keep going like this, they’ll never find us.”
Blade chuckled and bent closer. She felt the tickle of his mustache on her ear as he spoke. “That’s good advice if you’re lost, Theodora. But I know exactly where we are. And Zeke knows I can easily find my way back.”
Certain that a search party would be looking for them, she clutched his sleeve. “They can’t be sure you’re alive, Blade. For all they know, I could be out here by myself, just wandering around.”
The amused look on his face disappeared. He hesitated, then spoke slowly, as though choosing each word. “They won’t think that, Theodora. Zeke will know that if I’m not alive, neither are you.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“I just am.” His abrupt tone invited no further questions. The silent duo entered the barren country Conyers had predicted two days before. They rode through a wind-burned, sun scorched land of ash-colored soil and stratified rocks. To the south lay the Medicine Bow Range. Across the sandy ground clumps of tough, wiry sagebrush grew everywhere, making the air smell like a mixture of camphor and turpentine.
By late afternoon Blade had found an isolated grove of willows and cottonwoods beside a creek. The melted snow was icy cold. Clumps of bunch grass, though sparse, provided forage for War Shield.
A small flock of wild turkeys ran away as they drew near, and the explosion of Blade’s carbine sent them into a panic, some trying to alight in the branches of the nearest trees, others attempting to hide in the breaks. That afternoon Blade roasted a plump hen over a fire. Nothing had ever tasted so good to Theodora, despite its flavor of sage.
They said little while they prepared camp. After supper Theodora sat watching the fire, and Blade walked the camp’s perimeter. With a feeling of bafflement she recalled his sudden change of mood that afternoon, when he’d curtly cut off her questions. How would the men know she wasn’t out here alive and alone? Without the captain, everyone knew she’d be totally helpless, at the mercy of any hostiles that might find her.
In a sudden flash of insight she realized with brutal clarity what Blade had refused to put into words. He would kill her before he allowed her to be left alive and alone without him. And Zeke knew it. Blade hadn’t shot the Gros Ventre because in hand-to-hand combat, with no time to reload, he’d saved his last shot for her.
When he returned to the fire, she met his gaze with dread at the unspeakable bond between them. In the next few days he would be her savior or her executioner. Her very existence was tied to his in a way that couldn’t be broken. She’d never felt so helpless. It was as though she were no longer a person in her own right, but an unwanted appendage to another human being. No wonder he’d fought so hard to keep her from coming on this journey! She’d been a yoke across his shoulders from the beginning. Had the congressmen back east realized what a liability she’d be? Had they even cared? Or had the possibility of a white woman crossing the country meant more to them than her safety? No one had mentioned the danger to either her or Tom. They were told they’d be escorted by a half-troop of the finest U.S. dragoons. Her scholarly father had been convinced they would be well taken care of, or he’d never have allowed them to go.
Humiliation burned on Theodora’s cheeks, and she turned away from the tall man beside the fire.
Blade watched her withdraw into herself and understood her torment. He’d hoped she wouldn’t realize their predicament at least not until they were safely back with the others. He had every intention of rejoining the expedition. But if worse came to worst, and they were overrun, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her before he allowed the Gros Ventres to take her alive.
Chapter 15
With his dark blue cape for a blanket, Theodora lay on the ground beside Captain Blade Roberts and stared up at the stars. U
nlike the previous evening, no clouds obscured the sky, nor did rain force them to huddle together for protection. Yet since nightfall she’d remained close enough to reach out and touch him. She knew he was awake now, though he’d been silent since she’d edged closer to him in the dark.
“How’s the sunburn?” His tone was as tender as a lover’s touch.
“A little uncomfortable. Enough to make it hard to fall asleep.”
He chuckled sympathetically. “Sorry there’s nothing in my saddlebag for it. That’s one problem I’ve never had to worry about. But you wouldn’t have gotten so badly burned if I hadn’t used your sleeves for bandages.”
“Nonsense.” She turned her head, pillowed on his blanket, to look at him. “It was my idea. Besides, your wound is a lot more serious.”
Theodora didn’t regret the loss of her sleeves. After eating the turkey he’d roasted for them late that afternoon, she’d insisted on checking his wound.
Then she’d turned to her own needs. She felt grimy from the long day under the hot sun. She wanted desperately to go farther downstream to wash, but that privacy was denied her. He vehemently insisted that she stay within eyesight.
“If you want to bathe, I’ll turn my head,” he’d said with matter-of-fact aplomb, not looking up from the inspection and cleaning of his carbine. “But if I hear anything strange at all, don’t count on keeping your modesty. Our first priority is staying alive.”
In the end she’d compromised and removed her tattered blouse and ripped skirt. Dressed in camisole and torn pantaloons, she sat on a boulder and splashed cold water on her burned arms, neck, and face. She indulged in the luxury of washing her hair with a bar of soap he’d provided from his saddlebag. She scented the rinse water with wildflowers she’d found on the bank and poured it over herself, delighting in the icy tingle.
Refreshed, she waded out of the stream, but before she could replace her blouse, Blade walked over.
“I want to take a look at that sunburn,” he said. He touched her lightly here and there on her neck and shoulders and arms to determine just how badly she was burned. She felt stripped and vulnerable in front of him, until his nonchalant manner gradually allayed her fears. Satisfied, he ran his forefinger lightly down the bridge of her sore nose. “I’ve never seen such a red little bluenose,” he teased. “You sure you’re not really part Indian?”
She lifted her eyebrows in mock disdain. “Do I act like one?”
“Sometimes.” His ebony eyes sparkled with amusement. “When you lose that fiery temper of yours, I’d swear you were part Comanche.”
“Not Cheyenne?”
“My people are much too civilized to threaten to cut off someone’s—”
“Do you have a comb, Captain?” she interrupted, and he produced one with a mocking grin. But he’d kept to safer topics after that, and his easy manner had helped her relax and accept their unorthodox situation.
Now as she lay on the bedroll he’d given up for her, she knew she should keep her distance from him, but the close call with the buffalo, Baptiste’s death, and the attack by the Gros Ventre, followed by the awful realization that Blade literally held her life in his hands, had left her nervous and fearful. Though the night sounds didn’t seem to bother him at all, each tiny noise brought her upright. She was afraid he might fall asleep and miss something, or someone, creeping up on them. His leg bothered him, she knew, for he’d favored it ever so slightly when he’d crouched beside the fire to cook the wild turkey. She also knew he hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. Still, she couldn’t let him go to sleep. Not yet.
“Will you use the constellations to plot our trail tomorrow?” she asked, and ignored her guilty conscience at purposely keeping him awake.
“Mmmm.” He sounded relaxed and comfortable.
“Have you found the North Star?”
“Yes, Theodora.” His deep baritone was warm with suppressed laughter. “It’s right up there, see it?”
“Where?”
“There.” He scooted next to her and pointed heavenward so she could sight up his arm. Then he laid back down beside her, their heads almost touching. He pointed again. “And over there’s Pegasus.”
“Yes, I see him flying through the night,” she whispered with delight. “How incredibly beautiful it is. The air’s so clear out here, you want to reach up and try to pluck a star right out of the sky.”
“They do look close, don’t they? Have you found Ursa Major?”
“No, where?”
“Look. Almost directly across.” He slid his arm beneath her, careful not to scratch her sunburned neck, and cushioned her head on his shoulder; with the other hand he pointed out the three stars on the Big Bear’s tail.
“Yes, I see it.” Content and secure, she nestled against him.
He bent his head to look down at her, and she felt his breath on her cheek as he spoke with a note of admiration. “You’re so fascinated by the world around you, Theodora. Were you always interested in the natural sciences?”
“Always,” she answered. “That’s what happens when you belong to a family of botanists. Papa would carry me around in his arms just like any parent, but instead of saying, ‘Oh, look at the pretty flower!’ he’d say, ‘Look, dearest, at the fine Paeonia officinalis’. I grew up labeling plants and trees the way other children learn nursery rhymes.”
Blade chuckled deep in his chest, and Theodora felt the vibration against her arm and back. It sent a shivery feeling through her, as though she’d eaten something cold and delicious.
“The other children must have thought that strange.”
“Oh, strange isn’t the word,” she conceded. “Tom and I were considered downright bizarre. He was always frail and sickly. I was healthy, but skinny as a rail and with my nose always buried in a book. What a pair we must have been!”
“Were you lonely?”
“Never. Our house was always filled with visiting faculty members. And though the children our age had little in common with us, our adult guests were enchanted by what they labeled our ‘precociousness.’ My father entertained some of Harvard’s greatest scholars in our front parlor, and as long as we were as quiet as church mice, Tom and I were allowed to stay and listen.”
Wanting to keep her talking, Blade lay as still as a mouse himself. The feel of her soft body against his, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, made him as randy as a buck at mating time. This was not the moment to make a sudden move and scare her off. “What about your mother’s family? Were they also so erudite?”
Under his cape Theodora giggled and folded her arms across her waist. “My, my. I’m not the only one who can use two dollar words.” She snuggled closer to him, relaxed and comfortable. “No, but my Aunt Prudence came over frequently to see that we received proper guidance in the study of biblical and ecclesiastical subjects, as well as the academics. She was a terror, but I liked her.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, we had our blond hair in common. But because she was a minister in the Society of Friends, she always kept hers decently covered and out of sight. I’m sure she felt God had specifically punished her by giving such coloring to a woman who believed it was virtuous to wear only drab grays and browns. She’d look at me, cluck her tongue, and say, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with thee, girl. With thy golden curls and green eyes, thee’s an affront to the elders when they see thee on the street. Cover thy hair and keep thy eyes down. And try not to look so—so vivid!’”
“And you didn’t agree with her?”
“Oh, no!” She laughed out loud at the memory. “Nor did my Episcopalian father. He always wanted me to wear my hair down whenever she came. ‘If the Almighty hadn’t wanted mankind to be so many different colors,’ he’d say, ‘He wouldn’t have created us that way.’ ” She tilted her head up to look at him. Their lips were inches apart. Her eyes were sparkling. “Don’t you agree? Look at the flowers! Wouldn’t it be awful if they were all one col
or?”
“Terrible,” he replied. “What would life be like without your gorgeous blond hair?” He kissed her forehead at the hairline. “Or your marvelous green eyes?”
Slowly, Theodora closed them, as if in expectation. With a feather-soft touch, he kissed each lid.
He drew back slightly and looked at her. She raised the lush fans of her lashes and watched him with intensity, as though holding her breath in curious anticipation. With the tip of a finger, he followed the graceful curve of her cheekbone to her sensitive lips, tracing a path as light as a whisper across her sunburned skin. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.
“You’re not.” She closed her eyes for his kiss.
Blade looked at her as she lay waiting for him with such trust. He didn’t want mere gratitude for saving her life. And he was determined not to take advantage of the situation. He shouldn’t kiss her now, when she was totally dependent on him. He wouldn’t.
How could he help himself?
With infinite gentleness, he pressed his lips against hers in a brief kiss that demanded nothing in return. Then kissed her again and yet again as a bee returns to the blossom, drawing in the sweet nectar, each kiss longer and deeper and more demanding. He savored the satin-soft feel of her lips, the scent of wildflowers in her hair, the exquisite pressure of her breasts against him. He followed the finely molded line of her lips with his tongue until they parted hesitantly. When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, the warm softness of her brought an ache so deep inside that he groaned.
He pushed his cape aside, as he pushed the last warnings of his conscience to the back of his mind, and slid his hand from her waist up her ribs. She was as slim and supple as a willow shoot. Her fingers were buried in his hair, and she fondled him with such light strokes he could feel the muscles of his shoulders flex and ripple in yearning anticipation of her touch.
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