Captivated (Cutter's Creek Book 18)

by Vivi Holt

  ***

  Bodaway bit his lower lip as he pressed the knife against the sliver of bone in his hand. He wanted to carve something pretty for Mariya. He still wasn’t sure how he’d give it to her, since he barely seemed able to string a sentence together in her presence and so kept his distance from her most of the time. Still, he meant to give her something pretty, as a thank you for all her hard work. Though perhaps she’d think the trinket ridiculous. He sighed, and set the knife on the ground beside him.

  He’d been concerned when he returned from the hunting trip – would she still be there? He hadn’t been too worried about whether or not she'd taken care of the children in his absence, since he knew the rest of the village would make sure his children were fed and safe if she didn’t. But something inside him wanted to see her succeed, to make something of her life here. For it was her life now, and if she wanted the respect and friendship of the People she’d need to pull her weight, show them she’d accepted her fate and was willing to fit in. That she intended to become one of them. But he wasn’t yet convinced that she had accepted their way of life as her own. He still saw the resentment in her blue eyes whenever he caught her watching him. Still felt the anger pulsing beneath the surface when he brushed past her, or crept into the teepee at night to sleep.

  So when he saw her standing there in her new dress, her skin glowing with health, her eyes full of tenderness, his pulse had quickened and he’d drawn a sharp breath. He hadn’t been prepared for what he might feel, seeing her like that. She’d come to life since she’d moved in with them. At the council meeting, she was thin, pale and full of fear in her shabby wasicu clothes. Now, with a new dress and good food, she shone like the sun. She'd even pulled her flyaway hair into two plaits that framed her tanned face, rather than the straggly mess of knots she’d sported on top of her head for the months since she’d arrived.

  Lonan landed with a thud on the ground in front of him, his foot having caught on a tree root. A ball made from animal skin stuffed with grass rolled up to Bodaway’s foot. “Are you hurt, son?” He leaned forward to scoop up the ball and threw it back to Lonan.

  Lonan caught it with one hand and rubbed his grazed knee with the other. “No, I’m fine. Wanna play, Papa?” His hopeful eyes met Bodaway’s with a squint.

  Bodaway grinned. “Of course. Though you’d better get ready to lose.”

  Lonan laughed, and the sound warmed Bodaway’s heart. “Papa, now you’re imagining things.”

  Bodaway threw the piece of bone to the ground, and put his knife away in a scabbard attached to his leg. Then walked to meet Lonan and ruffled his son’s hair before the two of them ran off together, passing the ball back and forth between them as they went.

  Maria watched the exchange between Bodaway and Lonan with interest. He was a different man with his children. He sparked with life and vitality, and had a ready smile for each of them. Yet when he was with her, she sensed a sadness lurking beneath the surface.

  She wondered what had happened to the children’s mother. How had she never thought to ask Tomowa that? She’d been so consumed with her own self-pity that she never stopped to consider that this family she now lived with might have their own pain to bear.

  Bodaway finished the game and threw the ball to Lonan, who ran off with it. He walked toward her and she dropped her gaze, picking a piece of buckskin from the pile he’d given her and straightening it out on her lap. It was large enough to make a man’s shirt, and she’d been considering making one for Bodaway. Other than his coat or the fur he often wore around his shoulders, he went around half-naked most of the time. Did he even have a shirt to his name? Her cheeks blazed and she frowned. Yes, she should definitely sew him a shirt.

  Besides, making clothing for him might earn her some goodwill, which she desperately needed, even though the idea of doing something nice for him made her throat constrict and her head spin with conflicting emotions.

  She lifted her eyes to find his gaze fixed on her again. She stood quickly and held up the buckskin. “I thought I might get started sewing a shirt for you. Would you like me to?”

  His eyes widened and he stepped back away from her, as he nodded. “Thank you.”

  She gritted her teeth in irritation. Why did he always act as though he was visiting the doctor when he was in her presence? She could barely extract a word from him. “Come inside, then, so I can measure you.” She ducked her head and stepped into the teepee. After foraging around beside her sleeping mat, she found a long leather thong she’d hidden there, with the intention of using as a thread. It would do nicely to stitch the buckskin, and she held it up to examine it in the dim light.

  After a few moments, he followed her inside, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He stopped still, just inside the door flap, as though ready to spring back through it at the first provocation. She rolled her eyes, and dropped her hands and the leather thong to her side.

  “Over here – how can I measure you when you stand so far away?” She sighed and reached up to grasp his arm, pulling him closer.

  He stumbled toward her, avoiding eye contact, and she smirked. He seemed even less comfortable around her than she was with him. She’d always assumed he kept his distance because he couldn’t stand to be around her. But perhaps she’d been wrong about his feelings for her. She held the leather thong up between her fingertips and ran it softly along the back of his shoulders. His skin goose-pimpled beneath her touch, and he shied away. “Stand still,” she chastised him, pulling him back into place again with a smile. “You’re as skittish as a mustang.”

  His gaze dropped until it met hers. His eyes were so dark, so mysterious. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what might be going on beneath that mask. But his body gave him away – the tension in his chest and abdomen, the goose bumps running down his muscular arms. She returned his stare without a word, then finished taking his measurements. Her heart pounded and her pulse raced. She’d never stood so close to any man other than Fred, certainly none who were shirtless. She lifted the leather, and marked it with a fingernail.

  With a brisk movement, she took his fingers into her own, her entire body trembling from head to toe, and lifted his arm high. Then she drew the leather string from the top of his shoulder, down his side beneath his arm to measure for the length of the shirt. His skin shivered beneath her touch, and when she lifted her eyes to find his, the dark brown depths of them burned with an intensity that made her breath catch in her lungs.

  “Mariya…” he said in a whisper.

  She pressed her eyes closed tight for a moment, and walked around him in a circle to loop the string about his waist just as his hand closed in on the empty space where she’d stood. His quick intake of breath made her smile, and she lowered her face to hide it from him. It wouldn’t do for him to think she was making fun. But she did enjoy watching the effect one touch from her fingertips had on him.

  Finally she cleared her throat and made some markings on a piece of bark with a stick she’d burned at one end. “I’m done. You can go.” She turned away to unfold the fabric. When she looked back he was gone, the door flap swinging behind him.

  She slumped to the floor and placed a hand on her forehead to wipe away the sweat that had beaded below her hairline. With a loud sigh, she spread the deerskin on the floor and began to mark out the pattern. She hoped to earn his favor and possibly even his trust — and that would give her an opportunity for escape. Other than simply surviving, it was the only hope she had.

  Chapter Nine

  With a flick of the reins, Bodaway steered Yarrow toward the village. As he passed by the sweatlodge, he noticed the fire had been lit. He’d have to join the chief there later. No doubt his father had something he wished to discuss, or perhaps it was just a chance to spend time with his council, and his son. Bodaway enjoyed the meetings, since little was expected of him there. He could usually just relax, and let his thoughts wander to think about whatever he wished. An image flashed across his mind of Ma
riya, running the leather thong down the length of his side, and his cheeks burned as a tremble ran through his body. Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t go to the sweatlodge tonight — he could tell already where his thoughts would stray, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

  Up ahead he saw the children playing with hoops. Beyond them Mariya stood by the teepee, a hand above her brow to shield her eyes from the glare of the setting sun. She watched the children too, her free hand set resolutely on her hip. Her blonde locks shimmered with golden highlights under the sun’s rays, and his heart thudded at the sight of her. He shook his head, and chewed on his lower lip. Things were not going the way he’d planned. Mariya was proving more of an interruption to his life than he’d anticipated.

  His brow furrowed and he rubbed his chin. He didn’t need a wife. He’d been doing just fine before she came. But now it felt as though everything about his life was different somehow. The teepee was warmer, the children more content (though Chepi and Lonan would never admit it). He’d always loved being out on his own, hunting, riding and exploring, but lately he looked forward to coming home, and strained his eyes to search for her when he rode into the village. He shook his head again and sniffed loudly. What had happened to him?

  It could never work between them. She hated him, he was sure – he saw it in her eyes every time she looked at him. He didn’t blame her. He’d been part of the raiding party who’d killed her husband and captured her, tearing her away from the only life she knew. She’d never love him, and he wouldn’t force her to pretend. She’d been toying with him earlier — when she’d measured him for a shirt. He knew it, and a flash of adrenaline coursed through his veins. He knew too she’d enjoyed seeing him react to her that way, and yet he didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t intend to replace the wife he’d lost, but if ever he should, he wanted to be with someone who’d give themselves wholly and willingly to him, not someone who despised him, made fun of him, and wished she was somewhere else whenever he was around.

  He was about to turn Yarrow toward the holding pen, which had just been moved to a patch of fresh grass, when Mariya caught his attention with a wave. He cocked his head to one side and waved back, and she hurried toward him. His pulse quickened. What could she want? Perhaps something was wrong.

  “Boda, may I speak with you?” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and squinted at him.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I … the thing is … I feel listless.”

  He frowned. “You feel …?”

  “It’s tedious — I haven’t left the village in months. I do nothing but cook, clean, sew and tend to the children.” She rubbed her forehead and sighed. “I … I would like to take a ride. Do you think I could? Would you take me riding? I would love to get away for a bit and do something … fun.” She stared at the ground, then glanced hesitantly at him, waiting for his reply. He frowned. What was she playing at now?

  “You want me to take you riding?”

  “Yes, please. I have to do something …”

  He rubbed a hand across his brow. Whatever she was doing, surely he could handle her alone. After all, she was just a wasicu. What harm could come of it? And she had been working hard to take care of he and the children. She deserved to have a bit of fun. The women of the village were always allowed the opportunity to ride or hunt if they so chose. It made sense to give her that chance as well, if she wished it.

  “I suppose that would be fine. Come, we’ll find you a pony to ride.”

  ***

  Maria wasn’t used to riding bareback. She’d ridden a little as a child, though in London horses were most likely to be strapped to the front of a buggy rather than ridden. Only when she’d visited her aunt and uncle in the country during the summer did she ride, always with suitable tack – saddle rug, saddle, bridle. Now she was bumping all over this pony’s bony, slick back as it trotted along. The bridle, looped around the animal’s lower jaw, was only to bring it to a halt, so steering was a mystery. All she could do was grab a handful of mane and hold on tight.

  Bodaway, riding just up ahead, pulled his mount to a stop and looked at her over his shoulder. He grinned and arched an eyebrow. He held his head high with an air of commanding confidence and his broad shoulders were bronzed by the afternoon light.

  Her heart turned over as his gaze swept across her, and she laughed. “I can’t seem to stop bouncing!”

  His hooded eyes sparkled and he smiled, but didn’t say a word, just urged his horse forward once more. Before long they came upon a covey of partridge. The birds flew into the air with a great flurry of flapping wings. Bodaway pulled his bow from where it was slung around his shoulders, selected an arrow and shot one of the birds from the sky with ease. His movements were graceful and unhurried, and Maria marveled at how easy he made it look.

  They rode quickly to where the bird had fallen and he climbed down to retrieve it. “That was a good shot,” murmured Maria, looking to see where the birds had landed up ahead. “Do you think … oh, never mind.”

  His lips slowly parted and he tilted his head to one side. “What is it?”

  “I would like to try that.”

  “You want to hunt?”

  She pursed her lips and nodded. “Yes. It looks like fun, and I have shot an arrow before. When I was young, I was taught to use a bow and arrow, though they were a bit different from yours. But I think I could manage it.”

  He blinked, then nodded. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” She could see he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea, but held the bow out to her just the same.

  She slid from the pony’s back and took the bow, stretching the string and releasing it to feel its strength. It was a cunning little instrument and flexed easily enough in her hands.

  Bodaway came behind her and showed her how to hold it; how to fix the arrow onto the string and against her finger. His warm breath caressed her neck and shoulder, as he leaned forward to correct her. “No, not like that – hold it up here. Yes, that’s it.” His voice was smooth and deep and he raised his hands to gently propel her arms into place.

  Her heart thudded and her pulse raced. Her head felt light and she swallowed, then licked her dry lips. He stood so close to her she could feel his body heat in the still air between them. Her skin tingled beneath his touch, and she felt her neck and cheeks flush with warmth. What was it about him that made her feel this way? She hated him – all of them. They’d torn her away from her life and didn’t intend to ever let her return. She couldn’t let herself feel something more than that for him. “Thank you, I think I have it now.” She stepped abruptly away from him.

  He nodded, and she thought she caught a glimpse of a grin at the corners of his mouth. Was he playing the same game with her as she’d done earlier with him? He mounted his pony, then turned to watch her closely. She slung the bow around her shoulder as she’d seen him do earlier, holding the arrow in her hand as she struggled onto her own pony’s back. He waited patiently, then set off again as soon as she was ready.

  Before long, they came across the covey again and the partridge dashed into the air once more. Maria pulled at the bow, but it was firmly wedged around her chest. She pulled harder and it awkwardly popped free, slapping her in nose in the process and making it smart. Determined not to cry out, she pressed her lips together and fitted the arrow as Bodaway had shown her. She raised the bow just as the birds were about to disappear from view and let the arrow loose.

  It sailed through the air, but only grazed one of the birds, then fell to the ground. “Oh, dash it all!” she cried in English. She’d wanted so badly to prove herself to him and the shot had been excruciatingly close.

  His mouth curved up on one side and his eyebrows shot skyward. “You almost got it.” He eyed her with seeming new respect.

  She smiled. “I want to try again.”

  He grinned. “Let’s go.” They set off once more, retrieving the arrow and heading toward where they’d seen the
partridges resettle. Some of the birds had flown further away, but a large group had lit on the prairie together. They rode toward them slowly, being careful not to startle the birds with the noise of their approach.

  This time when the birds leaped into the air, Maria was ready. She slipped the bow from her back, fitted the arrow, took careful aim and let fly, sending the arrow sleekly through the air, the glint of the sun on its shaft showing them where it went. It struck one of the birds, and the creature fell rapidly to the ground. “I did it! I got one!” she shouted in delight. She galloped to where it lay at the edge of a small wood and leaped from her pony’s back with a victory cry. She picked up her quarry and held it for Bodaway to see.

  He dismounted and walked slowly to her side, his mouth pulled into a wide smile. “You did well, Wasicu.”

  The sound of their name for her – the People’s word for “white person” – made her heart lurch. It reminded her of her separation from her own people. But he did sound proud of her, so she forced a smile. “Thank you, Boda.”

  His cheeks turned red and his pupils dilated before he looked away. Did she say something wrong? Something to offend him? Or had he sensed the sadness that had swept over her?

  A sound in the wood beside them startled them both. Voices.

  Bodaway grabbed Maria’s arm and pushed her up against the trunk of a juniper. His eyes narrowed, and she could see he was listening intently to make out where the noise had come from. He pressed a hand over her mouth and stared directly into her eyes, making a soft shushing sound. She nodded, her eyes wide, and peeked around the wide trunk, hoping to catch a glimpse of whomever they’d stumbled upon.