by Linda Ladd
About a mile downstream he reached the spot where he'd hidden his horse. He dragged Starfire into the shallows, slinging her up over his shoulder. The stallion was tethered in the bushes, and Tracker took the time to cut the ropes off Starfire before he wrapped her carefully in a warm blanket and lifted her into the saddle. He pulled her into position against his chest and cradled her as he guided his horse out of the tree cover. The way things were going, he was surprised he'd gotten as far as he had. But so far, so good. He was still alive.
Two
Tracker rode with Starfire nestled comfortably in his arms, anxious to get to his destination. The cave where he was headed was high in the mountains about two or three days northwest of Denver. It was well hidden behind a waterfall, and it was far enough away that the Cheyenne would not be familiar with it. They had at least three more hours’ ride ahead of them, and he was reluctant to stop even when the gray of dawn smoked over the trees around him. For miles the only sound he'd heard was the sporadic twittering of awakening birds and the muffled clops of his horse. When the sound of a stream finally came to him he nosed his stallion through the thick undergrowth toward it. It was fairly wide and slow-moving, and he reined up on a nearby grassy spot and slid out of the saddle with the girl in his arms. He laid her down gently, then sat down beside her. He was sore from his cramped position in the saddle, and he was chilled to the bone from the wet clothes he'd worn all night. His mood was not the best, and he was frowning darkly as he pushed the damp strands of hair off Starfire's face.
At that point, he got his first good look at Starfire, and his breath caught in surprise and pleasure. She was lovely. For some reason, he hadn't expected her to be. He let his eyes run over her beautiful face, examining the tanned skin and the thick black lashes against her cheeks. Her hair was a strange silvery color, like moonlight; he picked up a long lock and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. It felt soft and silky. Her lips were full and parted slightly, looking warm and soft. He felt a ridiculous urge to kiss her, which he banished quickly from his mind, feeling foolish. He watched her a minute, wanting her to open her eyes; then he would know she was the girl Huddleston had described to him. He stood up, staring down at her. She was so small, barely more than a child, yet he found it hard to stop looking at her. He saw the bluish discoloration on her chin and frowned, wishing he hadn't had to hit her. His horse waiting nearby moved restlessly and pushed a velvety nose into his back, bringing Tracker back to the business at hand.
He took the halter, led the horse down the rocky bank, and waded out a step or two, pulling the reins after him. The horse snorted and plunged his nose into the clear, cold water greedily. Tracker leaned down and scooped up a handful to drink, then dipped some more over his face and neck. It was cold and invigorating, just what he needed. He was dead tired. It had been hours since he'd slept. Days since he'd seen any kind of comfortable bed. And sleep was something he wouldn't get anytime soon.
He drank again, watching the woods around him, studying the terrain intently. The Cheyenne wouldn't be after him yet, but he was right in the middle of Indian territory. One look at Tracker with a captive girl dressed in Cheyenne wedding attire in his arms would bring an arrow ripping into his heart.
He turned his head sharply at Starfire's weak groan, then hurried back up to her. He was eager to see her awake, to talk to her.
Starfire was stirring, her lashes fluttering slightly as he leaned over her. He watched as she struggled to open her eyes. When she finally succeeded, Tracker stared into their clear violet depths and smiled, awed by the unusual color. She was squinting up at him now, trying to see him better, her delicate eyebrows drawn together in a small frown.
Starfire couldn't remember where she was. She was disoriented and confused, staring at the face above her. He was a stranger. She watched him closely, heard him tell her in a deep, pleasant voice not to be afraid. She examined him objectively, trying to remember who he was and why he thought she might be afraid of him. His hair was yellow like the sun, pale like hers. She'd never seen anyone else with blond hair. And even more surprising to her, there was hair all over his face. A great, thick growth darker than his hair covered his chin and jaw. It was a strange sight; her people did not grow hair on the face. Her thoughts muddled on as he leaned closer and fixed his strange eyes on hers. They were beautiful, she thought vaguely. The same color as the sky.
Blue eyes? Who was he? Her head ached, and her confusion made it worse. She closed her eyes against the pain that throbbed up behind her forehead and raised one hand slowly to the soreness on her chin.
When she touched the bruise, her memory came rushing through her mind like wind through a cave. Her lavender eyes flew wide and fastened on Tracker's surprised ones. He was taken aback by the wild fear that glinted out at him, and the next thing he knew she was up and running toward the river with the speed of a doe. It took him a few seconds to react. By the time he reached her, she was splashing up the shallows in a hard run, trying to reach a thick stand of woods about fifty feet up the bank. He grabbed her and got his arm around her slim waist, holding her carefully away from his body as he recalled vividly their little scuffle in the tent.
Starfire was breathless from the run, but fear gave her the strength to struggle desperately. She sobbed as she fought him, aiming her blows at his face and trying to kick him in the groin. If she could only reach the trees she could hide from him. She gasped as he suddenly locked her tightly against his chest, pinning her arms to her sides. She could not move, and her fear disintegrated into impotent fury. She cursed him bitterly through gritted teeth.
Tracker held her steady and waited for her to get tired as she graphically described the bloody things her father would do to him as soon as he found them. She was determined and angry, and he was amazed at some of the gory things she said were in store for him.
Finally, Starfire sobbed helplessly and hung limp, and Tracker swung her into his arms and started up the bank with her. He lowered her to the ground. Starfire tried again to twist away but his fingers bit into her shoulders. She flung back her head and glared up at him, her eyes darkened with hatred. She stiffened as he took hold of her shoulders and forced her to look at him.
“Now listen, you little hellcat,” he said in Cheyenne. “I won't hurt you if you settle down and do as I say.”
Starfire bared small white teeth and snarled at him. She looked so tiny but so ferocious that Tracker laughed and released her. His laughter infuriated Starfire, and her eyes went dark purple with rage. She drew back her fist and sent it against his face with every ounce of her strength.
Her attack was so fast that Tracker couldn't dodge, and her fist struck his jaw in the same place her foot had landed earlier. He grunted and grabbed the side of his face as pain streaked into his temple.
Starfire took advantage of his preoccupation, kicking his shin as hard as she could, then darting away toward his horse. Her hands were in its mane when three gigantic strides brought Tracker up behind her, grabbing the fringe on the back of her dress.
“Damn it, girl, you're beginning to get on my nerves!”
Tracker gave her a shake hard enough to fling her hair over her face in a silvery swirl, then pushed her into a sitting position. He was careful to keep out of kicking distance as he crouched and looked directly into her face.
“Look, you little devil, I don't like this any more than you do. But I'll be damned if I'm going to let you hit me again. Either stop your fighting, or I'm going to tie you up so tight you can't move. And if I do, you can ride slung over the saddle behind me like a buffalo carcass.”
“You cowardly son of a dog,” Starfire answered in a growl. “My people will cut out your white tongue, then they will tie you to a stake...”
“I've heard all that before,” Logan interrupted harshly. “You're the bloodthirstiest little thing I've ever seen.”
Starfire glared up at him, angry and frustrated, wanting to cutout his sky-blue eyes, wanting to kill h
im. He was so big though, and he looked at her as though he meant every word he'd said. He'd spoken to her in her own language, which confused her. She was thirsty and sore, and the hate roiled around inside her, simmering and ready to erupt.
Tracker saw her shift her cold eyes away from him to the stream.
“You thirsty?”
She refused to answer or to look at him. When she began to rise, he grabbed her wrist. He didn't trust her. She did everything too quickly. It was hard for him to react as fast as she moved.
“Let me go, you rotten dog,” she growled from between clenched teeth.
She looked so beautiful standing there, her bright hair all tangled and thrown back, her large eyes hostile and threatening. Tracker felt a familiar tightening in his loins, a deep throb in his veins. He wanted her. He wanted to throw her down and take her. The realization of just how strong his desire was shocked him. She was just a girl. It was ridiculous, and he shook off his thoughts in irritation.
“Not so fast. If you want a drink, we'll go together.”
She tried to twist away, but this time he had his fingers wrapped around her wrist too tightly. He walked her to the water, ignoring her pulling and tugging, and kept his grip in place.
Her constant resistance was wearing on him, although he really couldn't blame her. He held on while she leaned down and dipped up a few palmfuls of water. He let her drink her fill, then dragged her back as she protested violently all the way. He pushed her down by the horse, then got a strip of jerky out of the saddle bag and tossed it to her.
She caught it, and to his surprise began to eat it. He moved to the horse, keeping a wary eye on her. He knew she'd run if given half a chance; his threats about tying her up didn't seem to bother her. He wouldn't do that unless she made him lose his temper, which was a distinct possibility the way things were going.
Starfire sat and glared at him, but she was hungry and she ate the beef. She studied him intently as he checked the saddle. He was dressed like an Indian, in tan buckskin leggings with fringe down each leg and high buckskin moccasins like hers. But his size was what amazed her. His arms bulged with great muscles as he bent to tighten the girth, and the breadth of his shoulders seemed incredible in the fringed tunic. She'd never seen such a giant. Even Lone Wolf would be small in comparison. But he was quick, for all his size. Starfire had always been a swift runner and had often beaten the other maidens in foot races. But he'd caught her easily with his immense strides.
She looked at him again as he moved around the big black stallion. His legs were long and powerful, with a gun strapped low on one. A long hunting knife in a buckskin sheath was buckled to his belt. Starfire shivered and looked away from him.
It would be hard to escape, but at least he wasn't a Pawnee, as she had originally feared. Despite his dark brown skin, he was a white man. She had not seen many white men, but had seen enough to know that their ways were very different. Why had he stolen her? What did he want with her? He would not get away with it! Her helplessness made her furious, and she ground her teeth in frustration, viciously tearing off a bite of jerky. Raging Buffalo would find them soon and kill the big white one for what he'd done.
She looked at Tracker, her eyes sparkling with malice. Her voice was hard and menacing.
“My people will find you and kill you. They will slice off your skin very slowly, then they will hammer hot spikes into your sky eyes.”
Tracker looked down into her snarling face and tried to ignore her gory threat. She glowered maliciously at him, and her vicious words reminded him that they'd wasted enough time in one spot. He went to pull her to her feet, and sighed impatiently as she jerked away. The rest of the ride wasn't going to be much fun. She'd fight him every inch of the way. She was too damned obstinate. He'd always thought women were supposed to be afraid at times like this. He wondered where her fear was. Or if she had any.
She stood stiff and unyielding by his side until he boosted her up onto the horse. He swung into the saddle behind her, positioning his rifle crossways in front of her to hold her against him. He spurred his horse and picked his way through the trees, trying to ignore Starfire's low and angry tirade. He wasn't a fool. He knew he couldn't hide his tracks from experienced Cheyenne scouts. They could find him easily and would probably trail him to the ends of the earth for her. At least her bridegroom would. Tracker would if he'd been the one to have had her. She was a beauty. She sat ramrod-straight in front of him, leaning away as far as she could. He grinned, watching the way she was furiously gripping the saddle horn hard enough to whiten her knuckles. He suddenly wanted to know her name and interrupted a whole string of threats as he spoke.
“What's your name, girl?”
Starfire's mouth snapped shut abruptly. She was unwilling to tell him anything he wanted to know. He asked her again curtly, in a tone that brooked no refusal, and when he tightened the rifle against her stomach she spoke.
“Starfire.” Her tone was sullen.
“Ah, for the stars. It suits you. You're as beautiful as they are.
He'd murmured his remark in English, more to himself than to her, but he felt her stiffen in the circle of his arms.
“Did you understand me, Starfire?”
She would not answer, and Tracker sighed. Of course she wouldn't remember English. She'd been captured when she was three years old. He felt a jab of disappointment, and wondered why.
Starfire held herself stiffly and contemplated his words. She'd understood him perfectly. She'd learned the odd, lilting language he used from Father Donegal, although the big man behind her pronounced some of the words differently. The priest had come from a place called Ireland and had lived with her people for a time, trying to teach them about his strange God.
Tracker's arms tightened around her, pulling her closer to him; she rebelled at once from the pressure, turning to scratch at his face. One sharp jerk of the gun against her ribs stopped her, and she clamped her lips together, her insides overflowing with frustrated hate.
Tracker rode faster now, knowing that Two Bears would be finished with his part of the plan. Tracker felt confident about that. Two Bears was his Sioux blood brother, the only man Tracker had ever completely trusted. He'd laid false trails out of the Cheyenne camp to delay the search party which would follow the missing girl. It would work for a time, but not long. Tracker had to reach the cave before they found his tracks. They would be safe from the search party only in this isolated, unseen place.
The cave was stocked for a month's stay, and now that he'd seen the girl and held her in his arms, he had to admit that things were looking better. Their stay there might not be as dull as he'd thought. She was too beautiful to be boring. Perhaps it would be a pleasant diversion to win her affection before he turned her over to Huddleston to return to her family in St. Louis. He leaned down and nuzzled the top of her silvery hair. It smelled clean and fresh and like wild flowers. He grinned as she jerked away in aversion, calling him something he definitely wasn't.
“Taming you should be interesting, girl. You sure as hell need it!” He'd spoken in English again, and Starfire sputtered in anger and turned to claw at him. He promptly cut off her breath; and she sat still after that, as cold and silent as a marble statue.
Their path wound among tall trees and huge rock formations, and they gradually gained elevation as they moved deeper into the mountains. Starfire refused to relax against him, occasionally cursing him, and Tracker said nothing, outwardly indifferent to her abuse, inwardly hoping he'd get away with her—and his scalp.
Starfire tired of talking after a time and remained silent for longer intervals. She grew tired of holding her back straight and relaxed her stiff posture as exhaustion set in. Tracker sighed in relief when she finally slept, feeling soft and warm and small in the circle of his arms. He looked down at her satiny skin and shining hair and pulled her closer to his chest, hoping she'd sleep for a long time.
Three
Starfire drifted in a half-doze, lull
ed by the steady beat of Tracker's heart and hollow clop of hooves on rocky ground. She wasn't aware of the hard chest under her ear or the strong arms circling her so tightly, but lay peacefully, snuggled against him. When she opened her eyes dreamily, feeling so very comfortable and warm, it took her several minutes to realize that she was leaning intimately against her detested captor. Horrified, she sat quickly upright, humiliated by her unwitting surrender.
“Might as well stay comfortable,” Tracker said reasonably.
Starfire ignored him and sat in haughty, cold rejection. He said nothing, and silence prevailed until her curious thoughts forced down her pride. Not looking at him, she asked haltingly, “Where are you taking me?”
Tracker glanced down at her lovely profile, surprised she'd condescended to speak to him. He debated telling her the truth about her white relatives, then decided against it.
“Where your bloodthirsty friends can't find us,” he said dryly.
Starfire let out a low, mocking laugh. The underlying current of pure malice threading through it startled Tracker.
“There is no such place, son of dogs. You'll never escape them.”
Tracker didn't answer, but her certainty about it was unsettling. He urged his horse on, keeping to the trees, watching for signs of Indian bands as they climbed slowly through the thick pine forest, closer and closer into the shadow of the white-capped mountains.
Starfire's eyes darted and calculated, estimating distances and directions, planning to escape as soon as possible. She thought they were in Arapaho land and hoped they'd run into a hunting party. The Arapaho were strong allies with her people, and they'd kill this arrogant white man who held her against her will. And she'd help them. It would give her pleasure to plunge a knife deep into his heart.
Her hopes of being rescued dwindled as they rode on without seeing anyone. The man with her was very careful, and she doubted if he would be careless enough to be caught unaware. He moved with the surefooted caution of a Cheyenne scout.
