White Apache

by tiffy

  Needing companionship once she began to feel human again, Elise seemed to gravitate to the big Creek who helped her set up camp each night. Among Santiagoʹs men, he was the only educated one with whom she could carry on a conversation. She certainly did not trust herself with their magnetic leader, but she was perversely curious about Quinn.

  ʺHow did you and Santiago Quinn meet, Spybuck?ʺ she asked as they rode through the heat.

  His lips quirked in a smile. ʺWe do make an odd pair, do we not? It was back in New Orleans many years ago. Santiago was a green youth, just returned from Europe. He became involved in a duel with the elder son of a very powerful Creole family. He killed Castal when the fellow disgraced himself by turning to fire too soon. To cover up the regrettable incident, the family went to the Spanish authorities and accused Santiago of murder.

  ʺI found him at the waterfront, badly wounded, attempting to locate a keelboat he had hired to smuggle him upriver. It seems the dead manʹs younger brother had proved a better shot than his sibling. I booked passage on another boat myself and carried Santiago to safety aboard it. A few extra coins convinced the captain to depart early and hold his peace about the wounded Spaniard hidden among his cargo.ʺ

  ʺSo you nursed him back to health?ʺ she asked.

  ʺMy people, the Muskogeeor Creek as the whites call usdid. I took him to their city and he lived among us, mending for several months. Then when he was well, I decided to follow him West.ʺ

  ʺWhat was the cause of the duel? A woman?ʺ The moment she asked the question, Elise wanted to call back the words.

  Spybuckʹs face remained impassive as he replied, ʺYou will have to ask my friend that question yourself. It is not for me to say.ʺ

  Wanting to change the subject from her too apparent interest in his companion, Elise asked, ʺYouʹve been educated among the whites. How did that happen?ʺ

  ʺI was captured by Spanish slavers who raided from the Floridas during the war the Americans call their Revolution of Independence. A British officerʹs patrol captured the slavers and freed the captives, but I was the only Muskogee, far from my village. Captain Sir Charles Elliott Markham was a kind man, who had lost his only son to cholera. My parents had been killed by the Spanish.ʺ He shrugged fatalistically. ʺHe adopted me after his fashion, and I returned to British Florida with him, where I spent the next seven years. With the end of the war, the British ceded their claims in Florida and departed. I went with Captain Markham to his next duty station in Nova Scotia. Although I loved and admired him, my heart was in the warm country to the south.ʺ

  ʺAnd you wished to return and learn the ways of your nation?ʺ

  His face gave away a trace of amazement, a rarity for the enigmatic red man.

  ʺYou know of the Creek Confederation?ʺ

  ʺI have read a bit about the Five Civilized Nations. Enough to understand why you wished to return to your heritage. It must have been difficult parting with Sir Charles.ʺ

  ʺIt was. He sold out his commission and planned to return to England. He asked me to go with him, but I chose not to because I would not fit in.ʺ He shook his head. ʺI found I did not deal with my own people much better. That is when I began to wander . . . and when I met Santiago.ʺ ʺWho also does not fit in with any society,ʺ she said, her curiosity still unsatisfied.

  ʺI have never seen such colors.ʺ Elise rode beside Santiago as they crossed an open stretch of rolling hills, covered with thick field grass and a random scattering of wildflowers.

  ʺThis has been a year of higher than usual rainfall. The countryside is verdant because of it. Normally, by August everything is brown and dry. Spring is the time of spectacular beauty, when the flowers grow like a carpet in solid golds, reds, and purples. The pasture roses are especially lovely, a pale pink. They fill the air with their perfume.ʺ

  She looked at him with surprise. ʺYou seem an unlikely man to wax poetic over flowers.ʺ

  ʺI came to this country as a boy, and Iʹve grown to love its vastness and diversity.

  There is a freedom in this isolated wilderness that I would never trade.ʺ

  ʺYet you returned to Europe and studied at one of the worldʹs finest universities.ʺ

  His expression grew taut. ʺReturning only made me realize how little I had missed over there. I was a stranger among my motherʹs people.ʺ

  She was curious about this enigmatic man in spite of the warning bells clamoring inside her mind each time he touched her. ʺTell me about themyour motherʹs family.ʺ

  He gave a negligent shrug of his broad shoulders, the casual gesture belying his inner doubt. ʺMy mother died when I was quite young, I remember little of her.

  Her family is an old and illustrious one, tracing their title back to the Reconquista.ʺ

  She knew there was much he was omitting. ʺHave you brothers and sisters?ʺ

  ʺMy elder half‐brother, Ignacio, is dead, but my half‐sister Orlena and I share the same mother. She, too, left Spain and has no desire to return.ʺ

  ʺThen you were heir to a title and spurned it?ʺ

  He looked at her with a hint of cynical laughter in his eyes. ʺI didnʹt spurn it.

  Technically, until my death I am Count of Aranda.ʺ He laughed at her look of incredulity. ʺRemember that the next time you call me a loutish Spanish renegade.ʺ

  Elise felt a burble of laughter escape her lips. ʺExactly how did you know that those were my very thoughts on several occasions?ʺ

  ʺAnd they will be again, before this trip is over.ʺ

  ʺAnd what of your father? Quinn is not a Spanish surname.ʺ

  His expression lost all traces of its earlier good humor and grew stormy. ʺHe was an Irish mercenary who wed advantageously into Spanish nobility. I donʹt ever speak of him.ʺ

  Spybuck approached them from over the next hill, breaking the tension, He reined in his big piebald and said, ʺI have seen signs of Osage hunters.ʺ

  Santiago nodded. ʺGood. We should encounter Osage scouts any day now.ʺ

  ʺAre they hostile?ʺ Elise asked, scanning the horizon nervously.

  Remembering his dire warnings about her hair adoming a scalp pole, Santiago replied, ʺNot usually. They extort lavish gifts in return for safe passage through their lands. The French from Illinois and St. Louis trade with them for furs. The Osage have become fiercely competitive bargainers.ʺ Santiago affixed Elise with his sternest scowl. ʺWhen we encounter them or any other Indians, I want you to remain silent and stay near me.ʺ

  The command sounded ominous to her, but she questioned him no further.

  The beautiful, sunny dry weather turned suddenly that afternoon, and rain began to pour in sheets. The inclement elements slowed their progress, but since there was no lightning, they pressed on. Elise rode in silent misery, her sodden clothes and hair clinging to her body. She patted the big chestnut she had been assigned from the remuda while Ladybug took a rest. ʺA good thing you are such a sturdy fellow. This waterlogged, I must weigh at least a stone more than when we started.ʺ

  Gradually, the rain slowed to a fine mist, leaving the earth soaked and slippery with mud. They approached a small tributary of the Missouri, now flowing with considerable force from the earlier downpour. The banks were steep, but the men and their surefooted mounts were used to such hardship. Elise watched as they rode their horses and led the strings of heavily laden mules, scrambling down the muddy incline into the swift current. The two Indian women walked down, one slipping in the mud. Both were hauled aboard horses by the men and deposited on the opposite bank.

  Santiago had crossed several times on his big bay, overseeing the transfer. He leaned on the pommel of his saddle and stared across the river at her with a dare in his eyes. She imitated his nonchalant shrug and kicked the chestnut into descending the slippery bank.

  She made it halfway to the bottom before the horse began to slide. Used to a smaller, more agile mare with an even temperament, Elise was unable to control the big gelding. The animal became increasingly terrified and thrashed, sta
rting to roll onto his side. Lest she be crushed, she kicked free of the stirrups and leaped clear of the frenzied horse.

  She landed in the mud with a solid whump and clawed for purchase on the slick bank to no avail. The water churned below her as the chestnut hit it and righted himself, then swam toward the opposite shore. She ceased her useless struggling as she slid into the current.

  Elise had always been a strong swimmer, but the heavy encumbrance of boots and clothing began to drag her down. As she struggled to keep afloat in the roiling river, she yanked at the buttons and hooks of the skirt, ripping them loose, but she could not kick the heavy folds of material away as they wrapped around her flailing legs like a shroud.

  Santiago had seen the chestnut slide from the opposite shore. By the time Elise went under, he was already urging his stallion into the shallows to pursue her.

  He saw her dark head bob up in the current, which was bearing her rapidly downstream. She struggled to stay afloat as he raced to catch up with her. Twice she went under and again surfaced before he caught her.

  Elise felt a strong arm reach out and pluck her from the muddy water as she cursed and ripped at the clothes that were drowning her. She was hauled against Santiagoʹs hard, warm chest and held fast as his bay cleared the river with powerful strokes. When they reached the shallows, Santiago dismounted and lifted her from the horse, then carried her ashore. They had been swept a good half mile downstream, around a sharp bend of the river. A tall stand of hickory trees grew against the base of a sheltering hill. He found a mossy place and knelt down.

  ʹʹIt isnʹt dry, but at least weʹre out of the water.ʺ He continued to hold her, his hands caressing her wet skin.

  Elise clung to him, shivering. ʺIʹm alive, thatʹs all I care about,ʺ she whispered, coughing up brackish water.

  He saw the torn fastenings of her skirt. ʺYou were trying to tear the skirt offto swim?ʺ ʺOf course,ʺ she replied, coughing some more. ʺWould you be able to kick with pounds of wet linen swaddling your legs?ʺ she asked crossly.

  Santiago chuckled. ʺIʹve never tried it, no.ʺ

  Elise cursed fluently in French, making use of some of Edouardʹs best oaths. ʺI fail to see any humor in almost drowning, especially since Iʹm an excellent swimmer. But I do thank you for saving my life,ʺ she added, looking up into his unreadable face.

  He started to touch her cheek, then changed his mind and released her. ʺYouʹre welcome, but I was merely protecting my investment. You still owe me three thousand dollars.ʺ

  She flushed and moved away from him. It was better that way, he thought. The more time he spent with the mysterious woman, the less certain he became about his feelings. She was beautiful and desirable, but also strong and self‐disciplined.

  Far from being a simple sexual interlude, involvement with her would mean all sorts of emotional entanglements. Santiago Quinn did not think he was willing to pay the price.

  After they had rested a few minutes, he mounted and settled her in front of him on the saddle. They rode in silence to where Spybuck was regrouping the disarrayed caravan.

  Chapter Ten

  Elise watched Santiago that afternoon, angry with him for his withdrawal from her, angry with herself for missing his company. When they pitched camp that night, the rain had ceased, and a steamy, unbearable heat bung like a pall over everything. After her brush with death that morning, she decided to take precautions against any repeat mishaps when they crossed future rivers.

  Spybuck had already explained to her that more than a dozen awaited them before Santa Fe.

  Taking several silver bits, she walked over to where Chaco was guarding the remuda and thrust the pieces of coin at him. ʺI wish to purchase a pair of boyʹs breeches, and you look to be about my size. Have you any to spare?ʺ

  His liquid brown eyes almost popped from their sockets. ʺSurely, Señora, you do not intendʺ

  ʺYes, I do.ʺ She thrust the money at him again. ʺIf it is not enough, I have more.ʺ

  He shook his head. ʺMore than enough for a pair of my much mended calzones, but . . . Don Santiago will not like this.ʺ

  She muttered in French beneath her breath about what Don Santiago could do if he didnʹt approve and stared Chaco down until he shrugged helplessly and headed to his packroll.

  The next morning, Elise emerged from her tent and strolled toward the cookfire to break her fast. All of the men stared. Even the squaws stared. Then Brenden let out a low growl of appreciation and said, ʺWhat have we here, boyos, a new helper for Chaco?ʺ

  ʺLook at them legs,ʺ Soames muttered low.

  Several other men made lewd comments in French and Spanish, but everyone grew silent when Santiago walked into camp. Elise stood her ground as he approached.

  ʺCome with me,ʺ he said, then turned with a quelling look at the lustful faces of the assembled men and stalked toward the privacy of a small stand of trees.

  Rather than risk his wrath and her own public humiliation, she followed.

  When she caught up to him, his eyes raked down her long slender legs, then up over the curve of her hips. ʺWhat the hell are you doing?ʺ

  ʺTrying my damndest not to drown in the next river we cross.ʺ

  ʺYou will not walk about dressed as a man!ʺ

  ʺFirst you berate me for dressing and riding as a lady. Now youʹre angry when I donʹt.ʺ

  ʺDo you have any idea what the sight of a womanʹs legs and ass, so amply displayed, does to a man?ʺ

  ʹDo you have any idea what swallowing gallons of river water does to a woman?

  In britches, I can ride in comfort and swim if I must. This manner of dress could save my life.ʺ

  ʺThis manner of dress can cost your life!ʺ He raked his fingers through his hair and swore as he continued glaring at her.

  She remained calm, determined to win her point. ʺI will not risk drowning again.ʺ

  ʺThen will you risk this?ʺ he snarled, seizing her and sweeping her into his arms.

  Her body molded to his as he lowered his mouth and took her lips in a swift, savage kiss, totally unlike the seductive way he had kissed her back in the Chouteausʹ garden. His mouth ground down on hers with all the pent‐up sexual frustration, anger, and confusion that had grown inside him ever since he first saw her.

  Her calm evaporated as his hard body pressed intimately against hers and his hands roughly caressed her back, the curve of her hips and buttocks. His mouth opened over hers, and his tongue slid insistently against the seam of her lips until they parted. He delved inside, tasting, probing, eliciting her response.

  She gave it, hesitantly at first, remembering the other kiss that had ended so quicklytoo quickly. Elise let her tongue duel with his and felt frissons of pleasure jolt through her body. Then his hand moved up to cup her breast and his thigh invaded her legs, rubbing intimately against the core of her body, which her breeches made very accessible. She began to ache low in her belly and found herself pressing closer to him, grinding down on his leg.

  Santiago was a hairsbreadth from throwing her to the ground and tearing off her clothes when Spybuckʹs discreet cough brought him reeling back to his senses.

  ʺI have sighted an Osage scouting party only a mile from here. We had best discuss what presents we shall make to them.ʺ He turned and vanished through the trees.

  Quinn lifted Elise away from him and pressed her against the smooth trunk of a sapling, holding her at armʹs length while they both regained control of their bodies.

  She broke free of his grasp and turned her back on him. What have I done? This made the flirtatious kiss at the ball seem as nothing! She knew she would have let him perform the same base rutting on her that Edouard hadbut with this renegade, she had actually wanted it!

  He watched her clutch the tree, her nails digging into the bark. She was ashamed of her response to him. His black anger deepened, oddly mixed with a hurt that he refused to acknowledge. ʺWeʹre going to have visitors shortly, If you open your mouth, I swear Iʹll sell you to them!ʺ
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  She turned and slipped back into camp after he issued the rough command, loathe to face anyone. But the men were nervous now about dealing with the Osage and paid her little heed.

  Elise watched the Osage delegation ride into camp, a stately cavalcade on splendid horses. When they dismounted, she was amazed that most of the men were as tall as Santiago, who was well above average height for a white man. She had thought Spybuck fierce when she first saw him, but these plains horsemen were far more intimidating. Except for small, braided scalplocks decorated with feathers and bones, they plucked every vestige of hair from their bodies, including their eyebrows. It gave their wide faces and high foreheads an even flatter, more sinister appearance.

  They had obviously dressed for a ceremonial occasion. Heavy earrings made of bones and shells weighted down their pierced earlobes and brushed against their bare shoulders. Thick necklaces and armbands were the only covering on their upper bodies, which gleamed with oil in the morning heat. Their one concession to modesty was a breechclout. Even more barbaric, their naked flesh was tattooed. Disfiguring bluish designs and crude pictographs covered their chests, arms, and legs.

  She shivered as she watched Spybuck and Santiago talk with the leader. The exchange was made in some strange tongue. Both the Creek and the renegade appeared to be fluent in it. Again she wondered at the two men with such formidable educations who had turned their backs on civilization to live this crude and dangerous life. Spybuckʹs position was more sympathetic, a redman caught between two worlds. But what of Quinn, a Spanish count with an Irish mercenary for a father? What bitter secrets were hidden behind those hard green eyes?

  The discussion ended abruptly, and some sort of a ritual signal was made between the two sides. Then the Osage swung up on their ponies and rode away.

  ʺPrepare to break camp. Weʹve been invited to partake of Chief No Earsʹ

  hospitality. One does not decline, if heʹs at all fond of his scalp.ʺ Santiago smiled at the men, who gave nervous laughs and began to do as he ordered. His eyes traveled to Elise, who stood near her tent, watching the Indians ride away. What the hell was he going to do with a white woman in the Osage camp? Sighing, he knew the answer.