by Jenna Kernan
It was there that Eagle Dancer found her, sobbing and scrubbing her chin. He dried her face and pressed a bit of wet buckskin to her chin.
“This is a mark you cannot rub out,” he said. “This means you belong to the Sweetwater People. If you run again, any tribe that finds you will know that you are mine.”
“I did not run.”
His eyes reflected doubt.
He fingered the ends of her cropped mane and sighed. He swept her hair through his fingers, sending it away from her face. Perhaps he would not want her now that she was so ugly.
“The blue pony boys ride to our south.”
Lucie held back the flash of hope that sparked at this news.
“We move to the sacred hills. Once there, we will marry.”
Lucie clutched the bloody leather to her face. What would her mother say when she found her tattooed and married to an Indian? Shame burned through her. For the first time since her capture, Lucie wanted to die. She understood the desperation of Alice French and the humiliation that drove her to recklessness. Lucie squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying out loud.
“What is this? I tell you that you will be my wife and you weep? I raise you from a miserable captive to a place of honor.”
Lucie swallowed back her grief. He spoke the truth; she had never felt more miserable. “My chin hurts. I am thankful to Eagle Dancer for the honor he gives this one.”
He nodded, his solemn eyes still studying her as if unsure he believed her.
“Your chin will heal if you stop rubbing it.”
“I am ugly now.” Her head hung down, causing her short hair to fall all about her face.
“Look at me, Sunshine,” he whispered.
She did.
“Your hair will grow and you will bear these marks with pride. It means you are Sweetwater.”
Lucie could not keep her chin from quivering.
He stroked her hair. At last the pain and sorrow grew too great and Lucie launched into his arms like a little girl seeking comfort.
He rocked her by the riverbank, whispering tender words to her. “Many women chose to have these marks to add to their beauty. You do not need them, for you already please my eye.”
When she quieted, he led her back to camp. Shadow had already removed the hide from the frame of sticks and was tying two poles to the back of her horse.
Lucie helped her strike the camp. Within the hour the line of horses wove its way north. Lucie’s chin throbbed with each footstep. That night they had no fires, but rested on the open prairie with the men encircling them.
Three days they traveled in a column. On the morning of the fourth day the men rode off to the west and the women continued their northward march. They hurried now, with many backward glances.
Before midday, Lucie heard gunfire above the ceaseless wind. Yellow Bird had already promised to plunge a knife into her heart if she saw the cavalry. Still, Lucie’s heart bore hope. She imagined the soldiers rescuing her and taking her home.
The image shattered as she lowered her head in shame. How could she ever go home?
She had submitted to Yellow Bird and Shadow and anyone else who told her what to do. That was how she had stayed alive. She had not seen the great shame in it.
But now they had marked her face. Before her capture, people had told her she was a pretty child. Her wavy red-gold hair, blue eyes and pale complexion had always gained attention. Her mother said that a woman was more than a pretty face. Lucie had believed her. But she wondered whether a woman was also more than an ugly face. What if no one could stand to look at her now?
What if her mother could not bear the reminder of captivity branded upon her daughter’s face?
Lucie rubbed her chin, picking at the scabs in hopes that the blood would drain away the coloring. Yellow Bird shouted at her and she ceased.
The men returned before sunset. Eagle Dancer rushed into their camp and pulled Lucie to her feet. She staggered at the unusually rough treatment.
“What have I done?” she cried.
He threw her onto his horse, bounded up behind her and kicked his heels into his pony’s sides. The horse leapt away through the waving grass.
“Where are you going?” shouted Yellow Bird. Her voice, already distant as the wind, rushed past Lucie’s ears.
Some small ember of hope whispered that he was returning her to her people. The voice of doom laughed at this notion, croaking that he meant to kill her for her betrayal.
Lucie clutched at the horse’s mane as they galloped over the open prairie.
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah paced the wooden planking before her quarters while Thomas leaned against a beam as if bracing up the roof. He nursed a tin cup of coffee that had long ago gone cold, but it gave him an excuse to linger in the cool evening air.
The bugle sounded call to quarters.
Sarah stopped before him. “We can’t wait any longer, Thomas. Sooner or later a cavalry unit will find her and then the Sioux will…”
Thomas winced as an image of Alice French flashed in his mind.
“You proposing to head into Sioux territory without the cavalry?”
“I am.” She came to rest beside him, perched on the railing like a bird on a wire.
He hated to be the one to point out the impossibility of her plan and wipe that hopeful smile from her face. He used a coaxing tone, trying reason on the most unreasonable woman he had ever met.
“Sarah, I’m near desperate, too, but not so much as to run off half-cocked and leave my girl without both parents.”
“Who is allowed to come and go amongst the Indians?”
“Besides other Indians, you mean?”
Sarah pressed her lips together momentarily and then lifted a hand to emphasize her answer. “Traders. They still venture out.”
“And more than one has lost his life of late. Most dangerous line of work there is.” Still he was considering the idea. He could pay to tag along with a man known to the tribes and conduct his own search. Sarah was onto something here. He nodded.
“We could do it,” she said.
This startled him from his musings. “We? What do you mean we? You can’t go.”
“I most certainly can.”
“There are no women traders.”
He lowered his chin, bracing as Sarah rose to her feet, her eyes narrowing to slits.
“Trappers have wives. Why not traders?”
“Squaws, you mean. You don’t fit that description.”
Sarah folded her arms across her bosom. “Let me guess. You figure to ride out and leave me with the promise to come back again, right?”
He shifted uncomfortably but did not break eye contact. That was precisely what he planned to do. It was the only thing that made sense. He recalled, belatedly, that he had sworn to Sarah not to leave her again. But this was different. He wouldn’t put her in such danger.
Her gaze flashed fire and he knew she’d sunk her teeth into old grudges once again.
He tossed the coffee into the road, taking his anger out in an overzealous throw. “This isn’t like before.”
“You are right there, because this time I’ll follow you.”
Hyatt had threatened the same thing. Stupidly, Thomas had conceded and led Hyatt straight into a massacre. He glared at Sarah, drawing his line in the sand.
“You will not! You’ll stay here where it’s safe. I won’t risk Lucie losing us both.”
“This was my idea.”
“No, I say.”
“I’d rather die out there than lose you again!”
His breath caught. He couldn’t believe his ears. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she had just told him that she loved him. Well, shouted it, actually.
“Sarah?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it, like a whispered prayer. He clamped his lips together, determined not to beg for her love. But he would have if he thought it would do the least bit of good.
It wouldn’t.
Something about this woman stripped away his dignity, leaving him with nothing but his childish fantasies that the perfect love they’d shattered could somehow be restored to them.
She said nothing, so he squared his shoulders, praying for a miracle—praying she could still love him. He stared down at her face. Her cheeks glowed crimson with emotion. Her eyes seemed to echo his desire. He struggled within himself not to reach out to her, his fear of appearing ridiculous now growing stronger than his hope.
She rested her hand upon his forearm. “Take me with you.”
It wasn’t wise. Lucie could lose them both and with them all chance of rescue. “But if I don’t come back, you’ll still be here.”
Her expression hardened as the fury flashed like lightning in her eyes. “For what? To bury you? To collect her body after the cavalry attacks their village? It will take both of us to find Lucie. Don’t you run off and die on me, Thomas.”
He winced. He’d never met such a blunt woman.
The true reason for her concern settled on him. She didn’t want to lose him, but her worry did not stem from love. She felt that without his help, her quest would fail. Her insistence on coming along grew out of suspicion that without her vigilance, he’d up and die on her.
“You’re staying,” he growled.
She pushed him, and he dropped the tin cup. It bounced, then rolled noisily to a stop.
“Traveling with the traders was my idea,” she said. “Why don’t you stay here and wait while I go out and find my daughter.”
“Our daughter.”
She didn’t dispute that, at least.
“You asked for my help.”
“Then don’t abandon me by the roadside like some broken wagon wheel.”
Anger pulsed through his veins. He knew he was right in this, but she would twist it around and bring up past mistakes to make him feel like the blackest of villains.
He gripped her shoulders.
“You are a damn stubborn woman. For once in your life, do what I tell you.”
She stared up at him, eyes blazing. “I did what you asked once, Thomas. This time I’ll follow you.”
“Won’t listen to reason or do as you’re told, just like Hyatt.”
Comparing her to Hyatt seemed to shock Sarah speechless for her mouth dropped open for a moment. “Thomas, I’m not Hyatt.”
“Aren’t you? He followed, too. But not this time. I have enough blood on my hands.”
Their gazes locked and she reached up to cup his face.
Thomas closed his eyes to savor her touch, recognizing his mistake too late. All the worry liquefied into molten desire at her touch. God how he wanted this—wanted her. His gaze flicked from her slightly parted full lips to meet her startled expression. She felt it, too.
Was she preparing to flee like the antelope or strike like the panther? To push him away as she had done each time he persued her.
She neither fought nor fled. Instead, she licked her lips, causing an avalanche of desire to break loose within him. His fingers tightened on her shoulders.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured.
Her fingers delved into his hair as he tipped her mouth to accept his kiss. His lips and tongue assaulted her, and she returned the firebrand with her own.
He groaned as the need to press himself to her overwhelmed him. Could it be fourteen years since he had held her naked in his arms? The desire had only grown fiercer with time. Why was it that of all the women he had known, only this frustrating female made him tremble like a green boy? Why couldn’t he get her taste from his mouth or her memory from his mind? His blood coursed past his ears like a waterfall, deafening him.
He dipped his tongue into the shell of her ear. Her gasp sent a sweet shot of desire to his core.
She clung like ivy. He glanced about to find them hidden in the shadows of the porch. Behind him, the door to her room beckoned. Would she come to her senses if he moved them?
Fear gripped him. If he lifted her into his arms and carried her to her bed, would she accept him or recall only that he had failed her?
She moaned and rubbed against him in open invitation, bringing her hips into aching contact with his erection.
“Consequences be damned,” he muttered, scooping her into his arms, charging through the door and kicking it closed behind them. He kissed her, in an effort to distract Sarah from their new location. He laid her on the bed and slid down upon her. But she pressed at his shoulders, giving him the rejection he feared.
How could he live even one more night without feeling his Sarah naked and wanting beneath him?
The memories returned of her daring innocent self all those years ago. He had taken what she offered and then blamed her as his seductress. All this time he had not accepted his part. Now he recalled her hesitation and how he had plied her with warm kisses and reassurances, just as he did now. He felt sick with regret.
No. Not this time. He would not lure her again, even if he was panting mad for her.
He drew back. She rose to sit beside him, but instead of retreat, she reached for the buttons on his shirt. His eyes rounded in shock. In a moment she peeled the garment from his shoulders.
“Sarah, are you certain?”
She hesitated, her fingers trembling. She stared up at him with large, luminous eyes. “Don’t you want me, Thomas?”
He grasped her hand.
“I want you.” He squeezed her hand. “Still.”
She rose before him like a shadow in the darkness. He stared but could make out no more than her outline in the night. The last time he had her in the darkness, seeing her only with his body and his hands. How he wished he could see her now. He clenched his jaw and groped for the box at the bedside table and struck a match. It flared white for an instant.
Sarah hesitated, frozen in the light. Thomas touched the match to the wick of the single candle by her bed.
“Thomas?” Her voice quavered, driving him mad.
“I want to see you, Sarah. Please.”
She drew a breath as if for courage and nodded, then released the eyelets of her dress. With agile fingers she peeled away the sleeves and released the fastening at the waist. The dress pooled about her ankles. Once free, she caught the collar on the nail beside her bed, and then turned to face him, wearing only her camisole and petticoats. He stared in appreciation.
Sarah had never needed a corset to narrow her waist.
Next, she lifted a leg to the foot rail, gripping a buttonhook as he discarded his shirt, boots and socks.
She tucked her shoes neatly beneath the bed and straightened, laying her open palm upon the smooth surface of his chest. “I’ve always regretted not seeing you the first time, as well.”
He smiled, wondered if his body would please her eye. Doubt nipped like a terrier at his heels. He straightened his shoulders against the uncertainty. The price of seeing all of her was to allow her to see him. Tonight, he would gaze into her eyes when he entered her. That thought made him shiver with anticipation.
Her hand slid down the center of his chest and over the ridges of his stomach. He gasped as her fingers paused at the button fastening his trousers. With a tug and push, she had him undone. He gripped the dark wool as doubt accosted him.
“Sarah, I don’t want to make another mistake.”
“I know what I want.” Her lovely brow lifted. “Do you?”
Oh, certainly he did. Nothing had ever aroused him as much as the desire flashing in her eyes. He rose to his feet and reached for the cords that held her petticoats, unfastening one skirt after another. They fell about her like petals from a white rose.
He paused with his fingers perched on the lip of her bloomers, his knuckle brushing the sensitive skin of her soft belly.
She gasped and trembled at his touch. He drew back the cord, releasing the bow and knot. She stepped from them gracefully and then drew off her camisole, removing the final barrier.
He stared in wonder at the picture she made in the soft g
olden candlelight, her body pale and her nipples rosy and taut. His fingers itched to touch her, but he seemed frozen with wonder as she reached to release her auburn hair from its long braid.
He noticed then that the thatch of hair at the juncture of her legs was lighter than the hair upon her head, nearly the same fiery color as his own wild red head once had been. Looking up, he saw her chest rising in quick rhythm as he inched closer.
Thomas stroked the long column of her throat, his hand stilling at the plane of her shoulder as his eyes continued their descent. Her breasts looked larger than he remembered and the flat belly he had once stroked now showed a sensual curve.
He smiled, lifting his gaze to meet hers.
“I’m a girl no longer,” she said. Her voice carried with it a note of apology that nearly broke his heart.
“Thank God for it.”
Her eyes rounded for a moment as if she could not credit his words. Perhaps she believed the truth shining in his eyes, for gradually the startled expression vanished as a smile curled her lips.
“I’d see you as well.”
He frowned. Now he would have to face her scrutiny. The uncertainty returned. A man’s body was not as beautiful as a woman’s.
What changes would she see?
“Coward,” she whispered.
Unable to resist the challenge in her eyes, he drew down his pants and long johns, tossing them on the chair.
Standing still for her was the hardest thing he’d ever done. No, the second hardest. Leaving her behind had been worse. It was why he never turned back to wave on parting. He knew if he did, he’d never have the strength to go.
He stanched the urge to devour her as she lifted her index finger to his chest, dragging it over his shoulder and sweeping down his back as she walked in a slow circle about him. He twitched at the contact, like a fish upon a hook, knowing he had no chance of release from this torment save the one she could grant him.
At last she stood before him again.
“I wish I had seen you then.”
“I was a skinny boy.” Without the sense to know the treasure I sought stood right before me, he thought.
