by Carol Finch
Her tender seduction blocked out memory and logic.
Hawk could no longer think. His brain had ceased to function the moment her satiny skin had come into contact with his flesh, making him sharply aware of the contrast between his well-muscled body and her softness. Only Rozalyn felt so good in his arms.
Her touch was deliberate, stirring him with the faintest strokes, and his pain became sheer pleasure. Hawk was oblivious to all except his maddening need. His hand tunneled through her tangled hair to tip her head back, and his kiss lost its gentleness as passion raged within him. The probing insistence of his tongue forced her lips apart; he molded her body closer, and closer still. His mouth explored and Rozalyn eagerly responded. His hand caressed and she moaned in soft surrender.
As they lay side by side, their bodies touching, their hearts beating as one, the raging fire between them became the vital flame of love. Rozalyn took him to her, reveling in the sweet splendor of possessing, of being possessed. She was vividly aware of the sinewed columns of his body straining against hers. Hawk was masculinity in its raw, pure state and she drew strength from him, feeding on the churning emotions that engulfed her.
She answered his hard, demanding thrusts, her body moving in perfect rhythm with his. He was taking her higher, allowing her to glimpse the glorious horizon that awaited them on the far side of the sun. She was soaring on golden wings, flying beyond the perimeters of reality, caught in a current of ecstasy that lifted her and then flung her to dizzying heights of pleasure.
Suddenly the sun exploded, and her emotions diverged in a thousand different directions. Her need for this reckless mountain man was maddening—a craving that defied reason, a fierce, compulsive hunger. The rapture of his lovemaking was wild, sweet torment, and Rozalyn clung to him as incredible sensations converged within her, driving her onward to that timeless moment of sublime ecstasy.
When the soul-shattering sensation came, time stood still, and for what seemed forever Rozalyn was shaken by wave upon wave of ineffable pleasure. Her nails dug into the rippling muscles of Hawk's back. She was afraid to let go, afraid to learn this had all been a fantastic dream. Slowly the sensations ebbed, taking her strength with them. A tremulous sigh escaped her lips as she cuddled against Hawk's warm body. No words passed between them. There was no need for speech. Their sweet, companionable silence said it all.
For a time they slept, a peaceful, relaxed sleep filled with contented dreams. When Hawk's lashes fluttered up, he smiled at the shapely beauty beside him. Stunned by her loveliness, he reached out to comb his fingers through her ebony strands. This tempting sprite had shown Hawk many faces, but the one he viewed now tugged at his heart. Her flawless features were soft in repose, her skin, like satin, brushed lightly against his. She deserves better than this, he scolded himself. How could he have snatched her from her secure world and forced her into the wilderness? Troubled by his thoughts, Hawk inched away to pull on his breeches.
Once Hawk had staggered to his feet and donned his shirt, he nudged Rozalyn awake. Her eyes drifted up to see the awesome mountain man poised before her.
Where had he gotten the strength to rise was beyond her.
She would have been content to sleep until dawn, but Hawk was dressed and she was immediately aware of his intention. "Can't we delay until morning?" She accepted the clothing Hawk thrust at her, but not without frowning her disappointment. "I still contend that you are not healthy enough to travel."
"I have to be," Hawk muttered, turning away before Rozalyn could protest the idiocy of his plan.
Rozalyn's breath came out in a rush. Grumbling, she climbed to her feet and reluctantly followed in Hawk's wake. He was not strong enough to ride, for heaven's sake! If the ride didn't kill him the infection would. All the protests she intended to voice when she marched outside died on her lips.
Hawk flung his left arm over the saddle, preparing to swing onto his horse. "Thank you for saving my life, wanyecha," he murmured. When he graced her with a boyish smile that cut deep lines through his bronzed features, Rozalyn melted in her moccasins. "If I felt I had the choice, I would be content to spend the night in your arms. But I cannot breathe easily until we put more distance between ourselves and Half-Head." His smile faded and a hauntingly rueful expression appeared in his eyes. "I know you gave yourself to me because you thought it would keep me here for a time. But even passion cannot disguise the fact that you would truly prefer not to be housed in such close quarters with your worst enemy."
"Better you than Half-Head." Rozalyn picked up the horse's reins and then turned back to Hawk who was struggling into the saddle. "You are not my worst enemy, Hawk," she told him quietly. "If I could be granted one wish it would be that the two of us become friends."
"Friends?" Hawk chuckled, but carefully. Laughter jarred his wound. Again the smile evaporated from his ashen lips. "This thing between us can be only fire or ice, Roz," he told her soberly. "There is no room for any emotion in between. We hurt each other and we grow cold and insensitive for a time, but when we dare to touch it ignites a blaze that neither of us can control." Hawk touched his heels to the stallion's ribs, urging him toward the rocky path. "Friendship? Ah ... if only it were that simple. . . ."
A disheartened frown etched Rozalyn's features while she stared at Hawk's departing back. Did he dislike her so much, except when he was satisfying his lusts? Why could he not look upon her as his friend? The man could use at least one since he seemed to be surrounded by enemies. Heaving a discouraged sigh, Rozalyn followed Hawk along the winding path that led down from the bluffs. Her gaze swung back to the cavern where they had made wild, sweet love. She must leave those tender memories behind, just as Hawk had; she was a fool for falling in love with him again. Hawk offered her passion, nothing more. How many more of these lectures would she have to deliver to herself before she accepted the truth? she wondered, then she realized they would become a daily ritual. The strong affection she felt for this powerfully built mountain man would be with her forever—and Hawk didn't want forever. Although she knew in her heart that they had no future together, Rozalyn could not stop wanting what she knew she could never have.
Chapter 16
Relief flooded over Hawk's pallid features when he saw the silhouette of Fort William on the western horizon. The log stockade established four years earlier for trade with the Indians, was located near the junction of the North Platte and Laramie Rivers. Around it, rich, lush grass, thick groves of cottonwood trees, and sparkling water made a peaceful picture in the waning sunlight. While inside, the fort contained living quarters for weary travelers, warehouses, and trading posts. Never had Hawk been so anxious to reach this sanctuary.
His eyes drifted to the enticing beauty who rode silently at his side, and a sense of pride swelled within him as he remembered how Rozalyn had handled herself in the face of catastrophe. He had put her through hell, but she had emerged with no more than a scratch. A lesser woman would have perished, but not Rozalyn. After her frightening trials, she deserved to be in the care of those who were able to keep a watchful eye on her.
Hawk had pushed himself to near collapse, but he was certain Half-Head was still forging his way north. Hawk's only chance was to leave Rozalyn in capable hands while he led Aubrey's ruthless henchman in circles. Then Half-Head would find himself ambushed. The bastard deserves no better, Hawk told himself bitterly.
A wry smile skittered across Hawk's lips when he spied a trading party of Sioux emerging from the stockade. It was Rozalyn's misfortune to glance in Hawk's direction at that moment. She frowned warily when she noticed the calculating look in his eyes. It spelled trouble. Rozalyn would have given anything to have been able to read his mind.
Her gaze narrowed on the small group of Indians who moved toward them. Each brave was dressed in bright, colorful garments and was heavily strapped with symbolic weapons. Their paint ponies were adorned with bells, feathers, and ribbons that the Indians had gotten at the fort in exchange for furs and
blankets. The Sioux had painted their faces and chests with yellow-moss pigment and ashes before attending the trade ceremony. Why all this pomp and circumstance? Rozalyn wondered. And why was Hawk grinning at the decorated braves who approached them in their proud, aloof manner?
When Hawk began to speak a foreign tongue, Rozalyn peered bewilderedly at him. Bravely, she darted a glance at the warriors, who were studying her as if she were a piece of merchandise they were considering purchasing. One brave circled around her, scrutinizing her from all angles. Then he reached out to lift a tangled strand of her hair, making Roz flinch uncomfortably.
"What is going on here?" Rozalyn wanted to know.
"Quiet," Hawk ordered, without taking his eyes off the chief. "Chief Zitkatanka and I are bartering."
Rozalyn breathed an exasperated sigh and impatiently followed Hawk's conversation with the Sioux chief, though she didn't know what they were discussing so seriously.
"Wiwasteka," the chief acknowledged as he surveyed Rozalyn with piercing black eyes.
Hawk nodded agreeably. "Wastewayakapiwin."
A faint smile skipped across Zitkatanka's weather-beaten face. Then he turned his attention to the three braves who were clustered about him and gave an order.
Suddenly the Sioux braves swarmed around Rozalyn, uprooting her from her perch and placing her in front of one of them. She screeched in indignation, and her wild blue eyes flew to Hawk who was grinning like the ornery weasel he was.
"What have you done?" Rozalyn shrieked at him. Unsuccessfully she tried to free herself. The brave appeared to have no intention of allowing her to escape from his bone-crushing grasp.
"I have traded you for the right to hunt and trap in the Sioux nation this winter," Hawk casually informed her, only to be assaulted by a string of curses. "Chief Zitkatanka promises to hold you in high esteem, and he also says you are a very beautiful prize."
"You refused to give me to Half-Head and yet you eagerly trade me to the Sioux?" Roz hissed as she was led away. "I have heard what Indians do to captive white women. Damn you, Hawk!"
"I thought you would be pleased with the arrangements since you have no fond attachment to me or Half-Head." He chuckled, massaging his aching shoulder. "Besides, what better place to stash you for safekeeping than with the Sioux? Half-Head won't go near their camp; the Sioux and Blackfoot are mortal enemies."
As the Indians carted Rozalyn away, kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs, the smile vanished from Hawk's lips. Wearily, he slumped in his saddle, his body crying out for much needed rest. But he could not stop, not just yet. He had to ensure that Half-Head had no chance of finding Rozalyn. She had dared to turn her pistol on Half-Head and he was merciless and vengeful. Hawk knew full well what would happen if Half-Head got his hands on that fiery beauty. The thought made him shudder uncontrollably, and he quickly cast the ghastly picture from his mind, turning his thoughts to his purpose.
Hawk had made arrangements with Chief Zitkatanka, promising to deliver fur pelts for trade if the Sioux would keep watch over Rozalyn until he had settled his score with Half-Head. His gaze shifted to the stockade and he nudged his steed into a trot. At least he could enjoy a decent meal and one night's sleep before he planted tracks north, Hawk decided. Come the morrow, he would find the perfect spot to meet the murdering scoundrel who pursued him. Hawk intended to confront Half-Head once again, but he would not risk Rozalyn's life. She would be safe with the Sioux chief while he disposed of Half-Head.
The Sioux village, set amid the stately aspens and pines of the foothills, had not enjoyed a quiet moment since Chief Zitkantaka had brought Rozalyn back with him from Fort William. Rozalyn had made several attempts to escape from her wigwam, and the chief had been forced to post guards. By the end of the fourth day Zitkatanka was at his wit's end. He had generously offered Hawk's woman clothing worn by Sioux squaws, feasts of friendship, and a fine pony to ride during her stay. But Rozalyn had thrown one tantrum after another. Nothing could subdue her, except the sleeping potion the shaman had spoon-fed her the previous night. That was the first peaceful night in the camp since Roz had arrived.
Now Zitkatanka's face fell when he stepped into Rozalyn's tepee. It looked as if a cyclone had blown through it, upending the neat stack of buffalo hide quilts and eating utensils. Rozalyn stood in the middle of her wigwam, her feet apart, her eyes blazing with fury, and her wild hair tumbling about her shoulders. Never had the chief seen such a blatant display of anger in a woman!
"Take me back to Hawk this instant!" She shouted at the chief as if he were hard of hearing. She had awakened from her sleep-drugged dreams, infuriated that the medicine man and his assistant had held her down and forced her to swallow a foul-tasting sedative. "I will not remain here! Not another minute. Do you hear me?"
"Wakishaha ..." The chief mused aloud, his narrowed gaze surveying the damages. This fiery-tempered woman never strayed from her purpose. She was determined to have her way or make life miserable for those who thought to subdue her.
Zitkatanka had given his word to Hawk, but he was not certain how long his people would tolerate this belligerent white woman in their midst. There was already talk that she was possessed by demon spirits. Zitkatanka had tried to explain to them that Roz was Hawk's woman and that he himself knew her to be wild and unruly, but even he had expected nothing like this! Hawk was a blood brother of the Sioux, a man of honor. Zitkatanka greatly respected the half-breed, but his friendship was being sorely tested.
"Take me to Hawk!" Rozalyn gritted out, silently swearing she would make Hawk pay dearly for forcing her on the Sioux.
How dare he treat her like some domestic animal, bartering and trading her at whim. First he had used her to bargain with Aubrey. Now he had traded her to the Sioux for hunting privileges. Would she ever learn not to trust the conniving weasel? Hawk had claimed that she would be safer with the Sioux than with him, but Rozalyn knew he was only anxious to have her out from underfoot until the following summer.
Zitkatanka stared into Rozalyn's blazing blue eyes for a long, thoughtful moment. He owed Hawk a favor, it was true. But this woman was only manageable when she rode at Hawk's side. Although, he could not speak English, Zitkatanka knew what Rozalyn demanded. There are times when words are unnecessary to convey messages, and this was one of them. Rozalyn had expressed her displeasure by shouting and leaving her wigwam in a shambles.
Finally, Zitkatanka nodded in compliance. "Chan-yata." He stepped over to draw open the flap of the tepee. After gesturing to the west, he addressed Rozalyn with a faint smile. "Wiwasteka."
The tension drained from Rozalyn's body when she realized the aging chief had decided to grant her wish. She followed him outside and peered at the tall pines that towered to the west, just below the snow-capped peaks. When she fell into step behind Zitkatanka, Rozalyn noticed the wary expressions on the faces of those who had gathered about them. She had made a bad impression on the Sioux. No doubt, she would not be welcome if she ever returned.
But dammit, Hawk was not going to order her about, she told herself determinedly. She would not sit idly by while he traded her for favors and deceitfully claimed to have her best interest at heart. He didn't want her with him, but that was no reason to pawn her off on the Sioux nation!
When Rozalyn rode off with Chief Zitkatanka and three braves as escort, she mentally prepared the lecture she intended to give that scoundrel Hawk. She would damned well let him know exactly what she thought of his tactics. He had uprooted her from St. Louis, and he was not going to conveniently tuck her out of sight when the mood suited him. When she got her hands on him, she'd pound some sense into him, she promised herself.
After easing back on the cot, Hawk smiled up at the Indian maiden who had graciously offered him her room and a massage for his tender shoulder. Chumani was more than willing to offer more. Indeed, there had been times when Hawk had come to Fort William with visions of this lovely Crow maiden dancing in his head. Chumani had been sold by the trib
esmen to a white trapper two years earlier, but the man had perished in a snowslide while hunting in the mountains, so she had returned to Fort William to trade the fur pelts they had collected. Then she had remained at the stockade instead of returning to her people to be traded to yet another man.
Although Chumani was eager and willing to please him, Hawk had informed her that he had taken another woman and that he was tied to her, even though she lived among the Sioux. For the life of him, Hawk didn't know why he had confessed even the smallest amount of sentiment for that blue-eyed witch. Nor could he fathom why a woman who had once aroused him no longer appealed to him.
Chumani had quietly displayed her disappointment, but she had not become loud and vocal. That was not the way of this Indian squaw. Hawk knew full well if the situation had been reversed and it was Rozalyn he faced, she would have loudly protested. Why did he have an obsessive need for that fiery vixen when he could have Chumani who obeyed his demands without complaint?
Heaving a weary sigh, Hawk closed his eyes and relaxed beneath Chumani's gentle touch. He had spent the better part of a week setting traps to ensnare Half-Head, watching, awaiting an opportunity to strike. But the white man had never shown his grizzly face. Could Half-Head have perished from his wound? Where was the miserable brute?
"Are you feeling better, Maishu?" Chumani questioned, calling Hawk by the name the Crow had given him.
"Much. . . ." Hawk breathed. "You have a gentle touch, Chumani."
A rueful smile rippled across her lips. Lovingly, she continued to massage Hawk's shoulder; then she applied a fresh poultice to the mending wound. "This woman of yours . . . she must possess great powers to win your loyalty, Maishu." Carefully, she eased herself down by his side, continuing to speak to him in the Crow dialect. "There was a time when you and I were very close. I had hoped one day we—"
