Captive Bride

by Carol Finch

  Rozalyn hastily drew in air when Hawk granted her a breath. Then she composed herself and looped her arms over his shoulders, flashing him an impish grin. "I fear I wasn't paying close attention, would you mind repeating that?"

  Hawk returned her contagious smile. "Not at all." Lord, he loved to watch the sunlight sparkle in her blue eyes, to feel her petite body brushing suggestively against his. He could lose himself in the tantalizing fragrance that was so much a part of her. "For you, amie, anything. . . ."

  His arms tightened, seeking an intimacy that was impossible with their hindering garments, and his lips grazed hers in a gentle whisper of a kiss before they settled firmly upon hers. A need as ancient as time accosted him when his mouth slanted over Rozalyn's, impelling his wandering hand to slip beneath her jacket and trace the band of her breeches, then swirl across her hips.

  Suddenly Rozalyn couldn't remember where they were or why. Her body had forgotten it had a brain. She was ardently responding, eager for his touch. Nothing had changed between them. The fire of passion burned just as brightly as it had on those nights in his cabin, as intensely as it had that first night so long ago. Time had not diminished their flame. It blazed anew each time they lost themselves in the circle of each other's arms.

  Hawk was yanked back to reality when his overloaded steed stumbled in a deep snowbank, and a squawk of surprise tumbled from Rozalyn's lips when she found herself sailing through the air. As she landed atop Hawk's belly, he expelled a pained grunt and then flashed his horse a disgruntled frown.

  "I think it best to ride single until we descend to the meadows," he advised as he hoisted Rozalyn to her feet. "My mount doesn't seem to appreciate our dallying on his back while he is having difficulty navigating through these snow drifts."

  A becoming blush stained her cheeks because she felt a mite foolish, but when Hawk pulled her into his arms, she lost all track of time and place.

  A moment she stood there, knee deep in snow, before Hawk scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder, playfully swatting her derriere. "We are making miserable time," he grumbled. "At this pace we won't reach the fort for a month."

  When he had set Rozalyn back on her own horse, she flung him a wry smile. "You cannot blame the delay on me. I was sitting on my steed, minding my own business," she reminded him saucily.

  Hawk's dancing green eyes raked her concealed figure as if she were poised before him without a stitch of clothing. "The fault still lies with you," he insisted. "If you weren't so distracting I wouldn't have difficulty keeping my hands off you."

  "My fault?" she repeated increduously. My, but he could twist logic until it made no sense at all. "I did nothing to entice you or distract you," she protested self-righteously.

  He gave her a long, provocative look that assured her he liked what he saw and would have no aversion to doing more than gazing at her if they were elsewhere. "Your being here is enticement enough," he growled seductively, and then he let loose with a wolfish cry.

  As Hawk eased his steed down the snow-blanketed slope, a pleased smile rippled across Rozalyn's lips. Lord, his rakish grin and the suggestive tilt of his eyebrows had sent a tingle along her spine. A longing sigh tripped from her lips as she studied Hawk's departing back. No matter how long she lived, she would never forget his hawkish stares and devilish grins. But those were only two of the things that would warm her' memories, she mused pensively. For years to come she would remember their first meeting, their first splendrous night. In the beginning, Hawk had refused to consider her a friend as well as a lover. But time and the trials they'd undergone had drawn them closer. They had shared more than passion. Their blossoming love had bound their minds as well as their hearts, and as they had come to know each other's moods, they had confided their innermost thoughts. And yet... A troubled frown knitted Rozalyn's brow. Beneath Hawk's playful raillery and amorous assaults, she sensed that he was withholding something.

  At times he seemed miles away, as if he were grappling with some disturbing vision. When she had questioned him, he had shrugged off his deliberations and had quickly pursued another subject. Rozalyn wanted no secrets between them, not even one, but Hawk seemed to prefer to keep this one dilemma to himself. -Was he pondering the future? Was he planning his confrontation with Aubrey? Or was he harboring some past pain?

  Rozalyn's meandering thoughts scattered when they descended from the snowy summits to find that spring indeed graced the mountain meadows. Across the sprawling pastures a herd of bison grazed on the tender new sprigs of grass, and the chatter of birds filled the air, serenading them as they made their way toward the junction of the Bighorn and Yellowstone Rivers.

  The spectacular scenery momentarily made Rozalyn forget their days were numbered. This was a breathtaking paradise. She spent her nights in the rapturous circle of Hawk's arms and viewed the grandeur of nature while they tracked their way north. Although Hawk had spotted a hunting party of Blackfoot, they had managed to take cover in the thick underbrush before being discovered. That had been their only near-brush with calamity since they'd left the cabin. Rozalyn was most grateful that they had emerged unscathed for Bear-Claw had told her stories about the ruthless Blackfoot tribe that prowled the wilderness.

  One evening while they crouched before the campfire, she peered off into the distance and sighed contentedly. She sat comfortably between Hawk's muscled legs, her head resting against his sturdy shoulder. Hawk, who had propped himself against the mound of saddles and supplies, was enjoying the peaceful serenity as he hugged Rozalyn. He followed her gaze past the snow-capped precipices that glowed like silver in the full moonlight. The tranquil setting had a soothing effect on him until an unsettling thought darted through his mind and he flinched involuntarily. He had traversed this unclaimed territory at least a dozen times in the past, but the journey had never been as pleasurable as it was with Rozalyn by his side. How in God's name would he be able to follow this trail again without remembering? Each sight would recall Rozalyn's shapely silhouette. Her memory would linger, not only in his cabin, but also in every valley and atop every pastel-colored summit.

  How could he endure the next journey alone after he had shared this one with her? And even worse, how could he possibly convince Aubrey to allow Rozalyn to remain in the mountains after what Bear-Claw had told him about the man's bitter past? These dismal questions dampened Hawk's spirit for he believed Aubrey would go on hating him because of something that had occurred more than thirty years ago, something over which Hawk had no control. If the passage of time hadn't eased Aubrey's resentment, how could Hawk hope to mellow him? Nonetheless, he continued to ponder several solutions. They all had flaws, but he was certain there was some possibility he had overlooked.

  "A penny for your thoughts," Rozalyn murmured, studying the faraway expression that had settled on his ruggedly handsome features.

  A tender smile grazed Hawk's lips when he glanced down into her spellbinding blue eyes. "I was just thinking how empty life will be without you."

  Rozalyn wished to heaven she hadn't pried since she was trying very hard not to think about the dreadful day she would be taken from Hawk's life. She trembled uncontrollably, then twisted to face him, her body arching to fit itself intimately to his.

  "Hold me close. Make the world go away. It seems so cruel and unfair—"

  With a muffled groan his firm lips swooped down on hers, plundering her mouth with a fierce, impatient hunger that he made no attempt to control. The world faded from Rozalyn's mind when she surrendered to the erotic feel of his hands and lips. Then his hard body entwined with hers, blocking out all thought. Over and over again Hawk murmured of his love, his insatiable need, and Rozalyn, with breathless kisses, told of her deep feelings for him. Together they soared like a shooting star that leaves a fiery path across the night sky, burning brighter until, with one final blaze of glory, their souls forged at the perimeters of the universe.

  Hawk's thudding heart shriveled in his chest when he glanced dow
n to see tears misting Rozalyn's eyes. Moonbeams cascaded down her ebony hair which was spread across the thick carpet of grass, and he could not help but resent Aubrey DuBois, not only because of his unfair treatment of the trappers, but because he would soon seize the one thing more precious and dear to Hawk than life. Sweet Jesus, why had he traded Rozalyn for reasonable prices for supplies, he asked himself acrimoniously. The very fact that he had used her thus would make it impossible to keep her when the bargaining was done.

  Think man, he growled to himself. But his mind was too numb with passion's pleasure to devise a scheme to defeat Aubrey ... if indeed there was one. The hopelessness of their ill-fated love descended upon him like a rockslide. He might well become a hero to the trappers if he managed to get them a profitable margin, but he had made his own life hell by using Rozalyn to get his way. All the money to be gained from beaver pelts couldn't fill the vacuum that would envelop Hawk when he had to trade Rozalyn back to Aubrey. Dammit, the man has no true concern for his daughter, Hawk thought sourly. Confounded it, there is nothing fair about the whole business!

  Chapter 24

  Pensive blue eyes appraised the crude fort set at the fork of the Yellowstone and Bighorn Rivers, and a knot of apprehension coiled in the pit of Rozalyn's stomach as she wondered what awaited her. Apart from the fort were dozens of wigwams that housed the Crow who had ventured from their winter camp to trade for supplies and flashy trinkets. And inside the log walls were a horde of barbaric ruffians who had not laid eyes on a white woman in years. Rozalyn swallowed hard. Would she find herself battling men who had as many arms as a wheel had spokes? Or would these men Hawk considered his friends respect his claim on her?

  Rozalyn wasn't certain whether she would prefer to take her chances with the so-called savages or be swarmed by the rough-edged lechers inside the stockade. If Hawk had asked her, she would have said she preferred that they make camp alone, leaving both heathens and mountain men to their own kind.

  When the stockade gate swung open to grant them entrance, Rozalyn's gaze circled the many faces that stared at the new arrivals. With an effort she forced a smile when several burly men swarmed around them before they could dismount.

  "Well, glory be!" Two-Dogs hooted when he recognized Hawk. Then he ogled the young woman in buckskins. After he had thoroughly assessed the curvaceous beauty with long, flowing hair, he refocused his eyes on Hawk. "I heard you was dead. But then, maybe you are at that. Why else would you be travelin' with this angel?"

  Hawk grinned down at the heavyset mountaineer whose wide smile exposed the lack of several teeth. "How goes the trapping Two-Dogs? Or have you been hibernating like the grizzlies this winter?"

  Two-Dogs snickered at Hawk's taunt, but his gaze strayed back to the enticing beauty whose appearance gave new meaning to doehide garments. Two-Dogs had seen his share of appropriate clothing for the wilderness, but none of it had looked as appealing as Rozalyn's.

  "I've done my share of trappin'," Two-Dogs finally got around to saying. "But I lost part of my pelts and some possibles when a party of Shoshone snuck up on me."

  "Shoshone?" Hawk raised a dark eyebrow. "Since when have they pestered white trappers? I thought they were reasonably friendly."

  "Mostly they are, but sometimes they like to practice what they do for a livin'—sneak up on people. And they were damned good at it." A sheepish grin caught the corner of his mouth as he dragged the coonskin cap farther down on his forehead. "S'cuse me, ma'am. I forgot m'self."

  "Rozalyn, this is Two-Dogs." Hawk hastily introduced the trapper. "And that"—he extended an arm toward a tall, lean, stubbled-faced man who was drooling over Rozalyn from a distance. "This grizzly character is called Fuzzy."

  Rozalyn had no difficulty realizing how the young man had acquired his nickname. His head was capped with thick red hair that curled so tightly it hugged his temples and forehead.

  "And this poor excuse of a man is Trapper." Hawk indicated the stout mountaineer with sparkling green eyes. "And beneath that ungodly homemade cap is Wolf-Paw."

  Hawk gestured toward the short, wiry older man who wore a most unusual hat, no doubt of his own design. The crown of the cap was a wolfs head, and the animal's gray hair formed ear flaps that extended to the collar of his wolf-skin coat. Rozalyn wondered if Two-Heads would have been a more appropriate name for the crusty mountain man until she noted the heavy strand of claws that encircled his neck.

  "I'm pleased to meet all of you," she murmured, even though she was being devoured by four pairs of unblinking eyes that sought to peer through her buckskin clothes to determine exactly what lay beneath them.

  A muddled frown appeared on Hawk's brow when Trapper suddenly pivoted about and marched toward the gate. "Where are you off to in such a rush?"

  "To bathe," Trapper threw over his shoulder. "I ain't got no notion to offend the lady."

  "Bathe?" Two-Dogs and Wolf-Paw hooted simultaneously. "You ain't bin near water since the time you fell in the river, tryin' to snare a fish."

  Trapper puffed up indignantly. "I got no aversion to bathin'," he protested. "But I had no cause to wash when I was livin' with you and the rest of these uncivilized hooligans."

  Hawk watched in amazement as all four men strode through the gate to take to the river like a raft of ducks. "It seems your presence has already caused a stir," he remarked, flashing Roz a wry smile. "You should be flattered that these backward trappers have made such personal sacrifices to impress you."

  "It leave me to wonder if one can wash away one's upbringing," Rozalyn mused aloud. "After the blatant stares I received, I can only pray the river can cleanse their off-color thoughts."

  A low skirl of laughter bubbled from Hawk's chest. "They were a mite obvious, weren't they?" Agilely, he hopped to the ground and then pulled Rozalyn from her saddle. "They aren't so bad, once you get to know them. Granted, they are starved for affection, but you might be surprised to find these men have better manners than the so-called gentlemen you have met in St. Louis."

  "I suppose they couldn't be any worse than Jeffrey Corday," Rozalyn muttered.

  "They are hardly in that skinny-legged milk sop's class." Hawk snorted. Then he gave her a beseeching smile. "Don't begrudge these men their fawning over you. They mean no harm. They are my friends."

  Rozalyn had never been able to resist the charismatic smile that made Hawk's face even more dashing. "Very well," she said agreeably. "I will be cordial, but if one of them—"

  "If one of them offends you, I will personally see to it that he is properly punished," Hawk finished for her. After pressing a fleeting kiss to her puckered brow, Hawk gestured toward one of the rustic cabins that lined the inner walls of the fort. "Our accommodations, mademoiselle. When I have shown you to our quarters I will inform Benjamin Phillips of our arrival."

  When Hawk disappeared inside a large cabin set apart from the smaller shacks, Rozalyn entered after him. It was similar to the one in which they had slept at Fort William. In one corner were a bed and crude night stand. Near the fireplace stood a small table and chairs. Although the accommodations were a far cry from the elaborate furnishings of her St. Louis mansion, Rozalyn wasn't complaining, not when she and Hawk would be spending their nights cradled in thick fur quilts. Her contemplative deliberations were interrupted when Hawk again eased open the door and strode inside, carrying an armload of supplies.

  "Benjamin Phillips, the keeper of the fort, better known as the Prince of Yellowstone, has invited us to dine with him," Hawk announced after setting aside his menagerie of goods. When he had drawn a large pouch from the pile, he presented it to Rozalyn. "For you, amie."

  A muddled frown clouded her brow as she accepted the gift, but a gasp burst from her when she unfolded a gown of sapphire blue. It was adorned with so much lace that she knew it must have cost a fortune.

  "Where did you . . . Why?" The question flew from her lips while her wide astonished eyes focused on Hawk's broad grin.

  "I bought it for you w
hile I was in St. Louis . . . after I found myself falling in love with you," he explained. His callused hand brushed across the plush velvet, silently admiring the rich fabric. "It might be the only time I am allowed to see you in it." His husky voice trailed off and Hawk found himself wishing he hadn't put that depressing thought to tongue.

  Determined not to give way to her sinking spirits, Rozalyn tossed him a saucy smile. "You prefer to see me in it, as opposed to out of it?" One delicately arched eyebrow lifted at a provocative angle. "Monsieur Baudelair, you sorely disappoint me."

  Hawk's arm slid about her waist, and a roguish smile flitted across his lips. "Ma belle coccinelle, I have always maintained that you were overdressed when you were wearing more than a smile." His velvety voice sent chills across her skin. "But if you were to take a meal with my friends while you were wearing not a stitch, I fear they could not be held responsible for their actions, nor could I. Any man has only a certain degree of self-restraint."

  It became increasingly difficult to concentrate on his hushed words when his adventurous hands were mapping the curves of her body and his moist lips were skimming the column of her neck. But then, Hawk was also having difficulty in following a train of thought while he was so preoccupied. The feel of her yielding flesh transformed his playfulness into desire.

  His mouth settled on her opened lips as he pulled her full length against him, both of them aching with a need more potent than the craving for food and drink. Rozalyn's runaway heart tumbled against her ribs like an acrobat performing aerial maneuvers while his lips traced a path of fire to the laces of her buckskin shirt. But just when Hawk would have peeled off that hindering garment to reveal Rozalyn's natural beauty, a rap at the door interrupted him.

  "Who is it?" Hawk called, his voice thick with unappeased desire.

  "Well, who the hell do you think it is?" Trapper snorted. Hawk immediately recognized the gravely voice. "There ain't nothing out here 'cept Indians and mountaineers. Open up. I brought somethin' for the lady."