Through the Fire (The Native American Warrior Series)
Page 12
He stopped, finger to his lips, and waited.
She caught up to him and looked into his tight stare. “Don’t be angry.”
He said nothing, just turned and walked forward at the same rapid clip.
She trotted behind his rigid back. “I wasn’t just using you,” she said, knowing this was exactly how it had appeared.
Still, he didn’t reply.
“You know I want you. I feel the same as—”
He whipped around so suddenly that she collided with him.
“You do not feel the same,” he hissed. “I burn for you.”
“You think I cannot feel this?”
“I could fill you with desire. Yet at the stream, you wished only to rest. Wabete is right. You endanger our lives.”
****
Rebecca paused to catch her ragged breath and looked ahead through the trees. The main group of warriors had clustered beneath a rock ledge that jutted from the hazy ridge like a small fortress.
“Why have they stopped?” she asked, breaking the heavy silence that had hung between her and Shoka ever since their heated clash several hours earlier.
He glanced down at her, his eyes still brooding. “A storm nears. Soon you will hear thunderbirds beat their wings among the clouds.”
She blotted her damp forehead with her handkerchief. “Shan’t we reach Fort Warden today?”
“This takes more than one day’s travel. Did the Long Knives tell you nothing of the journey?”
“I didn’t pay a great deal of attention. Besides, we traveled by horseback. ’Tis faster.”
“Horses are also much trouble in these mountains. Difficult to feed, and often they must be led.”
She eased her moist bodice open with her fingers to let what little breeze there was fan her flushed chest. “Even so, I’d prefer riding to an arduous trek.”
“Arduous?”
He’d barely broken a sweat. “For a woman,” she amended.
“Not for a Shawnee woman.”
“I don’t care to hear how much better they would cope,” she said through her teeth.
He shrugged as though it was pointless to deny the truth.
She planted her hands on her hips. “Then be done with me and get yourself one.”
“I should.”
“You arrogant, son of—” She halted, reconsidering her choice of words. Not daring to voice the rest of her retort, she turned her back on him and stomped off.
“Where are you going?” he asked, annoyance in his tone.
“I’m hot and thirsty. Where do you think?”
“Wait, Peshewa. I will tell my brother we have come and go with you.”
“Can’t you allow me two minutes alone?”
“No.”
“Where do you think I’ll go? I don’t even know where the hell I am.”
Wabete stepped around the shaggy bark of a white birch with an armload of kindling. He scorched her with a look as he bristled past her to Shoka and growled at him in Shawnee.
Shoka’s dissent triggered a heated exchange.
Rebecca edged off the path. Once in the trees, she hastened toward the liquid tumble. Gaps between the trunks allowed her to easily slip through the woods. Relieved to find the stream free from men, she sank onto her knees at the edge and cupped mouthfuls of cold water. Her thirst quenched, she sat on a stone to unlace her shoes.
“Are your ears stuffed with feathers? I told you not to go from me,” Shoka said irately from behind her.
His stealth startled her, increasing her temper. “I tired of your brother’s railing.”
He knelt to drink. “Was it him who told you to wait?”
She tossed her shoes into a clump of fern. “This isn’t far from where you were.”
“Farther than you think if danger strikes.”
“I’m not completely helpless. You’ve seen me fight.”
“Well enough for an Englishwoman.”
She peeled off her stockings. “Are you touting the Indians again, or the French?”
“Any woman. You would swiftly fall.” He stood, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and leveled a glare at her.
Getting to her feet, she drew herself up to her full height. “You don’t know all I can do.”
Before she so much as twitched, he caught her wrists, crossing her arms in front of her. Forcing her around, he gripped her from behind. She couldn’t even shove an elbow into his stomach and could barely wiggle her fingers.
“Show me your hidden skill, Peshewa,” he challenged.
His strength surrounded her like an impenetrable wall. “I wasn’t ready.”
He made an impatient sound. “Will an enemy wait? Fight, Rebecca.”
She kicked back one leg, then the other, trying to hook her foot around his legs and throw him off balance. But he was prepared for that trick and dodged her. “I can’t like this.”
“Yet this is how I hold you.”
“But I’m barefoot.”
He snorted. “Will an enemy allow you to dress?”
“If I bring my foot up between your legs, you will feel pain, shoes or not.”
“Try,” he invited.
She did, but he anticipated her every move and knocked her foot aside.
“Again. Harder,” he prodded.
She floundered, frustrated with his demands and her inability to land a single blow. “I didn’t necessarily mean I would prevail physically.”
“It’s very physical, the frontier.”
“Wits count, too. Just because I haven’t your power doesn’t mean I can’t win over men.”
“You cannot deceive all men as you did the capitaine. Not all hunger for what you have or will take you alive.”
She heard the slick whisper of metal on leather as he whipped out his knife.
Yanking her head back by her braid, he poised the blade at her throat. “So quick. The work of a moment.”
She couldn’t conceal a shudder. “You’ve made your point. May I bathe now, or am I in training to be a warrior?”
“You are too stubborn to teach.” He released her. “Make haste.”
She waded in on tender feet. The water’s chill was like stepping into winter after the sultry heat of the day and she cringed as it climbed her legs. “I was in no danger,” she threw back over her shoulder.
Distant thunder rumbled in the darkening sky. “Yet.”
“If I needed you, I would call.”
“You cannot always call out.”
“Even so. I’ve looked after Kate and myself for years. You treat me like a child.”
“Here, you know little more. Do not leave my sight.”
Gritting her teeth against the cold, she lifted the frayed layers of her skirts and doggedly made her way toward the center of the stream. The frigid water lapped at her thighs and her shorn hem. “I despise being ordered about.”
“You prefer to be bound?”
“You had better be joking.”
“Do I laugh?”
She glanced back. He wore the same scowl that had been spoiling his face for most of the day. “What am I, your captive or your woman?”
“A disobedient foolish woman who must learn.”
“If you tie me up, I will never speak to you again.”
“I think you will speak much if I do not also bind your mouth.” A long rumble sounded from the sky. “Come out now.”
As much as she hated this numbing cold, the threat he had made was worse. “Not until you promise never to bind me.”
“I make no such promise.”
“Then I’m staying.” She waded determinedly—yelping as her feet flew out from under her on a slippery stone. Tumbling backwards, she was engulfed in the biting cold. She emerged trembling but held her watery ground.
Shoka beckoned. “Come, Peshewa.”
“No,” she said through chattering teeth, knowing full well that he could spring at her and haul her out.
“Do not make me come for you.”
Thunder rolled, louder and closer. She glanced around to see the storm he’d predicted swiftly declaring itself. A mass of black clouds had enveloped the entire western sky and advanced toward her with alarming speed. She weighed the menacing storm against the tempest she’d provoked in Shoka.
Giving up her frigid stand, she turned and started back. “You win. But you had better not bind me.”
Silence greeted her demand—an empty silence. Shoka was only conspicuous by his absence. He’d been standing among the trees just moments ago.
Where on earth had he gone? She sloshed from the stream, her skirts dripping on the rocks at the edge as she scoured the dense leaves. Thunder cracked heavily and mist swept through the woods like an evil tide. How quickly her niche by the stream had gone from picturesque to forbidding.
She startled at a yellow bolt zigzagging across the trees. A thunderous boom shook the ground beneath her feet. Should she make a run for the bouldered fortress? Meshewa would treat her kindly. What of Wabete? Facing big brother without Shoka was more than her life was worth.
Wind howled through the trees, bending trunks and thrashing branches. Big spatters of rain blew in her face. Her skirts flapped and long lengths of hair tore loose from her braid. She sat down unsteadily to put on her shoes, leaping up again at another thundering crash and clapping both hands to her ears. The roar hurt even through her fingers.
The woods had become an angry sea. Trees tossed like ships in a white squall. Every shattering thunderclap and jagged bolt of lightning ratcheted her terror up to heart-pounding heights. The sizzling flashes lit sinister shapes in the haze. The eerie tales Lieutenant McClure had told her about ghost dogs and spirits wandering these mountains came rushing back. He’d said something about the ghouls not being able to cross water, but which side of the stream was safe?
Another yellow-white flash streaked through the trees. A loud pop exploded in the brilliance; then she caught the acrid scent of scorched wood even through the rain streaming down her face. Never mind the ghosts. The violence descending on her was far worse.
“Shoka! Shoka!” she screamed, her cries lost in the booming roar.
Surely he wouldn’t leave her to this hellish storm? Unless—awful thought. Had she distracted him, causing him to be unaware of hidden danger? What if enemy warriors lurked nearby? Had he been dragged away?
A terrible image of him lying along the trail rose in her mind. “Please God, don’t let him be dead,” she whispered.
Never had she been so desperate. There was only one course to take. She must alert Wabete and the others.
A sheeting curtain of rain closed in around her, blinding her to anything more than a few feet ahead. No time for shoes. She left them and raced back into the shrouded trees, squinting to keep the torrent out of her eyes. The rain turned the forest floor into a hungry morass of mud sucking and pulling at her bare feet. It slowed her flight and made her stumble in the gushing downpour.
Without warning, male arms seized her from behind.
She shrieked, thrashing like a trapped animal. Her assailant only gripped her harder. Without even glimpsing him, she knew a powerful warrior held her. Had he first killed Shoka?
Overcome with horror, she slumped in his grasp. Her unseen captor lifted her in strong arms and bore her away.
She closed her eyes against the stinging rain. Soon she felt him stooping down and sliding with her beneath some sort of rocky shelter. Dry leaves crackled with a musky earthy scent. The force of the wind and rain were cut off as he pulled her farther in.
He stopped, half-sitting, half-lying in the cramped space. She opened her eyes to a sort of low cave. The dimensions were impossible to determine in the murky light, but she sensed the ceiling wasn’t far above her head. She could sit up straight, if he’d allowed her to, but not stand. She was like prey dragged into a lion’s den.
A fresh wave of panic washed over her. “Let me go!” she cried, pulling wildly against him. She fought to wrest her hand away and claw his face somewhere behind her, but she couldn’t free herself even for an instant.
“Monster! Demon!” she raved at him, hardly aware of what she shouted.
He let her shriek away. Was he waiting for her to wear down? That wasn’t long in coming.
Tears spilled over her cheeks. “Vile serpent! Slithering into your hole. If you had any real balls, you’d not seize a helpless woman!”
“I have those. And you are not helpless.”
****
Shoka had intended to hold out awhile longer, but he couldn’t resist answering Rebecca’s outrageous insult.
Crying his name, she collapsed against him.
Her relief seemed more debilitating than her fear had been and he thought at first she might have fainted. Then she shook violently and unleashed a torrent of accusation.
“Bastard! Frightening me out of my wits. I feared you were dead, damn you!”
He supposed he had this tongue-lashing coming and let her rave while he held her gently, so unlike the force he’d restrained her with only moments ago.
“As soon as I recover, I’m going to kill you. How could you do that to me?” she demanded.
“I despise frightening you. Yet you must learn.”
“So you’ve said. Dear God. ’Tis bloody harsh.”
“This land is harsh. And its people.”
She heaved a shuddering breath and crumpled against his bare chest. “I hate you.”
For a time, he simply held her and let her cry. Her sobs were partly drowned out by the fury still raging beyond their shelter. She started at every loud clap.
“You also have much fear of the storm, do you not?” he asked.
She wiped her face with her sodden kerchief. “Lightning struck not a stone’s throw away from me.”
“I saw.”
“You were there? And didn’t come when I called?” She drew back and drove her clenched fingers into his chest.
He let her pound him then covered her fists with his hand. “I wanted to come. But how else am I to teach you?”
“For pity’s sake. Would you take all the fight from me?”
“You still have a goodly amount left.”
“Ooooh—I’d like to throttle you!” she lashed back. “I’m chilled through. And I loathe being in here. ’Tis murky and the ceiling’s too low.”
“Would you prefer to be out there?” A resounding crash broke at the tail of his question.
“No.”
“I cannot build a fire in this close place, but I can warm you. Unless you wish to battle me?”
“Oh, I wish to. But I’m too wretched. Get this wet gown off me.”
“Gladly.” He laid his weapons and pouches on the cave floor then unhooked the sodden panel that closed her bodice.
He wrestled the soaking dress from her and flung it aside. He tugged at her petticoat ties and helped her to crawl from the wet cloth. “This too,” he said, and unlaced her corset.
The ridiculous undergarment joined the bedraggled heap and left her shaking in her shift. Removing his bedroll, he unwrapped the large skin and spread it over the leaves. He sat on the fur, guided her beside him and closed the dry blanket around her.
Convulsed with cold, she huddled against him. He took a pewter flask from his pouch and held it to her lips. “Brandy, from Capitaine Renault. Part of his apology.”
“He owes me a damn sight more than this,” she muttered, and swallowed. “Strong stuff,” she coughed.
Shoka said nothing, just returned the flask to her lips and prodded her to additional sips. Between him and the brandy she seemed much warmer. He offered her another swallow.
“Enough. Save some for yourself,” she said.
“I want a clear head,” he said, taking a short pull of the potent brew.
“Mine’s swimming a bit.”
“Yet you tremble less,
and you have calmed.”
“Calm? I’m practically limp. Are you trying to intoxicate me?”
“Perhaps a little,” he admitted, relieved that her hysteria had diminished. He tipped a final swig down his throat before recapping the flask.
She swayed, gripping his shoulders for support. “I think I’d better lie down.”
He lowered her down onto the hide. “I still hate you,” she murmured, as if he’d forgotten.
Her words pierced him and he gazed at her in the muted light. She was curled on her side, wreathed in damp hair, and seemed to be sleeping. He let her doze, wishing he could make amends. Punishing her the way he had was the most difficult thing he’d ever done and a great deal for her to forgive.
The storm dwindled to a steady rhythm as he lay beside her. She stirred, nestling against him. If she called for John Elliot, he didn’t think he could bear it, but she didn’t.
Then, incredibly, he heard her whisper, “Shoka.”
Hope shot through him. “Yes?”
“Are you still angry with me?”
“No.” He pushed up on his elbow and bent over her, smoothing lengths of hair from her moist cheek. “Are you, with me?”
“How can I not be?”
“I have no wish to crush your spirit, Rebecca.”
“You broke me in half,” she sniffed.
“No. Just bent you a little.”
“Worse than that.”
Despite her insistence, he sensed her wavering, and brushed his lips over her face with the softness of butterfly wings. “Shhhh…”
She uncoiled even further and he settled his mouth over hers. She didn’t resist him, partly the effect of the brandy, he realized, but also in response to his tenderness. He would bend her a little more, in an entirely different manner, and drew her closer with each tug on her mouth.
Slowly he released her lips. “Do not despise me.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes just discernible in the dim light. “I don’t so much anymore.”
He wound a tendril of her hair around his finger. “No?”
“No,” she sighed. “You’ve won my respect. What more do you want from me?”
“Obedience.”
“I’ve given this to no one.”
An unexpected admission. “Not even to your precious captain?”
The brandy seemed to have loosened her tongue and she spoke more freely than she might normally have done.