"No," he said at last. "I never let my guard down."
"Why not? Surely sometimes it is safe to do so."
He chose to ignore her question. "Do you think you can continue until the sun reaches its zenith?"
Makinna was bone weary. They had walked and climbed hills most of the night, stopping only occasionally to rest. She wanted to cry out that she could not go another step, but she wouldn't let him see that weakness in her. He expected her to complain, maybe even wanted her to. She stiffened her spine. "I can walk as long as you can."
His lips thinned. "Then let us go on."
She stumbled twice, fell once, and was slow to get to her feet. She glowered at Tykota's back as he walked effortlessly ahead of her.
He wasn't human! Didn't he ever get tired? She looked over the steep edge of the cliff, half wanting to shove him off.
He drove on mercilessly, until at last he halted, pointing at a high ridge. "We will spend the day there."
She drew in an exhausted breath, wondering how she would gather the strength to climb to the top.
He motioned for her to go ahead of him. "I will come behind and cover our tracks."
She set her eyes on the summit and her feet in motion. "This can be endured," she mumbled to herself. "This can be endured." How many times had she spoken those words to keep up her courage in the months her mother had been slowly dying? If she had endured the pain of losing her beloved mother and brother, she could surely get through this.
Makinna sat with her back pressed against a boulder, trying to shade her face against the sun. The mud had long since worn off, and they couldn't use their precious water to make more. Her skin felt as if it were on fire, and she wanted to cry from the pain of it. Her throat was so parched that she could hardly swallow. Her hair was hopelessly tangled, and she was hungry.
But, thanks to Tykota, she was still alive.
Makinna glanced about, searching for him. He'd gone back down the hill some time ago and hadn't returned. Where was he? What if he'd deserted her? What if he'd left her here to die?
She scrambled to her feet and glanced about frantically. She could think of nothing worse than to be left out here to die alone.
She didn't even hear him come up behind her, and she screamed when he placed a hand on her shoulder.
He pulled her to the ground with such a force that the rocks cut painfully into her skin. "Do not make a sound," he warned.
"But what-"
He clamped a hand over her mouth and whispered next to her ear. "Unless you want to meet Apaches face-to-face, remain silent."
She nodded, and he removed his hand but kept his arm about her, holding her still. She heard the sound of horses below and turned a fearful gaze on Tykota. He looked into her eyes, as though willing her to be strong.
The sun was hot on her face, her black gown was plastered to her body with perspiration, and the sharp stones were cutting into her, but she didn't move or make a sound.
It was quiet now, and she feared that the Apaches had dismounted and were making their way up the hill. Tense moments passed, but soon she heard voices and then the sound of them riding away.
Still Tykota held her there, and she wanted to lay her head against his shoulder and have him tell her that everything would be all right. But she knew he would not welcome such womanly weakness from her.
"Are they really gone?" she whispered, fearing their departure might be a trick. "Will they come back?"
"They are gone," he assured her. "They do not know we are here. They will search elsewhere."
Tykota felt himself responding to the softness of Makinna's body against his. He wanted to crush her tightly to him so that he could feel her every breath. Knowing what her reaction would be if she could read his thoughts, he rolled to his feet, trying not to think of how desirable she was. He had wanted women before, had been with many, but none had ever stirred his blood as she did. He wanted to press his lips to hers and feel her arms go around his shoulders. He wanted her body to become a part of his-
"Will they stop pursuing us now, Tykota?" There was fear in her blue eyes.
"They will not come back here," he said, extending a hand to her. "But they have not given up their search."
"What do we do?" she asked wearily.
"We outthink them," he answered, turning away.
She flipped a tangled curl from her face and said softly, "I am so tired. And I feel sure that I could drink a river dry."
"If we can make our water last through this day and tomorrow, you can have all the water you want by tomorrow night."
She brushed gravel from her hands and noticed that her palms were bleeding. "I can do it," she replied with staunch determination.
Makinna did not see the softness in Tykota's dark eyes or his hand reach out to her, then drop to his side. "You must get out of this sun. Already your face is burned."
She glanced about. "I see no shade."
"Remove your petticoat and give it to me."
She was shocked by his suggestion. Taking a hasty step backward, she exclaimed, "I will do no such thing!"
"Remove it, or I will do it for you, Miss Hillyard."
She saw the look in his eyes and knew he meant what he said. She moved away from him a few paces. "Turn your back."
He did as she asked, a small smile on his lips. How could she worry about modesty when she faced death from hunger, thirst, and the Apache? But that was Makinna.
She blushed as she stepped out of her petticoat and held it out to him. "You can turn around now."
Tykota took it and ripped out a seam. "I wonder who decided that a white woman should wear so many undergarments."
She watched as he erected a shelter by stretching the petticoat across two branches that he'd buried in the sand, securing the other end with stones.
"Now I advise you to get out of the sun."
"What about you?"
He reached out and touched her face that was still smudged with faint traces of mud. "I told you, I do not burn."
She was transfixed by his gentle touch and the expression in his dark eyes. In that moment, something primitive called to her that this was the man she had been waiting for all her life. Something about him kept pulling at her, and she wanted to give in to the feeling. She wanted to be in his arms, to feel him hold her close, to never let her go. And that frightened her more than anything else.
Tykota abruptly looked away and dropped his hand, ending the moment of closeness.
Makinna scrambled beneath the shelter, wondering why her heart was drumming against her ribs and why she felt as if she might faint at any moment. Probably the heat, she convinced herself. Hadn't Mr. Carruthers implied that the desert sun could play tricks with a person's mind? Yes, that was probably it.
She watched Tykota walk away and disappear over the rise. She wanted to know where they were going. She would demand an answer from him as soon as the moment presented itself. She had to get away from him, because something was happening to her that she didn't understand. Something powerful and unexpected and frightening.
She closed her eyes and could almost feel his fingers on her face.
"No," she cried, burying her face in her hands. Oh, if only she had remained in New Orleans. If only she had never started out on this ill-fated journey.
Makinna jerked awake, disoriented, her eyes wide with fear, her heart pounding. As she got her bearings, she crawled from beneath the shelter Tykota had cunningly erected to protect her from the punishing sun, then stood, stretching her cramped muscles. It was almost sundown, and there was no sign of Tykota.
Again, she feared he'd left her there to die. She turned in every direction, searching for any sign of him. But he had not left even a footprint for her to follow.
"It is time for us to leave."
At the sound of his voice Makinna whirled around to find him standing right behind her. Her stomach tightened in a knot of fear.
Beneath the dying sun, Tykota gazed into Mak
inna's eyes and saw more than he wanted to see. He saw pain, uncertainty, and fear. She didn't trust him. It was him she feared.
She stepped quickly away from him, hiding her trembling hands behind her back. "I thought you had left me."
He glowered at her, then turned away to gaze at the sky. "Why would I bring you this far, only to leave you?"
She had no answer. "I'm thirsty."
"I am sorry, Makinna, but you drank the last of the water this morning. There is a water hole nearby, but it is unfit for drinking. You will have to wait until we reach the springs." He gauged the position of the sun and then turned his gaze to the distant hills. "We should reach the springs by full sunrise."
Makinna's footsteps lagged as she rounded a huge sandstone rock and glanced out over the endless dry desert plains. She could not go on. The sun was barely up, but already the heat was as punishing as the inside of an oven. She stumbled and fell and simply didn't have enough strength to regain her footing. She stayed there, with a sob building in her parched throat.
"What kind of a man are you?" she cried out. "You aren't even human. Don't you ever falter or suffer any kind of weakness? Don't you ever get tired, hungry, or thirsty?"
She raised her head and watched him disappear. Would he leave her here to die? She was just too exhausted to go any farther.
She lay her head on the sand, her body and spirits drained. She would never leave this spot. She would die here, and someone, years from now, would find her bleached bones. She closed her eyes, waiting, almost welcoming death to take her.
But that was not to be. A shadow fell across her face, and she glanced up to see Tykota standing over her. Why didn't he just go away and allow her to die in peace?
Instead of rebuking her, as she expected he bent down and gathered her into his strong arms. Limply, she laid her head against his shoulder, too tired to protest or even care.
The sun was so hot, she could hardly breathe. She felt she was being consumed by flames. And she was so weak.
"Do not go to sleep on me, Makinna. There is water just over that next hill. Look, you can see it in the distance. You have to stay awake until we get there."
If she had the strength, she'd defy him and throw his demands back in his face, she thought wearily. He could not order her to stay awake no matter how many times he demanded it of her. She was only vaguely aware that he was walking very fast, and she wondered where he found the energy.
Tykota could barely feel Makinna's breath against his neck. If he didn't get her to water soon, she would die. His strength must not fail him now; he could not lose her. She had trudged along, uncomplaining; even when she was weary unto death. He had sensed by her defense of him at Adobe Springs that she was an extraordinary woman. Now he knew it to be true. What was more, she had feared him then, and she feared him now. But that night at Adobe Springs, her kindness had been stronger than her fear. And her courage had carried her farther than most women could have managed.
No, he could not let her die.
Makinna thought she must be dreaming when she felt cool water wash over her. Opening her eyes, she met Tykota's gaze. The water was real! Tykota had waded into a spring with her in his arms.
He gently set her on her feet, supporting her with one hand while he cupped the other, filled it with water, then held it up to her mouth. She dipped her head and drank thirstily.
"Not too much at first. Take small sips," he instructed. He dipped his hand into the water once more and offered her another drink.
In no time Makinna felt revived enough to duck down and allow the water to wash over her head. Laughing weakly, she came up for air. "I wish this was deep enough to swim in."
Tykota watched her in fascination as she shook water from her hair and pushed wet strands out of her face. "Do you swim?"
"Of course. My brother taught me one summer." She smiled. "But I could never tell my mother that he had. Ladies don't swim," she said, laughing.
"Then a lady could drown."
"Ladies do not do many of the things I have done since I left New Orleans."
Tykota found himself fascinated by the water sliding off her soft skin, and he felt an ache begin deep inside. She was so innocent and beautiful, and he was becoming too attached to her. He had to put some distance between them.
She went under and came up again. "I never thought anything could feel so good."
He knew other things that could-his lips touching her neck, then sliding up to her lips. "You remind me of a child given her first toy."
Her laughter was musical. Her happiness gladdened his heart. Beads of water clung to her face, and he wanted to reach out and touch them, touch her hair, her lips.
"Oh, this is better than any toy. I never thought water could taste so good," she said gleefully. "Being raised in a place where there is water in abundance, I have always taken it for granted."
"There are many things that we do not treasure, Makinna, until we lose them."
The way he said her name warned her. She averted her eyes and dipped her hands in the water, sifting it between her fingers. "Have you lost something you treasured?" she asked. When she looked up again, she saw sadness in his eyes. Then his gaze hardened, and he glanced at the horizon.
Clearly, he was not going to answer her question. Already his thoughts were far away, and she sensed that if she spoke at that moment, he wouldn't even hear her. She felt an iron control at work within him, and again she wondered what it would take to ever make that control slip. He dipped his hands in the water and raised them to his lips. He was naked to the waist, and she had to ball her fists to keep from reaching out and touching his bronzed skin.
Makinna turned away, horrified by her improper thoughts and reactions to Tykota. She waded slowly toward the shore and found shelter in the shade of a prickly shrub. But her gaze went back to Tykota, and she watched him emerge from the spring. As he moved toward her, the water became shallower, revealing more of his body with each step he took. His ebony hair hung thickly past his shoulders, and his wet trousers molded to his muscular thighs like a second skin.
She averted her gaze, glancing at the thin ribbon of greenery growing alongside the spring. But again her eyes sought out Tykota. He was such a marvelous-looking man. She blushed and ducked her head, hoping he wouldn't realize what she was feeling as she saw the clear outline of his disturbing masculinity.
Against her will, she watched again as he removed his boots, pouring the water out of them. Then she gasped when he began to remove his trousers. She tensed, fearing he would have nothing on underneath. But he wore a skimpy breechcloth that did little to cover his rippling muscles. Blushing, she lowered her gaze, again ashamed of her improper thoughts.
She lay back, closed her eyes, and tried to still her beating heart. She would not look in his direction again, she told herself.
Makinna lay still, listening to the wind and trying to recall happier days in New Orleans. But suddenly she could only remember the sad times. Her father being forced to sell their home and move them to a smaller house near the docks. She hadn't minded so much, but her brother and father had. Her father had died a broken man a year after the move. She remembered her sister moving away. Her mother and brother dying. Makinna couldn't bear to think about her family-the pain was too deep, the loneliness too sharp.
She cushioned her head on her folded arms and tried to sleep.
Makinna awoke to the most delicious aroma she'd ever smelled-meat roasting over a campfire. She sat up and stretched her arms over her head, smiling at Tykota, who was bent over the spit turning the meat.
"I don't care if that is rattlesnake, I'm ravenous.
He stood up to his full height, and she was relieved to see that he had put on his trousers and boots. "We dine on rabbit tonight."
She rose to join him at the fire, watching the drippings sizzle on hot stones. "Isn't it dangerous to have a fire at night? Do you no longer fear the Apache?"
"The Apache do not know of this place.
"
"Oh."
She watched the meat with hungry eyes. "When will it be ready?"
"Now."
She stepped to the spring to wash her hands and take a deep drink before returning to Tykota. "I didn't hear you fire your gun. How did you kill the rabbit?"
"I used my knife."
"Oh. Of course." She could not imagine any one hunting with just a knife. "Is that your usual hunting method?"
"Sometimes."
Makinna was becoming annoyed with his vague answers-or no answers at all. "You never talk unless it's to give me an order, Tykota."
He met her gaze. "I talk when there is something important to say." He smiled at her. "While you, Makinna, chatter like a magpie."
She knew it was rather forward to use each other's given names, but dire circumstances had taken them past conventional etiquette. "That's true." She settled on the ground and spread her tattered gown about her. "I do. So it's your turn. Tell me more about yourself, Tykota. I know so little about you."
He sliced off a chunk of meat and handed it to her. "I told you before. I left my family, to spend most of my life in England."
She was intrigued. "But why did you leave your family? Have you got a mother and father, brothers or sisters?"
"I thought you said you were hungry."
"I am, but-"
"Then eat."
She looked pensive. "Tell me more about the ranch near the Mexican border."
His strong white teeth tore into the meat. He said nothing.
"You don't want to talk about it?"
"I do not feel so inclined, no."
She took a bite of the meat and lowered her head. "I'm sorry. I know it's none of my affair."
He stood up abruptly, and before she could say anything further, he walked away, swallowed up by the darkness.
Makinna was becoming accustomed to his moody silences, his abrupt departures, and his unwillingness to talk about himself. But she wanted to know more about him.
She finished eating and went back to the spring to wash her hands. She tried to work the tangles out of her hair, but it was useless. Tomorrow maybe, she would give in and ask Tykota to cut her hair.
Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) Page 6
