Ride the Free Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  His lips touched every part of her, his urgent moans and her own soft whimperings drowning out the sounds of the birds; their ecstasy made the roaring waters seem far away and the pain of their months apart quickly vanished. It seemed neither of them could give enough or take enough. She arched up to him rhythmically, as he filled her with that part of him that brought her some pain, for his own terrible need made him take her more roughly than he wanted. Yet he could not stop himself. He wanted to ravish her, make up for all the lonely nights, prove to himself she was really here, waiting for him as he had hoped she would be.

  He wanted to cry out, for the scar on her breast and the one Dancing Moon had left on her abdomen only pulled at his heart and made him love her more. Such sadness and pain this woman-child had suffered since giving herself to him! He watched her lovingly as she lay with her eyes closed, her long, thick hair still damp from bathing, her body small but welcoming, her firm, slim thighs parted for him. He came down closer, wrapping strong, rock-hard arms around her lithe middle and moving his hands down to grasp her hips and push. She cried out and kissed his chest over and over, her fingers digging into the dark skin of his back. His hair hung down, touching her shoulders and cheeks, and she felt lost beneath his masculinity.

  This was Zeke! The half-breed scout she’d loved since first he’d stepped into the light of her father’s fire back in Independence, Missouri. Zeke! Her friend, her protector, her father, her brother, her lover! He was everything … and he was here! Alive! Oh, so alive! She felt that life pulsing inside of her as it poured forth from him in surges he could no longer control. A guttural, almost mournful groan exited his lips as he breathed a sigh of spent relief, and they were suddenly both limp and weak.

  When their first wave of lovemaking was finished, they lay together without speaking. It was too soon. They did not want to talk yet. They only wanted to touch, to know that this was real. They had to make love again, more slowly, more deliberately. And it was only moments before he moved over her again, this time more carefully, more gently. Again he pushed himself inside of her, holding himself up on his elbows to study the beautiful contours of her face. Her eyes were closed, and he knew that if she opened them she would blush, for she was still bashful about doing these things in the light. She was Abbie, his virgin wife. He had been her first man, and he suddenly felt a terrible jealousy at the thought of any other man touching his woman. If any man tried, he would die a terrible death!

  She cried out and he felt her pulsing again. He struggled to hold himself back so that she could enjoy him, for it was different for a woman. When a man climaxed, he was finished. But when a woman climaxed, she was just beginning. He wanted her to have this moment, for her own needs had been as great as his. He moved slowly and deliberately, relishing every whimper and whisper, every grasp of her fingers on his arms. He came down closer and teased her lips, whispering to her in Cheyenne words she did not fully understand, but which she knew were provocative and teasing.

  His whispers made her feel as though her body would soon be consumed by fire, and she cried out his name and arched up to him in wild desire. It was almost painful for him to restrain his need to pour his life into her belly. Finally it was impossible for him to hold back. Once again it was over.

  They lay in the afternoon sun, touching but not speaking. They were spent from their heated lovemaking, yet both knew they would stay there that night and make love again … and again. For their hunger and their happiness was for this day and night insatiable.

  After several minutes he began stroking her damp hair away from her face, and she turned her head to meet his dark, adoring eyes.

  “There is so much to tell you, Zeke,” she told him softly. “So much. I feel … like a true Cheyenne. I’ve learned so much! I witnessed the Sun Dance ritual.”

  He raised up on one elbow. “The Sun Dance! You watched?”

  She smiled with pride. “Yes. Gentle Woman painted my face and everything! Oh, Zeke, you don’t know how much I’ve learned. I love it here now. I love the people, and Two Feathers and Runs Slowly … they’ve given me presents for saving Magpie, and—”

  “Slow down, Abbie!” he said with a grin, putting fingers to her lips. “You saved Magpie? From what?”

  “From drowning! Oh, Zeke, I just don’t know where to begin.”

  He kissed her lightly. “How about at the beginning?” he replied. “You go first, and then I’ll tell you where I’ve been.” His face darkened. “I am sure what you have to tell me is much more pleasant.”

  She studied his godlike build as he stood up and walked to his horse to get his parfleche. He returned with the bag and with another blanket so she could cover herself; then he sat down beside her again, lighting a thin cigar.

  “That looks like an expensive smoke,” she told him, watching him take a long puff. He took it from his mouth and studied it a moment.

  “It is,” he replied with a grin. “You might say it cost a man his life.” With that he began to chuckle, then broke into all-out laughter. Abbie grinned in confusion, as he laughed for several seconds at the cigar. Then his laughter dwindled, and he suddenly scowled at it. “I have a whole handful of these,” he went on. “Kind of a keepsake, you might say.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “Zeke, let’s talk about me later. I want to talk about you. Tell me what happened,” she said quietly. “It was bad. I know it was, or you’d never have stayed away so long. And when you laughed, it wasn’t a happy laugh. It was a bitter laugh.”

  He turned his dark eyes to meet hers, and she saw the frightening need for vengeance she had seen there before when he was aching to kill someone. It was a part of the wild side of him she did not fear, but knew she’d never fully understand. It was the Indian in him.

  “You’re right, Abbie girl. It was a bitter laugh.” He threw the cigar aside. “I’ll tell you where I’ve been, Abbie,” he went on. “But I’m not ready to talk about it yet. I’d rather talk about the decision I’ve made, and I have something to show you.” His face brightened again; his eyes became gentle. He reached into the parfleche and pulled out the music box, wrapped in thick, brown paper. “For you,” he told her.

  Her eyes began to dance with a child’s curiosity. “For me?” She took it carefully. “You mean … a present?”

  “A present. A love gift.”

  She smiled and eagerly tore away the paper. Then her eyes widened and began to fill with tears as she looked upon the glittering gold box with its seams of jewels and beads.

  “Zeke!” she whispered. “It looks so … expensive!”

  “It was. Open the lid,” he urged.

  She looked up at him and a tear slid down her face. “Zeke, you shouldn’t have spent your money this way! There is so much we’ll be needing. Swift Arrow says the hunt may not provide enough meat for the winter and—”

  “Open it,” he interrupted her. “And don’t worry about money. I have plenty of money. That’s part of the reason I was gone for so long.” He kissed the tear on her cheek. “I am your man, and I command you to open the lid or I’ll beat you.”

  She smiled and leaned forward to kiss his cheek; then she carefully raised the lid of the box which was lined in red velvet. Her eyes widened as a waltz tune tinkled forth. A revolving drum, with little teeth on it, was set within the box, and when these teeth struck slender golden rods, they made music. She watched the drum turn with a heart so full of love she thought it might burst.

  “It’s a music box!” she exclaimed, her eyes tearing more. “I’ve always wanted a music box!”

  He touched her hair. “Well then, I got the perfect gift. But I didn’t mean to make you cry, Abbie.”

  She closed the lid and laid her head against his chest. He kissed her hair.

  “Abbie, I’ve decided what we’ll do,” he told her, stroking her hair gently. “I have quite a bit of money—enough to set us up on a little piece of land. I figure we can build us a cabin, down near Bent’s Fort. That’s where my
people are most of the time. We’ll winter there. I’ll build up my herd, buy you some furnishings. You can have a fireplace and a wood floor and a real bed. You’ll be warm and—”

  She straightened and met his eyes. “But I can live with the People, Zeke. I can! I know I can! I’ve learned so many things. And you said we couldn’t live among the whites.”

  He grasped her arms. “Abbie, living around Bent’s Fort would be like living with Cheyenne. There are white traders there, too, I’ll grant you, but most of them know me and would respect my woman. It’s a way, Abbie. A way to be with the Cheyenne and away from most whites, least ways the kind I’m sure we can’t live with. In the summers that you feel up to it, we can ride with the Cheyenne on the summer hunts, go north with them for the celebrations; and in the winters, you’ll be safe and warm and live like a white woman was brought up to live. I can’t make you turn away from what you are, Abbie girl, any more than you would ask me to forget that I am Cheyenne. And just like I give you a part of home when I sing and play the mandolin for you, I can also give you a part of home by giving you a real house.”

  “But Zeke—”

  “No, Abbie. I’ve made up my mind. Since the day you agreed to marry me, you’ve been willing to give up all your old ways, to give up your identity and turn your back on your own people, all for me. But never once did you ask that of me. I know you could probably live with the Cheyenne and survive. Hell, you’ve been doing it. But it’s only been one summer, Abbie girl. I’ve lived with them a lot longer, and I know how hard it is. And it’s going to get harder, honey. A lot harder. I can’t make you be a part of that. It isn’t fair to ask it. And it’s like … like a good friend of mine told me just a few weeks ago. He said that down deep in that white woman’s heart of yours, there’ll be times when you’ll want to fix your hair, and put on a pretty dress and petticoats … and dance.” He grasped her arms tighter. “Look me in the eyes, Abbie girl. Look me in the eyes and say you’d never want those things.”

  She studied his dark eyes and could not lie. Her answer lay in her own tears. “But … I love the People,” she whispered.

  He smiled softly. “Of course you love them. I knew you would. And that’s why I love you. But they know you love them, Abbie, and you don’t need to live with them night and day year round for them to know that. They’d understand if you wanted to live in a white woman’s home part of the time.”

  She sniffed. “Tell them … you made me do it … that it was your idea because you thought it would be better for me. I… don’t want them to think I asked not to live with them.”

  He smiled softly. “I’ll tell them.”

  She looked down at the little gold music box. “Zeke, what happened to you? Where did you get enough money to buy something like this?”

  The strange vengeful look returned to his eyes. “It was my pay, from a man called Jonathan Mack,” he replied. “I met him in Independence and agreed to take two wagons to Santa Fe for him for a good sum of money.…”

  Danny rode farther south into Mexico with the rest of the volunteers who were under Kearny’s command. He was refreshed. Taking Santa Fe had been simple, because all of the men Governor Armijo had gathered to fight the oncoming American soldiers had run from the bluecoats. There had been no one in Santa Fe to give Colonel Kearny a fight, and the city now belonged to America.

  There had been a brief rest for the soldiers in the city, and whiskey and prostitutes had put new life in the men. Now they marched toward a villa where it was rumored Mexican soldiers were hiding. After taking that, they would move westward into California, and more troops would come in to secure Santa Fe.

  They were four days out of the city when they crested a rise and gazed down at the sprawling ranchero that supposedly held the Mexican soldiers. Kearny did not hesitate. He surrounded the main hacienda and rode slowly toward it, his cannons waiting silently on the hillside behind him, ready to be fired if necessary. But all appeared quiet.

  Kearny motioned to a second lieutenant to move in with a small troop; among these men was Danny Monroe. They would carry a white truce flag, and the Spanish-speaking lieutenant would order all Mexican soldiers who might be hiding on the premises to show themselves.

  The lieutenant rode forward with his nervous men, and Danny waited silently as the command was barked in Spanish. There was no reply, nothing but the wind. Kearny and the rest of the men watched carefully, their guns positioned and ready. The lieutenant gave the order again, and again silence was their reply.

  It was then that Danny saw the glint of the sun on steel. A man stood up from behind a statue and pointed a rifle at the lieutenant, and in that split second, Danny yelled at the lieutenant and jumped from his own horse to knock the lieutenant to the ground. The Mexican’s bullet caught Danny in the back, just beneath his right shoulder blade. The lieutenant’s life had been saved.

  Daylight faded from Danny’s eyes, and it seemed that every gun and cannon had exploded around him. He could not move, but felt himself being dragged; that was all he remembered until he woke up in a hospital tent, his right arm wrapped tightly against his side so he could not move it. He felt excruciating pain in his right shoulder, and knew that if he dared to move, the pain would be even more unbearable. He started to speak, but the words stuck in his dry throat, and he began coughing and choking, the slight movement making him groan with the terrible pain.

  “Here, drink this,” someone was telling him. The whiskey burned his throat, but he swallowed it eagerly, anxious for its dulling effects.

  “What … happened?” he asked the voice.

  “You were shot,” came the reply. “But you’re not hurt bad. You’ll live. No vital organs damaged. You’ll just be in a lot of pain for a few days, and then uncomfortable for a few more. But you’ll be okay, son.”

  Danny blinked and tried to focus his eyes. He could smell alcohol and blood, and he knew he was in the Army doctor’s tent. He blinked again, and finally focused on the doctor’s face leaning over him.

  “My arm—”

  “Your arm is fine. I’ve just bandaged it close to your body so you won’t move it for a few days,” the doctor replied. “You need to keep it stationary, Private Monroe.”

  “What about … the Mexicans? What happened?”

  “We took the villa without too much trouble. The cannon blew them out of there good, I’ll tell you. Those Mexicans came running out like rabbits!” He chuckled. “And there is a lieutenant waiting outside to thank you for saving his life. The position you were in when you took the bullet—it’s likely the bullet would have gone right through the man’s heart or lungs if not for you. You earned yourself a medal yesterday, son. Maybe even a promotion.”

  “Yesterday? It was … yesterday?”

  “Yes, sir. You’ve been out cold ever since. Lucky for you. I didn’t have an easy time getting that bullet out of you.”

  Danny sighed. “Now I won’t be able to finish the Mexican campaign with Colonel Kearny,” he moaned.

  “I wouldn’t let that bother me!” the doctor replied, putting the ends of a stethoscope to his ears. “You should be glad to quit this campaign. It will get a lot rougher, I guarantee. That trip to California will be one long journey. Men will be walking until they have holes in their shoes. They’ll catch cold in the mountains, run at the bowels from bad food and bad water, and I don’t doubt some of them will desert. It will not be the romantic campaign they were expecting. You’d best be glad you don’t have to go along, son.”

  “But … I joined up. I … have to go.”

  “You don’t have to do anything but get well. The colonel is sending you and some other wounded back to Santa Fe to mend. Then you’ll be sent to some other place of duty.”

  Danny sighed. He felt tired and depressed. It seemed his Army career was all but over already. The doctor listened to his heart, then rose without speaking and left the tent. Minutes later Colonel Kearny himself entered, accompanied by the lieutenant who had carried the
truce flag. Both grinned and nodded at Danny, who smiled back in spite of his pain, feeling honored by their presence.

  “I’ve come to thank you, Private,” the lieutenant told him. “There’s no way I can ever repay you for what you did. It seems a very unfitting gift in return, but I’d like you to have my mount, Private. It’s one of the best in the garrison.”

  Danny’s eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you, sir! But … it isn’t necessary. I just reacted naturally, sir.”

  “Bravely is the better word,” the colonel put in. “I am recommending you for a medal, Mr. Monroe, and also for a promotion to first sergeant.”

  Danny smiled more in spite of his pain. Things were not so hopeless after all. “Sir, I … I don’t know what to say! Thank you, sir! I’ll … make a good sergeant.” He winced with pain. “But … can that be done, sir. I mean … what about corporal and all—”

  “Out here we like to encourage our good men, son. We can promote any way we choose,” Kearny replied. “I’m sure you’ll make a good officer of a much higher rank some day. You’re real Army material, Monroe, not like most of those other ruffians out there. You’re sincere. I’ve watched you.” He leaned down closer. “And I … uh … I’ve heard the rumor that you have a brother out here—a half-blood Cheyenne—and that you’ve been looking for him. Is that true?”

  Danny studied the man curiously, wondering why he had asked. “Yes, sir, it is. His name is Zeke. I … haven’t seen him for six or seven years. I was only … fourteen when he … left Tennessee to come out here to find his Cheyenne family.”

  The colonel frowned and stood up again, folding his arms. “Mr. Monroe, I’ll be frank with you. Washington knows that once this thing with Mexico is finished, the real problem for Americans will still be ahead of them, which is namely Indians. I was told when I left Washington to keep my eyes open for good material, men who would make good officers for the Western Army, especially men who might be good at handling Indians.”