by Karen Kay
The white woman pointed, although again she said nothing; it was as though fear had taken hold of her voice.
But not so for Lone Arrow. “What were you thinking?” he said. “You will never find that cave and help your family if you get yourself killed. Do you not know this?”
She nodded.
“Then why did you leave without me?”
That question, more than anything, seemed to stir a spark of life in her, for she narrowed her eyes at him, raised a well-arched brow and spat, “Without—you?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, muttering only, “Humph! Éeh, yes. Without me.”
“You, you—you…”
He jerked his head slightly to the left, while she tipped her chin defiantly toward the sky.
And then, as though she had at last found her tongue, she began, “You, Lone Arrow, made it abundantly clear that you would not take me where I need to go.” As though she gained inspiration by speaking, she jumped down from the Appaloosa, her feet hitting solid ground with a dull thud. She even took a step toward him before she continued: “Is it my fault that you chose to ignore me? Is it my fault that you are bullheaded and stubborn? Is it my fault that you can’t seem to trust me?
“No, it’s not,” she answered her own questions. “And it’s certainly not a sign of weakness on my part that I seek a way to get to the mountains without you. And don’t think you can talk me out of going there, or Pretty Moon, either, for that matter. I’m determined to get there. And she is, too…I think,” Carolyn added, although Lone Arrow had to strain to hear this last.
However, all he uttered in response to her was, “Humph!” before he said, “Where are the rest of your clothes?”
A look of shock passed over her features as she gazed down at herself. Mayhap she had forgotten that she stood before him in no more than calf-length drawers and corset.
Ignoring her red-faced countenance, he went on to say, “Pretty Moon knows not this cave that you seek or where it is.”
Carolyn appeared to recover quickly enough, and placing her hands on her hips, she said, “But I do. I’ll recognize it again when I see it.”
He squinted his eyes at her. “Will you?” he asked.
A glimmer of doubt crossed over her features, but he said nothing. At last, bringing his arms down to his sides, hands clenched in fists, he took one step toward her, saying, “You are not to defy me again, do you understand?”
She did not appear to take orders well, he observed, for she stood straighter and countered, “I will do as I please. You are not my lord and master.”
“Am I not?”
She shook her head.
“Ho,” he said, “and what happened to your marriage proposal? Have you forgotten it so soon?”
That simple statement seemed to startle her. Her glance dropped to the ground. And Lone Arrow was silently congratulating himself on his cleverness, when she said, “You have already told me what you think of me.”
Again Lone Arrow experienced a moment of anxiety, though of a different sort and, for a moment, his stomach knotted up. Had he told this woman of his concern for her? How could he, when he had only just become cognizant of it himself?
“Please,” she said, “don’t rub my nose in it. I understand perfectly that you do not wish to have anything to do with me. Do me a favor, please. Truth be known, I would consider it an act of kindness if you would simply go away and…”
Go away? Strangely enough, relief flooded his system. He had not revealed himself to her after all.
“…And leave me and Pretty Moon alone.”
Leave her alone? After that hair-raising rescue?
It was with some revelation that Lone Arrow realized he could no more leave this woman alone than he could stop the wind from blowing. But he had no intention of telling her that. And with good reason.
And so, he uttered, “Pretty Moon’s husband might have something to say about what she does, as well he should.”
Carolyn tilted her head, sending him a glare. “Perhaps,” she said. “But I think she is running away from him.”
Lone Arrow uttered a grunt beneath his breath, while aloud, he commented, “He is here with her now. He will take her back with him, and you will follow me.”
“I will not.”
“You have not the choice.”
“I have every choice.”
Lone Arrow set his feet together in a stance as natural to him as the act of breathing: feet not too close together or too far apart; weight on one foot while the other was thrust slightly forward. One hand at his side, the other holding his bow, which had previously been hanging from his shoulder. It was a way of holding himself, a position and a manner which said, “Do not tamper with me.” As if to complete the image, he commanded, “You and Pretty Moon are not to go anywhere alone. It is obvious that you will only get into trouble. I forbid it.”
Lone Arrow was happy with himself, though he carefully hid such satisfaction from her. And why should he not feel some elation? He had done well so far; curbing his anger toward her. He was even instilling caution within her with his well-chosen words.
Yet his self-appreciation died a quick, silent death. For when she spoke, despite the fact that she should have shown him deference, she seemed completely unaffected by him. She even went so far as to utter, “You, Lone Arrow, have no right to forbid me anything.”
Why that statement should bother him, he did not know. Yet it did all the same.
He narrowed his eyes at her but did not reply at once. And it was with some feeling of surprise that he realized he itched to shake some sense into her. But of course he would not do it. As the elders always said, only a coward or a man of little character would use physical force on a woman or on anyone who could not fight back.
Yet, for all his good intentions, Lone Arrow could not curb his tongue, not quite. And though he knew he should think the thought through, perhaps a little more thoroughly, he found himself uttering, as though in challenge, “Then I accept.”
Color slowly drained from her face, and she stared at him as though he had gone mad. She asked, “You what?”
He did not move a muscle; he merely stated again as calmly as possible, “I have decided that I will accept your proposal.”
“M-my…what?”
He gritted his teeth. “I will marry you.”
He watched as her throat worked against itself, as though she did not know whether to swallow or to speak. At some length, she said, “You…you wish to…marry me?” She raised her eyes to his. “Really?”
He nodded.
“Then…you…have some…feelings for me?”
He did not budge. He did not even blink, and he said, “And as your husband, I will forbid you to go any further in search of this cave.”
“Oh,” she uttered. He watched as darkness fell over her features. “I see,” she continued. “Well, then I guess I will not marry you, after all, because there is nothing—not a single thing that you can do that will make me stop my search.”
He stepped forward. “I could tie you up,” he stated, though he made no move to do it. Instead, he reached out to push a lock of her hair away from her face.
She knocked his hand away. “And I will only get loose and come out here again. The only thing you would gain is time. But because I have so little of that, by doing such a thing, you could cause the ruin of my family.”
“I? I have not caused their ruin now, nor will I cause it in the future, no matter what I do. Others cannot live your life for you.”
“And yet, you rescued me today.”
He shrugged, seeing no harm in admitting the obvious.
“Yet, you would keep me from rescuing my family?”
“That is different.” He watched as the wind blew that same lock of her hair forward, and once more he reached out to tuck it behind her ear.
This time, however, she did not whack his hand away, though she did say, “How is it different? A rescue is a rescue, whether it be from bears or
buffalo or a land-hungry banker. You would deny me the right to help another? The same right that you take for granted?”
He sighed. Why was it so hard to win an argument with this woman?
“Lone Arrow”—she reached up and grabbed his fingers with her own—“I once offered you the only gift I have to give to a man. Now you accept my proposal, but only in exchange for my obedience to you. Somewhere in between, there must be a compromise we could make. Marry me, but take me to the cave.”
One touch.
That was all it had taken. One touch of her hand and his body came to instant alert. He supposed he could remove his fingers from her own, but the will to do so was not there within him.
He said, “That is no compromise at all, and well you know it. It would be more like my surrender. Besides, I could make you marry me.”
She shook back her hair. “I think not.”
“I can prove it to you.” He took a step forward.
She shook her head.
And that’s when it happened. He kissed her.
Chapter Twelve
Oh, what a kiss.
As his lips captured hers, his hands came up to cup her face, holding her gently, as though even his fingers adored her. Slowly he trailed a forefinger down over her cheek, to her neck.
And while raw hunger swept through her like a living inferno, Carolyn, closing her eyes, went limp. She simply could not control it. Despite what she had said, despite what she had tried to make him—and perhaps herself, too—believe, she had yearned for this moment.
And as his tongue swept into her mouth, shutting off whatever protest she might have made, Carolyn could barely conjure up a single thought.
Not when the soft texture of his mouth, the musky scent of his skin, the utter thrill of his lips on hers made her wish that this moment might never end. She leaned in closer to him, and instinctively, she knew she needed more, so much more.
She felt herself sway in toward him, and he took a step forward, as though in welcome, the action bringing his body into full contact with hers. Of their own accord, her arms wound around his neck, and she held on like she might never let go.
Hard contours pressed up against her soft ones and Carolyn became aware of him, of the rugged imprint of his masculinity which thrust against her.
Lord help her, their positions, her awareness of him, created such an ecstasy within her, she felt it impossible to catch her breath. And without willing herself to do so, she pushed herself even further into his arms, merging her body with his in silent invitation.
His voice was strained when he asked, “Do you understand, Carolyn?” He relinquished her lips for a moment, giving her time to come up for breath. And nuzzling her ear, he whispered, “Do you see? Do you accept that I could make you mine?”
She shook her head slightly, resting her face against the crook of his neck, listening to the harsh sound of his breathing, glorying in the solid feel of his chest as it rose and fell.
Had she done this to him?
She said, “Then marry me, Lone Arrow, marry me and be done with it. Only Lone Arrow,” she threw her head back slightly so that she could look up at him, “don’t think that you will be able to control what I do because of it.”
He groaned. “A woman should obey her man.”
“I will, when I marry,” she said, “as long as I agree with him.”
“And if you do not agree?”
“Then we will have to speak to one another about it, because I would never do something that I thought might be wrong, and I will not stop searching for the cave.”
Lone Arrow sighed, and even the simple movement of his chest beneath her fingertips seduced her, creating a yearning that gnawed at her.
And as raw excitement filled her soul, she realized that, right or wrong, she wanted this man. He might be from an entirely foreign culture, he might be her nemesis at this moment, yet she craved his arms around her. Craved his presence in her life. In truth, she wanted all of him, mind, body and soul.
“Such a stubborn, stubborn woman, you are,” he observed as he stroked her lips with his tongue.
And at the magic of that caress, a tremor stormed through her. She shivered.
Nonetheless, she found it within herself to return his criticism, saying, “Such an obstinate man, you are.”
He paused. Then, “I will not show you the caves because of it.”
It? What was it?
She became lost. Was he talking about love or caves or marriage…or was it sex? This last notion sent dizzying eagerness bolting through her. And oh, how she ached to have his lips back on hers.
Why were they talking?
But he seemed intent on the matter at hand, and he went on to elaborate. “I do not accept your challenge, no matter what you might think.”
Was she supposed to be thinking? She asked, “My challenge?”
“I will not show you the cave, no matter if I make you my wife.”
Oh, yes, of course, marriage. They had been speaking of marriage.
She opened her mouth to state again what she must, but at that very same moment, he raised one of his hands and ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. And, heaven help her, her mind went blank.
Reaching out with both his hands, he cupped her face in his palms and gazed down at her. And there was such a look of intensity upon his face that it made her insides somersault. Truly, she felt as helpless as if she were a rag, fluttering in a summer storm. And then he kissed her again, fully, completely, absolutely.
Carolyn forgot all the reasons why she was supposed to resist him. In truth, she could not even recall why she was here, let alone understand the topic at hand. All she could think of was him, his lips, his embrace. And dear Lord, she wanted more. Always more.
But as if destined, it did not last. Just as she’d been about to surrender her heart to him, he dropped his arms from around her and took a single step backward.
Carolyn swayed. She felt bereft. And she might have thrown herself back into his arms, if she hadn’t made the mistake of looking up at him at that exact moment.
His look caused her to frown. What was wrong? Why did he appear suddenly forbidding? All she wanted was another kiss.
He said, “I would have you understand.”
She must have looked confused, or maybe she simply continued to frown at him, for he went on to explain, “I would have you understand, without the lure of passion filling your soul, that if I make you my wife, I will not be coerced into taking you to the cave. We will go back to my people.”
Oh. So that was it.
Well, fine. She understood; of course she understood. What he did not seem to know was that at this moment in time, it mattered not at all. Alas, nothing seemed to concern her.
Something was happening to her. And try though she might to look straight at him, she seemed to be gazing down upon them both, from a viewpoint far above them. And at present, she felt carefree.
It was an odd feeling; strange, really. For the world suddenly seemed a bright, sunny place. And there was nothing wrong. In truth, there seemed to be nothing of worth happening in the world at all, except her, him, the passion they shared, her family.
Her family?
Like an arrow shooting straight to its target, Carolyn remembered: why she was here, who she was, who he was and why she needed him. And like a hunter’s target, she felt herself plummet to the earth.
She teetered on her feet unsteadily for a second as a heaviness descended upon her. And clearing her throat, she found she could barely speak, although she knew she must. Finally, mustering together what she could, she was able to utter, “I—I do understand. Y-you want to marry me so I will have to obey you. But my conditions remain. I will marry you only if you promise to take me to the cave. I’m sorry, Lone Arrow, but I am desperate.”
So, there it was. They had reached the same impasse that they had encountered the previous evening. They both knew it and yet, he said, “It is wrong. I know it is no
t a thing I should do, still…”
Still what? She wanted to ask, but she was afraid. So she remained silent instead, daring nothing.
And at last he said, “I would have you.”
It appeared that he had settled some point of argument within himself, for at once, without waiting for her to answer, he fell to his knees before her, drawing her down to the ground as well.
It was a highly erotic position. Knee to knee, chest to chest, his arms swept around her, holding her.
“Say it,” she said, as he pulled down her drawers, his fingers going unerringly to the softness of her core.
“Say what?”
Was he so dense that he didn’t know? Or was he merely unaware that she needed to hear it from his lips?
On a sigh she uttered, “Tell me you care for me.”
“I care.” He complied to her request at once, although he went on to mutter, “Against my better judgment, I care.”
But this last didn’t matter. Not now. Not when raw passion filled her heart.
And oh, how she wanted his touch there, even though she felt a twinge of embarrassment. But as a drop of moisture does to the heat of day, even her shyness fled as he moved against her. Heaven help her, she found herself twisting against him, also, in a most erotic way, shocking herself…almost…
Desire filled her soul, and as she stared up at him, he pushed back her hair, his touch sending liquid fire streaming along her nerves.
And with a huskiness in his voice, he said, “You are ready for me.”
Was she? Did she even know what that meant?
She gazed into his midnight eyes and asked, “Is this what it means to make love?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Are we going to make love?”
He did not answer her right away; indeed, he stared at her with such fervor, it made her feel as though he looked straight to her soul. And perhaps he did, for she felt as though they had been as one, if only for a moment.
He nodded. “We will make love.”
She gulped.
And he said, “I would make you my wife.”
“I see,” she said. “Is this how it is done, then?”
Another nod from him.
