Savage Desire (Savage Lagonda 1)

by Constance O'Banyon

  His dark eyes moved over her body and then rested on her face. Mara drew in her breath at the hatred she saw in his eyes. Instinct told her this man was far more dangerous than the other two had been. His lips curled into a savage smile as he noted her fear. Tajarez did not know why he had rescued her from the two men. Maybe it was because he had seen her fighting so valiantly, or maybe it was that he did not like to see a woman mistreated, even if she was white.

  Mara was confused when he turned his back and walked away from her. She watched as he climbed up the slope, mounted his horse, gathered up the reins of his packhorse, and rode slowly away.

  She had an overwhelming desire to follow him and beg him not to leave her. Suddenly she felt more alone than she ever had in all of her sixteen years. Tears slid down her face as she stood by the dead bodies of the two men.

  Tajarez checked his horse and looked back at the white woman. She had not moved from the spot where he had left her, and was looking at him with such a forlorn expression on her face. She was not his responsibility. He had already set her free from her two captors. What more did she want from him? Because of her, he had slain two men whom he bore no malice.

  Turning his mount around angrily, he rode back to where she was standing. It went against everything he believed in to desert a woman in trouble. The women of the Lagonda were protected and cared for by their men. He knew she would not survive on her own. He would take her to the white man's fort, which was only a few days journey. Then he would be rid of her.

  He pulled up his horse and looked down at her with a grim expression on his face. He wondered why the two men had abducted her. She was no beauty; in fact, he felt repulsed by her. She was covered with dried mud, and he could not tell what her features looked like, or for that matter what color her hair was. A rivulet of tears made a trail down her dirty face, and struck a cord of pity somewhere within his heart. No matter how repulsive he thought her, someone somewhere must love her and want her back.

  Tajarez held out his hand to her, and Mara hesitated for only a moment before she put her hand in his. Something told her she could trust this man. He swung her onto the back of his horse with ease, and tried to overcome the revulsion he felt at being in such close contact with her. He did not even want to touch her.

  Mara tried to hold her body rigid, but soon found if she was to keep her seat she would have to hold on to the Indian. She had no idea what his plans were concerning her, but at the moment she was too tired to care. She clasped her hands around his waist and leaned her head against his broad back.

  Tajarez looked down at the white hands that were clasped around his waist and gave an involuntary shudder. He felt her relax against his back, and frowned.

  They rode for hours in silence. Mara had fallen asleep, and when she awoke, they were traveling in the mountains. Although it was only late afternoon, the sun had dropped behind the mountain peaks, giving the illusion of sundown. Spring had not yet come to the mountains as it had to St. Louis. There were patches of unmelted snow, and the trees were still bare. Mara felt the cold through her thin cotton dress, and wished the Indian would stop to build a fire. She was cold, thirsty, and hungry. As though he could read her thoughts, Tajarez halted his horse near the bank of a small river, and dismounted.

  Mara slid from the horse's back and walked down the slope to the river. There was ice floating with the current, and she shivered and wrapped her arms about her shoulders for warmth. As much as she would like to be clean, she could not stand the thought of bathing in the icy water. Kneeling down, she cupped her hands and drank deeply. The refreshing water soothed her parched throat, and she felt somewhat better. She then washed some of the mud from her face and hands, hoping it would suffice until the morning.

  The Indian had built a fire and placed what looked like a small rabbit on a roasting spit. Mara sat down beside the fire, basking in its warmth. The juices from the roasting meat splattered on the fire, giving off a delicious aroma, and Mara could feel her mouth watering. It had been so long since she had eaten anything but the dried meat the two savages had given her.

  The tall Indian continued to ignore her. Mara, sensing his dislike of her, remained silent.

  When the meat was done, he removed it from the spit and sliced a portion, placing it within Mara's reach. Taking his share, he moved away from her to the other side of the fire, putting the distance of the campfire between them.

  Mara savored every mouthful of the succulent meat. She was sure she had never tasted anything half so good in her entire life. After she had eaten, Mara remained beside the fire, not knowing what was expected of her. It was a dark night, and only the campfire gave off a faint light. Mara curled up on the ground, not caring about anything. She was so weary, but she felt well fed for the first time in days, and the warmth of the fire soon soothed her to sleep.

  Mara awoke suddenly, feeling the man's hand on her shoulder. Sitting up quickly, she looked into the dark face, afraid of his intentions toward her.

  Tajarez, seeing her fear, gave her a disgusted look. If only she knew how safe she was from him. It was forbidden for him to bed a woman while on his quest, and even if it were not so, he would not touch her. Not only was she filthy, but white as well. Besides, he had never forced a woman to his bed. They had always been only too willing to come to him.

  Reaching for her hand, he pulled her none too gently to her feet, wanting to strike her for the way she cringed from him. Leading her over to his robe, he pushed her down upon it. He then lay down himself and folded the robe over the both of them. Tajarez turned his back on her, wishing he did not have to share his robe with her, but he could not find it within himself to let her freeze to death.

  Mara lay rigid beside him, fearing the worst. Not that she knew what the worst was. She and her best friend, Julie, had often speculated on the man-woman relationship, but neither of them had the slightest idea what it entailed. After a while she began to relax. She could hear his steady breathing that told her he slept. The warmth of the fur robe encased her body and she felt herself drifting off, wondering what an Indian was doing with a robe of mink.

  Mara awoke the next morning feeling refreshed. It was the first peaceful night's sleep she had had since she last slept in her own bed. Looking about her, she saw the Indian was nowhere in sight. His horse was gone, but the packhorse was hobbled nearby, so she was sure he intended to return.

  Rising from the soft robe, she folded it neatly and placed it under the tree. Mara found the remains of the roasted meat, which the Indian had apparently left for her. She ate it hungrily, then sat down on the folded robe to ponder her situation. She could take the packhorse and ride away, but where would she go? The Indian did not consider her his prisoner, or he would never have left her unattended with his horse. If she took the horse, she would never be able to find her way home unless she could locate the Mississippi River, which she could follow until she came to her home.

  No, she reasoned, she had no idea in which direction the river lay, and even if she did find it, she would have no food. It was all so hopeless. It would seem her future lay in the hands of the Indian, and he did not even like her. Still, she owed him her life, and because of him she was well fed, and last night she had slept beside him warm and safe. She had now lost her fear of him completely. Even if he did not like her, he had taken care of her.

  Mara sighed deeply. Her future was out of her hands for the moment, but she could do something about her present situation. Looking down at her soiled gown, she knew she could not go another moment without washing. She eyed the icy stream and shivered. Not only was it cold, but the current was quite swift, and she could not swim. Better to drown than to go one more day in her disgusting condition, she thought.

  Gathering up her courage, Mara walked downstream a way; then, sitting down on the bank, she removed her boots. "I guess the cold water will not kill me. It seems a small thing to endure after all 1 have been through lately," she said aloud.

  She qu
ickly removed her gown and petticoat before she lost her courage. Slowly she tested the water with her foot. At first contact it felt like tiny needles piercing her skin. Get it over with, she told herself, and waded into the water until it was waist-deep on her. After the initial shock it wasn't too bad, even though she was shivering and her body had turned blue.

  Mara scrubbed herself all over until her skin tingled. Then she washed her hair. When she was satisfied she was clean she waded to shore, then washed her dress and petticoat, and hung them on a tree branch to dry.

  She found a huge rock that had been warmed by the sun and climbed up onto it, then lay down and spread her hair about her so it would dry. She wished she had a comb. Running her hands through the golden mass of curls, she found she could remove the worst of the tangles.

  Feeling drowsy and warmed by the sun, she smiled and wrapped her arms about her. How good it felt to be clean and free. How easily one took life's little pleasures for granted until they were taken away from you. Mara thought of her home, and Tess, who had always prepared her bath for her and saw that she had clean clothes. She thought of the wardrobe in her bedroom that was filled with lovely gowns for every occasion. She vowed that if she ever did return home, she would never take anything for granted again.

  Mara frowned. Why had the Indian rescued her? Where was he taking her now? She knew that he had intended to ride off and leave her yesterday. Why had he come back for her? He was a mystery. She could not understand why he had helped her when he clearly disliked her so much. She thought again of the contrast between him and the two men who had kidnapped her. He was handsome, perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen. He reminded her of a sketch her father had of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh—so proud and arrogant looking. He had not uttered one word to her so far, but she was determined that she would try to communicate with him in some way to find out where he was taking her.

  The sun shone warmly down upon her as she turned lazily to her side. Mara wondered what her mother would say if she could see her now. She laughed out loud. Her mother had never allowed her to go into the sunlight without wearing a bonnet, and here she was not only without her bonnet, but wearing nothing but her undergarments. Mara turned over on her stomach. Feeling warm and contented, she soon fell asleep.

  When Mara awoke some time later, she saw by the position of the sun that it was late afternoon. She quickly slipped into her dry clothing. She noticed her green gown was torn in several places, but at least it was clean. She walked slowly back to the campsite, wondering if the Indian had returned.

  Tajarez had awakened early. He had not slept well lying beside the white woman. Mounting his horse, he had ridden upstream, dismounted and removed all of his clothing and dived into the water. He wanted to wash every part of his body that had come into contact with the woman. The only good thing about the woman was she had the good sense to remain silent. He did not want to hear the sound of her voice, and he was glad she did not cry, even though he knew she was frightened of him. As he had watched her struggle with the two men yesterday he had had to admit grudgingly that he admired her courage. Tajarez would have liked nothing better than to ride away and forget all about her. Maybe if he was lucky she would take his packhorse and ride away on her own. He hoped she would. It would be worth a good horse to see the last of her.

  Later on in the morning he spotted a big buck. With the cunning known only to the Indian, Tajarez stalked the animal. Then with practiced precision, he drew back his bow and released the silver-tipped arrow, watching as it entered the heart of the deer. The animal leaped high into the air and then fell to the ground, dead.

  He cleaned and gutted the animal and then hung it from the branches of a tall tree where it would be safe from any predatory animals. He had located a cave halfway up the mountain. After exploring the interior to make certain it was not inhabited by any wild animal, he rode back to where he had left the woman. The cave would provide shelter. Although there was not a cloud in the sky, his keen senses warned him that a storm was brewing. He had decided he would dry the deer meat so that he would have enough food to see him home. With sufficient meat he would make better time on his homeward journey. Of course that would mean enduring the woman's presence longer, but he would soon be rid of her, and if she knew what was good for her she would stay out of his way.

  There was a scowl on his handsome face as he rode into the camp. There was no sign of the woman. She had not left as he had hoped, at least not on his horse. She must be about somewhere, but he had no intention of looking for her. Making sure the fire was out, he rolled up his fur robe and secured it to the back of the packhorse. His keen hearing picked up the sound of her footsteps, and he turned to face her.

  Tajarez's eyes widened in shocked surprise. She was not a woman as he had thought, but a young girl. The sun reflected off her hair, giving the illusion that it was spun gold. As he stood silently appraising her, his face did not change expression, nor did it show his confusion. His heart was drumming within his chest. He closed his eyes, not wanting to believe what his heart was telling him. His search was over. Here before him stood his love, and she was white. Her golden hair was not straight as an Indian maiden's, but curled in spirals that fell to her waist. Opening his eyes, he saw her looking at him with a puzzled expression on her beautiful face. Oh, he knew her so well, no longer would he strive to remember what she looked like. What had always eluded him in his dreams was standing not an arm's length away from him.

  As she moved gracefully toward him, he could feel his composure slipping. He looked into eyes that were soft and green as the grasses and the leaves on the trees. Her face was beautiful, breathtaking, and suddenly he felt humbled by the sight of such beauty. Yes, he knew her so well. Had he not held her in his arms time and time again? Her face was more familiar to him than was his own. What did it all mean? The face that had haunted his dreams for so long and had caused him to reject all other women belonged to someone of the hated white race.

  Mara smiled at him. When he heard her voice, he recognized it also. The sound of her voice was low, and musical, and oh, so sweet to his ears.

  "I do not blame you for being startled by my appearance. I must have looked a fright before." Then she laughed, and the sound of her laughter gladdened Tajarez's heart. "It feels wonderful to be clean. I am surprised you did not abandon me in my filthy state."

  Tajarez dragged his eyes away from her lovely face and made a pretense of tightening the leather strap around his packhorse. His hands trembled, and he waited for his heartbeat to return to normal.

  Mara sighed as she looked at his rigid back. So he chose to ignore her once more. It was hard for her to understand his cold treatment of her. Once more she was reminded of how protected she had been all of her life. No one had ever been so rude to her. Perhaps he did not like her because she was white. Mara was used to receiving admiring glances from men. She was aware that she was pretty. It was hard not to be aware of her looks when she received so much attention from admirers. It was plain that the Indian did not think her pretty. Maybe he preferred his women darker, like himself. It hurt her deep inside that he did not like her. In any event, she was dependent on him for her survival, a fact that seemed to displease him a great deal.

  Tajarez mounted his horse and extended his hand to her. Mara allowed him to help her onto the horse, wondering why they were breaking camp so late in the afternoon.

  The feel of her soft body pressed close to him made Tajarez feel overwhelming love wash through his body. Please, no, Great Father, he prayed. I cannot love where I hate.

  Mara stretched out on the soft minkskin robe. It felt soft to her skin. The interior of the cave was illuminated by the soft glow of the campfire at the mouth of the cave. She was clean, and had dined well on deer meat roasted to perfection, and she was safe and warm inside a cave. What more could she ask for at the moment.

  There was a storm brewing. Lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder rumbled across the valley.
The Indian had disappeared soon after he had eaten, to tend the horses, she supposed.

  Mara waited for his return, knowing she had to try and communicate with him. She dreaded the encounter, knowing he could silence her with a glance. His dark eyes easily spanned the gap of any language barrier, showing his contempt for her.

  She had to find out where he was taking her and make him understand that she must return to her family. It was very apparent the Indian had no interest in her and did not care to keep her. Maybe he could be persuaded to leave her at a white settlement somewhere.

  The Indian had entered the cave so silently that Mara was startled by his sudden appearance. He stood just inside the cave entrance staring at her. Mara rose to her feet, feeling uneasy at his close scrutiny.

  Tajarez began removing his rain-soaked leather vest. Then to Mara's distress she saw he was about to remove his britches as well. Her face reddened as she quickly turned her head away. He seemed unaware of her discomfort, and proceeded to hang his wet clothing near the fire to dry.

  When Mara gathered up enough courage to look up, she saw he was not completely undressed as she had feared, but wore a white doeskin breechcloth. She felt a tightening in her throat. Never had she seen a man with so little clothing on. Against her will, her eyes moved over his beautiful bronze body. His legs were long and powerful. His stomach was flat and firm. She looked at the wide wall of his chest, at the powerful muscles of his arms. His ebony hair hung to his shoulders and glistened in the soft firelight. His face was so handsome. His dark liquid brown eyes were staring into her green ones. Mara felt something flicker to life within her body. She did not know it was the first stirring of womanhood. She did not understand this new feeling, and was very disturbed by it.

  Tajarez stared at her, sensing her discomfort. How was it that he knew her so well and she did not recognize him? He had to control his feelings and the urge to go to her and take her into his arms and pour out his love for her. Tajarez already knew how she would feel in his arms— had he not held her many times before? His heart cried out to her to recognize him as her love.