Savage Desire (Savage Lagonda 1)

by Constance O'Banyon

  He sat down beside the fire and stared at the flames that licked at the dried branches he had placed there earlier. His mind was tortured by many unanswered questions. She was hardly more than a child with the bloom of youth still very apparent. Her body was not even yet fully developed. Her breasts were small, and though her body was lovely, it gave a promise of future loveliness. How old was she? Where did she come from? What was her name? Had the two Indians abused her? Had they raped her? His hands tightened into fists, and his eyes flashed dangerously. She belonged to him. No man had the right to touch her. He found that he was breathing hard, and he wanted the answers to all of his questions. Could he break his vow of silence? No. He was bound by his honor to remain silent. To speak would be to break a sacred trust, and being the man he was, he could not break with his tribal laws.

  Mara was fighting her own battle. Crazy thoughts kept swirling around in her mind. What would it feel like to be held in those strong arms? Was there a woman somewhere that had his heart? What was the woman like that could make those dark flashing eyes soften with love? She felt a tightening within her body. What would it feel like to have his lips pressed to hers? She felt hot and cold at the same time.

  Her eyes were drawn to him once more. He was like a beautiful bronzed statue. Mara's eyes fell on the golden armband around his upper arm. What manner of man was he? Surely he was like no other Indian she had ever heard of. If she didn't know better, she would think the armband was in the shape of a cobra. There was no way an American Indian could know about the cobra. It was a reptile prevalent on the African continent. There were none in North America.

  He was ignoring her once more. Mara decided it was time she tried to talk to him, she did not like the dangerous way she was beginning to think. Her mother would be scandalized if she knew the way Mara's mind was working.

  Gathering up her courage, she walked toward him. She felt nervous and uncertain as she sat down beside him. She drew back a little as his dark eyes rested on her face.

  "My name is Mara," she said, self-consciously pointing at herself. The bored expression on his face did not change.

  "You do not understand English, do you? How can I make you understand?"

  Tajarez watched the worried expression on her face. So her name was Mara. Yes, it fit—a beautiful-sounding name, like the sound of the wind in the trees.

  He looked away from her. Her nearness was doing strange things to him. He had always been in command where women were concerned. It was usually they who trembled at his nearness. He knew well how to please a woman, any woman. But she, this mere child, had his mind and his body ready to be her willing slave, if only she knew it. Looking upward to the ceiling of the cave, he tried to regain control of himself.

  "Please do not ignore me," she pleaded, placing her hand on his arm. Tajarez was startled. No one had ever dared touch him without his permission. Was he not Tajarez, prince royal of the Lagonda tribe?

  Mara drew her hand away quickly, seeing the anger flashing in his eyes.

  "Why do you hate me?" she whispered. "I have done you no harm. If anything, it is your kind who has wronged me." Tears glistened in her green eyes.

  Tajarez watched spellbound as a tear rolled down her lovely face. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her he did not hate her, but burned instead with a deep and lasting love. Did he dare touch her? Would it frighten her? He was reminded of how young she was. Reaching up, he wiped the tear from her face with his finger, and placed it to his lips. Mara had no way of knowing that that one small gesture had so much meaning attached to it. In the Lagonda tribe it said: I feel your pain as though it were my own.

  But Mara was only aware of his earlier anger. Rising to her feet, she stumbled to the fur robe and lay down, losing herself in her grief. She wanted so badly to return to her family, but she would never be able to communicate that wish to him. Had her family given up finding her? Did they believe her dead?

  Mara felt rather than heard him when he lay down beside her. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she was embarrassed by her outburst.

  He was lying on his back, resting his head on his arms, staring at the ceiling of the cave.

  Rolling over to her stomach, she decided to try once more to talk to him. "I am sorry for the tears. If you are like most men you must detest a woman's tears. My father once told me that a woman's tears can sometimes turn the hardest man soft—or the softest man hard." Then she gave him a smile that had been the undoing of many young men of her acquaintance. "Of course, I am only sixteen, not yet considered to be a woman, so maybe I can be forgiven my weakness."

  His eyes rested on her face.

  "I think perhaps you do not understand anything I say, but I feel I must say it anyway. I am most grateful to you for saving me from the two Indians. I do not know what would have been my fate if you had not come along when you did."

  He seemed to be listening, so she felt encouraged to continue. Somehow he did not seem as distant as before.

  Mara laughed. "I would not be able to tell you this if you understood, but you are most probably the handsomest man I have ever met. There must be many women of your tribe who feel as I do. I bet you have the ladies going out of their way to please you or to gain a smile from you. Your eyes are incredibly beautiful. Did you know that?"

  Tajarez smiled inwardly. If only she knew, he understood everything she was saying. So she was sixteen summers, a child. In his dream she had been older, he was sure of it. He was ten summers older than she. How could he have such strong feelings for one so young?

  "I know you would like for me to be silent," she continued, "but it seem'! to help just talking to you, even though you do not understand. I have known such fear since my abduction." She sighed heavily. "Sometimes it is still hard for me to believe it all happened. I expect to awaken in my own bedroom at home and find it was all a bad dream."

  Mara felt she was rambling, talking yet saying nothing, but it had a therapeutic effect on her and helped exorcise her ghosts. She turned over to her back and smiled at him. "Do you know what I would be doing right this moment if I were with my family?"

  He did not respond, nor did she expect him to.

  "We would all be gathered in the sitting room after eating one of Tess's well-prepared meals. Tess is our housekeeper. Of course, she is more like a part of the family. There is my father—he would like you. He is intelligent and very distinguished looking, and if you do not mind my saying so, he is very handsome."

  Mara frowned. "Then there is my mother. She is a beautiful lady, but her health is not good, and we all worry about her. You would like my mother . . ." She considered a moment. "No, perhaps you would not like her because she was white. . . . Everyone loves her. Although she is ill most of the time, she never complains, and thinks of others more often than herself."

  If Mara did not know better, she would swear he was listening to her and understanding her words, but she knew that was not the case so she continued. "There is my older brother, David, he is twenty-two, and very much my mother's son. He is straightforward and dependable, though he gets his brown hair and blue eyes from my father, while Jeffery and myself have my mother's coloring. Jeffery is nineteen. He is not only my brother, but my best friend as well." Mara looked above her, watching the dancing pattern the fire made on the overhead ceiling.

  Tajarez waited, hoping she would continue. He wanted to hear how she had become the prisoner of the two men he had slain.

  "It was because of my brother, Jeffery, that I was kidnapped." She frowned. "I do not mean it was actually his fault. It was his birthday, and I had gone into the woods to pick wild strawberries to make something special for him." She looked at Tajarez and smiled. "Jeffery loves strawberries. I knew my father and mother had forbidden me to go into the forest alone, but I thought just this once. . . ." Her voice trailed off. "When I think of the pain my family must be going through at this very moment, it makes me very angry with myself."

  Mara turned to her side and p
ropped her head on her hand. "I must return home. I know my family will be looking for me at this very moment."

  The dark eyes stared into her green ones.

  "You must help me," she pleaded. "I feel if you could understand me you would help me." She laughed. "You would do anything to be rid of me, would you not? The other two Indians would not let me go, and you would like to see the last of me."

  She looked at him thoughtfully. "I do not understand what the two Indians wanted with me. I am not of their race, and I know nothing of their way of life, as they would have discovered once they got me to their village. Perhaps they wanted me to cook and clean for them, but Tess would say I am next to useless in the kitchen."

  Tajarez felt relief that the two men had not violated her. He smiled slightly at how innocent she was. Did she not know how lovely she was, and that men would die on her behalf? When she was older he had no doubt that her father would have his hands full turning the men away. That thought bothered him.

  He thought how different she was from all other women. Looking at her golden hair, he wanted to reach out and touch it. He trembled, remembering burying his face in its softness in his dreams.

  He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sight of her, but she was too near and his mind refused to block her out. He rose to his feet and walked out of the cave.

  Mara felt crushed. He would brave the storm that raged outside the cave rather than be near her. She felt so drawn to him, and she found herself wishing she could win his approval. It was very important to her that he like her.

  Tajarez stood in the driving rain with his face turned up toward the heavens. Great Father, he prayed silently. If this is a test, give me strength to get through it.

  THE BOAT UNDER THE COMMAND OF SERGEANT PRYOR PROCEEDED ON IN OUR ABSENCE (AFTER JERKING THE ELK I KILLED YESTERDAY). ... R. FIELDS BROUGHT IN FIVE DEER. GEORGE SHANNON KILLED AN ELK BUCK. SOME RAIN THIS EVENING.

  — William Clark

  4

  The Indian did not return all night. Mara awoke several times, thinking she heard him, only to find she was still alone. The thunderstorm raged outside the cozy cave. She wondered why he would remain outside in such weather. Once she had gotten up and gone to the cave entrance and peered out into the night. She watched as lightning blazed across the sky, illuminating the countryside. The rain was falling heavily. She considered going out into the storm to search for him, but discarded that idea. He had left the cave to get away from her; he would not take kindly to her seeking him out.

  Mara had the sinking feeling that he had abandoned her. That was most probably what he had done. He had found her shelter, killed a deer so she would have meat, and ridden away, leaving her on her own. What was she to do? She could not live forever in this cave. Weariness and cold drove her back to the fur robe. There was nothing she could do about her situation until morning. Tomorrow was soon enough to plan what she must do. With that thought in mind she drifted off to sleep.

  The next morning Mara awoke to the smell of roasting meat. She was flooded with relief. The Indian had not left her as she had feared. She quickly made her way down the slope. It was a bright, clear morning. The only sign of the storm that had raged during the night was the sodden condition of the earth. The sun shone brightly and it promised to be a warm day.

  Mara noticed that he had built three different campfires, and was apparently drying strips of venison over the heat of the burning embers.

  "Good morning," she greeted him as she stood beside him.

  He did not acknowledge her presence, but kept slicing meat from the deer carcass. He still wore only his breechcloth, and the sun reflected off the golden armband that spanned his upper arm.

  Mara walked down to the river to wash her face and hands. She was stunned by his unfriendliness. She returned slowly to where he was working, in no hurry to encounter his icy silence. She watched him for a moment as he hung strips of meat over a wooden rack he had constructed above the fire.

  Mara set her chin stubbornly. She would help him whether he welcomed her help or not. Picking up his knife, she began slicing the deer meat from the carcass as she had seen him do. Tajarez watched her for a moment, then accepted the strip of meat she handed him and hung it over the fire to dry.

  The two of them worked in companionable silence all morning. It was midday before most of the meat had been carved from the deer.

  Mara had decided he would tolerate her company if she remained silent. She was startled when he handed her a piece of roasted meat to eat. She had been so busy, she had not thought how hungry she was. Smiling up at him gratefully, she bit into the flavorful meat.

  "I cannot understand why you are drying all of this meat." She did not expect an answer, nor did she get one.

  After she had eaten, she continued to help him. They turned the meat so it would dry evenly on both sides. By late afternoon he cut a large slice of the meat and put it on a spit over the fire for their evening meal.

  Mara was weary, but it was a good feeling knowing she had done something useful. Maybe now he would not think of her as such a nuisance.

  As night fell, they sat side by side on the floor of the cave, enjoying the meat, which was tender and succulent. Mara thought it would be a good time to try and communicate with him once more.

  "My name is Mara. Do you understand? Mara."

  He gave her a blank stare, and she shook her head in exasperation as he rose and walked away from her, seating himself on the fur robe.

  Determined not to be put off by his cold treatment, she followed him and sat down beside him. "I know you do not want to hear anything I have to say, but it is important that I make you understand. I want to go home."

  She reached for his hand. He looked startled for a moment but did not pull away.

  "I wish you could like me. I like you a great deal. How could one not like someone who saved their life, and you have been very good to me, seeing that I am well fed and have a warm place to sleep." Looking into his eyes, she knew he was listening to her. Even though he could not understand her words, maybe he could get her meaning from her tone of voice.

  Tajarez waited for her to continue. He liked the feel of her soft hand in his. Unconsciously, he turned her hand over and looked at it. These were hands that had never labored. They were soft and beautifully shaped. Noticing the contrast of her white hand against his dark skin, he dropped her hand quickly.

  Mara watched as he picked up a stone from the floor of the cave and began drawing something in the dirt. She looked at the drawing curiously. "You are drawing a fence. No, it's . . . it's a fort!" Excitement entered her voice. "Are you saying you are taking me to a fort?" Mara placed her hands over her face, not daring to hope she had guessed correctly. When she looked at him he nodded slightly. Throwing caution to the wind, she clasped his hand once more. "There are not words to tell you of my gratitude. If you take me to a fort, they will see that I get home safely."

  Tajarez watched her beautiful face light up. His heart was gladdened that she was happy. When she smiled, it was as if the sun was shining and birds were singing.

  "I wish I knew your name. I owe you so much, and yet I do not even know what to call you." Then she gave him a coquettish smile that was almost his undoing. He felt his facial muscles relax into an almost smile.

  "You should smile more often. You are so handsome, beautiful if one can call a man beautiful, but when you smile, you can turn a girl's head. You would be a sensation in Philadelphia."

  Releasing his hand, she lay back with her hands clasped behind her head. "You remind me of a knight I read about once in a book about King Arthur. You would be Sir Galahad. No knight of the round table could have fought more valiantly than you when you faced the two Indians so unafraid, and no one could have been more of a gentleman than you have been to me." Mara hid a yawn behind her hand. "I will remember you for the rest of my life," she said sleepily. "Good night, my noble knight. I sleep unafraid with you beside me."

  Tajarez
looked down at the sleeping girl. He knew about King Arthur. O'Malley had told him many tales from the book about the round table. Somehow he felt angry at her gratitude and her casting him in the role of some fictional character. He wanted more from her than gratitude. Tajarez knew when he left her at the fort he would never see her again. What had his dreams meant, if all he was ever to have of her was this short time that remained before they reached the fort?

  He watched her, with her golden hair fanned out above her head. Her long, silky lashes rested against her white skin, hiding the beautiful green eyes. He noticed the way her chest rose and fell in a rhythmic motion, thrusting her small breasts forward each time she inhaled.

  Tajarez felt himself on dangerous ground. The sooner he got her to the fort, the better for all concerned.

  Lying down beside her, he pulled the robe over them both. He wanted to reach out and touch her and to feel that beautiful body pressed close to his as it had been in his dreams. He turned his back to her, trying to shut off his mind.

  Tajarez awoke feeling something soft against his face. He was lying on his back, and a strand of Mara's hair was lying across his face. For a moment he did not move. Then he reached up to remove the tress, but when his hand came in contact with it, the hair curled around his fingers. Against his will he began to caress the silky strand that seemed to come alive in his hand. Tajarez had the desire to bury his face in the golden curtain of hair. Raising it to his lips, he closed his eyes. His whole body seemed to be on fire and aching with desire.

  Angry with himself, he sat up quickly and looked down at the girl lying beside him. She slept the sleep of the innocent. Her lovely face was cradled on her hand, and her hair was a golden halo.