White Eagle's Touch: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 2

by Karen Kay

  Perhaps that was it. Mayhap she had just discovered why the Indian appeared so handsome: She could see his face…all of it. It was not marred with whiskers or hair.

  She opened her eyes, and the Indian suddenly came into view, looking over toward where she sat at her window. Suddenly, he raised his head and smiled…at her.

  She gulped and sat back at once, away from the window. “Rebecca,” she said, clutching her hand to her breast. “Fetch me my parasol. I am going out.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Katrina glanced over toward the maid. “Hurry. You may come, too, if you wish.”

  “I’d be pleased.”

  “Then quickly, grab both our bonnets before I change my mind.”

  And Rebecca hurried away to do just that.

  Chapter Six

  He stared at her, his gaze penetrating.

  She tried to ignore him, strolling as she was down several wooden planks, set out across the yard as they were, atop brown prairie grass and dirt. She pretended not to notice him, although complete unawareness of him was impossible. The man was too exotic, too much the savage, too…handsome and, yes, too well formed, to ignore.

  Still she managed to affect nonchalance, Kenneth McKenzie aiding her cause by joining her as she strolled along the wooden planks. She laughed a bit too loudly at a joke the proprietor had shared and beamed up at McKenzie more brightly than was necessary. And all the while, she knew that he watched.

  At last, with the Indian in her peripheral vision, she said, “I must needs speak to the Indian, Mr. McKenzie. I have yet to hear what word he brings me from my uncle.”

  “Aye, lass, your uncle. Do not worry. I will see to the matter at once and bring the Indian to you. We may use my office for the interview.”

  “No,” she said, albeit too swiftly. “The Indian has already said that he will speak only with me—”

  McKenzie laughed.

  “Do not worry about what the heathen has said, Miss Wellington. You needn’t cater to some savage. I have ways that will make him talk.”

  “No!” She smiled. “Please, don’t trouble yourself, Mr. McKenzie. I’m sure you can do all you say, however, I really do not wish to anger the savage.”

  “What does it matter?”

  She raised a single eyebrow. “Do you forget that I may have to travel with that Indian and his friends if I am to find my uncle?”

  “Travel? You, miss?”

  Katrina stumbled, her hand tightening upon Kenneth McKenzie’s arm. “I meant my fiancé, of course,” she said, flashing the proprietor a very feminine, yet proper, smile.

  “Yes, well, your fiancé could also go upstream with Prince Maximilian, who is anxious to push farther into the wilderness. The prince will be traveling on a keelboat that is due to leave in less than a week.”

  “Yes, Mr. McKenzie, that is always a possibility, but what if my fiancé decides not to travel with the prince?”

  “That would be highly unlikely.”

  “You think?” Katrina grinned. “And yet my fiancé journeyed all this way with his hounds that he might hunt. In truth, is he not doing just that at this very moment, running the hounds through the countryside?”

  “Hm-m-m.”

  “Is it not possible, then, that my fiancé might desire an overland journey, rather than to spend even more time aboard another boat? No, I think I should investigate every realm of possibility. Now, if you please, I must see to the savage. Will you take me to him?”

  Kenneth McKenzie nodded. “Yes, I suppose I can, miss, if that is what you desire.”

  Katrina, her head held at a decidedly high angle, said, “That is what I desire.”

  “I will see you now.” She glared straight at the savage.

  The Indian didn’t say a word; he stared back at her, his arms folded over his chest.

  McKenzie, who had escorted her to the native, stood at her side as she now confronted the man.

  “If you will come with me.” She turned away and motioned for the savage to follow her. She walked a short distance away from the Indian, but then, as if by some innate perception, she sensed he did not follow. She looked over her shoulder.

  She was right. The Indian just stood there, watching her. She stopped, motioning to him again and saying, “Come.”

  The Indian did nothing, acting as though he neither saw nor heard her.

  She turned all the way around and practically whined at him, “Do you not understand? I will grant you audience now. Come.”

  Still he stood his ground.

  She retraced her steps to him, tapping her umbrella against the wooden planks for emphasis, and said, “I wish to hear, now, what message my uncle sends to me.” She softened her tone. “Please, won’t you join me in my quarters where we might partake of some tea and speak of these things?”

  Still the man appeared unwilling to utter a single word until at length, his stare never wavering from her, he uttered, “I will talk to you.”

  She visibly relaxed. “Good, then, follow me.”

  “In niitoyis, in tepee.”

  “What?” This from herself and Kenneth McKenzie.

  “Alone.”

  “Now, see here, young heathen, the lady will not enter your tepee, nor will she permit herself to be unaccompanied, and, it is the utmost of insults that you ask her to do so.”

  The Indian didn’t reply, didn’t look at McKenzie, didn’t even move a muscle. He stared only at her.

  “It is all right, Mr. McKenzie,” Katrina said, after a pause. Then, tilting back her head, she said, “I will see the man alone.” She stepped forward. “Where is your tepee?”

  “But, Miss Wellington, it is not necessary that—”

  “Please do not interfere.”

  The Indian glanced briefly toward McKenzie, then back at her; making a motion for her to follow, he turned around, leading the way.

  With a dismissive nod to McKenzie, Katrina followed.

  She strode quickly, trying to catch up with the man. “Ah, Mister…White Eagle,” she called. “It is White Eagle, is it not?”

  No answer.

  “Mr. White Eagle,” she tried again. “I must warn you that I am armed with a pistol.”

  No answer.

  “Humph!” She sent her nose directly up into the air and shook her head, the ringlets of her hair bouncing away from her face.

  After what seemed a long walk, they arrived at a lodge of sorts, and, pulling back the entrance flap, the Indian bent and stepped into the interior.

  He set the flap of the tepee back in place, without once glancing back to see if she followed.

  Of all the insolence! The man did not hold the entrance flap open for her; nor did he lend a hand to help her enter the tepee.

  A look of distaste upon her face, she pulled at the hide flap with the tip of one white-gloved hand, holding the entire thing away from her as though just the slightest contact with it might cause her great affliction.

  Another bare hand was suddenly there beside her own, holding the flap open for her.

  Katrina glanced over her shoulder to find Rebecca standing behind her. “Maybe you and Mr. McKenzie will allow the Indian to see you unchaperoned. I, for one, cannot abide it,” Rebecca said.

  Katrina smiled and, as she lowered her head and stepped inside the Indian lodge, she was surprised to discover the Indian did not seem to object to Rebecca’s presence. After a brief glance in the maid’s direction, he brought his attention back to her.

  Both she and Rebecca stood, obviously ill at ease, staring around them, at the foreign, yet cozy warmth of the interior. The smells of rawhide, of smoke, of food cooking and of a fragrant sort of grass assailed Katrina, and she was almost ready to comment upon it when he gestured toward them both, saying at the same time, “Sit.”

  They sat.

  Katrina’s stiffened petticoats buoyed out in front of her as she made to squat, but Rebecca came to her defense, and both women were able to save Katrina’s dignity by clamping
down upon the dress.

  She was almost certain she saw a slight grin on the Indian’s face as he watched them, but it was so quickly covered over with a blank expression that she was never quite certain about it.

  Katrina continued to gaze around her at the interior of the lodge, sitting as she was upon a not-too-uncomfortable seat of cushioned robes. Buffalo hides, carefully tanned as soft robes, were thrown over the “floor,” the whole effect reminding her of a painting she’d once seen of the silkened palace of a sheik.

  In a far corner of the room hung…sticks? All of a certain size and shape. Arrowheads lay off to the side, too, some of stone, some of steel, while in the center of the lodge, a fire burned, a pot suspended over it, the tantalizing smell emanating from it reminding Katrina it had been hours since she’d had breakfast.

  On any other occasion, Katrina might have begun the ritual of conversation between herself and the savage, so anxious was she. These surroundings, however, did not permit her a feeling of confidence, and so she remained silent until at last, her gaze came back to rest upon the one whom she was coming to view as an opponent of sorts…the Indian.

  She looked at him with a keen awareness; he back at her, his lips slightly parted. An incredible feeling, one of tension and unrest mixed with a strange sense of urgency, raced through her; yet at the same time she felt exhilarated, eager, and, as she continued to stare at him, she could have sworn she saw an answering intensity within him. She continued to hold his gaze, looking into his dark eyes as though only within those obsidian depths could she find the answers to the questions that she sought.

  And he did not deny her. He let her look at him to her fill.

  She felt anxious, frightened, and yet more than that: She trembled all over with…excitement.

  She was reminded of a week ago when she had first come into contact with this man, the only other time she had experienced such an intensity of feeling… Odd that it was with this same man.

  At last, the Indian gestured toward her, saying, “You have journeyed far to see your uncle.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And your voyage here, it was pleasant?”

  “Yes,” she said, “it was pleasing enough, I imagine.”

  He nodded. “And the man you are to marry?”

  “Yes?”

  A long pause. “He is ready to make another journey?”

  She didn’t answer, stating instead, “You speak English very well, Mr. White Eagle.” Her eyes glimmered with an air of mockery. “How have you learned it?”

  He chose not to reply, and merely stared at her with his steady, unflinching gaze.

  She fidgeted.

  And he sat there, doing and saying nothing. At length, he stated, “Your uncle wishes you to know that he is sorry that he cannot be here to meet you.”

  “Yes,” she said, glancing once again around the lodge. “So I have been told.”

  “He wishes to see and speak to this man you have chosen.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I know.”

  “I am to bring this man to him.”

  Without looking at the Indian, she said, “You tell me things I already know.

  Is there anything further you have to say to me that I am, as yet, unaware of?”

  When she glanced back at him, there was an easy grin upon his face.

  “What do you do?” she asked. “Why do you look at me like that? Do you not understand how uncomfortable it makes me feel?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She continued. “My fiancé may not elect to make the journey with you. He may decide to travel to this Fort McKenzie with Prince Maximilian, another European who is here to make observations about this land, though I can hardly see what people find so fascinating about this place.”

  This comment was met with more silence, unbroken by even so much as a harsh breath.

  “Well,” she said, after a while, and made a movement to sit up, “if you have nothing further to say to me, I may as well go. I will let you know later of my fiancé’s decision.”

  Still he gave her no response.

  She glanced toward Rebecca, and with a motion of her head, she and her maid arose at the same time, both brushing down their dresses as they came up onto their feet. Rebecca moved to the entrance and pulled back the flap.

  The maid had no more than stepped outside, with Katrina making ready to do the same when the Indian commented, “Your uncle wishes you to know that it was not his intention to leave you alone in the East for so long.”

  Katrina stopped.

  She turned back toward the Indian.

  She stared, before replying. “You expect me to believe that?”

  The Indian didn’t answer.

  “If that is true, then answer me this, why didn’t my uncle ever come to visit me?”

  The man remained silent.

  She set her features. “You see. I don’t believe him. I don’t believe you. If my uncle had truly been concerned about me, he would have come to me a long time ago, if only to visit.”

  The Indian rose up onto his feet and, pacing toward her slowly, he said, “I do not know why he did not come to you. I can only tell you that he is happy that Shines Like Moonlight has finally arrived home.”

  “Shines Like Moonlight…? Home?” She almost spat the words. “My home is in New York City, Indian. And I don’t know whom you think you are addressing.”

  White Eagle did nothing more than gaze down into her eyes, she glaring back up at him. His lips parted slightly, before he whispered, “Do you truly not know who is this person, Shines Like Moonlight?”

  He reached a forefinger out to run over her cheek as he said the words, and Katrina thought she might suddenly faint.

  What was this?

  Not only had this man—this Indian—dared to touch her, sensation, such as no other she had ever imagined existed, engulfed her, rushing through her body like a wind storm gone mad. She trembled, and worse, she could not bring her body under control.

  How dare he!

  Thankfully she hadn’t lost her ability to speak. Mustering up all the disdain she could, she said, “Is this how my uncle wishes to greet me? With his emissary molesting me?”

  The Indian raised an eyebrow. He said, “Haiya, Shines Like Moonlight has tongue like crow.”

  “Tongue like—now, see here!”

  “Temper like wasp.” He smiled.

  She gasped. “Of all the impertinent, rude and…and uncivilized things to say…” She brushed his hand away. “And what does h-haiya mean?”

  He didn’t respond—just stared at her, grinning.

  “Well…are you going to answer me?”

  Silence.

  She stamped her foot. “Now listen to me, Indian, I expect you to reply to me when I address you. Not only that, but you are to listen to me carefully when I give you instructions and you are to follow what I say implicitly. You are never to walk away from me, not ever again, and you are to lower your eyes from mine so that you do not look directly at me whenever you are in my presence. Such is the manner in which a more…more…lowly person, as yourself, is to speak and act toward his betters…me…and not only that—”

  He moved closer to her suddenly, without warning, and all at once, his head swooped down to hers, his lips enveloping hers in a kiss. A kiss! She had done no more than take a breath, when…

  Sensation exploded within her, making her feel as though she stood in the middle of a raging battlefield. And to her absolute horror, her knees buckled under her, causing her to swoon toward him.

  He caught her and she couldn’t think to voice a single protest against it, not when all her wits were required to try to comprehend what was taking place within her.

  Was she sick? She could be. Her stomach churned as though she’d turned round and round, and her heartbeat…it raced faster than the last time she had been ill. Had she suddenly taken a fever?

  It did occur to her, as she stood within the Indian’s arms, that he sm
elled good, of buckskin and grass, of mint and smoke and a completely masculine, musky scent. In truth, it was the most intoxicating blend of aromas, and she was more than aware as she leaned in toward him, of where she was, of the comfortable tepee around her, of the feel of the softened atmosphere, the hush of the world outside the lodge. Never had she experienced so much emotion; never had she known…such excitement?

  Yes, that was it…excitement.

  And then it was over. He left off the kiss, raising his head, although he barely backed away from her as he did so.

  She couldn’t speak, not when he still held her. And so she did nothing, said nothing; unable, it would seem, to take control of herself. She did stare up at him, though, little knowing that her reddened lips bore evidence of her surrender.

  Briefly, he ran a finger over her lips; and she didn’t object. How could she, when her entire body felt as if it were on fire?

  She shut her eyes, and still the sensation didn’t cease.

  It worsened.

  Outwardly, his fingers moved over her face, stretching and smoothing over her cheek, caressing it, moving downward toward her neck.

  And even his breath, when he breathed out, felt stimulating against her skin, and a warmth rose in her as she noted that he breathed unsteadily.

  Was it possible that he, too, was moved by her? She opened her eyes to gaze at him. If he did feel the same as she, he made no move to show it. In truth, he had managed to reach around her to open the tepee flap.

  He stared down at her, his look intense, making her want to run away; though contrarily, she found herself wanting him to kiss her again.

  But he didn’t do it. He simply watched her, until at last he spoke, saying, “Haiya, I now know one thing about Shines Like Moonlight.”

  She wished she could do more than gape at him. It wasn’t, however, to be. Dumbfounded, she peered up at him. It was all the motion she seemed capable of at the moment.

  And he continued, “Shines Like Moonlight does not desire this man she is to marry.”

  She gasped. She opened her mouth to try to say something, but his lips pressed down over hers, kissing her yet again, as if to prove his point, and despite herself, Katrina could do little more than respond.