Wild Is My Heart

by Connie Mason

  While Fawn helped Sam bathe and dress in a sleeveless pure white doeskin dress elaborately fringed and beaded, she thought about all that Fawn had revealed to her yesterday, and longed to tell Colt she had found his sister. The way things were progressing, Sam seriously doubted she’d find the time before the ceremony. What would he do when he learned Fawn was his sister Laura? Naturally he’d want to take her away, and no doubt Black Bear would protest since Fawn herself was unwilling to leave her adopted family. She eyed the girl speculatively. Fawn had become so thoroughly Indian that Sam came to the sad conclusion that a miracle was needed to pry her from the bosom of the Comanches. Perhaps she shouldn’t tell Colt about Laura, Sam debated, knowing in her heart she must.

  Sensing the direction of Sam’s thoughts, Fawn said, “It would serve no purpose to tell him, Violet Eyes. I will not go with him.”

  “Would returning to your people be so bad, Laura?”

  “I… I wouldn’t know how to act in a white world. The White Eyes have been my enemy for too many years.”

  “Colt is your brother,” Sam reminded gently.

  “I… hardly know him. He has changed.”

  “So have you, but you have the same blood flowing through your veins,” Sam persisted. “Besides, I couldn’t keep the truth from Colt. He hates me enough already.”

  “He wouldn’t be here if he hated you,” Fawn said astutely. “It will not matter to him if I refuse to leave my people.”

  Sam snorted derisively. “Colt doesn’t want a half-breed wife. He hates Comanches for killing his parents.”

  “Then he will hate me, for I am Comanche,” Fawn insisted stubbornly.

  Sam sighed despairingly. Was there nothing she could say to change Laura’s mind? If the girl refused to leave with them, it would add more fuel to Colt’s already burning hatred of Indians. And naturally his anger and disappointment would be directed at her, Sam.

  The sun was just setting when Sam was led to the center of the village, where Colt waited with Spirit Dancer. Like her, he was dressed in soft white buckskin elaborately beaded and fringed. Instead of boots he wore moccasins, and his loose-limbed stance belied his raging anger. He looked so handsome it literally stole Sam’s breath away. The breadth of his shoulders, the rippling muscles, slim waist and narrow hips—dear God, no man had a right to look so magnificently male! Why couldn’t he return a tiny part of the love she felt for him? Sam sighed despondently. Then she made the mistake of looking in his face. If Black Bear hadn’t been directly behind her, she would have turned and fled, so fierce and austere was Colt’s expression.

  In a surprisingly short time the Indian men circling them began whooping and dancing while the women clapped their hands in time to the drums, which had taken up their beat the moment Spirit Dancer signaled the end of the ceremony. According to Comanche custom,. Sam was now Colt’s mate.

  By now darkness had dropped like a curtain about them and the women began passing around food to the men seated around the huge campfire watching the dancers. The Indians loved a celebration and participated fully, dancing, eating, and drinking their own particular brew of strong drink. It was an awesome spectacle, one Sam wouldn’t soon forget.

  Throughout the ceremony Colt maintained a stoic expression, gaining perverse pleasure from glancing at Sam from time to time from beneath shuttered lids. She looked more beautiful and provocative than he had ever seen her. His loins ached at the sight of her supple curves moving sinuously inside the clinging doeskin dress. He recalled distinctly how soft her skin had felt beneath the roughness of his fingertips, how her breasts had swelled to the touch of his hands. She tasted delicious; so sweet, so responsive to his need.

  Then he remembered the Comanche blood flowing through her veins. It stung to think he had made love to a damn half-breed and enjoyed it. Had he known—His train of thought skidded to a halt. If he wanted to be brutally honest, had he known Sam was part Indian, he still would have made love to her. He couldn’t deny he’d wanted her from the first moment he set eyes on her. He glanced at Sam where she sat sedately beside him and was startled to find himself being regarded somewhat warily by eyes the color of the sky at midnight.

  “Violet Eyes,” Colt muttered with something akin to contempt. He made her Comanche name sound dirty and vile. “Whether you like it or not, you’re my squaw now.”

  Sam winced, his words as cutting as the Bowie he had used to defeat Brave Eagle. The term he used was derogatory. No self-respecting Indian would call his wife a squaw. Only white men called their Indian whores squaws. Was that how Colt thought of her? As his whore? His Indian whore? Did he despise that half of her so much?

  “Colt, don’t look at me like that,” Sam choked on a sob. “I haven’t changed. I’m still the same person you—”

  “No!” Colt injected rudely. “Everythin’ is changed, Violet Eyes.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “Because I thought I… because I told Will I’d find you,” Colt amended before he revealed too much.

  “You know this ceremony means nothing,” Sam said softly. She didn’t want Black Bear to think she was finding fault with her husband so soon, but neither could she let Colt believe she had planned things this way. “When we return to civilization we can forget this.”

  “You’re wrong, Violet Eyes,” Colt refuted sarcastically. “Nothin’ will ever be the same. Black Bear gave you to me. You’re my squaw for as long as I want you. Though Lord only knows if I’ll be able to touch you knowin’ you’re a—”

  “Violet Eyes, come, it is time to prepare yourself for your husband.” A bevy of giggling maidens descended on Sam, dragging her away from Colt and his cutting words. It was just as well. One more snide remark about her heritage and she would have exploded. The mule-stubborn varmint needed to be taught a lesson.

  It did little good to protest as Sam was led off toward a tipi that had been hastily erected in honor of her joining. She was bathed, anointed, stripped naked, and settled on a mat that was to be her nuptial bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Colt partook freely of the bitter concoction brewed by the Indians for special occasions and ceremonies. It was as potent as whiskey but not nearly so good, he reflected as he watched Sam being led off to their nupital tent. How could he still want her so fiercely when he now knew what she was? With brutal clarity Colt realized this could easily be the same tribe that had killed his parents and carried off poor Laura, perhaps even killed her. That thought was instantly sobering, though it did nothing to diminish the intense throbbing in his loins.

  With frequent regularity Colt’s gaze went to the tipi where his bride awaited. A knowing grin curved Black Bear’s lips as he noted the direction of Colt’s eyes with a certain amount of satisfaction. “Do you grow impatient, Lion Heart? Your woman is beautiful, possessing much courage and strength. She will give you strong sons. May your seed be swift and true tonight.”

  Children! Colt thought grimly. He had no desire to sire children with the blood of savages running in their veins. It rankled to think he could not lift his mind past the ache in his loins. Raising his cup, he drank deeply of the intoxicating brew. He had lost count long ago of the amount he had consumed, hoping it would take the edge off his longing.

  Black Bear rose unsteadily to his feet. “It is time, Lion Heart. Your bride awaits. I will escort you to your lodge.”

  All Colt’s senses came alive as he staggered beside Black Bear, potently aware of Brave Eagle’s black eyes boring into him. Colt had tried to drink himself senseless and failed. Though far from sober, he still had faculties enough to feel, to think—to make love. When it came right down to it, he wasn’t convinced he could make love to a half-breed Comanche. Did he want to? The answer thrummed through his body like a Comanche arrow. Christ, yes!

  The chanting and dancing continued as Black Bear left Colt standing uncertainly at the entrance to the tipi. Vividly Colt recalled the last time he had made glorious love to Sam. But since then every
-thing had changed. Everything but the desperate need riding him.

  Inside the tipi Sam stirred resdessly. It had grown so late she seriously doubted Colt would come to her. Did he despise her so much? Squirming on the pallet of soft skins, Sam felt a draft and intuitively knew that Colt stood beside her long before she saw him.

  “Waitin’ for me like a good squaw, darlin?” Colt slurred.

  “Why did you bother coming at all if you can’t tolerate me?” Sam shot back.

  “It was expected of me,” Colt rejoined lamely. “What kind of man could neglect a beautiful bride on her wedding night?”

  “The kind that never wanted a bride in the first place.”

  “Just so you understand that I don’t intend to honor your heathenish rites,” Colt reminded her sternly. “You’re my squaw, nothin’ more.”

  “It’s no more than I expected from a blackhearted skunk.”

  Above the blanket Sam had pulled up to shield her nude form, her shoulders gleamed like antique gold in the dim glow from the fire burning in the center of the tipi. Colt’s eyes glinted wickedly as he dropped to his knees and stripped away the thin covering with one fluid motion, tossing it aside.

  “Damnation, you’re beautiful!” he muttered. “Maybe a saint could resist such outlandish temptation, darlin’, but as you well know, I’m no saint. I swore I’d never touch an Indian squaw, but when I look at you nothin’ matters ‘cept puttin’ myself deep inside you where it’s warm and wet and so enticin’ a man could go crazy wantin’ it. I want you, Violet Eyes. I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.”

  “Won’t taking a half-breed Comanche to bed offend your sensibilities?” Sam taunted chillingly.

  “Why should I deny myself? I’m only doin’ what’s expected of me. Besides, I need a woman and you’re my squaw to use in any way I see fit. Indian or not, I’m gonna do what we both want.”

  “You loathsome—”

  Abruptly her words stopped as he took her lips in an eager, demanding kiss, and for long minutes his mouth worked its magic on her. Just when Sam thought she’d expire from lack of breath, his mouth began a tantalizing foray to her ear, sliding down to the base of her throat, his tongue sending flashes of flame to her body as he nipped and licked at the tiny pulse beating in her throat. She inhaled sharply when Colt’s lips burned a path to her breasts, nibbling hungrily at the dusky pink tips puckering delightfully beneath his touch. Every nerve came alive as he licked a path down her stomach, stopping briefly at her navel, then continuing downward. Her legs were nudged apart and she nearly exploded when the tip of his tongue probed and prodded. One exquisite thrill after another sang through her as he raised her hips to meet his mouth. With a will of their own her hands found his hair, her fingers tangling in the tawny mass to pull him closer.

  Keen disappointment produced a groan from Sam’s lips as Colt brought her to the brink of ecstasy, then deliberately let her dangle on the edge, denying her the ultimate victory. Cruel! Cruel! How could he make her suffer when it was within his power to grant her release?

  “Colt, please!”

  Abruptly Colt rose to his knees and tore off his clothes, releasing that part of him she yearned for most. Mindlessly she reached out, enclosing his throbbing strength in her hand, and Colt jerked violently. It felt smooth and hard and hot in her palm and Colt cried out as if in pain when she stroked the pulsing length back and forth. Sam delighted in the satiny feel of him in her hand and drove him beyond physical endurance by rubbing him against her belly, smiling with devious delight at his response.

  “Christ!” Colt exploded, bolting upright. “What in the hell are you tryin’ to do?”

  “Exacdy what you did to me,” she taunted, pleased with herself. “How does it feel to be teased unmercifully?”

  “Indian witch! Is this what you want?” Slapping her hand aside, he mounted her and entered swiftly.

  She rose up to meet his thrust, feeling herself filling with the incredible length of him, stretching further than she thought humanly possible. Colt pressed himself into the depths of her and felt her enclose him, hold him, caress him. Then suddenly it no longer mattered that Sam was part Comanche and he hated Comanches. Or that he was forced to participate in a heathen marriage. He knew only that the woman in his arms, responding to him, loving him, was sweet and warm and made his body thrum with joy.

  Driven by a thousand demons, Colt seized Sam’s lips, plunging his tongue inside in rhythm to his thrusting below. Her body was a savage blending of ecstasy and torment as wild and wonderful sensations attacked her senses. But it became too much for her when his hand slid between their driving bodies to find the tiny hidden button in the secret folds of her flesh, intensifying her pleasure by gently massaging the swollen nub with thumb and forefinger. Sensation after sensation erupted within her, her mind whirling, pleasure mounting until she was consumed in delicious agony. Her world spun dizzily and rapture flung them into endless space.

  They descended slowly, drifting contentedly until Colt broke the spell. “I could easily grow accustomed to this if you weren’t…”

  It was as if Colt had dashed cold water in Sam’s face. “Go ahead, say it.”

  His face hardened, his eyes turned a murky brown. “You know my feelin’s about Indians. I almost imagined myself in love with you until I learned…”

  “… That I’m a savage?” Sam contended, completing Colt’s sentence. “Have I changed so much? Do I feel different, taste different? You had no problem making love to me just now.”

  Colt had the grace to flush. In that respect Sam was right. Making love to her was as enjoyable as ever—more so, in fact. Surprisingly, his skin didn’t crawl when he touched her, nor had his manhood reacted differently in the tightness of her sheath. They were as fully attuned to each other’s needs as if they were truly man and wife. Christ! What was he thinking? He wanted no wife, especially no Indian squaw. Yet, to his chagrin, Colt found himself impatient to taste Sam’s sweetness again, savor her unique response. And most of all Colt wanted no other man to sample what was his.

  Suddenly Sam moved in such a way as to bring Colt’s thoughts to her nude body rubbing against him. He tried to banish his renewed desire by concentrating on answering her questions.

  “I should hate you, yet I want you so fiercely it hurts,” he admitted. “I’m probably drunker than I’ve ever been in my life but I’ve never felt stronger. My hunger for you is mind-bogglin’. I feel I could make love to you ten, no, twenty times tonight and not tire. You inspire me with a stamina few men will ever know. You taste and feel the same and, yes, dammit, I still want you.”

  “Even though I’m part Comanche?” Sam asked quietly.

  “Yep,” he acknowledged tersely. “I must be crazy but it makes no difference, though deep down it hurts to think you share the same blood as the savages that took my sister.”

  Sam tensed. Laura! She had to tell Colt about his sister. “Colt, about Laura …”

  “How do you know my sister’s name? Has Jake been talkin’?”

  “No, not Jake. It’s …”

  “I don’t want to talk about Laura, Sam. If I think about what those heathens did to her, I wouldn’t be able to make love to you again, and I want to more than anythin’.”

  “But Colt, I need to tell you …”

  He brushed his lips over her forehead, then trailed them ever so slowly and enticingly over her brows, temples, nose, and cheeks before capturing her mouth to stop her words. He fondled her breasts lightly, leisurely, his thumbs and forefingers trapping the two buds between them and gently kneading until they hardened and grew erect. Then his lips and tongue moistened the peaks, tantalized them, his hands roaming downward to more fertile ground. He explored her thoroughly, lush hills, a tiny peak, enchanting valleys, secret crevices, and a dark and damp cave.

  Beneath his probing fingers, tongue, and mouth, Sam squirmed uncomfortably, her chest rising and falling with excruciating slowness. Suddenly his hands grew rough as his pass
ion spiraled into a burning need so intense it threatened to turn him to cinder. Sam cried out as his fingers dug painfully into tender flesh, but Colt was beyond tenderness. He could wait no longer. He grasped her hips, his fully extended organ pressed against her softness, firm and powerful. Flexing his hips, he pushed inside and Sam prepared herself for a brutal assault. But to her surprise, Colt’s roughness turned gentle and she gave herself up to his loving. Later, he loved her again, and yet again. His stamina was amazing. Dawn was tinging the eastern sky when exhaustion finally claimed them.

  Colt was pulling on his buckskin trousers when Sam opened her eyes. She stretched languidly, feeling glowingly content despite twinges of discomfort in certain places. Then with amazing clarity she recalled everything that had transpired during the long night. She flushed and slid a shy glance at Colt, startled to find that he was watching her. The urge to say something—anything—seized her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To prepare for our trip home. It’s a long way and we’ll need supplies. Go back to sleep, you need the rest.”

  Though he didn’t say so, his words hinted of the wildness of her response to his loving last night. She had acted like a wanton in his arms, and she was ashamed of the way he seemed to command her body to do as he wanted. During those magic hours he had completely controlled every aspect of her mind and body. She hated Colt for using her to assuage his lust when he felt nothing but contempt for her. But at the same time she loved him. It seemed she didn’t know her own mind where Colt Colter was concerned. A throbbing anger seized her when she thought of all the ways he manipulated her.