The Outlaw

by JoAnn Ross

  Those instinctive, primitive feelings had been born in the very first man and continued throughout succeeding generations. The same could be said about the need of a man for a mate.

  Which led him back, full circle, to the princess Noel.

  Wolfe sighed inwardly, as his troubled thoughts went round and round, like a leaf caught in a swirling whirlpool.

  After they'd been on the trail about five hours, he decided it would be safe to stop. If he'd been alone, he would have kept going, but observing the shadows beneath her eyes and taking into consideration her recent lack of sleep, Wolfe decided that if she didn't get some rest soon, she'd end up falling off her horse.

  He led them off the trail, to the base of a rugged red mountain, into a grove of cottonwood trees.

  "We'll stop here."

  Watching him dismount with a lithe yet powerful grace, Noel experienced a familiar fluttering in her heart. A fluttering that grew even more intense as he lifted her to the ground.

  When their eyes met, she thought—hoped—that he might kiss her again. But instead, he released her and walked off to hobble their horses in a grassy spot, allowing them to graze.

  While he took care of the horses, she knelt beside the river, and cupping her hands, scooped up some fresh cool water.

  Watching her drink from the crystal river, Wolfe thought what a lovely picture she made, how natural she looked in this remote and wild place that he loved so deeply, when he saw something that made his heart leap to his throat. A mountain lion, crouched on the limb of a tree directly over her bent head.

  "Don't move," he said in a low rough voice.

  "What—"

  "And don't say a word. Just stay right where you are." Wolfe feared that if he told her the danger she was in, she'd move suddenly, or scream, causing the giant cat to make its move. Better that she just follow his instructions. Explanations could come later. After she was safe.

  The warning in his gruff tone—echoed in his flinty eyes—was enough to make Noel shut her mouth so fast and so hard her teeth slammed painfully together. Her heart trebled its beat and she grew instantly chilled, as if a thunderhead had suddenly moved across the sun.

  "You must trust me."

  Her eyes—wide and terrified—nevertheless assured him that she did. With her life.

  "Whatever I do, whatever happens," he said softly, "don't move. I don't want to risk hurting you."

  She swallowed and managed a slight nod, watching as he slowly took the Winchester from the saddle.

  "I'm going to pull the trigger on three. The minute I do, I want you to move as quickly as you can to the right… One."

  The tension surrounding them was palpable. "Two," he said softly as he watched the giant cat get ready to spring.

  Inside, Noel was screaming. Outside, she pressed her lips together and held her breath.

  Just when she didn't think she could remain silent another moment, Wolfe said, "Three!"

  Then, with a movement too swift for her to follow, he lifted the rifle and pulled the trigger. At the same time, Noel rolled away from the tree, nearly landing in the river.

  The shot rang out, the sound ricocheting against the red rocks. A moment later, she heard a mighty roar, followed by the breaking of tree limbs as the mountain lion came crashing down.

  It was then she screamed.

  He was dead. Looking down at the lifeless cat, Wolfe felt the cooling waves of relief wash over him. Relief that was tempered with a faint sadness. It was a beautiful animal. Brave and strong and born to hunt, like the Dineh warrior of old. Wolfe knew it bore them no personal animosity. It was only following its nature.

  Even as he knew he'd had no choice, it did not escape Wolfe's notice that the same guns that had conquered the Dineh had allowed him to conquer another of nature's own.

  Although time seemed to have slowed to a crawl, all those thoughts raced through his mind in an instantaneous flash. The following second, he was kneeling beside Noel and dragging her limp body against his, holding her tightly, as if he would never let her go.

  "It is all right," he told her, over and over again. She felt like ice in his arms and her trembling reminded him of the golden leaves of the white-barked aspen quaking in the autumn breeze. He pressed his lips against the top of her head. "You are all right."

  She was clinging to him, as if to keep from falling off the edge of the earth. He could feel her heart pounding with a wild out-of-control beat.

  She risked a sideways glance at the dead mountain lion, then shut her eyes tight and shuddered as she thought how close she'd come to dying this day. "You saved my life."

  "As you saved mine," he reminded her. "If you had not shot Black Jack to keep him from killing me, neither of us would have been in this place at this time."

  "If you hadn't stopped to help me after my accident, we wouldn't have been in the Road to Ruin when Black Jack arrived."

  "And if you hadn't bought that book, telling you about my alleged crimes, you would have remained in your own time." His hands roamed up and down her back, in an attempt to soothe, rather than excite.

  And Wolfe would have hanged. Which, Noel reminded herself, could still happen. When that thought proved too painful to contemplate, she twined her arms around him, holding him even tighter.

  As her quaking thighs pressed against his, and he felt the softness of her breasts yielding to the superior strength of his chest, Wolfe found his mutinous body becoming more and more aroused.

  "You are very brave, Princess Noel de Montacroix."

  The admiration in his deep voice should not have meant so much to her. But it did. Looking up at him, she lifted a hand to his dark cheek and managed a smile that only wobbled slightly.

  "So are you."

  "I am Navajo. I have no choice. But white people have a choice. No one would care if you were not brave."

  "I would care."

  Her remarkable sky-blue eyes were sober. He smiled. "Yes."

  She was like no other woman he'd ever met. like no other woman he would ever meet. When he thought of how close he'd come to losing her, his blood ran as cold as Whiskey River in January.

  Wolfe looked down into her exquisite face, watching as the soft pink color slowly returned to her cheeks.

  Then, unable to resist that gilt-edged feminine invitation in her eyes, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  As she had the other times he'd kissed her, Noel opened for him readily. Willingly. The completeness of her surrender had desire boiling up inside him, burning him alive from the inside out. One hand fisted in her pale hair, tilting her head back. The other hand settled at the small of her back, pressing her into his heat.

  Never in his life had Wolfe wanted a woman more than he wanted this one at this moment. He wanted to devour her, to conquer her, to brand her, claim her for his own. He wanted to feel her hot and wild and naked, bucking beneath him, matching him thrust for thrust, as they rode together into oblivion.

  His body was strong and rock-hard. His hands were big and rough. And wonderful. His mouth was like fire on hers, sending flames flicking through her veins.

  Tangled emotions—need, hunger, pleasure, love— all rushed into her so swiftly her head spun. When his lips scorched a path up the side of her face, desperate for more, she moaned a shuddering protest and dragged his mouth back to hers.

  He could have kissed her endlessly. From her forehead, to her toes. And everywhere in between. But as he caught her hand and lifted her fingers to his mouth, he saw the soot and remembered how he'd spent the night.

  "I need a bath," he said, forcing the words through deep drafts of breath.

  What Noel needed was Wolfe. Here. Now.

  "Later." She framed his blackened face with her hands, seeing past the burnt ash to the man beneath. This man who, against all that was logical, was her destiny. This man she loved.

  His fingers curled around her wrists and he pulled her hands from his face, scowling at the black stains. Not only had he been on the br
ink of taking her like some savage, he realized he looked like one, as well.

  Although Many Horses had told him that he should wear the ashes for three days, to ensure all the evils were extracted from his body, once again caught between two worlds, Wolfe felt uncomfortable being with her, like this.

  "There's a spring just down there," he said, jerking his head in the direction of a narrow trail weaving through the thick brush. "It flows into a pool. I won't belong."

  To Noel's amazement, he released her. Then, behaving as if nothing had happened, he stood and began to walk away.

  "Wait a minute!" she called out to his strong straight back.

  "What is it now?"

  Wolfe shot an impatient look over his shoulder. He was angry. Not at her, never at her, but at himself.

  He wanted her. At the same time, he didn't want to hurt her. And, even if he did survive, there was nothing that he, as an outlaw, could ever offer a princess.

  Except his heart.

  Wolfe cursed inwardly. He felt as if he were trapped between two great stones. If either one moved, or if he moved, he'd be ground to fine powder. Just like the corn grown by the Dineh in Canyon de Chelly.

  There was no future for them. That much, Wolfe knew. And if she wasn't sensible enough to guard her warm and generous heart, he would have to protect it for her.

  "I don't understand." She dragged her hands through her hair, spreading dark soot through the shimmering silver strands. "That kiss—"

  "Should not have happened," he said brusquely. "You are an engaged woman," he reminded her. "I have no right to kiss you. No right to want you. So, if you will only cooperate by not being so damnably seductive, perhaps we can get through this without making any more careless mistakes."

  That said, he turned away again and disappeared into the trees.

  Stunned into silence, Noel stood there, hands on her hips, staring after him.

  "A mistake?" she muttered. "A careless mistake? How dare he call something so perfect a mistake?"

  Once again, the temper she'd not been aware of before coming to Arizona Territory, flared. Pausing only long enough to take off her engagement ring, she headed after him.

  10

  Misgivings tugged at Wolfe's conscience like minnows worrying a piece of bait. He was floating on his back, watching the pewter clouds building up on the horizon, when he heard her stomping down the path.

  So, she was angry. He wasn't surprised, given the way he'd treated her.

  As much as Wolfe hated the idea of upsetting Noel, in his mind it would have been far worse to have given in to temptation, to have done what they both wanted, to have made love to her until they were exhausted, then leave her. Or lose her.

  Both of which were, of course, inevitable.

  Against all reason, he had reluctantly come to believe her incredible tale of having traveled across not only continents, but time, in a noble attempt to save his life. Yet, even if she did succeed in her goal, once her mission was completed, what would keep her from returning to her own time? Alone. The thought of her leaving was like being stabbed with a thousand knives.

  And if she failed, if he was hanged, as that chapter in her damn book related, then he would be the one leaving her. Alone.

  There was no way this could work out, Wolfe had decided. So why make things worse?

  "You're wrong, you know."

  Her voice was soft but firm. He turned his head and saw her standing on the bank, her hands on her hips, her chin jutting out in that stubborn way that made him want to kiss her again.

  "About what?"

  "About making things worse. How could love make anything worse?"

  After she'd entered his vision during the Blackening Way, he was not surprised by her seeming ability to read his mind. "Nothing can come of it."

  "Perhaps not." Her eyes, and her tone, were grave. "But it's not a unilateral decision. I believe I should have a vote."

  "This is 1896," he said. "Women have not won suffrage."

  A ghost of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. That luscious mouth he could still taste. That sweet mouth he longed to taste again. "Ah, but I'm a woman ahead of the time."

  Wolfe thought it said something about her spirit that she could find something humorous in their situation. And then, as she began to undress, he forgot to think at all.

  "I love you, Wolfe Longwalker." Her fingers opened the first silver button on her blouse, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of creamy flesh. "Which doesn't make much sense, I suppose, since you haven't exactly welcomed me into your life."

  Another button followed. Then another. As he watched and waited, Wolfe's mouth went uncharacteristically dry.

  "However, since this is a difficult time for you," she said as she worked her way down to the waist, "I'm willing to overlook your occasionally curt behavior."

  She shrugged out of the velveteen blouse, revealing perfect breasts barely covered in that skimpy piece of French lingerie. The sight of her nipples pushing against that flowered silk, sent heat rushing through his groin, turning him hard as a rock.

  The sight of his arousal, which he didn't even bother to try to conceal as he continued floating on the azure water, sent hot fingers of need through Noel. Although she felt as if every nerve ending in her body had suddenly turned raw, she, a quiet, reserved woman who'd never attempted to seduce a man in her life, continued her impromptu striptease.

  "What I will not agree to," she continued calmly, even as her knees were shaking, "is allowing your misguided sense of morality to keep us from experiencing whatever pleasure we can steal. Whenever and wherever we can steal it."

  She kicked off the suede boots Second Mother had given her. Then, after unlacing Many Horses's brother's trousers, she stepped out of them.

  Wolfe had been in some of the finest whorehouses in this country and in Europe. He'd bedded royalty. And beauties. But never had he seen a woman capable of affecting him the way Noel was at this moment.

  The first time he'd witnessed that skimpy underwear, he'd been a man on the run searching out injuries on a woman who'd annoyingly sidetracked his escape. Now he was viewing her as a man viewing a woman he desired. And he found her perfect.

  "Do all the women in your time wear such things?" he asked, his rough hoarse voice revealing masculine approval.

  She unconsciously ran her fingers over her silk-clad breasts, experiencing a shock of sensual pleasure at the feel of her ultrasensitive nipples. "Quite a few women do."

  He shook his head, as if unable to believe his good fortune. "None could look as desirable as you." He stood up in the waist-high water. "As enticing as I find that flowered silk, I want to see you without it. Then, I want you. Here. Now. In every way possible."

  She saw the raw hot hunger in his eyes. Heard it in his voice. Infused with a sense of feminine power she'd never known, Noel granted him that same slow smile women had been using to seduce men since the beginning of time as she unfastened the front hook and shrugged out of the lace-trimmed bra.

  Even from this distance, she could hear his sharp intake of breath as the bra joined the rest of her clothes on the ground. Then, she hooked her fingers in the low-riding waistband of her bikini panties and slid them with agonizing slowness over her hips and down her thighs.

  The pale curls at the juncture of her long slender legs shimmered like moondust, making his palm itch with the need to touch.

  "You are so incredibly beautiful you steal my breath away."

  Having grown up in the shadow of her glamorous older sister, Noel had never felt incredibly beautiful. Pleasing, perhaps. Even pretty, in a good light on a good day. But beautiful?

  Yet, as their eyes met, exchanging sensual messages too sweet to analyze, she felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. In both their worlds. Noel laughed out loud from the joy she was feeling.

  "What I am is lonely," she complained prettily. Although flirting had definitely been Chantal's style, not hers, in this place, at this time, i
t seemed amazingly natural.

  Her laughter was like music, wrapping around him, through him. "Then perhaps you should join me." He held out his hand and began walking toward her.

  Wolfe Longwalker was the most magnificent man she'd ever seen. His bronzed body was as hard as this wild land his people had called home for so many centuries. He had the lean, sinewy strength of a warrior and his thighs were beautifully muscled from a lifetime of riding horses across the vast high plateau.

  "You're the beautiful one." She'd never seen a more perfect male specimen, not even depicted in all those bronze and marble statues back home in her family's palace.

  Wolfe's low, pleased chuckle proved that his hearing was as perfect as the rest of him. "It's a good thing the other men in my clan can't hear you say that."

  "I don't care what the men in your clan might think. I only care about you. Besides, it's the truth." Drawn by the same power that had drawn her across a century, Noel began walking toward him.

  She experienced a momentary shock at the first touch of the water against her heated flesh, then, as her body became accustomed to the temperature, she found herself becoming warmed even more by the heat in his mesmerizing indigo eyes.

  "You are beautiful, Wolfe Longwalker. And I want you so very, very much."

  His smile was a wicked slash of white in his dark face. "Far be it from me to deny a princess anything her royal heart desires."

  They met about six feet from the red-stone bank. "This is your last chance," he warned, his eyes locked on hers. "If you don't tell me no right now, there will be no turning back."

  Knowing that there'd been no turning back since Sabrina had passed on Chantal's invitation, Noel said, "Thank God."

  He sighed his surrender. And then he touched her.

  It was only a palm to her cheek, but it shook Noel all the way to the bone. His hand was dark and, like the rest of him, large, at least twice the size of hers; on the inside of his wrist was a birthmark in the shape of a wolf's head that the unknown author of Rogues Across Time had described. The mark that had earned him his name. Although his touch was tender, the raw strength was evident.