Nan Ryan

by Written in the Stars

  Now she knew she would never kill him, no matter how many chances arose. She knew as well she would always kiss him, anytime his cruel, sensual lips closed over hers.

  Diane involuntarily shivered at the recollection of that powerful, prolonged kiss.

  “Cold, Beauty?” came the deep, monotonic voice from just above her ear.

  Diane gave no verbal reply. Grateful he couldn’t see her face flushing, she shrugged slender shoulders and hoped that would satisfy him.

  “If you’re chilly, I can unstrap a blanket from behind the cantle.” She shrugged again, more pronouncedly. “Or you can lean back against me and I’ll—”

  “I am not cold!”

  “I thought I detected a slight shiver.”

  “Well, you didn’t.” Her violet eyes on the mountains ahead, she asked, not really expecting an answer, “Tell me where you’re taking me.”

  “To Wind River, Wyoming,” came the calm, soft reply.

  She twisted around to look at his face. “You’re an Arapaho?”

  “No.” He bit out the word, and his stark features instantly hardened perceptibly. “The Arapahos are our oldest foes.” Silent for a moment, he then added, “I’m Shoshoni.”

  “I see,” she said, trying to recall if she’d ever known any Shoshonis. “And you want to go back and be among your own kind?”

  “Something like that”

  “But why take me?” He didn’t answer. Sighing, she pointed. “Are those the Wind River Mountains in front of us?”

  “Beauty, we’re still in Colorado. That’s the Nichebechii Range of the Rockies.”

  “Can you give that to me in English, Beast?”

  “Literally translated, it means the Place of No Never Summer. The white man has shortened it to the Never Summers Range.”

  “Because it’s always cold up there?”

  “Not today. It will be warm enough for you to have a bath. We can make camp on a branch of the Cache la Poudre River or beside a mountain tarn and you can … wash yourself.”

  Diane said nothing. She hated the thought of taking off her clothes with him around, but she felt as though if she didn’t have a bath soon, she’d scream. Her hair was dirty and tangled, and her skin was caked with dust and grime. Her purple dress was filthy and wrinkled. She was hot and dirty and miserable and knew she looked a mess.

  She resented the Indian for habitually appearing clean and cool and comfortable and … and …

  Suddenly it dawned on Diane that she had seen him shaving this morning! She remembered now. When they’d first awakened, there had been the dark shadow of a beard on his face. And when he had hotly kissed her, she’d felt the definite tickle of prickly whiskers against her cheeks.

  Good Lord, she hadn’t even thought about it then!

  Now she puzzled over it. She’d been around Indians all her life. She’d seen Ancient Eyes and the other show Indians pluck the few scattered hairs from their bronzed faces with tweezers. They had never needed to shave. Why, then, did this Shoshoni have to shave?

  There was only one way to find out, much as she hated talking to him. “Beast?”

  “Yes, Beauty?”

  “Why did you shave this morning?”

  “I shave every morning.”

  “I know, but why? I thought Indians didn’t have any hair on their—their—” Into her mind leaped the remembered glimpse of his almost exposed groin, and Diane’s sentence was never finished.

  “On their what?”

  “Faces!”

  “Most don’t. Hair grows on this Indian’s face.” He paused, then added, “As well as on other parts of my body.” He gave her his coldest black-eyed stare.

  Diane stiffened, wondering if he’d read her thoughts. Wishing she had never mentioned it, she said nothing more on the subject.

  The sun was still hot overhead when they rode into a high rocky gap up in the Never Summers Range. In deep shadow they rode between the twelve-thousand foot-high mounts Cirrus and Nimbus. Starkeeper expertly guided the stallion along the treacherous trail over Thunder Pass, and Diane’s eyes widened when they came down out of the pass and she saw the small community spread out in the narrow valley below.

  “LuLu City,” he said, anticipating her question.

  “Are we going there?”

  “I am,” he said. “You’re not.”

  She turned anxiously to look at him. “Oh, please. I won’t give you away, I promise. I’ll pretend that we’re— we’re—”

  “Married?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes. Yes, I’ll say you’re my husband and we’re—”

  “Look at yourself, Beauty. Then look at me.” His tone was flat. “A pale-skinned white woman in a torn, dirty dress with a wild-looking Indian in breechcloth and chaps.” He paused while she studied him appraisingly. “Would anyone believe you are married to me?” Diane’s gaze met his, and there was something inexpressibly cold and savage in his eyes.

  She shook her head. “No … no, I guess they wouldn’t.” She turned back around without considering the possibility that her answer had stung him.

  Diane hated the Redman for having so little trust in her that he sat her down under a tall lodgepole pine on a forested slope directly above LuLu City and tied her arms around the tree’s base.

  She considered screaming. He shook his dark head and said, “It would do you no good. I’ll be back within the hour.”

  He climbed on the stallion, rode down out of the stand of trees, and disappeared. He cantered into town, tied the stallion at a hitch rail in front of the Glory Hole Saloon, and boldly walked up and down the wooden sidewalks so the townspeople would see him.

  Then he stepped quietly into a general store.

  He returned to Diane in less than an hour, bringing with him soap, towels, food—even a bottle of red wine— taken from the LuLu City general store. He didn’t pay for the items—he had no money—but he did leave his calling card in plain sight on the counter.

  A brightly beaded square of leather.

  Well before sundown they stopped for the night. Diane didn’t attempt to hide her delight with the stolen food he laid out before her like a banquet. It was a wonderful treat to feast on bread and cheese and ham and fresh fruit. She even nodded yes to the offer of red wine, eagerly tipping the green bottle up to her lips again and again.

  When the exquisite meal was over, Diane closed her eyes, leaned back on stiffened arms, and sighed with satisfaction. Staring intently at her, Starkeeper could hardly keep from smiling. At that particular moment she looked like a happy, dirty-faced little girl who’d been playing outdoors all day. Any minute her mother would call for her to come inside for her bath before bedtime.

  When Diane opened her eyes, Starkeeper rose, walked over, and sat down in the shade of a thick-branched Engelmann spruce. He produced a long, thin cheroot from his stolen stash, put it between his lips, and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. He stretched out his long legs—bare of the chaps—and crossed them at the ankle. He struck a stolen match on a stone, lifted it to the cigar’s tip, and puffed the cigar to life.

  He blew a well-formed smoke ring in the still, thin mountain air. Then he said, “I brought you something even better than the food.”

  Diane squinted at him. “Nothing could be better.”

  “A bar of soap and a fresh white towel,” he continued in that low, monotonic voice that so intrigued her. “The alpine pool you see below us is all yours, Beauty.”

  She looked at him, tempted yet skeptical. “You won’t spy on me?”

  His dark eyes hooded, he drew slowly on his cigar and blew out the smoke. “No. There’s no need.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Star was examining the nail of his index finger. He looked up. “Nothing. Go now while the sun’s still up.”

  Ten minutes later Diane stood alone at the edge of a grass-bordered pool. It was a breathtakingly beautiful place. Ringed entirely by green and blue mountains, shadowed by the cotton
y white clouds hanging low over the jagged peaks, it was a pristine paradise. Rich green grass dotted with dainty yellow sunflowers grew right up to the water’s edge. A scattering of large emerald leaves floating lazily on the pool’s smooth surface looked as if they’d been carefully placed there by the master designer of this lush alpine Eden.

  The water was so perfectly still it mirrored the pale gold leaves of a stately aspen grove rising majestically on the nearby bluff. A white-tailed ptarmigan winged gracefully down, landed a few feet away, and began to feed greedily on fallen willow buds.

  Diane smiled, eagerly stripped off her dirty purple dress, and dropped it. She fell to her knees on the soft grassy bank of the clear alpine pool, bent over, and wet her long black hair. Happily she shampooed the tangled tresses with the sweet-scented soap, silently blessing the enigmatic Indian for stealing it.

  When her hair was clean and rinsed and swept in long, wet locks down her back, Diane picked up the discarded purple dress and washed it. She then carefully spread it out in the sun to dry.

  She looked cautiously around. All was quiet, peaceful, perfect. So she stripped off her lace-trimmed satin chemise and sat back on her heels wearing nothing but her daringly brief satin underpants.

  Smiling she splashed cool, clear water all over herself, took up the bar of soap, and happily went about lathering her throat and arms and back and bare breasts, hardly realizing that she had begun to hum softly. She laid the soap aside and rinsed away all the suds. She then sat back on her heels, letting the hot sun kiss her tingling flesh, debating on whether she should strip off her underpants and have a real bath.

  Diane closed her eyes, inhaled deeply of the sweet, clean mountain air, and tipped her face up to the sun. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her underpants. Eyes remaining closed, head thrown back, she leisurely, lazily, began shoving the satin underpants down over her flat belly and flaring hips.

  And choked with fear, her eyes flying open, when a firm hand abruptly clamped over her mouth and an arm of steel came around her bare waist.

  “Don’t move,” warned her Indian captor, his lips brushing her ear, his bare knees spread on either side of hers.

  Frozen with fear, Diane felt her heart kicking against her naked breasts, felt his chest pressing insistently against her back. Wondering frantically how she could have been foolish enough to trust him, she sensed that this was to be a brutal sexual possession, without tenderness or mercy.

  Kneeling behind her, he whispered, “Our mountain lion has been watching you. He grew curious, and now he’s coming toward us. When I move my hand, don’t make a sound. Don’t move suddenly. Just try to relax.”

  His hand left her lips. Diane didn’t dare even turn her head. She was at once greatly relieved and terrified. She heard the low, inquiring growl of the big cat and bit her lip to keep from making a sound.

  “It’s all right,” whispered the Indian against her ear. “It’s going to be okay. Stop holding your breath.”

  Diane drew a shallow breath and from the corner of her eye saw the big tawny cat edge warily closer. In seconds the cougar with the dark diamond throat reached them, and Diane trembled against Starkeeper when the big cat’s golden eyes casually looked her over. She couldn’t hold back a soft wince when the powerful beast walked right up and nudged her bare arm with a furry shoulder.

  “Stay still,” murmured Starkeeper, his arms clasping her protectively to him. “Do exactly as I tell you.”

  Diane tried to draw up into herself when the huge cat lowered his head and rubbed it back and forth on her bare thigh. The great head lifted. The cat turned and rubbed his side against hers, then walked around behind them, rubbing up against Starkeeper’s bare back.

  The cat appeared on Diane’s other side and again rubbed himself on her. When he gently laid a paw up on her bare thigh, she thought she’d surely faint. And when he stepped up onto her trembling thighs with both front feet, she felt all the blood drain from her face.

  The cat moved fully across her, placing his front paws on one side of her, back paws on the other. There he stayed. He pressed his sleek, warm body to hers. Against her bare breasts, Diane could feel the rapid, powerful heartbeat throbbing through his body. She turned her face to the side, seeking closeness and comfort from Starkeeper.

  His lips now almost touching hers, Starkeeper said, “He’s making you his, just the way a tame tabby does. Putting his scent on you, so you’ll belong to him. If you let him do it, he won’t hurt you.”

  Even Starkeeper was struck with fear when the cat, finally moving off Diane, turned slowly, looked at her, and opened his huge mouth, showing his sharp, dangerous canine teeth. But Starkeeper kept that fear from his voice when he said against Diane’s open, trembling lips, “If the cat takes your arm or hand in his mouth, don’t jerk it away. Force it farther down into his mouth. Do that and he’ll let go.”

  “Oh, God,” she finally whispered brokenly against Starkeeper’s bronzed jaw, “help me. I’m so scared.”

  Watching only the cat, Starkeeper said, “I have you. It’s all right. Now he’s going to take hold of your arm. Let him have it. Don’t pull away.”

  The big tawny mountain lion growled loudly, advanced again. He lowered his head and clamped his teeth over Diane’s forearm. It took superhuman control for her not to jerk it free. But she didn’t because Starkeeper’s warm lips were against her cold cheek, murmuring to her, instructing her, reassuring her. She obeyed Starkeeper. Diane looked into the cat’s golden eyes and slowly shoved her arm farther down into his huge mouth, expecting to hear the crunch of bone, to see the arm bitten completely off.

  The lion immediately released her.

  For a moment he stood there staring at her, growling menacingly in the back of his throat. Then the growling stopped. He twisted his head and again rubbed it back and forth across her breasts and rib cage. Then, to Diane’s shock, the big beast stretched out beside her and laid his big head down in her lap. He moaned softly as if begging her to pet him.

  “Should I?” she whispered to Starkeeper.

  “Yes,” he instructed softly, his arms squeezing her encouragingly, “very slowly, very carefully.”

  Diane slowly lifted the arm that had been inside the lion’s mouth. She tentatively laid her hand atop the cat’s great head and gently stroked it, just the way she’d stroke a harmless house pet. The fierce lion responded just like his domestic counterpart.

  He bowed his big head back, closed his golden eyes in ecstasy, and made purring sounds of unadulterated pleasure.

  “Look,” she whispered, smiling nervously. “Look at him.”

  “Yes, he loves it,” murmured Starkeeper. “He knows you’re his now, and he’s enjoying the stroking.”

  Diane continued to pet the big tawny lion while he lay with his eyes closed, paws stretching, purrs growing deeper, louder. Then, just like a house cat, in time he grew tired of the attention, the confinement Abruptly he lifted his head, bounded up, and shot away across the verdant grass and disappeared in the timber.

  Diane let out a long, loud sigh of relief, sagged back against Starkeeper’s solid chest, and said, “How do you know so much about cats?”

  “I’m half cat myself,” he replied with almost a smile in his voice.

  “I believe it,” she said, drained, waiting for her pulse to return to normal.

  The danger past, Diane soon became aware of the position they were in, of their state of near-total undress. Suddenly self-conscious and uneasy by the sexual threat he posed, Diane lunged up and crossed her arms over her bare breasts.

  She made a big mistake when she said insultingly to the man who had just saved her life, “Get away from me! Don’t touch me! I won’t allow you to take advantage of me just because—”

  Her sentence was never finished.

  Instantly Diane found herself flat on her back with both arms raised and pinned above her head in one of his hands. His dark, angry face was inches from hers, and his bare, broad chest
was pressing against her bare breasts.

  “You’re a very foolish woman, Beauty,” he said, cold fury darkening his eyes. His free hand captured her face, thumb and fingers biting into her cheeks. The pulse hammering in his temple, he lowered his sculpted lips so close to hers that Diane could feel his breath fanning her cheek.

  He said in that unique voice, “You’d do well always to remember that men—even Indian men—are not all that different from cats.”

  Chapter 23

  Diane was stunned by the quicksilver turn in her captor. Speechless, she looked up into his smoldering black eyes and felt their heat and hatred. Her arms remained pinioned above her head, and his thumb and fingers continued to grip her chin tightly. His broad bronzed chest pressed intimately down on her bare breasts, and a hard, muscular thigh was wedged between her legs.

  She was trapped, unable to move.

  The Indian’s thinned, cruel-looking lips hovered inches from her own. Any second that ruthless mouth would capture and cover hers. Her breath coming in short pants, Diane anxiously anticipated the fierce invasion of that mean but masterful mouth, knowing she was helpless. She couldn’t fight it.

  The pulse hammered in her throat, and she trembled, realizing instinctively that if he even went further than the demanding possession of a kiss, she wouldn’t be able to stop that either.

  And wasn’t really sure she wanted to.

  Above her, Starkeeper looked down at her beautiful, frightened face, his heart pounding as forcefully as hers. His gaze riveted to her full, inviting lips, a terrible, dark, but alluring thought seized him.

  His strength was far superior to this temptingly sensual woman beneath him. She wasn’t able to move unless he allowed it. She was also nearly naked, as was he. She was intensely afraid of him; he could see it in those arresting violet eyes. She was physically attracted to him; he could see that as well.

  She was subdued. Caught. Trapped.

  Chained by fright and fascination.

  And here in this high mountain Shangri-la they were miles from civilization. Totally alone. No one would stop him if he stripped away her flimsy satin underpants and kissed her all over her pale, silky body. No one would respond to her protests if he forcefully took her, burying himself deep within the sweet, hot flesh that so enticed him.