Captive Eden
Brenda Williamson
Blush sensuality level: This is a sensual romance (may have explicit love scenes, but not erotic in frequency or type).
On the western prairies of Nebraska, Eden befriends the handsome Pawnee half-breed Indian, Brant. Over the years, he treats her with unrelenting respect and they fall madly in love, vowing to be together forever. But when Eden’s father discovers she’s with child, he sends her away.
When Eden returns home with her son to settle her dead father’s affairs, it challenges everything she left behind. Brant shows up to lay claim to his son, his feelings for her lost in his anger toward Eden’s betrayal and abandonment.
Despite the tensions between them, Eden and Brant share an undeniable attraction. Their tentative bond could be shattered when a tragic injury befalls their son.
A Blush® historical romance from Ellora’s Cave
Captive Eden
Brenda Williamson
Chapter One
Eden Caruthers never thought the day would come that she’d return home to the beautiful but dangerous Nebraska Territory. Many times, she wanted to but didn’t. While the paralyzing harsh winters and the threat of attack by renegade Indians might have been reason enough, she needed to keep her distance from a cruel father and the man who broke her heart.
Now she was back. Times had changed. Indians had resigned themselves to living on reservations. The 1870s promised a brighter future to those heading westward, in part to the Transcontinental Railroad.
The tedious trip by train and then stagecoach north to the Sweet Grove Trading Post had taken a toll on her strength. Yet she wasted no time in renting a wagon and horse to finish the journey to her home on the prairie.
As the midsummer sun warmed her cheeks, Eden removed her bonnet and glanced at her surroundings. The barn, the woodshed, the house all stood deserted. They appeared as tired as she felt.
She studied her old house. The weathered wood planks of the walls still appeared sound, the structure sturdy. How different a house could look with paint. She thought of her aunt and uncle’s white house with black shutters back in Boston.
The contrast of the two homes she had resided in went beyond appearance. Everything about the people she lived with had drastic effects on her disposition. If not for her aunt and uncle’s generous hospitality and gentle ways, she would never have realized the depths of her father’s meanness.
Slowly she climbed from the wagon seat and glanced at the marker on her father’s grave plot. She thought she might feel sorrow. Instead, her father’s death lifted a weight of fear from her shoulders. He hadn’t been part of her life for nearly five years yet that didn’t stop her from having nightmares of him dragging her back home.
Eden looked up at Charlie, thankful her son never knew an ounce of the mistreatment she bore at the hands of her father.
“Be careful.” She tried not to hover over her four year old as he shrugged off her help and climbed down from the wagon on his own.
Turning her attention from him back to the house, she eyed it for problems that could possibly prevent them from staying in it until she settled her deceased father’s affairs. Some missing wood shakes on the roof meant she might find a few leaks inside when it rained, but nothing that should stop them from being comfortable.
A sudden breeze rattled a shutter and drew her gaze to the window of her room. For a moment, she thought the strangely familiar sound would force her to remember something good about her childhood. Yet, her best recollections always vanished under her worst memories.
“Mama, there’s an Indian riding this way,” Charlie exclaimed.
Eden spun around and looked to where he pointed toward the western horizon. Gusts of wind across the prairie threw dust in her eyes, blinding her from seeing what Charlie did.
The cloudy afternoon, the distant rumble of a storm and the glare from the setting sun made it hard to focus as well. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes and stared at the fast-approaching lone rider.
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Charlie asked.
Eden didn’t answer—she couldn’t speak. A long-suppressed emotion rose from her heart, choking her voice as she stared at the shadowy image that took form. She placed her hand on the side of the wagon for support. It didn’t stop the trembling in her legs or the shiver of apprehension rolling along her spine.
“Is he going to scalp us?” Charlie moved closer, his hand seeking hers.
Putting her arm around his small shoulders, she mustered up courage she didn’t feel. She tried to keep her voice steady and reassuring when she answered, “No, dear.”
Luckily, Charlie’s fixation on the Indian prevented him from noticing her rattled tone.
“What do you think he wants?” Charlie whispered.
What wouldn’t she do to have a gypsy fortuneteller’s crystal ball to know that answer? Since arriving back in the Nebraska Territory and stepping off the stagecoach at the trading post, she feared only one Indian—Brant Sullette. The Chawi Pawnee half-breed threatened her sanity, not her safety. He had been the one person she had longed to see and at the same time dreaded to face.
A billow of dust swirled around the horse’s legs as Brant reined in the animal. There was no man on Earth who portrayed masculinity the way Brant did. The impressive sight of him made her heart stall. Wide-shouldered with sunbaked skin, his body rippled with muscle. But his stone-like facial features alleged nothing soft about him, not even his heart.
“He doesn’t look very happy,” Charlie remarked.
Eden struggled to breathe. Words wouldn’t come and her thoughts rolled like tumbleweeds in her head. The time away from Sweet Grove had solved some of her problems, but not the one giving her an imposing glare.
Brant’s stillness hinted something was more wrong than her return. She didn’t dare think of why his severe look blended anger and contempt into a neat package. It wasn’t how she had envisioned meeting him again.
She thought back to the long weeks of travel by train and by stagecoach and the most pleasant of her daydreams.
Brant stood at the edge of the pond with his back to her until Eden called his name. Then he turned. His smile made her giddy with delight and she ran to him. Enveloped in his embrace, she hugged him.
“I’ve missed you so much.” He slid his hands over her, magically removing her clothes with the sweep of his fingers. “I have searched for years to find you, to have you naked in my arms.”
“I missed you too and I’ve longed to feel you inside me again.” She unlaced his leather shirt and pressed her palms to his hard-muscled chest. A light sprinkling of hair swirled the center, encircling his nipples and funneling down to his navel. The softness of those fibers attracted her touch.
He slid one hand down her back to her bottom. Grasping her buttocks, he squeezed and pulled her closer. His throbbing maleness pressed her belly as he caught her jaw with his other hand to hold her face and kiss her. Then circling her, he cupped her breast in one hand and slid his other between her legs.
Slowly he rubbed his palm back and forth, stirring the short crop of hairs concealing the slit of her sex. He showed a hunger for kissing her shoulder and neck. His arms binding her tight held her back against his chest.
Eden breathed heavier, aroused and anxious.
When he wiggled a finger between her nether lips, a tingling sensation shot through her. She wanted him to do it again but he passed the sensitive bud of flesh and pressed deeper. He stroked his finger in and out of her. Sometimes slow, sometimes quicker, numbing her until the twinges of stimulation heightened.
She laid her head back on Brant’s shoulder, writhing with the rapture of his manipulative caresses, panting to catch her breath. She
twisted her head to the side and looked up into his lust- filled eyes, so intense and determined.
When the uncontrollable spasms seized her, she clutched at his arms for support. The glorious orgasm uplifted her spirit. But when the tension in her muscles subsided and her mind cleared, sadness sank into her heart.
The heartache of him not wanting her brought Eden back to reality. She blinked away the bittersweet fantasy.
Brant’s stare held her captive. She felt the heat of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. She hadn’t lain with any man other than Brant, but it didn’t mean she hadn’t dreamed of all the sexual acts of intimacy that could transpire between them. Would he know why a blush reddened her face? Would he guess the ways she sought sexual relief by touching herself?
“Mama, shouldn’t we say something to him?” Charlie interrupted her reflections. “Indians like it when white people give them stuff.”
She loved that Charlie had a kindness in him like his father. But it saddened her to think she was the reason that what he knew of Indians had come from dime novels her uncle read to him. She should have told him more about his father’s people.
“He’s also not wearing any war paint.” Charlie sighed with more than a small hint of disappointment.
“The Chawi Pawnee won’t attack us, Charlie. They are a peaceful tribe,” she whispered.
Eden swallowed, clearing the dryness from her throat.
“Good afternoon, Brant.” She finally gave him a polite nod, knowing they couldn’t stand there forever eyeing each other like enemies.
Her immediate misgivings waned as his gaze traveled the length of her. His slow inspection made her insides quake. Under her cotton chemise and linen blouse, her nipples hardened. Beneath her blue wool skirt, heat roiled in her belly and her insides twitched.
She tried to think of something else to say yet words would not come.
Once Brant’s assessment stopped, desire and danger sparkled in his brown-eyed stare. Her heart thumped harder. How many times in the past five years had she dreamed about him wanting her?
“You know him?” Charlie loosened his hold.
She tried to answer, except the whimper rising from the excitement in her soul threatened to embarrass her.
Brant showed a powerful agility in his fluid dismount. It put him on the ground in one swift motion. The adorable boy she had fallen in love with had matured into a handsome man. The love she’d kept locked away fought to pour out. All she needed was one sign of welcome. A smile, a kind hello, anything at all and she’d spill her heart of all her closely guarded feelings.
“Hello, sir.” Charlie stepped forward, displaying his courageous and trusting nature.
Eden tried to move. Brant’s spellbinding stare kept her feet fastened to the ground next to her father’s grave. He dropped the reins of his horse and his solemn look lowered to Charlie.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Eden wiped the back of her hand across her cheek, pushing aside the escaping tears.
His gaze lingered on their son. Not saying anything rattled her.
“Brant?”
The muscle in his jaw clenched and his gaze lifted to her. Forced to make the first move, she managed to budge a few inches toward him. She watched for the slightest indication he was happy to see her. One sweet word of encouragement and she’d rush to claim his embrace.
“I have come for the boy.” His statement knocked her back a step.
“My father told you?” She didn’t think her father would ever mention her pregnancy to anyone since he sent her away as if she’d committed the worst sin in the world.
Of course, Brant would want his son. But his words weren’t what she expected to hear. She wanted him to announce he had come for her. On the train, she went over what he’d say. On the stagecoach, she dreamed of their first encounter. She yearned to fling herself into his waiting arms and kiss him a thousand times to make up for every second she had missed with him.
His cold tone dashed away those hopes. What she had clung to over the years became a childish dream.
So Brant knew about Charlie. It actually came as a relief. She had always wanted to tell him he had a son, and yet, she also hated him for breaking her heart enough that she thought she’d never divulge that treasured fact.
Brant came closer. His imposing size made her tremble again.
“You had him for five years.” Brant reached out and grabbed Charlie’s arm. “Now he goes with me.”
“No!” she screamed, horrified by his demand.
“You have no say in this,” he insisted, dragging Charlie away from her.
Eden lifted her skirt and hurried after him. “You can’t take my son.” She positioned herself between Charlie and Brant.
His arm remained stretched passed her, keeping hold of Charlie.
“He doesn’t know you,” she cried, holding his arm as if she had the strength to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to do.
The muscle in his jaw clenched again and his eyes narrowed on her. “And whose fault is that?”
“Brant, please. You can’t just take him from me.” Desperation got the better of her to say anything to stop him. “There are laws. The men in Sweet Grove, the soldiers at the fort will—”
“They’ll not help a half-breed,” he snapped.
Eden’s aunt and uncle never treated her son as a half-breed. To them and to her he was an adorably bright and energetic little boy. But that was Boston and she was in the west where Indians were feared and hated and dealt with as if rabid animals.Brant was right. No one would do anything to help her keep her Indian child.
She had been so naïve years ago. When she was twelve and she befriended Brant, she never believed for a minute the settlers would think of him as a savage. And while they considered him ignorant because of what he was, and not who, she foolishly thought schooling him could change their opinion. Yet, the settlers still called him a heathen. And of all of those narrow-minded people, her father was the worst.
“Brant, please be reasonable.”
“Like you were by keeping him from me?” He pushed her away and dragged Charlie to his horse.
“Mama?” Charlie’s frightened voice compelled her to advance.
Everything she had dreamed crashed into the reality before her. Brant was not the same person she’d given her heart to as a girl.
She grasped the front of his leather vest. “I was hardly more than a child.”
His sudden deep breath coaxed her gaze to where the loose laces let the soft leather part and her fingers touch his bare chest. He grabbed her hand and pulled it free.
She stepped back, alarmed by the violent warning in his eyes.
He turned away and hoisted Charlie onto the saddled horse he had brought. The small horse stood tethered by a lead rope tied to a metal ring on Brant’s saddle.
“Mama?” Charlie’s eyes watered.
Eden knew how he hated to cry. A prideful trait she suspected he inherited from Brant.
“He won’t hurt you, my sweet boy.” She hurried to reassure Charlie, putting her hand on his leg. “He’s your father and he’d never do anything to harm you.”
Eden pressed her fingers to her lips to quell the quivering.
Brant had hardened into a man she didn’t understand.
“This isn’t right,” she pleaded. “You were never one to be cruel. Charlie doesn’t deserve to be punished for my mistake. Please. I’m begging you not to do this to him.”
Brant’s hand covered hers. She assumed to stop her from jerking Charlie off the horse, but she’d not play a tugging game with her child.
Then it became obvious Brant’s intentions were not as she believed.
For a moment, seemingly lost in thought, he rubbed her knuckles. He stood close. The scent of him surrounded her. His breath passed along her cheek, heating her skin. She turned slowly as his other hand skimmed upward, over her hip to her side. Her clothing did nothing to hinder the brief but scorching caress of his f
ingers. The steady glide stopped as she faced him. His thumb rested against the underside of her breast and then swirled circles upward, coming to a halt just before skimming over her aching nipple.
Desiring his attention, she slid a foot forward, drawn to him. He bowed his head and stared at her mouth. She tensed with anticipation of his kiss, imagining it before it could happen.
“Are you really my father?” Charlie asked, breaking the spellbinding moment that had captured Eden’s thoughts.
“Yes,” Brant answered, letting go of her.
“He’s only four, Brant. Can’t you let him stay here at the house with me?” she pleaded with a compromise. “You can come visit, get to know him and then maybe—”
Though she had only come to settle her father’s affairs, knowing it wasn’t safe for her to live alone on the prairie, she had always hoped Brant would want her.
A loud drum of thunder interrupted her. She never liked storms. Her mother had died in one when she was little. They had been picking blackberries when the sudden tempest came upon them. Her mother had rushed them under a tree just as lightning struck.
Eden had laughed from the tingling sensation that stood her hair on end, but her mother had fallen to the ground in silence and didn’t get up. It was years before Eden had understood what had happened, and she had been haunted by that event ever since.
Brant knew her fears. He put his hands on her shoulders with the kind of weight she imagined him using to lay claim to her. To have him offer a sympathetic squeeze to her arms displayed a thread of his gentleness. She accepted the sign as the goodness in him she recalled from years ago and it renewed her hope in reasoning with him.
“Please.” She tried not to sound like a whimpering child or a sniveling woman as she moved toward Charlie. She needed to remain calm and clear-thinking for him, even though his full attention was on the well-trained horse patiently standing still.
“And then, when I am not looking, you will get on a train and disappear again?” Brant accused, withdrawing from her.
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