Dragon Fire

by Linda Ladd

  "I will fight Hawk-Flies-Down!" Stone cried in a loud voice, still desperately trying to save Sister Mary's life. "I need no woman to protect me."

  A faint smile curved her lips, and she bore Hawk-Flies-Down's scornful scrutiny without flinching. "I say that Hawk-Flies-Down is afraid to fight with me. He is a paper tiger who prefers a man wounded and bleeding and whose strength is sapped from the bite of a Pawnee arrow."

  For one instant, Hawk-Flies-Down's face was frozen in astonishment; then it went red with anger. He reached out swiftly, bracketing her slender jaw and turning her face to White-Spotted-Wolf. "Use the eyes in your head. This is no spirit. This is a woman with white skin, nothing else—"

  So quickly that those watching could barely comprehend the movement, the girl's hand darted toward Hawk-Flies-Down's throat, her fingers clamping hard upon the sides of his neck. Within seconds, the strong warrior was brought to his knees, his arms hanging limp at his sides.

  Astounded, Stone watched her hold a six-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound Indian immobile for the space of a heartbeat. Then she released her hold, sidestepping agilely as he collapsed weakly upon his hands and knees. The brave recovered quickly, his face feral with rage as he leapt to his feet and drew a long-bladed hunting knife from a deerskin sheath at his waist.

  Before anyone could move, he lunged at the girl, only to have his thrust blocked quickly by her raised forearm. Roaring with fury, he came at her again, but she ducked adroitly, spun gracefully, then jumped high into the air. Her heel hit Hawk-Flies-Down squarely at mid-chest, and he went sprawling backward in the dirt.

  "Good God," Stone breathed incredulously, hardly able to believe his eyes. He tensed and tried to pull free as the humiliated warrior scrambled up again and whirled back toward the girl. Quick as lightning, he sent his knife flying at her heart. She dodged to one side with unbelievable agility, then stood waiting for her opponent's next move, her arms raised and moving in slow circles in front of her, palms out and fingers flexed tightly together.

  A few yards away, Hawk-Flies-Down remained immobile, his eyes widened with fear. "The woman is not of this earth," he muttered gruffly. "How can our people fight a spirit they cannot touch?" Defeated, he faced the chief, who had watched the altercation without comment.

  "Yellow-Haired-Woman has proved the courage of the great red eagle," the chief intoned in a voice that all could hear. "But she has yet to show her skill with the bow. Only then will we know she is the one of my dream sleep."

  "I am ready," the girl said.

  White-Spotted-Wolf gestured for his grandson to step forth. "Sun-On-Wings is the most skillful among us with the bow. His arrows are swift and sure."

  "Sun-On-Wings set loose rabbit. Me shoot it before it run ten paces," he boasted confidently.

  "No," the girl answered. "I will not kill a helpless animal only to demonstrate my skill."

  Sun-On-Wings frowned; then, after a moment's contemplation, he drew a feather from his scalp lock. He held it high above his head for all to see. "Then me shoot feather of hawk from white man's head."

  "Great," Stone muttered beneath his breath as Sun-On-Wings strode over to him and stuck the feather into the back of Stone's hair. As the young brave measured off one hundred paces, the girl moved close to Stone.

  "You must stand very still," she whispered.

  "Thanks. I probably wouldn't have thought of that," he said sarcastically.

  She stepped away, and Stone leaned his head against the wood, watching Sun-On-Wings select a red-striped arrow from his fringed rawhide quiver. He's the best warrior with a bow and arrow, he told himself firmly. He ought to be able to do it. But his muscles tensed as the handsome young warrior took aim.

  A moment later, the youth let the arrow fly. Stone barely heard the soft whistle of its flight before it thudded into the wood above his head, the feather impaled by its point. He released a long, relieved sigh.

  "There!" Sun-On-Wings cried, his face exuberant. "Now Yellow-Haired-Woman must best Sun-On-Wings with a feat more difficult."

  Warily, Stone waited for Sister Mary's response. He no longer put anything past her.

  "I will use the same target as Sun-On-Wings," she pronounced with calm self-assurance, "except that I will shoot through the feather with a blindfold covering my eyes."

  "Now wait a goddamn minute!" Stone began angrily, but she ignored him.

  "If I succeed, he is mine," she finished, looking at the chief.

  "Only the spirits would try such a difficult feat," White-Spotted-Wolf decreed. "It will be as you say."

  The girl moved closer to Stone. "Do not fear. I am a good archer. I will rely on my inner strength to guide my shaft so that my sight will not be required. The Old One taught me well."

  "I don't give a damn what the Old One taught you! Nobody can shoot a bow blindfolded!"

  "What one knows not how to do is difficult; what one knows how to do is not," she admonished, her delicate brows knitted together as if his worries were unfounded. "You must have more faith in my ability, and you must not move a muscle as I draw back on the bowstring. I will not miss."

  Stone was helpless to do anything but watch as she paced to the spot where Sun-On-Wings had released his arrow. She took the bow offered to her, weighed it in her hands, and tested the tautness of its strings. Looking at Stone, she had the audacity to present him with a smile. He was not reassured. Inwardly, he cursed the day he had ever laid eyes on her.

  Stone's swallow went down hard as she wound a black strip of cloth around her eyes. She removed a pair of arrows from the quiver strapped to her back. She stood very erect, holding one arrow pointing straight up while she positioned the other across the bowstring.

  For a long moment she remained completely still, as if absorbed in concentration. The crowd became hushed and wary, and Stone felt perspiration begin to bead his upper lip. He held his breath and uttered an inward prayer when she pointed the arrow in his direction. If she doesn't kill me, he thought, I'm going to kill her, and I'm going to do it the minute I get loose.

  Long, heart-thundering moments followed as she pulled back on the shaft; then the arrow came, straight, swift, and true. He felt a bite of stinging pain as the arrowhead scraped across the top of his scalp, drawing blood, but the feather was impaled upon the point above his head.

  A great roar of astonished approval echoed far out over the lake; then two braves ran forth to untie him. When the bindings dropped free, Stone rubbed his wrists, his chest heaving with anger and frustration. He watched the girl, now surrounded by the admiring Osage. He was not nearly as pleased with her as they were. Sister Mary had a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

  5

  Long after darkness had shielded the high mountain valley from the sun, Windsor sat cross-legged among the Osage chiefs. She had been given a place of honor between White-Spotted-Wolf and his favorite grandson, Sun-On-Wings. Blazing logs roared directly in front of her, warming her face against the cooler temperature and shooting glowing sparks into the ebony reaches of the sky.

  Two rows of drummers sat across the fire, chanting and beating their tom-toms with painted, feather-adorned sticks. The reverberating throb of the skin-covered drums filled the night, and Windsor's brain, as dozens of warriors, dressed fiercely in wolf skins and long-horned buffalo headdresses, sang low, guttural praises to their spirit gods while they bent and stamped their moccasined feet in a slow, revolving circle around the fire.

  "We call our songs wi-gi-ies. Our bravest warriors thank Wah-Kon-Dah for sending your strong medicine to us," the old chieftain said, leaning his hoary head close to Windsor's. "With Yellow-Haired-Warrior-Woman among us, we will be able to defeat the Pawnee in battle, and even the whites with their long knives and many guns."

  Windsor nodded, thinking that White-Spotted-Wolf's slow, thoughtful speech and kind dark eyes reminded her of the Old One. The ancient chief had displayed great wisdom when he had spoken to her about his people, the Little Ones. After she had won the contest,
he had kept her close beside him and told her the story of how the white men had forced the Osage from the home of their ancestors along a great river called the Mississippi.

  Even after his tribe had moved east to a different stream called the Arkansas, white men had followed in hoards, even fighting a war amongst themselves over the Black White Man, such as the one Windsor had seen working as a porter aboard the train. White-Spotted-Wolf had moved among the blue-coated soldiers in the forts and tried to understand them, until he had been told by Wah-Kon-Dah in a dream sleep to take his people into the far, snowcapped ranges where the white man would not bother them. For eight winters they had lived peacefully in the mountains with only the Pawnee as their foe. As he had spoken, Windsor's heart had grown full with compassion.

  Except for the coppery color of their skin, the simple, uncomplicated Osages reminded her of the people of China. Both the red men and the Chinese believed in the harmony that existed in nature. The Little Ones were honorable. They had proved their worth when they had kept their word to her once she had bested Sun-On-Wings in the contest of the bow. The white men she had met thus far in the United States had shown little honor.

  Except for Stone Kincaid. He had displayed both honor and bravery. But she did not understand him. Turning her head, she found his place where he sat a short distance away. His silver-blue eyes collided with her own gaze, and an intuitive alarm rang inside her head. His eyes burned. He was very angry. Though he had said little to her throughout the day of feasting and ceremonial dancing, he had watched her incessantly and with such intensity that her stomach fluttered each time she became aware of his stare.

  "When Yellow-Haired-Warrior-Woman become night wind?"

  Sun-On-Wings' soft whisper interrupted Windsor's thoughts. She shifted her attention to him. The Osage youth sat so close to her that she could see tiny flames reflected like bright stars in the luminous jet-black depths of his eyes.

  "I have already told you, Sun-On-Wings, that I am not a spirit. I move silently because I have been taught to do so."

  Stubbornly, the young warrior shook his head. "Only wind so swift and silent. Wah-Kon-Dah hear song Sun-On-Wings sing, and me see strong medicine of Yellow-Haired-Warrior-Woman."

  As he spoke, Sun-On-Wings enticed Jun-li from Windsor's lap with a pumpkin seed. The young brave had shown an irrepressible fascination with the capuchin, and he chuckled as Jun-li swung agilely atop his broad shoulder.

  Windsor smiled as Sun-On-Wings fed the monkey several more seeds from his cupped palm, but she was acutely aware when Stone Kincaid rose to his feet. He moved away from the fire, pausing momentarily to look back at her before he disappeared into the darkness outside the firelight. A shiver danced down her spine, but the chill was not created by the cold wind. The buffalo robe Sun-On-Wings had draped around her shoulders kept her warm and comfortable.

  Weary, she closed her eyes, sighing heavily. The evening before, she had retreated into the forest and meditated for long hours in order to prepare herself spiritually for the contests of skill. Her mind was dull with fatigue, as was her body. She knew she must sleep. She stood and looked down at the elderly chief.

  "I am honored by your kindness, White-Spotted-Wolf, but I am very tired."

  "The Little Ones are honored that you have come. Our warriors will grow strong with you among us."

  "I will try to be worthy." Windsor bowed forward from the waist, her palms pressed together prayerfully in the Chinese tradition.

  The old chief climbed to his feet. With great courtesy, he imitated her gesture of respect. Leaving Jun-li in the care of his new friend, Windsor headed for the lodge White-Spotted-Wolf had designated for her use. The small dwelling lay a good distance away from the ceremonial clearing at the center of the village, near where the waves of the lake lapped the shoreline. As she walked in the darkness, she stared upward into the sky.

  High above, the vast starry firmament rose into infinity, stretching out over her like a diamond-spangled cloth of black velvet. How insignificant she felt in comparison, she thought, yet at the same time she knew herself to be a part of those spinning bodies of stars that traversed the night skies here and above her temple far across the wide ocean. The Old One had taught her that all life was integral to the harmony of the universe. She was a part of the night and the twinkling stars, and that knowledge gave her comfort.

  She came to a standstill outside the entrance to her lodge. Instinctively, she knew that Stone Kincaid was inside the reed-covered hut. Steeling herself against the peculiar tingling sensations he was able to whip alive inside her body, she drew a long and steadying breath. Ready to face the anger she knew he harbored, she lifted the blanket flap and peered into the interior.

  A small fire flickered in the center of the lodge, bathing the woven ceiling with a faint reddish glow. Stone Kincaid was not there. Frowning, she ducked inside, then gasped as someone came at her from the dark shadows. Strong hands gripped her by the shoulders; then she found herself flat on her back, the big American's heavy body atop hers, his strong fingers locked tightly around her wrists, forcing her arms down on either side of her head.

  "All right, Sister Mary, or whatever the hell your name is, it's time for confession." Stone Kincaid's words were low and deadly, each syllable ground out with lethal emphasis.

  "You are angry," Windsor managed breathlessly, confused by the yearnings set astir deep inside her loins with his body completely covering hers and pinning her to the ground. Her heart began to pound, beating so hard she felt it would surely throw him off her at any moment. Dismayed, she suffered a slow, burning heat that suffused every inch of her flesh, as if she lay in a bed of fire. Her lips went dry, and she moistened them.

  "Very observant, Sister Mary," he muttered, so close to her that their faces nearly touched. Her heart leapt and hammered as wildly as that of a cornered doe as his gaze wandered slowly and thoroughly over every inch of her face. His attention lingered on her mouth.

  "I do not understand," she said, distressed at the way her voice was trembling. "I only sought to win your freedom. Does that displease you?"

  "You're damn right it displeases me. I don't particularly like being lied to and made a fool of, and I sure as hell don't like you shooting at me blindfolded!" His hold tightened around her wrists. "Now, I want to know just who the hell you are, and don't give me any more lies about being a nun. You're no more a nun than I am."

  "Please release me. You will hurt your shoulder."

  "To hell with my shoulder! Don't think I'm stupid enough to let go of you and have you knock me out with one of your fancy Chinese kicks. I want answers, and I want them now."

  Windsor lay still, trying to control her over-whelming reaction to Stone Kincaid. She could not understand why he made her feel so weak and strange. She wondered if he was similarly affected by her presence. She did not think so. His frown was black with rage.

  "Talk, dammit!"

  Stone Kincaid meant to have the truth, she realized, and the time had come to give him the answers he wanted.

  "My name is Windsor Richmond, but in China I am called Yu-Mei. I traveled to Chicago to kill you."

  Stone Kincaid's furious expression slowly disintegrated into one of pure astonishment.

  "What? Why? I never laid eyes on you until that day at LaSalle Street Station."

  "Because I was told that you killed my friend Hung-pin. It is my sacred vow to avenge his death so that his spirit can fly free and ride the heavenly dragon."

  Stone Kincaid stared down at her for another moment, his black brows drawn together. "I've never known anyone named Hung-pin." Suddenly his anger returned. His grip tightened. "Quit lying and tell me the truth. Who are you?"

  "To tell a lie is to dishonor oneself."

  "Then I'd say you're as dishonorable as they come. You sure as hell lied when you said you were a nun."

  "I did not lie."

  "Dammit, girl, I'm losing patience."

  "I am not a Catholic nun. I am a
disciple of the Temple of the Blue Mountain. I am a Chinese nun."

  "You're not Chinese."

  "No, but when I was orphaned at the age of ten, I was taken by Hung-pin to the priests of the temple. He was a disciple there, so I became one, too."

  "And you think I killed this priest friend of yours?"

  "The witnesses to his murder called you by name."

  Stone Kincaid's eyes delved into hers, as if he doubted her words; then he abruptly released his tight hold on her wrists. He sat back on his heels, staring down at her. The moment his weight left her, Windsor began to feel in control of herself once more. He affected her in dangerous ways, this big American. She suddenly felt frightened of him, when she had never feared any other man.

  "Why didn't you just kill me when you had the chance, instead of nursing my shoulder?"

  "You saved my life from the Pawnee warriors. When you save a life, it belongs to you. It is the Chinese law."

  "And do you still believe I killed your friend?"

  "I no longer think you are capable of killing a man in the cowardly way Hung-pin was murdered."

  "How'd he die?"

  Windsor's throat clogged as her mind unwillingly conjured up the image of the way Hung-pin had been flayed alive. "He was hung by his arms from a tree limb, then struck with a whip until his spirit was driven to escape the earth."

  "Good God," Stone muttered, his mouth twisting with revulsion. "Why would anyone want to do that to him?"

  "Those who were there said that Hung-pin came to the aid of a white woman who was being abused by cruel and drunken men. He fought bravely, but there were too many of them for him to overcome."

  "I didn't kill your friend. I haven't been to California in three years, I swear it."

  "I believe you." The Old One had taught her to trust the voice that spoke inside her heart. It spoke to her now of Stone Kincaid's innocence, and Windsor felt an overwhelming gladness that he was not the one.