War Cloud's Passion Read online

He looked over his shoulder for a moment, muttered a gruff, “Humph,” and glanced away.

  She continued, “I think I understand now why the Indians fight so hard to keep this land and their way of life.”

  He did not utter a word and she took a few cautious steps forward.

  “Please correct me if I am wrong, but for a moment here tonight, sir, I think I discovered how the land and the beauty of this place could creep into the soul and the heart of a culture.”

  Impetuously she padded up to him, and had to stand on her tiptoes to murmur into his ear, “Sir, am I not right to believe, then, that your people love this land and want to keep it the same as it has always been?”

  She watched as his muscles grew tense.

  She touched his shoulder. “Sir.” She was whispering now. “I, too, have tonight witnessed the beauty of this place. And I think that, although I am a newcomer, I speak the truth. The land, nature, the wind and the soil are a part of your people’s makeup, a part of their soul, while these same things are perhaps nothing more than assets to be used, sold or bartered by the newcomers.”

  She could feel his muscles grow stiff beneath her touch, and it was almost more than she could do to keep herself from massaging all that brawn.

  He, however, did not speak, did not react, did nothing at all, and she sighed, returning to stand full-footed upon the ground. She drew back her hand, turned away.

  “Nahkohe-tseske.” He spun around, made a grab at her arm under her elbow and drew her back. As though the wind were in conspiracy with her desire, its blasts whipped up behind Anna, whisking her forward, propelling her into his arms.

  Both of them grew quiet. Neither of them moved, Anna fearing even to breathe.

  His head came down toward her. Did he mean to kiss her?

  Excitement struck her unexpectedly, overwhelming her with a frenzy of hunger so intense, she could barely breathe. And with a shudder she realized that she wanted that kiss; she wanted that embrace and she felt herself grow weak.

  Did he desire her, too? No, it couldn’t be possible that he might feel the same for her, yet…

  Gently, his forehead met hers while his hands came up to caress her cheeks as though she were more precious than porcelain china. She closed her eyes. She dared not think; she dared not even stir. She moaned instead, not being able to suppress it. She had never felt more under a person’s spell than she did at this moment.

  Yet, to her surprise, she came alive, becoming aware of little things that she had, perhaps, never noticed before. The air smelled crisper, the earth beneath her feet felt more solid, the softness of the night held more warmth. Fleetingly, she could sense the blood pounding through her body, could perceive the rhythm of life flowing within her, and without conscious thought, she experienced a sensation of herself as a spirit growing larger, as though a mere body could not hold that which she was.

  Oddly, the universe in which she lived seemed a more vibrant and real universe at this moment than at any time she could remember. And she became fleetingly aware of the life all around her, even to the grasses, which grew so high and green, as they sprang up in the wind, to touch and tickle her ankles.

  Truly, she felt above herself, witnessing the sky as though its vastness were mere child’s play; the peal of thunder, the wonder of lightning as no more than a toy. And all the while beauty, peace and harmony settled into her soul.

  Another flash of lightning, followed by a crisp clap of thunder dispelled the illusion, had her remembering where she was. As she glanced up into this tall brave’s eyes, she consciously brought back to mind exactly who she was; who he was and where they were.

  She cleared her throat, muttered a low, “Sir,” and stepped out of his embrace.

  She gazed away from him, from the spot in his arms where she had been, and said, “What sort of game do you play with me, sir?”

  He did not answer, which gave her little choice but to continue, “I know that I am not an attractive woman and yet you have offered marriage to me.” She stiffened her spine. “Sir, tell me true. Is it your intention to use me?”

  When he did not answer, she glanced at him. But all she could witness upon his face was a curious look, one of eyebrows raised in question.

  She drew in a deep breath. “All right,” she said. “I suppose I must be forthright and speak what I mean quite bluntly. Sir, do you intend to have your way with me?”

  Still he did not answer.

  She shot a glimpse at him and raised her voice. “To abuse me?” She waved her arms. He crossed his own over his chest, still suspiciously silent.

  She shut her eyes and plunged. “To have sex with me, sir? That is what I am saying.” She peeped an eye open to steal a look at him and muttered quietly, “To pretend marriage to me only to have sex?”

  She did not know how it was possible, but his dark eyes changed color, transforming into a deeper, gloomier glare. At length, however, a slow smile lit his face.

  She said, “It is no joke, sir, and may I remind you that it is only fair of you to make your intentions known to me.”

  His smile didn’t diminish as he slowly brought his hand up to her cheek, the backs of his fingers gently stroking her skin. But she drew back from the tender graze as though stung.

  Their eyes met, held, dueled. A moment danced before them as they stared, the look between them carnal and searing. She could not have looked away had she meant to, and she did not mean to. He held her captive while one moment followed upon another, until at last, without so much as a single word being uttered, he turned and trod away.

  But Anna could not let it rest at that. She dared not. She hurried to catch up with him.

  “Sir, I think I deserve an answer.”

  “This is my answer, white woman.” He did not turn to look at her. In truth, the speed of his pace increased.

  “But I didn’t hear a word said about it.”

  “No words are needed,” he responded, his gait becoming faster. “Had I meant to ‘have my way with you,’ it would already be done. I do not attack my prisoners sexually or otherwise.”

  “But you’ve never said and I…I…” she began, her voice breathless. “Perhaps I misunderstood. It is only that you touched me back there and—”

  He stopped and turned on her so suddenly that she ran straight into him. But his arms did not come around her to hold her as they had before, and she found herself bouncing back from him, barely able to keep her balance.

  He took a stand, albeit an annoyed one, one foot clamped solidly next to the other. He asked, “Who has told you that you are unattractive?”

  “Several people,” she answered, quietly.

  “Who?”

  “My mother for one,” she said, looking away from him, pretending interest in her skirt. “Also several boys in the orphanage where I was growing up. That man on the train.”

  “What man on the train?”

  “The one who abused your brother.”

  He sighed. “I am certain that his was an evil heart. You should pay no attention to that.”

  “There have been others.”

  He snorted, and when he at last answered her, he said simply, “They were wrong.”

  He did not wait to see the effect these words had upon her, she noted. He said them plainly, with no fanfare and no apology; in truth, he said them with what appeared to be great antagonism toward her. And with nothing else uttered, no other explanation given, he turned and trod away.

  They were wrong?

  Did that mean he found her attractive?

  Anna felt like pinching herself. Had she, unbeknownst to herself, fallen asleep? Was this no more than a very real dream?

  A hair-raising streak of lightning, followed by an instantaneous clap of thunder made her jump, rousing her from her speculation, making her realize that she was more than awake. It also brought her duty clearly back to mind.

  Hastily, she glanced over to where the children still slept. How could she have forgotten the reas
on she had sought out this tall brave in the first place?

  Annoyed with herself for what she considered her breach of responsibility, she picked up her skirts and hurried after the man.

  She gasped. What the…?

  The man was in the act of unsaddling the ponies.

  “Sir?” she called.

  He did not hear her, and she watched in horror as he slapped the animals, the action sending the ponies running.

  “Sir!” She screamed the word.

  If he heard her, he did not acknowledge her.

  “Sir.” A spurt of energy had her catching up to him. But it was too late. The damage had been done; the horses were gone. She ran after the animals to no avail, stopped and spun around on him. “Sir.” She said the word as though it were an accusation. “Why did you do that?”

  He did not answer her, and with a rudeness that should have sent her scurrying away, he turned his back on her and strode off in the opposite direction. But she was not to be ignored so easily and she caught up to him.

  “Sir,” she said again, “why have you let the horses go? Surely you must know that the children and I cannot travel without them.”

  “You are all going to have to,” he said over his shoulder, still sparing her not even a single glance. He kept his pace fast.

  “But, sir—” She reached out to grab hold of his arm; she missed.

  “The ponies are too easy to track,” he commented, making no mention, if he had even noticed, that she had tried to take hold of him. “We will have to make our trail without those animals.”

  She literally had to run to keep up with him. “But the children—”

  “Will walk.”

  She stopped completely still, rebuffed and curiously angry. Oh, how she wanted to stomp her foot, to argue with him; indeed, she felt like grasping hold of him and forcing him to face her until he gave her more than a few syllables in answer to her questions. But another rumble sounded from the skies and she thought better of the action. Quickening her own strides, she ran forward to catch up with him.

  “All right,” she said, “I will give you quarter about the ponies. Perhaps you are right, but I must point out that the children and I have no shelter from the storm.”

  He nodded toward their camp. “The rocks will be your shield against the wind and the rain when it comes, plus these.” He held up the trade blankets that he had pulled off the ponies.

  “But—”

  “There is nowhere else for us to go. We cannot outrun the storm, nor do we want to be caught as the tallest object on the prairie when the worst of it hits. No, we will stay here.”

  What could she say? “All right, but—”

  “The children will not be able to sleep long, either,” he added. “It will be your duty to awaken them and get them ready to move as soon as this storm passes. It is then that we must be on our way.”

  “On our way? But, what if it is still dark? Surely you would not have us leave a perfectly good shelter in the middle of the night?”

  He gave her a patient, although a suspiciously exasperated look. “Haahe, we must leave, especially if it is in the middle of the night, and you will have to prepare the children.”

  “Sir, really, I feel that I must protest that—”

  “Unless,” he added, interrupting her, “you want to be caught on foot by any hostile war party roaming the countryside.”

  “I thought you said that—”

  “Nahkohe-tseske, Little Bear, while it is still night, we will need to find a place to camp during the day that will not easily catch the eye of a war party. From here, until we reach the safety of the north country, we will be in constant danger from both the whites and the Indians. The Indians will want to kill you and the children, the whites will want to kill me and my brother. No matter which group would find us, we would not be safe.”

  “Then you mean to take us to safety?”

  “Perhaps, if you please me well enough.”

  “Please you? But…” As her eyes met his, she felt a surge of awareness, the same sort of biological urge that had sprung up between them only a few moments ago. Her pulses leapt, sending a cascade of pleasure radiating throughout her body. He, however, appeared immune to it. She spoke up quickly, hoping that she sounded as though she, too, were unaffected. “Sir, if it is your plan to help us and take us to the nearest white settlement, I can assure you that the soldiers would listen to me, if they found us. If I were to tell them our story, and I most certainly would do so, I feel assured that these people would not fail to see that you have helped us, and they…”

  Her words ended when his eyes narrowed and a sneer came to his lips, accompanied by a growl that made her want to jump back, away from him. But this man did not frighten her quite so easily, and she held her ground.

  Straightway he observed, “Look around you, white woman; look at where you are. Do you see a great many of the same white settlements here that you might find on your eastern shores?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “You are in Indian country, Nahkohe-tseske, where your people and mine are at war. There would be shooting first, talking last, and no amount of your pleading would make a difference, so do not talk to me of it again. Hova’ahane, we will not go to any white settlements and until we reach the destination I have set, we will sleep by day and travel at night. I have spoken.”

  “‘I have spoken’?” she muttered to herself.

  Anna sputtered out the word, “Sir,” but found herself speaking only to air. He had again turned his back on her. However, not to be put off, she called out to him, this time more audibly, “Sir, might we have a few more words about this?”

  He did not answer, which was becoming quite annoying. Nor, she observed, did he seem to be in the mood to turn around and converse with her. In truth, he quickly trod away from her.

  “Why, you pigheaded, obstinate mule,” she swore, stomping her foot. “I have more to say on this and you shall listen to me, by goodness. I demand it! Do you hear?”

  Perhaps it was the cursing; perhaps only the anger in her voice that caused the trouble. Whatever the reason, he stopped; he paused a moment. Then he turned, treading back toward her, his every step a menace. He had set his shoulders rigidly and had pressed his lips together until his chin more resembled an object made of stone than of flesh and blood. At length, he bit out, “Do not antagonize me.”

  “But—”

  “Know, white woman, that my mother, my father and my little sister, as well as three other members of my family are dead because they believed they could talk with these warrior-whites and bring peace. They, too, thought they could reason with these people. All are dead because of it. The great peace chief, Black Kettle, is dead. Yellow Wolf is dead. You do not understand what is going on here. I have said all that I am going to say on this. No more argument. We leave as soon as the storm abates.”

  Anna drew back, while he spun away from her, leaving her once more with nothing more to do than stare at his backside.

  But rather than be annoyed, this time she drew within herself. His mother, his father, his little sister? All dead? She had not meant to anger him, nor to bring up painful memories. She had simply been defending her own.

  He was also right, she acknowledged to herself at last. She did not know this country, nor the attitudes of the people who lived in it. She did not have the knowledge of how to avoid Indian war parties, nor even how to find her way across this land.

  Briefly, she recalled the words of the unknown man who had sat behind her in the train only earlier this day. An element of irrational glee had filled the man’s words when he had been speaking about the killings at Sand Creek, even of the women and children.

  Perhaps this tall brave was right. It was entirely possible that, if such unreasonable hatred existed within the hearts of the people here and, if the soldiers found her with this man, there would be killing first and questions later.

  Abruptly the truth of her own situat
ion struck her, and her head reeled under the weight of that cognizance. She and the children were completely dependent upon this man; utterly, fully dependent. Not only did they have this tall warrior alone to look to for their food and their shelter, they were entirely reliant upon his goodwill for their safety and protection.

  Stung to silence, Anna continued to stare at his retreating figure. She would have to trust him; she had no choice.

  Thus, she followed him more meekly when he made his way back to their temporary camp. She watched as he set up his guard on the hill overlooking it. Still, without another word, she slunk up beside him, took the blankets he had proffered to her earlier, and turned to scoot down the hill toward the children.

  “White woman.” His words caught at her and she swung around to him. “Know that my offer is no longer open to you.”

  “But I thought that—”

  “Perhaps if you had agreed immediately, it is possible I might have been persuaded to lead you to a white settlement. But you did not respond quickly enough to what I proposed.”

  Anna could only stare at the man, her lips mouthing the word, “Oh.” But no sound came from her throat.

  And having no ready response, she wound her way back down the hill.

  With sightless eyes, she surveyed the spot where she would spend the rest of the evening, her gaze softening when it lit, at last, upon her most precious charges. Sitting down, she took one of the children into her arms, and swallowed noisily.

  What, in heavens name, was she to do? How could she have come to this?

  She inhaled deeply, beyond tears as she realized that she, who for most of her life, had been given good reason to feel vulnerable, had never felt so defenseless in all her life.

  Perhaps when the Indian boy returned, the one who had championed her, things might be better…maybe.

  Chapter Eight

  “Hova’ahane! Hova’ahane!”

  War Cloud muttered the words to himself as he watched the storm begin to whip up its fury. Although he did not fear the thunder or the lightning, War Cloud was not so foolish as to tread upon a flat prairie during a storm.

  He lay on his stomach, on top of their rock shelter. In his right hand he clutched a sawed-off shotgun while his spear rested beside him in an ever-ready position. His bow was slung over his shoulder, with his sheath of arrows lashed across his back. Even though it was unlikely that a war party would be traveling in this weather, War Cloud’s eyes still scanned the prairie. One could never be certain with these warrior-whites. These men seemed to have no method to their attacks, nor did they appear much for a fair fight with men of their own make, character and advantage.