Forbidden Fires (23 page)

He lay there for a long time. The grass was cool beneath him, the sun dried the sweat from his skin, and a gentle breeze helped revive him.

Rising, he searched for a sharp rock and laboriously rubbed the rawhide over the edge until, at last, the rope frayed and broke, freeing his hands. He began to walk, putting distance between himself and the Indians. At a shallow waterhole, he took a long drink, then washed the blood from his body. Already, dark bruises were forming on his arms and legs, intertwining with the long red welts the clubs had raised. Miraculously, he had received no broken bones but he was sore all over. Lord, he’d never ached like this in his life.

Weary and hungry, he found a sheltered glen and crawled inside. He had to find some clothes, a weapon, and a horse. He also had to get Caitlyn away from Tonkalla but first he had to sleep.

Summer Wind stared after Stalking Wolf for a long time. She had expected to feel a sense of satisfaction when she saw him being struck down, had thought she would feel exhilaration when she brought her own stick down across his back. But now, watching him walk away, his body oozing blood and sweat, his head unbowed, she felt only remorse. He was a good man, a proud man, and she had wronged him. He had saved her from a life of degradation with Beech, had surrendered to her wishes to spend time with the Cheyenne, and she had repaid him with treachery.

Burdened with guilt, she turned to find the white woman staring at her.

“What happened?” Caitlyn asked. “Why did they beat Rafe and send him away?”

Summer Wind looked away, unable to face the white woman, unable to admit she had been the cause of what had just happened. Mute, she turned and hastened toward her cousin’s lodge. She needed time alone, time to think.

Caitlyn stared after Summer Wind, a vast emptiness opening, within her heart. Rafe was gone and she was alone, at the mercy of a jealous Cheyenne woman and her husband whose every look promised that, sooner or later, he would have her.

But her fears for her own safety seemed unimportant now. Rafe had been hurt, how badly she did not know. He was naked, without food or weapons in a hostile land. He dared not show his face in the village again, and she wondered how far they were from civilization. How far would he have to go to find food, clothing, and shelter? A doctor if he needed one? And why had the Indians sent him away?

She glanced in the direction Summer Wind had gone. Was it possible the Indian girl had said or done something to cause trouble? But that was ridiculous. Summer Wind loved Rafe. Why would she want to see him hurt?

It didn’t make sense, but she worried over it all day. Little Deer was a hard taskmaster, demanding that Caitlyn be kept constantly busy. During the morning, Caitlyn fetched wood and water, helped Little Deer skin a deer, and prepare a thick wild-smelling soup of venison, onions, and sage. She shook out the buffalo robes that were used for bedding, swept the lodge floor, and fetched more water. And all the while Caitlyn thought of Rafe.

But even as she worked, she was learning how the Indians lived. Caitlyn had often thought that Indian women did all the work while the men took their ease, gambling and lounging about with their cronies. She realized now, after only a few days in the camp, that the warriors spent long days and nights on guard duty, keeping watch for an enemy attack. They also spent long hours, sometimes days, away from home in search of game.

She developed a grudging admiration for the Cheyenne’s ability to create a life in the wilderness, but it was not a life she wanted to share.

Slowly, the hours passed, and Rafe was never far from her thoughts. Neither was the desire to escape. Rafe could not help her now. Somehow, she must find a way to escape before it was too late, before Tonkalla had his way with her. Somehow…

Chapter Eighteen

It was dark when he awoke, and he groaned softly as he sat up. His entire body ached and it hurt to move. In the moonlight, he could see the dark bruises that marred his skin.

He gazed up at the black sky, judging it to be about ten o’clock. Lord, he’d slept over twelve hours.

Rising, he hobbled toward the water hole. A long drink quenched his thirst and eased his hunger. Returning to the glen, he sat down, cussing softly as each movement awoke new areas of pain.

He had to think, to plan, but the ache in his body made it hard to concentrate. Rest, he thought, that was what he needed. And with that in mind, he curled up on the ground and slept.

Summer Wind tossed and turned all through the night. Waking or sleeping, she saw only Stalking Wolf, his long bronze body hunched over as he ran for his life. Her dreams were filled with the angry beat of a drum, with the sharp smack of sticks and clubs striking human flesh, of blood oozing down his flanks as a lance tip cut into his skin. No matter what he had done, he did not deserve such cruelty.

In the hour before dawn, she left Shinte Galeska’s lodge and made her way toward the river. Anyone seeing her would think she was answering a call of nature. Hidden in the folds of her skirt she carried a breechclout she had stolen from Shinte Galeska, a knife, a roll of pemmican, and a small pot of salve.

The cheerful chatter of a blue jay penetrated Rafe’s dreams and he woke suddenly, staring at the green canopy overhead, wondering where he was.

Sitting up, he uttered a mild oath as pain and memory returned hand in hand.

Rising, he reached out to steady himself against a tree. Then, moving as stiff and slow as an old man, he went to the waterhole. It did not ease his hunger this morning.

“Stalking Wolf.”

He whirled around at the sound of her voice, his eyes burning with a clear and bitter rage.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded gruffly. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

“I came to help.”

“Now why don’t I believe that?”

“It is true.” She held out the pemmican, knife, and wolfskin clout. “These are for you.”

“Why? Less than two days ago you were out for blood.”

“I behaved badly. I let anger rule my heart.”

He eyed her suspiciously, unwilling to trust her.

“Take this,” she said, thrusting the pemmican into his hand. “You must be hungry.”

“Probably poisoned,” he muttered, but he ate it anyway.

Summer Wind watched him, her conscience hurting. There was hardly a place on his arms, back, shoulders, and legs that wasn’t discolored or swollen.

“I brought salve for your wounds,” she offered when he had finished eating.

Stalking Wolf nodded. Lying on his stomach, he closed his eyes as Summer Wind applied a thick greenish-yellow salve to his back. The ointment was cool against his skin, quickly drawing the fire from his bruised flesh. Her hands were gentle as she worked the salve into his skin, massaging his arms and shoulders and thighs. Her touch was soothing, unintentionally provocative.

Drawing a deep breath, Rafe sat up. “Thanks,” he muttered, wondering what the hell he had to thank her for. It was her fault he’d been hurt in the first place.

Summer Wind wiped the salve from her hands. “Are you sure we cannot have a life together?” she asked, her voice softly imploring.

“We’ve been through all that before,” Rafe replied wearily.
And look where it got me,
he thought bitterly.

“I know.” Rising nimbly to her feet. Summer Wind tossed the breechclout into his lap. “Goodbye, Stalking Wolf.”

He stood up, the clout falling, unnoticed, to the ground. “Summer Wind, wait.”

She looked at him, her dark eyes filling with hope, and he cursed under his breath. How did a man ask a woman he had rejected to bring him the woman he loved?

Summer Wind tilted her head to one side, a nasty suspicion growing in the back of her mind.

“Summer Wind, I…could you?”

“It’s her!” Summer Wind exclaimed angrily. “You want me to bring her here!”

“I know it’s asking a lot, but—”

“No, I will not!”

“Dammit, you’ve got to help me. I can’t leave her.”

“No.”

Rafe swore under his breath. Damn stubborn woman. Apparently if she couldn’t have him, neither would Caitlyn.

“Would it help if I got down on my knees and begged?”

A flicker of amusement danced in Summer Wind’s eyes and then was gone. “Would you?”

“Do I have to?”

“You ask much of me,” she remarked with a slight shake of her head.

Rafe quirked an eyebrow at her as he gestured at the numerous wounds on his body. “I think I have that right.”

A wave of guilt assailed Summer Wind. Perhaps she was being unfair. Stalking Wolf had saved her from the man, Beech, after all, and she had known Caitlyn was his woman all along. Stalking Wolf had never lied to her, never made her any promises. Now that he was leaving, it would serve no purpose to keep Caitlyn from him, and yet…

“Would you really get down on your knees and beg?” she asked.

“What do you think?”

“I think I would enjoy it.”

“I’m sure you would.”

Summer Wind stared at him. He was a magnificent man. Even bruised, his skin discolored and swollen, he was wonderful to look at.

“I must go,” she said abruptly. “I make no promises about your woman.”

“I understand.”

He watched her out of sight, wondering if he would ever see Summer Wind or Caitlyn again.

Caitlyn spent a sleepless night. Her fears for Rafe kept her awake long after Tonkalla and his wife were sleeping soundly. She wondered how badly Rafe was hurt, if he had found shelter for the night, if he was in much pain.

But it was fear for her own future that drove her out of the lodge and into the predawn darkness. Rafe would not be able to help her escape now. She was on her own, and determined not to spend one more day in Tonkalla’s lodge.

Earlier, Tonkalla had insisted she dress as a Cheyenne woman. At the time, she had objected, but now she was grateful. Clad in a doeskin tunic and moccasins, with a blanket draped over her head to hide her blonde hair, she left the village and made her way toward the river. She moved cautiously, expecting at any moment to feel Tonkalla’s hand on her arm, to hear one of the night guards challenge her, but nothing happened.

When she reached the river, she turned south, walking in the direction Rafe had taken when he left the village. He had a good head start on her, but he was hurt. Surely, if she walked very fast, she could overtake him.

The sky grew light as the hours passed. She ran until her sides ached, and then she walked. And then she ran again, constantly checking over her shoulder to see if she was being followed.

Later that morning, Tonkalla questioned his wife about the white woman’s whereabouts.

“She has gone for food,” Little Deer replied, knowing it was a lie.

Tonkalla grunted softly, the white woman’s whereabouts temporarily forgotten as Little Deer served the morning meal. Later, when her husband had gone to visit his uncle, Little Deer went to the river and carefully obliterated the white woman’s tracks.

“Run fast,” Little Deer murmured. “Run fast and far and hide well. One woman is enough for my husband.”

Rafe spent most of the morning sleeping. Just after noon, he went to the water hole, where his unexpected presence spooked a couple of horses that had strayed from the Cheyenne herd.

His eyes thoughtful, Rafe sat near the water’s edge and began plaiting a lariat from some vines growing nearby.

The horses, drawn by their thirst as much as by their curiosity, returned a short while later. Heads lowered, ears twitching, they stared at the man sitting beside the water hole.

Cautiously, their nostrils flared to breathe in his scent more readily, and they stepped closer. Wild horses would not have returned, but these horses were not wild. They snorted and pawed the ground when he slowly stood up, but they did not run. Speaking softly in the Cheyenne tongue, Rafe approached the closest horse and slid the lariat around the horse’s neck. The gelding tossed its head, as if objecting to being caught, and then allowed Rafe to scratch its ears.

“Things are looking up,” Rafe murmured. The gelding, a large bald-faced bay, docilely followed him back to the glen. The second horse, a short-barreled buckskin mare, followed along behind.

For the first time in her life, Caitlyn wished she were an Indian. Perhaps then she’d be able to find Rafe. Certainly only an Indian would be able to trail someone across the trackless prairie. She looked about and saw only a sea of grass and scattered stands of timber. She would never find him, she thought, discouraged. She’d never find Rafe, and she’d never find her way back to civilization, either.

She was tired, hot, and thirsty when she heard a horse snort behind her. Resigned, she turned around, expecting to find an angry Tonkalla riding toward her. Instead, she saw Summer Wind.

The two women stared at each other for a moment—Caitlyn’s expression wary, Summer Wind’s filled with annoyance.

“You stupid woman,” Summer Wind said abruptly. “What are you doing way out here?”

“I fail to see how that’s any of your business,” Caitlyn replied defensively.

“We have no time to argue,” Summer Wind said. “Little Deer is running out of excuses for your absence. Hurry now, we must go.”

“Go where?”

“To Stalking Wolf.”

“Rafe! You know where he is?”

“Yes.” Summer Wind extended her hand. “Come.”

With trepidation, Caitlyn took Summer Wind’s hand and swung up behind her. She had no reason to trust this woman, but even going back to Tonkalla would be better than perishing in the wilderness.

But Summer Wind did not take her back to the village. Instead, she rode toward a stand of trees that enclosed a shaded glen and there, sheltered from view, they found Rafe.

Caitlyn slid off the back of the horse and flew into his arms. “Rafe, oh, Rafe,” she murmured.

“Caty.” He hugged her close, grimacing a little as she hugged his back. He was still sore, but this was an ache he could stand.

Rafe looked at Summer Wind and smiled.
“Le pila mita.”

Summer Wind nodded. “You had better go. Little Deer has been making excuses for the white woman’s absence all day. I think Tonkalla will get suspicious soon.”

“What will you do?”

“I think I will stay with the Cheyenne.”

“Be happy, Summer Wind.”

“Safe journey, Stalking Wolf.” She gazed at him a moment more, wishing things had turned out differently between them, and then she wheeled her horse around and rode away toward the village.

“We’d better go,” Rafe said, giving Caitlyn a squeeze. “Can you ride bareback?”

“If I have to.”

“You have to.”

He took the blanket from Caitlyn and tore off several long strips which he fashioned into bridles and reins.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He pulled her close for a moment, his lips moving in her hair, and then he lifted her onto the back of the buckskin mare and handed her the makeshift reins. Then, vaulting onto the back of the bay gelding, he led the way through the trees and out onto the prairie.

He threw Caitlyn a broad smile of encouragement and then urged his mount into a lope, knowing their only hope was to put a good distance between themselves and the Cheyenne.

They rode for hours beneath a blinding sun and a cloudless sky, pausing now and then to breathe the horses. They had no food and no water, but Caitlyn did not complain. They were free and that was all that mattered.

It was well after dusk when Rafe drew rein for the night. Caitlyn slid to the ground, her whole body weary. Rafe’s arms were a welcome support and she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling as though she had come home at last.

“Do you think they’ll follow us?” she asked.

Rafe shrugged. “I don’t know.” He placed his hand under her chin and lifted her head, his dark eyes gazing intently into her own. “Did Tonkalla touch you?”

“No.” Caitlyn smiled. “He tried once, but Little Deer hit him with a stick.”

Rafe chuckled. “Thank God for jealous wives,” he muttered, and then he hugged Caitlyn hard, knowing he would never have forgiven himself if she had come to harm. His right hand played over her back and shoulders while his left hand held her close. They stood that way for a long time, with Caitlyn’s head tucked under Rafe’s chin. Slowly, she became aware of the heat spreading between them, of the sudden heaviness of her breasts where they pressed against his chest, of the rising thrust of Rafe’s manhood.

“Caty.” His voice was low, imploring.

“Mmmmm?”