Proud Wolf's Woman (12 page)

How long?
she wondered.

“Nese’se’onotse,”
he said, pointing toward her, then toward the stream, and it took no scholar to realize that he suggested she take a bath.

She sighed. “I take slight offense to that,” she said softly, raising her chin. “Are you suggesting I am dirty?”

But he said nothing back to her, and she frowned, looking down at her gown of soft elk skin, the same one she had slept in last night.

She grimaced. She
did
need to bathe; she
did
need to rinse the gloom of the night from her mouth, but there was no way she would do it while Neeheeowee remained in camp.

She darted him a shy glance. “I cannot bathe while you are in camp here.”

“Na-ase-ohtse.”

She knew he didn’t understand her words, just as she didn’t understand his, but something must have communicated between them because, as he spoke, he nodded, pointing first to himself and then to a point far distant from their camp. And Julia came to understand that he would give her the privacy she needed.

Julia met his gaze before he turned to walk from camp. She just as quickly looked away.

What was happening to her? Why did a simple glance from him make her stomach drop, her pulse beat a little quicker?

She tilted her head, finding herself studying the man’s graceful walk as he trod away. And she didn’t dare examine the reason behind why she also marked the movement of his breechcloth across his tight backside as he ascended a small rise in the landscape.

She waited a few moments, then, seeing he did not return, she got to her feet, treading leisurely to the water, her spirits oddly high for so early in the morning.

Curiously, she hummed, finding herself enjoying the quiet of the morning hours. She laid her dress on the nearby bank of the stream, and, slipping off her moccasins, left them behind her, near the bank. She trudged into the brook and, slipping to her knees, relished the refreshing coolness of the water.

She smiled, still humming as she bathed, gathering fistfuls of sand from the riverbed to scrub herself. She rinsed her mouth with the water, then wet and washed her hair as best she could in only a few inches of water.

Truly it was a welcome experience, and she lingered in the water until the last possible moment.

She could see Neeheeowee had returned to camp, and though his back was to her, his presence still presented her with a dilemma.

How do I get dressed?

If she walked out, she exposed her entire, nude body to his quick perusal if he so much as moved his head. If she grabbed her dress from the bank and pulled it on while she sat in the water, she might ruin the dress. The regalia of the gown was, after all, elk skin and most of the leather garments with which Julia was acquainted were ruined if ever they were wet.

It left her little choice.

Deciding her captor a sort of prairie gentleman, Julia rose from the water, pacing back to shore. She was almost there when the bottom of the stream suddenly fell out.

She screamed.

Neeheeowee jumped up and, spinning around, grabbed his weapons.

He stopped. He looked.

Julia, kneeling upright, gazed back.

A moment passed.

Another.

His gaze fell to the juncture of her legs—

She gasped and suddenly sat, covering her bottom with water, her bosom with her arms.

And Neeheeowee, snorting, turned his back.

But only a second elapsed before Neeheeowee suddenly burst into flight, running from the camp as though to a fire, while Julia, watching him, wondered what he did.

She glanced here and there, noting her surroundings, looking for smoke, any telltale sign indicating something was wrong. She saw nothing, nothing to have caused such a stir.

“That’s odd,” she commented aloud as she stepped fully out of the water. It wasn’t until much later that she saw Neeheeowee return to camp. And then she saw it, the full effect of her on him, there under his breechcloth.

She might have felt fear to have observed such a thing. But she experienced nothing of the sort. No she certainly did not feel afraid. And slowly, so very subtly, Julia smiled.

Neeheeowee squatted on the ground, the reins of the pony in his hands, Julia standing over him to the side.

He looked up at the sun, back down at the tracks. Sand still adhered to the blades of grass. It meant this party had traveled by this spot in the morning, two days ago, the only time there had been dew on the ground.

Neeheeowee squinted, studying the imprints. No travois poles indicating a family. Only ponies, at a run. It was spring. A time for war parties, a time for raiding.

His gaze moved upward, following the trail through the grasses, the path easily discernible by the different shades of the green grasses where the weeds were still turned. There were four warriors in this party, Osage, the tribe easily distinguished by the occasional moccasin print farther back on the trail and by the manner in which these men rode their ponies. They were also young warriors, the imprints told him from their slight impressions, warriors out seeking honor and glory, a coup, perhaps, to win favor of a sweetheart.

Their trail intersected his own here, while up ahead they had shifted course, turning east—traveling the same direction as he and Julia, most likely going home.

While they were four warriors, he was only one—with baggage.

If the warriors circled back, they could easily pick up his own trail, he, then, becoming an easy coup. But he was fairly certain they would not do this. They were too far out of their own country. More than likely they were a raiding party, caught, fleeing for home.

Which meant someone followed them.

Neeheeowee sat for a moment; reflecting.

It was conceivable that this party had raided a Kiowa or Comanche camp, making it the Kiowa or Comanche who would follow, though perhaps not.

Neeheeowee gazed back, scanning his own trail. The terrain they had traversed so far did not make for an easy path to cover. All dirt and short grasses, there was no way to mask his own trail, unless he did it all by hand, a time-consuming endeavor. If the pursuers of this Osage party were Kiowa or Comanche, they were friend, and Neeheeowee had nothing to fear, except…the woman. They might try to bargain for her or even try to steal her, though they were allied tribes.

Or the following party could be Pawnee, a Cheyenne enemy. And if they saw his own trail, the singleness of his circumstances could present too easy a coup for an enemy to resist.

He’d not thought to be too careful these first few days on the trail since he was in his own and friendly country. Besides, he’d been distracted, paying too much attention to portions of his anatomy and to portions of Julia’s to think clearly.

He looked up, scanning the barren horizon all around him; no trees, no bushes, no shrubs, only the short grasses blowing in the ever-present rap of the westerly wind. He knew this country, the high prairie, knew it provided no wood for fire, little water for drinking. It also did not allow for any place to take cover, and with a war party within the vicinity, he and Julia were more at risk here than he cared to imagine.

He did not fear the Osage, nor their allied tribe, the Kaw, or Kansa; no, in fact, he would relish the open combat. For one thing the Osage were intruders into this country. It would behoove him to seek them out and fight them as his duty to his tribe. A battle would sharpen his skills as a warrior, something he was always intent upon doing.

But more than all of this, though he did not like to admit it, a fight would force his attention from Julia—Julia, whose scent distracted him; whose grace intrigued him, whose feminine movements taunted him.

He stood upright all at once and, glancing toward the east, checked the hour by the position of the sun. Then, lowering his gaze, he inspected the area for further signs.

He saw no indication of the Osage party circling back, nor did he think they would.

However, it still meant someone followed them from behind.

He scowled. He had been traveling north and east, in a straight line toward the soldier town where he had first met Julia. It was the quickest, most direct way. And if he ever meant to return to his single-minded purpose, he would have to conclude this journey with Julia as quickly as possible.

What choices did he have? He could follow the Osage trail and hope that those in pursuit were Cheyenne allies. He could veer off the path and go in a more northerly direction, chancing that the following party would continue to pursue the Osage and not him and Julia. Or he could take another path, one he had considered taking from the start, but had disregarded since it was not a direct route.

It was, however, the safest course, and had he not been in such a rush to return Julia and get back to his own business, he would have started off in this direction from the beginning. But he
was
in a hurry, plus he’d had his attention distracted, distracted by the sway of feminine hips and a delicate scent.

He grunted, disgusted with himself. He had to focus on the details of this journey.

He looked around him, searching for the best path to the nearly dry Cimarron River. This was his only choice now, to follow the river, if he wished to avoid confrontation. Their trail would be hard to pick up from the riverbed, especially since it was spring, and the recent rains had left some water there to cover his trail. It would allow him the advantage of leaving the water only when he encountered rocky terrain, thus rendering his tracks inconsistent.

It wasn’t as direct a route, the dry river winding off course now and again. But it would be the safest course.

“Eaaa!”
When had he become one to avoid danger? Had he been alone, he would have followed the Osage, had he been alone, he would have…

He stopped this line of thinking. He was not alone. He had a responsibility, another life to consider—Julia. And he had sworn his protection to her, not in so many words, but by action.

There was nothing for it. It meant adding more distance, more days to their travel. It meant being longer in Julia’s presence.

He grunted, the sound deep in his throat. It also meant…frustration.

And worse, Neeheeowee could no longer afford to travel by foot. With an enemy in the vicinity, Neeheeowee would have to remain mounted, ready to fight should the need arise.

It meant he had to ride—with Julia.

He expelled a harsh breath.

As if things weren’t already hard enough for him, he would now have to suffer the feel of her body against his.

He let out a low moan.

“We must go back to the river,” he said, following his words with hand motions, indicating first himself, then her, then gesturing back in the direction from which they had come.

But she didn’t comprehend him; or at least she didn’t appear to understand. Instead of starting back, the way any good Indian woman would have without question, Julia stood, staring at him, her expression clearly puzzled, her stance stating she needed explanation.

“Go on back,” he tried to explain to her again.

But when she just stood there, hands on her hips, he lost patience. He almost said something to her, but, catching himself at the last moment and holding back his quick retort, he stifled his impatience.

She was white. She didn’t understand his ways. It was up to him to show her these things, thus bringing about her understanding.

He reminded himself of this, of the teachings of the elders concerning the care of women. So when he took hold of the pony’s reins and turned the animal around, leading it back the way they had come, he merely motioned Julia forward.

But instead of moving, even a little bit, she crossed her arms, saying something to him in that white man’s tongue he didn’t understand. And Neeheeowee, despite himself, almost smiled.

He was quite glad at this moment that he was unable to understand her. She had clearly not been complimentary.

And so Neeheeowee, letting go of the reins, approached her, oblivious to the fact that for the first time in five years, he had felt like smiling.

“No, I will not go back the way we’ve just come.” Julia couldn’t believe the man was asking her to do such a thing. “I will not return to that Indian village…to that degradation and slavery. I will not, and don’t you dare smile at me!”

She planted her feet and crossed her arms, refusing to acknowledge the half grin she saw on his face as he stalked toward her.

She would not return. It was time he learned it.

“Masaha-ve’ho’a’e,”
he said, stalking toward her, still that hint of a smile on his face.

She saw that smirk, felt his resolve toward her, but still was not prepared for his action when he picked her up.

“Oh! Put me down!”

She beat against his back as he slung her over his shoulder, as though she weighed no more than a parfleche full of belongings.

“Oh! Ah!” She struggled against him—a mistake, for his arms only circled her more tightly, pressing her into him more firmly, and Julia, giving up and closing her eyes for a moment, breathed in his earthy scent.

She flicked her eyes open at once to dispel the illusion of him, but upon looking down, she caught sight of firm buttocks clearly outlined by his breechcloth.

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “I think I need some guidance here,” she said to herself, feeling safe in knowing he could not understand.

The man was proving too much for her. The combination of the sight of all that skin, along with the feel of him just underneath her garb, unnerved her, and, with another deep breath, she squirmed.

At once shivers rippled over her skin, and it was all she could do to hold herself back, to keep herself from touching him, from exploring all that bronze skin with something more than a glance.

“Ne-ve’-neheseve! He’kotoo’estse!”
he said, and Julia knew she had been scolded.

But worse, she felt his breathing quicken, and suddenly she imagined she could taste the warm saltiness of his skin.