Savage Autumn (25 page)

Windhawk ignored her need and continued the stroking motion. He would torture her in this way, he thought. It had been easy to make her want him. Now all he had to do was turn his back on her. That was his plan, but when her hand slid over his smooth stomach to touch his pulsating manhood, he groaned.

Pushing Joanna backward, he moved on top of her and nudged her legs open to receive him. When he entered her they both trembled, feeling the oneness that always accompanied their lovemaking.

“Jo-anna,” he breathed in her ear. “I need you, Jo-anna.”

He was unaware that he had voiced his need for her, but Joanna heard him in a fog of passion. She would give him all he asked of her, she thought. Her hips moved against his and soon they were locked in fiery lovemaking.

This time there were no words of love spoken between them, and still they obtained the fevered height that they always found together.

Joanna stared into Windhawk’s eyes, waiting for him to say something—anything, but he merely stared darkly at her. Her eyes shied away from his and slid down to his chest. She gasped when she saw the gash where the panther had mauled him.

“Windhawk, you are hurt,” she said, turning misty eyes to him.

He tried to push her away, but she grabbed his arm. “You must allow me to tend this wound. It is very bad. If you don’t receive attention, it could become infected.”

“I want nothing from you, Jo-anna,” he said roughly pushing her away. Windhawk realized that she had caught him in her tender trap once more. If he would allow it, she had the power to destroy him.

Joanna felt an ache deep inside thinking how he must be
suffering from his wound. There was nothing she could do for him, if he was too proud to accept her help.

Standing up, he looked down at her. In his hurt and anger he wanted to wound her and he knew the way.

“The white man call a woman like you a whore. I have had some Indian maidens who would fit that name, but you are my first white woman.”

Hot tears of humiliation scalded Joanna’s face. She didn’t know how to answer his charges. He was right, she had acted wantonly and forward, but she loved him so much. Turning over on her side, she pulled the covers over her head, fearing he would see her cry.

She didn’t see Windhawk kneel down beside her and reach out to her. In striking out at Joanna, he had also hurt himself. His hand dropped to his side. When would the pain stop? When would he be able to forget that Joanna had betrayed him? Never again would he show her mercy. He had to get her to the village, then he could put some distance between them. He would go away by himself for a while so he could think.

Windhawk pulled on his clothing and went out into the storm. He knew that tomorrow they would journey on to his village regardless of the weather. He would push them both beyond endurance if he had to.

Joanna buried her face in her hands, feeling miserable. Would Windhawk never forgive her? Would she be forced to live with his coldness for the rest of her life? If only she didn’t love him so desperately, it wouldn’t matter what he did to her. Before the tears were dry on her face, Joanna had fallen asleep.

The next morning when Joanna opened her eyes she found Windhawk was lying beside her staring into her face. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the way his eyes moved over her body. She felt no satisfaction in the fact that she read desire in his dark eyes. After all, you could desire someone without loving her.

For a long moment his dark eyes locked with her blue ones, and neither one of them spoke. Joanna had no idea that her
eyes were soft and pleading, and Windhawk felt himself being drawn to her.

Against his will his hand reached out to touch her cheek, and she flinched. His heart was wounded and bleeding because she had betrayed him and still he wanted her.

Joanna almost cried out when he pulled her slowly into his arms. She knew she should resist, yet she just didn’t have the willpower. She made a whimpering sound when his finger outlined her lips.

Windhawk crushed her in his arms feeling the agony of heartbreak. Suddenly he became angry that she still retained so much power over his life. Jerking her head around he tilted her head back and ground his lips against hers.

Joanna tried to struggle out of his arms, but he pulled on her shoulders holding her immobile. She twisted and turned but still his mouth continued to punish her. He wasn’t kissing her out of love or even lust, she thought. It was more like hate and revenge. His hand was brutal as it clamped her jaw painfully. Joanna couldn’t breathe and she renewed her struggle to free herself.

Suddenly Windhawk raised his head and stared at her. He saw a trickle of blood that ran down her lip, and felt remorse. Never before had he felt such a need to punish. He gave Joanna a shove that sent her rolling off the robe onto the ground. Standing up he looked away from her.

“I will not allow you to slow me down, Jo-anna. You will pace yourself to keep up with me. Should you lag behind…” His voice trailed off and he walked away from her.

Joanna stared after him dry eyed. She would show him that she could take anything he would throw her way. She was determined that she wouldn’t ask him for mercy. He would find out that she was as strong as he was. Glancing at the snow-shrouded countryside she felt a chill wash over her.

Joanna’s spirits might be low, but she wouldn’t give Windhawk the satisfaction of seeing her weakness, she vowed silently.

Joanna was awakened when Windhawk pulled her to her feet. She was still in a sleep-drugged state when he led her to the river. He roughly pushed her down to her knees, and indicated that she should drink.

She looked up into his face hoping to see some softening in his attitude toward her, but his darkly handsome features revealed nothing. Joanna cupped her hands in the icy water and bathed her face.

Windhawk knelt down beside her and removed his knife. Joanna drew back in fear, not knowing what he had in mind. He saw her fright and looked at her grimly.

“You were unwise to get the rawhide rope wet, Joanna,” he told her, slicing through the rope with his knife. “When the rawhide dried it would have cut into your skin.”

“Do I have to be tied up? It’s not very comfortable,” she ventured to ask.

Windhawk avoided her eyes as he pulled another rope from his pouch. “I would trust you no more than I trusted the panther.” He bound her wrists tightly together and pulled her to her feet.

Joanna jerked her head back, and Windhawk drew in his breath at the hurt he saw in her eyes. Why did she have to be so beautiful? he wondered. He had to force himself not to reach out and touch her flaming hair which seemed to be on fire in the early morning sunlight.

The place where he had struck her had turned blue-black and he knew it must be causing her pain. When his eyes swept her face to settle on her violet-colored eyes, he wanted to look away but couldn’t. Her eyes were soft and shining, as if pleading for mercy, and he felt himself weakening. How could he have hurt the one he loved most in the world?

Windhawk became angry with himself because he was having such tender feelings toward the woman whom he felt had betrayed him. He hardened his heart when he saw tears glistening in her eyes.

Joanna knew the moment she saw Windhawk’s dark eyes narrow that she could expect no mercy from him. She raised her head proudly and gave him a look of disdain. She would never beg him for anything. Let him do his worst; she would endure it silently.

Windhawk met the challenge in her eyes and knew that she was preparing to do battle with him. He wanted to see her crawl. He needed to see her proud spirit defeated. Jerking on the rope he pulled Joanna forward and led her away from the river. He felt satisfaction in knowing the time would come when she would beg him for his forgiveness.

The weather had turned colder. A bright sun shone down on the white wonderland, but it lent no warmth to the frigid land. Joanna closed her eyes against the glare of the sun reflecting off the snow. Her face felt as if it were on fire as the sun’s rays penetrated her delicate white skin.

She felt so thirsty and wished Windhawk would stop so she could have a cool drink of water and rest for a while. But he pushed on relentlessly, sparing neither himself, Joanna, or the horses. Joanna began to wish that they would reach his village. Anything would be better than the blinding rays of the sun that beat down on her.

How was it possible for one to feel the blistering rays of the sun on such a cold day? she wondered.

She wanted to ask Windhawk to stop, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to. Glancing at his rigid back she knew he would not listen to her pleas, even if she did voice them. She got the impression he took some kind of pleasure in her discomfort.

By late afternoon Joanna felt as if her face were burning. Her eyes felt as if they had needles sticking in them. She squeezed them tightly together, trying to shut out the painful glare of the sun.

On they plodded until Joanna slumped forward on the horse to lay her face against its neck. She was feeling so dizzy she gripped the side of the horse, fearing she would fall off.

Would Windhawk never stop? She was in torment and wanted to cry out to him, but she clamped her lips tightly together, too stubborn and proud to ask him for mercy.

That night when they made camp, Joanna stumbled over to her robe and lay down. She buried her head in her hands, feeling ill. She felt her body tremble uncontrollably.

At times she felt hot and would kick the cover off. Other times she would shiver with cold, thinking she would never be warm again.

Windhawk paid little attention to Joanna. He had been aware that she was overly quiet, but that suited his mood. He was still too angry to talk to her.

He sat by the campfire brooding. Every so often his eyes would stray to Joanna. Her back was turned to him and he thought she might be asleep. He dared not lie down beside her, remembering what had happened between them last night. Many times today he had fought the urge to look back at her.

He placed more wood on the fire and rolled up in his robe, hoping he would fall asleep.

The next morning Joanna was still overly quiet. Windhawk noticed she pulled the blanket over her head, hiding her face from him. If she wanted to pout, that suited him just fine, he thought. He had no intentions of engaging her in conversation.

He lifted her onto the horse thinking they would reach the village by early afternoon. What would he do with Joanna then?

He hastened their pace, anxious to be home. Glancing back at Joanna, he noticed she was slumped over her horse. He knew she was tired, and she hadn’t eaten since the morning before. If she was trying to evoke pity in him, she had failed.

When they reached the Milk River, Windhawk halted his mount and looked across at his village. Joanna would now
know the full extent of his displeasure. He glanced back at her just in time to see her slide off her horse, falling beneath its prancing hooves. He dismounted, thinking how frail she was. A Blackfoot maiden would not have tired so easily. They were much stronger than the puny white women.

He lifted her into his arms and the blanket fell away from her face. He frowned, feeling distressed when he saw that her face had been burned by the sun. It was as if someone had set fire to her face; the skin was all red and covered with tiny blisters.

Windhawk felt great anguish for Joanna. Not only was she very ill, but he also feared that her beauty had been marred. He had not known that one could burn so easily by being exposed to the sun. Why hadn’t she told him that she was in pain? Her eyes fluttered and she opened them, staring blankly into space.

He saw her lips were cracked and dry and she wet them with her tongue. “Is it…day or…night?” she asked weakly.

Windhawk’s eyes were wild with grief as he cradled her to him. Great Father, what had he done to her? She was blind! The sun had robbed her of her sight. Napi would not be so cruel as to take the sight from those beautiful violet-colored eyes.

He had meant to punish her, but never this severely! Not once had she cried out or asked for his help. Why hadn’t she told him she was suffering?

Windhawk raised his face to the wind, feeling hot tears in his eyes. He, not Napi, was responsible for the damage to Joanna’s eyes. He had been hurt and had wanted to strike out at her, but in doing so, he had wounded his own heart.

He gathered Joanna close to him and waded across the icy river. He would take her to the medicine woman. She Who Heals would know how to help her.

When the people of the village heard that Joanna had returned and was very ill, a large crowd of them had gathered outside the medicine woman’s tipi. They waited quietly to hear about her condition.

Windhawk was surprised to see how well the people of his tribe loved Joanna. His mother and sister stood beside him with troubled expressions on their faces.

“Is Joanna in danger of losing her life, my brother?” Morning Song asked.

“I do not know. She is gravely ill. We can do no more than wait for She Who Heals to tell us her condition.”

“Joanna’s brother should be told,” Sun Woman said. “It will bring comfort to her, having him with her.”

“Where is he?” Windhawk asked.

“He and the other white woman have been staying in our lodge,” Morning Song answered, as her troubled glance went to the tipi where Joanna lay. “He rode out with Gray Fox this morning; they have not yet returned.”

Joanna stared into darkness. Her body seemed to ache all over, and she was so thirsty. She felt as if the skin on her face was on fire.

“Where am I…why can I not see?” she asked in a weak voice.

“Do not talk,” a woman’s voice answered her in the Blackfoot language. Joanna felt the woman apply a wet cloth to her eyes, and she cried out in pain.

“The herbs and salve will bring you comfort,” the unknown voice said.

Joanna tried to push the woman’s hand away from her face when she applied the salve to her tortured skin. “Do not fight me. If I do not put the medicine on your face, you will be scarred.”

As day passed into night Joanna could no longer stand the pain. She couldn’t see who this strange woman was who was hurting her. Her fever was high and she no longer remembered where she was. When the woman touched Joanna’s arm, she thought it was Franny; her body relaxed and she slept.

Tag had just ridden into camp, and when he saw Windhawk, he dismounted and ran to him. “Where is Joanna? I want to see her!”

By now, most of the people had gone to their lodges and
only Windhawk, his mother, and sister waited outside the medicine woman’s tipi. Windhawk was tortured by what had happened to Joanna. It was his fault that she might die. Seeing Tag’s eager eyes, he nodded toward the tipi.

“She is very ill, little brother. You cannot see her until the medicine woman says it is time.” The hardest thing Windhawk had ever been called upon to do was wait patiently while Joanna lay so near death. He had to keep reminding himself that he was chief, and should not let his emotions show where others could see.

Tag pushed Windhawk’s hand from his shoulder and bolted into the tipi. When he saw Joanna, he hardly recognized her. Her face was blistered and peeling, and her breathing was so shallow he could barely detect it. He fell down on his knees beside her and carefully picked up her hand, laying it against his face.

For so long he had been forced to live with the thought that Joanna was dead. It was very hard to find she still lived, but was gravely ill.

Tears fell from his eyes onto her hand. “Joanna, it’s me, Tag. You just gotta get well, Joanna. You gotta!”

She Who Heals placed her hand on Tag’s shoulder and motioned for him to leave.

“No,” he said stubbornly. “You can’t make me leave my sister.” Seeing she did not understand his words, he repeated them in the language of the Blackfoot.

Joanna heard Tag’s voice. It seemed to come from a long way off. She was dying, she thought, and Tag was waiting for her.

She Who Heals left the tipi thinking it might give Joanna comfort to have her brother with her, should she awaken.

Windhawk stood up as the medicine woman approached, fearing that she had come to tell him Joanna was dead. He took a deep breath and waited for her to speak.

“It does not go well for your woman, my chief. She has the light skin and was badly burned from the sun. We are dark skinned and do not suffer so from the sun-sickness.”

“What about her vision?” Windhawk asked.

She Who Heals made a hopeless gesture. “As her skin is light in color, so are her eyes. She suffers from snow-blindness. I have used very powerful medicine, and I have asked Napi to save your woman. I do not know if she will ever recover her sight. Her face was very badly burned, and she may have lasting scars.”

Morning Song gasped, and placed her hand on her brother’s arm. She could feel his body tremble, and knew that he was hurting on the inside. If one didn’t know Windhawk, he would never suspect how the medicine woman’s words had affected him. But Morning Song knew him and could tell that he was grief-stricken at She Who Heals’s work.

Sun Woman also knew what her son was feeling. “Come with me and I will prepare your food,” she told him.

Windhawk acted as if he hadn’t heard his mother’s voice. He walked past her and entered the tipi where Joanna lay.

Tag raised tear-bright eyes to Windhawk. “Is she going to die, Windhawk?” he asked in a choked voice.

Windhawk knelt down and looked into the face he loved so well. It was swollen and red, bearing no resemblance to his lovely Joanna. He had wanted revenge, but not this way. His heart cried out to her, wishing he could take her in his arms and beg for her forgiveness.

“I do not know, little brother,” he answered at last. “All rests with Napi.”

Windhawk sat down beside Tag and they both became silent. When She Who Heals returned, she also sat down and the long night’s vigil began. No one spoke as all eyes watched Joanna’s shallow breathing.

Windhawk reached out and touched Joanna’s bright hair. He wanted to tell her that he had not really meant to harm her. He had taken a fragile flower that should have been cared for with tenderness, allowing harm to come to her from his neglect.

He saw Tag slump over and knew the boy had fallen asleep. He pulled his red-gold head to rest upon his lap while he reached for Joanna’s hand. He felt great love for both the brother and sister.

Windhawk remembered Joanna had once told him that she couldn’t remain with him forever. At the time he had pushed her words out of his mind, not wanting to think that she could ever leave him. He now realized that he had used her harshly. He knew if she recovered, he would see that she was returned to her own people.

Though he would always carry the love in his heart for the flaming-haired one, Joanna had never really belonged to him. He had been allowed to hold her for a time, but now he must let her go free.

After a while, She Who Heals got up and began applying the healing ointment to Joanna’s face again. Joanna groaned but did not awaken.

Windhawk stood up and lifted Tag in his arms. With one last glance at Joanna, he carried her little brother to his mother’s lodge. He knew there would be no sleep for him tonight. He would return to sit beside Joanna. He felt the need to be near her, on the small chance that she might call out to him.