Wolf Runner (19 page)

Wolf Runner kissed her with a passion that took her breath away, his arms tightening fiercely about her. She found herself quivering with a need she couldn’t understand. She could feel the power in him, the need that tore at him, for it tore at her as well.

Pulling back, Wolf Runner studied her for a long moment. He bent his head and his ebony hair slid across his face, and he flipped it back with a trembling hand.

“Cheyenne,” he began, his voice no more than a raspy whisper, “I want you. I look in your eyes for answers and I believe you want me as well.” He raised her hand and placed it on his chest. “Feel how my heart beats for you.”

She needed to clarify something that she had been avoiding, so she asked, “Please tell me the truth—did you only take me to my grandfather so you could kill Night Fighter?”

Wolf Runner did not speak for a moment. “I did use your journey to get to him,” he answered truthfully, tangling his hand in her hair. He was glad she finally knew the truth. “But somewhere along the way, I began to want you.”

“You mean you wanted my body?”

Her innocent question stopped his hand from sweeping across her breasts. “Yes.” He closed his eyes
for a brief moment before his heated gaze settled on hers. “That and other things I cannot have from you,” he admitted as if the words were forced through his lips. The anguish he saw in her eyes was like a knife slammed into his heart.

There was no warmth in her voice when she said, “Take what you will of me. I give it freely.”

Slowly lowering his head, Wolf Runner’s mouth shaped to hers, but her lips did not soften beneath his. She tried not to think of his motive for helping her as a betrayal. But as Wolf Runner’s hands moved beneath her gown, pulling it up and off, and his mouth moved down to her breasts, Cheyenne became incapable of any thought at all. She could only revel in pleasure, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Do you want this?” he breathed against her ear, then pulled back to gaze into her fever-bright eyes. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Her plea was ripped from her throat. “Don’t stop,” she said, moving her head so she could press her lips to his. Some small part of her wanted to shove him away, but that part was quickly overruled as her body yearned for his touch.

Wolf Runner cursed himself for doing this to her, but he would no longer be denied the woman he loved, the one who stirred his blood as no other woman ever had.

He drew back and looked at her, with the campfire glittering across her beautiful body. His hands were gentle as they swept across her breasts, past her small waist, then moved caressingly over her hips, stopping on her flat stomach, and his voice came out raspy as he said, “We were made for each other. If your God had a plan, I believe it was to send me to Santa Fe to find you.”

Cheyenne stared into flaming eyes. Reaching out to touch his dark hair, which had tumbled onto her chest, she closed her eyes, her mind taking her back to reality. “And I believe he sent you to merely use me.”

When she opened her eyes again, he saw the anguish in their depths, and felt as if pieces of himself were being ripped away. “I cannot blame you for feeling that way. In the beginning it was true, but, Cheyenne, it is not true now.”

She cried out as his head bent and his mouth took hers in a mind-stealing kiss. He touched his mouth to her brow, kissed her closed eyes, and rubbed his lips against hers. When his hand moved lower, Cheyenne moaned with pleasure. Yes, they were made for each other—and she would always be his. The other woman did not matter to her at the moment, only his words and his touch mattered.

There was no world outside the wonderful feeling that coursed through her body, awakening needs that would not be denied. Cheyenne did not know why she loved Wolf Runner; she only knew she did, deeply and lastingly.

Suddenly Satanta come running out of the woods, then stood beside them, his wolf eyes seeing into the darkness, his acute hearing catching a sound they had not heard.

Wolf Runner broke off his kiss and frowned, becoming alert. He pulled the blanket over Cheyenne and stood, his gaze sweeping the darkness. In a swift move he piled dirt on the fire, throwing the camp into darkness. “As quietly as possible, get dressed,” he told Cheyenne. “Someone is approaching from the west.”

Cheyenne quickly obeyed, although she heard no
sound until the rider emerged from the woods. She felt the tension drain out of Wolf Runner, so he must know and trust the Indian that approached.

“Have no fear, Cheyenne. It is Firethorn.”

Firethorn slid off his horse and grinned at Wolf Runner. “You are growing careless, my friend. You were making so much noise I heard you from deep in the woods.”

“You did not hear anything; you followed the campfire,” Wolf Runner told him.

Firethorn’s gaze moved to Cheyenne. “Who is this woman?”

“Someone who needs looking after. I will tell you about her later. Why are you here?”

“We got word this afternoon that you and this woman had passed onto Blackfoot land. We also got word that five Cheyenne warriors in full war paint were following you. They have been tracking you most of the day, but made camp less than a mile away. If I saw your campfire, so did they.”

Wolf Runner had not known he was being followed, and he should have. His mind had been on Cheyenne, who was now staring at Firethorn with a puzzled expression.

Cheyenne watched the two warriors talk, not understanding their words. Her heart was still thundering inside her, and she could still feel Wolf Runner’s kiss on her lips.

Wolf Runner buckled his knife about his waist. “I need to explain to her what has happened.”

Firethorn studied his friend, his eyes narrowing. “What is this woman to you? I know what was happening between the two of you when I rode into camp. Why would you want to be with her when Blue Dawn waits for you?”

Wolf Runner spun around, facing his friend. “What I do is no concern of yours.”

Firethorn’s eyes narrowed. “What is she to you?”

Wolf Runner was angry. “The woman’s name is Cheyenne. Right now, the most important thing to me is her safety.”

Firethorn nodded. “You are right—it is not my concern, but those Cheyenne warriors who follow you are.” He looked at the woman and saw confusion in her eyes. He traced the lines of her face and noticed she was a half-breed. “Tell me what you want me to do and I will do it.”

“Take Cheyenne to my mother. I will backtrack and find out about those who follow us, although I suspect the leader is Night Fighter.”

“Then I should go with you,” Firethorn said. “Surely the woman will come to no harm if the wolf remains with her. There are too many for you to face alone.”

Wolf Runner hoisted himself onto his horse and said to his friend in Blackfoot, “I go alone.” Glancing at the clouds overhead he frowned. “A storm is coming and she will need you.” He was quiet for a moment as he tried to decide how to answer his friend, who looked puzzled. “Know this, Cheyenne is the woman of my heart. Take care of her for me.”

Firethorn’s eyes widened. “I understand better than you think I do.”

Cheyenne held out her hand to Wolf Runner. “What is happening? Are you leaving me?”

“Firethorn will take you to our village. You will come to no harm there.”

Before Cheyenne could utter a word, Wolf Runner turned his mount and rode away, leaving her with the stranger.

“Do you speak English?” she quickly asked the warrior.

Firethorn shook his head and went about breaking camp.

“Satanta,” she called to the wolf. “Go with Wolf Runner. Go.”

The wolf looked at her for a moment before tearing off in the direction Wolf Runner had ridden.

“What am I to do?” she asked, turning to Firethorn.

Firethorn shrugged his shoulders and motioned for her to saddle her horse, which she did without hesitation.

Something had happened and Cheyenne did not know what it was, and this Blackfoot could not tell her. Wolf Runner was in danger—she felt it in her heart.

Cheyenne lowered her head as her horse trudged through a swirling, blinding snowstorm. Closing her eyes, Cheyenne warmed herself by remembering every word Wolf Runner had spoken to her. She was not sure he loved her as she loved him, but he wanted her, and that was enough for now. He said they had been created for each other, and she believed that.

Bone-weary, Cheyenne wished the warrior would stop so they could rest—he had been pushing them hard through half the night and most of the day—the horses were lathered and tired, but still he pushed them onward.

The sun had dropped behind the pine trees and it would soon be dark.

Why can we not stop to rest?
she wondered, thinking she had never been so weary.

Something or someone dangerous had been following them, of that she was certain.

As the horses struggled up a snow-slick hill, Fire-thorn paused at the top and pointed below, saying something Cheyenne did not understand.

Blinking her eyes against the heavy snow, she could see nothing beyond her horse’s head.

Suddenly Cheyenne could make out the flicker of a campfire, and as they rode farther, she saw many campfires and the outline of many tipis. It was a huge camp. Breathing a sigh of relief, she realized they had finally reached Wolf Runner’s village.

As they started down the hill at a slow pace, the sure-footed horses picking their way across the slick ground, Cheyenne did not know whether to be happy or apprehensive.

When they entered the village, there were few people about. She imagined they had sought the warmth of their lodges to escape the snowstorm. But Wolf Runner was still out there, alone and in danger in the storm.

Firethorn led Cheyenne past many tipis, finally stopping before one. He slid off his horse and motioned for her to follow him inside.

Cheyenne entered after Firethorn and he began talking to a tall Indian who looked very much like Wolf Runner, so she knew she was in the presence of Wolf Runner’s father.

The two men spoke in Blackfoot, and the older man glanced at Cheyenne and nodded. When Firethorn abruptly left, Cheyenne examined the Indian, waiting for him to acknowledge her. He was tall, like Wolf Runner, and handsome of face. His hair was dark with no sign of gray. Even with the robe draped about his shoulders, she could tell he was built like Wolf Runner with broad shoulders and muscled arms.

Wind Warrior studied Cheyenne for a long moment before he spoke to her in Blackfoot.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I do not understand you.”

“I was saying,” he said, switching to English, “that you are welcome in our lodge. We had heard our son was traveling with you. And you are Ivy Gatlin’s granddaughter?”

She was surprised he knew of her and her grandmother. “Yes, I am. How did you know?”

Wind Warrior smiled. “There are few secrets once you cross into Blackfoot land.”

Cheyenne looked at him skeptically.

“We got a telegram from Cullen, telling us your grandmother died and you had left Santa Fe. My wife was certain it was you who traveled with our son. We are saddened by the death of your grandmother.”

Cheyenne could feel the power that surrounded this man. His eyes were probing, and she felt like he could read her every thought. Before she could answer him, the tipi flap was thrown aside and a woman entered.

Her hair, the color of summer wheat, was braided and woven with colorful beads. She wore a long buckskin gown and high moccasins, and Cheyenne stared into green eyes that were also studying her. Wolf Runner’s mother—and the reason his dark eyes were flecked with green.

“You must be Ivy Gatlin’s granddaughter,” she said, coming forward and sliding her arm around Cheyenne’s shoulder, drawing her closer to the warming fire. “You are most welcome in our home.”

For reasons Cheyenne could not understand, tears gathered in her eyes and she leaned her head on Rain Song’s comforting shoulder.

Wind Warrior left when Rain Song nodded at him.

She took Cheyenne’s hand. “Do not be distressed,” Rain Song said. “You are among friends.”

“Life has been so uncertain for so long,” Cheyenne said, drying her eyes, and ashamed to have shown her emotions. “I didn’t mean to cry.”

Rain Song removed Cheyenne’s damp robe, replacing it with a warm blanket. “You carry many burdens. Rest at the fire of a friend and have something warm to eat. Then you can sleep.”

“Can you tell me about Wolf Runner—is he in danger?” Cheyenne searched Rain Song’s eyes. “I had the feeling he was going into some kind of battle. Can you tell me about it?”

“Our son was being followed by several Cheyenne warriors. Firethorn thought they were a threat.”

“Surely Wolf Runner will not take them on by himself,” Cheyenne said, pressing her hand over her pounding heart.

“It is possible he will,” Rain Song said. “But you should not be concerned. Even now Firethorn is gathering warriors to join my son.”

“Wolf Runner has Satanta with him,” Cheyenne said.

“Then that will be in his favor,” Rain Song said, motioning for her to sit beside the fire.

The two women looked at each other, each trying to hide their worry from the other.

Rain Song scooped up a bowl of stew that was bubbling over the fire. “You must look after your health,” she said, the mother in her coming out. “You are tiny—it looks to me as if you have not been eating properly. But then one cannot have a steady diet when traveling such a great distance.”

“I have always been this size,” Cheyenne said, taking
a bite of stew, and thinking it was delicious, but she was so worried about Wolf Runner, she could hardly swallow it.

“My son has been trained to take care of himself,” Rain Song told her. “He will not act hastily, or without thinking ahead.”

Nodding, Cheyenne swallowed. “I know he is brave and strong. But I fear the man he faces is my cousin, Night Fighter, who will act without honor.”

Rain Song studied the young woman. “You care for my son.”

“Who would not? He has put himself in danger more than once to protect me.” Cheyenne proceeded to tell Wolf Runner’s mother about the events that had happened on the journey. She was not aware she was crying when she told his mother how Wolf Runner had returned for her after her grandfather died.