Sundancer (Cheyenne Series) (6 page)

      
As they walked along the winding path into a wooded thicket near the stream, Roxanna persisted with her questions. To her frustration, none of the young women with her would attempt an answer, although she knew they understood what she wished to know. Did this portend something bad? She had an increasingly uneasy feeling about the mysterious half-breed and decided she would find Sees Much upon returning to camp and demand that he explain what was going on.

      
After digging roots for several hours, Roxanna felt sweaty and hot in the noonday heat. When the leader of the women set aside her digging stick and well-filled basket, she indicated that it was time for bathing in the stream. Roxanna had been amazed at the cleanliness of this savage people who bathed daily. The warriors, so Sees Much told her, even swam in the creeks in the coldest weather. Considering all the odoriferous whites she had encountered on her journey from St. Louis, she found the comparison between savage and “civilized” unsettling.

      
The women quickly stripped away their soft buckskin tunics and leggings, unashamed of their nudity. Roxanna had not yet become as comfortable, especially since her very fair coloring always elicited stares and giggles from the Cheyenne women, who thought nothing of pointing and poking at her most intimate body parts in curiosity. At first, as she stood rigidly, they had unceremoniously pulled off her soiled and torn gown, exclaiming over all the layers of clothing white females wore. Her ruined travel suit and undergarments were consigned to the fire and she was thrown into the cold clear stream. Thankfully, Roxanna knew how to swim, having secretly been taught as a child by her older brother, much to their mother's horror.

      
After the first few days they had allowed her privacy for ablutions. Out in this vast trackless wilderness there was nowhere to run on foot. Roxanna had been learning the routine in the village, especially where the large herd of horses was kept at night. As she peeled off the buckskin garments and walked into an isolated stretch of the stream a hundred yards above the other women, she considered her escape plans. Should she wait until she learned what the stranger was here for? Was he some sort of slaver who would take her off and sell her to another tribe, or had he been sent by Jubal MacKenzie?

      
As Roxanna considered her alternatives, Cain walked away from the camp, headed to where Sees Much had told him the women were working. He wanted to have a look at old Jubal's granddaughter. If there was a family resemblance, she'd doubtless be homely as hammered mud. When he heard the giggling and splashing, he knew the women had completed their chores and were bathing. Tempting as a peek was, he knew the stern morality of Cheyenne life forbade warriors from spying on maidens. He'd already broken enough tribal rules. There was no sense in jeopardizing his mission just to satisfy prurient curiosity.

      
He wandered aimlessly upstream away from the women, mulling over what he would do once he had Alexa Hunt in custody. As a Scotsman and an easterner, MacKenzie had no idea how adversely his granddaughter's captivity would affect her marriage prospects if anyone learned of it. He smiled grimly. Andrew Powell would break the engagement just because the girl spent a week alone in his company, the rest of the Indians be damned!

      
The soft rippling hum of cool water invited him to approach a chokecherry thicket. Perhaps a dip would clear his head. He walked soundlessly through the bushes to a fallen log. Tugging his shirt over his head, he tossed it onto the log, then sat on it and pulled off his boots. Just as he stood up and unbuckled his gunbelt, he heard a loud splash, followed by a contented feminine sigh. Cain froze, then peered through a thin spray of willow branches.

      
The sight which greeted him robbed him of breath. Gleaming long hair, the color of silver and gold melded together, fanned out across the water as Alexa Hunt lazed on her back, kicking just enough to propel herself away from the swifter current. A set of small breasts peeked impudently through the translucent curtain of water, their pale pink nipples beaded with cold. In repose her face looked more mature than he would have expected. It was delicately formed yet surprisingly strong, the nose aquiline and the mouth firm and full. Her high forehead was crowned by arched silvery eyebrows and thick pale lashes fanned down covering wide-set eyes. He wondered irrelevantly what color they were.

      
Lord, she’s a piece!
This water nymph certainly did not resemble her grandfather! Cain knew he should not continue to spy, but he could not tear his eyes away as she raised one delicate arm and began to backstroke through the water. Her body was long and slender, elegantly formed. He judged her to be a bit above average height for a white woman. When she reached the shallows and stood up, he could see his guess was accurate...and a great deal more. His body leaped to life, setting off the old familiar throb. He'd been far too long without a woman, and this one was certainly forbidden. Jubal MacKenzie would have him flayed alive if he touched Alexa Hunt. Like all the best things in life, she was destined for another.

      
Deep in thought, Cain did not realize how close she was coming to his meager hiding place until her sharp gasp echoed in the warm afternoon silence. Now she was the one to freeze in shock as clear turquoise eyes peered at him through the sheer curtain of willow leaves. Water glistened on her alabaster skin like small silvery jewels, sliding over the satiny curves of her breasts, hips and calves. He felt an insane urge to run his hands all over that pale skin, to dry it with the heat of his mouth.

      
Roxanna saw the slight movement of something ahead of her, then realized that it was a man.
Him!
He was half naked, barefoot, no doubt to better sneak up on her. A pattern of black chest hair tapered narrowly beneath his tight woolen breeches, now bulging with the unmistakable evidence of his lust. Those black eyes were fathomless as a night sky, piercing her as if he could see through her skin right down to her bones! She should have turned and run, or at least covered herself, but some instinct made her realize that he would expect that. Instead she stared back at him defiantly.

      
“I can see why Sees Much named you Her Back Is Straight,” Cain said as she reached for the buckskin tunic laying on the grass. She held it regally in front of herself, refusing to back down.

      
Damn his infuriating smile! “Who are you, besides being an ill-mannered lout?”
Not well advised, Roxy
, she thought the moment the words burst from her mouth.

      
“My name is Cain, Miss Hunt,” he replied, the grin of admiration broadening as he tipped his head politely. “Your grandfather hired me to bring you home safely.”

      
“Is this the usual way you earn your money, sneaking around in the brush, spying on your employer's granddaughter while she's bathing? Even the full-blooded Indians have more manners.” His face darkened ominously, erasing the cocky grin. Roxanna knew at once that she'd struck a nerve when he stepped toward her in one lithe pantherish stride, blocking her only way out of the thicket.

      
“I wouldn't advise screaming—unless you want to bring down half of old Leather Shirt's warriors to see all that lily white skin.” He did not touch her, but it was costing him dearly.

      
Damn her, but he wanted her—and he hated himself for it. As long as he could remember, from the time he first started to shave, white women found him fascinating and repellent at the same time. The lure of the forbidden, he supposed, a savage in white man's clothing, educated, a curiosity who could eat with a knife and fork, even quote Shakespeare. God above, how he hated his mixed blood! Taking a deep calming breath, he assessed her with insulting slowness, enjoying the rosy flush of embarrassment that tinged her cheeks and spread downward. “That tunic you're holding can only conceal so much. Besides, I've seen all there is to see already.”

      
“You are insufferably crude!” she finally managed to grate out, though her mouth was as dry as dust.

      
“And you are insufferably arrogant. About what I'd expect of Jubal's get.”

      
He did not grab hold of her. What sort of cat-and-mouse game did he play? Roxanna felt her temper begin to rise again and forcibly tamped it down. “If my grandfather learned that one of his workers had taken liberties with me, he'd have that man's hide.” Knowing what Alexa had told her about the old Scot, that seemed a safe assumption.

      
“So he would...but first I have to get you out of Leather Shirt's camp and safely back to your grandfather.”
      
He started to turn away, then paused and added, “Oh, I wouldn't wander off on your own like this anymore. I've seen Pawnee sign around here. If they captured you from their enemies, you can bet they'd treat you a hell of a lot worse than anything you've seen yet.”

      
With that ominous warning, he walked past her, heading toward the water. She could see that he was unbuttoning his fly preparatory to shucking his breeches, and for one insane instant she waited, wanting to see the rest of his long-legged hard body. Then his voice interrupted the shocking course of her thoughts.

      
Tsking mockingly, he said, “For shame, Miss Hunt. If your grandfather learned you had taken the liberty of inspecting the tools of one of his workers, he might just tan your hide.”

      
She scrambled up the path toward the other women, clutching her clothing in tightened fists. His soft mocking laughter rang in her ears.

      
When she returned to camp, Roxanna thought the old shaman wore a self-satisfied expression on his face, as if he knew what had transpired between her and the hateful half-breed. Still stinging with fury and embarrassment and some other unnamed emotion, she set to work with Sees Much's granddaughter preparing the evening meal. The simple task of chopping wild onions and tubers for the stew pot soothed her agitation a bit as she listened to the other women's chatter. It took little to deduce that they were excited about Cain's visit.

      
‘This man, Cain, he has visited your people before?” she asked Lark Song.

      
The pretty Cheyenne giggled and nodded. “Not visit. Him live...with mother.”

      
Willow Tree, older and a bit more sophisticated, frowned at her sister's obvious infatuation. “Not Cheyenne is cut hair. Bad heart for People.”

      
“Bad for any people,” Roxanna muttered beneath her breath. So these were his mother's people? “Who was his father?” The question seemed to ask itself.

      
“His Eyes Are Cold, far away,” Willow Tree said with a curt gesture, indicating the subject was closed.

      
Before Roxanna could remonstrate further, Leather Shirt approached with Cain and Sees Much. They were conversing in Cheyenne, apparently discussing the contents of the packs, which the half-breed now began to open. Soon a crowd of warriors gathered, all standing respectfully back from the campfire, watching intently. Cain pulled out a rifle with a shiny brass magazine, which Roxanna had learned on her journey west was a Winchester “Yellow Boy,” the weapon most favored by the plains tribes. A murmur of awe went up as Cain spoke, gesturing to the other packs. No wonder they were so heavy. He must have brought a whole arsenal of the coveted long arms!

      
The discussion continued for a while, then the crowd dispersed and the leaders of the band adjourned inside the lodge, which had its buffalo-hide sides rolled up to admit the cooling breeze. Leather Shirt prepared a pipe and lit it, going through the elaborate ceremonial ritual, which she had watched on numerous occasions since being captured by these alien people.

      
The women finished preparing the evening meal for the men. Willow Tree ladled a generous portion of the rich turtle stew into a bowl, then said ‘Take, feed,” gesturing to Cain.

      
A look of consternation flashed across Roxanna’s face before she erased it. She had quickly learned that disobeying a command was not tolerated. Lark Song was already bowing before Leather Shirt and Sees Much, placing their food in front of them. Roxanna took the bowl, gritting her teeth at the injustice of having to kneel before that insufferable brigand. If he gave her another of those infuriating grins, she'd dump the scalding bowl over his head, and devil take the consequences.

      
Cain watched her approach from the corner of his eye, knowing how much an aristocratic white lady would abhor having to perform such a menial task for a white man, much less a breed. The look in those fierce turquoise eyes was murderous, but she schooled her expression to impassivity as she knelt gracefully before him with the bowl. When he took it from her, his fingers brushed hers lightly and she flinched. In spite of hard camp labor, her hands remained surprisingly smooth and pale. Sees Much was going easy on her.

      
As was their custom, the older men stabbed large chunks of meat and vegetables with their knives, gulped broth from their bowls and wiped their mouths with the back of their hands. Well aware of how a woman like her set store in refined table manners, he knew she must find this appalling. Damning her, he extracted a juicy piece of turtle and chewed it, then drank deeply of the sweet savory broth.

      
Roxanna felt his eyes on her as he consumed the food. She knelt on her heels as she'd been taught, waiting to bring more food if he wished it. When his long brown fingers had grazed hers, she had almost dropped the bowl. A powerful current of some mysterious sort seemed to leap from him to her and back. She knew he had felt it too.