Elaine Barbieri (7 page)

The possibilities that had entered her mind had not relieved her uncertainties. Was he taking her to the Northern Cheyenne—where her father would never find her? Did he intend to sell her into slavery there, a practice rumored to be prevalent among the tribes? Or was this truly a cruel game he played? And if it was and he tired of it, what would he do then?

No, she didn’t like it one bit, especially when he had announced a short time earlier that they would halt for the day, had ordered her to set up camp, and had then left without another word—making sure to take both horses with him. She had liked it even less when he had returned and handed her a rabbit with orders to cook it.

Miranda looked at the lifeless, furry animal dangling from Shadow Walker’s hand and shivers of revulsion coursed down her spine. Preparing game had been the duty of the cook at the fort, and although her position as the fort commander’s daughter had afforded her few luxuries, she had never been faced with the gruesome task of skinning an animal.

Unwilling to admit that she had not the stomach for it, Miranda looked up into Shadow Walker’s unrevealing expression and added to her refusal, “You killed it. Cook it yourself.”

Looking at her a few silent moments longer, Shadow Walker then turned to scrutinize the surrounding area where a campfire had not been prepared, where blankets lay exactly as they had been left, and where the water pouches lay flat and empty. He said nothing, prompting Miranda to respond defiantly, “I’m not here willingly, and I don’t intend to act as if I am.”

Refusing to react to the flash of anger in Shadow Walker’s eyes, Miranda remained unmoving as he turned abruptly and walked away. She sat determinedly still until a campfire was burning and the game was set to cook, when Shadow Walker turned toward her coldly to say, “Your horse must be watered, then hobbled to graze nearby, where he will be ready for tomorrow’s journey.”

Miranda did not bother to respond.

His dark eyes turning to ice, Shadow Walker took both horses’s leads and turned toward the path to a stream nearby. Unmoving until he disappeared from sight, Miranda released a tense breath.

She would play his game, but she would play it her way.

Major Thurston walked out into the late afternoon shadows of the fort yard. He was immediately conscious of the abrupt silence that overtook the area at his appearance, and he stiffened spontaneously. He saw a few words being exchanged in whispers between soldiers standing in
the shadows, and he noted the uneasiness with which the troopers looked back at him. The sympathy of his men had been with him from the first moment when it became apparent that Miranda had been taken by the Cheyenne. He knew true anger at her capture simmered under the surface, that they accepted the trick she had played on Private Blake as youthful foolishness that had gone astray, and that most of his men were as frustrated as he. But this was different. The men knew something he didn’t. It was as if they were waiting for something.”

“Sir …”

Major Thurston turned toward the young trooper who had appeared at his side. The fellow’s mouth twitched nervously before he handed over a folded sheet of paper and said, “Corporal Small received this message over the wire a few minutes ago.”

Bad news traveled fast in a fort the size of Fort Walters, obviously faster than the time it took to reach him.

Rigid with apprehension, Charles unfolded the neatly printed message and read:

Aggressive contact with hostiles to be avoided until further notice.

Major Thurston stared at the missive, incredulous. There had been no further mention of Miranda despite his numerous communications to Washington. To them she was just another casualty of the western campaign.

A casualty.

No, he wouldn’t accept that! Miranda was alive. She was out there somewhere, and he was going to find her.

Crushing the paper in his hand, Charles turned back toward his office. There was no point in waiting for Indian agent Edwards’s help, or for help from anyone else on the frontier. With this communication, Washington had eliminated any recourse in what he must do.

Her stomach was growling.

Silent, Miranda sat across the campfire as darkness fell and Shadow Walker chewed the last remnants of a portion of roasted meat, then discarded the bone. He did not look at her as he cut another slice from the carcass and continued eating. She stared at the few pieces remaining. The aroma wafting from the meat had tantalized her for the past hour, and the sight of juices dripping into the fire as
it cooked had left her salivating. Her heart had actually begun pounding when Shadow Walker had removed the roast from the spit.

He had eaten one piece after another without offering her any. Watching as Shadow Walker’s even, white teeth sank into the savory meat, she had become so deeply absorbed that she had almost been able to taste it.

Almost.

Turning away in time to avoid his glance when he looked up at her, Miranda pretended an interest in the shadows of the wooded copse nearby. She suspected, however, that her pitiful ruse could fool no one—especially when her stomach rumbled again, too loudly to be ignored.

But Shadow Walker did ignore it, and she was silently enraged. If he thought she would beg him for something to eat, he was badly mistaken. She’d starve first!

Determined, she reached for the water pouch—anything to quiet her traitorous stomach. She drew back when he leaned over and snatched it back from her grasp without a word.

No food, no water.

Well, he couldn’t stop her from going to the stream to get her own water.

Pulling herself to her feet, Miranda started down the path toward the stream, her step slowing as the shadows closed in to obscure the trail. Glancing upward, she realized that the moon had slipped behind a bank of clouds,
and her frustration mounted. Stumbling forward, she stepped on a sharp stone and bit back a groan when it pierced the sole of her bare foot. She walked a few more feet, then stepped on something that was cold and slimy. Gasping aloud, she jumped back, then glanced behind her, grateful there was no movement at the campfire and Shadow Walker had not heard her.

An arm outstretched in front of her to avoid contact with any unseen obstacles, her heart pounding at the rustling sounds in the darkness, Miranda continued walking forward. Reaching the stream at last, she kneeled down to scoop water into her mouth. She gulped it greedily, then spat it out again when her mouth was filled with grit.

Sitting back on her heels, Miranda felt tears brimming.

Suddenly furious with her tears, she brushed them away and stood. No, she wasn’t going to let one dark, hungry night defeat her. She’d show him!

Arms again outstretched, she stumbled back up the trail toward the camp. Her throat choking tight with relief when the campfire came into view, she stopped to assume full control of her emotions, then walked back to her blanket with a confident stride.

Deliberately averting her gaze when Shadow Walker removed the remaining meat from the fire, Miranda held her breath. Surely he would offer her some.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Shadow Walker wrapped the meat carefully in a cloth and stored it
nearby. Hunger gnawing, she saw him lie down and pull his blanket around him. She waited as minutes passed. Incredulous, she realized he was already asleep!

Furious, she pulled her blanket up over her head and closed her eyes … hoping he wouldn’t hear the continued rumbling of her stomach.

The girl was hungry.

His eyes closed, his back turned to the pale-haired female lying across the fire, Shadow Walker heard the angry complaining of her stomach that would not cease. He remembered the look on her face as the meat had cooked and the aroma had begun filling the clearing. The day had been long and wearying. Dried jerky had filled the emptiness of their stomachs as they had traveled, but it had left a desire for more. Yet the girl’s unyielding attitude when they’d halted for the night had determined what had followed.

He had hunted the game, prepared it, then lit a fire to cook it. He had watered the horses and hobbled them nearby to graze. He had prepared the camp for the night to come—all while the girl had silently watched, unwilling to contribute to the camp.

It had not escaped his notice that although she had sat silently through his labors, she had obviously enjoyed the realization that a simple refusal had freed her from chores which he had then assumed. Her enjoyment had ended,
however, when the meat was ready to be eaten.

In truth, his enjoyment in satiating his hunger had suffered with knowing that the girl’s stomach remained empty. Bound to his word, he had also halted her attempt to drink from the water pouch, aware that she was thirsty. He had not looked up when she’d started toward the stream, but he had watched her covertly. He had heard her stumble, then gasp, and he had barely restrained a compulsion to rush to her side. He had listened to her faltering step on the way to the stream, then to her violent rejection of the water she drank. And he had heard her revealing hesitation before she’d walked boldly back into camp.

Lessons hard learned.

And there were more to come.

He had not taken into account, however, that the difficult lessons the girl would be taught might be painful for him as well.

Shadow Walker closed his eyes, again feigning sleep. Despite himself, he wondered what it would be like to have this golden-haired girl look at him without hatred, for her defiance to be assuaged, for her to smile at him in the way she had smiled only briefly.

But the girl was angry. She wanted to return to her people. She believed she would find a way to escape, although he knew she would not. When he was ready, he would bring her back to the Cheyenne camp to serve Rattling Blanket freely, as he had promised, and there she
would stay. She was his captive, a gift to an old woman who was deserving.

Yet somehow she was something more.

That thought settled uncomfortably inside him as Shadow Walker willed himself to sleep in preparation for the day to come.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Miranda whispered a soft, unintelligible sound. She felt strong arms drawing her comfortingly close. She felt a hard body sharing its warmth with her as she burrowed against it, struggling to escape the numbing cold that encompassed her. She—

She awakened with a start and glanced around her. Struggling to clear her senses, she realized that it was morning, that she was alone in a primitive camp, and that stretching as far as her eyes could see was a breathtaking vista of sunlit, rolling hills against a backdrop of majestic mountains.

Miranda looked across the fire where the blanket that Shadow Walker had abandoned still lay on the ground. She glanced up at the sound of footsteps to see Shadow Walker emerging from the trail to the stream. His chest bared, his dark hair hanging wet and gleaming against his back, he had obviously just come from bathing. That vague memory … the strong arms that had held her and the warmth she had felt pressed against her, the gentle touch—it had been a dream.

Or had it?

Miranda stared at Shadow Walker as he crouched by the fire, then he looked at her and said, “We leave soon. It is time to ready yourself.”

She watched as he unwrapped the roasted meat from the previous night and began eating. Unwilling to watch as he consumed it all, Miranda jumped to her feet and started toward the stream. She returned to find Shadow Walker mounted, with her horse on a lead.

Silently cursing as hunger gnawed sharply, she attempted to mount, only to be halted when Shadow Walker drew her mount from her grasp, then nudged his horse into motion while drawing her mount behind him.

Realization came slowly as Miranda remained behind in the camp where the fire had been doused and scattered, and all signs of their presence erased. Shadow Walker had given her a choice … to remain behind on her own, or to follow on foot like a chastised penitent.

Miranda hesitated, her heart pounding as she turned slowly to survey the wilderness terrain surrounding her. Miles and miles were visible to her eye, without a sign of civilization in sight. Without food, a manner of transportation, and a way to carry water, she was helpless.

This wasn’t a chance to escape. It was abandonment.

Miranda turned to look at Shadow Walker’s departing figure where he rode at a leisurely pace without looking back. Battling frustrated fury, she knew what her fate would
be if she allowed obstinance to overwhelm common sense—a mistake she had made once before with drastic results.

Vowing vengeance, Miranda followed.

Spotted Bear glanced briefly up at the morning sky as he walked toward the field where his mount grazed. His sleep restless, he had risen early. The communication from Washington remained unanswered while Chief White Horse kept his own council and the braves argued as to the best way to effect Red Shirt’s release. But Spotted Bear knew that neither the response that went unanswered nor Red Shirt’s situation was the reason for his unrest.