Warrior's Embrace (69 page)

Not again. He wouldn’t let the avenger win
again.

He jerked the reins away from her and carried
her outside. The police guards had swarmed from their posts and
formed a bucket brigade. In the distance the fire truck’s siren
wailed.

Eagle pulled the burliest guard out of the
lineup and thrust Kate toward him.

“Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Inside the barn, his stallion was thrashing
the air with his hooves. Mahli’s nostrils flared as she screamed
with terror. Smoke burned Eagle’s eyes and lungs, and flame licked
up the hay on its ruthless march toward the walls.

Calling on all his skills as a horseman,
Eagle mounted Mahli’s back and grabbed the stallion’s reins. The
horses leapt through the door, then raced with demonic speed across
the pasture while Eagle tried to control their terror.

Behind him, fire trucks circled and water
arced toward the blaze. Firemen swarmed into the adjacent stables
to release stall gates, and Eagle’s other horses catapulted into
the night.

By the time he brought Mahli to a halt and
returned to the scene, the fire was under control. Kate sat on a
tree root, drinking coffee someone had brought to her while a
policeman stood guard, and Martin Black Elk stalked around with his
hands rammed into his pockets and a scowl on his face.

“We’re damned lucky the fire trucks got here
in time to save your barn,” he said.

The barn was the least of Eagle’s
worries.

“I’m taking Kate out of here.”

“Six guards, and still he got through.” Black
Elk shook his head.

“Did you find any signs at all?”

“None. Whoever did this is a genius ...or a
madman. I’ll send more men to guard your house.”

“No. The only way I can protect Kate is to
take her where no one will follow.”

o0o

They left in the middle of the night after
everyone had gone.

This time Kate hadn’t questioned Eagle’s
judgment, hadn’t even questioned where he was taking her. Riding a
big bay from his stables, she kept pace with him. Snow had begun to
fall once more, and it powdered their clothes and covered their
trail as they traveled. She lost track of time, depending instead
on Eagle, who possessed mysterious instincts that guided them
through a world as white and silent as death.

They didn’t stop until dawn. Eagle held up
his right hand, and Kate drew her mount to a halt.

“We’ll pitch camp here.”

It was a desolate place, high in the
mountains, where nothing moved except a lone eagle winging his
audacious way toward the rising sun. Their campsite, tucked under
the shelf of an enormous rock, provided a natural fortress and
afforded them a panoramic view of the mountains.

They tended and sheltered the horses; then
Kate fell exhausted into the tent, bundled into a sleeping bag with
all her clothes on.

Eagle kept watch until the sun spilled its
unforgiving light around them, and then he lay down beside Kate. No
person, either genius or madman, would attack such a place in broad
daylight.

o0o

He came fully alert, drawn by a compelling
force from a deep, dreamless sleep. Rolling onto his side, Eagle
looked straight into the eyes of Kate Malone. Everything they’d
ever been to each other shone in her green eyes, burned there until
his skin caught fire and there was nothing he could do except try
to put out the flames.

Wordless, he held out his hand and she
tumbled down upon him, silky and fragrant, her body rich with the
mysteries he remembered so well. There was no haste, for they were
alone on the desolate mountain, alone in the cold sunlight and the
ice-bound canyons.

She had not changed in five years except for
the slight, more exotic ripeness of her body and the desperate edge
to her desire. As he discovered her anew, he wondered how he could
have chosen the howling loneliness of honor and duty over the
eternal renewal of passion.

Fully sheathed in her, he lifted himself on
his elbows so he could read her face and eyes. Still as a cat, she
waited, her body trembling with the same carnal impatience as his.
They stared at each other, breathless with fear and wonder.

There was no turning back now. From the
moment he’d held out his hand, he had set them on a course that
would rock the mountains and shatter the very foundations of their
lives.

“
Waka
ahina uno, iskunosi
Wictonaye
,” he whispered. “
Waka
.”

Later, he would not remember who had moved
first, but that slight nudge of hip against hip, of flesh against
flesh, exploded through them like a thousand rivers unleashed and
roaring through the canyons.

The sun climbed through the sky, gradually
burning away the blue, but they knew neither time nor place nor
hunger. For the two of them there was only discovery, time and
again, of the slow sweet death of passion and the resurrection of
fulfillment.

When bands of hot gold gilded the western
mountaintops, Eagle spread Kate upon his blanket, arranging her
lush and languid limbs for a celebration of the magic circle of
life. Her lips closed around him as they began the slow spin on the
medicine wheel that would take them through the sunset and into the
gray edge of evening.

Afterward, sitting side by side, eating beef
jerky and drinking tepid coffee from a thermos, they didn’t speak
of what had happened.

“I’m going to scout around, Kate.” Eagle
found her gun among her belongings and placed it in her hand. “Sit
with your back to the wall and your gun aimed at the door. Shoot
anything that tries to come through.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“No more than an hour.”

She reached out and touched his lips, once,
softly.

“Be careful, Eagle.”

Armed with his knife and his rifle, he left
her there, sitting with her gun cocked and aimed at the tent door.
The snow stretched clean and untouched around their campsite. Eagle
fed the horses the sweet oats he’d packed then set out to find the
enemy.

All Eagle’s senses came alert. The enemy was
out there, not watching, but waiting somewhere in a dark lair,
waiting like an animal who knows his prey is nearby.

The first sign was a broken branch, less than
half a mile from the campsite. Eagle studied the surrounding area.
Either through carelessness or overconfidence the avenger had not
bothered to cover his trail. Snow had covered his tracks, but the
trees and bushes held evidence of his passing. A thread had been
snagged from his jeans. Low-lying limbs had been knocked clean of
their burden of snow. Some of them were crooked and broken.

Eagle tracked, following the clear trail.
Around the side of a huge boulder he stopped, rooted to the spot by
fear and a terrible sense of foreboding. Planted in the ground was
the red war pole, and carved deep in the snow at its base was the
perfect imprint of a man, lying spread-eagle with his face pressed
to the earth.

The size and shape of his body were as
familiar to Eagle as his own. Terror paralyzed him, and denial rose
screaming through his throat. He bit his lip so hard, he tasted
blood.

Kneeling, he placed his hand in the
indentation, right where the man’s hand had been. A perfect
fit.

“No,” he whispered. “No.”

He leaned close, studying the imprint,
touching to assure himself that he was not deceived. There, his
high cheekbones had been. And there, his wide chest. There, his
coat had been open so the ornate belt buckle could press the snow.
There, the scabbard for his knife. And there, his soft beaded
boots.

Suddenly Eagle’s hand closed over a small
object, a familiar Italian blue glass bead, ancient and cherished,
twin to the ones that decorated his own boots. Clutching the bead
in his hand, he shook his fist at the sky.

Eagle knew the avenger ...his enemy ...his
brother.

o0o

“Kate. It’s Eagle.” He called her from a
distance, and she put her gun down and met him outside the tent
door.

The first thing she noticed was the
red-painted pole in his hand. A sinking sense of dread spread
through her, making her arms heavy and her legs limp.

“You found him?”

“No. Only signs.”

Silently he planted the pole outside their
tent, planted it so deep and so hard that its top whipped back and
forth as if strong winds were shaking it. Kate’s dread became a
nameless terror. With one hand against her throat she moved toward
the pole.

“Don’t touch it.” She stepped back, struck by
the flat, deadly tone of his voice.

“What is it?”

“The war pole.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means the avenger prepares to go into
battle.”

Looking at the ancient symbol, Kate
understood that she was not the avenger’s target this time: It was
Eagle. He would have to remove her protector to get to her, but
more than that, he understood that killing Eagle would be the worst
punishment he could mete upon her. It would kill her spirit and her
soul.

“We won’t speak of this again.” Eagle’s face
was tragic, his eyes shattered, as if a giant hand had smashed all
the light from them.

“No,” she said, for no amount of argument and
pleas would get him to turn his face from fate. Moving with
purpose, she put her hands on either side of his face. “Come
inside, where it’s warm.”

He was in her before the tent flap closed
behind them. With her arms and legs wrapped around him and the snow
from his clothing melting on her skin, she knew that whatever
happened, she would have this—a wild winter mating on a desolate
mountaintop that would sustain her for years to come, just as their
summer affair of five years past had sustained her.

“Make me fly, Eagle,” she whispered.

“
Waka
,
Wictonaye
.
Waka
.”

o0o

High above them, hidden by trees and
boulders, the avenger arose naked from his tent. Leaving behind the
steaming rocks that purified him, he dressed in buckskins and
carefully painted his face. With the clay streaked on his nose and
cheeks and forehead, he was as fierce as the bear, as agile as the
panther, and as cunning as the fox, for he knew he must be all
three in order to subdue the eagle.

He filled his war pipe with sumac leaves and
tobacco, lighted it, and drew it deep into his lungs. The smoke
circled his head, and the power of the warrior filled his body.
When he had finished, he set the pipe aside and ate a sumptuous
feast, one he had prepared with great care and hauled up the
treacherous face of the mountain.

By the time the war feast was finished, the
moon had risen. The avenger’s long knife glittered in the dark,
brighter than the stars that studded the black sky. He swung it in
a huge arc then lunged at the war pole. Metal clanged against wood,
and a chunk of red fell to the snow and lay there like blood. Again
and again he lunged, until sweat poured off his face and the pole
was riddled with gouges.

The imaginary song of women rose up to cheer
his victory. Bowing deeply to his audience, the avenger sheathed
his long knife then began a slow circle around the pole, taking up
the victory song. The circles became tighter and faster and the
song louder, until the night was filled with the chant of war.

o0o

Kate slept curved against him, exhausted from
three days of tension and lovemaking. With her hair spread across
his naked chest and her lips pressed against his neck, he watched
the first pale light of dawn filter around the tent flap.

It was time. The enemy would be waiting for
him, honed to the sharpness of a steel blade by three days of
preparation ...and armed to kill.

Gently he disentangled Kate. Softly he kissed
her cheek and covered her. She would be safe. The red war pole had
made it perfectly clear what the order of battle would be. First
Eagle, then Kate.

He dressed lightly so clothes would not
impede him. His knife lay beside their pallet, its blade catching a
shaft of light. As Eagle took the knife up, he remembered the first
one he’d owned, a twin to Cole’s, and how they’d raced around their
backyard, whooping and fending off the imaginary hordes that
attacked them, and how, later, they’d tumbled in a heap in the
sunshine, laughing.

The sun would not shine on them today, and
there would be no laughter. Quietly he slipped from the tent, going
to meet his enemy.

His brother.

o0o

Cole stood on a bluff overlooking the Blue
River, his feet planted wide apart, his painted face fierce, and
his arms uplifted to the rising sun. He didn’t have to turn around
to know his brother was there; he felt it in his bones. It was as
if the other half of himself had crawled beneath his skin.

“You’ve come,” he said, turning.

“Yes. You knew I would.”

Eagle was not painted for battle, and yet
Cole knew he was ready. There was tension in the way he stood, raw
strength held in check by the sheer force of his will.

“It will be like old times,” Cole said. “Just
the two of us.”

“No, Cole. Not like old times.” A sadness
fell over Eagle as he held out his hand. “Come back with me. It’s
not too late.”

“Never.”

“I’ll help you.” Eagle moved closer. “Please
let me help you, Cole.”

Cole threw back his head, and the canyon
walls tossed his laughter back into his face.

“Traitor! You with your white witch whore.
Would you help me face a white man’s justice, a white man’s jail?
I’d rather die!”

As swift as the eagle that circled the bluff,
Cole’s twin moved in on him. Exultation filled Cole, and beyond the
horizon he saw the white buffalo thundering upward toward the
rising sun. It burned a white hole in the sky, and the whiteness
spread until it surrounded Cole, bathing him in purity and
righteousness. And out of the great burning center came the voices
of his children, crying to him for vengeance.