Wild Ecstasy (11 page)

No matter, perhaps, if her skin was white....

“No-din, I am forever in your debt,” Echohawk said softly, yet not venturing to rise away from her. His heart was pounding as though someone was within his chest beating a drum. This woman with the sweet voice, and gentle, caring heart, and skin that was as soft as all snows in the winter, had been slowly capturing his heart as she had sat at his bedside. And the feeling was no less now that she was here, her body captured beneath his, at his mercy.

He became annoyed and frustrated, so wanting to see the face of this woman, and knowing that he could not.

Would he ever be able to? he agonized to himself.

Was he blinded for life?

Yet wasn't it best that he couldn't see her face?

He reminded himself that No-din was white, born into this world of those who were the Chippewa's natural enemies.

“You owe me nothing, Echohawk, for what I have just done for you,” she murmured, guilt plaguing her again, for if he only knew the truth, he would see that it was she who was forever in
his
debt. Oh, but she did owe him so much!

“No-din,” Echohawk said, sliding away from her and helping her to her feet. “Woman of the wind. Such a beautiful name.” He reached a hand to her face, sending waves of desire crashing through Mariah. His fingers moved gently over her features. “You feel as though you are as beautiful as your name. Your features are delicate. Your lips are as soft as a rose petal . . .”

Echohawk could not deny to himself that he was intoxicated by Mariah. She had proved that she was indeed a friend, perhaps even more. He drew her into his arms and with trembling lips kissed her heatedly.

Mariah was taken off-guard by the suddenness of the kiss, momentarily stealing her breath away. But having wanted this for so long, and soon overcome by a sweet, unbearable desire, she twined her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with a passion that she had never known was locked inside her.

And when his hand crept between them and moved down to curve over her breast through her buckskin dress, she was shocked at the intensity of her feelings. It was as though something was melting at the pit of her stomach—such a wonderful, blissful melting that was spreading . . . spreading . . .

And then he was gone from her arms, his back to her, leaving Mariah shaken and staring at him.

“Let us return to my wigwam,” Echohawk said thickly. “There we will share a night of talk and pleasure.” He turned and faced her, reaching out to cup her chin in the palm of his hand. “Until today I have been cold to you. No matter that you had sat vigil at my side, I still saw you as no better than an enemy. But today that has all changed. You will see. We shall share much that I have been denying myself as well as you.”

Mariah started to reply, but her words were stolen from her when he kissed her again, making the world spin around, frightening and thrilling her in the same breath and heartbeat. She so badly wanted to be free to love him, but she did not see how that ever could be possible. Not while the threat of unspoken truths lay heavy on her heart.

Echohawk reluctantly released her, a desire gnawing at him that he had denied himself since his wife's burial. Perhaps it was time to place the past in the past, yet something kept nagging at him not to be hasty in this thing that he was feeling for a woman—a white woman who, in truth, should be his enemy.

“No-din, for now you can be my eyes if you wish,” Echohawk said, on his knees, trying to find his weapons. “Please help me gather my rifle, bow, and as many arrows as you can find.”

Mariah was glad to be able to busy her hands and mind, yet could hardly take her eyes off this man—the man she would never be able to forget, much less deny herself loving.

She began gathering up arrows, feeling his presence behind her before she felt his hand on her wrist. Her body turned to liquid as he drew her up next to him again.

She moved into his embrace and snuggled next to him, glad that this time he was just wanting to hold her. She knew that if he kissed her again, while she was still recovering from the last kiss, she would be lost to him.

“You feel right in my arms,” Echohawk said, stroking her back. “And how do I feel in yours, No-din?”

“Wonderful,” Mariah sighed, closing her eyes, relishing the rapture she was feeling. “Oh, so wonderful.”

“Then you do care?” Echohawk whispered, turning her face up to his. “You sat by my bed, tending to me, because you truly cared?”

“
Ay-uh
, because I truly cared,” Mariah said softly, his eyes, though sightless, mesmerizing her.

“And why is this?” Echohawk asked, puzzling over it. “Why would you?”

“The moment I first saw you I knew that I must do whatever I could to make you get well again,” she said.

“Then am I, a Chippewa brave, the first?” he asked. “How can that be? When I touch the features of your face, my fingers tell me that you are beautiful.”

“I have never thought of myself as beautiful,” Mariah murmured, casting her eyes downward, knowing that her father had tried to make her feel anything but pretty.

“Not only do my fingers tell me that you are,” Echohawk said, again moving his fingers over her face, memorizing her every feature, “but also my heart.”

Delicious shivers of desire enveloped Mariah, her body screaming for something further, yet not quite understanding what. She was breathlessly glad when he moved away from her.

“Gather up the weapons,” he said huskily. “We can share more talk when we return to my wigwam.”

Mariah smiled weakly at him, wondering where else their feelings would take them tonight. She was anxious to experience more of these sensations that had been awakened today, to fulfill this need that seemed to be torching her insides into a heated inferno.

Chapter 11

—Byron

 

 

 

Feeling almost bashful now in Echohawk's presence, her lips still tasting his kiss, Mariah munched away at an apple, while Echohawk sat beside her eating cranberries sweetened with maple sugar.

Since their arrival at his wigwam, there had been a strained silence between them. Mariah's nervousness stemmed from having never experienced feelings of desire before.

Echohawk sucked the tart juices from the cranberries as he swirled them around inside his mouth, his thoughts troubled. He had never wanted to have feelings for a white woman, had even thought it might be impossible, until now.

No-din! He could not get her off his mind. She had proved her loyalty to him in more ways than one.

And she had responded to his kiss as one does who is in love.

Yet he kept reminding himself that
ay-uh
, yes, she
was
white. He did not see how it could be wise to reveal to her his true feelings for her.

“Tell me something about your family,” Mariah blurted out, surprised herself by the suddeness of her decision to break the silence between them.

And to ask about his family, when she already knew the fate of his father!

How could she?

But she did not know about a wife.

A mother.

Perhaps even children?

Echohawk turned to face Mariah, again regretting not being able to see her face—a face that he knew must be beautiful and alluring. He so badly wanted to run his fingers along her delicate features again, but thought better of it, remembering how touching her had affected him.

Until he could resolve within his heart and consciousness this fear of allowing himself to love a white woman, he must keep his feelings to himself.

“My family?” he said, scooting his birchbark dish aside. He stared into the fire, frustrated anew when he was able to make out only the color and shadows of the dancing flames. “I am the last. There was only one son born to my
gee-bah-bah
and
gee-mah-mah
. And there were no daughters.”

“I, too, was an only child,” Mariah said, dropping her apple core into the fire. “Throughout my childhood I was very lonely. There were no neighboring children for me to play with. My mother spent time with me until . . . until she died. But after that I was so very much alone.”

“You had your father,” Echohawk said, turning his eyes to her. “You seem to have spent much time with him. You shot the firearm today with the skills of a man.”

“Yes, my father made sure I knew how to shoot weapons so that I could always defend myself in the Minnesota wilderness,” Mariah said, realizing that she was sounding bitter, and unable not to. Whenever she thought of her father and how little love he had given her through the years, she could not help but be filled with a strange, painful longing. “He also taught me how to ride a horse. But that was the only sort of companionship I ever had with him. Other than that, I had to fend for myself.”

“And that is why you fled from him?” Echohawk asked, forking an eyebrow. “Because you were
nah-szhee-kay-wee-zee
, lonely? Because you needed more than what he had given you?”

Mariah's eyes wavered as she looked slowly over at him. She swallowed hard, afraid that this conversation was leading to too much that was dangerous to reveal. “Yes,” she murmured. “I had hoped to begin a new life. I had hoped that Colonel Snelling and his wife, Abigail, might help me in deciding how this could be done.”

Echohawk wanted to tell Mariah that she did not need to ask Colonel Snelling and his wife for guidance. What she needed was a man—a man who would treat her like a princess.

And
he
was that man!

But still he could not find within himself the courage to tell her anything of the kind, especially since he still had so much to sort out within his own mind and life.

“And when will you travel on to Fort Snelling?” he said instead.

Mariah tensed at this question she did not have an answer to. In truth, she never wanted to go to Fort Snelling at all. She wanted to find a way to resolve all her differences with Echohawk and stay with him. Forever! She had found in him everything that she could ever desire in a man.

“I have asked Chief Silver Wing if I can stay awhile longer in his village,” she said softly. “And since I have no one expecting me at Fort Snelling, I would like to stay even longer than first anticipated. Nee-kah has become a special friend, something that I have never had. And . . . and . . .”

“And in me you see a special friendship also?” Echohawk said, having to force himself not to reach out to touch her.

“
Ay-uh
, yes,” she murmured, having to force herself not to reach out and touch him. She even had to fight back the urge to scoot over next to him, to snuggle. Within his arms she had found such a wonderful, blissful peace. They were so strong, so comforting. This was something quite new to her, since her father had never afforded her a single hug.

“You speak the Chippewa word ‘yes' quite excellently,” Echohawk said, chuckling. “Nee-kah has told me that you are an astute student.”

“My father taught me many words of your people. I have enjoyed being taught more of your language and also your customs,” Mariah said, picking up a stick, idly stirring the cold ashes at the sides of the fire. She glanced over at him. “Echohawk, I truly love everything about your people.”

Echohawk's heart soared with this knowledge. If things could work out between them, she had already taken her first steps to becoming Chippewa!

And she had done this willingly.

“That is good,” he said, trying to hold back any excitement that he feared might be there, evident in his voice.

“Echohawk, you did not tell me much about your family,” Mariah said, her voice filled with caution, yet needing to know about his love life.

“There is no more to tell,” he said, his jaw tightening. “There is no wife. There are no children. My mother died many winters ago after wasting away with some strange coughing disease. My father and I—we were quite alone in the world, except for the love and devotion of our people.”

Mariah smiled sweetly over at him, her heart filled with delight to know that, indeed, there was no wife, yet finding the fact hard to understand, since he was so handsome, so virile.

But perhaps he had chosen to center his life around his people. And if so, would he truly ever find room for her inside his heart?

His kiss had revealed that he wanted her, yet since they had returned to his wigwam he had not made any more overtures toward her. There seemed to be something there, stopping him, just as there were her own doubts there, plaguing her and keeping her from boldly going to him.

Echohawk rose to his full height and went to the back of the wigwam, searching inside a buckskin bag. He circled his fingers around the flute that he had asked Nee-kah to lend him, then went back and sat down beside Mariah.

“I shall play some tunes for you in a way to repay you for your continued kindnesses to me,” he said, positioning his fingers on two of the three holes of the flute.

“How lovely,” Mariah said, drawing her legs up before her, circling her arms around them. As he played on the flute, she became mesmerized by the sweetness of the tunes. They were soft and lilting, reminding her of the birds in the trees outside her upstairs bedroom window that she had heard at daybreak in the early spring every year. She had lain there marveling at the sweet melodies, the same as she now marveled at the sounds that Echohawk was creating with the flute.

She sighed as she watched him, wondering how her father could have ever wanted to see him dead. Here was a man who was gentle and tenderhearted. Here was a man who stirred her into feelings that made her heart soar . . .

A commotion outside the wigwam drew Mariah's eyes to the entrance flap, then back to Echohawk as he laid the flute aside and rose to see what was causing the interference.

Mariah rose quickly to her feet and followed him from the wigwam, her eyes widening when she discovered a beautiful horse that had apparently wandered into the village, now standing there as though it belonged.

Echohawk walked over to the horse, his heart pounding, and began running his hands over its withers. He then offered the palm of his hand to the horse for nuzzling.

When the horse did as Echohawk bade, lovingly nuzzling his hand, neighing gently, Echohawk's lips lifted into a quavering, thankful smile. “It
is
Ish-sko-day, Blaze, my horse,” he said, placing an arm around the horse's neck, hugging it. “He is not dead and he has found his way back to me. No-din, do you see? Blaze has searched until he found me!”

“I would say that is a miracle,” Mariah said, smiling at the man and horse. “I didn't know that animals could be this devoted.”

She watched the reunion of “friends,” silently recalling how the horses had become so frightened by the gunfire during the raid on Echohawk's people. She could see even now, in her mind's eye, how they had feverishly broken through their protective fence and scattered in all directions. That his horse had found him again, under these circumstances,
could
be no less than a miracle.

“A man is nothing without a devoted horse,” Echohawk said, now smoothing his hand across Blaze's rust-colored mane. “Now that I have mine back again, the burdens of that fateful day are lessened inside my heart.”

Mariah stepped up next to Echohawk and ran her hands over Blaze's left flank, the fleshy part of the side between the ribs and the hip. She had never seen such an elegant horse. And he was so very, very muscled!

And strangely enough, the horse still wore a saddle—a cushion of leather stuffed with buffalo hair and ornamented with porcupine quills.

A rope around the underjaw seemed to be there to take the place of a bit.

“He is a magnificent horse, Echohawk,” she murmured. “No wonder you are proud. I'm so glad that he found you.”

“Blaze is of the wild breed of Mexican horses,” he explained. “Long ago, during a raid on the Sioux to reclaim things stolen from my people, I stole this horse. The Sioux had stolen it themselves from some other tribe on lands far from the Minnesota wilderness.”

“I would love to ride the horse,” Mariah said, thrilling at the thought. “Perhaps one day soon . . . ?”

“
Ay-uh
,” Echohawk said, taking Blaze's rope, leading him to the corral. “And it will be an interesting experience for you. I do not even need reins while on Blaze. He requires no guidance. He knows my every mood. He is even so accustomed to my silent commands that he could lead me into battle without any prompting from me. His skills are honed to such a degree that I can depend on him at all times, for anything.”

“That he has found his way to you today is proof of that, it seems,” Mariah said, opening the gate to the corral and stepping aside as Echohawk led Blaze in with the other grazing horses. She gazed warmly up at Echohawk, wishing that this closeness to him would never end. She could not deny that she felt as though she were becoming entwined within a golden web of magic, and she would not—
could
not—give this up. She would have to find a way to make him understand and forgive her role in the attack against his people.

Yet, while doing so, she had to find a way to protect her father. Although she had grown to loathe him, she did not want to see him harmed.

She did not want to see him die!

Yes, she concluded to herself, she had to find a way to resolve all of these differences, first in her heart, then with Echohawk.

She helped Echohawk feed and water Blaze, and then went back to Echohawk's wigwam with him, going only as far as the entrance flap. When he didn't invite her inside, Mariah felt awkward and a little embarrassed that she had actually wanted him to.

“I guess I'd best go,” she said softly. “I don't want to wear out my welcome.”

Her breath escaped her in a slight gasp when he placed a hand at the nape of her neck and drew her close to him. Scarcely breathing, she gazed with a building passion into his dark eyes. His lips so close, his hands so gentle—her insides tingled and her heart cried out to be kissed.

Disappointing her, he then turned away from her, his brow furrowed with a frown. “It is time to retire for the evening,” he said smoothly. “Tomorrow there will be more shooting practice, but this time for live prey. I must rest for this outing.”

Mariah placed a hand on his arm. “May I go with you this time?” she asked, her voice a soft pleading. “As I said before, Echohawk, I am quite skilled with firearms. I would enjoy the hunt. Please allow it?”

Echohawk turned back to her, his eyes squinting as once again he tried to see her features, dying a slow death inside when again he could not. “It is not a usual thing, a woman hunting with a man, but
ay-uh
, you can join me,” he said, nodding. “It is good—these times with you.”

“I am so glad you feel that way,” Mariah said, her knees weakening as he ran his fingers along the curve of her chin and over her cheeks. “I so enjoy being with you also, Echohawk.”

He drew away from her, his jaw tight. “You go now,” he said softly. “You rest also. It has been a long day, has it not?”

“It has been a glorious day,” Mariah said, daring to lean up and brush a quick kiss across his lips. Not giving him time to respond, she turned and ran from him toward her own wigwam, almost overwhelmed by her erratic heartbeats.