Wind Rider (13 page)

“It wasn’t my decision to join with Wind Rid
er,” Hannah argued defensively. “I didn’t ask to
be captured.”

Spotted Doe’s eyes flared in sudden malice. Without warning, she reached for the knife in
her belt and advanced toward Hannah. Woman-
Who-Waddles saw what was happening and
rushed to Hannah’s defense. Blocking Spotted Doe, she berated her roundly and pushed her out the door.

“Thank you,” Hannah whispered shakily.

Woman-Who-Waddles patted her shoulder
consolingly, then took her hand and led her
outside. The night was fragrant with the scent
of spring. The air was soft and mild. A huge fire blazed in the center of the camp, and the beating drums and foreign words that floated around her gave the scene a dreamlike quality.
This can’t be real, Hannah thought despairingly.
None of this is happening to me.

The wild tempo of the drums increased, and Hannah could see the dancers, circling around the fire to the beat of the heathen music. Most of the dancers were men, joined occasionally by some of the bolder women. Hannah noted that several of the men seated around the fire tipped up bottles and drank deeply of the liquor Hannah assumed was whiskey, provided by unscrupulous traders. Dragging her feet,
Hannah would have turned and fled back to the
tepee if Woman-Who-Waddles hadn’t tugged
her forward with amazing strength considering
her advanced age.

Hannah had no idea what to expect. Her eyes
were frantic as they searched the crowded area.
And then she saw him. He stood head and shoul
ders above the other braves. Dressed in supple
doeskin the shade of pale butter, his tunic
and leggings were elaborately decorated with
feathers and beads. Fringes hung from both
sleeves and down the sides of his leggings. His
moccasins were also beaded and laced nearly
to his knees. He was magnificent, every golden inch of him. His black hair hung loose, held in
place by a rawhide thong sporting a white eagle
feather.

Wind Rider sensed Hannah’s presence before
he saw her. Turning to look beyond the dancers, he saw her approaching, escorted by Woman-
Who-Waddles. She was dressed in white, he
thought ironically, the color of purity. Looking
at her angelic features, one would never guess
she was a whore. His sanity must have deserted
him to join with a woman of easy virtue.

In the short time she had been his captive
her flesh had filled out. Though she’d never
be plump, she could no longer be classified
as scrawny. She was perfect, from the top of
her burnished head to the tips of her small
feet.

He watched her approach, his loins heavy, his manhood stirring restlessly beneath his
breechclout, and he knew a need such as
he’d never experienced before. In all his years with the Cheyenne he’d never felt such a wild
clamoring in his blood or been driven by an almost painful desire to thrust himself into a
woman’s body. Not just any woman. His wom
an. Little Sparrow.

It was the first time in his recent memory
that he could recall not cursing the white blood
that ran through his veins, for it was the same
blood that ran through the veins of Hannah
McLin.

She stood before him now, searching his face
with frightened green eyes. He took her hand,
led her to a place in the circle, and pulled her
down beside him. Almost immediately a bowl
was placed in her hands, but she could not
eat. Neither could Wind Rider, it seemed, for he barely tasted his food before setting down
the plate.

“You are very beautiful tonight,” he whis
pered into her ear. “I did not want to take a
wife, but tonight I find little to complain about,
unless it is the knowledge that I won’t be get
ting a woman known for her virtue. Cheyenne men admire purity in a woman, and Cheyenne
women guard their virtue zealously. It is a gift
they give their husbands upon their marriage.

Tonight I will try not to think about the other
men you have lain with.”

Hannah blinked but said nothing. What good
would it do? If this was indeed going to be
her wedding night, Wind Rider would find
out soon enough that she was as virtuous as
the purest Cheyenne maiden. Certainly more
virtuous than some of the Sioux women she’d
seen since her captivity, especially if they were
all like Spotted Doe.

The dancing continued, growing more fren
zied as the night progressed. Wind Rider grew
impatient, and some of his friends realized it.
They began taunting him with ribald remarks,
as friends were inclined to do to bridegrooms,
causing some of the women to cover their
ears and giggle. Suddenly Wind Rider had had
enough. Without warning he rose to his feet,
jerking Hannah with him.

“What is it?” Fear skittered through her.
The moment she had dreaded all evening had
arrived.

“It is time to go.”

“What about the wedding? I thought there
was to be a ceremony. Have you changed your
mind about marrying me?”

“The moment we walk inside the honeymoon
lodge we are wed,” Wind Rider told her. “No
special ceremony exists. According to tribal
customs, once we declare our intention to
join we are considered wed. Come.” He took
her hand, leading her away from the campfire
and the celebration.

Dragging her feet, Hannah shook her head in
vigorous denial. “It-it’s immoral! It’s sinful. It’s
not the way it’s done in white society.”

“Forget about white society. You are the wife
of an Indian now. In this village Indian law prevails. Believe me, Little Sparrow, we are wed. And when your soft white belly swells
with my child there will be no room for doubt.”

“Oh, my God.”

Her knees buckled beneath her. She would
have fallen if Wind Rider hadn’t scooped her up into his arms. When she saw the honey
moon lodge looming before them in the moonlit darkness she repeated softly, “Oh, my God.”

Someone had thoughtfully lit a fire inside the
lodge and sprinkled it liberally with sweetgrass
and sage. It flickered invitingly against the
walls. Furs were laid out to form a soft
nest and fresh pine boughs scattered about
to produce a pleasant scent. But Hannah
was aware of nothing except the implied promise of Wind Rider’s hard body as he
carried her inside and set her down on her
feet.

Refusing to look at the bed, she stared at
the small patch of sky visible through the
smokehole, seeing the stars gliding lazily by and wishing she could join them. Wind Rider
noted the direction of her gaze and said, “The
fragrant smoke from the fire carries the prayers
of the People to the spirits above through the
smokehole. There is much for you to learn. I will teach you/’

He reached for her, his fingers strong and steady as he began to unlace the front of her tunic.

“Tell me more,” Hannah said breathlessly,
wanting to put off the inevitable. The move
ment of his fingers against her flesh sent her
senses reeling.

Wind Rider prayed for patience, struggling
to still the blood clamoring through his veins.
“The floor of the lodge represents the earth,
the walls the sky; the tepee poles are the trails leading from the earth to the Spirit World. The
tepee has a special place in our lives. When the
flap is closed a visitor is required to announce
himself and await permission to enter. Men
usually go to the right when entering and a woman enters behind her husband and goes to
the left. Passing between the fire and anyone else in the lodge is bad etiquette.”

Hannah half listened, all too aware of the way
Wind Rider’s eyes were caressing her body. Her
breath caught in her throat and held as his
words came to a halt and his hands spread the
unlaced opening of her tunic apart, baring the rounded curves of her breasts. His body was
taut. A muscle in his jaw jerked. His silver eyes
were slumberous, his nostrils flared.

Hannah felt a thrill of apprehension. When Wind Rider slipped the tunic from her shoul
ders she had to breathe or die. She chose to
breathe. When the tunic caught on the upward
tilt of her breasts Wind Rider tugged impatiently. Hannah grasped his hands in an effort to stop him.

“Wait! The dress is too beautiful to tear. I
will do it.”

Wind Rider nodded. His eyes shimmered
like liquid silver. “Woman-Who-Waddles will be pleased to know that you like the dress. She made it for her daughter, who was to marry
Coyote.”

Hannah shoved the tunic past her breasts, where it caught on her slim hips. “What hap
pened to her daughter? Why didn’t she wear
the dress?”

Wind Rider licked his lips, staring at the pink
nipples crowning her pert breasts. He thought
them small but perfectly formed, and longed to
sample their sweetness. “She died of the spot
ted sickness. Woman-Who-Waddles is happy to have you wear her daughter’s dress.”

“Thank her for me.”

Wind Rider did not answer. He was too aroused to reply. The breath grated harshly
from his lungs and he reached out to stroke
her right breast. Her skin was soft and warm,
and he rubbed the pad of his finger across her
nipple, watching it tauten into a hard bud.

Hannah trembled at the staggering need this
man aroused in her. She didn’t understand
how she could feel so intensely about a sav
age who had made her his slave. And she
certainly did not feel married. The heathen
ceremony was far removed from a proper
church wedding officiated by a priest. But
Wind Rider s expression left little doubt in her mind that he considered the wedding legal and binding and expected to bed her this very
night.

The air between them was charged as they stared at one another, the tension thick enough
to slice as Wind Rider placed his hands on her
slim hips and pushed downward, shoving the tunic free. It slid down her legs and pooled
around her ankles. Wind Rider lifted her effort
lessly and kicked it aside; then he bent and
removed her moccasins. He could barely find
his breath when he slid his eyes upward along her body.

Her flesh was smooth and white, her breasts as firm as plump apples. Her waist was narrow, her hips slightly flared, her legs long and shapely. His gaze fastened on the fiery triangle
between her legs, hiding a treasure that would
soon be his. He didn’t touch her; he didn’t dare. Not yet, not with his blood pumping furiously
through his veins, clamoring for fulfillment. Only a savage would throw his woman down
and thrust into her again and again without a
care for her needs, and he was no savage. With great difficulty he forced a calm he didn’t feel, his eyes never leaving hers as he tore off his
clothing.

His shirt hit the ground with a thud, fol
lowed closely by his leggings. Hannah swal
lowed convulsively as his body emerged, gold
en and virile and utterly magnificent. With a
flick of his wrist he released his breechclout,
and her eyes widened. Thick and pulsing with a life of its own, his manhood thrust out from
his body like a velvet-covered pillar of steel.
Terror brought a gasp to her lips. She could
never take all of him. Before this night was
over he’d surely kill her.

Wind Rider’s silver eyes glittered with pleas
ure when he saw Hannah stare at his erection.
“Do I compare favorably with your lovers? Is my
sword mighty enough to satisfy you? Tell me, Little Sparrow, tell me you find me pleasing.” He grasped her shoulders, bringing her against
him with jarring impact. The washboard ridges
of his belly jerked in violent response.

“I’ve had no other lovers.”

He laughed harshly, rocking against her to
demonstrate his need. The sensation of his
smooth, hot flesh pressed against every inch
of her breasts, belly, and legs was so exquisite,
it was almost unbearable. “There is no need to
lie. Your past does not matter. But if you give me
reason to doubt your faithfulness in the future,
I will kill you.”