Wind Rider (6 page)

Despite Hannah’s hollow cheeks, long, thin
neck, bony collarbone, concave stomach, and
prominent ribs, a jolt of raw desire exploded
through him. His man’s part rose high and
hard, filled with the blood of sudden, inexpli
cable need. Perhaps Cut Nose had been right,
he thought dimly. The woman was a whore;
he should use her like one. But when she
turned and looked at him the sight of her
small, vulnerable body and the mute appeal in her green eyes made a profound impact upon him. He snorted in disgust. What kind
of Cheyenne warrior was he that he couldn’t
restrain his manly urges?

He should feel contempt, loathing, and utter
disregard for a white captive. Instead, this
small, insignificant woman had found a place
inside him he hadn’t known existed. Cut Nose
hadn’t been too far from the truth when he
had accused him of coddling his captive, Wind Rider thought derisively. White men had killed
his people, stolen their lands, and tried to
wipe them from the face of the earth. How
could he feel anything but hatred for this
pale-faced, worthless creature? He should kill
her and be done with it, since he no longer
needed her.

Hannah dared a glance at Wind Rider, star
tled to find him staring at her in a curious
manner. Was it loathing? What had she done to
cause him to hate her so much? she wondered.
She slid her gaze down his body, gasping when
she saw his engorged sex. His violent reaction
shocked her. How could he react in such a blatantly sexual manner when he thought her ugly? She was aware of how thin and unat
tractive she appeared to men and until now
had been proud of her ability to make herself
homely. What did this Indian see that no other
men had?

“I have nothing to wear,” Hannah called out
when she had rinsed every last grain of sand from her hair.

Wind Rider turned and found the buckskin
shirt one of his friends had left for him. He
held it aloft, waiting for her to come out of the
water and claim it.

She swallowed convulsively. “I-I’m not decent.’

Wind Rider sent her a chilling smile. “You
may ride naked if you prefer, but your white
skin will burn beneath the prairie sun.” He
turned away.

“Wait! I’ll wear the shirt. Place it on the
ground and turn around.”

Wind Rider laughed harshly. “I did not think
whores were so modest. Do not pretend with
me, woman, for I know what you are. I have
nothing but contempt for women who sell their
bodies to men. Perhaps I will give you to the
village men to use for their pleasure as Cut
Nose suggested. Now that you are cleaned up,
perhaps they can overlook your ugliness and
white skin.”

Hannah gasped in dismay. Where did Wind Rider get the idea that she was a whore? Didn’t
he know she had run away because Mr. Harley
wanted her to sell her favors for his personal
gain? No, of course not, she answered her own
question. How could he know?

“I’m not what you think,” she denied vehe
mently. “Will you turn around so I can leave
the water?”

Crossing his arms over his bronze chest, Wind
Rider refused to budge. “Your body does not
tempt me, woman.”

Hannah flushed, vividly recalling the rampant state of his sex only moments before. She
kept her eyes on his face, fearing to glance
down to see if he was still aroused. Raising
her chin to a defiant angle, she rose to her feet and walked slowly ashore.

Wind Rider tensed, wondering why he was
putting himself through such agony. He must
be desperate for a woman to become aroused
by a skinny white woman who until a few
moments ago had appeared utterly repulsive to
him. But there was nothing repulsive about her
now. Water streamed off the elongated tips of her breasts and puddled in the glorious copper
hairs adorning her woman’s mound. The sight
was so stirring,Wind Rider turned abruptly
and walked away, blaming his white blood for
making him desire the kind of woman he had
always despised.

A white woman.

Hannah tried valiantly to preserve her dignity,
but it was difficult while sitting astride Wind
Rider’s pony, locked in the cradle of his loins
with her legs exposed and the buckskin shirt he
had given her hiked up to her thighs. When he saw she had difficulty keeping her seat behind
him he had insisted that she ride before him,
straddling the horse’s withers. With his arms
surrounding her and his body heat making
her giddy,Hannah sensed a danger that had
nothing to do with the obvious one she would
expect from being held captive by an Indian. No, it was much more complex.

Wind Rider rode steadily north, aware in the
most basic way of the woman fitted snugly
between his thighs. It wasn’t as if taking
a
 
captive
 
was
 
unique;
  
far
 
from
 
it.
  
Since
Sand Creek dozens of settlers had been killed
in widely spread raids across the Cheyenne
plains, and women and children had been
seized and dragged away as captives. The Cheyenne trail of looting, burning, and mur
der had moved north, heading for the safety
of the Powder River country, where the Sioux
were camped. Wind Rider had joined them
in the winter of 1864, raiding with them
for weeks at a time before returning to the
village.

Hannah heaved a sigh of relief when Wind
Rider stopped beside a stream late that day.
They had ridden without respite, munching on
pemmican when hunger could be staved off no longer. She slid from the horse’s withers, hang
ing on a moment until her rubbery legs stabilized. Wind Rider had already leaped to the
ground, favoring his wounded leg only slight
ly. Hannah watched him disappear into the
woods. Her bladder near to bursting, she chose
a path in the opposite direction. She was wash
ing her hands in the stream when Wind Rider
reappeared.

“Gather wood,” he ordered brusquely. “Do not stray too far or you will become lost.”

Hannah bristled with impotent rage. Was it
her lot in life to be ordered about by men?
First Mr. Harley and now Wind Rider. It was
demeaning. One day, she vowed, she’d not be beholden to any man. Meanwhile, she had no
choice but to do as Wind Rider directed. A
short time later, when she heard rifle shots
reverberate across the plains, she started vio
lently, until she recalled Wind Rider’s intention
to hunt for their supper. When she returned
with the wood he was gutting and skinning a
fat rabbit. She sat down on a log to watch him
as he finished with that rabbit and started on
another.

“You speak English amazingly well,” she said
idly, fascinated by the movement of his strong
hands and nimble fingers.

He sent her an austere look. “The white man’s
tongue is not difficult to master.”

Hannah stared at him. “Is your mother white?
Did you inherit your silver eyes from her? Did
she teach you to speak English?”

Annoyed by her infernal questions, Wind Rid
er slashed his hand in the air. “Quiet! Are all
white women so nosy? A Cheyenne would never
inquire into another’s past. I am Cheyenne; that
is all you need to know.”

“But you don’t look .

“You are brave, Hannah McLin. I could kill you without remorse. I have killed before and would not hesitate to do so again.”

What Wind Rider didn’t say was that he’d
never in his life killed or harmed a woman or child. Killing pony soldiers who had attacked
his people was one thing, but he had yet to par
ticipate in an attack on settlers. His own sister
and her husband, Zach Mercer, were settlers who lived not far from Denver.

Fear shuddered through Hannah. She did
not doubt that Wind Rider was capable of performing every vile atrocity attributed to
Indians. His words made her think seriously
of escape. Lowering her lashes to shutter her thoughts, she desperately searched for a plan.
Obviously, she needed more information.

“When will we reach your village?” Hannah
asked after Wind Rider had spitted the rabbits and set them over the fire to cook.

“If we encounter no delays, we will reach
Red Cloud’s camp tomorrow.”

“Who is Red Cloud?”

“He is a great Sioux chief.”

Hannah fell silent, realizing that she wasn’t
going to get much from Wind Rider in the way
of conversation.

Wind Rider watched Hannah warily. She was
too nosy by far, he decided. He should either
kill her or let her go, but unfortunately he
could do neither. Killing her definitely didn’t
appeal to him, and letting her go would be
tantamount to a death sentence, for she was
ill-prepared to survive on her own. Besides,
she’d likely be captured by someone who
would delight in torturing and killing her
after using her body to satisfy his blood lust
for white flesh.

Wind Rider tested the rabbits, found them done to a turn, and ripped one into pieces. He
offered Hannah a share, which she accepted
with alacrity and tore into with relish. Juice
ran down her chin, but she didn’t stop to
wipe it away until the last morsel had been
chewed and swallowed. She looked at the
remaining rabbit with such longing, Wind
Rider offered her a share of that one, too. He had hoped to save it for their morning meal, but Hannah’s ravenous appetite changed his
mind. He felt scathing contempt for the girl’s master, who obviously had starved her and worked her excessively. White men puzzled
him. He didn’t understand why whites were
allowed to mistreat one of their own so
severely.

Kneeling beside the stream, Hannah washed her hands and face, then searched for a place to bed down. Wind Rider placed a blanket
beneath a tree and walked to the water’s edge. Wading into waist-deep water, he submerged
himself briefly, then rose like a golden statue and, ignoring Hannah, walked into the nearby
willows for a moment of privacy. When he
returned Hannah was sitting on a log beside
the fire.

“Lie down,” Wind Rider said gruffly. He jerked his head toward the blanket. Hannah ignored him. “I am tired. I wish to sleep.”

“Go ahead,” Hannah said carelessly.

Wind Rider’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Do
not defy me, woman. I do not trust you. Lie
down.” His tone brooked no argument. Ris
ing slowly, Hannah walked to the blanket and stretched out.

“What are you going to do?”

Using the rope that had been rolled up in the
blanket, Wind Rider bound both of Hannah’s
wrists and attached the end of the rope to his
waist, leaving a two-foot slack to allow her freedom to turn in her sleep. The short tether
would bring their bodies too closely together
for his peace of mind, but there was no help
for it. The buckskin shirt barely reached her knees, and the knowledge that she wore noth
ing underneath it was distracting. The sight
of her slim but shapely legs made him forget
that he had once thought her scrawny and
plain.

Hannah hated being confined at Wind Rider’s
side, so close she could feel the heat of him
against her own cool flesh. The only conces
sion he had made to his state of nudity was
donning the leggings provided by one of his
Sioux friends. Since she wore his only shirt
nothing else was available to him. But he
seemed unaware of the chill in the air as
he lay down, forcing Hannah to conform to the curve of his body. Scooting as far from
him as the rope allowed, Hannah’s tense body
refused to relax until she heard the even
cadence of Wind Rider’s breath and knew he
was sleeping.

Wind Rider awoke in the dead of night,
astounded to find Hannah snuggled against
him. During the night she had sought his
warmth, and his arms had welcomed her with
out conscious thought. A firm little breast filled
his hand; his fingers rested on an elongated
nipple. Two slim legs lay intimately entwined with his strong ones, and the sweet mounds of
her buttocks pressed snugly against his loins.