Wind Rider (9 page)

Hannah blanched. “No.”

His mouth thinned. Before she knew what
was happening Wind Rider grasped the hem
of the shirt and pulled it over her head. Then
he pushed her beneath the water. She came
up sputtering, her green eyes flashing. Wind
Rider smiled grimly. A clap of thunder, closer this time, reminded him of the approaching
storm. With a flip of his wrist he removed his
breechclout and tossed it onto the shore. Then
he calmly began scrubbing his body with soap
plant. When he finished he turned to Hannah, annoyed that she had made no move to bathe.

“If you are to sleep inside my tepee tonight,
you must bathe.”

Hannah looked stunned. “Inside your tepee?”
She touched her throat, still raw from the rope.

Though she had no desire to be tethered again to the pole, spending the night in Wind Rider’s tepee was even more frightening. He was too male, too powerful, too intimidating—too
handsome by far. He did things to her that made
her body yearn for something too outrageous to
contemplate.

“Are you going to bathe, or must I do it for
you?”

Staring at the soap plant in her hand, she slowly began to rub her skin, working up a lather. She tried not to look at Wind Rider, aware that he was staring at her in a most
disconcerting manner. When she felt his hands
on her back she stiffened. She relaxed when
she realized he was merely washing where she
could not reach. When his hands slid around to her breasts, she grasped his wrists.

“Don’t.”

He freed himself easily, sliding his hands to
her back again, then down her spine to her
buttocks. Hannah cried out when he bold
ly inserted a hand between her thighs and
stroked.

“Do you like that, Little Sparrow?” he whis
pered into her ear. His fingers grew daring as they teased the portals of her womanhood.

She felt the thrust of his arousal against her
buttocks and tried to whirl away. The resistance of water against her body made her sluggish, and Wind Rider easily captured her, pull
ing her hard against him. “No, please, don’t touch me like that.”

“You have been without a man’s touch a long
time, Little Sparrow. Do you ache inside? Do
you have a need to be ridden? If I recall, you
are almost presentable when your body is free
of dirt and grime.” He turned her in his arms,
dragging her against him from breast to groin. “Your heart is fluttering like a captive mare,
Little Sparrow. I will be your stallion.’

“Why do you call me that? My name is
Hannah, and I have no great need. Not the kind you’re talking about.” She pounded on
his chest. “Let me go, you heathen savage!”

The stark planes of Wind Rider’s face hardened, and he pushed her away. “I would rather bed a rattlesnake than a whore who thinks her
self too good to lie beneath an Indian.”

“I’m not a whore! Why do you call me that
when you know nothing about me?”

Glaring at her, Wind Rider shoved her
beneath the water. When she bobbed to the
surface he attacked her head with the soap
plant. Not until he had worked up a rich lather
did he answer her question.

“I saw you before, but you do not remember.
Many moons ago in Denver. You were outside an inn; it was wintertime. Your master was
beating you for running away. He called you
a whore and spoke of selling your body to his customers.”

Hannah stared at him, searching her memo
ry. Her mind traveled back in time, instant
ly conjuring up a tall man who had brief
ly joined the crowd that had gathered to
watch Mr. Harley punish her for running
away. Her memory was clear as a mountain
brook; that man was no Indian. He was as
white as she, with silver eyes that hinted
at compassion. This steely-eyed Indian had
no compassion in his soul. She remembered
how their eyes had met briefly before he
turned and walked away. Suddenly comprehension dawned. Could that man have been
Wind Rider? The answer left her breathless. It had to be, or else how could he
describe the scene so accurately? When the
truth dawned on her she looked physically
ill.

“I see you remember.” He smiled mirthlessly.
“I recognized you immediately. That is how I
knew you were a woman of easy virtue.”

”I-I don’t understand. There were many men
watching that day, but they were white. I’d swear to it. I saw no Indian in the crowd.”

Wind Rider neither denied nor affirmed her claim. “Finish your bath. Rain will fall soon
and I am hungry.” He turned and walked away.

The breath caught in Hannah’s throat. The
extraordinary sight of his nude body rising
slowly from the water transfixed her. The
fading light revealed a body golden all over;
a true vision of masculine virility, with rippling muscles and corded tendons. The notion
that he might be white was more than she
could comprehend. Logic told her that he
was a half-breed, which seemed entirely pos
sible.
 
She continued to stare at him until
he had fastened his breechclout about his slim hips.

Wind Rider retrieved the blanket he had
brought with him and beckoned to Hannah. “Come.” He held the blanket aloft.

Averting her gaze, Hannah walked from the
water, aware of the scorching heat emanating
from Wind Rider’s narrowed eyes. Shielding her body with her hands, she walked directly
into the blanket stretched between his arms.
His arms closed around her, bringing the ends of the blanket together. Then he slowly rubbed her body dry.

”I-I can do that,” Hannah gasped, stunned by her body’s reaction to his touch.

“You have gained weight,” Wind Rider ob
served.

The brief glance he’d had of her nude body
showed him the result of the satisfying meals
he had provided for her since her captivity.
A few more weeks of regular meals and he’d
dare anyone to call her scrawny. And as for
her being plain, nothing was further from the
truth. A cloud of rich auburn hair framed a
face as delicate as a lacy web with dew clinging
to its silken threads. She’d never be as strong
as an Indian maiden, but she had enough grit
and determination to make up for it. And her lilting voice sounded like the sweet music of the gods.

Annoyed at the direction his thoughts were
taking, Wind Rider’s voice was harsher than he had intended. “If you give me no trouble, I will not place the rope around your neck.”

“What trouble can I cause in a camp filled with Indians?” she replied sullenly.

Wind Rider nodded. “Come. My ribs are touching my backbone. I am anxious to taste Spotted Doe’s stew.”

“I suspect she’d like you to taste more than her stew,” Hannah muttered crossly.

“What did you say?”

Hannah started violently. What in the devil
was she thinking? She didn’t care if the big
buck bedded every Indian maiden in the vil
lage. “Nothing.”

“Hurry; it’s starting to rain.”

Sure enough, raindrops pelted them just as
they reached the edge of the village. Holding
up the blanket so she wouldn’t trip, Hannah
hurried along beside Wind Rider. She ducked
into the tepee just as the sky opened, grateful that he hadn’t insisted upon tying her to
the stake outside. Spotted Doe was waiting for
them, her face a mask of fury.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, sidling up beside Wind Rider. “I have built a fire to
warm the stew I prepared. When you are fin
ished I will tend your leg.” She sent Hannah
a venomous look when she noted that Wind
Rider’s slave no longer resembled the pathetic creature she’d first seen tied to the stake.
Though the light was dim, she could tell that
the slave was young and beautiful—too beautiful. “What is she doing here? Why have you
brought her inside your lodge?”

Annoyed at Spotted Doe’s possessive manner,
Wind Rider merely shrugged. “It is storming
outside. She will be no use to me if she
falls ill.”

“Where are her clothes? She looks different
somehow.”

“Her clothes were filthy. I could not abide her stench so I took her to the river to bathe.
I hoped you might have a garment she could
wear. It needn’t be new. Anything serviceable
will do.”

As much as Spotted Doe wanted to deny
Wind Rider’s request, she could not. She
wanted him to look upon her with favor.
He needed a wife and she was much taken
with him. Other warriors paled in comparison
to the big Cheyenne buck. She had heard that
Wind Rider was white, but he exhibited no
signs of white blood. He rode with Cut Nose
and raided with equal ferocity. He was a War
Dog soldier who had proven his courage many times over.

“If you wish it, I will find something for your
slave to wear. Now I will tend your wound.”

“There is no need, Spotted Doe.”

“It pleases me to do it. Coyote gave me a healing salve to apply to your wound.”

Wind Rider sat beside the fire while Spotted Doe knelt at his side, spreading the salve over his wound with gentle hands. She lingered as
long as she dared, until Wind Rider grew res
tive; then she rose and prepared to leave. “I will
return with the tunic for your slave.”

“It is raining and she has no need of it tonight,
Spotted Doe. Bring it tomorrow.”

Spotted Doe glared at Hannah, unwilling to
leave her alone with Wind Rider but knowing
she had no choice. “I will do as you say. Enjoy your meal, Wind Rider.”

A sigh of relief trembled past Hannah’s lips. “Spotted Doe hates me.”

Wind Rider sent her a scathing look. “Why
do you find that strange? Your people have taken our lands, killed our women and children, and destroyed the buffalo that feeds us.
Is it any wonder that my people hate you?”

“How can you blame me for any of that? My
home is across the sea in a country called Ire
land. My family has never even seen an Indian,
let alone killed one.”

“You are white,” Wind Rider said with final
ity. “My people see nothing but your white skin.”
He bent and removed the kettle of stew from
the fire. From a parfleche he found bowls and
spoons, then carefully divided the stew between the two bowls. He handed one to Hannah. “Sit and eat.”

Hugging the blanket to her chest with one
hand and holding the bowl with the other,
Hannah sat awkwardly. Then she devoured the stew with gusto, finding it surprisingly
good despite the fact that it had been pre
pared by Spotted Doe. When every last morsel
had been consumed she sat back and sighed,
so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes
open.

Replete, Wind Rider rose and stretched. Then
he pulled a thick mat of furs from a corner of the
lodge and placed it close to the fire, indicating
that Hannah should lie down upon it.

Hannah licked her suddenly dry lips. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I have no other mat. We will share this one.”

“I’ll sleep on the ground.”

His expression hardened. “Why are you
afraid? We have shared a mat before.”

That’s why I’m afraid, Hannah thought but
did not say.

Her arguments were ineffectual as Wind Rid
er shoved her down upon his mat. Before she could rise he whipped off his breechclout and
joined her. Grateful for the protective covering,
Hannah pulled the blanket tightly around her and tried to relax.

Wind Rider cursed himself for a thousand
fools. How could he desire this white woman when those of her race were slowly destroying
his people? He trusted no one with white skin.
He had lived his life for the past fifteen years as
a Cheyenne and had no desire to change now..
Turning his back on Hannah, he forced his
body to relax, convinced that she was a wicked spirit who used strong medicine to make him want her. The storm raging outside was not
nearly as fierce as the one raging inside Wind
Rider.

Spotted Doe arrived early the next morning.
Wind Rider had already arisen and nudged