Captive Bride (37 page)

 
Rozalyn giggled at the startled expression on his chiseled features. "If you haven't the strength, perhaps I should summon Jonas. He is not nearly as old as you are and he seemed willing enough to accommodate me earlier."

 
"Old?" Hawk hooted like a disturbed owl. "I do not consider myself old!" His voice was acrid with indignation.

 
"But you are not as young as Jonas. He cannot be more than three years my senior. A very compatible match, I should think," Rozalyn teased. "Sleeping with another man might prove to be a very worthwhile experiment. I have always been one to test theories rather than accepting them as truth."

 
"He is not man enough for a high-spirited woman like you," Hawk assured her tartly.

 
"And you are?" Rozalyn put the question to him, then frowned dubiously.

 
"I am," he insisted, a wide grin stretching across his lips to reveal pearly white teeth. "And I will prove it if you insist."

 
"I do," Rozalyn murmured, her arms sliding over the muscled planes of his back.

 
Hawk came to her then, intent on proving his prowess. But within a moment he realized he had only proved his insatiable need for this lively beauty. He was caught up in a volcanic upheaval of sensations, sensations as potent and as engulfing as before. Time ceased to exist. He was consumed by exciting feelings that spilled over him like smoldering lava. And long after the flame of passion had cooled, the fire of desire still flickered within him. Although Hawk's hunger had been appeased, he knew the flame within him merely waited to burst into a raging blaze.

 
"Nothing . . ." Rozalyn murmured drowsily. Releasing a contented sigh she cuddled against Hawk's masculine warmth, satisfied to remain in the unending circle of his arms.

 
A curious frown knitted Hawk's brow. Had he missed part of her comment while he was lost to the cloudy haze of pleasure that had fogged his mind?

 
Rozalyn stretched like a contented feline basking in the summer sun. "Jonas and I did nothing. There wasn't time," she confessed.

"And if there had been time?" Hawk prodded.

 
A sleepy smile melted on her kiss-swollen lips. "Truly, I had no wish to make comparisons, for fear of what I might discover."

 
Her quiet words pleased him. Rozalyn had not exactly announced that she cared for him, but at least her attitude had mellowed slightly. Hawk could hope for little else where Rozalyn was concerned. He had given her no reason to trust him, to care for him. Indeed, he had taunted her unmercifully on most occasions.

 
He was afraid to allow this feisty hoyden to get close to him. Coward, whispered the tiny voice in his soul. That is true, Hawk admitted. Facing a disturbed grizzly or a starving mountain lion did not stir as many unsettling emotions in him as confronting this raven-haired vixen.

Hawk approached his enemies with fierce determinatin but when it came to this affair of the heart he displayed his true color—canary yellow. He, quite simply, did not know how to handle Rozalyn. She w, unlike any other woman he had known, certainly until the gentle, obedient Chumani who never raised her voice or heaved makeshift weapons when she was moved by anger. Rozalyn was a misfit. She didn't know her place in a man's world. She didn't have a place in this wilderness yet she was too unconventional for civilization. Just where the hell did a woman like Rozalyn DuBois belong Hawk heaved a weary sigh. This serious contemplation had given him a five-foot-two inch headache. He feared he knew the answer to that disturbing question, but he was too tired to deal with it just now. He would sleep on and then ponder it during their long ride into the Win River Mountains, he decided.

 
And in the meantime, he would sleep with the distracting beauty by his side. A contented smile crept across Hawk's lips as he molded his body to Rozalyn soft curves. Ah, this is heaven, he mused drowsily Rozalyn had tamed the restlessness that had once claimed his soul. He was content where he lay. If there was never to be another night like this one, he would remember the way the flickering fire light caressed her shapely body, the way her satiny skin felt upon his lips the way his hands wandered across the tantalizing curve and swells of her nymph's body. He would smile and recall how they had made love before they had ascended into the Mountains of the Wind.

Part 2

In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow,

Thour’t such a touchy, testy, plesent fellow,

Hast so much wit and mirth and spleen about thee,

There is no living with thee, nor without thee.

                                                           
– A
ddison

Chapter 18

 
The spellbinding beauty of the Wind River Mountains kept Rozalyn mesmerized. To the northwest, were rocky summits, bathed in shades of pastels and encircled by halos of puffy white clouds. Below, lining the plush mountain meadows were clumps of spruce, aspen, and pines. Tumbling over the broken boulders that had toppled from the towering peaks was a clear mountain stream that looked so inviting, Rozalyn had to fight the urge to veer down the treacherous ledges to stand beside its turbulent waters. She longed to peel off her moccasins and wade into the slower-moving rapids, to let fine mist spray across her face. But she knew the water would be like ice since she and Hawk had been forced to wear their heavy, buffalo-hide coats to ward off the chill.

 
They had departed from Fort William in late October, and now the mountain air was heavy with the threat of snow. It seemed they had ridden forever, but there was no sign of the cabin Hawk had promised her at their journey's end. A curious frown knitted Rozalyn's brow when her gaze swung from the white-capped peaks to the mountain man who rode ahead of her.

 
"Just where is this cabin?" she asked, her impatience evident.

 
Hawk twisted in the saddle to flash her a grin that thawed her chill. He looked magnificent when he sat so tall in the saddle. His bulky buffalo-skin jacket made him appear even more impressive than he already was. No simple task, Rozalyn thought to herself. She had always considered it impossible to improve on his perfection, but the fringe and the small, colorful beads that adorned his coat gave him a wild, reckless appearance that made her heart flutter.

 
When Hawk gestured toward the towering summits that lay to the north, Rozalyn caught the look of pride on his craggy features. "The cabin sits upon snowy slopes, beyond the rivers of the wind. And to the west, shrouded in spirits of the past, lies a splendrous valley where the never-ending waterfall whispers. ..." A faraway look appeared in his eyes, and he seemed to be glancing back through the window of time. He was—to years past when he was a young lad living among the Crows. He had followed this route with the great chief, viewing the awesome splendors of nature, and now he could almost hear Arakashe telling him the tragic legend. Strange, Hawk had not thought of that Crow legend in years. Why had the words spilled so easily from his tongue?

 
Rozalyn studied Hawk for a long moment, impatiently waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, she prodded him. "Hawk? Is something wrong?"

 
When her quiet words filtered into his pensive deliberations, Hawk focused his attention on Rozalyn. "I was just recalling the legend my grandfather once told me, when I was a child. I cannot fathom why it suddenly popped to mind."

 
Rozalyn prrcked up her ears and straightened in the saddle. She had often heard that Indians were a superstitious lot and that mountain men were prone to believe the savages' explanations of that which they did not understand. Did Hawk believe the wild tales he had heard as a child?

"Tell me the story your grandfather passed on to you," she insisted as she edged her steed up beside Hawk's.

He chuckled at the lively curiosity in her blue eyes. "There are dozens of legends that rule each Indian nation,
amie
. Is it so important that I tell you this particular one? Will any of them satisfy you?" For some inexplicable reason, Hawk didn't wish to reveal the f
    
haunting tale of tragic love. Something about it unnerved I him although, for the life of him, he wasn't quite certain why.

"I wish to hear all of them," Rozalyn demanded enthusiastically.

Hawk leaned out to press a kiss to her cold, but responsive lips. The fleeting touch warmed him and stirred memories that overshadowed all other recollections. "Perhaps we should create our own legend in the mountains of the wind and let the breeze whisper our tale to all forthcoming travelers who pass through this wilderness."

A becoming blush stained Rozalyn's cheeks as she remembered
  
the
  
nights
 
they
  
had
  
spent
  
beside
 
the campfire, loving away the icy chill that settled upon the mountains. "I'm not certain I want to hear such stories repeated in any language," she murmured demurely. When Rozalyn nudged her stead to take the lead along the narrow path, Hawk's throaty laughter drifted about I her and then sank into the canyon below them. "Are you I
   
ashamed of them?"

Rozalyn did not reply. Instead she fired a question at him in the hope of dropping the sensitive subject. "Will you tell me the legends of these mountains or must I find someone else to accommodate me?"

His astute gaze studied the shapely lass who rode ahead of him. Rozalyn didn't have the foggiest idea where she was going, but that didn't faze her. Her destination was not as important to her as the adventures she encountered getting there. What a delightful companion she was, sighing over the majestic scenery, playfully arousing him to passion each night, and taunting and teasing him as they wound their way higher into the ravines and jagged peaks.

 
"If it is a legend you desire,
cherie amie
, then a legend you shall have," he promised. After sorting through a myriad of tales, Hawk inhaled, deeply and then let the words trip off the end of his tongue. "Among the Indians that roam the mountains, superstition is strong and those who discount it are frowned upon. What you hear you do not dare to question. That is a code of the wilderness."

 
"
Bien entendu
," Rozalyn muttered impatiently, certain she was not going to believe a word of the nonsense Hawk was about to relate.

 
"There are great spirits ruling the people with red skin. These spirits dwell in the shining mountains. The wind that whistles along the peaks of Wind River and whispers through the meadows of Yellowstone carries the chants and warnings of these powerful spirits. At the headwaters of the Yellowstone River reside the spirits of the spring. In the land beyond, there are hot mineral springs that bubble more than fifty feet in the air, creating a hissing noise that echoes the voices of the magic spirits. These great springs are so hot that meat can be quickly cooked in them. Nearby, waterfalls sparkle and leap and thunder over the rocks that cut through the magic canyon. The river tumbles over the rock terraces, forming pools where a man can enjoy a delightful bath in the warm, spirit waters of this paradise.

On the far side of the valley is an acid spring that gushes upward, spills over the treacherous rapids, and tumbles into the river. And below its gushing waterfall is a sacred cave where the shaman of the Crow collects vermilion, the blood-red pigment used for war paint and dye. Below the boiling springs the water overflows into a small, deep pool where the bubbling-hot water sits upon the cold springs that also feed the river. It is said that a man can lower bait through the simmering waters into the icy depths of the pool. When he catches one of the fish that inhabit the cooler depths, he passes it through the steaming waters and has his meal cooked on its way out of the magical pool."

Hawk grinned outrageously, and Rozalyn rolled her eyes in disbelief.
 
"That is a mite far-fetched." She sniffed. "I have heard references to Colter's Hell, where eternal fires heat underground rivers and send them spurting up into the air like a volcano of water. You don't honestly believe the fantastic reports of explorers who have been alone too long in the wilderness, do you?"

One shoulder lifted in a nonchalant shrug and Hawk broke into a wry smile. "I told you it is not wise to discount the beliefs of those who inhabit these magic mountains. Nor is it advisable to disclaim the existence of Morningstar, the great father spirit of the Crow. One day your cynicism might come back to haunt you." His low, soft chuckle warned Rozalyn to beware of voicing her suspicions, as if the wind might pick up her words and carry them to the great spirit. "In these mountains, the Crow believe that the wild animals and birds that pass through the land of fiery rivers and icy springs possess mystical powers which have been granted to them by Morningstar. When a party of Crow cross the region, the medicine man always offers food and bright, polished stones to each magical spring his people encounter. The spirits of the springs will not curse the red man's journey or cause him defeat in battle if they are given offerings to appease them."