Captive Eden

Brenda
Williamson

Blush sensuality level: This is a sensual romance (may
have explicit love scenes, but not erotic in frequency or type).

On the western prairies of Nebraska, Eden befriends the
handsome Pawnee half-breed Indian, Brant. Over the years, he treats her with
unrelenting respect and they fall madly in love, vowing to be together forever.
But when Eden’s father discovers she’s with child, he sends her away.

When Eden returns home with her son to settle her dead
father’s affairs, it challenges everything she left behind. Brant shows up to
lay claim to his son, his feelings for her lost in his anger toward Eden’s
betrayal and abandonment.

Despite the tensions between them, Eden and Brant share an
undeniable attraction. Their tentative bond could be shattered when a tragic
injury befalls their son.

A Blush®
historical
romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Eden Caruthers never thought the day would come that she’d
return home to the beautiful but dangerous Nebraska Territory. Many times, she
wanted to but didn’t. While the paralyzing harsh winters and the threat of
attack by renegade Indians might have been reason enough, she needed to keep
her distance from a cruel father and the man who broke her heart.

Now she was back. Times had changed. Indians had resigned
themselves to living on reservations. The 1870s promised a brighter future to
those heading westward, in part to the Transcontinental Railroad.

The tedious trip by train and then stagecoach north to the
Sweet Grove Trading Post had taken a toll on her strength. Yet she wasted no
time in renting a wagon and horse to finish the journey to her home on the
prairie.

As the midsummer sun warmed her cheeks, Eden removed her
bonnet and glanced at her surroundings. The barn, the woodshed, the house all
stood deserted. They appeared as tired as she felt.

She studied her old house. The weathered wood planks of the
walls still appeared sound, the structure sturdy. How different a house could
look with paint. She thought of her aunt and uncle’s white house with black
shutters back in Boston.

The contrast of the two homes she had resided in went beyond
appearance. Everything about the people she lived with had drastic effects on
her disposition. If not for her aunt and uncle’s generous hospitality and
gentle ways, she would never have realized the depths of her father’s meanness.

Slowly she climbed from the wagon seat and glanced at the
marker on her father’s grave plot. She thought she might feel sorrow. Instead,
her father’s death lifted a weight of fear from her shoulders. He hadn’t been
part of her life for nearly five years yet that didn’t stop her from having
nightmares of him dragging her back home.

Eden looked up at Charlie, thankful her son never knew an
ounce of the mistreatment she bore at the hands of her father.

“Be careful.” She tried not to hover over her four year old
as he shrugged off her help and climbed down from the wagon on his own.

Turning her attention from him back to the house, she eyed
it for problems that could possibly prevent them from staying in it until she
settled her deceased father’s affairs. Some missing wood shakes on the roof
meant she might find a few leaks inside when it rained, but nothing that should
stop them from being comfortable.

A sudden breeze rattled a shutter and drew her gaze to the
window of her room. For a moment, she thought the strangely familiar sound
would force her to remember something good about her childhood. Yet, her best
recollections always vanished under her worst memories.

“Mama, there’s an Indian riding this way,” Charlie
exclaimed.

Eden spun around and looked to where he pointed toward the
western horizon. Gusts of wind across the prairie threw dust in her eyes,
blinding her from seeing what Charlie did.

The cloudy afternoon, the distant rumble of a storm and the
glare from the setting sun made it hard to focus as well. She lifted her hand
to shield her eyes and stared at the fast-approaching lone rider.

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Charlie asked.

Eden didn’t answer—she couldn’t speak. A long-suppressed
emotion rose from her heart, choking her voice as she stared at the shadowy
image that took form. She placed her hand on the side of the wagon for support.
It didn’t stop the trembling in her legs or the shiver of apprehension rolling
along her spine.

“Is he going to scalp us?” Charlie moved closer, his hand
seeking hers.

Putting her arm around his small shoulders, she mustered up
courage she didn’t feel. She tried to keep her voice steady and reassuring when
she answered, “No, dear.”

Luckily, Charlie’s fixation on the Indian prevented him from
noticing her rattled tone.

“What do you think he wants?” Charlie whispered.

What wouldn’t she do to have a gypsy fortuneteller’s crystal
ball to know that answer? Since arriving back in the Nebraska Territory and stepping
off the stagecoach at the trading post, she feared only one Indian—Brant
Sullette. The Chawi Pawnee half-breed threatened her sanity, not her safety. He
had been the one person she had longed to see and at the same time dreaded to
face.

A billow of dust swirled around the horse’s legs as Brant
reined in the animal. There was no man on Earth who portrayed masculinity the
way Brant did. The impressive sight of him made her heart stall. Wide-shouldered
with sunbaked skin, his body rippled with muscle. But his stone-like facial
features alleged nothing soft about him, not even his heart.

“He doesn’t look very happy,” Charlie remarked.

Eden struggled to breathe. Words wouldn’t come and her
thoughts rolled like tumbleweeds in her head. The time away from Sweet Grove
had solved some of her problems, but not the one giving her an imposing glare.

Brant’s stillness hinted something was more wrong than her
return. She didn’t dare think of why his severe look blended anger and contempt
into a neat package. It wasn’t how she had envisioned meeting him again.

She thought back to the long weeks of travel by train and by
stagecoach and the most pleasant of her daydreams.

Brant stood at the edge of the pond with his back to her
until Eden called his name. Then he turned. His smile made her giddy with
delight and she ran to him. Enveloped in his embrace, she hugged him.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He slid his hands over her,
magically removing her clothes with the sweep of his fingers. “I have searched
for years to find you, to have you naked in my arms.”

“I missed you too and I’ve longed to feel you inside me
again.” She unlaced his leather shirt and pressed her palms to his hard-muscled
chest. A light sprinkling of hair swirled the center, encircling his nipples
and funneling down to his navel. The softness of those fibers attracted her
touch.

He slid one hand down her back to her bottom. Grasping
her buttocks, he squeezed and pulled her closer. His throbbing maleness pressed
her belly as he caught her jaw with his other hand to hold her face and kiss
her. Then circling her, he cupped her breast in one hand and slid his other
between her legs.

Slowly he rubbed his palm back and forth, stirring the short
crop of hairs concealing the slit of her sex. He showed a hunger for kissing
her shoulder and neck. His arms binding her tight held her back against his
chest.

Eden breathed heavier, aroused and anxious.

When he wiggled a finger between her nether lips, a
tingling sensation shot through her. She wanted him to do it again but he
passed the sensitive bud of flesh and pressed deeper. He stroked his finger in
and out of her. Sometimes slow, sometimes quicker, numbing her until the
twinges of stimulation heightened.

She laid her head back on Brant’s shoulder, writhing with
the rapture of his manipulative caresses, panting to catch her breath. She twisted
her head to the side and looked up into his lust- filled eyes, so intense and
determined.

When the uncontrollable spasms seized her, she clutched
at his arms for support. The glorious orgasm uplifted her spirit. But when the
tension in her muscles subsided and her mind cleared, sadness sank into her
heart.

The heartache of him not wanting her brought Eden back to
reality. She blinked away the bittersweet fantasy.

Brant’s stare held her captive. She felt the heat of
embarrassment rising to her cheeks. She hadn’t lain with any man other than
Brant, but it didn’t mean she hadn’t dreamed of all the sexual acts of intimacy
that could transpire between them. Would he know why a blush reddened her face?
Would he guess the ways she sought sexual relief by touching herself?

“Mama, shouldn’t we say something to him?” Charlie
interrupted her reflections. “Indians like it when white people give them
stuff.”

She loved that Charlie had a kindness in him like his
father. But it saddened her to think she was the reason that what he knew of
Indians had come from dime novels her uncle read to him. She should have told
him more about his father’s people.

“He’s also not wearing any war paint.” Charlie sighed with
more than a small hint of disappointment.

“The Chawi Pawnee won’t attack us, Charlie. They are a
peaceful tribe,” she whispered.

Eden swallowed, clearing the dryness from her throat.

“Good afternoon, Brant.” She finally gave him a polite nod,
knowing they couldn’t stand there forever eyeing each other like enemies.

Her immediate misgivings waned as his gaze traveled the
length of her. His slow inspection made her insides quake. Under her cotton
chemise and linen blouse, her nipples hardened. Beneath her blue wool skirt,
heat roiled in her belly and her insides twitched.

She tried to think of something else to say yet words would
not come.

Once Brant’s assessment stopped, desire and danger sparkled
in his brown-eyed stare. Her heart thumped harder. How many times in the past
five years had she dreamed about him wanting her?

“You know him?” Charlie loosened his hold.

She tried to answer, except the whimper rising from the
excitement in her soul threatened to embarrass her.

Brant showed a powerful agility in his fluid dismount
.
It put him on the ground in
one swift motion. The adorable boy she had fallen in love with had matured into
a handsome man. The love she’d kept locked away fought to pour out. All she
needed was one sign of welcome. A smile, a kind hello, anything at all and she’d
spill her heart of all her closely guarded feelings.

“Hello, sir.” Charlie stepped forward, displaying his courageous
and trusting nature.

Eden tried to move. Brant’s spellbinding stare kept her feet
fastened to the ground next to her father’s grave. He dropped the reins of his
horse and his solemn look lowered to Charlie.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Eden wiped the back of
her hand across her cheek, pushing aside the escaping tears.

His gaze lingered on their son. Not saying anything rattled
her.

“Brant?”

The muscle in his jaw clenched and his gaze lifted to her.
Forced to make the first move, she managed to budge a few inches toward him.
She watched for the slightest indication he was happy to see her. One sweet
word of encouragement and she’d rush to claim his embrace.

“I have come for the boy.” His statement knocked her back a
step.

“My father told you?” She didn’t think her father would ever
mention her pregnancy to anyone since he sent her away as if she’d committed
the worst sin in the world.

Of course, Brant would want his son. But his words weren’t what
she expected to hear. She wanted him to announce he had come for her. On the
train, she went over what he’d say. On the stagecoach, she dreamed of their
first encounter. She yearned to fling herself into his waiting arms and kiss
him a thousand times to make up for every second she had missed with him.

His cold tone dashed away those hopes. What she had clung to
over the years became a childish dream.

So Brant knew about Charlie. It actually came as a relief.
She had always wanted to tell him he had a son, and yet, she also hated him for
breaking her heart enough that she thought she’d never divulge that treasured
fact.

Brant came closer. His imposing size made her tremble again.

“You had him for five years.” Brant reached out and grabbed
Charlie’s arm. “Now he goes with me.”

“No!” she screamed, horrified by his demand.

“You have no say in this,” he insisted, dragging Charlie
away from her.

Eden lifted her skirt and hurried after him. “You can’t take
my son.” She positioned herself between Charlie and Brant.

His arm remained stretched passed her, keeping hold of
Charlie.

“He doesn’t know you,” she cried, holding his arm as if she
had the strength to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to do.

The muscle in his jaw clenched again and his eyes narrowed
on her. “And whose fault is that?”

“Brant, please. You can’t just take him from me.”
Desperation got the better of her to say anything to stop him. “There are laws.
The men in Sweet Grove, the soldiers at the fort will—”

“They’ll not help a half-breed,” he snapped.

Eden’s aunt and uncle never treated her son as a half-breed.
To them and to her he was an adorably bright and energetic little boy. But that
was Boston and she was in the west where Indians were feared and hated and
dealt with as if rabid animals.Brant
was right. No one would do anything to help her keep her Indian child.

She had been so naïve years ago. When she was twelve and she
befriended Brant, she never believed for a minute the settlers would think of him
as a savage. And while they considered him ignorant because of what he was, and
not who, she foolishly thought schooling him could change their opinion. Yet,
the settlers still called him a heathen. And of all of those narrow-minded people,
her father was the worst.

“Brant, please be reasonable.”

“Like you were by keeping him from me?” He pushed her away
and dragged Charlie to his horse.

“Mama?” Charlie’s frightened voice compelled her to advance.

Everything she had dreamed crashed into the reality before
her. Brant was not the same person she’d given her heart to as a girl.

She grasped the front of his leather vest. “I was hardly
more than a child.”

His sudden deep breath coaxed her gaze to where the loose
laces let the soft leather part and her fingers touch his bare chest. He
grabbed her hand and pulled it free.

She stepped back, alarmed by the violent warning in his
eyes.

He turned away and hoisted Charlie onto the saddled horse he
had brought. The small horse stood tethered by a lead rope tied to a metal ring
on Brant’s saddle.