Elaine Barbieri (12 page)

With the events of that afternoon returning in a rush, Shadow Walker remembered the fierce emotions that had surged within him when he’d seen Spotted Bear approaching. He had felt his fingers itch for the knife at his waist when Spotted Bear looked at Miranda—yet he had waited.

He had not needed to wait long.

A blood rage had suffused his senses when Spotted Bear had made claim to Miranda. His blade had ached to taste Spotted Bear’s flesh, but when it was poised for the task, a nagging honor had forced him to offer Spotted Bear his life.

It was only when Spotted Bear had disappeared from view and he had swept Miranda up onto his horse—when his arms had closed around her again—that he recognized the true motivation for the fury that had overwhelmed
him. Miranda belonged to him in ways that he’d just begun to comprehend.

Miranda looked up at him, interrupting his thoughts when she said, “You’re so stubborn. You should’ve let me tend to this wound earlier. As it is, you’ll probably have a terrible scar when it heals.”

“The scars of battles waged and won are proudly worn.”

“Really?” Miranda shook her head. “That’s another difference between your people and mine.”

“The differences are not so great. The horse soldiers are given badges of metal for each wound received and each battle won. They wear them with honor, no matter how dishonorably they are achieved.”

“Dishonorably?” Miranda stiffened. “Our cavalry fights with honor.”

“By killing women and children in their sleep?”

“War is cruel and inhuman. It demands a high price from those who wage it.”

“Dead women and children are not easily forgotten.”

Miranda’s light eyes searched his. Shadow Walker felt their probing heat settle deep inside him when she responded at last, “No, I suppose they aren’t.”

Her gaze abandoning his, Miranda looked back at the angry wound on Shadow Walker’s arm. Fumbling with the medicine pouch, she repeated, “We should’ve tended to this sooner.”

We.

Dipping her finger in the salve, Miranda then smoothed it onto the cut, and Shadow Walker felt the knot deep inside him tighten further. Her stroke was tentative … gentle. It touched his heart.

Looking up when she was finished, Miranda attempted a smile, then continued with her last thought as if it had not been broken, “But if this medicine works as well on your arm as it did on my feet, it’ll heal in no time.”

Her gaze lingered. Hardly aware of her intent, she whispered, “Thank you for saving me from Spotted Bear, Shadow Walker.”

Shadow Walker whispered, “Spotted Bear risked his life the moment he said your name. I keep what is mine—and you are mine, Miranda.”

Sensing a depth to Shadow Walker’s words that went unexpressed, Miranda felt a trembling begin inside her. She remained silent as he continued, “You asked many times where I am taking you. I did not answer when we started our journey because I felt no need—and then because my response became uncertain. But I will tell you our destination now. We go to a place of peace and beauty that I would share with you. At first I saw it as a place of resolution where the battle of wills between us would be settled at last, but I see it now as a place of promise, where we might cast the disputes between our people from our
minds—where we might come to know each other without conflict.”

Pausing, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, Shadow Walker continued, “But with my answer comes a question that I would not ask before.”

Shadow Walker’s gaze held hers intently. Miranda felt its warmth caress her, and she felt the honesty it demanded from her in return as he said, “I would share this place with you in harmony, Miranda. Will you travel there with me as a captive, or will you seek a peace between us willingly?”

The glowing warmth in Shadow Walker’s gaze enveloped her. Its silent promise touched her heart in a way that left only one response that she could truthfully give.

Miranda whispered, “… Willingly.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Gray streaks of dawn filtered through Major Thurston’s office window where he had been waiting, fully dressed and ready to begin his journey, for hours. Too much time had passed since Miranda had disappeared leaving behind only an abandoned hat and a few hoof-prints in the sand. Washington’s orders for no aggressive action against the hostiles had rendered the fort’s daily patrols pointless, and all other efforts to locate Miranda had failed. Having exhausted all other avenues of appeal, the major had finally realized that a request for an interview in Washington was his only hope of effecting a change in policy that might bring Miranda home. He had received permission for the interview by wire the previous day. Weighing heavily on his mind was the possibility that Miranda’s life depended on its outcome.

“Your escort is ready, sir.”

Frowning, Major Thurston turned toward Lieutenant Hill where the lieutenant awaited a response. He didn’t like leaving the fort under Hill’s command, even temporarily. Hill had revealed an increasing irrationality with regard to the Indian problem in recent weeks. His uncertainty
whether Hill would act on it during his absence was his greatest concern in leaving.

That thought in mind, Major Thurston responded to Hill’s poorly concealed impatience. “The escort can wait a few minutes. I have something to say to you first.”

The almost imperceptible tightening of Hill’s lips did not escape the major’s notice when he said, “I’m leaving the fort under your temporary command while I travel to Washington, Lieutenant I will return as soon as my mission in Washington is accomplished. I want to remind you that General Morton’s order still stands. No aggressive action is to be initiated from this fort that will cause any conflict with the hostiles, most especially with the Cheyenne.”

His gaze pinning Hill, Major Thurston asked, “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The major eyed Hill a moment longer. Hill’s face flushed an unnatural shade as the major then pressed, “You’re a well-trained officer. You know what your orders are. I expect you to follow them.”

Approaching to stand a hair’s-breadth from Hill’s face, Major Thurston continued more softly, “Off the record—I want you to know I’m aware that you consider my efforts on my daughter’s behalf ineffective and lacking in courage. I also know you haven’t hesitated to voice those opinions to others in the fort Speaking as a man, I couldn’t care less
what you think of me as long as you follow my orders … but speaking as a father, I want to make perfectly clear that if you use the temporary command of this fort to do anything that will put my daughter’s safety in jeopardy—
you’re a dead man.
Is that also understood, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.”

That message conveyed, Charles strode out of his office toward the escort awaiting him.

The morning dew left a silver sheen on the grass through which Miranda walked as she made her way to the spring. Glancing back, she saw the dark green trail her footsteps had left behind, the only marks to mar the beauty of the meadow that stretched out on all sides of her. She looked up at the snow-topped mountains in the distance that days of journeying had never seemed to bring any closer, and watched as the glow of the new day’s sun rose up the slopes with breathtaking beauty.

A cool morning breeze caressed her skin and Miranda smiled. Shadow Walker had brought her to this spot two days earlier, explaining to her that it was a magical place where game was abundant and the days passed untouched, unaltered by the conflicts of the present.

Since they’d arrived, an easy pattern had been established between Shadow Walker and her. Shadow Walker had spent the mornings hunting while she worked around the camp, and during long afternoons they had eaten,
swum, talked, and laughed. As evening shadows lengthened, their confidences had deepened, with Shadow Walker speaking of his youth with both sadness and joy, and of his hopes for times to come.

Miranda had not been so candid. Discomfort nudged at the knowledge that while she had spoken at length about her earlier life, she had avoided any references to her father’s military status and rank, and the fact that he had often led his command against the Cheyenne. She had told herself that the intimacy of those moments was precious and too tenuous to risk—that she needed more time—but the passing hours only increased her difficulty.

Making her way toward the pool that glistened in the rising sun, Miranda glanced only briefly toward the knoll where her mount grazed protected from clear view. She knew that leaving the animal behind while he hunted was another sign of Shadow Walker’s trust, and her discomfort deepened.

Miranda paused at the pool’s edge, a recurring guilt plaguing her. What was her father doing now? Was he suffering because of her? She wished she could talk to him so she could apologize for her stubbornness in leaving the fort that day and tell him she loved him. She also wanted to tell him she had learned a lot since the day of her capture—about the Cheyenne way of life, the honor they accorded a battle that was well and honestly waged, and the value they placed on a person’s given word. Most especially, however,
she wanted to tell her father she knew now that Shadow Walker wasn’t the savage everyone believed him to be, that he was just a man like any other.

Shadow Walker’s image flashed before Miranda, and her heart skipped a beat. No, that was untrue. Shadow Walker was unlike any man she’d ever known.

A frown grew on Miranda’s face as another thought nagged. But she couldn’t tell her father all those things, because despite the beauty of the past few days, she was still a captive. Shadow Walker and she would eventually return to the Cheyenne camp, and when they did—she could not be certain how it would all end.

Suddenly unwilling to follow those thoughts any further, Miranda walked into the pond. The morning sun was bright on her head as the water soaked through her shirt to cool her skin. Closing her eyes, she forced away her concerns and floated motionlessly on the placid surface.

So absorbed was she that she did not hear the footsteps at the water’s edge.

Shadow Walker swam underwater with long, powerful strokes. So relaxed was Miranda while floating on the surface of the pond that she had not heard him return from the hunt. Nor had she seen him turn his mount loose in the knoll before stripping down to his breechcloth to enter the water.

Reaching her side, Shadow Walker broke suddenly
through the surface to Miranda’s startled gasp. Momentarily silent, he stared into Miranda’s face. Her great, clear eyes were wide with surprise. Heavy droplets of water clung to dark lashes that emphasized their startlingly light color. As he watched, the sun-kissed color of her fair cheeks flushed a darker shade that signaled pleasure at his return—pleasure that raised similar emotions in his own heart A welcoming smile broke across her lips and he remembered a time when he had wondered with a sinking heart if that smile would ever shine for him.

Breaking the silence between them, Miranda said, “You surprised me. I didn’t hear you come back.”

Shadow Walker’s smile dimmed at Miranda’s comment. He replied, “In that lies the danger.”

“Danger?” Miranda frowned and glanced around them. “What danger could threaten us in this beautiful place?”

Innocence.

Smiling again, Shadow Walker returned, “There is no danger while I am at your side, Miranda.”

Emerging from the pond refreshed a short time later, Shadow Walker sat in the brilliant sunshine at the pool’s edge. He smiled as Miranda sat down beside him. He watched as she wrung out her unbound hair, unconsciously separating the strands with her fingers as she said abruptly, “What did you mean when you said there was danger here?”

Shadow Walker did not respond.

“You didn’t mean from animals, did you?”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

Shadow Walker responded evasively, “Caution is prudent wherever we are.”

Miranda was confused. She had noted his concern when she failed to hear his return, but she sensed a deeper anxiety than the one he had voiced. She wanted to know what worried him.

But Shadow Walker resisted, and she pressed again, “Shadow Walker—”

“This place deceives, Miranda. Its beauty lulls the senses into believing that beyond this cool pond and green meadow where the sun shines and the sky is clear, blood is no longer spilled.”

“But it’s different here.”

“Yes, here, close to sacred ground, the beauty remains, but it is fragile and must not be taken for granted.”

“We’re safe here, aren’t we?”

Frowning, Shadow Walker replied, “I wish to speak of this no more, for to do so would be to compromise the short time here that remains.”

The short time that remains.

Shadow Walker stood up abruptly and Miranda noted again the small scar that marred the smooth expanse of his back. Standing beside him, she touched it tentatively, turning him toward her.

Unwilling to be put off by the darkening of his frown, Miranda said, “I thought you said the Cheyenne wear their scars proudly.”

“I do not wish to be reminded of that scar in this place.”

“Why?”