Savage Autumn (10 page)

It was a very slow and painful process putting on her riding habit, while trying to stay under the blanket so the Indians couldn’t see her.

There were a great number of Indians in the camp, but not as many as there had been attending the games at the river. Joanna estimated there were somewhere around fifty savages.

She lay back on the grass, not knowing or caring what the Indians would do to her. For the most part, they seemed to ignore her, with the exception of a few curious glances.

At one point one of the Indians approached her with food and water. He avoided her eyes, while placing the food within her reach. She felt relieved when he left. Although Joanna was hungry, she refused the food since she couldn’t identify its
origin—however, her thirst caused her to drink deeply from the leather waterskin.

Joanna’s eyes widened fearfully as Windhawk approached her. She groaned when he bent down to lift her gently into his arms then carried her to the horses.

He could feel her stiffen when he mounted his horse.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

His dark eyes searched her face, hating the fear he read there. “I am taking you to my home,” he replied.

Joanna knew it would do no good to beg for her freedom. The man who had killed so many of her people would never listen to her plea, and she didn’t want to lower herself by begging him.

As they rode away from the river, Joanna tried to close her mind to her future. Tag was dead, and she was a prisoner. She was lying across Windhawk’s lap and she resented his nearness with every fiber of her being. She stared at the hands that held the reins. They were strong hands: hands that had murdered and burned. Those hands had also been gentle as he tended her wounds. She closed her eyes, wishing she were dead.

In the days that followed, Joanna became slowly accustomed to the fact that she was a captive. The bruises and cuts were mending, the sling had been removed from her arm and she was no longer in pain. She had almost welcomed the pain, because in some way, she thought of it as her penance. It was her fault that Tag, Franny and Simon were dead. If she hadn’t insisted on joining the wagon train, they would be alive today. Even if Tag had been sent to sea by her uncle, he would have been better off than he now was. If only she could turn back the clock, she would have done things much differently.
What good did it do to bemoan the past—it wouldn’t change anything.

With each passing day Joanna could feel the distance between her and the civilized world widening.

The Indians traveled at a swift pace, and Joanna was sore all over from the long hours on horseback. She was glad that she had healed enough to ride by herself. She hated having to ride with Windhawk. He very seldom spoke to her, and approached her only when he wanted to examine her arm.

They were now camped in a heavily wooded area. So far, Joanna had not been harmed in any way. Each day Windhawk would clean and apply some kind of healing herbs to her head, and at those times, she would be terrified of him. At night she was forced to share a small tipi with Windhawk. She had been certain that he would ravish her, but so far he slept by the entrance while allowing her to sleep beside the fire.

None of the other Indians ever entered the tipi, but during the day Joanna would sometimes feel them watching her.

At first she had refused to eat the food that was offered to her, but hunger soon overruled her objections.

Joanna was offered very little privacy. Even when she went to the river to wash, someone was always nearby. She didn’t know if it was to ensure that she didn’t attempt to escape, or if it was for her safety.

Joanna questioned the reason why Windhawk seemed to take such special care of her? Why had she been the only one he had allowed to live? She also wondered what he had in mind for her once they reached his village.

Windhawk and Gray Fox had just tethered the horses and the other warriors had gathered about for the evening meal. For the last two days they had been traveling through the territory of their old enemy, the Crow. There would be no campfire tonight. Windhawk wanted no signs that would reveal their position to the Crow.

Joanna had noticed that when Windhawk walked among his warriors, he would smile at one and speak to another. Although
though she couldn’t understand what was being said, she could feel the camaraderie between the mighty chief and his braves.

Gray Fox pulled Windhawk off to the side so he could have a private word with him. “The white girl is healed, my friend. Would it not be better if you were to send her back to her own kind?”

“Why do you say this to me?” Windhawk wanted to know.

“I think it would be far better for you if you were to let her go. She is not of your world and can only bring you trouble.”

Windhawk was thoughtful for a moment. “My heart is already in her keeping, yet I fear she will never give her heart to me. I know so little of her life, and yet I feel she is a part of me. I will never allow her to leave.”

“I wonder if you have thought of how the flaming-haired one will be received by our people. They have no love for the white race. Already your warriors say that you are too soft on her.”

Windhawk’s eyes blazed. “Jo-anna is my woman! They must accept her.”

“She is healed from her wounds,” Gray Fox said again, looking at Windhawk knowingly.

“Yes.” Windhawk took a deep breath. “She still fears me and believes that I led the raid on the wagon train. I have no words to tell her the truth. I do not wish to take her when she is unwilling.”

“A woman must be taught from the first that a man is superior. You must show her this.”

Windhawk smiled at Gray Fox. “Is that your practice with your wives?”

Gray Fox returned his smile. “No, but it is the way I would wish it to be sometimes.”

Joanna sat on the bank of the river, trailing her hand in the water. There was evidence that autumn was in the air. The leaves on the trees had begun to change colors, and there was a crisp, clean aroma in the air. She heard the distant song of
the whippoorwill, and was overcome with sadness. How Tag would have loved it here. With his strong sense of adventure, he would have been delighted with each new discovery. She remembered how he had admired Windhawk. It didn’t make sense to her that Windhawk had once saved Tag’s life only to end it later. She had to admit that Windhawk had been kind to her. It was hard to associate the man who had tended her wounds with the murdering savage who had killed all the people on the wagon train.

Joanna was so deep in thought she didn’t hear the soft moccasin footsteps which came up soundlessly behind her. Windhawk could only see the back of Joanna’s head, but he knew if he could see her face, he would see sadness there. He wanted more than anything to see her smile. He would do almost anything to bring her happiness.

As her injuries had begun to heal and she grew stronger, his desire for her had intensified. He dreamed of the day when he would take her in his arms and show her all the love that was in his heart.

Joanna sensed Windhawk’s presence, and turned her head to stare at him for a moment. She stood up quickly with the intention of going back to camp, but he barred her way.

She raised her violet eyes to his dark ones and saw the soft light reflected there. The wind was blowing softly and the autumn leaves were drifting to the ground all about them.

“Jo-anna,” he whispered, and his hand drifted up to lightly touch her face. “Jo-anna,” he repeated, touching her hair.

Joanna blinked her eyes and tried to back away from him. Had the moment she dreaded come at last?

Seeing her fear, he dropped his hand to his side. “Does your arm still pain you?” he inquired.

Joanna shook her head. “Thanks to you, it is almost healed.” Looking into his face, she saw such intense longing that it frightened her. She had to get away from him. She turned around so quickly that her foot became entangled in her gown and she lost her balance, falling into his arms. Tense moments
passed before she could bring herself to look into his face. When she glanced up, he was watching her closely.

“Jo-anna, this feeling I have for you is such beauty…it fills my heart.” His voice was deep and passionate, and the sound of it vibrated throughout her body.

She was now more frightened of him than ever. Surely he hadn’t meant that he loved her. She would never allow him to touch her, never!

“Please, let me go,” she whispered.

Windhawk drew Joanna closer to him fearing he had frightened her with the overwhelming love he felt for her. “I have not the words to say to you in English. If you could understand my language, I could tell how I feel. To love is to feel pain, yet…it is also beautiful.”

Joanna felt his lips brush her forehead, and she felt a weakness wash over her. He lifted her chin and gazed deeply into her eyes. She saw that his throat was working convulsively.

“I want you for my woman, Jo-anna. I believe that it was meant for you and I to be lovers.”

Joanna closed her eyes and felt his lips softly touch her eyelids. She could feel him take a shuddered breath. She wanted to leave, yet she wanted to stay. Joanna was experiencing a new feeling so consuming it pushed all other thoughts out of her mind. She could feel his warm breath on her lips and it sparked a deep pain of longing within her. His lips gently brushed hers, and she gasped. Her young body yearned for something from him, but she didn’t know what it was. Opening her eyes, she saw his dark eyes asking her an unspoken question.

Suddenly she remembered that he was the enemy and she pushed him away from her. How could she have forgotten for one moment what he had done? Her heart was drumming like the rhythm of an Indian tom-tom. She backed away from him, fearing he would take her into his arms again. Joanna had fought for her honor against her Uncle Howard; she would do the same with Windhawk. He might overpower her in the
end, but he would know that he hadn’t met with an easy conquest.

Her thoughts were troubled when she looked into his dark, velvet, soft eyes, and once again Joanna thought she saw sadness there. Windhawk had the most expressive eyes; they showed so clearly what he was thinking. His eyes could probably lie, she warned herself. It must be some kind of trick so he can do what he wants with you, the voice inside her head told her.

Joanna could not keep her eyes from moving across his face. His lashes were long and silky, framing those soft, melting brown eyes. His cheekbones were sharp and high-set. His chin showed a stubborn masculinity. She could not imagine any woman being unmoved by his beauty, when she, herself, was fighting to be free of the strong attraction she felt for him. Now his eyes were moving across her face as if he were lazily assessing her.

Joanna wanted to turn away, but his dark eyes were holding her prisoner. As his hand reached up to touch her cheek softly, her eyes drifted shut at his soft caress. She became aware that her breathing was coming out in short panting sounds, and her heartbeat was thundering in her ears. She could feel the bonds of civilization being stripped from her, as wild primitive feelings washed over her. There were no white and Indian world; there were no right and wrong—there were only she and Windhawk!

It was as if he were a magnet drawing her to him. Joanna felt herself sway and her hand came to rest against his bare, muscular chest. With a sudden lithe motion, he crushed her to his body. His thigh was warm and hard as it pressed against her soft body.

Joanna tried to speak, but the only sound that issued from her lips was a throaty sigh. His face was against hers and she felt him turn his head just a fraction to rest his lips at the corner of hers. Joanna could feel his breath enter her mouth. She felt as if a white-hot flash riveted throughout her body,
leaving her breathless. Her knees went weak and she clung to his shoulders for support. A wild fire nipped at her most feminine core as his tongue traced the outline of her lips. Joanna’s breath came out in a whimper of passion as her lips parted, inviting his kiss. All her resistance crumbled as his sensuous, hot mouth brushed hers. She knew she should pull away, but instead her body pressed tighter against his. His mouth was teasing and light as it brushed against hers. When he pulled away from her, she turned her head, seeking his kiss. The kiss she craved never came, and she opened her eyes to stare into passion-laced dark eyes.

Joanna’s young virginal body cried out for a fulfillment that she couldn’t fully understand. The feelings Windhawk now evoked in her were unexplored. Her body had never before been awakened…until now she had never been tested.

He knows, she thought wildly. He knows what I am thinking and feeling. Raising her face to him with her last bit of sanity, she tried to mask her confusion.

“Take your hands off me,” she said in a throaty whisper.

Joanna was startled when he released her and she stumbled backwards. Now that her body was free of his, she longed to feel his closeness once more. Looking once more into his eyes, she knew that he could read the shameful truth in her eyes, and covered her face with trembling hands.

Windhawk, seeing the terror on Joanna’s face, turned his back to her. “It would be wise if you would return to the tipi, Jo-anna. If you stay I will surely give you that which you know you desire.”

Joanna turned around and ran back toward the camp as fast as her legs would take her. She fell once and jumped quickly to her feet, rushing into the tipi.

When she was inside, she glanced out to see if Windhawk had followed her, but to her relief he was nowhere in sight. She clasped her hands tightly over her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that welled up deep inside her. What had she done? She knew that had he not pulled back she would now be giving
herself to him, body and soul. Had she fallen so low that she would have allowed a man who was her enemy to rob her of her virtue?

She stumbled to the robe in the corner and huddled upon it, losing herself in total misery.

Joanna lay tensely upon the buffalo robe. The tipi was dark, and she dared not move, for fear she would awaken Windhawk. When he had come in a short time ago, he hadn’t spoken to her, but had laid down on his buffalo robe near the entrance of the tipi. She hoped he might be asleep by now.

Every so often she would steal a glance in his direction, but it was too dark to see if he was asleep. Since the afternoon, Joanna had begun to question many things about the mysterious Windhawk. Was he married? If he was, did he have more than one wife? Had he meant to make love to her today beside the river? What about the strange reaction she had had when he held her in his arms? Joanna had wanted him to hold her, she admitted, feeling a tightening in her throat. She closed her eyes, knowing she was being drawn to him against her will. She could not allow herself to forget who he was and what he had done.

Joanna drew in a shuddered breath. She had to think of something else. For some reason his presence in the tipi was so disturbing to her that she couldn’t transfer her thoughts. Sitting up slowly she knew what she must do. She had to try to escape! It couldn’t be more than a week’s ride to the trading post. Joanna suddenly felt if she didn’t get away she would cease to exist, and Windhawk would control her very soul.

Several moments passed, and she could hear Windhawk’s steady breathing. Standing up cautiously and moving as quietly as possible, Joanna walked toward the tipi opening, hoping she wouldn’t awaken Windhawk. If only she could make her way to the horses unobserved, then she might have a chance to get away. She didn’t delude herself that it would be an easy task, but she just had to make a bid for freedom!

Windhawk had been aware that Joanna was restless, and
he wanted to prove to her that she had nothing to fear from him. Pretending to be asleep, he hoped she would soon drift off herself. He knew he would have to earn her trust and then perhaps her heart. His keen hearing caught the sound of her movement—he knew without being told that she was trying to escape.