Savage Betrayal (22 page)

His voice, whispering her name, made it sound like a word of love. Soon his strong, rhythmic thrusts into her seized her completely, and she gave herself up to the magical sensation of his possession.

He climaxed powerfully inside her, spilling everything he had to give into the woman he held.

Sarita felt his shuddering release within her, and Fighting Wolf’s grip on her wrists loosened. She entwined her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her. She wanted to hold his warmth and strength to her always.

Fighting Wolf held her as if he’d never let her go. He lay there, marveling at what had just passed between then. Never had it felt so good, so right, to be with a woman as it had with this one. He did not know what to say. How could he tell her, his enemy’s daughter, how moved he had been in her arms? How he had never found such beauty, such wholeness, with a woman before? No, he thought, better to say nothing.

Sarita lay with her eyes closed, her arms wrapped around Fighting Wolf. Suddenly she felt as if she ought to shield herself from him. But it was too late for that. She cringed inside, thinking of her wanton abandonment in his arms. Her face flushed as she remembered responding to his touch, his voice, his smell.

Then came the anger. That he would dare touch her, a chief’s daughter, was too much! That he should take the only thing she had left, her body, her virginity, infuriated her. It should not have been this way. She should have been taken with love, by her husband, by someone who cared for her and who would care for their children. Not taken as a slave on the beach like this. How she despised him!

Furious now, humiliated by her own condemning thoughts, she yanked away from him and rolled to her knees, facing him angrily. “Ahousat bastard!” she spat. “Treacherous Ahousat dog! Is this the way you make sport of me? I hate you!”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You certainly didn’t hate me moments ago,” he drawled. “In fact, I could have sworn you even liked me a little bit!”

With a scream she launched herself at him, her fingers curved into claws, intent on gouging his eyes from their sockets. Fighting Wolf grabbed her hands easily, and rolled her over onto her back. He leaned over her.

“Ready to go again? So soon?” he drawled in that maddening way.

“Get away from me, you filthy beast!” she cried, enraged. “I want nothing to do with you! You’re a despicable beast! A bastard!” This last she screamed into his face.

Hurt by her anger when he had been so profoundly moved by their lovemaking, Fighting Wolf responded aggressively. Raising his hand to slap her, he gritted, “Don’t you speak like that to me, slave!” She couldn’t talk to him that way, not after what they’d shared!

Then he saw it—the shiny glimmer of a tear in the corner of her eye. As he watched, it rolled down into her hairline and disappeared. All that was left was a wet trail into her dark hair.

Fighting wolf hesitated, his hand dropped. He gazed at her, suddenly realizing she needed time to absorb the new feelings they’d discovered. Very well, he’d give her time. His insight into her anger surprised him. He wasn’t in the habit of letting the needs of a woman dictate his behavior.

To Sarita’s surprise, Fighting Wolf rolled off her. He rose and walked a short distance away, staring out to sea.

Caught off guard, Sarita watched him warily. Then she slowly sat up, gathering the torn remnants of her robe about her. Breathing heavily, she was uncertain now, but still angry. What was he up to?

Fighting Wolf sat down calmly where he was and Sarita remained kneeling in the sand. They stayed like that for a while, he staring at the horizon, she staring at him.

Gradually her anger drained away. Her breathing slowed, she relaxed and began to consider the situation rationally, or at least as rationally as she could under the circumstances. What would happen to her now that Fighting Wolf had had his way with her? The wretch! She wondered ruefully if he had noticed her body’s responses to his. Well, that certainly wouldn’t happen again. How could she ever have found him attractive? She snorted. Now that she knew what an animal he was, she would have nothing further to do with him. That was certain!

Her snort drew Fighting Wolf’s attention. He looked across at her and saw that she had calmed down somewhat. He gazed at her, his mind spinning plans. He was not ready to let her go, not yet.

“I will keep you with me for a while,” he stated evenly. “You’ve pleased me. And you’ll continue to please, me, until I tire of you.” It was an order.

Her jaw dropped. “You—you worm! You bastard! I will continue to please you!” she repeated in a high shriek. “You—you--!” Words failed her. “Let me tell you something, O high and noble chief!” Her eyes blazed. Hair in tangles, her back straight, she faced him, proud and undaunted. “
You
do not please me! You will
never
please me! And furthermore,” she hissed in a lowered voice, “I will not stay to be used like this! Not by you. Not by anybody!”

Fighting Wolf had to admire her courage. It was foolish, talking to him, a chief, like that, but it was admirable nevertheless. “You know,” he said casually, “you’re fortunate we’re not in my village. Some of my people, hearing such talk to their war chief, would demand your death.”

She grimaced at him. “Threatening me now, are you, Ahousat dog?” she sneered. “Well, go ahead and kill me! You’ve taken everything else from me! Why not my life, too!”

Furious golden eyes stared into piercing ebony slits. They were both very angry.

“No,” he drawled at last, “Death is no victory over a woman like you. At least not for a man like me. I’d rather have you crying out your passion for me. I want you in my bed, whenever I desire you. A much better revenge, don’t you think?” He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Furious again, she could only sputter at him. “You—you dog!”

“Really,” he responded coolly, “Can’t you think of a more original insult? You’ve called me that at least three times already.”

She fell silent. She would do better to find out his plans than bandy words with him, she decided. Stay calm, she encouraged herself. Don’t let him anger you. Let him think you’re going along with his foolish notions. “What do you plan to do with me?” she asked sullenly.

“That’s better,” he answered. “You might as well accept the situation.” His hard eyes softened as he gazed at her. He walked over and kneeled beside her. He ran one brown finger along her jawline. “You’re very beautiful,” he whispered. “My plans?” he said at last. “My plans are to keep you in my longhouse, away from the slave quarters. As long as you please me, you’ll be under my protection. And,” he paused, looking deeply into the defiant golden eyes staring back at him, “I don’t want you meeting any other men. None. Is that clear? No more evening strolls,” he said firmly.

She nodded, head lowered. She didn’t want him to guess her thoughts. The next time she met Rottenwood, she’d have to be very careful.

“We both know how miserable a female slave’s life can be. I’ll see that you need not worry about other men’s advances. My sister will continue to protect you in my absence.” Even to himself he sounded pompous. “I’ll do whatever I can to ease your burden of slavery,” he added huskily.

Before she could stop herself the words were out. “How noble,” she spat. “When
you
are the one who put me into slavery in the first place!”

Fighting Wolf winced at her words. He grasped her chin gently. “Nevertheless, I’ll try to make your lot easier,” he promised. “You can make it easier on yourself, too. You must realize that. Accept what has happened. You can still have a good life with me, with my people.”

She shrugged off his hand. Her golden eyes reminded him of a furious cougar he had once cornered. She was obviously still angry at him, so he decided to let her be for a while. Getting to his feet, he reached down a hand and helped her up.

Even clutching the torn robe, she was dignified. She stood straight and tall, looking at him with those beautiful golden eyes, her tangled dark hair blowing gently in the warm breeze. Yes, he thought, he was very pleased to have such a beautiful woman for his own. Slinging his kutsack across one arm, he took her hand firmly in his. They started off across the sand towards the small creek where they had left the basket.

As they walked, Sarita let herself think back over what had happened. True, she was still angry, but some of her anger was beginning to drain away.

For the first time, she thought about the lovely feelings and sensations she had experienced. Did it mean anything to him? she wondered. When he held her in his arms, was she important to him? Or just a body to be used for his own satisfaction? She suspected the latter of Fighting Wolf. For herself, she knew that the joining she had just experienced was one of the most intimate things a woman could do with a man. She felt that she had changed, or been changed, irrevocably—from a girl to a woman. And somehow, the knowledge that it had been this marvelously masculine creature walking beside her—tall , strong, his blue-black hair gleaming in the sunlight—who was responsible for the change, secretly pleased her.

She did not dwell long on such traitorous thoughts. She forced herself to consider more mundane things. She was alive. She had survived. Though very frightened, she had fought valiantly against the odds, and she had survived the ordeal. Her virginity was gone, true, but she still had her life, her wits, and the will to use them. Perhaps things might work out well enough for her, after all.

It struck her suddenly that, if he did indeed protect her, then her position in his village would at least be tolerable. She knew, even if she wanted him to—and she certainly did not!—that he would never marry her. Chiefs did not marry slaves. Not even commoners married slaves. That much she was sure of. If he denied her protection, or threw her out after he was tired of her, the best she could hope for would be marriage to another slave. The worst—well, she wouldn’t dwell on that. She shuddered.

Perhaps it would be best for her if she became his mistress, she thought nervously. At least until she managed to escape. Now, more than ever, she was determined to escape. But if those wonderful feelings overwhelmed her every time Fighting Wolf took her in his arms, she suspected she was in terrible danger.

And never, when she lived under her father’s roof, would she have considered an alliance such as she was now being forced into. As the proud daughter of a chief, she had been taught since childhood to cultivate the community’s respect for her own and her family’s name. To maintain that prestige, her family had, since birth, expected her to marry well, to a noble of high rank. Living without a recognized marriage, and possibly bearing children out of wedlock, were not the ways to raise one’s name in the status-conscious society in which she lived. Despite her current position as a slave, Sarita could not forget the expectations of her family. How it rankled to think of herself brought so low.

The only answer was to escape. She had to escape! Until then, however, she would have to go along with Fighting Wolf’s wishes. He gave her no choice in the matter, and try as she would, she could see no other alternative. For the time being, she would have to submit to his demands. Her proud spirit recoiled at the decision.

She watched Fighting Wolf out of the corner of her eye. Tall and bronze, he strode along silently beside her. His kutsack was still slung over his arm. He had made no effort to dress. His nudity did not bother Sarita, however; since childhood she had seen that men often went about naked, especially when the weather was so warm.

Women, however, did not. She looked down at the torn robe she was clutching. It really hid very few of her charms, torn as it was, she now realized. Her breasts spilled forth at the top, but at least her stomach was covered where she clutched the robe closed.

The robe split open again. She might as well be naked!

She almost smiled as she thought of how Precious Copper would now have to find her another kutsack. She was certainly hard on her meager wardrobe! Fighting Wolf saw the small smile curve her lips and he smiled in return. She really was quite adorable—when she wasn’t angry!

They reached the small gurgling stream. Sarita stood, watching uncertainly as Fighting Wolf squatted on his haunches and uncovered the basket. He took out several chunks of smoked salmon. Suddenly she realized just how hungry she really was. She sat down as gracefully as she could, feeling the warm soft sand under her buttocks. Fighting Wolf handed her a large chunk of salmon.

She shook her head. “I don’t want your food!” she said defiantly.

He shrugged casually. “It’s up to you,” he answered, apparently indifferent. “Remember, though, we have a long trip back to my village. Will you have enough strength for all that paddling if you starve yourself?”

She did not answer, but sat stubbornly looking out to sea. She couldn’t refuse to eat forever, she realized. Besides, he’d probably love to see her weak and starving, she thought vengefully. Then he could pounce on her whenever he wanted to!

She reached for one of the salmon chunks. Fighting Wolf pretended not to notice. She bit into the smoked salmon, the meat flaking off in her mouth. She loved the salty salmon taste; it had always been delightful to her.

Sitting on the warm sand, munching the salmon, surrounded by the wild natural beauty of trees, sea and sky, exhausted physically and emotionally by her recent struggles, Sarita felt a warm lethargy steal over her. She began to relax. They might have been the only two people in the world, she thought, as she sat there naked, munching on the delicious salmon.

Her companion sat eating quietly and she cast her eyes surreptitiously at him now and then when she thought he wasn’t aware of her.

But he was—very much aware. The sight of her sitting there, delicately flaking off pieces of salmon and popping them into her luscious mouth interested Fighting Wolf immensely, despite his cool exterior. He found himself wondering what she thought of him, if she hated him for taking her as he had, or it she too had felt the strong emotions sweep over her as they had made love. Shaking himself mentally, he conceded he was thinking like a love-smitten boy.