Savage Heat (20 page)

More than that, he knew he could take her here, now, and she would give herself to him in sweet surrender. He forced himself to use his head, to remember who the girl in his arms was and why she was here with him. Made himself call to mind the green-eyed, blond-haired man who had fathered her. Made himself review all the times he had seen the shallow charmer on the arm of some worshiping male whose heart she carelessly crushed.

Better an aching groin than an aching heart.

Night Sun opened his eyes and stirred. Martay suddenly pushed on his chest. He pulled back to look at her.

“Don’t,” she said, somewhat shakily, “ever do that to me again, Night Sun.”

“I won’t, Martay. Believe me.”

17

A
n extremely ugly, squat-bodied Indian sat in a comfortable white rocking chair on the sun-drenched veranda of the Darlington mansion. He was drinking straight Kentucky bourbon from a tall tumbler and smoking an expensive Cuban cigar.

He was Scar, chief of the Crow scouts. He’d ridden to this foothills estate to speak with General William Kidd, and the general, respecting the wishes of Regina Darlington, the genteel mistress of the house, had made no bones about the fact that Scar would not be welcome inside. It was, he told the badly-scarred scout, presumptuous enough that he had come here uninvited; that he was sitting here on the porch of such fine white people, drinking their bourbon and smoking their cigars as though he were company.

Scar’s feelings were not hurt by the less than enthusiastic reception. He was not a sensitive man.

“What the hell do you mean, showing up on this estate?” said General William Kidd, his green eyes snapping. “Unless you’ve got news of my daughter, don’t come around.”

Scar crossed his muscular legs and took another drink of whiskey. “No news, General. But your daughter’s the reason I came.”

“Martay? You’ve heard something … you think you …”

“I’ve heard nothing. That’s just the problem. I’ll hear nothing unless I get around a bit. It’s a waste of time for me to keep leading troops up into these mountains west of Denver.”

“You’ve a better idea?”

“Give me a couple of months to travel. I’ll ride up through the country, keep my ear to the ground, see what I can hear.”

“I don’t see how …”

“General, I’ve got plenty of contacts across the Plains. People who see and hear more than you’ll ever know. I’ll pay some visits, take a few presents—which you’ll pay for—call in some favors.”

“You think there’s a chance of learning who took Martay?”

The beefy Crow licked obscenely at the chewed-up tip of his expensive cigar. “You never can tell. I have ways of wringing information out of the most secretive folks.” He grinned then, his fleshy lips wrapped around the cigar, his flat brown eyes glittering evilly.

General Kidd scratched his jaw. “Hell, maybe you could find out something. Drink up, Scar, and be on your way. Time’s wasting.”

The obstinate Crow drained his glass, but rose, went to the drink trolley, and poured himself another. Without turning to look at the silver-haired general, he said, “I need a thousand dollars for the trip.”

The general shot up from his chair. “A thousand dollars, my behind! There’s a ten-thousand-dollar reward! You’ll get your usual …”

“No, General. You’ll give me a thousand dollars. I told you it is necessary to grease a few palms for information.”

“I thought you were going to strong-arm your informers.”

“That method will not work on everyone.” He turned about and grinned. “Ladies like gifts.”

General Kidd glared at the Crow. “You don’t know any ladies, and the whores you visit sure as hell …”

“The trouble with you white men is you really think there’s a difference.” He laughed, a low, guttural laugh, and added, “Take the fine lady of this house, the one who’s too refined to allow me inside her parlor.”

“What foul thing are you suggesting, Indian?”

“That flame-haired woman is a bigger whore than any of those milky-skinned beauties down at Mattie Silks’.”

“By God, get off this porch and out of my sight,” said the general, nervously looking toward the open front door, his face growing red with fury. “Never a finer, purer lady lived than Mrs. Regina Darlington.”

The scarred Crow chuckled nastily again. “Whatever you say. Now about that money.”

“Draw cash from the paymaster and don’t come back to these parts until you’ve word of my daughter.”

“If I’ve heard nothing in a couple of months, I’ll return to the fort.” He set his empty glass down and walked to the edge of the veranda. “If I find her, I’ll …”

Interrupting, General Kidd said, “You’ll send me a wire, nothing more. I don’t want you within speaking distance of my daughter. Now get out of here.”

The muscular Indian grinned, nodded, and descended the stone steps. The general watched as he lumbered down the front walk and out to the circular driveway, where he mounted his sorrel gelding.

He disliked the Crow scout intensely. The man was obnoxious, sneaky, and dirty. He would have gotten rid of the ugly, repulsive Indian long ago, save for the fact no man, white or red, knew the country like Scar. The scout had a map of the entire plains in his head and he was a never-dry well of information about every tribe of Indian under the sun. He needed Scar. It was as elemental as that.

Still, the idea of that loathsome piece of humanity speaking ill of someone as high-minded and modest as Regina Darlington made his blood boil. It was common knowledge around the fort that Scar had an insatiable sexual appetite. There wasn’t a whorehouse from New Mexico to Canada he hadn’t visited. And there wasn’t a woman he looked at he didn’t lust after. Likely he found Colonel Darlington’s pretty wife so desirable he wanted to believe she was of his kind. Preposterous! Utter hogwash. Why, never had he known a …”

“General.” A soft, feminine voice startled him. “Why are you shaking your head so? Has something happened?”

He turned to see a sweetly smiling Regina Darlington coming onto the veranda. “Why, no. No, ma’am. I didn’t realize I was …”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Has that horrible heathen gone?”

“Yes, he has. I’m awfully sorry about his coming here. I know it must have frightened you half out of your wits when you answered the door.”

Regina swept gracefully forward. Stopping directly before him, she said, “I’m just so very grateful you were here, General.” She hunched her shoulders defensively, causing the delicate cap sleeves of her lilac summer dress to slip down her slender arms. “Whatever should I have done if I’d been here alone? Thomas down in Denver for the day … why, I’d have just been terrified.”

General Kidd forced his eyes up from the enticing cleavage exposed by Regina’s low-plunging neckline. He smiled warmly and said, “My dear, you’re hardly alone. The senator’s in the study. And had I not been here, the armed guard would never have let the Crow scout past.”

“I suppose,” she said, and again hunched her shoulders as though the recollection of seeing the ugly Indian was just too much for her. Again the lilac sleeves slipped lower. Reaching out, she took the general’s arm and asked casually, “When do you expect the senator’s son to return?”

He patted her small white hand and told her, “Major Berton is due back at week’s end. Saturday. Saturday afternoon I expect him.”

“Mmmm,” she mused thoughtfully. “You and Thomas plan to leave that day, I believe.”

“Yes. Guess we’ll miss the boy. Your husband and I are riding out early Saturday morning. Going northwest up to Greeley this time. May stay out for a couple of weeks.” His green eyes clouded. “I’ve got to find my child.”

“You will, General,” said Regina Darlington, struggling to conceal a smile of pure pleasure. Her husband and the general out of her hair for a full two weeks.

And the distinguished Virginia senator to keep her company. And, for a couple of days at least, the senator’s handsome son in residence.

Martay and Night Sun had hardly spoken for the past two days. Not since that kiss there in the narrow canyon, a heart-stopping kiss both wanted to forget. Silently, by the light of the moon, they made their way steadily northward, riding tandem atop the big black, stopping at sunrise to make camp and sleep through the day.

Martay had no idea where they were. Still in Colorado? Maybe. Wyoming or Nebraska? The Dakota Territory? She wasn’t about to ask the sullen Sioux. She only knew that the overpowering vastness of the land they were traveling filled her with deep, pervading loneliness. It seemed they were a million miles from civilization, and with each mile they rode, her sense of isolation grew.

Deep in her heart she was certain a part of her life had ended forever. She had no idea what lay ahead, but any hopes of being returned safely to her father had passed. By now, after all these days and nights, she had more than likely been given up for dead.

Unshed tears stung Martay’s eyes, and she closed them for a moment and swallowed the lump in her throat. She automatically laid her head back against Night Sun’s hard chest.

They were riding the black down a rock-strewn hillside without benefit of the moon. It was early morning; the moon had set and the sun had not yet risen, so they made the crawling, punishing descent in total blackness.

As short a time as a week ago Martay would have been terrified to be traveling such a dangerous path in darkness. Now it didn’t make that much difference. What future did she have? What if the big black stumbled and they all three plunged to their deaths in the valleys below. Would it matter? Why should it when the future ahead held only captivity in some remote Lakota Sioux camp surrounded by a band of barbarians.

Martay licked her lips.

She wasn’t usually so despondent, but the past two days had been such long, trying ones. At a time when she most needed understanding, her savage captor had become distant and unreachable, and she didn’t know what she had done to deserve such cold, uncaring treatment.

After all, he was the one who had kissed her. She sure hadn’t wanted it; had hated it! Well, not hated it exactly, but hadn’t … hadn’t … responded … hadn’t … Martay’s cheeks suddenly felt hot. Try as she might, she couldn’t fully force from her thoughts that kiss. That devastating kiss.

Never had she been kissed the way Night Sun had kissed her. It was as if she had never been kissed before in all her life. As if she’d never known what kissing was about. When she’d kissed Farrell Youngblood, Jr., in Chicago or Larry Berton in Denver, it was nothing like the way she’d felt when Night Sun kissed her.

Waves of heat crept through her at the vivid recollection of that long, ardent kiss. She blushed in the darkness and was glad the man responsible could not see her face. A violent shudder surged through her; one of the many that had shaken her throughout the night.

“Are you all right?” came a deep baritone voice from just above her right ear.

“No, I am not!” she said, as hatefully as possible. And in truth, she wasn’t. She was very uncomfortable. Her arms and legs ached and she was hot, far too hot, though the night air was cool.

By the time Night Sun had chosen a campsite near a shallow, trickling stream, Martay’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Night Sun thoughtfully studied her face under the pinkening morning sky, and frowned. He reached out to take her arm only to have her jerk angrily away from him.

A muscle twitched in his lean jaw. In three long strides he caught up to Martay and pulled her back to him. He draped a hand across her forehead and felt his heart kick against his ribs. She was hot to the touch. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, ignoring her angry tirade. She definitely had a fever.

“I’ll make your bed and you get right in,” he said, dropping his hands away.

She shook her head. “I’m going to take a bath, it’s hot.”

“No, you’re not.”

She glared at him. “You’re a real joy, you know that, Night Sun? You haven’t spoken in two days and when you finally do speak, all you can say are three brief words: ‘No, you’re not.’ Well, listen to my three words, ‘Yes, I am.’”

His jaw hardened. “Can’t let you.”

“Three more words for you and my turn again. Okay? ‘Cannot stop me!’”

“Want to bet?”

“Go to hell.”

“Get into bed.”

“Damn you, Indian.”

“White woman stubborn,” he said, the hint of a twinkle in his black eyes, full lips stretching wide.

“I’m in no mood for games,” she shouted. “I’m hot and tired and dirty, and I’m going to take a bath in that stream!” Before her sentence was finished, violent chills wracked her and she looked up at him in puzzlement, as a child questioning what was happening to her.

His expression changed immediately. His voice soft, he said, “You’re sick, Martay. You have a touch of fever. Why not wait until later in the day for your bath?”

Unable to keep her teeth from chattering, she reluctantly nodded, and the next thing she knew, she was lying on the soft earth, covered from toe to ears with blankets. And still she was freezing.

Martay’s fever rapidly escalated and she was so cold and miserable, she didn’t bother to object when Night Sun crawled under the blankets and held her shaking body tightly in his arms. Gratefully, she snuggled to him and slept fitfully as the sun climbed higher.

Through the day her condition worsened. She refused food. She took small sips of water, nothing more. Her eyes would open each time Night Sun’s hand touched her forehead, her cheek, her throat, then the heavy lids would slide back closed.

It was twenty-four hours later, though she was unaware of the time passing, when Martay awoke to see a stranger standing with his back to her. Struggling to focus, she stared at the impeccably dressed gentleman so out of place here in this remote wilderness. Frowning, she puzzled over his presence, and wondered, fleetingly, if somehow she was back in civilization, rescued by the tall stranger.

Blinking, she studied him across the short distance separating them. The man stood before a small mirror propped up in the limb of a Juniper tree. He was combing his hair; hair as black as midnight. He wore a snowy white shirt that stretched across wide shoulders and disappeared at his narrow waist into perfectly tailored trousers of some fine black fabric. His shoes appeared to be of shiny black patent leather.