The night was clear and bright when Emma slipped out of the tipi. Though every muscle in her arms and back ached, restlessness made sleeping a luxury that evaded her. She had no idea if the guards posted at night would try to stop her. Her steps were cautious as she made her way through the tipis.
To her relief, no harsh voice shot out of the dark to order her back to the tent, so she continued. Silence surrounded her. Even the dogs who barked during the day were quiet in their slumbers.
Above, jewel-bright stars twinkled against a brilliant blue-black backdrop, and to her left, a pale crescent moon hung low on the horizon. Turning in a slow circle, Emma drew comfort from the vastness of the heavens stretched out in all directions. When had she last stepped outside her town house in St. Louis to view the night sky? She couldn’t recall ever taking the time to enjoy the beauty and peace the night sky offered. Her eyes roamed the heavens, tracking one glittering star to another.
She took a deep breath. Brisk, pure air permeated her lungs. No choking chimney smoke. No noxious odors of human waste and rotting garbage. But what really amazed her was the absolute quiet. No disruptive sounds of horse-drawn carriages rumbling down the streets at all hours of the night, or drunken neighbors shouting and singing when they returned from parties to disrupt nighttime sleep.
Though the land was wild and primitive, Emma discovered it offered its own brand of sophistication, one she not only appreciated but desperately needed in her constant state of emotional turmoil. The fact that it was this very same wilderness, the untamed savageness of the land, that had put her in her current state of distress, didn’t bear thought.
She’d survive this experience, but in order to do so, she needed to learn all she could so that when she left, she’d be able to survive her long trek back to the fort. She frowned. How would she escape? Everywhere she went, they watched, especially Striking Thunder. And like earlier that afternoon, if he found her idle, he would find another chore for her to do. She wished she dared tell him what he could do with his chores, but his warning kept her quiet.
It rankled her status as slave. It was wrong for humans to treat their fellow humans in this manner. Emma now had an appreciation for those who fought for freedom. She wandered down to the stream and stared out over the dark water.
Freedom.
It meant many things, she was discovering now that she’d lost it. Not only did it mean to be physically free to come and go as one pleased, there were deeper implications. Free to choose, free to live one’s life as one wished. The thought crept into Emma’s mind that desire for freedom had been the driving force behind her decision to board the Annabella. Freedom from unwanted responsibilities.
With nowhere to run and hide, the glaring truth slammed into her. She’d yearned to be free to follow her heart, and free of the duty of raising her sister. Pain slashed through her as she bared her soul to the moon and stars and her own heart.
And what she saw made her cringe. She’d been selfish, when she’d taken it upon herself to reunite her sister and father. Though she hadn’t realized it at the time, she couldn’t deny it now. She hadn’t been taking Renny to see their father just for the girl’s sake. Her true and hidden goal had been to make Grady O’Brien take back his duties as father so she could pursue her own happiness. Art school. Social pursuits. Travel. Anything. Everything.
A lump formed in her throat, and she hugged herself, chilled by her realizations. By her own actions, she was free from that one binding duty. Tears slipped down her cheeks. What she wouldn’t give to have it back, to have Renny back beside her. She was no better than her father. She’d been ready to abandon the one person who needed her the most. Not only that, but Emma needed Renny, needed her sister. She would never forgive herself.
A cricket sprang from the damp earth, momentarily startling her. Around her, the distinct sounds of the night cocooned her in their sweet melody. Insects hummed and buzzed, owls sent their eerie hoo-hoos through the air and beside her the river flowed, blending the sounds into one masterpiece.
Rubbing her upper arms, Emma wished she had the courage to leave—now—this very night. But she consoled herself with the thought that she was smart enough to realize her circumstances could be much worse. Indeed, with Yellow Dog, they had been desperate. At least here she was safe—and she no longer doubted Striking Thunder’s word. No one had tried to do harm to her.
But the question remained: Would he really release her in March? And if he did, what sort of life would she have? Would she be one of those poor, despised women society pitied, and what if Striking Thunder succeeded in killing her father? Then she’d truly be alone. An ache rose from her heart to her throat. Somehow she had to warn her father. Then together, they’d search for Renny. If it took the rest of her life, she’d gladly spend it searching. She wouldn’t give up until Renny was back where she belonged—with her.
With a sleepy yawn, Emma decided she’d better return to her bed before Star Dreamer woke and found her gone. The last thing she wanted was to have anyone think she’d run off. Only by having the freedom to move at will would she survive her captivity and succeed in escaping when she had her plan worked out.
She turned to retrace her steps. A dark menacing figure loomed over her. Before she could scream, a large hand covered her mouth.
Chapter Fifteen
Fear clouded Emma’s mind when a strong arm jerked her roughly against a solid muscular chest. To her horror, she was carried away from the village. Her heart lurched. Kicking and thrashing, she fought for freedom. Terrified, she bit down hard at the hand covering her mouth. Her muffled screams broke the peace of the night.
“Inila!” A voice grunted in pain near her ear. “Silence! Do not scream.”
At the sound of Striking Thunder’s voice, Emma stilled. Without the fear of abduction distorting her senses, she became aware of him: his scent, one of wood smoke and pine, and the feel of those arms, firm, yet gentle on her, leaving no bruises. Though relieved, when he set her down and removed his hand from her mouth, she whirled out of his grip. Fury at what he’d done raced through her, chasing away the prickles of fright. They faced each other with twin stances of fury.
Striking Thunder shook his hand. “Must you use your teeth on my flesh?” He glared at her, reminding her of the time she’d bit his lip.
Emma tipped her chin. “Serves you right. If you don’t want to be bitten, keep your flesh away from my teeth.”
Lightning-fast, Striking Thunder snagged her by the arm and brought her close. “Do not bite me again, white woman.”
Unafraid, Emma shoved him away. With hands on her hips, she glared at him. “What do you expect when you sneak up on me like that? How was I supposed to know it was you?”
“That is the point. You had no idea who I was until I spoke.”
Breathing hard, she drew on her outrage to stand up to him. “And who here would dare touch me? You promised I’d be safe. If I’m not allowed to go for a walk by myself, then just tell me so. Of course, that wouldn’t be as much fun as scaring a poor woman. Is that how you get you fun?”
Striking Thunder’s eyes narrowed to two furious slits. “Do not push me, Emma. As long as you obey our rules, you are free to move as you please. But not at night. It is not safe.”
Emma snorted and sent him a look of derision. “Don’t try to frighten me with tales of bears and wolves. I’m not stupid. If there were any wild animals—besides you savages—around, the dogs would bark.”
Striking Thunder advanced. Emma stood her ground until inches separated them.
“Savages are precisely who you need to fear when you wander alone in the dark.”
Emma rolled her eyes, but he jerked her chin up and forced her to meet his angry glare. “Did you hear me behind you? If I’d been the enemy, you’d have been dead or long gone by now. Tribes raid other tribes for prizes and even pleasure. And you, Emma, with your flame hair and white skin, are a prize.”
His gaze dipped to her heaving bosom.
“A prize any warrior would risk war over.” Releasing her chin, he trailed the backs of his fingers along her jaw, down her throat and down the center of one breast. His voice lost some of its angry edge. “No one will steal you from this warrior. You are mine.” He lifted a hand to still her protest. “Like it or not, you are mine.”
Emma closed her mouth. It was a waste of breath to state she belonged to no one, so she didn’t bother. Instead, she poked him in the chest. “And was that why you were following me? Or were you afraid I might run away?”
His features eased and one corner of his lip quirked upward. “You wouldn’t get far on foot, my spirited captive, so do not try anything so foolish. I’ll follow and find you before Wi rises fully in the sky.”
Frustrated at the truth of his words, she seethed. So much depended upon her and yet, she felt so helpless. “You won’t get away with this. Your plan to kill my father will fail.”
This time, Striking Thunder chuckled. “And who will stop me? You? I think not. You will serve me well by luring your father and the captain to me when the time is right.”
His reminder that once again, she was only bait, a convenience to be used for his own needs, not a person with thoughts and feelings and needs of her own, brought forth fresh waves of resentment. He didn’t care about her, just her use for his own plans. He was no better than her father.
To Grady, she was caretaker of his house, business affairs and daughter, which allowed him to shake off his responsibilities and go off to do whatever he wanted with no worries and no encumbrances. Why was it men never gave any thought or consideration to her? Well, she’d had it. With her father. With Striking Thunder. Rebellion rose like a geyser bursting from the earth. Too many years of doing what was expected, of following convention and rules set by others, burst through the locked cavern of her heart.
Her father might not be here for her to tell him what she thought of him, but from now on, Striking Thunder would learn she was not some object or possession to be jerked around at will. If she wanted to walk, she’d walk. She stalked downstream, away from his smug arrogance and the sleeping village. He followed, running in front of her to block her path. “You have been out here long enough. Return to your bed.”
She ignored the voice of reason that suggested she back down and return to Star Dreamer’s tipi posthaste. “Go away, Striking Thunder. I’m not a child to be ordered to bed. When I’m tired, I’ll return on my own. If it will make you leave me in peace, I’ll stay close to the village.”
“I will stay with you.”
“I don’t want your company. I don’t even like you, so go away and leave me alone.” She spun around to return. His voice stopped her.
“You liked me well enough this afternoon,” he reminded.
Recalling that shared kiss sent her heart skipping erratically. She eyed him over her shoulder. “Well, I don’t anymore.”
Rather than grow angry, his lips quirked in amusement. He joined her, purposely standing close. “Challenging me?”
Folding her arms across her breasts, Emma firmed her jaw. “If you like.”
Striking Thunder reached out and cupped her jaw with one hand, his thumb moving rhythmically just below her ear. “Should we put that to a test? If I decided to make you mine, you would not resist.” He grinned his hateful arrogant grin. “In fact, my flame-haired beauty, you’d beg me to teach you the ways between a man and woman.”
“I’d die first,” Emma scoffed. The first misgivings were beginning to assail her. The warmth of his fingers cupping her chin were doing strange things to her. Avoiding his eyes, Emma lowered her gaze to his sleek chest. Her breath hitched in her throat. Before boarding the Annabella, she’d never even seen a bare male chest and since coming to Striking Thunder’s village, she had come to appreciate what the sight of a nicely bronzed and well-developed chest did to a woman’s heart.
And his naked chest had drawn her admiring glances more often than she was comfortable admitting. Urges she couldn’t put a name to took hold. Earlier, when he’d kissed her behind his tipi, she’d longed to press her lips to his chest and explore that hard, sinewy flesh. The urge to run her fingers over that flesh and across his beaded male nipples left her weak-kneed.
Startled by the direction of her thoughts, Emma flushed. Staring deep into his glittering dark eyes, she noted the desire lurking deep in those fathomless orbs. Run, the voice of reason screamed. But she couldn’t move. His gaze trapped her in a sensual fog. Nervous, she licked her lips, recalling how his mouth felt, tasted. Here, with only the stars above as witnesses, she wanted him to kiss her again.
His palm slid up one side of her face in a move so sweet and tender, Emma surrendered to the lure of the night and her own hidden need to be touched and loved. She leaned into him, her body softening with yearning.
Triumph filled Striking Thunder’s voice. “You belong to me. If I choose to touch you, I will. And if I choose to kiss you, I will.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “If I decide to take you to my mat, you won’t resist.”
Emma held her breath, torn by the promise in his words and his utter arrogance. But when his hair, a thick curtain of straight black silk, fell forward and brushed her cheek, all thought of protest fled. Blood rushed to her lips, and her breasts swelled in anticipation. He angled his head. Her eyes drifted shut. She waited long agonizing seconds before his mouth slanted over hers, tender and coaxing, barely touching hers.
She moaned, tried to lift up onto her toes to make him kiss her as he had before, but Striking Thunder teased her until she thought she’d burst with the need for more. As if he could wait no longer, his mouth captured hers fully. She responded with a long, heartfelt whimper. Leaning forward, she allowed his hard frame to support her. “Please.”
“Yes.” His thumb pulled gently on her chin. Her jaw dropped in response and Emma cried out in relief when his lips traversed hers with compelling mastery. Gone was the teasing, taunting, proud warrior. In his place stood a man whose touch freed her soul and bared her heart. When his tongue snaked past her teeth, her lips parted on a breathy moan, unconsciously inviting him to deepen the kiss.
Striking Thunder slid one hand to the back of her neck as he slipped his tongue slowly inside her mouth. Though he’d kissed her in this fashion briefly before, this time was different. He went slow, he teased and he coaxed. Emma tipped her head back further, giving him the access he sought. Her entire body from her head to her toes, felt both weak and alive. Sliding her hands up his chest, she reveled in his hard texture. Taking her time, she stopped to rub her fingers over his flat, brown nipples. His chest rose rapidly in response.
She wanted this. Needed this. It’d been so long since she’d felt strong arms around her, been able to let someone else take charge. In many ways, she’d been on her own since the day her father rode off. She’d had to be strong, but now, she readily gave herself over to this warrior who stole away her breath and all rational thought. Right now, she was simply a woman with needs of her own and he the man who could meet them.
He lifted his head and stared down at her. Emma reached up and traced his moist lips with her fingers. He bent his head, drew one finger into his mouth and suckled. She gasped and pulled her hand back. His eyes, nearly black with emotion, beckoned. Rising onto her tiptoes at the same time his head lowered, she met him in a kiss that exploded with frantic need.
Following his lead, Emma tentatively pushed past his seeking tongue and traced his lips with hers in the same manner he’d done. He groaned, his fingers digging into her hair as he held her close. “Yes,” he whispered when she hesitated. He opened his mouth wider, inviting her to taste him as he’d tasted her.
Emma accepted his invitation shyly. His tongue retreated, hers pursued, then in a game of tag, roles reversed until it became unclear who chased after whom. As one, their mouths fused, mated. Each took, each gave. Each learned the feel, texture and taste of the other. Striking Thunder trembled when she drew his lower lip into her mouth and gentl
y bit down. And she went weak at the knees when he drew her tongue into his mouth and suckled.
With a ragged sigh, they drew back, gasping for air. He ran his hands along her jaw, then down the sides of her neck. His lips followed, blazing a trail along her jaw and down her throat, stopping at the pulsing hollow. With her head thrown back, eyes closed, Emma moaned and threaded her fingers through his long, cloud-soft hair when he found another weak-knee point. She twisted her fingers into his hair to keep from falling.
“Emma,” he breathed, moving to explore her collarbone and the place where her shoulder and neck joined. Her head lolled to one side. Her hands slid down to his shoulders. “Oh, yes.” She was vaguely aware of his large hands drawing her close, melding them together front to front as he explored her back, but she startled when his fingers closed around her buttocks and drew her hard against the cradle of his hips.
After a month in the village, living closely with these people who didn’t hide their natural reactions or smother the sounds of lovemaking at night or even worry about the firelight inside their tipis throwing their shadows on the white hides, she had a pretty good idea what the hardness pressed against her belly meant.
Striking Thunder was aroused and he wanted her. The realization sent a warm glow through her. Heat pooled at the junction of her thighs. He wanted her. Her. Oh, many people might need her, want her to take care of them but this was different. And for once, she needed to know there was someone there for her, someone she could lean on. And with startling clarity, after seeing him with his family, his nephew and niece and holding Singing Sun’s infant daughter, she knew Striking Thunder had it in him to love with his heart and soul should he ever give it again. How she envied his wife.
Reality slammed into her. His wife was gone. Murdered. And he blamed her father and meant to kill him. What was she doing? How could she be doing this with a man bent on revenge, murder? This wasn’t some suitor out to woo her. This was the enemy.
White Flame Page 17