by Linda Ladd
Her voice was softly imploring, her red lips parted and moist, and Logan shut his eyes and groaned as he caught her hand tightly against his cheek. He turned his face until his lips pressed into her small palm, wanting her in that moment with a desperation that plunged like a steel spike into his soul. He wavered on the brink of agreement, wanting to give her anything she desired, do anything she wished to gain the sweet moment when she melted into his arms freely, her lips eager beneath his own.
But reason returned quickly. He'd experienced life without her, and the thought of losing her again was inconceivable. Her face was very close, her lips inches from his mouth, and he could not stop himself as he gathered her onto his lap, their lips meeting with a hunger that consumed every other thought.
When he could speak, his words were a gruff whisper.
“I would do anything on this earth for you, my love, but I cannot willingly let you go. I cannot.”
Elizabeth sobbed with disappointment, pushing away from him.
“Then surely everything I have ever felt for you will slowly wither into the blackest of hatred, until I cannot bear even the sight of you!”
Logan jumped to his feet as she ran from the room, her words turning his blood cold. He wanted to yell in frustration, to kick a hole in the wall, anything to vent the terrible, helpless rage. He began to pace the floor, fists clenched hard at his sides, his lean cheek flexed tight. He picked up the bottle of whiskey upon the sideboard, tilting it high as he drank great, deep drafts, craving the oblivion it would provide. A stupor that would make him forget red lips and violet eyes filled with hatred.
Hours later, Logan raised a different bottle and squinted at it with one eye closed, then let it drop, turning dull eyes into the orange flames. Vivid memories of the bedchamber at Woodstone welled up with astonishing clarity, and a drunken smile played about his lips as he watched mind pictures of Elizabeth, her silky hair flowing over his chest, her soft, warm body atop him, her red lips upon his jaw, then his shoulder. He groaned as his loins began to throb, passing one hand over liquor-blurred eyes. But the vivid images would not fade, and the thought of her upstairs in her bed drove him unmercifully.
He suddenly sat up straight and looked toward the door. She was his wife, damn it, and it was high time she acted like it! He stood, trying to right his spinning head with a tight grip on the back of the chair. His eyes fell to the last bottle of whiskey, and he tucked it carefully in the crook of his arm. He swore softly as he staggered into a table in the darkness, tinkling several porcelain figurines into millions of shards upon the carpet. He peered into the darkness at the top of the steps, then stumbled upward, clutching the bottle protectively.
His mind was fuzzy, his thought on one thing alone, as he grasped the doorknob to Elizabeth's room. The residual glow of embers revealed her small form huddled upon the bed, and Logan smiled blearily. He dropped the bottle, forgetting everything but the desire that raged inside him.
From deep within her troubled dreams, Elizabeth heard a thudding noise. She sat up, alarmed, gasping at the sight of Logan careening toward her. She grasped the quilted coverlet tightly, and he stopped at the foot of the bed, hugging the post for support, grinning drunkenly at her. Elizabeth frowned as his blue eyes tried to sear through the blanket that hid her body from him.
“What do you want?” she said hesitantly, and Logan dragged his eyes from the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the comforter. He gave a short bark of laughter.
“I want you! What else would I want?”
He moved jerkily to the side of the bed, and Elizabeth watched him warily, knowing he was very drunk. She inched toward the other side, but with amazing quickness, his arm caught her about the waist and pulled her close. She could not fight his immense strength, and she lay still as his face dropped to her shoulder, nuzzling aside her hair. The hot kiss sent fire streaking through her limbs, and she quivered as his mouth sought her lips. Logan's near stupor did not prevent him the ecstasy of the moment, and his lips moved up the slender column of her throat to rest upon her ear.
“You'll always be mine, always. I'll never let you go.”
The words awoke Elizabeth, and she dipped into her strength enough to twist away. Logan frowned in confusion as the sweet softness suddenly deserted him and stood like a pale apparition beside the bed. He lunged at her, and the swift movement was his undoing. He grunted, grabbing his reeling head, and Elizabeth watched his heavy body keel backward upon the bed and lie still.
She grasped the bedpost for support, staring down at his handsome face. She wanted to touch him, to slip her fingers beneath the tousled blond hair, but she did not. She did not trust herself. She must not give in to her desire, not until he agreed to take her to her village. He lay spraddled half off the bed, and she struggled to lift his long legs. It took several minutes to accomplish it, and when she reached across his chest for the blanket, Logan stirred, sensing her nearness. His arms imprisoned her against him, and he became vaguely aware of her soft hair upon his cheek.
“Starfire, Starfire,” he murmured, as he sank again into dark dreams.
Elizabeth tried to move, but his arms tightened instinctively, barring her escape. She lay still for a moment, Logan's heartbeat a strong, steady rhythm beneath her ear, then relaxed, deciding to enjoy the quiet captivity for just a little while, until his arm loosened and she could slip away.
She closed her eyes, warm in the circle of his arms, and when her eyes fluttered open again, the gray dawn filtered hazy, indistinct light through the draperies, misting the room with hovering shadows. She was so sleepy, and warm, nestled close to Logan, that she did not stir until a muffled groan pierced her drowsiness. Completely awake, she found herself in a most compromising position with her nightdress twisted around her waist, and one arm and leg thrown over Logan's body. She cautiously sought to remove the offending limbs, knowing a sober Logan to be much different from a drunken one. She slowly inched her leg across him, finding him quite aroused by her presence, asleep or not.
Logan struggled up from the thick, clinging arms of unconsciousness, Elizabeth's hasty departure forcing his bleary eyes open. He raised his head, and pain hit his head like an anvil dropped from above. Elizabeth winced at the pain on his face, as he pressed his palm upon the top of his head to stop the pounding. When he was finally able to bring the room into focus, he saw Elizabeth where she stood beside the bed, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in a mass of shining waves.
“What...” he grumbled, as he struggled to sit up.
He still wore the clothes of the night before, but his white dress shirt was unbuttoned, his breeches wrinkled and stained with wine. It was such a radical departure from his usual immaculate appearance that Elizabeth had a sudden, irresistible urge to laugh.
She did, bringing Logan's brows together. Elizabeth hid her smile as he hoisted himself up, supporting himself with one hand on the mattress. Without a word, he moved away from the bed, and Elizabeth glided silently out of his way as he walked stiffly to the door. After he passed through the portal, she slammed it after him, smiling wickedly at the painful groan that came from the hall.
Elizabeth dressed and spent the morning in the garden, where Mrs. Parker was trying to restart her flowers in the aftermath of the fire. Logan did not appear for the noon meal, and Elizabeth ate in lonely solitude. Afterward, she wandered aimlessly about the house, thinking of her tribe. They'd be preparing for the coming winter now, and if she didn't persuade Logan to take her back soon, the snows would make traveling very difficult. She sank down on a chair in the small parlor at the front of the house, gloomily watching Zack and Amanda as they talked together at the front gate. She raised her head as she heard Logan descend the stairs and listened as his slow footsteps moved toward his library. Perhaps he intended to repeat his performance of the night before, she thought, then discounted it as unlikely in light of the suffering he'd endured upon awakening. It was the only time she'd ever seen him in such a condition, and
judging from the number of bottles she and Mrs. Parker had found in front of the fire, it had taken an impressive amount of spirits to put him in such a state.
“I've been looking for you.”
Logan stood ramrod-straight in the doorway, faultlessly groomed in dark breeches and a white shirt. His blue eyes looked strained, and when she didn't answer, he walked past her to stare into the grate. Elizabeth looked at his broad back and the inflexible set of his shoulders until he spoke without looking at her.
“All I remember is that I was very angry. I trust I didn't hurt you in any way.”
He turned suddenly and met her eyes.
“No, I am fine.”
The ensuing silence was awkward, and Elizabeth transferred her eyes to the hazy blue mountains in the far distance. She heard him move until he stood directly behind her.
“I cannot live like this any longer, Elizabeth,” he said quietly.
Elizabeth turned to him in surprise.
“I've decided to do as you want. It's against my better judgment, but I'll take you home, if that's what you really want.”
Elizabeth stared at him in shock until happiness forged sparkling amethysts of her eyes, and she ran into his arms. Logan gathered her close, one hand tangled in soft blond hair, but his eyes were bleak as he stared over her head, hoping he had the strength to go through with it.
Twenty-One
The Cheyenne village was almost a hundred miles north of Denver, and it took them nearly four days to reach the southern branch of the Crow Creek.
Elizabeth's excitement increased as they traversed the familiar terrain of her childhood. It was late summer now, a bright cool day, and unless trouble with the white man had driven her tribe north, they would still be camped along the wide river.
It was hard to believe that Logan had taken her from the Indian village almost a year ago, and when the sweeping plain finally came into sight, Elizabeth reined up, staring at the dozens of tipis spread out along the bend in the river. Smoke streamed from cookfires, and tears of joy filled her eyes. She spurred her horse, galloping ahead of Logan, and he followed, watching the wind whip her hair away from her shoulders in a silvery swirl.
When she reached the river, she turned and looked back at Logan, but the deep sorrow in his eyes could not dampen her happiness. She splashed her horse across the shallows, knowing Logan's horse was close behind her. They galloped across the meadow, her eyes riveted on the Indians now visible as they moved among the tipis. They were sighted quickly, and half a dozen warriors hastily swung atop painted ponies.
Logan watched warily, realizing his danger. He had stolen one of their prize possessions, and although he now returned with her, he would be considered their enemy. He kept his right hand near his holster, as the fierce-looking braves thundered toward them. Elizabeth laughed with eagerness as they surrounded Logan and her, reverting easily to her Indian language and calling them by name. They looked suspiciously at her white woman's riding attire, but it did not take them long to recognize the fair hair of the daughter of Raging Buffalo. Their grim expressions left them, and they greeted her with excited yelps, wheeling their steeds to escort her into the camp.
Logan rode at Elizabeth's side, tough, wiry warriors on either side of them, all his senses on alert. Women and small children gathered around, as they walked their horses through the camp, smiles splitting one face after another as the Cheyenne recognized Starfire. Logan searched the people for Lone Wolf's dark features, knowing Lone Wolf could no more forget Elizabeth than Logan could. The Indian would be enraged to find her married to a white man, and Logan feared a confrontation between them could not be avoided.
Elizabeth greeted each by name, sometimes leaning down to hug a child, and Logan watched her, never having seen her so happy. For the first time, he appreciated just how much she'd given up when she'd willingly agreed to leave her people to go with him.
They stopped near the center of the village, and Elizabeth slid to the ground in front of a large central tipi. A tall chieftain ducked through the flap almost at once, wearing the full feathered regalia of his position. Logan watched his stern countenance pale as he saw Elizabeth.
“Starfire,” he whispered, and Elizabeth ran to him.
The Cheyenne around him grew still, and Logan sat quietly upon his horse, touched by the emotional reunion. After a moment, Raging Buffalo stepped back and held his daughter at arm's length.
“We had mourned you for dead, and now you have come back to us,” he said gruffly, but Elizabeth did not have time to answer, as a small woman pushed her way through the onlookers. She carried wood for the fire, but on sight of Elizabeth, she let it fall to the ground. Elizabeth held out her arms to her mother, and they clung together in wordless joy, until Gentle Reed led her inside the tipi for a more private reunion.
Raging Buffalo turned hard black eyes upon the white man upon the big stallion. The wasichu was very strong, with massive muscles bulging under his fringed garments, and the strange blue eyes met his unwaveringly, without fear. The chattering throng quieted as their chief spoke to Logan.
“Who brings my daughter to me?”
He spoke in Cheyenne, and Logan answered in kind.
“I am Tracker. Starfire's husband.”
A gasp of dismay went up from those near enough to hear, and hostility emanated from the young warriors guarding Logan.
“Are you he who stole Starfire from us?”
Logan tensed, knowing how quickly he could be subdued if Raging Buffalo ordered it. He gave a short nod, his hand resting on his pistol, and the chiefs eyes darkened.
“And Tracker is the one who brings me back to you.”
Elizabeth's clear voice spoke from the flap of the tipi, and Logan turned to look at her. She'd doffed the gray riding skirt and white blouse and stood proudly in a fringed shift of soft tan doeskin. Her hair flowed to her waist, a beaded band of red and blue encircled her forehead. Her appearance brought back the first time he'd looked upon her face, when her beauty had stunned him. A great fear arose in his heart, fear that he'd lost her forever, that she would never return to Denver with him. He could not imagine going back without her, nor could he resign himself to live the rest of his life with the Cheyenne. He watched as Elizabeth stepped forward and placed her hand upon Raging Buffalo's arm. “He has been good to me, my father. He is not our enemy.”
Raging Buffalo looked down into her eyes for a long moment, and Elizabeth held her breath as he walked to Logan's horse. He raised his arm, and Logan gripped his wrist.
“You are welcome as a friend.”
Elizabeth's tense face relaxed into a breathtaking smile, and she hugged Gentle Reed as Logan dismounted. Never had she been so happy. The affection of those around her was like a soothing mantle over shoulders tired from many burdens. Her fears and worries dissolved. She was with her parents, with Logan. She was home where she belonged.
Cries came from afar, causing Elizabeth to turn, as people parted to make a wide corridor to the back of the crowd. She gasped as her eyes met Lone Wolf's where he stood at the opening, feet braced apart, a rifle gripped tightly in one hand. His eyes glittered upon Elizabeth, and his tribesmen backed away as he moved with swift, silent footsteps to stand before her.
Elizabeth looked up into his dark face, shivering under the unreadable black depths of his eyes. She could not speak, and Logan's whole body tensed to stone as Lone Wolf raised one fair lock.
“You have come back to me,” the warrior muttered, and Elizabeth opened her mouth in denial, but Logan's hand closed over her shoulder, thrusting her behind him.
“She is mine,” he said in a loud voice, and a hush fell over the Indians surrounding them. Lone Wolf's teeth clamped hard.
“You took her from me in the dark of night like a skulking coward. She is my woman.”
His words were harsh and clipped, gritted out with hatred grown poisonous with the thirst for vengeance.
Elizabeth's heart seemed to stop as she realized th
e danger Logan was in. For weeks she'd thought of nothing but returning to her tribe, but not once had it occurred to her that Lone Wolf might claim her. She stared at the hard lines etched in Lone Wolf's face, then slid one arm around Logan's waist before she stepped from behind him, ignoring Logan's restraining hand, as she lifted defiant eyes to her father.
“I carry the white man's child,” she said proudly.
Logan's face went white, his fingers tightening convulsively on her arm. Lone Wolfs face blackened with rage, and he raised his rifle over his head, his dark, spiteful eyes upon Raging Buffalo.
“By the law of our people, Starfire is mine. I demand justice.”
Raging Buffalo stepped forward, without looking at his daughter.
“The council of chiefs must decide.”
Several men followed Raging Buffalo into the tipi, and Logan drew Elizabeth close beside him, his hand protectively on her waist. Lone Wolf's eyes burned into them with unbridled fury. His followers gathered in a tight knot around him, each armed with a new rifle, all staring at the big white man, and the hatred in their eyes was cold and deadly.
Elizabeth shivered as she looked at them, the vicious look in Lone Wolf's eyes chilling her blood. He wanted to kill Logan, and Elizabeth's fear for her husband increased as time passed and the chiefs did not emerge.
Logan held Elizabeth securely in the circle of his arm, his eyes never leaving Lone Wolf. But his thoughts were on the child Elizabeth carried, his child. He had inadvertently brought them both into danger, and the very thought of Lone Wolf making Elizabeth his wife made Logan rigid with anger. He'd die before he let the Indian touch her.
The flap lifted, and Logan turned his attention to Raging Buffalo, as he and the other chiefs filed outside. Raging Buffalo stood between Logan and Lone Wolf, and Elizabeth searched his face, praying that Lone Wolf's demand would be denied.