Wind Rider

by Connie Mason

  He was not gentle as his hands possessively gripped her bare back and buttocks, pulling her to him as he vigorously sucked and licked her breasts. She cried out, winding her hands into his hair and pulling him closer. With the detachment of one lost in pleasure, she watched as he released one wet pink-tipped breast and sucked the other deeply into his greedy mouth. Feasting on her as if he’d never get his fill, his hot open lips blazed a burning trail to her bare belly, placing sweet kisses on the copper fleece at the base of her pale thighs.

  Trembling violently, Hannah no longer felt in control of her body as molten heat built within her and painful need asserted itself. When his warm fingers stroked the insides of her thighs they parted to allow him total access. In one smooth motion he slid between her parted legs. His hands went beneath her and his strong fingers clasped her rounded buttocks, lifting her to his mouth. His silver eyes glowed with unholy light as he slowly lowered his head. His hot breath seared her. He kissed her as though he was kissing her mouth; his mouth, his teeth, his tongue touching her, caressing her, parting her.

  Delight shuddered through her as his tongue boldly invaded her. Hearing her sharp intake of breath, Wind Rider s tongue sought even deeper intimacy as it found the tiny nub of pleasure and stroked, caressed, and nipped until her body was pushed to the very limits of endurance. When he raised his head to look into her eyes Hannah cried out, fearing he would take his dazzling mouth from her and leave her tottering at the edge of madness.

  “I won’t leave you, Little Sparrow,” he vowed raggedly as his lips found her again, this time sending her plummeting beyond mere pleasure to a place that defied description.

  Terrified by the height of the rapturous delight she experienced in this man’s arms, Hannah suddenly realized that the depth of love she felt for Wind Rider would never be equaled. This white Indian had somehow reached into her heart to banish her fear of all men. Her mind, her body, her soul was his to explore, to arouse, to love at will.

  Rushing headlong toward total release, Hannah’s body tensed. Heat enveloped her, and she jerked her pelvis into the hot, open center of his mouth. His tongue stroked harder, deeper, lashing her until the first tiny tremors built into a burst of ecstasy so intense, she arched and screamed as molten fire pulsed through her veins. It went on forever. Spiraling through her, upward, outward, down, down ... wild, wrenching, frightening. Nothing could heal her now but the hot, molten lash of his tongue.

  Wind Rider did not leave her, not until he had given her all she needed, despite the urgent clamoring of his own desire. His release was so dangerously close, he knew that all it would take to reach climax was one deep thrust into the slick heat of her. As the last involuntary shudder left her body, he raised his head and smiled at her.

  Dragging in deep, ragged breaths, Hannah opened her eyes and saw Wind Rider grinning at her. She knew he hadn’t had his own release and felt the crisp hair of his groin and the thick length of his rigid manhood throbbing against her thigh. With trembling fingers she reached between them and grasped him. He groaned as if in agony, his hand closing over hers to guide its motion. When he dropped his hand she continued the caress, her eyes never leaving his face. Her boldness pleased him and his smile told her so.

  “Enough, Little Sparrow!” he barked hoarsely, jerking her hand aside.

  With their eyes still locked, he gripped himself, inserted the swollen tip into her, and thrust. Hannah sighed with pleasure as his hands moved down her hips to lift her to him, taking him deeply inside her. They moved together in a wild crescendo of fire and passion, give and take, push and pull, their bodies meeting and parting in splendid fury.

  Panting and heaving, Wind Rider felt the approach of his climax and tried to delay it, but his passion was too hot, his need too great.

  “I cannot wait, Little Sparrow!” His words were wrenched from his lips on a cry of pain/pleasure so intense, he felt himself shattering.

  Tilting her pelvis upward to receive the full, heavy length of his violent strokes, Hannah raced to keep up with him. Jerking his hips rhythmically, his deep, driving thrusts brought them both to the brink. The end came quickly and explosively, leaving them emotionally and physically spent.

  Later that night, Hannah joined Wind Rider at the feast. When the drums began a wild tattoo he leaped to his feet to join the dancers. She couldn’t help but admire the way his sleekly muscled body moved to the primitive music but deliberately refrained from joining him as some of the women did. Spotted Doe was not so reluctant. Her lithe body swayed in sinuous rhythm to the beat of the drum. Her head was thrown back, her long hair flipping wildly about her shoulders as her prancing feet carried her around the campfire. But to his credit, Wind Rider did not seem to notice her.

  More than once Hannah caught Red Cloud staring at her in a most curious manner. She was certain he had been told who she was, and though his dark penetrating looks didn’t seem particularly threatening, they still disturbed her. Didn’t he approve of Wind Rider marrying her? she wondered uneasily.

  Before the men were to enter the sweat hut to fast and pray Wind Rider approached her and led her back to their lodge. Spotted Doe was still dancing and hadn’t noticed their departure.

  “I made arrangements for you to stay with Woman-Who-Waddles” he said when they stood outside the tepee. “I know Spotted Doe will give you trouble once I am gone, and Woman-Who-Waddles is glad for the company. She will see that no harm comes to you.” He stared at her lips, remembering their taste, but did not kiss her.

  Hannah nodded, grateful that she would not have to share quarters with a woman who hated her. “Thank you,” Wind Rider turned to leave. “Wait!” He paused. “Will I see you before you leave?”

  “Perhaps. I will return for my weapons and food.”

  “I will have them ready for you.”

  Once again he turned to leave.

  “Wind Rider!” He whirled and she flew into his arms, holding him tightly, unwilling to let him go, perhaps to his death. “I don’t want you to die. Take care; please take care.”

  Wind Rider’s heart swelled with an emotion he’d tried hard to deny. Knowing that Hannah cared for him was a gift he hadn’t expected or wanted. There were things he could say to her, but admitting he cared for Hannah was too difficult an emotion to express. Besides, he wasn’t certain it was love he felt. Perhaps it was lust. Sometimes it was difficult to distinguish between the two. If love meant needing a person so desperately that the thought of parting from her nearly tore him apart, then he supposed he loved Hannah McLin.

  “I will come back, Little Sparrow,” Wind Rider vowed. “I will not die,” Once again he turned to leave.

  “Wind Rider, don’t go! I have this terrible premonition of something ... something .. “ Alarm shuddered through her. “I don’t know what. I’m afraid.”

  “Your fears are no more than what other women feel when they watch their men go off to fight.”

  Hannah shook her head in denial. “No, this is different. It’s not too late to leave the village. You belong to the white world. Your people were white. Find your sister; she will help you. Please, Wind Rider, leave while there is still time.”

  Wind Rider’s expression hardened. “You speak foolish words, Little Sparrow. I cannot leave my people. I must go now to the purification hut.”

  “Wind Rider...” His name drifted away on the breeze. She could think of nothing more to say that would sway him. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the stinging tears. But despite her valiant efforts they slid down her cheeks unchecked. She didn’t turn away until he had disappeared into the purification hut.

  Two days later Wind Rider and the other warriors emerged from the purification hut. Hannah thought he looked grim and gaunt after his days of fasting and prayer but did not remark on it. She had his weapons ready and handed them to him silently. He stared at her intently and nodded his thanks. Spotted Doe had prepared a parcel of pemmican and parched corn, which he carried in a small parfleche that hun
g at his waist. He donned his buckskin leggings but not his shirt. While Hannah watched, Spotted Doe painted bold stripes on his torso and face with the black and yellow paint she had prepared.

  He seemed distracted, hardly aware of either woman as he prepared for battle. His mind had already detached itself from mundane thoughts of home and family. He felt strong, invincible, ready and able to defeat the enemy. Outside the tepee, his horse pawed the ground in eager anticipation. Warriors from the various societies had already gathered in the center of the village, waiting for the others to arrive so they could ride out to destroy the enemy. Red Cloud, wearing a high-crowned war bonnet made of eagle feathers that trailed nearly to the ground, stood tall and proud outside his lodge as his people clamored for white blood.

  Hannah followed mutely as Wind Rider left the tepee. She was waiting for him to say something, anything, as long as he gave some sign that he cared what happened to her. But he said nothing. Spotted Doe seemed to take his silence as perfectly normal behavior; she appeared not at all concerned by his taciturn manner.

  He strode toward his horse, still focused on some distant battle. Suddenly he stopped, whirled on his heel, and caught Hannah by the arm. Pulling her hard against him, he kissed her with almost brutal urgency. His teeth bruised her as his lips moved forcefully over hers and his tongue thrust inside her mouth. Though the kiss was of short duration, Hannah was certain she’d never forget it. Into that one kiss he had put all the things he hadn’t said, all the feelings he’d held inside him.

  Breaking off the kiss, he turned abruptly and leaped onto his pony. With a blood-curdling cry, he thrust his bow high in the air and rode off to join his friends, leading them from the village in a thunder of hooves, war whoops, and victory cries.

  A week passed with no word from Wind Rider or the War Dog society. Hannah stayed as close to Woman-Who-Waddles as possible. She learned a good deal from the old woman, including a greater knowledge of the Sioux language. She also learned all the difficult and tedious chores that an Indian woman was expected to perform. Indians had no modern conveniences; the work was endless and time-consuming. Hannah was beginning to understand why Indians took more than one wife, though she’d never forgive Wind Rider for doing so.

  One day a man leading a pack of laden mules rode into camp. Though he caused a flurry of excitement, no one stopped him. Red Cloud came out of his lodge to await the man. Women stopped their work to follow the strange-looking caravan.

  “It is the trader,” Spotted Doe appeared at Hannah’s side, startling her. Since Wind Rider had left Spotted Doe had spoken to her only on rare occasions.

  “Is he free to come and go as he pleases?”

  “Yes, he brings us trade goods. The women are always happy to see him. Sometimes he brings firewater for the men, and-guns.”

  “Guns! That’s illegal.” Even Hannah knew it was a crime to smuggle guns to the Indians.

  Ignoring her, Spotted Doe ran off to join the women who were already pawing through one of the packs the trader had placed on the ground for them to inspect. Hannah walked closer to get a better look and was surprised to see cheap items such as colored beads, mirrors, blankets, and bits of ribbon; there was nothing as valuable as the hides the women were offering for trade. When the trader unwrapped another bundle, placing it before Red Cloud, Hannah gaped at the array of guns lying at the chief’s feet. A heated discussion ensued between Red Cloud and the trader.

  Hannah regarded the trader with contempt. His long hair was dirty and unkempt, covering his head in a wild disarray of blond tangles. Bits of food clung to his sparse beard, and when he spoke Hannah saw that his rotted teeth were stained with tobacco juice. His buckskin clothing was so filthy it could have stood by itself.

  After a lengthy discussion Red Cloud and the trader seemed to reach an agreement. They were about to go inside the tepee to smoke and talk when the man spied Hannah from the corner of his eye. He stopped abruptly, staring at her, his eyes narrowed, his expression thoughtful. Her hair shone like burnished copper in the sunlight, and the whiteness of her pale skin was startling among the dark-skinned Indians. Where had he seen her before? His eyes widened in sudden recognition. He remembered!

  “Who is the white woman?” he asked Red Cloud. After years of trading with Indians he was quite fluent in several dialects.

  Red Cloud gave Hannah a cursory glance. “She is called Little Sparrow. She belongs to Wind Rider. Why do you ask, Trader?” The man had never offered his name; he was known simply as Trader.

  Trader regarded Hannah with open curiosity. “How long has she been with the Sioux? Is she a captive? What is her name?”

  Red Cloud frowned. “Do you know the woman?”

  “No, but I seen her picture. At Fort Laramie. She’s a runaway indentured servant. Some man paid good money for her services and she ran away. He wants her back and has offered a reward. How much do you want for her?”

  “She does not belong to me. She is Wind Rider’s woman.”

  “Wind Rider,” Trader repeated slowly, memorizing the name. “Ask him if he is willing to sell her.”

  “He is not here. You are here to trade guns, not women.”

  Trader knew by the tone of Red Cloud’s voice that the subject was not open for discussion. Quelling his excitement over his discovery, he ducked inside the tepee. He knew exactly what he was going to do when he left the village.

  A week later Trader, whose real name was Nate Wilton, reached Fort Laramie. He asked to see Lt. Gilmore, and after a short delay was admitted into the man’s office. Clutched in his hand was a handbill with a description of one Hannah McLin, runaway indentured servant. He had plucked it from the wall of the outer office where he had been left cooling his heels.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Wilton?” Lt. Gilmore spared a brief glance at the trader, aware of the man’s unsavory reputation. He had long been suspected of smuggling guns to the Indians, but so far nothing had been proven.

  “You still lookin’ for this woman?” Wilton asked, shoving the flyer beneath the lieutenant’s nose.

  Gilmore stared at the flyer for a moment, recalling that it had come in two weeks before. “Ah, yes, the indentured servant. As if we don’t have enough to do without looking for runaway servants. Besides, she disappeared near Denver, not up here in Wyoming. By now she’s probably dead, or taken prisoner by Indians— in which case she’d be better off dead. Why do you ask?”

  “I seen her.”

  Gilmore stared at him in disbelief. “You saw her? Where?”

  “In Powder River country. In Red Cloud’s camp. She’s whore to a Cheyenne warrior.”

  “Good God! What were you doing in Indian territory? Don’t you know how dangerous it is? There’s a patrol out there right now, looking for Indians.”

  “The Indians won’t hurt me. I’m a trader. I bring geegaws, pots and pans, and useful items for the women.”

  “What else do you bring them?” Gilmore queried.

  “Why, nothin’. That’s why they don’t bother me. I’m harmless.”

  “As harmless as a rattlesnake,” Gilmore muttered beneath his breath. “What about the woman? If you’re on such good terms with the Indians, why didn’t you bring the woman back with you?”

  “I would have if Red Cloud had allowed it. It’s your job to negotiate for captives, ain’t it?”

  “Are you suggesting I send a patrol out to get her? If you are, I’m afraid you’ll have to guide us. We’ve been hunting for Red Cloud’s camp for months, but so far we’ve had little luck locating him. He’s moved frequently to throw us off the trail.”

  “Hell no! I ain’t suggestin’ you send a patrol. They’ll be slaughtered. There’s lookouts posted all over the area. They’d know you was on your way hours in advance of your arrival.”

  At the end of his patience, Gilmore asked, “Just what are you suggesting, Wilton?”

  “Just you and me will go in. They know me and won’t hurt us. You negotiate for the woman’s relea
se and I’ll do the translating although Red Cloud can speak English well enough. As long as we go alone and they realize there’s no patrol with us, they’ll not be alarmed. To be safe, don’t wear your uniform.”

  Gilmore sat back in his chair, staring at Wilton over his tented fingers. He imagined young Hannah McLin in the hands of savages and his blood ran cold. “Did she appear well?”

  Wilton recalled the radiant beauty who stuck out like a gilded rose in a dark field and answered truthfully. “She looked well enough to me. Evidently, the young buck is treatin’ her good. But that ain’t no excuse not to rescue her. There’s a reward out for her, ain’t there?”

  Gilmore snorted in disgust. “I should have known there was more to your concern than worry over a servant girl. The reward is yours if I decide to rescue her. But I’ll need the colonel’s permission first.”

  Wilton nodded. “I’ll be stayin’ at the fort for a few days. Look me up when you know for sure.”

  Lt. Trent Gilmore stared at the handbill describing Hannah after the trader left, and something stirred within him. He knew the woman was probably being abused, but that wasn’t the only reason he felt he should negotiate with Red Cloud.

  A southerner who had joined the western army after the end of the Civil War, Lt. Gilmore was a man out to regain all that he had lost during the conflict. He was a glory seeker who sought advancement in the army, and he believed that rescuing a woman in jeopardy was a good way to gain the recognition he deserved. Unfortunately, it was not easy to convince Col. Renfro that he should rescue a runaway servant girl.

  “We already have a patrol out in Powder River country, Lieutenant,” Renfro explained when he heard Gilmore’s proposal. “Are you taking the word of a man like Wilton? What if the woman doesn’t exist?”

  “Oh, she exists all right, Colonel, else Wilton wouldn’t be so concerned about earning the reward offered by her owner. We both know for a fact that the trader comes and goes as he pleases inside Indian territory. And though we suspect him of smuggling guns and whiskey, we’ve never caught him red-handed. Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone. Perhaps I can learn more about his smuggling activities as well as rescue the girl.”