Forbidden Caress

by Colleen French

  When Katelyn returned to the wigwam at nightfall, she went straight to her mat on the floor. She had sent Ameen with Tipaakke's dinner so she wouldn't have to face him. She had spent the rest of the day with Won and her son, refusing to return to Tipaakke's wigwam until it was time to sleep.

  She pulled a deerskin over her body, snuggling down in the soft fur that covered her mat. Her mind was made up. She was leaving tonight. She had only to wait until the entire village retired. Tipaakke was already asleep on his platform, his back to her. When he woke in the morning, she'd be gone. He wouldn't be able to look for her and no one else would care enough to. She would follow the stream, then cut inland, walking into the sun when it rose. She would find Henry and her new life or die trying. Her mind was made up. Fox couldn't stop her.

  Katelyn rolled over on her side and gazed through the darkness at Tipaakke's sleeping form. A deerskin was flung carelessly across his middle; his legs and back were bare. She watched as his side rose and fell with each breath. His back was lithe and muscular. She yearned to reach out and stroke those well-formed muscles, to run her finger along his spine, to knead his massive shoulders. She had never seen such beautiful hair on a man, so black, so sleek. She could almost smell the clean, woodsy scent that clung to it.

  She rolled over. She had to get away from him before it was too late. What was wrong with her? Only a brazen hussy would think such indecent thoughts. Besides, he was the enemy. He had taken her from her betrothed and forced her into slavery. He was holding her against her will!

  Slowly the moon rose until Katelyn could see its full roundness through the hole in the wigwam roof. Still lying on her back, she reached out feeling for the corncakes she'd hoarded. She stuffed them into a woven basket she'd left purposely near her mat. Very slowly, she got up and swung the basket over her shoulder. Grabbing the fur skin from the sleeping mat, she slipped silently out the door. Tipaakke slept soundly.

  Katelyn crouched in the shadow of the wigwam, checking to be sure no one was about. She wrapped the hide around her shoulders and made her way to the outside ring of wigwams. She knew she would have less of a chance of being seen if she kept behind the wigwams until she reached the path to the stream. She walked slowly, taking care to stay on the grass. Fox thinks he's so smart. Just wait until he wakes and finds me gone! She smiled in the semidarkness.

  The full moon lit her way to the path, and she was soon at the bank of the stream. She debated for a moment and then decided to leave her moccasins on. They would protect her feet from sharp stones on the bottom, and she could dry them out in the morning. She stepped into the water, silencing the urge to cry out. The water was so cold! It was hard to believe winter would soon be upon them. In a matter of days it would be September. Won said the snow would be falling by October.

  She walked far enough from the bank so as not to bump into the grass. She knew from Won's stories that the Indians were excellent trackers. But if she kept to the water for a mile or two, she thought she'd be safe. Without any signs, no one would look too long.

  Soon the excitement of her escape wore off, and she began to tire. Katelyn pulled the deerskin cloak closer, wishing she'd chosen one with leather ties. It was difficult to keep her balance in the knee deep water when she was carrying the basket and holding the cloak.

  Her legs grew numb, and she trudged on, trying to ignore the hooting and calling of the strange animals in the forest. She wasn't easily spooked, but the moon gave off such eerie shadows that, more than once, the bear she spotted turned out to be a tall bush or a fallen log.

  After what seemed an eternity, Katelyn decided she'd come far enough by water. She had to rest. The moon had moved far enough in the sky that she knew two or three hours had passed. She waded to the bank and climbed out, using a young sapling for support. She fell into the grass and pulled the damp skin cloak over her. How could it be so cool already? Then she remembered Won mentioning that summer had come so early this year that winter was sure to arrive early, too.

  Realizing she'd probably get warm more quickly without the damp animal hide, she shrugged it off her shoulders and got to her feet. Once the sun came up she'd make good time. Heading east, she'd be bound to find a plantation by dusk. Pacing back and forth, Katelyn suddenly realized her basket was gone. She laid it by that tree, she was sure of it. She glanced around frantically. Was she losing her mind? She started around the massive trunk of the tree. Maybe she'd knocked the basket over and it had rolled.

  Practically running into Mekollaan, she screamed. "What are you doing?" Her hand went to her pounding heart. "You scared me to death!"

  Mekollaan gave her one of his half-lipped smiles, swinging her basket on one long finger. "You didn't give up as soon as I thought you would."

  "Why are you sneaking up on me? I know you hate me. Just let me go. Tell him you couldn't find me." She snatched the basket from his hand.

  "Couldn't find you? Tipaakke could have found you on his own! Your tracks were all over the riverbed." He laughed coarsely. "I do not hate you. But you do not belong with us."

  "So let me go." She stood her ground. She wasn't going to be bullied by him anymore.

  "If I had my way, I would. You could probably find your way back to your white man. But my brother wants you, so he will have you."

  "No! Not ever!" She turned to yank the skin off the ground and stalked off.

  Mekollaan took two quick steps forward and grabbed her arm. "I don't like this any better than you, but my brother has some strange idea that you are a gift from our god. He says you are his. So you must go back."

  "You can't make me go. You can kill me but you can't make me go!" Her brown eyes went steely.

  He felt a flicker of admiration as he leaned over to swing her onto his shoulder. The girl had spirit.

  "Let me go! Just kill me! I'd rather be dead than go back to him!" She kicked furiously pulling at his muslin shirt.

  Mekollaan swung her over his back, letting her dangle from the waist down and started off.

  Katelyn kicked and swung until she didn't have an ounce of strength left in her and finally she grew still.

  "Has the child finished?" Mekollaan swung her to the ground.

  Katelyn slumped to the grass.

  "Now you will walk, Kate-lyn?"

  She spoke softly under her breath in the Algonquian manner. "You will carry me every step of the way . . . "

  Mekollaan rolled his eyes and leaned over to pick her up. Women! he swung her over his shoulder, refusing to make things easy for her.

  Katelyn hung over his back the rest of the way to the village, refusing each time he stopped to walk herself. It made her dizzy and nauseated to hang upside down like this but she didn't care. He'd leave her, kill her, or carry her, those were his choices. Those were the choices she gave him.

  They entered the village just before dawn. Mekollaan gave her one more chance to walk to Tipaakke's wigwam to save face, but she refused. Mekollaan ducked into the wigwam and dumped her unceremoniously on the ground.

  Tipaakke turned from where he stood, his face grim. "You found her." He spoke English.

  "Yes, he found me," Katelyn snapped, pulling herself to her feet.

  "I would have been back sooner but she refused to walk. I had to carry her." Mekollaan added good-naturedly in his own tongue. "You have quite a woman here, I hope you can handle her."

  "Thank you, brother. You are good to me." Tipaakke reached out and touched Mekollaan's arm.

  Mekollaan made a quick exit, closing the leather flap behind him.

  Tipaakke turned to face Katelyn, almost as if he could see her. He could see her . . . in his mind. He could see her bright, wind-strewn hair, her long legs, the determined look on her face. And he could smell her anger.

  "So what is to be done here, Katelyn? You promised you wouldn't try to escape. I trusted you. I heard you leave but I hoped you would return on your own. Mekollaan followed you out of the village. I asked him to stay close enough to keep you safe
but to give you a chance to change your mind."

  "I didn't change my mind; I still hate you." The tip of her pink tongue darted out to dampen her dry lips. She was scared.

  "No, you don't hate me. You fear me but you don't hate me." His voice was a mere whisper.

  "I would rather be dead than be here with you," she flung back. She didn't know how to deal with his calm, even-tempered manner.

  "You are ready to die?" His words fell like stones between them.

  Katelyn gazed at the serene bronzed face. She couldn't lie to him. "No, not yet. And you know it." She met his haunting black eyes without flinching. Though he had lost his earthly sight, he seemed now to be able to see into her very soul.

  He reached out, grasping her arm. "You don't hate me. Tell me you don't hate me." The scent of her soft femininity enveloped him.

  Katelyn strained, but didn't pull away. "I hate you," she lied. I do, don't I? "I hate you because you kidnapped me."

  "You hate Henry because he left you . . . ."

  "I hate you because you made me your slave . . . ." I hate you because I like gathering your water . . ., because I like baking your fish. I hate you because I can't despise you the way I should.

  Tipaakke pulled her closer, savoring the warmth of her damp skin beneath his touch.

  She trembled in his grasp, unable to tear her eyes from his. She remembered the taste of his mouth on hers and her tongue darted out to dampen her dry lips. "I hate you because you touch me . . . " she breathed.

  "You hate the coward Henry because he never touched you, never like this." Tipaakke stroked her cheek, drawing her into his arms.

  Quivering, she let herself be drawn into his arms. No one had ever tried to comfort her before, no one had ever cared enough. Why did it have to be this man, she wondered, as his face loomed over hers. Why the enemy? She felt herself raising her chin to meet his lips; her arms snaked around his neck as if by their own accord. She knew this was wrong, but she couldn't help herself.

  "You have never been kissed," Tipaakke murmured, his lips brushing hers ever so softly, like the wings of a butterfly.

  "I have," she protested, savoring his taste.

  "Not the way a woman was meant to be kissed." He plucked at her bottom lip, then the top, nibbling until tiny shivers rippled through her body. His assault on her senses was deliciously slow.

  "So soft, so sweet," he whispered. "Let me taste your honey." He tightened his hands around her waist, pressing his lips to hers, this time with burning urgency.

  Overcome by some unknown dire need, Katelyn parted her lips, molding her body to his. She feared Fox. She knew she should turn and run, but somewhere, deep within herself, she wanted this man to kiss her. She wanted to feel his hard, lean body against her soft curves. Just for a moment, she told herself, as she allowed him to explore her mouth with his flickering tongue. Just for another moment and then I'll break away. Then I'll run.

  When Tipaakke withdrew his mouth from hers, Katelyn was breathless. Her heart was pounding; her legs were weak. Run! Run! an inner voice warned . . . before it's too late! But all she could do was moan softly, rolling her head to and fro as he tugged at the soft flesh of her neck with his teeth. She had never imagined anyone could feel this good.

  Tipaakke took his time, tasting, exploring her lips, her neck, her ears. She was completely innocent of a man's body, even of her own body; yet, she moved instinctively against him until he throbbed with the pain of desire. A soft gasp of astonishment escaped her lips as he stroked one rounded breast. He whispered sweet foolish words of love, words he had not uttered in years. His blood was rising, his heart pumping faster; he could feel the familiar stiffening in his loins. He could never recall wanting a maiden so badly.

  The blood in Katelyn's ears pounded as Tipaakke continued his brutally tantalizing assault. She had no resistance. She could only cling to Fox, writhing against him, trying to ease the unfamiliar throbbing deep within. From the day they had met she had been drawn to him by some invisible desire, by something greater than herself. Was this as he said? Was this meant to be?

  Slowly, Tipaakke led Katelyn to his sleeping platform, caressing her neck and shoulders as they walked. "Please," he begged huskily, "let me take off your dress. Let me see you."

  "No," she shook her head. "I couldn't." She raised her lips to his, drugged by the sensations he caused.

  "You can. There is nothing to be ashamed of," he urged planting soft, fleeting kisses across the bridge of her nose.

  "No," she murmured over and over again, yet slowly, she raised her hands over her head. Never had she been in such turmoil. She knew this was wrong, but how could it be? How could it be wrong to feel so good?

  Easing Katelyn onto the platform, Tipaakke slipped in beside her, running a hand over her glorious flesh. She cried out in surprised ecstasy as his hand swept over her damp, shimmering skin. Burying her face in his sweet smelling hair, she tried to suppress the sounds that escaped her lips. When he moved to mold his body to hers, she arched her hips, welcoming the pressure.

  Katelyn's eye flew open at the first touch of his wet tongue against the hardening bud of her breast. "No," she cried, pushing his head aside. But her body betrayed her and she arched her back inviting him to suckle at her breast again. With one hand, Tipaakke stroked her abdomen in a circular motion as he sucked and nipped at a ripe nipple.

  "I have waited too long for you," Tipaakke murmured huskily in the language of his ancestors. "Now and for always you are mine." His hand trailed down her silky thighs, lingering at the patch of downy hair, then stroking and pleasing elsewhere.

  Katelyn didn't care that she couldn't understand a word that he said. It didn't matter. His hot breath in her ear and the tender sound of his voice was enough. For now, there was no one in the world but the two of them. No hands but his. Each time that his hand brushed against her triangular patch of bright hair, she called out, raising her hips to meet his hand. Each kiss, every caress, fanned the flames of a fire of unknown origin within her.

  When Tipaakke rested his hand between her thighs, probing gently, she bolted halfway up. "No," she protested, swallowing hard. Her eyes fluttered open. "Please . . . "

  "I won't if you don't want me to." He pressed his mouth to the valley between her breasts. "But you know I would not hurt you. I want only to give you pleasure."

  Katelyn ran her fingers through his soft, sleek hair, forcing her breath to come more easily. "I'm afraid," she squeaked. "This is wrong."

  "No, it is not wrong. It is what a man and woman were made for." His voice caressed her senses, making her feel as if she floated on a cloud. "I have pleased you haven't I?"

  She laughed, dropping her head back. "Yes, yes you've pleased me."

  "Then let me show you the ways of love." He picked up her hand, kissing her palm.

  She relaxed with resignation, running her hand over his bare back. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Show me."

  Kissing her face and neck, Tipaakke parted the folds of her womanhood. When she cried out with the intense pleasure of her awakening desires, he covered her mouth with his, muffling her voice. He stroked her damp flesh until she quivered, her hips moving to the rhythm of his hand.

  "Please, please," she called out, not knowing what she begged for.

  Removing his loincloth, Tipaakke moved astride her. She raked his back with her fingernails as he eased his body down until he lay flat on top of her. Their lips met fiercely as he probed. Instinctively, she parted her thighs. "I might hurt you," he warned in her ear, "but only for a moment, and then it will feel very good."

  Katelyn nodded, hearing his words as if far from a distance. She gasped with pleasure as he entered her, arching her hips to his.

  Slowly, Tipaakke began to move in the ancient rhythm of loving, diving deeper and deeper. Katelyn cried out once and he stopped the movement, letting the pain subside, covering her face with feathery kisses. Then he continued . . . . His senses spun as he thrust faster
, no longer able to control his movement. Higher and higher he climbed until he reached the moon and stars and came tumbling down.

  Katelyn's heart finally slowed its pace and her breath came more regularly as the rivers of pleasure subsided. There was still a dull ache in her loins, but that, too, soon eased.

  Tipaakke rolled off her onto his side and lay his head on her stomach, his hand caressing one thigh. For a long time he said nothing, then his voice pierced the silence. "Next time it will be better for you."

  Katelyn laughed uneasily, her voice still shaky. "Better?" She ran her hands through his dark hair. "No one has ever made me feel this good."

  Tipaakke slid his hand under her back and rested his head on her breast. "Wait," he teased warmly. "The Fox knows many things."

  Chapter Five

  Katelyn woke slowly, content to let her mind drift. Once completely awake, she knew she would have to deal with what had taken place only hours before. She would have to face the truth. She loved Fox. She was in love with a savage.

  Her eyes opened cautiously and she peered at him through a veil of dark lashes. He was not a handsome man by the white man's standards . . . but he was handsome to her. She watched as his bare chest rose and fell with each breath. A silly smile crossed Katelyn's lips. She remembered how smooth and rippling his chest felt beneath her touch and she longed to reach out and finger the male nipples again, maybe even taste them. But she didn't want to wake him, not yet. She wasn't ready to face those obsidian eyes.

  Katelyn moved slightly, trying to escape the platform, but his hands were entwined in her hair. So she settled herself, her head still resting on his broad shoulder, his breath light on her cheek. Her eyes drifted shut again and she snuggled close, savoring the comforting heat of his body.

  What had she done? She'd let him make love to her, that's what she'd done! No . . . she'd made love with Fox. And she had enjoyed every touch, every whisper, every fierce kiss.

  But nothing had changed. He was still the enemy; he still held her captive. He kept her from marrying Henry. Henry . . . that was something else to deal with. How could she ever go back to him now? How could she become his wife when she'd made love with another man? A real man . . . a man who didn't have to prove his masculinity by boosting or impressing with daring feats. Even blind, Fox was twice the man Henry Coward would ever be. Katelyn giggled, remembering the name Won had dubbed him with.