Savage Conquest

by Janelle Taylor

  He didn't move for a few moments, mastering the urge to ride her fast and hard to end his own painful hunger. He was sorely pressed to drive into her body again and again, having dreamed of this night for days. And she was just as ravenous and greedy. He thrilled to the wanton way she responded to him, the way she encouraged and tempted him to devour her, body and soul.

  As he set his rhythmic pattern, her legs engulfed his lower body and locked around him. She worked in unison with him, arching to meet his delightful entries and sighing breathlessly each time he slightly withdrew. She struggled against the sweet tension which possessed her, attacked her, taunted her. Her nerves tingled with fierce cravings; her body burned with scorching desire.

  Spasm after spasm attacked and shook the very core of her being. For an instant, colorful lights danced before her darkened vision. Reis dashed aside his restraint and raced along with her as she fought and found a blissful path to rapture. When all was spent, they relaxed into each other's arms. Still he kissed her and caressed her. Then he rolled to his side, carrying her along with him and she snuggled against him as their pounding hearts and ragged respirations returned to normal. Tenderly and lovingly his hands trailed lightly over her silky body as if memorizing this enchanting moment.

  As they lay entwined and calmed, Reis realized the depth of his love for this woman. He couldn't imagine a life without her, but he surely could envision future days and nights with her at his side.

  As Amanda's hand teased over the damp hair on his firm chest, she wondered how this vital and masterful man had remained single so long. He was arrestingly handsome, enormously virile, and skillful in bed. He was fearless, intelligent, confident, and roguish. He was gallant and charming; he was witty and genial. He was a treasure above price and she loved him beyond words.

  Just before drifting off to sleep, Amanda murmured softly, "Reis, do you think Luke and Randy are all right?"

  "Without a doubt, my love. I think this trip will be good for both of them. Don't worry. We'll be seeing them again before you know it," he replied, nuzzling her ear.

  Laughter trickled from her parted lips as she nestled closer to him. "Now that I think about it, I'm glad we're alone. If anyone can take care of herself, it's Miranda Lawrence."

  Reis's mouth seized possession of hers, and sleep was forgotten for the next hour ...

  Miranda Lawrence and Lucas Reardon stood at the railing of the steamboat which was carrying them along the Missouri River from Omaha to the next stop which would be Fort Randall. From there, they would visit several military posts including Fort Sully and Fort Pierre. After Pierre, they would take an overland route north to Fort Rice and Fort Lincoln; Fort Abraham Lincoln was reputed to be the new location of George Custer, one of the objects of Lucas's journey.

  Miranda had anticipated a leisurely, perhaps boring, trip by water. But she quickly discovered there was little time for personal worries; there was always something to hold her spellbound. She hoped Amanda had received their messages so she wouldn't fret over their safety. By now, Reis should be at her side, insuring her happiness. Lucas had mailed another letter from Omaha, but Miranda couldn't risk writing home yet. In a few weeks, she would send a detailed account of the trip.

  Along this awesome stretch of water, Miranda viewed many sights. Huge cottonwoods grew beside the water's edge, standing tall and proud as if guarding this wild land from intruders. Joining them in beauty were lovely chokecherries and wild plum trees in full bloom. Along the banks, bushes with heavy foliage frequently concealed the inland from eager eyes and offered protection for the birds and animals. She heard tales of how pioneers had dreaded challenging this mighty river. Many days and nights the ship's passengers and crew recounted suspenseful sagas of crossings, some victorious and some disastrous. The river was said to have devoured boats of all sizes as well as the banks which tried to contain its force.

  She noticed many trading posts and small settlements along the way, each supplying an exciting tale of its own. At sunset, everything appeared gold except the dark outline of trees in the distance. The tawny heavens reflected upon the water and cast a golden aura. Sometimes the air was so still and quiet it seemed eerie, but on moonless nights a mixture of sounds could be heard above the singing and laughter of the passengers, as the steamer halted its trek to avoid unseen dangers in the darkness. On such nights, Miranda enjoyed the throaty croaking of frogs, the soothing calls of bobwhite quail, and the gentle murmuring of the water as it moved along peacefully.

  Miranda was relieved to have missed the most terrifying event of all: the breaking up of the frozen river in the spring. She learned that settlers along the river made bets on when "she would go." Cattle were moved to high ground when the intimidating snapping and cracking began sending warning signals from the ice-locked river. It was said the Missouri could go "raving mad" two times each year, and the people sighed with relief and offered prayers of gratitude when March and June passed uneventfully.

  That news didn't sit comfortably with Miranda. She had missed the March floods after the melting snows dumped their contents into the river. But the June rains which brought the threat of more flooding were knocking on the calendar's door. Yet the heavens were clear and blue; they even seemed larger than back home. Miranda prayed they would reach their destination before Mother Nature loosened her powers upon the land.

  The Missouri was tricky, often hazardous to navigate with its shifting channels, and pilots and captains cursed her yet respected her. Due to the perils of this river and the importance of its location, the riverboat pilots or keelboat captains were highly paid, and their cargo reaped large rewards. Furs, gold, foods, military ammunition and supplies, and Indian annuities were the main cargoes. Sometimes, passengers were just as important: miners, farmers, soldiers, and traders. But with the railroads closing in, steamers were not as crowded as they had once been.

  Sadly, the day of the steamer and keelboat was vanishing. By the time Miranda and Lucas were ready to go home, the railroad would be finished to Yankton at Fort Randall. Before long, supply crafts would only be necessary between settlements or into areas where the railroad hadn't yet come.

  For a while longer, these crafts and their adventures would continue. Many of their perils and hardships lay in submerged or floating trees or shifting sandbars. Others lay in striking sunken vessels which rested on the shallow bottom with snagged hulls or burned shells. At present, the greatest danger was low water. The spring rush from melting snows had passed and the rise from June rains hadn't come yet.

  Miranda watched the river in fascination and tried not to think about her run-ins with Weber. She concentrated on envisioning her sister smiling and walking beside Reis Harrison. Miranda was confident that Reis was more than capable of protecting Amanda, solving the case surrounding Weber, and making Amanda extremely happy. Having seen Reis and Amanda together, Miranda longed fora love that powerful and unique. But she would not avidly search for love and passion, not even among the numerous males on the steamer who had vied for her attention in vain. She would let love and passion find her when the time and man were right.

  Halfway between Omaha and Fort Randall, the steamer ran aground on a sandbar. The Martha Lane had previously had contests with smaller sandbars, which had been won quickly and almost easily. But the heavy spars used to free steamers seemed of little use this time. With a full moon to guide them, they had continued long past dusk. The sandbar seemed to have "appeared from nowhere" as the pilot claimed when they were brought to an abrupt stop, one which flung the supper dishes and several passengers to the wooden floor. As if Fate was against the voyage, the moon then vanished behind ominous clouds, preventing the crew from dislodging the boat until morning.

  The following day dawned cloudy and dim. When the damage was assessed, the pilot cursed under his breath. Clearly they were too heavy to "grasshopper" off the bar without unloading the passengers, animals, and heaviest cargo. To make matters worse, the rudder had been cracked, an
d had to be repaired on the spot. It required over an hour to empty the craft.

  Lucas was chatting amiably with some of the passengers, in particular two intriguing soldiers 'from Fort Rice. Miranda was allowed to stroll along the riverbank, taking in the sights and sounds. She admired the wild beauty around her and plucked several colors of pasqueflowers to put in her cabin. She watched squirrels playing in the trees and listened to birds singing joyfully.

  As if to seek solitude of its own, a narrow stream departed the banks of the "Misery"-as Miranda had heard the river being called this morning by a harried pilot-and made a winding path inland, which she followed. She wasn't far from the river and the other passengers, but she felt encased in a private world, concealed from their view by leafy trees and bushes. Growing beside a fallen tree was a lovely patch of wildflowers, seemingly anxious to be the first land decorations this spring. She headed toward it to gather a few to add to those in her grasp.

  As she bent forward to reach for the first one, an arrow swished past her outstretched arm. With a thud, it buried its sharp tip in the head of a rattlesnake which had been about to strike Miranda. The serpent thrashed wildly in the verdant grass and fallen leaves as it struggled against inevitable death, its ominous tail sending forth a belated rattle. Finally it was still and silent.

  Miranda stared at the arrow with red-and-blacktipped feathers on one end, recalling that her mother had told her long ago that each warrior or tribe used certain feathers and colors for identification. She didn't know who was standing behind her; but there was only one way to find out if it was a white man or an Indian, a rescuer or an enemy. She turned and opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't. He was standing so close to her that she wondered how she failed to make contact with that powerful bronze body while turning. He was an Indian, doubtlessly a warrior, judging from his stance and painted face. In less than an instant, she knew she was in no danger from the virile and handsome man who entranced her with his magnetic gaze.

  They merely stared at each other, both surprised and held spellbound by the other. Even though Blazing Star had been watching her since last night when the boat he was shadowing had run aground, he now saw she was even more beautiful than he had imagined. He had been trailing her since she had left the steamer and had defended her without a second thought.

  Her hair was like smoldering wood, dark with shining flames. Her eyes were as golden brown as a doe's, and their expression as gentle. Her skin was shaded like a baby otter's, and he knew that it would be just as soft to his touch. He was astonished to read no fear or hatred within those expressive eyes, and more astonished to detect her attraction to him. He wasn't sure if she was white, for if dressed properly, she could pass for Indian. He couldn't seem to move or speak, as if he were in a vision trance.

  Miranda warmed all over. Never had she seen such a tempting male. What a superior vision of power, self-assurance, and potent masculinity! Tingles traveled over her body as she took in his appearance. His hair was ebony, falling free down his back, but for two braids on either side of his arresting face. The braids were secured by rawhide thongs with small feathers dangling from them, again tinged with red and black. He wasn't wearing a headband as in the political cartoons by Nast in Harper's Weekly; nor was he savage or ugly in appearance or manner as were the Indians in Nast's works.

  Other than her mother, Miranda had never seen or met an Indian. But Marie Morning Star Lawrence had told her daughter much about them, especially about her people, the Sioux. Miranda wanted to know to what tribe this man belonged. His coppery flesh was smooth, firm, and hairless. His muscular chest was bare, except for the silver star which hung from a leather strip around his neck. His lower body was clad in buckskin pants and moccasins, and around his biceps and wrists were leather, beaded bands, the loose ends of which dangled from his powerful arms. A quiver of arrows and a bow were slung over one shoulder and rested at his hip.

  But it was his face which mesmerized her. Although the upper portion of his face was painted with red from hairline to below his eyes, then banded from side to side with black and white strips to the end of his nose, the design could not distract from his handsome looks, and the paints couldn't conceal them. Again, the color scheme of red and black registered in her spinning mind. His dark eyes shone like polished black jet; their expression was probing and compelling. His nose wasn't large or small, but fit his face perfectly, and his lips were wide and full, inviting Miranda's gaze to linger over them. His jaw was squared, with a slight indention in the middle of his chin which Miranda yearned to touch with her fingertip.

  Blazing Star was the one to end their hypnotic drama. He shook his head as if to regain mastery of it. He hunkered down and severed the rattler tail from its body, handing the row of noisy rings to her. The smile he gave her came from his eyes, not his lips. She accepted the unusual gift and smiled up into his controlled features, causing his intense gaze to shift to her mouth. He watched it fora time, then lifted his dark eyes to fuse with hers. Miranda thought he was going to kiss her and was disappointed when he didn't.

  Miranda was confused when he used his sharp knife to cut off the lower end of one of her curls. He looked at it as it wound around his finger. He grinned, then placed it inside a pouch at his waist. He couldn't decide if he should be annoyed or relieved he couldn't take a captive on this manhunt, for she appeared too special for such a life. If only his body didn't urge him to take her, or suffer denial's agony...

  "That isn't how you take scalp locks. What does it mean?" she inquired softly in puzzlement and pleasure.

  For an answer, he squeezed her hand which was holding the rattler rings, then patted his pouch, as if indicating a swap of some kind. When he heard Lucas calling her name, the warrior came to instant alertness. She could almost envision those keen instincts and skills coming to full readiness. Lucas's intrusion was unwanted, ill-timed.

  "Coming," she responded to Lucas's call. She looked up at the warrior and smiled again. "Thanks for saving my life and for this gift. I shall never forget you or today. Good-by," she murmured sadly.

  Blazing Star sensed her reluctance to leave him, her powerful pull toward him. He grinned, for he knew they would meet again. They were both heading in the same direction.

  Lucas called her name louder. She turned toward the sound and replied, "I'm coming, Luke. Just a minute." When she turned to ask the warrior's name and to give hers, he was gone. She looked around, but she could find no trace of him. He had vanished as soundlessly and mysteriously as he had appeared. If not for the object in her grasp, she might believe the episode never had happened. To make certain, she shook the object and listened to the musical rattle. She concealed it in her pocket; why, she didn't know. When she joined Lucas, she didn't mention the warrior.

  Miranda remained close to Lucas as the repairs were completed and the steamer was freed from the sandbank. But she paid little attention to Lucas's conversation, for her thoughts were of the nearby woods and the fascinating warrior.

  The steamer was reloaded. Until they were out of sight, she remained at the railing, staring at the area where they had gone ashore. Her spirits were heavy, for she felt no returning gaze. But as the journey continued, Miranda couldn't forget the imposing Indian. She felt denied of something vital to her life, to her heart. The feelings she was experiencing were tormenting. It might be wrong, but she would pray for their paths to cross again.

  As the days passed, Blazing Star had a difficult time pushing the girl called Miranda from his thoughts. He berated himself for dreaming of her, for desiring her above all women he had met, for allowing her to ride with him each day and to sleep with him each night. He berated himself because she was white and he was Oglala Sioux, and the two bloods should never join again. For two such blendings in his distant past had cost him much honor. If two of his ancestors hadn't mated with white captives, he would be chief of the most awesome and powerful Indian tribe ever to rule the open Plains. Because of the love of Gray Eagle for
a half-white captive and that of his son, Bright Arrow, for a white slave, the line of chiefs had passed to Bright Arrow's brother, Sun Cloud, who had wisely joined with a Blackfoot princess, Singing Wind, daughter of Chief Brave Bear and Sioux maiden, Chela, herself a daughter of a medicine chief. To make matters worse for the line of Gray Eagle, Night Stalker-son of Chief Sun Cloud-had been slain in a massacre when his only son, Bloody Arrow, was only five winters old, too young for the chief's bonnet. Now, the joint chiefs of their tribe were Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, leaders with fame and skills to challenge those of the legendary Gray Eagle.

  After having made certain the two enemies he had been assigned to kill were aboard this boat, the warrior traveled rapidly toward the steamer's next mandatory stop, the next lengthy stop which would entice the girl to leave the boat once more. He was glad he was on this raid alone; he didn't want the girl injured or slain during a battle, and certainly not captured by another warrior. After he sated his curiosity, he would seek a lofty bank in an area where the river narrowed to send two arrows toward the boat, one aimed for each enemy's heart. Then the matter would be over, for Blazing Star never missed a target.

  In spite of the impossibility of the situation, he wanted to see the girl again. He would have one last chance to study her up close when the boat halted to cut wood just below Yankton, the only spot where fuel couldn't be purchased from "woodhawks," where the crew would have to cut and load it themselves. At such times, passengers left the boat to stretch their legs and relieve their boredom and tension. Riding alone and not requiring the numerous fuel stops of the steamer, the warrior could make better time. His fatal attack would come between Yankton and Pierre, on the last leg of this craft's journey.