Proud Wolf's Woman

by Karen Kay

  But it wasn’t that which bothered him most.

  No, it wasn’t just the swing of her hips, which was, after all, barely discernible beneath her Indian garb. It was his reaction to her, the way his groin tightened as though he were seeing a female for the first time.

  He was not supposed to feel these things…not for anyone…certainly not for Julia. She was white; she was foreign; she was a burden to him. Nothing more.

  She also chose that moment to fling back the weight of her dark curls, causing the full cascade of her hair to fall almost to her waist, and Neeheeowee, all at once, could barely breathe. That the action only emphasized what he knew he shouldn’t notice didn’t help his cause.

  And Neeheeowee, Cheyenne warrior, willing to risk his life for another, willing to face any pain, disciplined until he could confront and endure any torture, could not do one simple thing: He could not look away from the rhythmic sway of a woman’s walk.

  Suddenly she stumbled, falling down, and Neeheeowee sprang off of the horse, coming before her in a few, quick steps.

  “Henova’e he’tohe? Ne-toneto-mohta-he? What is it? How are you?” He knelt beside her.

  “I don’t know what you’re saying.” She looked up at him then and Neeheeowee’s stomach fell. He almost groaned.

  He had no idea what she said, but the way she said it, the way she looked at him…

  He had to examine her, see to her foot, make sure she was all right. But how to do it without…

  He drew a shallow breath and, keeping his glance as far away from her as possible, examined first the area around her, then the prairie hole where her foot remained trapped. He lifted his eyes upward, toward the heavens, feeling curiously glad—not that she had fallen, but rather that this hole was not part of a prairie dog town. This was good. Prairie dog holes held other dangers, mainly from snakes who liked to burrow in the abandoned nests.

  Keeping the reins of the horse held tightly in one hand, he lowered his free hand to her foot, trying to ignore the feeling that shot through his arm when his touch briefly grazed over her skin.

  He cradled her foot and gently twisted it this way and that as he eased it out of the hole. He listened for signs of pain from her, unwilling to look directly at her. But he heard no sound from her indicating that she was injured. And so at length, he raised his glance to her.

  A shiver raced through him at once and Neeheeowee almost dropped her foot, but he didn’t, his practiced discipline enabling him to pretend he felt no reaction.

  Again, he turned her foot, this time watching her face to catch any sign of pain. He saw none.

  “Ne-hoveoo’estse, stand up.”

  He made to rise, but Julia couldn’t arise on her own, and he frowned as he realized he would have to assist her. Drawing a deep breath, he picked her up, the feel of her in his arms more pleasurable than he would have cared to admit, and when a shot of pure longing ripped through his body, he nearly dropped her.

  Gathering her more securely in his arms, he carried her to the horse and, lifting her up and away from him, he set her down upon the mount.

  He did it quickly so as to avoid further contact with her, but he noted, as he placed her on the pony, that she did not move to straddle the horse, placing both legs over its back.

  She sat, her legs drawn to the side, and though Neeheeowee motioned her to straddle the animal correctly, she did not budge from her position.

  He almost did it for her, but he held back, more than aware of what touching her legs, her calves, her thighs, could do to him. He did not need to be told these things, nor did he need the movement of the front of his breechcloth to emphasize what resulted from such thoughts.

  Realizing he could neither touch her, nor talk to her without severe reaction on his part, he did the only thing he could: He strode away. He took the parfleches from her, tying them onto the back of the horse. Then he rolled up the extra buffalo robe, settling it behind her and tying it onto the pony as well.

  There. He was done with it.

  She and the supplies were safely secured onto the horse. He no longer had to think about her. He no longer had to look at her. He was free now to walk out in front of her, leading the pony by the reins, this being what he should have done from the start, before his temper had gotten the better of him.

  He lifted his shoulders and breathed deeply. This was better. No more would he have to watch the jiggle of those hips, nor would he have to witness her hair caught in the wind, blowing back in the breeze. He wouldn’t have to see nor hear her movements. He wouldn’t have to attend to the sound of the fringe and beads of her regalia keeping rhythm to the sway of her motion.

  Yes, this he could handle. He silently congratulated himself on the wisdom of his actions and once more, his self-confidence reasserting itself, he looked down, only to observe it—not the tracks of an enemy nor even the path of an animal. No, it was his own breech cloth he observed, the evidence of her effect on him complete.

  He groaned.

  The westerly wind chose that moment to blow up behind them, bringing with it the sweet scent of her body. And Neeheeowee, his gut churning in ready response, despaired.

  It was going to be a long journey.

  Chapter Five

  Julia watched her moody captor from across the ashes of a dim campfire. Above her the sky burned with the brilliance of a million stars, all set to twinkling in the clean, dry air with a luminescence undreamed of by people who had not witnessed it. The half-moon this night shone down its radiance to the landscape below as though competing with the sun, while the ever-present wind whined across the deserted stretch of prairie, whispering its message of loneliness and fear.

  But it was not fear Julia felt, nor loneliness. And as she continued to study her Indian companion from afar, she grew more and more confused.

  She did not understand the man. First he’d made her walk while he’d ridden. Then, when she’d fallen, he had been beside her, ministering to her, pulling her into his arms, putting her onto the horse, letting her remain there while he had walked on ahead.

  And tonight, after they had camped, he had taken the time gently to bathe her foot with a mixture of herbs, wrapping it up in a soft, elk-skin bandage.

  He hadn’t, though, said a thing to her, hadn’t even looked at her, and he’d acted in the strangest of ways: Having found a small stream, one which barely covered the ankle when standing in its center, Neeheeowee had spent more than an hour in it, bathing. Or maybe he’d been doing something else? Praying?

  Julia had once heard that the Indians said their prayers in the early morning when they bathed. Was that what Neeheeowee had done? In the evening?

  Julia couldn’t be certain of it, and she looked over to him now where he lay across the campfire, his back to her, his weapons within his easy reach.

  She sighed. There was something else. He had caught and roasted a small rabbit for their supper tonight. He hadn’t expected her to do anything, he had even started the fire, which she knew was a woman’s job in both his culture and hers.

  Strange. She had thought Indian men lazy and Indian women no more than slaves to their men.

  And perhaps they were. Perhaps. This was only their first night together on whatever journey they were making. Time would tell.

  She could make no sense of it. Maybe tomorrow would give her greater insight.

  “I hope so,” she whispered and, lying down, she fell instantly asleep.

  “Why did I not notice it before now?” Julia murmured to herself as she sat up from her bed of buffalo robe and deerskin blanket. She should have seen it. After all, the man wore only breechcloth and moccasins, his same outfit as yesterday. It was clearly there. She should have seen it-yesterday.

  Perhaps I didn’t want to observe him too closely in case I looked at his… She broke off her thoughts.

  What is wrong with me?

  She shook her head, unable to believe she could not get her attention off that one area of the man’s body.
/>
  She had to get control of herself. Certainly there was more to a man than one portion of his body certainly there was more to him than…

  She looked up, catching sight of Neeheeowee as he returned from his lengthy morning bath in the stream.

  She groaned. He looked more handsome than a man had any right to, and the way he was dressed, what he wore, the way he walked…

  “Dear Lord above,” she moaned, and jerked her gaze up toward his neck. And there she saw it again: Her necklace, the one she had beaded for him as a gift seven and a half years ago.

  It was incredible. Neeheeowee wore her necklace. Did he even realize what he did?

  She looked again, just to satisfy herself that she wasn’t seeing things, but there it was. Sewn in blue pony beads, with a red-beaded heart in the center, it hung from his neck; the colors were a little faded, yet the strand was still intact.

  She tried to observe him more closely, wondering if his wearing of it was recent, since his rescue of her, but when he bent down toward the fire she saw a lighter skin beneath the necklace, indicating he had worn the ornament a long time.

  How long? she wondered.

  “Nese’se’onotse,” he said, pointing toward her, then toward the stream, and it took no scholar to realize that he suggested she take a bath.

  She sighed. “I take slight offense to that,” she said softly, raising her chin. “Are you suggesting I am dirty?”

  But he said nothing back to her, and she frowned, looking down at her gown of soft elk skin, the same one she had slept in last night.

  She grimaced. She did need to bathe; she did need to rinse the gloom of the night from her mouth, but there was no way she would do it while Neeheeowee remained in camp.

  She darted him a shy glance. “I cannot bathe while you are in camp here.”

  “Na-ase-ohtse.”

  She knew he didn’t understand her words, just as she didn’t understand his, but something must have communicated between them because, as he spoke, he nodded, pointing first to himself and then to a point far distant from their camp. And Julia came to understand that he would give her the privacy she needed.

  Julia met his gaze before he turned to walk from camp. She just as quickly looked away.

  What was happening to her? Why did a simple glance from him make her stomach drop, her pulse beat a little quicker?

  She tilted her head, finding herself studying the man’s graceful walk as he trod away. And she didn’t dare examine the reason behind why she also marked the movement of his breechcloth across his tight backside as he ascended a small rise in the landscape.

  She waited a few moments, then, seeing he did not return, she got to her feet, treading leisurely to the water, her spirits oddly high for so early in the morning.

  Curiously, she hummed, finding herself enjoying the quiet of the morning hours. She laid her dress on the nearby bank of the stream, and, slipping off her moccasins, left them behind her, near the bank. She trudged into the brook and, slipping to her knees, relished the refreshing coolness of the water.

  She smiled, still humming as she bathed, gathering fistfuls of sand from the riverbed to scrub herself. She rinsed her mouth with the water, then wet and washed her hair as best she could in only a few inches of water.

  Truly it was a welcome experience, and she lingered in the water until the last possible moment.

  She could see Neeheeowee had returned to camp, and though his back was to her, his presence still presented her with a dilemma.

  How do I get dressed?

  If she walked out, she exposed her entire, nude body to his quick perusal if he so much as moved his head. If she grabbed her dress from the bank and pulled it on while she sat in the water, she might ruin the dress. The regalia of the gown was, after all, elk skin and most of the leather garments with which Julia was acquainted were ruined if ever they were wet.

  It left her little choice.

  Deciding her captor a sort of prairie gentleman, Julia rose from the water, pacing back to shore. She was almost there when the bottom of the stream suddenly fell out.

  She screamed.

  Neeheeowee jumped up and, spinning around, grabbed his weapons.

  He stopped. He looked.

  Julia, kneeling upright, gazed back.

  A moment passed.

  Another.

  His gaze fell to the juncture of her legs—

  She gasped and suddenly sat, covering her bottom with water, her bosom with her arms.

  And Neeheeowee, snorting, turned his back.

  But only a second elapsed before Neeheeowee suddenly burst into flight, running from the camp as though to a fire, while Julia, watching him, wondered what he did.

  She glanced here and there, noting her surroundings, looking for smoke, any telltale sign indicating something was wrong. She saw nothing, nothing to have caused such a stir.

  “That’s odd,” she commented aloud as she stepped fully out of the water. It wasn’t until much later that she saw Neeheeowee return to camp. And then she saw it, the full effect of her on him, there under his breechcloth.

  She might have felt fear to have observed such a thing. But she experienced nothing of the sort. No she certainly did not feel afraid. And slowly, so very subtly, Julia smiled.

  Neeheeowee squatted on the ground, the reins of the pony in his hands, Julia standing over him to the side.

  He looked up at the sun, back down at the tracks. Sand still adhered to the blades of grass. It meant this party had traveled by this spot in the morning, two days ago, the only time there had been dew on the ground.

  Neeheeowee squinted, studying the imprints. No travois poles indicating a family. Only ponies, at a run. It was spring. A time for war parties, a time for raiding.

  His gaze moved upward, following the trail through the grasses, the path easily discernible by the different shades of the green grasses where the weeds were still turned. There were four warriors in this party, Osage, the tribe easily distinguished by the occasional moccasin print farther back on the trail and by the manner in which these men rode their ponies. They were also young warriors, the imprints told him from their slight impressions, warriors out seeking honor and glory, a coup, perhaps, to win favor of a sweetheart.

  Their trail intersected his own here, while up ahead they had shifted course, turning east—traveling the same direction as he and Julia, most likely going home.

  While they were four warriors, he was only one—with baggage.

  If the warriors circled back, they could easily pick up his own trail, he, then, becoming an easy coup. But he was fairly certain they would not do this. They were too far out of their own country. More than likely they were a raiding party, caught, fleeing for home.

  Which meant someone followed them.

  Neeheeowee sat for a moment; reflecting.

  It was conceivable that this party had raided a Kiowa or Comanche camp, making it the Kiowa or Comanche who would follow, though perhaps not.

  Neeheeowee gazed back, scanning his own trail. The terrain they had traversed so far did not make for an easy path to cover. All dirt and short grasses, there was no way to mask his own trail, unless he did it all by hand, a time-consuming endeavor. If the pursuers of this Osage party were Kiowa or Comanche, they were friend, and Neeheeowee had nothing to fear, except…the woman. They might try to bargain for her or even try to steal her, though they were allied tribes.

  Or the following party could be Pawnee, a Cheyenne enemy. And if they saw his own trail, the singleness of his circumstances could present too easy a coup for an enemy to resist.

  He’d not thought to be too careful these first few days on the trail since he was in his own and friendly country. Besides, he’d been distracted, paying too much attention to portions of his anatomy and to portions of Julia’s to think clearly.

  He looked up, scanning the barren horizon all around him; no trees, no bushes, no shrubs, only the short grasses blowing in the ever-present rap of the westerl
y wind. He knew this country, the high prairie, knew it provided no wood for fire, little water for drinking. It also did not allow for any place to take cover, and with a war party within the vicinity, he and Julia were more at risk here than he cared to imagine.

  He did not fear the Osage, nor their allied tribe, the Kaw, or Kansa; no, in fact, he would relish the open combat. For one thing the Osage were intruders into this country. It would behoove him to seek them out and fight them as his duty to his tribe. A battle would sharpen his skills as a warrior, something he was always intent upon doing.

  But more than all of this, though he did not like to admit it, a fight would force his attention from Julia—Julia, whose scent distracted him; whose grace intrigued him, whose feminine movements taunted him.

  He stood upright all at once and, glancing toward the east, checked the hour by the position of the sun. Then, lowering his gaze, he inspected the area for further signs.

  He saw no indication of the Osage party circling back, nor did he think they would.

  However, it still meant someone followed them from behind.

  He scowled. He had been traveling north and east, in a straight line toward the soldier town where he had first met Julia. It was the quickest, most direct way. And if he ever meant to return to his single-minded purpose, he would have to conclude this journey with Julia as quickly as possible.

  What choices did he have? He could follow the Osage trail and hope that those in pursuit were Cheyenne allies. He could veer off the path and go in a more northerly direction, chancing that the following party would continue to pursue the Osage and not him and Julia. Or he could take another path, one he had considered taking from the start, but had disregarded since it was not a direct route.

  It was, however, the safest course, and had he not been in such a rush to return Julia and get back to his own business, he would have started off in this direction from the beginning. But he was in a hurry, plus he’d had his attention distracted, distracted by the sway of feminine hips and a delicate scent.