Chieftain (Historical Romance)

by Nan Ryan

  “You’ve already done that,” she said with rising impatience.

  “I know. But there’s something else. The armless rocker.”

  Maggie glanced over her shoulder at the rocker. Empty, it continued to rock slowly back and forth, back and forth.

  “What about it? I don’t understand.”

  “Since I first saw the rocker, I’ve wanted to make love to you sitting in it,” he said, and took her hand in his. “I’ve envisioned it many times. The two of us naked, making love, rocking back and forth before the fire.”

  Shanaco didn’t wait for her response. He sat down in the rocker and drew her to stand between his spread legs. His hands resting lightly on her hips, he leaned forward, brushed a kiss to her belly and teased, “Let me really rock you to sleep, Maggie.”

  He felt his heart leap with joy when she replied, “I can think of nothing I’d like better.”

  With that she came down astride him and laid her hands atop his shoulders. They kissed hotly, passionately and while they kissed, Shanaco urged Maggie to rise up a little. Her bare bottom lifted a few inches off his hard thighs. Shanaco put a hand between them, gripped himself and placed the tip of his pulsing erection inside her.

  And he rocked the chair back and forth, back and forth.

  While they rocked Maggie carefully lowered herself onto him, taking her time, inching slowly down, making an exciting exercise of it. And all the while Shanaco continued to rock the chair back and forth, back and forth.

  When he was fully inside her, Shanaco placed his hands on her hips and planted his bare feet firmly on the floor. Maggie gripped the twin newels of the chair’s tall back and pressed her toes to the floor.

  And then the rocking really began.

  Slow and easy at first. Rhythmically rocking back and forth, back and forth, the lovers looked steadily into each other’s eyes. The rocking of the chair added a new dimension to their lovemaking. It was seductive. It was sensual. It was sex at its thrilling best.

  Maggie loved every minute of this unique coupling. Shanaco filled his hands with the twin cheeks of her bottom and made slow, exquisite love to her. With his knees spread and his feet on the floor, he kept the chair in motion.

  Slow motion.

  Maggie was astride his lap, her legs draped over his hard thighs. He felt her soft buttocks moving stirringly against his hard cock and had to use every ounce of his self-control to keep from exploding inside her. She pressed her pelvis down on his and moved so sweetly, so hotly, he felt himself throb inside her.

  She felt it, too.

  Maggie was as hot and as aroused as Shanaco. With each backward rock of the chair, she surged against Shanaco, thrusting her pelvis forward, impaling herself more fully upon him. With each forward rock of the chair she felt Shanaco driving more deeply into her, giving her all he had, taking her to the very brink of release.

  But not quite all the way to paradise.

  Both wanting to prolong the incredible pleasure, they rocked seductively slowly, back and forth, back and forth. They gazed continuously into each other’s eyes, each daring the other to hold out, to not let go, not just yet.

  Shanaco carefully controlled the cadence of the rocking chair to match the leisurely tempo of their movements. Until finally each time the chair rocked backward, Maggie became more feverish and more aggressive, digging her toes into the floor, bucking and thrusting her pelvis against him. Then as the chair rocked forward, Shanaco drove more forcefully into her, plunging deeply.

  Give and take, back and forth, until finally the chair was rocking rapidly. Shanaco had purposely accelerated the motion of the rocker and at the same time speeded the thrusting of his pelvis to perfectly match the brisk movement of the chair. It became a wild and exhilarating ride. The chair—and their damp, sliding bodies—moving back and forth, back and forth so fast they became light-headed.

  “Oh, Shanaco,” Maggie murmured, moving with him, as if they had become one body, her hands gripping his biceps so tightly her nails cut into his flesh.

  Frantically they rocked the chair, back and forth, back and forth.

  Until at last that great explosion of heat, their bodies burning, melting together, their hearts beating double time. Maggie cried out in her shuddering orgasm. Shanaco held her tight, buried his face in her breasts and groaned in his own blinding release.

  Several minutes passed with the spent lovers staying just as they were, Maggie draped astride Shanaco, her arms tightly hugging his dark head to her breasts.

  And the chair rocking back and forth, back and forth.

  Clinging to each other, gasping for breath, they murmured breathless words of adoration and amazement at the incredible sexual joy they had shared. Finally the limp, sated Maggie loosened her arms, allowing Shanaco to raise his head and look at her. They smiled at each other, happy to be alive, happy to be in love.

  And Maggie threw back her head and laughed heartily when Shanaco said, “Know something, darlin’? When we get to Santa Fe, the first thing we have to buy is an armless rocker.”

  Thirty-Six

  The snow had melted.

  Only a few small patches of dirty drifts remained in the constantly shaded areas like porch overhangs, leeward sides of buildings and beneath scattered cedar trees.

  A bright sun shone down from a cloudless blue sky. The biting cold had passed with the storm. The temperature had climbed to a pleasant fifty degrees.

  Maggie skirted the muddy parade ground on her way to Thursday morning classes. Bleary-eyed and tired from the late nights, she was nonetheless glowing. Happy and excited. She was not plagued with small twinges of doubt or apprehension regarding her decision to go away with Shanaco. She loved him. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She looked forward to the challenges ahead with eagerness and optimism. And, she promised herself that she would never look back or question her decision.

  In the classroom Maggie acted as if there was nothing more on her mind than the day’s reading and spelling lessons. If she glanced fondly at Bright Feather more often than usual, she did it so covertly no one noticed, not even him.

  Once classes had ended and the children had gone, Maggie turned to Old Coyote and announced without preamble, “The time has come.”

  “Shanaco healthy? Ready to leave reservation?”

  “He is. He will leave shortly after midnight tomorrow.”

  “What I do? How I help?” The old chief’s slumping shoulders lifted slightly. He was keenly interested in what she had to say.

  Maggie sat down in the kneehole desk next to him. “Shanaco needs warm clothes for traveling. I know it is asking a great deal of you, but could you—without alerting anyone—slip down to Shanaco’s cabin tonight and gather up some things for him? It would have to be late, after everyone’s asleep.”

  “Not care. I happy to stay up, go in middle of night. Make sure nobody see me. I get Shanaco whatever he needs.”

  “I’ve made a list,” she said, and withdrew a piece of small folded note paper from a pocket of her dress.

  She watched the old man’s eyes shine with excitement as she handed it to him. While he studied it, she covered the items on the list, clicking them off one by one, using her fingers.

  “Buckskin leggings and matching shirt. Moccasins. Boots and woolen socks. Sheepskin jacket and…”

  Maggie continued naming the articles Coyote was to pick up and the old man was nodding as she spoke.

  “One last thing,” Maggie said, “the most important item of all. And it’s not on the list.”

  “Why not on list? What if I forget?”

  “You won’t forget, Old Coyote,” she said with conviction, and he beamed with pride. “There is a small leather pouch filled with money. The pouch is hidden behind a loose stone at the base—on the left side—of the fireplace in Shanaco’s cottage. You must get it. He will need the money.” She smiled then, blushed, and said, “We will need the money. I’m going with him.”

  Old Coyote’
s eyes widened and for a long moment he was speechless. “What you mean, you go with him?”

  Maggie reached over and placed her hand atop his where it rested on the desktop. “Shanaco and I have fallen in love. We are going to be married.”

  Coyote stared at her in disbelief, then a wide smile came to his heavily wrinkled face. Eyes twinkling, he said, “Happen mighty fast if you ask me.”

  Maggie laughed musically. “Yes, indeed it did happen mighty fast. But he’s a wonderful man and I’m absolutely certain he’s the one I have waited for all my life.”

  Nodding, Old Coyote said, “Is good. Very good. Shanaco fine man. Hope you be very happy, Miss Maggie.”

  “I will be. Now, Old Coyote, as you know you must keep all this our secret,” she said, patting his hand. “Once we’re gone, everyone will likely suspect what has happened, but it will make no difference then.”

  “No one know but me?”

  “No one but you.”

  “I never tell.”

  She smiled. “No one but Double Jimmy. You may tell him so that he won’t worry. Once Double Jimmy gets back to the reservation, catch him alone and tell him what I’ve told you this morning.”

  “I will tell Double Jimmy. Tell no one else.”

  “That’s right.” She moved her hand from his and laced her fingers together atop the scarred desk. “Be sure to tell Double Jimmy that I went of my own free will. Tell him Shanaco and I are getting married and that I will send my family a telegram just as soon as we are settled.”

  Maggie waited for him to ask where she and Shanaco were going. When he didn’t she was relieved.

  He said, “You will need horses. I get horses for you when—”

  “No, you don’t have to worry about the horses. Shanaco said his stallion is stabled with the other Comanche ponies. He’s sure he can quietly cut the black out of the herd. Then he’ll choose a mare for me. Perhaps even a packhorse from the remuda.”

  “When he do that?”

  “Tomorrow after midnight. Once the fort and the reservation are sleeping, we’ll slip out of my cottage, go out to the stables, get the horses and ride away.” Maggie got to her feet. “Now, I better be going. I’ve a lot yet to do before we leave tomorrow night.”

  Coyote slowly got out of his chair. He put the list she had given him inside his breast pocket, patted it and said, “Tonight I slip out to Shanaco’s cabin.” He grinned. “Be as quiet as an Indian.”

  Maggie laughed with him.

  Old Coyote quickly sobered and looked around as if someone might be eavesdropping. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, “I get pouch of money from behind stone at base of fireplace.” Maggie nodded. He asked, “How I get things to you?”

  “I thought about that,” she said. “Wrap the clothes in one of your colorful blankets and bring the filled blanket to class tomorrow morning. Come early and put it under my desk. After classes are dismissed, I’ll take the bundle with me. I don’t think anyone will suspect anything. After all, they believe Shanaco has already gone.”

  “Nobody notice what I do,” he reasoned. “Nobody suspect you of anything.”

  She smiled. “Then it’s settled. Tonight you will get the clothes and the money and bring them here in the morning. Oh, and one last thing, look around, see if you can find one of the thin leather cords Shanaco uses to hold his hair back.”

  The old Indian nodded, then said with a sly smile, “You worry I not remember how to get to Shanaco’s cabin?”

  “No. Not for a minute, Chief Coyote.”

  Twenty-four hours later Maggie stood before her class for the very last time. Looking out over the sea of bright young faces, she longed to bid them goodbye and tell them how much she had enjoyed being their teacher. How much she would miss them all. But she couldn’t. She had to pretend that she would see them, as usual, bright and early Monday morning.

  When the noon bell rang, the children jumped up out of their seats, anxious to go out and play in the unseasonably mild weather. Smiling, Maggie watched them hurriedly file out. But when she turned her attention to Bright Feather, she felt her heart miss a beat. She watched as the adorable little boy limped slowly toward the door.

  She had every intention of staying where she was, as she was. But she couldn’t do it.

  “Wait a moment, Bright Feather,” she anxiously called to him.

  The child stopped a few feet from the door, turned back and gave her a questioning look. “Yes, Miss Maggie?”

  She quickly crossed to him, went down on her heels before him, smiled and said, “Would you give your teacher a little hug?”

  Bright Feather laughed, threw his short arms around Maggie’s neck, clasped his wrists behind her head and hugged her. Her eyes closing, Maggie wrapped her arms around his tiny waist and kissed his smooth coppery cheek.

  She squeezed the child so tightly he began to struggle and said, “Miss Maggie, I can’t breathe.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said, then released him, set him back and struggled to hold back the unshed tears that had sprung to her eyes.

  Bright Feather tilted his head to one side and stared at her, puzzled. He reached out and awkwardly patted her cheek, as if to console her. “Are you sad?” he asked.

  Maggie swallowed with difficulty. “No, dear. I’m not sad. I’m very happy.”

  Bright Feather bobbed his head and turned to leave. He limped to the door, looked back, flashed Maggie the dazzling smile that always melted her heart and said, “See you Monday, Miss Maggie.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Friday, half-past midnight.

  Fort Sill was dark and silent.

  The troopers were in their barracks, the officers in their quarters. Everyone at the fort was asleep save a sentry patrolling the parade ground and another posted at the front gates.

  And Maggie and Shanaco.

  They were not sleeping. They were wide-awake and warmly dressed for a long, cold journey ahead. Maggie wore a gabardine riding suit: long split skirt, short bolero jacket, knitted sweater and tall boots. Kid gloves and fur-lined woolen cape—to be donned before leaving—completed the outfit.

  Shanaco, his hair held back with a leather cord, wore fringed buckskin pants and matching shirt, sheepskin jacket and cowboy boots.

  “Ready to leave, Maggie?” Shanaco asked.

  “Ready,” she said.

  “Wait thirty minutes after I’ve gone before you step foot outside. By then I’ll hopefully have the horses cut out of the remuda and saddled. As soon as you get there, we mount up and ride away.”

  “Why can’t we go together?” she asked.

  “We’ve been over this a dozen times. I am trying to protect you. If something goes wrong, if I’m spotted, you will never be implicated as my accomplice. They won’t know that I’ve been here with you all along. That you’ve been harboring a criminal.”

  “I know, but—”

  “And you are not to tell them. No matter what happens to me. Now, promise you’ll keep quiet.”

  “I promise,” she said reluctantly.

  “Should you be seen, say that you couldn’t sleep so you took Pistol out for a walk. Will you do that?”

  “I will,” she said, “but you better not leave without me.” Shanaco smiled and shook his head. “Never, Maggie. Now, remember, once you’re out behind Suds Row, turn and walk away from the fort in a southerly direction. Head for the trees and go straight through them and on out toward that empty corral at the north edge of the Comanche reservation. Keep walking until you’ve gone no less than two hundred steps. If you do that you should bump squarely into me.”

  Maggie nodded her understanding. Shanaco glanced at the huge bundle resting on the floor. A well-tied blanket filled with the things she had so meticulously packed to take on the trip.

  “This is everything you’ll need until we get to Santa Fe?”

  “I hope so.”

  Shanaco swung the heavy pack up onto his right shoulder. He leaned to Maggie, gave her a
quick kiss and said, “I’ll meet you in a half hour two hundred steps from the laundresses’ quarters on Suds Row.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said, and opened the front door for him. Shanaco slipped out into the darkness. Keeping the door cracked for a second, Maggie watched with held breath, praying he wouldn’t be seen. He disappeared into the shadows and she quietly closed the door. She leaned back against it and began a thirty-minute wait that seemed more like three hours.

  Maggie pushed away from the door and, absently touching objects she wished she could take, sauntered around the room one last time. The room where she had spent the happiest days—and nights—of her life. She smiled as she stood beside the neatly made bed. She ran a hand over the mattress and touched a pillow where Shanaco’s dark head had lain a few hours ago.

  She turned and moved to the armless rocker. She shivered, smiled foolishly, reached out and set the chair in motion.

  The chair rocked back and forth, back and forth.

  Finally Maggie gathered herself, checked to be sure the fire in the grate had gone completely out. Then she rolled down the wick, blew out the last lamp and returned to the door. At last it was time to leave.

  She swirled the fur-lined cape around her shoulders, lifted the hood up over her hair and drew on the kid-leather gloves. She then cautioned Pistol, warning him not to make a sound. She drew a deep breath and opened the door. The wolfhound went out and Maggie followed.

  Silently they slipped around to the back of the cottage. There they paused, looked both ways and saw no one. Swiftly they moved along behind the line of darkened barracks, Maggie crouching low so she wouldn’t be seen from the windows.

  When she crossed the narrow alley toward Suds Row, she felt her heart thump in her chest. A lamp burned in one of the quarters housing the laundresses. Perhaps there was an illness. Someone was awake inside. Someone who might have seen Shanaco.

  The lamp went out as Maggie approached. She hurried around to the back of the buildings, turned immediately and walked southward toward the corral she could not see but knew was there in a small meadow just past a stand of trees bordering the fort. As agreed, she set out to walk exactly two hundred steps.