"No, Walks With The Wind. If they found out, they would kill you." Her voice was soft and full of tragedy.
"Your period of mourning for the man you called your husband is nearly over. No one would deny our being together."
His voice held promise of much that had been missing in her marriage to Young Buck. Her blood drummed with the fire of months without the touch of a man on her. She wanted him, needed him. But for their own safety, they must wait.
"Another cycle of the moon must pass before my father will consider my duty to Young Buck done. I must honor my fallen husband and bring no dishonor to my father's house. Surely…."
She'd heard the tune from the sachem's flute. Before she'd had a chance to say farewell, the fog had enveloped her. The next thing she'd known was staring into the startling blue of Darien's eyes. Eyes that hid his life as Walks With The Wind from an earlier time.
Groaning with frustration, Melodi pounded her pillow, trying to quiet the ferment in her mind. She admitted that the storm wasn't confined to her head. Whether Darien was here or in a different era, his eyes held for her the same promise of passion. Walks With The Wind had no reservation of telling her so. She recognized the same heat in Darien.
She wondered about the kiss, recalled the way he'd held her head -- firmly yet with great gentleness. Had he been seeing how far he could get with her, or was part of him remembering the desire of an earlier life?
That was another thing, was this truly a type of time travel? Did she believe it? Maybe she should have spent more time reading science fiction rather than romantic fiction as a teenager. At least she'd have a theory or two to work with. As it was, she didn't know what to believe.
This last journey into another life had felt real enough. At no time had she felt like she was dreaming.
Her skin had registered the warmth of the sun, the soft breeze blowing across the lake. Though it had been several hours ago she remembered how the smell of the pine trees had mingled with the scent of animal hides drying; the tang of fish being smoked on racks.
Darien said he'd found her with her eyes wide open, unfocused. No wonder he'd accused her of taking drugs.
Hallucinogens could account for the reactions he described. Even in her wild undergraduate day that hadn't been her way. She had rarely gone beyond a social beer with her roommates. She'd been so wrapped up in her studies that it was a wonder she broke away at all. An occasional date, nothing serious, not until she'd met Joe Larkfeather.
With time and distance Melodi realized that her infatuation with Joe probably had more to do with his being different than anything. Okay, maybe his aura of "don't try to get close to me" sexuality had something to do with the attraction, too. It had challenged her feminine instincts.
Passion had carried them for a while, but it had been over for years. She stared into the night thinking that though she and Joe had moved on, she still didn't know why they had drifted apart.
* * * *
Oh, please make this a dream, Melodi thought. It didn't feel like her earlier experience. There was a shocking sense of unreality about the sight of burning, bark-covered wigwams. People’s mouths were opened wide in terror, but Melodi heard nothing.
No scent of smoke, no touch of what must be a steady wind blowing came to her. Just an unrelenting sensation of horror. The knowledge the she could have prevented the devastation of her family and village made her sick.
She wanted to help them, but her feet were rooted to the grassy knoll that overlooked the summer village. Even the birch bark canoes, pulled onto the beach when not in use, burned.
Frenzied movement sifted between the blowing smoke. Faces of an enemy tribe, ugly with war, mingled with the beloved features of her family.
That face -- it couldn't be. They'd told her he was dead.
She wasn't mistaken. Young Buck led the war party. Where is Walks With The Wind? They were to meet here. He was late.
Panic made her stomach clench. She saw him running towards her, his face a mask of urgency that left no room for doubt. Young Buck followed him, caught up with him.
Melodi cried out in horror as Young Buck's war club smashed down on Walks With The Wind's head. Then, his bloody weapon held high, Young Buck advanced on her.
Her own screams woke her at the same time vigorous shaking brought her eyes open. Sunlight streamed into the room.
"Melodi, wake up. It was a dream." Darien, dressed in jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and a red sweater removed his hands from her shoulders as she sat up.
"Yes, yes, I'm awake now." Her voice shook. She shivered with reaction. "It was awful, not like other dreams, it was like a memory. I didn't hear the tune. I didn't hear anything, even when they were screaming." She whispered, "Only complete, horrifying silence."
She breathed deeply then shook her shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering emotions from the dream. "What time is it? I meant to get an early start."
Darien handed her a steaming mug of hot coffee. "It's only a little after eight. I was on my way to call Doc Reynolds when I heard you. When I came in you were cowering under the blankets, like a kid having a nightmare. Nothing like the trance of last night."
His casual recounting of the episode helped Melodi put it into perspective. She'd always had vivid dreams. That was one of the reasons why she'd initially discounted the experiences driven by the tune as just very lifelike dreams. The contrast between this nightmare and the occurrences that coincided with the tune made it obvious that she had been dreaming this time.
She sighed. "Thanks for the coffee and for waking me up. That wasn't one of my more pleasant dreams."
When he didn't answer, Melodi glanced at him. At this close range she saw that his eyes weren't simply blue, tiny flecks of gold skittered across the indigo depths. Lines of worry and fatigue etched across his brow. Despite of his recent illness, his skin had the tan of a healthy person.
He stared at her. The covers were pooled about her waist, but she was fully clothed. If you could call the thin silk long johns she slept in clothes. She felt exposed. Being flushed and breathing hard from the after effects of the nightmare no doubt had something to do with the edgy way she felt.
She wished he'd quit looking at her like that, sort of hungry. It made her feel all soft and vulnerable inside and outside. Her nipples tightened against the sheer fabric.
His gaze swept the length of her, lingering. At last she groped for the blanket and hauled it up to her chin.
With a flash of a dimple, Darien backed away. "I'll get Doc Reynolds on the phone now."
Melodi let out a shuddering sigh as he shut the door behind him. The combination of Walks With The Wind's animal magnetism and Darien's sensual charm was taking its toll on her will power.
Now she remembered why she had broken off with Joe Larkfeather, and why she held herself at a distance from every man she had dated since. Fear. Fear of getting so involved with a man romantically that he took her away from her work. Joe had argued bitterly, jealously, with her. He couldn't stand the competition books and history gave him.
Ever since, Melodi had kept romance in firm perspective. More than that, she'd eliminated it from her life. Until this moment she had squelched any inkling that she might be missing out on something whenever Judy or her own mother brought up the subject.
Why should Darien Stewart cause this restlessness in her? So, he was good looking. So were a lot of men she knew.
Talented? Well, her voice might be flatter than Kansas, but she had a good ear. She'd concede that he had talent, fame and money too. Even so, she resented being pulled out of her close-knit, tightly bounded, academic life to find herself attracted to him.
Maybe it wasn't him she was attracted to. Maybe she was attracted to his uncanny resemblance to Walks With The Wind, a resemblance that took her breath away.
Her vision of Walks With The Wind, whether a figment of her active imagination or some alternate string of time, remained clear in memory. His muscles were taut and st
rong from hunting and fishing. Tanned skin contrasted with the sparkling blue of his eyes. Taller than she, yet not towering over her, Melodi had received a sense of protection from him. He would take care of her, or Little Raccoon, rather, no matter what.
Perhaps that was the attraction. Maybe the non-genderization of modern culture had finally gotten to her. She was romanticizing a time when male and female roles had been entrenched in tradition and religion until they were fact, not choice.
Melodi grumbled as she repacked her overnight bag. "It must be lust, pure and simple. There's been no one since Joe. This is the first time just looking at a man has turned your stomach inside out in years." She zipped the bag shut. "Of course, the flu is going around. Same symptoms, different cure. Better keep that in mind."
* * * *
Melodi enjoyed the scenery as her compact car skimmed north on the Interstate. These short, sparkling days crowned the season.
Usually a trip to the University of Maine at Orono filled her with a sense of homecoming. She'd relocated from her home in Colorado at eighteen and received her Bachelor's degree there. Then she'd finished her Master's work and was closing in on finishing her Doctorate. Instead of the usual pleasure, today she felt like she was deserting her life on the lakeshore.
Ridiculous. She shivered against the internal pull that gripped her. The pull implored her to turn the car around.
Darien glanced her way but said nothing. It had been a singularly quiet journey. Maybe his throat hurt. Maybe he didn't find her conversation brilliant. Either way, the silence was getting to her. Her fingers twitched to the control panel of the radio. It squawked to life, blaring the strains of a song she had first heard yesterday. Darien's voice, mellow and throbbing, filled the enclosed space.
A strangled sound erupted from Darien. He jabbed at every button of the radio in his effort to turn it off. His accusing glare impaled Melodi when she dared a glance in his direction. She'd guessed at the nature of his illness, hoping the strain on his voice was transitory. His reaction and the accompanying scowl on his face pointed to a different prognosis.
Maybe that long-shot illness on her list of possibilities was the culprit. If so, his career could well be over.
"Sorry it was so loud," she commented. "When I drive long distances alone I often turn up the volume to help stay awake."
"Grumph." He stared out the window.
"I've got a bunch of CD's in the glove compartment. Why don't you put one in?" Her suggestion met with another glare, followed by a shrug of his shoulders as he relented.
She didn't remember if she'd taken those CD's of his out of there yesterday. If hearing his own voice caused such distress, the sight of his recordings might inflict another type of pain.
She held her breath as he rummaged through the clutter in her glove compartment. When he pushed a soft jazz CD into the player, she relaxed.
"That's nice." Melodi hummed along with the song until Darien tapped her shoulder. The mixture of entreaty, amusement, and pain on his face made her smile.
"I'm sorry. I hum about as well as I sing. That's why I only do it by myself."
At least he grinned at this statement.
"Is your throat sore?" Melodi asked. "You haven't got a fever again, have you? We're in the middle of nowhere so don't you dare faint."
Darien's grin mesmerized her. It took all of her self-control to wrench her gaze back to the road.
"My throat is tired," Darien rasped. "I wouldn't mind being nursed."
He leered.
"Oh, you -- you," Melodi stammered. Then she realized he was teasing and turned the joke on him. "If you need nursing, I know some wonderful natural cures. They'd get you on your feet in no time. A mixture of dried moss, fish scales, and my own special ingredient, a cold mud bath, would be just the thing. Care to try it?"
She hazarded a glance and caught Darien struggling to keep from smiling. He lost the battle. A burst of strangled laughter burst out. She joined him. An atmosphere of camaraderie filled the car.
The exit for Orono came up. Melodi followed the well-remembered route, now glad for Darien's company. She glanced at him only to find his eyes on her. She was trapped in his gaze until the blaring of a car's horn shook her from the spell. She moved through the intersection.
Melodi tucked her wandering libido back under control and explained her strategy. "We'll stop at the Anthropology Department first. If Joe isn't there we can try the Music Department. Since his studies include both disciplines, he divides his time as best he can between them. He also teaches some classes. The secretary at my advisor's office will know his schedule."
She pulled into a parking space marked "Authorized Vehicles Only" and started rooting around in her tote bag. "I was sure it was in here somewhere," she grumbled. Then she flourished a bright orange parking permit and placed it on the dash. "At least we won't get towed. Come on."
Glass cases holding artifacts from various pre-Columbian societies lined the lobby of the first building they entered. Melodi left Darien to browse while she continued on to the offices.
The hallways oozed the familiar academic atmosphere, comforting and stimulating at once. At times Melodi had considered becoming a permanent fixture here. She'd looked forward to total immersion in the studies that she loved. Now the thought brought no accompanying sense of fulfillment.
Restlessness filled her. Huddling amongst books and dusty items from days gone by was not as attractive as it had been.
All because of an unknown piece of music and a sexy musician.
"Hello, Mrs. Perkins," Melodi greeted the steely-haired lady who presided over the reception desk in the faculty office.
"Melodi Mason. I thought you'd be drowning in your dissertation by now. What brings you by?" Mrs. Perkins' stern countenance brightened at Melodi's appearance.
"Research, what else?" Melodi laughed. "I'm looking for Joe Larkfeather. Do you know where I can find him?"
"What kind of research are you planning on conducting?" Mrs. Perkins eyes twinkled. She'd never quite figured out why Melodi's and Joe's romance hadn't ended happily ever after.
Heat crept into Melodi's cheeks. She aimed a silent word of thanks above that she'd left Darien in the lobby. She imagined the sarcastic glances she'd have to put up with if he overheard this conversation.
"Ancient music research," she answered. The hairs on the back of her scalp prickled. A heartbeat later she heard someone clear his throat behind her.
"What other kind of research could she mean, Melodi?"
Apparently Darien had heard enough.
Before Melodi could turn around, Mrs. Perkins had left her chair and advanced on Darien. Her eyes shone and a trembling smile graced her lips.
"Darien Stewart, is it really you?" Mrs. Perkins gasped.
He nodded and allowed his hand to be shaken.
"I'm one of your biggest fans, Mr. Stewart," Mrs. Perkins gushed. "Your new album is just the greatest. What on earth are you doing here?"
A small frown touched Darien's forehead. Melodi knew what he was thinking -- that coming here had blown his disappearance.
He recovered well. "I'm taking a break from my concert schedule. Can you keep a secret, Mrs. Perkins?"
What woman wouldn't do anything the man asked of her when he smiled just for her with that devilish grin? Melodi rolled her eyes.
"Of course, Mr. Stewart. Anything," Mrs. Perkins cooed.
"Well," Darien gave her his best country boy drawl. "Nobody can know that I'm here. I'm working on some new songs. If the press finds out where I am, I'll have no privacy. A man is entitled to privacy, isn't he?"
His glance at Melodi added new meaning to his words. The heat in Melodi's cheeks flamed hotter. She'd get even with him for this -- implying intimacy between them, sheesh.
Mrs. Perkins put a motherly hand on his arm. "I understand, Mr. Stewart. Before you go, could I have your autograph? I promise I won't show it to anyone until… until Melodi says it's okay. She'll know, won't
she?"
"Melodi will definitely know when I'm gone." Darien wrote on the piece of paper that Mrs. Perkins handed him. "Coming, Mel?" He turned towards the door.
"In a minute. Where did you say Joe was, Mrs. Perkins?"
"I didn't say. Why didn't you tell me you were friends with Darien Stewart?" She spoke in at loud stage whisper while Darien lounged in the doorway.
"I'm not." Melodi sighed. "He's the brother of a friend. He showed up a couple of nights ago. I can't seem to get rid of him." She glared at Darien. "Please, Mrs. Perkins, where is Joe?"
Mrs. Perkins rummaged through the calendar and correspondence on her desk until she found the paper with the graduate student teaching schedule.
"According to this, he should be in his office. He's moved to the music building, a second floor studio."
Melodi hugged her, grabbed Darien, and left.
"Was that necessary?" she asked once they were outside. Several students turned curious glances their way until Darien led her into the quiet of a courtyard between buildings.
"Be quiet. I don't want the whole student body to know that I'm here."
"Put this on." Melodi handed him a wool scarf.
With the bright cloth around his head, he looked like a reject from a Halloween party. It did the trick of concealing his features, though.
Melodi linked her arm through his and guided him to the music building.
A cacophony of sound greeted them as they entered. It proved a sharp contrast to the echoing silence of the anthropology department's home.
Melodi paused in the lobby and searched the wall-mounted directory for Joe's studio. She wasn't familiar with the layout of this building.
She was glad she checked when she found Joe listed in a lower level, not on the second floor like Mrs. Perkins had told her. Now, if she could only get Darien to stay put this time. She wasn't ready to stand between him and Joe.
Joe had an uncanny ability to see below surface emotions. She knew with certainty that he'd pick up on the string of tension that flowed between her and Darien.
"I'll just leave you here," Melodi said with a bright smile.
Melodis Tune Page 5