This Fierce Loving

by French, Judith E.

  “It could be Colin,” she cried. “It must be. Can we go there? Can we search for him?”

  Talon shook his head. “They have already moved on.” He hesitated, and Rebecca read the regret in his eyes.

  Pain knifed through her breast. “Something’s happened to him. Colin’s dead, isn’t he?” she murmured, feeling suddenly faint.

  “No, my foolish jay. Would you borrow trouble? Wheeling Hawk said only that they had gone north into Canada with a trading party. It could be that Colin will be given over to the French after all.”

  “They wouldn’t hurt him, would they?”

  “No. He would be traded to the British settlements. There is no war between the French king and the English now.”

  “Then why do you look so—”

  “This man has failed you again. If your brother returns, you will not be there to meet him. And if we went to hunt for him, it would be like seeking one acorn in an oak forest.”

  “So we’re just going to give up? You promised me—”

  “And I will not forget that promise, Sky Eyes. This one will ask and he will go on asking. And if a times comes when your brother can be found, we will go to him. His path will cross ours. You must believe that. When the time is right, you will see him again.”

  “At least he’s alive,” she said.

  “Wheeling Hawk spoke of him as a son to The Stranger, not as a captive. Colin is tough. He will survive to grow to manhood.”

  “But he won’t be the same, will he? He’ll be more Indian than white.”

  Talon’s eyes narrowed. “Does that give you sorrow? Have you not chosen the same path?”

  “I chose it. He didn’t.”

  “Do not be so sure, my Sweet Water. All paths are chosen.” He touched the crown of her head with his hand.

  “What is it? Do I have leaves in my hair?”

  He laughed. “Only sunlight.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. “There is a place this man would show you,” he said, brushing her fingers with his lips. “It is not far.”

  “It’s early to make camp. Did you want to—”

  “Come and see. Then you can decide if you are ready to unroll your blanket.” He looked down at her, and the gleam in his eye made her heart race.

  “Lead on,” she teased. “As far as you’ve made me walk, what’s a few more miles?”

  The day was warm, and Talon had already shed the plain leather vest Joseph Crow had given him. Rebecca walked in his tracks, keeping a few yards behind him. The scars of his beating stood out pale against older marks from the bear’s claws and Talon’s darker skin, but they had healed without limiting Talon’s range of movement. His broad shoulders swelled with sinewy muscle; his waist still narrowed to taut buttocks and thighs, barely concealed by his fringed buckskin loincloth.

  His body is still beautiful, she thought, unable to keep her eyes off him. The months of abstinence had not dampened her desire to make love to him. Even now, she felt a familiar catch of emotion in her throat as she thought of those powerful legs intertwined with hers . . . of his full length pressed against her body.

  The way became more difficult and her calves ached as they followed a twisting game trail up a steep hill. Thorns and briers created a formidable barrier, but he stooped low and continued on, lifting branches so that she could squeeze underneath. “This had better be worth the effort,” she said. The May sun was warm on her back and face, and she perspired under the combined volume of her stays, shift, stockings, petticoats, and heavy woolen gown.

  “It will be,” he promised.

  Beyond the thicket lay an arid area of boulders and gravel. The path was lost among the sharp stones, but Talon continued to trudge upward. At last, they reached the top of the incline, slid and climbed down the far side, and entered a small sheltered valley.

  Rebecca could not contain her joy as gray rock gave over to lush green grass interspersed with a frosting of wild flowers. Golden cornflower and Solomon’s seal, lady’s slipper, painted trillium, wild strawberries, and velvet blue violets sprang in tufts and fairy circles. And near the center of the glade a natural pool bubbled, sending wisps of steam into the sweet-smelling air. “Why is the water smoking?” she cried, dropping to her knees and picking a single sparkling white violet and holding it to her nose. The fragrance of the fragile flower was so sweet and pure that it brought tears to her eyes. “Is this place real?” she asked.

  He laughed and took her hand. “Real enough. Come. This man will show you how real it is.”

  Reluctantly, she left the mound of white violets and let him lead her to the edge of the milky water. The pool gave off its own strong odor. “It smells like . . . like sulphur,” she said.

  “You will get used to it.” He grinned and laid his musket down carefully. “It’s a hot spring. Even in winter, the water is warm.” He untied his belt and let his loincloth slide to the grass. “Come, woman, you complain so about bathing in cold rivers. This is your chance to enjoy all the warm water you can stand.”

  “You mean it? We can bathe in the spring?”

  “You may as well. It isn’t fit to drink. There’s another spring over there,” he pointed to the far side of the glen, “running down from those rocks. That water is good to drink.” He smiled at her again. “This one is only good for other things.”

  She sat down on the grass and pulled off her shoes.

  “The stockings too,” he said. “Maybe this man should help.”

  “I can . . . oh.” She laughed as he knelt beside her and pushed up her skirt and petticoat to reach her garter. “Yes,” she said breathily. “Maybe I do need help with this.”

  Deliberately, he began to roll the woolen stocking, letting his lean fingers brush her skin as he moved slowly down over her knee and calf.

  A shiver of excitement ran down her spine, and she touched his cheek with her forefinger. “Talon . . .” she murmured.

  He slipped the stocking off and massaged her slim foot between his strong hands.

  “Don’t,” she protested. “My foot is dirty and—”

  “Not for long.” He reached for the other leg and a warmth grew in her loins as he made a ritual of removing that stocking as well.

  She closed her eyes and sighed. The hum of bees and the warm breeze on her face added to the languor that spread through her body. She wanted to go into that bubbling pool, but she wanted even more to tumble back into the soft grass and pull him on top of her.

  “Now this,” he said, as he untied the lacing on her bodice.

  Her mouth went dry as he loosened the cords a little at a time, until he could pull the tight-fitting garment over her head. Next, he removed her shirt and undid the back of her skirt so that she could wiggle out of it. Only her shift remained, thin linen, soiled by travel and torn at the hem. He reached for the ribbon at her throat.

  “No,” she protested. “Not my shift. It’s broad daylight.”

  He chuckled. “This man had thought of that. No one will see you, my violet, no one but the warrior who should be your husband.” One hand eased the cloth up over her thighs while his other continued to fumble with the tiny knot.

  Unable to stand the tension, she backed away, pulled the shift over her head and knelt, facing him, using the crumpled linen to cover her nakedness. “Are you certain it’s safe? The spring?” she mumbled. “Is it deep?”

  In answer, he jumped in, then stood up. The cloudy water rose half-way up his chest. “Coward,” he dared.

  She dropped the shift and splashed in beside him. The water was warm and deliciously soft. Her feet found firm support on the sandy bottom, and she lost her fear immediately. The smell was not nearly as bad, now that the steam surrounded her. She let herself drift back until the water lapped over her hair. “This is wonderful,” she murmured. “Wonderful.”

  He held out his hands to her and she came to him. The milky liquid covered the bottom half of her breasts, leaving the tips of her nipples exposed. She felt Talon’s gaze on
her bare flesh, and heat greater than the temperature of the pool washed through her.

  He gently cupped a round breast, and her nipples hardened into tight buds of tingling sensation. Her knees went weak. “Don’t start something you don’t mean to finish,” she whispered.

  Her sky-blue eyes darkened with gathering passion, and Talon felt his own need intensify a hundredfold. “There has not been a dawning or dusk that I have not wanted to do this,” he said hoarsely. He bent and kissed first one nipple and then the other, drawing the rosy flesh between his lips and suckling until he thought his throbbing organ would burst from anticipation.

  He wanted to plunge his man-spear into her secret place and drive deep. He wanted her woman’s soft folds to hold him, caressing his passion until his seed shot out and filled her with his love. “Whatever you ask of this man,” he whispered. “Whatever you desire, he will do.”

  He pulled her close, crushing her against his chest, covering her mouth with his. Her small cries of yearning flooded his mind, igniting a wildfire in his blood. Their tongues touched and met, velvet, wet, and thrusting. A fever possessed him; his hands claimed her pale, smooth skin, exploring, caressing. She clung to him, running her fingers through his hair, kissing his mouth and face.

  “I want you,” she cried. “I want you inside me . . . filling me . . . making me part of you.”

  He could wait no longer. The throbbing of his swollen rod was an agony. He caught her hips and lifted her onto his cin gwe ah. She held him tightly, and he slipped into her sheath with a shout of triumph.

  A sense of power and strength filled him. He withdrew slowly and she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Sweet Water,” he groaned. “Ah . . .” He plunged again, and again her muscles gripped him.

  “K’dahole,” she cried. I love you.

  “And I love you, my beautiful Sky Eyes,” he answered. And then the madness took him, and he could speak no more until the thunder and rain of glorious release broke over them.

  He held her for a long time after that, staring down into her face, wondering at what mysteries the spirits planned for a man trail. That he should find the wife of his greatest enemy and heal his heart of hatred at the same time required some wondrous scheme.

  They lay together in the water for nearly an hour until hunger stirred them. Then he made her sit while he gathered handfuls of wild strawberries and fed them to her, one at a time. They laughed together and made love again in the warm sunshine. And his soul was full.

  “Did you mean what you said?” she asked him lazily. He was stretched full length on the grass, and she was showering him with blossoms. “In the pool. When you said you would give me anything I wanted . . .”

  “E-e. Yes. Anything my o tah ais, my flower.”

  “Even Simon’s life?”

  His eyes snapped open. “You asked me that before, in Philadelphia.”

  “You never gave me a straight answer.”

  “Ahikta.”

  “Yes, you didn’t give me an answer, or yes, you will spare Simon,” she persisted.

  “He will hunt us.”

  “No, he won’t,” she said. “He doesn’t want me. He will say I’m dead. He will—”

  “He killed his first wife.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He told me so. When I was in the white man’s prison, Simon Brandt came to taunt me. He said that he had murdered her for the sin of lying with an Indian. He said he wished that he had been able to kill you as well. He is a man crazed with hate. He will not rest until he has found us.”

  “I was with him in Philadelphia. He didn’t kill me then, and he won’t bother to come after me now. I told him that I was leaving him, that I would never be his wife again.”

  “Simon Brandt will come.”

  “You’re as stubborn as a mule when you set your head on something, Talon,” she protested. “He’ll never find us here.”

  “We can’t stay here, my Sweet Water. This is a place for coming to, not for staying. We must return to my people. They need me.”’ He sat up and pulled her into his arms. “This man has great love for you, but he is still a Shawnee, and still war chief, unless another has been elected in his place.”

  “You promised me,” she reminded him. “Anything. I want Simon’s life.”

  “If he tries to hurt you, no vow between this earth and the land of spirits will hold me.” He raised a lock of her fox-colored hair to brush against his lips.

  “Nevertheless, I still want your promise. It’s my Catholic conscience. You’ve made me so happy . . . happier than I ever thought to be, Talon. But I can’t buy my future with the blood of my husband.”

  “It means so much to you?”

  She nodded, and her blue eyes glistened with moisture.

  “Then I give you my word, nee wah. So long as your life is not in danger, this man will not send him to the white man’s hell.”

  “Thank you, Talon. Thank you.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Then, laughing, she pulled him toward the mineral spring again. “I think I’d like to bathe again,” she coaxed.

  He followed willingly, but even in the intense pleasure of their lovemaking, he could not help but question the wisdom of his reluctant promise.

  Chapter 27

  For two weeks, Rebecca and Talon remained in the valley of the hot spring, renewing their love and resting from the long journey. Every day, at dawn, they would rise from their shared blankets and go to the wonderful pool to bathe and splash like careless children.

  Sometimes, the playfulness turned serious, and they would make slow, sensual love. Other times, Rebecca found contentment simply floating in the strong circle of Talon’s arms.

  He fashioned a hair brush for her of thorns and cedar, and each morning he insisted on brushing out her wet hair with they came from the pool. “The sun is captured in these red-gold tresses,” he teased one day. “This is no normal color for a woman’s hair. Proper hair should be as black as a crow’s wing and straight. Only an English equiwa has curls around her face like the tangled vines of wild roses.”

  “I’ll dye my hair dark with walnut juice,” she vowed solemnly, “and braid it into submission.”

  He laughed. “Not yet,” he cautioned. “Not until a man tires of feeling it against his lips or sliding it between his fingers.”

  “And will you tire soon, oh mighty warrior?”

  “Not until the blue of your eyes has darkened to a proper brown.”

  “Then it may be a long wait.”

  “This man hopes so with all his heart.”

  There in the enchanted meadow, Talon showed her a world she had not dreamed existed. Where some eyes would see only wild and untended growth, he pointed out a nest of baby rabbits still too young to open their eyes, tucked into a hidden crevice, and a hollow tree where a woodpecker raised her hungry brood.

  Together, they lay on their bellies and watched as a dainty mother gray fox brought three tiny kits to drink at a stream. Daily, the vixen hunted and brought her little ones field mice and frogs to add to their diet of mother’s milk. Rebecca marveled at the antics of the baby foxes as they tumbled and yipped and chased each other in the warm sun. And she saw that each little kit had a temperament of its own, one shy, one bold, one too wise to tease the turtle that invaded their special nook in the clearing.

  “I never thought of animals in this way before,” Rebecca said to Talon. “The baby foxes are almost like children.”

  “Each animal has a spirit,” he assured her, “a soul, your people would say. Each spirit is precious to the Creator. We are only a small part of the great circle of life.”

  “But you hunt animals for food.”

  “Because we must, as the vixen does and the hawk. We eat of the flesh of our brothers the animals, but we remember their worth and we offer a prayer for each life we take.”

  “You are different here,” she mused.

  “And you, my flower. This one sees a rad
iance in your eyes and a spring to your step he has not seen before.”

  “It is the peace of this place, and the peace I feel in you, Talon. I’ve always thought of you as a man of war. I didn’t know you could be so gentle.”

  His sloe eyes dilated with emotion as he fixed her with an unwavering gaze. She drew in a deep breath and swayed with giddiness when he caught her hand, raising it to press her palm against his cheek. “It is true that this one has seen more blood than he wishes to remember,” Talon admitted huskily, “but he would never have you believe he thirsts for killing. What this man has done in the past, he must answer for. He has no shame for his deeds . . .” He trailed off as a twinkle appeared in his eyes. “Perhaps a small regret for burning your cabin and frightening you and your brother—”

  “Frightened? Who said we were frightened?” she teased. “You’re lucky my aim wasn’t better. It would have been your scalp stretched over my fireplace.”

  He laughed then. “Such a fierce woman this man has taken to his sleeping mat. Maybe the Mecate should elect you war chief in my place.”

  She closed her eyes and stretched up to kiss him, wanting to shut out memories of that other time when she had believed him an enemy . . . when she had not known that he would change her life forever. “Promise me you won’t seek out the war trail,” she begged, when they had kissed and kissed again.

  “There is a time to fight and time to refrain from war,” he answered softly. “If the whites will leave us alone, this man will be content. It may be that he grows old, but his father’s words of peace and caution seem more reasonable than they did.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “But do not think to make of this man what he cannot be.”

  “I know better than that,” she replied. And then she smiled at him. “Didn’t I hear something about trout for dinner? With strawberries and—”

  “You are always hungry, woman.”

  “I notice you eat your share.”

  “A man who has such a demanding woman must eat to maintain his strength.”