Maire [The Sisters O'Ryan 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Jenna Stewart

  She tried, but couldn’t do much to help herself. Reluctantly, she put herself in this stranger’s hands—literally. With great gentleness, he turned her a bit and lifted, and easy as playwork, she came out of the crack where she thought she would die. She didn't want to humiliate herself by crying in front of a stranger, but couldn't seem to control her emotions. Strangely, no tears fell.

  He laid her on the rock. Seconds later, two men stood silhouetted against the sun. “We have to get that snake poison out of her system,” one of them said. Closing her eyes, she tried to jerk away, biting her bottom lip with the sharp pain of being cut. Blood ran freely over her fingers. Then, whether from relief of being found, fatigue, or hunger, she fainted dead away.

  * * * *

  John Eagle had known when he followed his spirit that he would find something unexpected and special at the end of the flight. That’s the way it always happened when he flew with his totem. But he had never imagined he would find a woman, a beautiful white woman about to die from thirst and snakebite.

  Augustus Brannigan, Istaka, Coyote Man, as John thought of him, was John’s best friend. He knelt beside the woman and felt her wrist. “John, we have to get her some help.”

  John stilled his mind so he could feel what was right. Looking up, he caught sight of his kindred spirit, the golden eagle, soaring high in the sky.

  Gus sat back on his heels and pushed his hat back with his thumb. “I wonder how long she’s been out here.”

  “Days.”

  Gus looked up, brows raised. “How do you know?”

  John shrugged. He couldn’t explain it to a non-Indian. Even a man as close to him as a brother, like Gus, wouldn’t understand that an eagle had appeared in his dream last night and indicated that he should come to this spot on the mesa. Just now he sensed that the eagle had watched the woman for two days. Why she was so important, he didn’t know. But coming here and rescuing her meant he assumed responsibility for her. On some basic level, they belonged to each other because of his act. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted that. Life already held enough complications.

  “We’ll take her to Bacavi,” he said.

  Gus expressed surprise. “You don’t think we should take her to that group of researchers? That’s probably where she’s from.”

  John looked up at the sky again. The eagle swooped toward the ground and then reversed course to fly up and toward the north, toward Bacavi.

  “No.”

  It was time for Gus to shrug. “We can send word to them. And your village is a mite closer.”

  John strode to where they’d left their horses and brought his back to where the woman lay, still unconscious. He jumped astride the saddleless horse. “Hand her up, will you, Gus?”

  His friend slid one of his arms under her shoulders and the other under her knees and scooped her off the rock surface. Turning, he lifted her to John, who fit her in front of him.

  “She’s a tiny thing, and light as a snowflake,” Gus said. “She wouldn’t have lasted out here much longer.”

  John agreed. The woman’s head fell onto his chest, and his arms surrounded a body so slight he hardly noticed she sat there. He nudged his horse into a walk. Augustus went to his animal and climbed into the saddle. Without another word, the two slowly rode off the rock and away from the slot canyon where they’d found the nearly dead white woman.

  Once on the desert floor, they turned north and broke into a trot and then a gallop. Bacavi lay about two miles away on the third mesa of Hopi land. They had given the woman a little water and hopefully released the venom from the snakebite. She should be fine until the shaman could look at her. Then his sister and mother would care for her until he could figure out why his spirit guide had led him to her.

  “Don’t worry, little one. You’re safe now.” She stirred only a bit, snuggling against his chest. Was it her breathing he felt on his chest or the rapid beat of his heart at having her near? Either one thrilled him. Either one scared the shit out of him.

  Chapter Two

  Maire swam in and out of consciousness, seeing spiders and snakes and an eagle soaring across a deep-blue sky. Always the eagle entered her dreams, circling above as though to protect her. Warmth cocooned her. As she'd imagined herself on the rock, the feel of fur, soft and comforting, surrounded her.

  Once, she'd opened her eyes but the images before her were unlike anything she’d ever known. She lay on soft skins and blankets, and a skin of some sort did indeed cover her. She perspired profusely and tried to push it off, but a woman with dark skin and eyes, and hair braided on each side of her head like wagon wheels, continually nudged away her hands. “Stay still. You are not well yet.” Her voice soothed. Then she turned and spoke to someone else in a language Maire didn’t understand.

  “Water.” She thought she screamed the word, but the woman didn’t indicate she had heard anything. Maybe she noticed Maire's lips moving, though, because she rose and exited through a slit in a blanket that served to screen Maire from any other view of where she lay.

  The blanket parted, and an older version of the girl—except that her hair lay braided down her back—came to her. She pressed a wet cloth to Maire’s lips, and from that Maire sucked the moisture.

  Nodding her thanks, Maire dropped her head back and let her lids close. Immediately, she envisioned a man, dark-skinned and dark-eyed. His face had chiseled planes, and a sharp nose. He scowled at her, but she glimpsed kindness and worry in the depths of his gaze. Another man stood behind him. Highlighted by the sun, he appeared to be an angel. Then the dark man was gone, and the angel knelt by her side. His eyes were blue as the sky through which the eagle glided, and his hair hung in a shaggy, golden halo.

  “Gotta get the poison out,” he said, but his words were slow and deep, seeming to stretch out over minutes instead of seconds. He put a knife to her hand. She tried to pull back, but fear and pain ripped through her.

  In a crazy spiral, she saw dark eyes, blue eyes, the cup with its pretty coiled colors moving away, a coyote rushing forward, the eagle swooping down and grabbing the coil—a snake—in its talons. Through it all, always with her, overwhelming thirst made her throat sore and her head ache.

  She came awake with a jolt. Darkness surrounded her, and she heard nothing from the other side of the curtain or outside the wall against which she slept. Panic overwhelmed her. Why couldn't she move? She tried to push out from under the blankets but gave up in seconds, too weak to make any progress. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes, brought about by despair and fear. Was she already dead? Was that why it was so dark and silent?

  She wasn't dead. Of course she wasn't. She wouldn't feel heat or weakness if she were. And now she noticed air, cool air that drifted through the slit in the blanket. She must be in someone's home. Whoever held her, she needn't fear. The Indians in the area were friendly, which was why the Bureau of Ethnology was here studying them, and why she had chosen to come herself. Gradually, the tears ceased and her tense muscles relaxed.

  She remembered it all now. In fact, the clarity of her struggles, her hunger, and fear of being alone when the sun set came back with horrifying reality. She trembled with the memory and scrunched lower into the warm haven of the skins and blankets. For the first time since her foray into the desert, she felt safe and well.

  But where was she? How long had she been here? Nothing came to mind to answer those questions. She swung toward the wall and touched it with her left hand, which was splinted and bandaged. Her right ached, and a quick touch told her that it was swollen. The wall was cool adobe, the building material preferred in the Southwest, she’d been told. The camp where she lived was comprised of canvas tents, not long-lasting adobe, so she wasn't back with her colleagues. The medical facility nearest to the camp was at least a day away by wagon, and as she remembered Tuba City when she arrived a little over a month ago, the structures there were made of wood.

  From all of that, she assumed she had been brought to one of the Indian
villages. Why, she didn't know, but she must have been there all day. The two men had found her that morning, and the darkness surrounding her indicated night had fallen, so she owed her care today to whomever owned the house. She hoped in the morning they would accept her profuse thanks. Then she needed to ask another favor—a horse to get her back to her friends, who must be worried sick about her.

  Fatigue took its toll and though she fought against it, her eyes closed. Panic as to her whereabouts and situation would do her no good. If she found in the morning that she had to fight for her safety or freedom, she needed to be rested. With a sigh as close to contentment as she could manage in a strange situation, she rolled over and fell fast into a dreamless sleep.

  * * * *

  From the deep shadow of the room, John Eagle stepped forward. He thought she would see him when she jerked awake and examined the small space set aside for her in his mother’s house, but she hadn’t.

  He shouldn’t be there, he knew that well enough, but the girl was his duty now. He had saved her life, and was now bonded with her, owing her protection and help. Until she released him, his time and attention would always be focused somewhat on her well-being. It was the way of his people, and his way especially. When he held her on the ride to Bacavi, he sensed pain. Something in him had wanted to relieve her of anything that disturbed her body or mind.

  Gus had entered the sleeping area so quietly—so Indian-like—that John didn’t notice his presence until he whispered, “She’s finally looking better.”

  “She woke up a few seconds ago, looked around, and went back to sleep.” He omitted the part about the sigh, choosing to keep that slip of contentment to himself. She didn’t seem unhappy or frightened to find herself enclosed in an adobe of his Clan, and somehow that thought brought him peace.

  “She’s beautiful,” Gus breathed. “They grow 'em nice in North Carolina.”

  “Did those scientists say how Miss O'Ryan came to be so far?”

  “Nope. Just said that she'd gone out for the afternoon. They searched for two days but never in the direction of Bat Rock. I admit, that was a hell of long way for a little girl like her to be from camp.”

  John had held her in front of him on the ride, and though she was slight, she was no little girl. He’d held a woman. “Got lost, I reckon.”

  “Good thing that eagle of yours found her.”

  “Eagle,” she said, as clear as a bell.

  Gus nudged him with his elbow. “Seems she knows who came to her rescue.”

  Then a thought came to John. “Wait a minute, we were both there. We both rescued her. Her life is due to us both.”

  Gus started backing away. “Huh-uh, you aren’t roping me into that ‘responsible for her life’ crap,” he said, though not as convincingly as John knew he could be. Did Gus feel the same pull toward the woman as he did?

  He chuckled. “I’m sure I sensed a coyote nearby. We’re in this together, my friend.”

  “Ah, shit,” Gus muttered. She moved restlessly. “We’d better let her get some rest. She’s had a rough five days.”

  * * * *

  A sliver of sunlight woke Maire the next morning. Someone had come through the blanket barricade and left it slightly open. For the first time, she could see her room clearly. There was nothing more than her pallet, a stool, and a tiny square table, holding a pitcher decorated with intricate designs. Beyond that, the room extended only a short distance.

  When she woke during the night, the room had been pitch dark. Now, because there was no window, the corners across from her still hung with shadows, but she could see the walls were white and smooth. The room was quite small, but not uncheerful, somehow.

  The light grew brighter, and she shifted her attention to the doorway. The girl she vaguely remembered peeked in. A grin crossed her face when she saw that Maire was awake.

  “Hello,” Maire said. The girl nodded excitedly and fled. Maire sighed and closed her eyes. She was awake, but still not very alert. Maybe she should rest a moment more before trying to rise.

  “Good morning.” A deep voice—a voice she recognized from her dreams—penetrated her mind.

  She opened her eyes and saw him, just as she’d imagined him all night. Short hair, black as night, dark eyes, chiseled planes that fit together to form a striking face. She saw now that he was Indian, perhaps of the Zuni or Navajo tribe. His clothes were standard for the cowboys she’d seen while traveling to Arizona. They were clean, but not outstanding, the blue cotton worn and faded. A leather vest topped his shirt. It looked so soft and pliable, she yearned to touch it. Standing beside her bed, the man seemed a giant. Peering through the blanket curtain, the second man she’d imagined in her dream stared at her. He was a white man, his hat pushed back on his head.

  “Good morning,” she responded, and smiled. The Indian did not return the smile but instead studied her eyes.

  “You look none the worse for wear,” the white man said, and then stepped into the room. He wore a newer-looking shirt than the Indian, buttoned up to near his chin. A long, leather thong wrapped around his neck, bound together at the top button with a silver square. The ends hung loose down the front of his shirt. His face was tanned, like someone who spent most of his time outdoors. His eyes were as blue as a flame and held the same kind of fire. As casual as he might look, Maire thought he seemed tense and ready to jump into a fray or out of harm’s way, whichever came up.

  Gathering her strength, she started to rise from the pallet. When she lifted the skin, however, she discovered she was totally naked.

  “Oh!” She fell back and drew the skin up to her chin. “Who unclothed me?”

  “My mother, probably,” the Indian said. Your clothes are cleaned, though torn. You can choose to wear them or borrow something of my sister’s.”

  For her clothes to be cleaned, she must have spent more than one night there. “How long have I been here?”

  The men exchanged a glance. The Indian regarded her solemnly. “Today marks the sixth day since we found you.”

  “Six days!” Six days here and two days on that horrible rock. She’d been away from her work and the ethnologists’ village for more than a week. “I have to get word to my friends. They must think I’m dead.”

  “I rode to their camp,” said the white man. “They know where you are and that you’re safe, Miss O'Ryan.”

  “And where am I, please?”

  “My mother's home in Bacavi.”

  She struggled to remember the geography of the Arizona territory and the Indian areas. Bacavi, if she remembered correctly, was Hopi.

  Well, that's something. Still, so much was wrong, starting with two men standing in her bedchamber—such as it was—while she remained in bed, unclothed. And there was another problem, an omission, that she could correct right now.

  “Thank you very much for finding me and rescuing me. I thought no one would wander by, and then there you were, like the answer to a prayer.”

  The white man scratched his ear and cast a sideways glance at the Indian. “Yeah, the answer to a prayer, that’s what it was all right.”

  “But if you knew I was with the group of scientists, why did you bring me here instead of taking me there? Don’t mistake my gratitude,” she added quickly. “I’m sure I’ve received the finest care.” She really believed that to be true. This morning she was hungry. She felt rested and the hand with the snakebite didn’t hurt at all. “But I’m sure I’ve been an imposition to your family.”

  At that moment, as though called, the girl appeared. In her arms she cradled the dress and pelisse Maire had worn on her walk. Behind her, an older woman, ramrod straight and as solemn as the Indian man, held back the edge of the blanket. This regal woman had to be his mother. She spoke a few words that made the white man grin. The Indian said, “My mother tells us that it’s not proper for us to be here where you sleep.”

  One glance at his mother’s face showed that “not proper” might have been an understatement in h
er mind.

  “I agree with your mother,” Maire said.

  He nodded. “My sister understands and speaks English. If you need me, ask her to find me.”

  The men exited the room with the older woman, and Maire found herself with the girl who had visited her while she was sick. She was dark, like her brother, but her cheeks were round and her eyes were soft and warm. When she smiled, joy showed in every aspect of her face. Maire found herself liking the girl right away.

  “Your dress is not good,” she said, stumbling over the words ever so slightly.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I ruined it when I fell.” She scooted to a sitting position, and held the skin under her arms to remain covered. Taking the dress, she examined it. Tears marked the bodice under her arms, and a long rip rendered the skirt useless. She looked up in dismay. The older woman came in carrying a light-brown piece of leather. But when she held it out to the girl, Maire recognized it as a garment. The girl smiled and handed it to Maire.

  The tanned leather was soft as butter, and intricate beading adorned the front. “This is far too beautiful,” Maire said, holding the dress out to the girl. “I can’t possibly wear this.”

  “Please,” she said, pushing it back into Maire’s hands.

  At a loss to do anything else, Maire accepted the dress. The girl hurried out and then came back with Maire’s underthings. Thankfully, they appeared in good shape.

  Maire looked at the man’s mother and then his sister. “My name is Maire, and I thank you for all you have done for me. I’m very grateful.”

  “Eagle said to watch over you. You are special, he said.”

  The older woman stood at the foot of the pallet and stared over her head, as though she would rather direct her gaze anywhere but to Maire.

  “I wish there was some way to repay you.”

  The girl translated for her mother who replied in a few terse phrases.

  The girl didn’t look very happy, but she repeated in English for Maire’s benefit. “My mother says you can pay us back by releasing my brother.”