She stood for a moment, not hearing him.
His deep voice pulled her back. “Mandy?”
The room seemed somehow disjointed. Her body unraveled. Several things came together in her mind all at once. She stood there, fighting his question and his uncanny ability to see right through her. “How long have you been awake?”
She gasped at him—realizing—a slow shock settling deep inside her. She could hide nothing from him. Where did that leave her?
“Come here, Amanda.”
Her feet seemed to move of their own accord. “Over here, where I can see you,” he said, when she would have stopped.
She moved to stand near him. When she reached his side, his hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, giving her a hard yank and throwing her off balance so she landed, hard, on his chest. He winced in pain, but his hand moved to hold her there with gentle, yet unmovable, bands of muscle.
She was caught, and she didn’t want to explore that idea too much.
“Where were you? His unusual green eyes were mere inches from hers. His breath fanned her face.
She could feel her heartbeat, mingling with the beat of his. Her pulse raced. Her own heart was beating an erratic rhythm in her breast, and she was sure he could feel it—and that it told him everything.
“Tell me, Mandy,” he whispered.
She went weak. A delicious headiness stole over her, curling in the pit of her stomach. A soul-deep need she couldn’t name coursed through her veins.
“Tell me about the vision you were having.”
“Tell,” she licked her lips, “you?”
That was her undoing, or maybe it was his. He crushed her lips to his in a powerful kiss. Light exploded in Mandy’s head. She could feel the heat from his body coursing through her own. With a sigh, she opened her mouth to him. He immediately plundered her soft sweetness, tasting her, sipping from her as if she were nectar.
Fully possessing her.
His hands moved over her back. One broke free and teased at her ribs before stealing around to stroke the sensitive flesh of the underside of her breast, and Mandy’s defenses were stripped from her. She only knew of the intense feelings he was creating in her.
The sound of someone clearing his throat caused them to jump apart, and Mandy stood quickly.
Hawk groaned.
Mandy bit her lip. She did not want to turn around and see who had caught them in such a compromising position.
“Bloody hell,” Hawk growled.
Mandy stared down at him, fractured. Doc loved that English expression. He had everyone in town saying it. Yet that thought was lost as her face went up in flames, and it took every ounce of strength she had to turn and face Doc Mallory.
But he only chuckled. “Maybe I should have given you the laudanum after all,” he directed at Hawk.
Mandy wished she could fade away, right there—or even faint—but she had never fainted in her life. Hawk, hurt as he was—and her—oh, what could Doc be thinking?
She knew what he must think.
And what had gotten into her anyway, letting him kiss her that way?
“He’s not a helpless boy, Mandy dear. That’s why I didn’t give him the laudanum. Do you remember the scars on his chest?”
Mandy only nodded, remembering the scars she’d seen during surgery. She let him talk. She needed the distraction. She did not tell him she’d seen those types of scars before.
“He has undergone the most painful ceremonies I’ve ever known. Those little bullet holes don’t measure up to that.”
Hawk scowled at him, and Mandy was amazed to watch the little man grin at him.
“When I met Hawk,” he went on, “he was only eighteen years old. He’d spent the last twelve years of his life with the Lakota. A white man’s disease had wiped out over half his tribe, including most of his family.”
“I’m sure she’s not interested in this, Mallory,” Hawk growled this at Doc, but he watched her, and his look promised he would know of the danger she had sensed.
She looked away, unable to meet his gold-green gaze. She wanted to cover herself as if she were stripped naked and standing before him. He seemed to look right through her—know all her secrets.
Doc chuckled. “Sure she is, look at her. Now let’s see, where was I?” he went on. “Oh yeah, Hawk had decided to find out about his old world, but he was dressed as an Indian. Look at him. Except for those unusual eyes of his, little would give him away.”
Hawk looked over and glared at Doc, but turned back before she could escape and continued to hold her captive, with eyes that seemed to see through to her soul. She stood, poised to escape like a small bird caught in the mesmerizing, green-gold gaze of a mountain cat who crouched, watching and ready to devour her the instant she moved.
She did not.
“His momma was Spanish,” Doc continued with his story. “His poppa, well, the only thing he’s ever said about him was he was a big man with blond hair and unusual spring-green eyes. He’s gotten something from each, as you can see for yourself.”
Then, Doc became serious, and he looked at the floor. “Anyway, when I found him, a bad bunch had gotten hold of him and taught him a whole new concept of pain. He was near death, and you’d have never recognized him.”
Mandy vaguely wondered what kind of pain could surpass Lakota ceremonies and bullet holes, and shuddered at the thought of him enduring it. Hawk gave her an unperceivable nod as if to say that she would know, with promised retribution, if she did not tell him what he wanted to know.
“I took him in, taught him the white man’s ways, helped him find his family.” The old doctor turned to Hawk now, a deep sadness etched his face. “I heard you were after those men for what they did.”
Mandy watched Hawk. Why was he after these men for what had happened on that plantation?
Hawk looked away, releasing Mandy. He turned his yellow-gold gaze on Doc.
The doc had his full attention now.
“Leave it alone, Mallory!”
Doc Mallory shook his head. “Don’t be bitter, boy. It’s over now. Let it go.”
For one unguarded second, Mandy saw all the pain that was living in his closely guarded heart, then the shutters went down. “Get out, both of you.”
“We’re going, lad. You rest easy, now.” Doc put a hand on Mandy’s shoulder, breaking her out of her trance and guiding her to the door. He turned to shut it behind them. “Really. Rest now, Hawk. It’s over.”
Chapter Six
Blackness blanketed his mind like a cloak. A spindled hand of pain crawled its way along his body, like jagged glass embedded beneath the skin. Grabbing him by his arm, unseen claws moved to drag him down a deep, black hole. Hawk did not have to look to know the hole held a bottomless darkness that threatened to swallow him and keep him there forever. He fought, calling on the steady drum beats of the Ancients, and combining the heart of the earth with the steady thrum of his own heart. He concentrated on the rhythm with all his might. If that it were to stop, then so too would his life in this world be at an end.
Black beasts rose in liquid fire. They sniffed the air as though catching a scent. He could only watch as they turned from him, heading for someone. He saw her in the same moment as the beast, her hair lifting, floating around her as though caught by a breeze. Her gray-green eyes locked with his. He sensed the beast, sensed the primal hunger. The claws of pain sank deep into his arm as he fought to tear free—fought to reach her. She stood fearless, watching the beast. In an instant, it was upon her. The beast headed down the dark hole of nothingness. Looking at Hawk, it pulled her down after him. Her gaze remained steady, locked with his—as she sank from his sight.
“You should have got out,” he raged. “It’s too late. I can’t save you. And it’s too late for me. The white man’s hell will claim me for all I have done.”
He thrashed at the prison that anchored him. The claws of pain entered his arm and threaded their way through him, layering him like the b
ark on a tree, until it consumed him. This was not the way. This smelled of the danger he’d sensed for too long. This oozed of the evil he’d fought. He had taken his vengeance too far—and lost his soul.
Mandy woke in the still of the night with a jerk. Blinking hard, she peered through the fuzz of deep sleep, trying to orient herself. When she realized where she was, her gaze shot to Hawk, breathing a sigh of relief when he groaned. His groaning must have been what woke her.
He licked his lips and she brought him a glass of water. She touched his forehead. He had developed a fever. With a sigh of disappointment, Mandy realized he was more than just a little hot to the touch. She sat for a moment chewing on her lip. Finally, it occurred to her that she was feeling sorry for herself. Disgusted, she busied herself, straightening his sheets. She picked up the glass for a refill. When he spoke, she nearly dropped it on him.
“Woman, what was the danger you sensed?” His voice sounded surprisingly strong.
“I, uh . . .” Mandy searched for an answer. “What is the danger you dreamed of?” she countered.
His eyebrow cocked. He tried to rise, failed, and fell back. “I believe they are intertwined.” Almost as an afterthought, he peered at her. “I cannot work like this. Knowing you are in danger and me—trapped in this bed.”
“Go to sleep, Hawk,” Mandy told him. “You’re hot and in a lot of pain. We’ll talk when you’re better.”
“I have to get out of here.” He tried again to sit up.
Mandy pushed him back against the pillows. She felt the heat of him, the granite-hard muscles beneath her hands. She pulled away as if burned—trying to determine if the heat she felt had been his fever—or hers.
Mandy stood and mixed some herbs into his glass of water and pressed it to his lips. “Drink, Hawk,” she softly commanded. He drank. He leaned back, sinking deep into the pillows. Mandy walked to the highboy dresser. Setting down the glass, she reached for a fresh blanket.
“When I’m healed, I’m going to blister your backside for not telling me what I want to know.”
Mandy gasped in shock at his crude remark. That had not come from the Hawk she knew him to be. Even if the Hawk she knew existed solely in her dreams. When she finally gathered up the courage to turn around, she found him asleep.
“Of all the nerve,” she muttered. “Toss out a challenge like that and fall asleep before I can yell at you.” She covered him with the blanket. Picking up the pitcher, she blew out the lamp and went out for fresh water.
She did not see the grin on the face of the so-called sleeping man she’d left behind in the dark.
***
Three days later, an exhausted Mandy poured herself a cup of hot, steaming coffee in the little kitchen off the corner of the house. It was even too early for the roosters to be up, she thought, fighting to keep her eyes open. Her eyelids felt as though they were filled with the gritty sand that spiraled endlessly in the heat of the sun.
Day and night, she and Doc had taken turns, working to keep Hawk's fever down; yet, they appeared no closer to helping him win against the war that still threatened to take his life.
Every bone in her body felt weighted down with fatigue. She had no idea what was keeping her on her feet.
She was staring at the wall when Meg walked in a few minutes later.
“You look exhausted, Mandy. Why don’t you allow someone to give you a break?”
Mandy turned and smiled wearily at her best friend.
Meagan studied her for what seemed to be an interminable moment. “So how are things going?” she prodded.
Mandy let out a sigh of frustration. “He seems determined to die.”
Meg frowned at her. “Why on earth would he want to do that?”
“I have no idea.” A deep sadness took Mandy over for a moment. She shook her head to break out of her thoughts. “You want a cup of coffee?” She started to rise.
“You sit. I’ll get it.”
Meagan crossed the room and got a cup out of the whitewashed cupboard. She poured herself some of the hot brew and sat down in a creaky, wooden chair.
“He’s full of nightmares, Meg.” Mandy wanted to bury her head in her hands. She wanted to cry. She did neither.
Meg’s eyes narrowed on her. “It sounds as though you care quite a bit, Mandy.”
Mandy surprised herself by shrugging.
“This is the man you’ve been telling Ashley is your future, your fiancé, for years now.” It wasn’t a question. “I thought you made all that up. I should have made the connection between him and your dreams.”
Mandy looked at her friend and sighed. “I did make that up.” She pulled a face and picked up her cup. “And I didn’t.” She let the memories of many dreams float lazily through her mind, like white, puffy clouds on a beautiful, warm day. “I’ve had these dreams for several years now, since I lived with the Lakota. The teachers taught me much about dreaming and our many spirit helpers—and, most especially, about the Grandmothers. I knew the dreams meant something. I knew this was supposed to be the man I’d someday marry.” Mandy let her cup fall back onto the saucer with a clatter, which seemed to rouse her out of her deep thoughts. She shrugged again. “But these dreams seem contradicted lately, when everything that’s been happening indicated I would marry McCandle. I was afraid to believe, and even more afraid to reach out and take hold of my destiny. Now I know the things I saw in my dream were meant to be. We will fight McCandle.” She sobered. “But not without much death.”
“So this Hawk is your destiny,” Meg whispered, a knowing look in her eyes and a small smile touching her lips.
Mandy winced at the question. The white Indian had chosen to dress as a gunman to hunt his enemy. That was the way of the path. It gave him the opportunity to hunt his enemy in a white man’s world, without bringing more bloodshed upon the Lakota.
Meagan sipped at her tea for a moment. Finally, she lifted her head and looked Mandy directly in the eye. “You do know, after what we witnessed in the store, that he’s likely done some terrible things?”
Mandy stood and set her cup and saucer in the porcelain sink. “Yes, I know.” She looked at her friend. “There is meaning behind everything we do. For Hawk, this means somewhere in his life, he was thrust into a bad situation and played the hand he was dealt.”
“Hmmm, and how did you get so wise?” Meg gently teased.
“I’ve been listening.”
A worried frown worked its way across Meg’s face. “Mandy, you have to admit, it has all moved rather quickly . . . .”
“He is to be my husband.”
Meagan’s mouth dropped open, and Mandy reached up and gently closed it.
Meg shook her head. “I know,” she almost whispered, looking down at her hands. “And I suspected you were going to say that again, even though you didn’t put it in those exact words before. But in Cord’s store, he was a gunslinger. And you know, and I know, he’s played that part before—been dressed in those clothes before. Aren’t you afraid of what that means?” Meg’s cracked-glass-blue eyes were intent and earnest. “It means you are to marry a white Indian with a hidden agenda,” she went on, “masquerading as a gunslinger. And from what I saw,” she emphasized her point by leaning in towards Mandy, “he’s good at it.” She stood and moved closer to Mandy. “Is this really supposed to be better than marrying McCandle? Tell me if I’m wrong. Because, I fail to see how trading in one killer for another is supposed to make your predicament better.”
“I know, Meg.” Mandy took her friend’s hand in hers. “But I’ve loved this man all my life.”
Meagan’s mouth dropped open for a second time.
“We have been together in other lifetimes,” Mandy went on. “And together, we will defeat McCandle in this lifetime too, turning him from his hell bent path. This time we must win, once and for all. This cannot be allowed to go around again for another lifetime. And here, he has been allowed to reign as a powerful cattle baron, terrorizing families, for much to
o long.”
Meg frowned. “I’m always amazed at how well you remember the lives you have lived before this one.” She looked deflated and happy at the same time. “I hope I’ll feel what you feel one day, even for a little while. To love a man for many lifetimes . . . .” She shook her head in wonder.
It was Mandy’s turn to frown. “You’re not going to marry that man your father arranged for you, are you, Meg?”
“Will I have a choice? When I’m penniless and begging in the streets?”
“I would never let that happen to you! Don’t you dare marry that monster.”
Meg smiled at Mandy. “You’re so brave. I’ve always admired that about you.”
“So are you,” Mandy scolded. “You just don’t realize it.” She stood and hugged her friend. “Promise me you won’t do anything rash,” Mandy begged. “Besides, you’re meant for a different destiny.” She wrinkled her nose, smiling.
Meg frowned at her, then shook her head as though she didn’t even want to try to figure that one out. “I promise.” She walked to the door of the kitchen. She turned back. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I just have to get his fever down,” Mandy told her, washing their cups and putting them up to dry. “Besides, you already have enough to do, caring for your grandmother.”
Meg smiled, crossing to hug her friend once more. “I’ll be back to visit again soon. I’ve an idea this is going to get interesting. And I don’t want to miss the party.”
Mandy went back in to check Hawk. His fever seemed lower, and she sighed in relief.
He talked a lot in his sleep, in both Lakota and Cheyenne, most of which she understood. She shook her head. He had loved his Cheyenne family deeply. He rambled on, on several occasions, about deadly white-man’s diseases.
At times, she wept for him. At times, she wept with him, especially when he relived the deaths of the woman and the boy. At the moment, he was mumbling something about a man who kept leading him around in circles, killing the people he loved.
Mandy frowned. She thought about McCandle.
Be careful, child. There is great danger ahead of you both.
Dark Warrior: To Tame a Wild Hawk (Dark Cloth) Page 5