“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
Toklanni nodded. “Yes, but I’m so glad you’re doing it.”
“I love you, Devlin. Have faith in that, if in nothing else.”
He would have kissed her then, long and hard, if someone hadn’t been pounding on the door.
Muttering an oath, Toklanni opened the door to find the hotel clerk standing in the hallway. Two boys stood behind him, both carrying buckets of hot water.
“Come on in,” Toklanni said, and stepped out of the way.
When the tub was filled, he took up his rifle and left the room so that Sarah could bathe and change in private.
Leaving the hotel, he headed for the mercantile store where he bought a pair of black pants and a white shirt. The shopkeeper looked at him suspiciously, but took his money willingly enough. Toklanni hated spending Sarah’s money on himself, but he’d be darned if he’d get married wearing her husband’s clothes.
Taking up his package, he headed for the barber shop for a bath and a shave.
Sarah stared at her reflection in the mirror, trying to see herself as Devlin would see her. Her dress, of ivory satin, had a high ruffled neck, long fitted sleeves and a full skirt. She was pleased that it still fit as well as it had the first time she’d worn it. Not for the first time, she wished she had a new dress to wear for Devlin, something no one else had ever seen.
She did have a new nightgown, one she’d made herself out of white muslin and a bit of leftover lace. She’d cut the neck daringly low and trimmed it with a bit of pink satin ribbon. The thought of wearing it for Devlin made her stomach curl with pleasure.
Minutes later Devlin was at the door, looking more handsome than ever in a pair of crisp black pants and a white shirt.
He was freshly shaved; his hair, though still long, was neatly trimmed.
For a moment, they stared at each other in silent admiration, then Toklanni cleared his throat.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice husky.
Sarah nodded, a warm glow spreading through her as Devlin took her arm.
People turned to stare at them as they walked down the street toward the church. Toklanni knew the looks were of derision, of contempt, but Sarah turned her brilliant smile on all those they passed by, friend and stranger alike, quietly bidding them all a good day, not stopping to talk to any of them, though several were openly curious about her escort.
Father deCristo was a tall, spare man with gray hair and eyes that had seen every facet of life. He smiled fondly at Sarah, shook hands with Toklanni. If he disapproved of the match between a half-breed and a lady of quality who had so recently been widowed, it didn’t show on his face.
The words he spoke over them were soft and melodic as he admonished them to love and cherish one another, to be faithful to their vows, to be fruitful, to be mindful of God’s law to multiply and replenish the earth. Lastly, he counseled them to invite God to be a part of their union.
There were tears in Sarah’s eyes when the priest spoke the final words that made her Devlin Dennehy’s wife. And then Devlin was kissing her, his touch gentle, filled with love and the promise of passion.
Father deCristo made the sign of the cross over them as he wished them a long and happy life and then Devlin took Sarah’s arm and they walked out of the small church into the sunlight.
“Mrs. Devlin Dennehy.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to say it out loud. Mrs. Devlin Dennehy. It has a nice ring to it.”
Toklanni grunted softly, wondering if he’d ever get used to being called Devlin, trying to remember if she’d ever called him by his Apache name.
Sarah’s cheeks were a becoming shade of pink when they reached the hotel and Toklanni knew it had nothing to do with the walk or the kiss of the wind against her face. She was feeling suddenly shy and so, he thought, was he. He had never made love to a woman. Oh, he had coupled with captives now and then; he was a man, after all. But that wasn’t love and he had never worried about what the woman thought or felt. But this was different. What if Sarah thought him a savage? What if his touch repelled her?
Alone in their hotel room, they stood mute, the silence ringing in their ears as they avoided looking at each other.
And then Toklanni crossed the short distance between them and took Sarah in his arms, holding her loosely against him.
“I’ll try to make you happy, Sarah,” he said with quiet conviction. “If I ever do anything to hurt you, just tell me.
“And if you ever feel you’ve made a mistake, I’ll try to let you go.”
“Devlin!” She placed her hand over his mouth, stunned by his words. “I love you. I’ll never be sorry. How can you even think that?”
“I saw the looks people gave you when we left the church. The contempt on the faces of the women, the disrespect on the faces of the men. Even that pasty-faced clerk was looking down his nose at you and it’ll always be that way, Sarah, so long as you’re my wife.”
Sarah shook her head vigorously. She had no close friends in town, no one whose opinion mattered one whit. “I don’t care. I love you and that’s all that matters.”
“You make me believe in miracles,” he whispered, and then, unable to deny himself any longer, he kissed her hard and long, letting her feel the force of his desire, the depth of his need.
If he thought she would be repelled or disgusted by his touch, she quickly put his fears to rest. With a low moan, Sarah melted into his arms, her eyelids fluttering down as her arms curled around his waist, drawing him closer, tighter.
He gasped as he felt her tongue, silky and warm, slide across his lips, probing gently, felt a flame of heat dart through him as her tongue slid into his mouth.
Groaning softly, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed, his mouth never leaving hers as his tongue began a gentle exploration of its own.
It had been a long time since he’d had a woman, a long time since she’d had a man. They undressed each other, their hands clumsy in their haste. She was silk and heat and soft, warm curves. He was steel and fire and hard-muscled masculinity and they flowed together like streams seeking the same ocean, rushing headlong into a raging whirlpool that carried them into ever deeper waters until, at last, the floodwaters broke, breaking over them in waves of pleasure that left them floating in a pool of blissful contentment.
Later, they made love again, slower this time, taking time to explore, to savor. Sarah was captivated by the sheer masculine beauty of his body. He seemed to be made of taut flesh drawn over hard muscle and she delighted in looking at him, at running her fingertips over his chest and down his belly, pleased beyond words that her touch aroused him.
Toklanni wanted only to please her. Lacking the words to express how he felt, he tried to tell her with each kiss, each caress, that he loved her with all his heart, that she had turned his bitterness to hope and replaced his anger with passion. He could not stop looking at her. She was beautiful, so beautiful. Her skin was soft and smooth, constantly tempting his touch. Her hair spread across the pillow like liquid sunshine, flowing like silk in his hands.
He groaned low in his throat as they came together, flesh to flesh and heart to heart, two halves now whole, two souls made one for now and for always…
Sarah nestled against Devlin, her head pillowed on his shoulder, one arm draped across his chest. She had never felt so cherished, so adored. He had not said much and yet every stroke of his hand had been an affirmation of his love. Caught up in the magic of his touch, she had heard the words he could not say.
A small sigh escaped her lips. She had never been happier, she thought, never more at peace, and yet…
“What is it?” Toklanni asked, hearing her sigh.
“Nothing. I’m just so happy. Everything would be perfect if…”
“If Danny was here.”
“Yes. I know you said he’s all right, but I worry about him so.”
Toklanni hugged her close, silen
tly renewing his vow to return Danny to Sarah’s arms or die trying.
They left the hotel early the following morning, traveling until nightfall with only a brief stop at noon. They were up the following morning before dawn. Toklanni rode with one eye on the dark clouds that were racing toward them, fearful that they might not reach the ranch in time, but luck was with them and they rode up to the house as the first drops of rain began to fall.
Toklanni sent Sarah into the house while he unsaddled the horses and turned them loose in the corral.
The smell of fresh coffee permeated the cabin when he stepped inside. Going into the kitchen, he found Sarah putting away the supplies they’d bought in town. For the first time, he wondered how he was going to support his new bride.
Toklanni frowned thoughtfully. If he could convince Noche to give up Danny without a fight, perhaps they could stay here, on the ranch, and raise horses or cattle. If Noche refused to let him have Danny, he would have to steal the child away from the village, in which case they would have to leave the territory.
Toklanni felt a twinge of regret at the thought. The rancheria was the only home he’d ever known. He had friends among the Apache, men he had grown up with, people he knew that he respected and admired, a life that suited him well.
Everything hinged on getting Danny back. Toklanni sighed heavily. Apaches had killed the boy’s father. What would he think of having a half-breed Apache for a stepfather?
He put his thoughts aside as Sarah walked past him for the second time. Reaching out, he drew her into his arms and kissed her, amazed that she was his, that she found him desirable and worthy of her love. She kissed him passionately, holding nothing back, and he knew he would give up his old life without a qualm for the joy of loving Sarah.
Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into the bedroom, ignoring her halfhearted protests that it was midday. He undressed her slowly, his hands adoring her beauty, his desire rising like smoke from a forest fire as she returned the favor.
Lying beside her, he rained kisses on her cheek, her brow, the tip of her nose, one creamy white shoulder, the soft swell of her breast.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”
He made love to her gently, powerfully, his ardor kindling her own until Sarah thought she might die from the sheer pleasure of his touch.
Later, wrapped in his arms, she told him of her growing-up years in Providence, of marrying Vern, of moving West, of her anguish when she realized that Danny had been kidnapped by the Indians.
The tears in her eyes glittered like shards of broken glass, piercing his heart and soul, and he knew that he would not rest until he found a way to reunite Sarah with her son.
Chapter Eleven
Thanksgiving Day was cold and cloudy. Toklanni would not eat turkey, so they had a venison roast instead, with spice cake for dessert.
For Sarah, it was a day of joy and sadness. Joy that she could share it with Toklanni, sorrow that Danny was not there. He’d been gone from her for almost five months and not a day went by but she didn’t think of him, wondering if he was well, if he was happy, if the Indians were treating him all right.
If not for Toklanni, she knew she would have been mired in depression like a cow mired in a bog, but he refused to let her stay discouraged for long.
Indeed, life with Toklanni was everything she had ever dreamed of. He was a kind and gentle lover, even-tempered, tender-hearted. She read to him from the Bible each night and when she learned he could not read or write, she set out to teach him. They spent many hours sitting before the fire while she taught him the alphabet and how to read and write his name. It kept her mind occupied and her hands busy and left her with less time to brood about her son.
In mid-December, Sarah began to prepare for Christmas. It was a holiday Toklanni had never celebrated and she smiled each time she thought of the lovely red scarf she had made for him, of the blue wool shirt she’d bought in Pepper Tree Creek. She taught him Christmas carols and insisted he sing with her, delighted at the way their voices blended together.
In the evenings, she read the chapters on Christ’s birth from the New Testament. They were her favorite scriptures and she wept as she read of Joseph and Mary making the long journey to Bethlehem, her heart going out to Mary who had to bring forth her firstborn son within the walls of a lowly stable.
Toklanni listened to the story with rapt attention, frowning as Sarah read the story of the Christ Child. The white man called the Apache cruel and heartless, and in some cases that was true, but no Apache would have turned away a pregnant woman in need of shelter.
He listened in fascination as she read of angels and shepherds, of wicked kings and wise men. It was a story that touched his heart and made him long to know more of the white man’s God and His son.
When Sarah stopped reading, he urged her to go on, caught up in the miracles of Jesus, in the love He had for people, all people. So much love that He died for their sins in a most horrible way.
“And you believe your God is the same as Usen?”
“Yes,” Sarah said firmly. “There’s only one God and Jesus is His son.”
Toklanni nodded. There were similarities between the story of the white man’s Jesus and the Apache hero, Child of the Waters, who had been born of Usen and White Painted Lady.
He looked at Sarah, saw that her thoughts had turned inward. She was thinking of her own son, he knew that without a doubt.
She had adorned the cabin with her meager Christmas decorations, she had baked cookies and gingerbread men, she had made her son a pair of mittens and a new shirt, bought him a ball and a dozen toy soldiers in town. The presents were wrapped in bright paper beneath a small pinon tree that Toklanni had cut down for her.
In two days time, it would be Christmas. He knew she had presents for him, as well, and it grieved him that he had nothing to give her in return. He thought of how brave she had been in the last few weeks, smiling when he knew she wanted to cry, making plans for Christmas when he knew her heart wasn’t in it. And he knew, with crystal clarity, that it was in his power to give her the greatest gift of all.
The next morning, after breakfast, he told her he was going hunting.
“Hunting?” Sarah repeated. “Now?”
“I’m going to look for a turkey.”
Sarah grinned at him. “Why? You won’t eat it.” He had refused to have a turkey for Thanksgiving, telling her it was another Apache taboo.
“I know you would like to have turkey and perhaps I will let my white half try it.”
“How long will you be gone?”
Toklanni shrugged. “As long as it takes.”
“Promise me you’ll be careful.” She wrapped her arms around him, frightened by the sudden sense of impending danger.
“A warrior is always careful.”
“I know, I know,” she teased. “An Apache warrior can travel over fifty miles in a day and find food off the land. He can disguise himself with dirt and plants so as to be practically invisible.”
Toklanni grinned down at her. “I think perhaps I have been bragging too much.”
“Perhaps. But you will be careful?”
He nodded. For a moment, he held her close, drinking in the scent of her, basking in her touch. He kissed her then, a long hungry kiss, and then kissed her again in farewell, wondering if he would ever see her again.
His return to the village caused quite a stir. Everyone knew there was bad blood between Toklanni and his brother, though no one knew the reason for it. Noche stayed in the background, a speculative look on his face.
When the crowd dispersed, Toklanni approached Noche, keenly aware of the animosity in his brother’s gaze. Had Noche always hated him? Why hadn’t he noticed it before?
“Welcome home, brother,” Noche said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
“Noche.”
“Why have you come back?”
“This is my home.”
“Is it?”
&nbs
p; A shiver of apprehension skittered down Toklanni’s spine. “What are you trying to say?”
“I have been to the white woman’s house. I have seen your horse in the corral.”
Toklanni nodded. “I told you before she was my woman. Now I have made her my wife.”
Noche snorted, his dark eyes filled with scorn. “So, you have turned your back on the People.”
“No. I am Apache. I will always be Apache. But the white woman is now my wife, and my first loyalty must be to her. I have come to tell you that we are going to live in her house, to tell you that my heart will always be good for my brother and the People.”
“You have come for the boy,” Noche said curtly, “and we both know it.”
Toklanni did not deny it. “The woman is my wife. The child is now mine by right of marriage. I ask you to give him back to his mother.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I will give you anything you wish in exchange for the boy.”
“You have nothing that I desire, except maybe the great gray stallion.”
Toklanni took a deep breath. He had raised the gray from a colt. It was the best horse he had ever owned, his most prized possession. “It is yours.”
“It is not enough.”
“I have nothing else to give you. Take the gray and let us part as brothers.”
“If you want the boy, you must fight me for him. If you win, you may have the boy and I will take the horse.”
“I do not want to fight you, Noche. It is not the Apache way.”
“What do you know of the Apache way?” Noche said contemptuously. “I have spoken and I do not change my words.”
Toklanni eyed his brother speculatively. Noche was a few years younger, an inch or two shorter, several pounds heavier, but he was strong as an ox, fast and agile in his movements. They had fought often as children, well-matched in strength and ability despite the difference in their height and weight. “Very well,” Toklanni agreed. “It shall be as you say.”
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