by Linda Ladd
A low, tortured moan brought her regard back to Stone. He no longer slept peacefully, but twisted and turned restlessly atop his buffalo skins. His breathing had become loud and labored, as if his lungs were obstructed. Then suddenly while Windsor watched, he raised both his hands and frantically slashed the air, almost as if he were digging a hole.
Mystified, Windsor frowned in concern, but before she could lean forward and awaken him, he lunged upward onto his knees, loosing a short, dreadful cry of terror. Wild-eyed, sweat covering his face, he stared at her as if he had never seen her before.
Windsor spoke gently, wanting to soothe him. "Your dream must have been very frightening."
Stone turned abruptly away from her, and Windsor watched as, obviously still agitated he tunneled splayed fingers through his thick black hair. He didn't reply.
"Sorry I woke you," he said, his voice thick and unnatural. "Go back to sleep."
Windsor made no move to do so, observing him without comment as he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to the flap. He swept back the hanging blanket, gulped several deep inhalations of the crisp, damp night air, then reached outside and trapped a handful of icy rainwater in his cupped hands. He splashed it over his whiskered jaw, then rubbed the back of his neck. He rotated his head, massaging his nape, obviously trying to regain his composure.
"Dreams can seem very real at times," Windsor remarked softly, aware that he was avoiding her gaze. "There is no reason to be ashamed of your fears."
Stone still said nothing, sitting down and staring wordlessly at the smoldering embers. Windsor's attention focused upon his hands resting on his knees. While she watched, he squeezed his long fingers tightly into his palms, making fists so hard that his sun-browned knuckles whitened. He was fighting a terrible internal battle.
"Is it the man we both seek who dwells in your nightmares, the one named Emerson Clan?"
"Emerson Clan is a nightmare all by himself," he muttered viciously, his gaze fixed on the fire. "Ask anybody who's ever laid eyes on him."
"The Old One taught that a man must make himself despicable before he is despised by others."
"Clan's better at that than most men."
"Together, we will find him and avenge his many innocent victims."
"I told you before, Windsor, I intend to get Clan myself. Alone. Just me and him. Understand?"
"Why do you not wish my help?"
When he lifted his face, the firelight caught his blue eyes, making them flash with silver, like sun striking a snowbank and setting aglow a brilliant light. He is a beautiful man, she thought. Her insides quivered, and she felt shame.
"Because I don't wish to see you get killed—or cut to shreds with a whip like your friend, the Chinaman. And don't be naive enough to think the fact that you're a woman will make any difference to Clan. He likes to hurt women. He threatened my sister-in-law, Tyler, back in Chicago—said he was going to cut her throat. That's just one more reason I'm after him."
"If my destiny is to die at Emerson Clan's hands, there is little I can do to prevent it," Windsor answered, her manner as calm as his was disturbed.
"Well, I sure as hell can prevent it."
Never before had Windsor seen a man so eaten with inner rage. The well-defined angle of his jaw was clenched so hard that a muscle shifted convulsively beneath the tanned skin of his lean cheek. While she watched, he raised his right hand and kneaded his wounded shoulder as if it had begun to ache.
"You suffer much, Stone Kincaid, in your mind and in your physical body. I can help you, if you will but grant me leave to do so."
"How?"
"I will show you."
"No. You'll tell me first."
"I will relieve the pain in your shoulder with the placement of my needles. Then I will show you ways to control your mind so it will find harmony alongside your relaxed physical body."
When Windsor Richmond finished her explanation, she smiled so sweetly that Stone found himself wanting very much for her to help him. Since his nightmare had awakened him, every muscle in his body had been rock-hard, every sinew taut, and the tension only made his shoulder throb worse.
For some reason he felt reluctant to submit himself to her unorthodox treatments—he still didn't particularly trust her—but he finally nodded in consent. Windsor moved around the fire until she sat facing him, very close. While he watched, she pulled the braided queue in which she confined her hair over one shoulder and began to unweave the thick plait.
Shimmering blond tresses cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, as long and glossy as a length of fine gold satin. She reached up beneath the luxuriant fall and pulled a necklace from inside the collar of her black tunic. With great patience, she unfastened the thin silk cord and laid the strand of round green beads flat on the ground between them.
"These stones are made from flawless mountain jade," she told him, separating a strand of her silky hair. Still speaking, she began to plait the long narrow lock into a tiny, tight braid. "In China, jade stones such as these are held in great reverence. Since the times of the ancients, men have found all excellent qualities in such jade." She captured his gaze, the corners of her soft pink lips drawing upward in a gentle smile. "’Soft, smooth, glossy, it appeared to them like benevolence-fine, compact, and strong, like wisdom—bright as a brilliant rainbow, like heaven—esteemed by all under the sky, like the path of truth and duty.' Those are the words of the great master K'ung-Fu-Tzu," she explained. "You of the West know him as Confucius."
Mesmerized, Stone listened to Windsor speak—the soft flow of her voice rippling over his mind like notes of music—pleasing, dulcet, sweet, lulling his turbulent state. Silently he watched her retrieve her jade-encrusted black dagger, place the short, straight blade close to her scalp, then sever the tightly woven braid in one quick swipe. Eyes absorbed in her task, she removed three of the shiny beads from her necklace.
"Whenever you feel disturbed and wish to calm your restlessness, stroke the smoothness of these jade stones," she murmured as she slid them one at a time upon the cord she had fashioned from her hair. She reached for his left hand, then pulled it close and carefully knotted the bracelet of hair and jade around his wrist. "You will find that doing so will help to restore your mind to peace and harmony."
As she sat back on her heels, Stone caressed one of the green stones between his thumb and middle finger. It felt soft and smooth, almost silky, and he found himself understanding what she had described. While he fondled the jade, he looked at Windsor Richmond's lips, imagining they would feel much the same way. He flinched, automatically drawing back as she put her hands against his chest as if to unfasten his shirt. Immediately, she withdrew her touch, her sapphire-colored eyes reflecting surprise at his reaction.
"You must remove your shirt," she murmured, watching him closely.
"I can do it myself."
As soon as he completed the task, she leaned forward and helped push the garment off his shoulders, gingerly guiding it over his bandage. Her attention fixed on his naked chest, she came even closer, near enough for him to detect the fragrant scent that clung to her hair. Jasmine, he thought, at its sweetest when the blossoms still clung to the vine. His entire body tensed hard, his loins tightening dangerously as she began to touch him, her fingers creeping softly, knowingly, over the lean bands of muscle at his waist, then up over his rib cage to the bulging musculature of his chest.
"You are very tight and hard," she murmured, continuing her examination, her delicate brows set with intense concentration.
Stone wanted to laugh. Yeah, damn right, he thought, his lips thinning with a wry twist. In more ways than one. And the manner in which she was caressing his body wasn't helping much. He felt both relieved and disappointed when she stopped her intimate exploration of his torso in order to retrieve her black-lacquered needle case.
Moving behind him on her knees, she ran her open palms lightly over the skin of his back, just barely smoothing the surface and taking
her time choosing the precise spot. When she inserted the first needle, Stone barely felt the tip pierce his flesh. He was far too distracted by how close she was to him and by how sweetly exotic her fragrance was. Five additional needles were selected and meticulously arranged along the outer curve of his right ear. She molded the ends with a grayish substance and lit them with a twig from the fire. Gradually, miraculously, the dull, aching discomfort in his left shoulder began to subside.
"Why don't the needles draw blood?" he asked, endeavoring to distract himself from thoughts of the softness of her mouth.
"Because they are very fine and delicate. Their ends are not sharp, but rounded, so as to push aside the skin instead of puncturing it. And I apply the moxa to heat them and accelerate the healing process."
"I don't understand how sticking smoking needles in my ear and arm can keep my shoulder from hurting."
Windsor paused, her large expressive eyes searching his face. "It is a difficult concept to understand for you who are born in the West."
"Try me."
She seemed pleased that he desired an explanation. "The ancient healers taught of a vital life force which creates and animates the physical body. They called this life energy ch'i, which means breath. Ch'i is found in all things that breathe, even plants and animals. Do you wish to hear more?"
"Yeah."
"All things in the universe are composed of two complimentary forces called yang and yin. Yang is the active force. It is positive and outgoing. Yin is passive. Yin is the negative, soft element. Where yang is light, yin is dark. Yang is male, and yin is female. Yang is the heavens and brightness, and yin is the earth and darkness. Both are equally essential to make up the ch'i. When yin and yang are well balanced, the result is harmony, but an excess of one or the other in a person's body will make one ill."
As Windsor explained, she gently twisted the needles in his ear. He felt no pain.
"Ch'i moves along pathways in the body called meridians," she continued in her mellifluous voice. "It controls the blood and nerves, and all the organs, and it must flow freely. If this energy flow is blocked or impaired, illness results. So, you see, the pain in your shoulder is the accumulation of energy when the flow of ch'i is blocked. By stimulating certain points that lie along the meridian, as is done when I twirl the needles like this"—she showed him—the flow is rebalanced and your pain is alleviated."
"Where did you learn all this?"
"From the Old One, my Master Ju of the Temple of the Blue Mountain."
Finished with the insertion of the needles, Windsor moved up close behind Stone, and he shut his eyes as her fingers began to stroke across his broad bare shoulders and down his neck, kneading, massaging, until the habitual rigidity of his body began to melt. Tension flowed out of his arms and legs, as if she had unstopped a bottle and allowed it to drain.
"That does feel good," he admitted begrudgingly.
"I am glad you feel pleasure," she answered, moving around until she faced him once more. She smoothed her palms over the mat of black hair on his chest, tenderly rubbing her fingertips over his flesh in slow, circular motions. Stone realized he had not felt such total relaxation since before the war. Pure pleasure flooded through him, and he smiled. Windsor returned his smile, the fire enveloping her in a shining copper aura.
"Like a halo," he murmured, lifting his hand to touch the bright softness of her hair. He caressed the silky texture with his fingers as he had done earlier to the jade stone. He wanted to kiss her, dammit; he wanted to taste her mouth, stroke the smooth, flawless skin of her face. He raised his hand and trailed his fingers down the elegant curve of her cheek, then over her full lower lip.
Windsor's lips parted beneath his touch, but she made no effort to resist. Her eyes locked with his, she lifted her hand to his jaw in a similar caress, her fingertips tracing the firm line of his mouth in the same way he had done to her. Stone's heart accelerated dangerously, and he realized with dismay just how much he wanted her. He wanted to jerk her up against him and taste every inch of her. He wanted to push her backward onto the soft furs and possess her completely.
Appalled at just how close he was to doing that very thing, he grabbed her wrist and thrust her hand away from him. He could not let himself get involved with a woman like Windsor Richmond. She was too damn weird, and she had been nothing but trouble since the first moment he had met her. More importantly, she considered herself a nun. She had said so herself. For what he had in mind, nuns were definitely off limits.
"We better get some sleep," he growled, not looking at her. He turned away and quickly wrapped himself in a buffalo robe. Careful not to dislodge the needles, he lay down, rolling over until his back was to her. He clamped his eyes shut, but he sure as hell didn't go to sleep. Instead, he listened to her every movement, felt her soft skin and lips again, imagined them pressed intimately against him, and decided then and there that he would have to get away from her soon. Because, God help him, he hungered for her with a passion he had never experienced before, not for any woman, and he'd been with plenty who were both beautiful and desirable. He didn't like wanting her so much. Such feelings made him feel weak and undisciplined, and they were dangerous, to both of them.
Gauzy gray mist hung in a low, wispy haze over the calm lake surface, shrouding the mountain peaks usually mirrored there. The villagers had just begun to stir, the keening murmur of the Dawn Chant echoing in a low drone over the water, when Windsor ducked beneath the flap to join them. She looked around for Stone Kincaid. He had not slept inside the lodge with her for more than a week now, not since the night the rainstorm had driven him inside. He purposely avoided her, and she did not understand why.
"I have brought ponies for you, Yellow-Haired-Warrior-Woman. They are a gift from Sun-On-Wings, the son of my youngest brother."
Windsor recognized the speaker before her as an older brave known to the tribe as Buffalo Man. A tall warrior with a weathered face and a short, wide scar across the bridge of his nose, Buffalo Man held the reins of several ponies, all fine, sleek-coated animals that snorted and stamped their hooves in the brisk morning air.
"Sun-On-Wings is a good friend," she murmured, stroking the velvety muzzle of a spotted mare as the warrior wound the halter ropes around the lodge pole. "He is very generous to present me with such a fine gift."
Buffalo Man nodded without comment, then rapidly strode away. Windsor patted the horse's neck, but her hand stilled when she caught sight of Stone Kincaid. He stopped a short distance away, looking at her for a moment before he turned and strode off in the opposite direction. He was still angry. Windsor could see the emotion inside his eyes.
On the night she had massaged his tight muscles, she had hoped she could help him find relief from the pain he carried within himself. But since that time, he had seemed even more silent and withdrawn. He was not yet ready to open his heart and let the hard core of bitter hatred melt away.
He is well named, she thought, for he is a hard man, as hard as the granite stone so abundant in the mountains around us. But she had not given up. Someday she would find a way to help him. Someday, when she was deep in her meditation, the way to reach out and ease the hatred gnawing inside his soul would be revealed to her. She was patient. She had only to wait.
Stooping, she dragged her fingers over the cold ground, then rubbed the accumulated dirt across her forehead, as was the custom of the Osage before performing their Dawn Chant. Most of the Little Ones had finished their morning devotions to the sun, but she enjoyed their custom of obeisance to the fiery red globe that gave the land warmth and light. Murmuring praises, she removed the warm buffalo skins and walked to the edge of the lake. Kneeling, she dipped her hands into the clear, rigid water and bathed her face and arms. But even as she cleansed her body, unsettling thoughts disturbed her mind.
She felt so bewildered. She had experienced so many powerful, new sensations since she had met Stone Kincaid. When the big American looked at her with burning eyes that see
med to want to devour her, or when he touched her cheeks and lips with his fingertips as he had the night she had given him the jade stones, her flesh would shiver and grow bumps like the skin of the river toads along the great Yangtze. At such moments her heart would drum like the hardest downpour upon the temple roof, and her body would ache with intense, inexplicable longings.
Troubled by her own feelings, Windsor draped the warm fur wrap around her shoulders and moved away from the shore. High atop a hill overlooking the lake, she had found a private spot where she could perform her chant of the ancient sutra in private. There, in the quiet of nature, she would delve deep into herself and find the answer to her perplexing dilemma.
The sun was bright now, glimmering off the water, and Windsor spread out her buffalo skin. She assumed the lotus position, propping her ankles atop the opposite thighs, her hands resting palms-up atop her knees.
"Om Mani Padme Hum, Om Mani Padme Hum," she began in a low murmur, and the familiar intonations immediately gave her comfort. Concentrating on cleansing away all conscious thought, she focused her mind inward, looking deep inside her body, delving past her skin and muscle and bone, until she traveled the streaming pathways of her bloodstream, past her beating heart to the very core of her being, where the answers of all existence lay for the true disciples to discover.
Eventually, as she sang the soothing syllables of the sutra over and over, peace began to flow through her like a warm liquid oil, submerging her in a feeling of safety and contentment, a quiet place of love and tranquility. Then in the space of a heartbeat she saw herself with Stone Kincaid. He lay atop her, his long brown fingers tangled in her hair, his mouth moving slowly over her face, seeking her lips. Stunned by the revelation, she found that her trance was immediately broken. Her eyes flew open. Stone Kincaid stood a few yards away, his blue-gray eyes intent upon her face.
"I desire your body atop my own," she admitted breathlessly. "I looked into my heart, and the truth was revealed to me."