Savage Surrender

by Colleen French

  Rachael heard a woman's shriek and turned to see Ta-wa-ne hustling toward her shouting in Iroquois.

  Rachael gritted her teeth. The woman was saying something about Rachael stealing her child.

  "I did not steal him, you addlepated twit!" Rachael shouted back in English. "I found him out on the ice on the river. Shame on you for not keeping a better eye on him. He could have drowned!"

  Reaching Rachael and the boy, Ta-wa-ne put her arms out for her son. Ka-we-ras flinched, flattening himself against Rachael.

  Tears of rage rose behind Rachael's eyelids. What kind of mother could Ta-wa-ne be that her two-year-old wouldn't go to her? When the boy wouldn't come, Ta-wa-ne grasped him by the back of his little cloak and tore him from Rachael's arms, shouting at him in a shrill fishwife's voice.

  "You're the one to blame for this, not him. He's two years old!" Rachael pointed a threatening finger. "You hurt him and I swear on the great Wishemoto," —her hand fell to the hilt of the knife she wore on her belt—"I'll slit you end to end!"

  Ta-wa-ne swept up her screaming child and brushed past Rachael, going into the wigwam that had been Rachael's two weeks prior.

  For a moment Rachael stood with her head hung slightly, taking time to catch her breath and calm herself. When she looked up, Storm Dancer was standing there in front of her grinning the widest grin she'd seen on his face in two weeks.

  His smile was infectious. "What's so funny," she asked, almost happy to see him.

  "You, hellcat. I've never witnessed such anger. You have not even been that angry with me."

  She lowered a hand to rest on her hip. His face was drawn and he looked tired. For some reason she gained no satisfaction in knowing he hadn't been sleeping any better than she had.

  "That little boy was out on the middle of the river chasing a feather. He's no more than a baby, Storm! She should be watching over him more carefully. He could well have fallen through the ice and been swept away by the current. She'd never have even known what happened to him."

  Storm pulled off his leather mitten and reached out to brush her cheek with his fingertips. "You were a brave woman to walk out upon the ice to get another woman's child . . . your enemy's child."

  She shrugged, a little embarrassed.

  "Not many would do such a thing," he went on in a low, caressing voice. "I cannot say that I would have saved the child."

  "Of course you would have." Her gaze met his. "The boy is not responsible for who his mother is . . . who his parents are," she added quietly.

  He stroked the soft skin of her cheek, his finger brushing over her lips. "I have missed your sky-eyes upon me, Rachael-wife."

  She swallowed, feeling a little light-headed. His touch felt so good. God I miss him.

  "Come to Tuuban's wigwam tonight and eat with me. I have some matters to discuss with you."

  She covered his hand with hers. "I'm just not ready to talk about us, Storm," she said, not unkindly.

  He shook his head, lowering his hand, but threading his fingers through hers so that he held her hand. "I want to speak of us, but I can wait. What I truly need now is your thoughts on our village moving west. There is so much to be done before spring. So many decisions to make. There are questions in my mind that I cannot settle. I thought that you could help me."

  She hesitated. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to sit beside the firepit and eat beside him. She wanted to feel his hand in hers, to see his dark eyes look at no one but her, to taste his lips on hers. "I suppose I could come for a little while."

  He smiled. "I will cook you a feast."

  "I . . . that's all right. I can make the meal." There were butterflies in her stomach. She was warm and flushed from Storm Dancer's attention.

  He squeezed her hand. "You will be my guest tonight. Guests do not cook their own meals. It would be an insult."

  She smiled. "All right, then. I will come tonight and we will talk of the village. Nothing else."

  "Nothing else," he repeated.

  She laughed again, feeling silly. He was just standing there holding her hand looking at her. She thought of Ka-we-ras and the promise she had made to the little boy. "Storm . . . "

  "Wife?"

  "Could you do me a favor?"

  "If it is in the power of this man, the shaman of my people."

  "A simple yes would suffice." She pulled her hand from his and wrapped her arms around her waist securely. "Will you come to your grandparents' wigwam later and let me give you something for the boy. I promised him a present if he came to me out on the ice."

  Storm Dancer hesitated for a moment. He was trying to avoid Ta-wa-ne's child. But he was fast becoming attached to him. "I have need to see my grandfather. I will come now."

  "Good." She smiled at him, her gaze lingering over his handsome face before she turned and walked away, excited by the little trip in her heartbeat.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rachael didn't truly realize how much she missed Storm Dancer until she was with him again. The evening meal in his wigwam was wonderful. In a Dutch oven he made a succulent venison stew chockful of vegetables and cooked in a rich gravy. For dessert there was sugar-sweetened blueberry corn bread and a strange hot drink that tasted like cocoa, yet was not a milk base.

  Once Storm Dancer cleared away the supper dishes, the two sat across the firepit from each other and began to discuss the strategy of such an immense undertaking as moving an entire village hundreds of miles west.

  For hours they poured over precious maps provided by Shaakhan, bought in Annapolis in anticipation of the move they would one day be forced to make. Not only did Rachael and Storm Dancer discuss the path they would take to the Ohio country, but the practical aspects of the move as well. How would they transport the old, the sick, and the young? What belongings would they take, what would have to be left behind?

  Should they purchase horses in anticipation of the more open land west of the Ohio River? The village owned only a dozen pack ponies and a few horses because the forest was too dense in the Chesapeake area for a horse to be of any good. It was only near towns such as Annapolis where there were trails or roads where a horse could be used. Both Storm Dancer and Rachael agreed that with horses the trip west could be made easier, even if it would be slower at first, and the horses would be useful in their new land. But where would they get the money it would take to purchase horses?

  The moon rose high in the dark winter sky before Storm finally rolled away his maps and tucked them into the leather pouch that protected them from the weather.

  Rachael rose, stretching like a cat. It was so warm and cozy in Tuuban's wigwam here with Storm that she could have easily stretched out by the firepit on a bed of soft pelts and gone to sleep.

  Rachael turned to reach for her coat and Storm intercepted her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, staring at her with those black onyx eyes of his. "I thank you for the advice you have given me tonight."

  Her hands fell to his shoulders as if it was the most natural thing. "I did little. Just listened."

  "Your suggestions were worthy." He tapped her temple teasingly. "You are intelligent for a white-equiwa."

  Her mouth turned up in the barest smile. "Oh I am, am I?" she asked in a silky voice. She could feel his warm breath on her face; she could smell that woodsy masculine scent that clung to him stimulating her senses.

  He brushed back her hair with his hand. "If I kissed you, would you sink your knife into my chest?"

  She chuckled, looking up at him through the veil of her dark lashes. "I don't know. Dare you try?"

  In an erotic gesture, he brushed her lower lip with the calloused pad of his thumb. "This man thinks one kiss might be worth the thrust of a blade."

  When his lips met hers, his kiss was hot and demanding. Rachael shut her eyes, savoring the taste of him as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. It's been so long, she thought. Too long.

  His hand cupped her breast through the thin muslin of her man's shirt, h
is fingertips brushing against the hardening nub of her nipple. "I have missed you, Rachael-wife," he murmured in her ear. "I have missed the touch of your hand,"—he brought her hand to his chest—"the taste of your fire honey lips,"—he kissed her softly—"the sound of your voice when you call me," he whispered in her ear.

  Rachael could hear the throb of her heart. She could feel her hand shaking as she slipped it beneath his vest to feel the hard sinewy muscles of his bare chest. Dear God, but she'd missed this. She needed Storm so badly.

  He pressed his lips to her throat, sprinkling her silken flesh with molten kisses as he made his way to the swell of her breasts.

  Rachael looped her hands around his neck in encouragement as he untied the ribbon of her muslin shirt. A sigh escaped her lips as his rough hand caressed the curve of her breast, squeezing gently.

  This time it was she who kissed him, her need rising in the flames of his touch.

  "Let me love you, ki-ti-hi," he cajoled.

  She shook her head, trying hard to concentrate. It was so difficult to think when he was touching her like this . . . kissing her like this. She could feel his great stiff manhood pressing against her from beneath his loin cloth. That familiar ache of desire was spreading through her veins overpowering logic. She wanted to stroke him and be stroked. She was lost in a whirlwind of sensation.

  Through the haze of mounting passion, the thought of Ta-wa-ne flashed through Rachael's mind. She thought of the child that was her husband's. "No . . . " She caught Storm's hand and lowered it from her breast. She lay her cheek on his chest and waited for her breath to come more easily before she spoke.

  Storm waited, his muscles tense. He encircled her in his arms and held her tightly, kissing the top of her head. "What is it, wife of mine, love of my heart? Why do you stop me? Why do you deny yourself?"

  "Storm . . . I can't." She swallowed hard, trying to get control of herself. Her heart still pounded wildly, the blood in her veins rushing in her ears. She wanted him so badly that she hurt physically. "Not yet. This matter has to be settled."

  He exhaled in a long sigh. "You are my wife. We love as few can ever hope to love."

  Rachael looked up at him. "I know you don't understand." She smoothed his cheek with the back of her hand. "I do love you. These last weeks have taught me that."

  "Then come back to my fire. Let me make love to you. Let this man sleep with you in his arms."

  "It wouldn't be fair to you."

  His arms fell, his dark eyes narrowing, his passion fading in the blink of an eye. "You still want to leave me?"

  She lowered her gaze, then lifted her chin so that she could look directly into his eyes. "No," she answered her voice gaining strength with each word. "I don't want to go back. I want to stay here and be your wife."

  "You make no sense, Rachael."

  She smiled. "I don't make much sense to myself either." She took his hand in hers. "I want to come to you as your wife by my own choice this time, not to save my life, not to do what is right. I want to make that decision on my own."

  "You want me as husband, but not yet?"

  She nodded.

  He looked at her for a long moment. "These words I can understand. I do not like them, but I can understand. What can I do to bring you home to my wigwam sooner. I need you at my side, Rachael. I need your strength to carry me through the difficult months that lie ahead."

  "Ta-wa-ne," she answered honestly. "She must leave here, 'else she will forever be a burr between us."

  "I have offered to find her a husband in another village. She refuses."

  Rachael studied his expression carefully. "She still thinks you will take her back."

  "I will not. She will go when the weather breaks and it is safe to travel, whether it is with a new husband or alone. You are my wife, now and into eternity. There will be no other, ever."

  Rachael could tell by the sound of his voice that she had less to worry over Ta-wa-ne than she had thought. There was nothing but contempt in Storm Dancer's tone for the woman who had once been his wife. Rachael believed him when he said he loved her and she was certain this time that it was not wishful thinking that made her trust his words.

  The child must be dealt with as well, Rachael thought. There can be no more walls between us if we are to make this love of ours work. "I understand that you feel a responsibility to Ka-we-ras because he may be your son.

  "The child—"

  She lay a finger on his lips. "Let me finish. I understand that you must care for him. Ta-wa-ne is a poor mother; the boy needs you. She doesn't seem to be interested in him. Perhaps she would consider leaving him here with you when she went."

  Storm Dancer cupped her chin, lifting it so that he could stare into her heavenly sky eyes. "You would take my child by another woman to raise in your wigwam?"

  "He's a good little boy. We may never have any children, Storm. If Ta-wa-ne will give you your son, you should take him."

  He smoothed back the wisps of her hair, touched by Rachael's words. "I will think on the matter. I will talk with my grandparents and then with Ta-wa-ne. They know a Shawnee trapper near Annapolis who is looking for a wife."

  She smoothed his arm. "It would be wise to speak with Shaakhan and Starlight." She lifted up on her toes and kissed him. "Now I must go."

  "You will not stay the night?" He lifted his broad bronze palms in confusion. "I thought all was settled between us, Wife."

  She laughed, reaching for her coat and pulling it on. "This is Tuuban's wigwam. I can't sleep here with you, and Mistress first-wife-now-divorced is in our wigwam."

  "Tuuban could find another mat to sleep upon. I have only to say the words." Storm followed her to the doorway. "I will set Ta-wa-ne outside with the dogs."

  "Perhaps another night," she whispered, stroking his sharp jawline with the tip of her finger. "I need just a little more time." They kissed once more and then Rachael stepped out into the frigid midnight air, feeling more confident about her future than she had in weeks.

  "It's time you made your decision, Dory," Rachael insisted. "You can't lead Yesterday's Thunder and Shadow Man around by the nose forever. It's only right."

  The two women knelt side by side at the frozen river's edge breaking pieces of ice to take back to the camp for water.

  "I ain't doin' it on purpose, Rachael-honey. I can't honestly make up my mind. One day I think to myself, a young man would keep me young, I should marry Yesterday's Thunder. But then I think a man closer to my own age would be a better suit, and then there's those poor motherless children . . . " She clicked her tongue between her teeth. "How could I deny them a mother? 'Course I ain't never been a mother for long. Don't know that I could do it."

  Rachael dropped a final chunk of ice into her bucket and stood. "You'd make a wonderful mother, Dory."

  She let out an exasperated sigh as she stood and picked up her own basket. Side by side the women headed for the village. "I like 'em both so much that I don't know how I'm gonna tell the other once I made my choice."

  "Maybe you should talk to Starlight. She's always a good one to ask advice."

  "I hadn't thought of that. Her bein' the chief and all, she might know what to do even if this poor old girl don't."

  "Exactly." Rachael looked up as they passed through the maze of wigwams to see little Ka-we-ras seated on a hide outside his mother's wigwam. As usual Ta-wa-ne was nowhere to be seen.

  Rachael thought it would be wise to stay away from Ka-we-ras. She didn't want to become attached to him. She didn't want to have any contact with Storm's ex-wife.

  But was it the baby's fault that he had a terrible mother. Was it his fault that he had no one who cared for him but a man who might be his father?

  Rachael stooped in front of the little boy. "Good morning to you, little man," she said slowly in Algonquian. "How's my best ice-skater?"

  Ka-we-ras' face lit up at the sight of Rachael.

  "Wachael!"

  She laughed, setting down her ice buc
ket to take him into her arms. "You out here all alone again? Where's mama? Ta-wa-ne?"

  "Mama gone," he answered in Algonquian. "Make visit."

  Rachael pulled aside the flap of the wigwam that was rightfully hers. Sure enough, Ta-wa-ne was nowhere to be seen. She thought for a moment and then dropped the flap. "You want to go with Rachael, Ka-we-ras?"

  "Go Wachael," he echoed, getting to his feet.

  Dory gave a low whistle. "That woman's gonna be hot with you if in she comes home and finds the boy gone."

  "I'll just take him back to Starlight's wigwam for a little while. I'll give him something to eat and drink and then bring him back. She'll never miss him." Rachael scooped the little boy into her arms and started toward her wigwam. Up ahead she spotted Ta-wa-ne standing in a group of several men. Storm Dancer was among them.

  Rachael debated whether to speak or not. But the sight of the woman standing so close to Storm while he talked with the other man ruffled her dander. Storm was hers whether they were presently living together or not and Ta-wa-ne no longer had any right to him.

  Rachael walked right up to Storm Dancer, while Dory hung back, chuckling to herself.

  "I found the boy sitting alone," Rachael told Storm Dancer. She glanced at Ta-wa-ne standing beside him. "If the woman doesn't mind, I'll take Ka-we-ras to my wigwam. I have a gift for him, a carved dugout that Shaakhan made."

  Storm Dancer fought back a smile. The talk last night with Rachael had warmed his heart. He had not lost her. Rachael was still his. He looked down at Ta-wa-ne, lifting an eyebrow.

  The petite dark-eyed woman shrugged. "This woman cares not. The boy is trouble. The white woman will bring him back soon enough."

  Rachael shifted Ka-we-ras on her hip. "Your grandparents want you to come for the evening meal tonight, Storm. They want to talk about the Ohio country. Shaakhan's been there with the Shawnee, you know, when he was a young man."

  Storm Dancer's dark eyes danced with amusement. His manake-wife was suddenly a wild she-cat with her hackles raised. "I will come."