Apache Fire (6 page)

Is
hton. The
woman, the beloved of all women. Angie cherished the words as she woke to find him gone from her side.

In the cool light of morning, she recalled her boldness, reaching for him as he reached for her, touching him as he touched her, until there were no secrets to be discovered.

From her memory she dragged up the faded image of her first wedding night, lying alone in the dark, feeling stifled by the high-necked, long-sleeved nightgown beneath the linen sheet and quilt. She had felt fear of the unknown, remembering only that Tim's kisses were hot and wet, his touch was rough, his flesh piercing hers before he rolled over and fell asleep.

Niko had held her within his arms, stroking her body, coaxing her to do the same. He had made her laugh when she took the same path he had explored on her body on his, telling her he would be a toothless grayhair, soft and useless to her, before she was done if he waited any longer. She had made him wait. She had a mark on her neck from his teeth. He'd never grown soft and useless. The unaccustomed aches of her body were proof of that.

She missed him. He had told her that he had broken his promise to give her three nights to decide, and would find his way to the new agency at San Simon to see his brother.

It was foolish for her to look for him, but she did, all day long. By late afternoon, worry came. The sun shone, chasing away the rain clouds that had plagued every day, and the wind sent a freshening breeze to mock her fear for him.

As twilight came, Angie began to doubt his return.

Since they had left the lantern burning all night, she lit two candles to conserve her small supply of kerosene. There was no hunger for food in her, only a hunger to see Niko again. She wrapped a shawl around her, too restless to wait inside. Pacing the area immediately around the building didn't satisfy her. She felt no relief from the tension that was building with every minute of Niko's delay.

Angie felt the need to run, but the lengthening shadows cautioned her to keep to a walk. In her mind she framed the land before her, the placement of rocks, boulders, the looming of cacti, the small shrubs. She blocked a path for herself, then followed it, wishing she could shake off this feeling of dread. Like the dark, it had crept up on her, until she couldn't fight the feeling that something terrible had happened.

No one would bring her word.

No one knew that Niko had been with her.

Why had she let him go? If she had asked him, he would have stayed with her. She knew he would. It was dangerous for him to go near the agency while her brother still had the reward for his capture. If someone saw him…

A muted sound caught her attention. She had started to dismiss it as the scurrying of a small animal when she realized it was not. And as she turned to follow the repeated sounds, she saw how far she had walked away from her home.

And the noises? They were no longer muted. She forced her eyes to close. Breathing deeply, she willed herself to look carefully at the land once more.

Metal on stone. That was the sound she heard. Who would be digging in the dark? Her senses were alert, and she took a step forward, then another. No, it couldn't have been someone digging. The sound moved closer. A horse? A shod horse moving slowly, at a walk.
The Apache don't shoe their horses
.

The fear that had been growing and growing had not been for herself.

Not until that moment.

She was angry with herself for once more having donned the light-colored calico gown. She stood against the darkness like a beacon for whoever was out there.

There was no question in her mind that no friend to her had come to pay a visit. Friends did not arrive at night, giving a feeling there was as little noise made as possible.

Who, then?

Niko rode with a heavy heart. There was no question that Cochise had grown weaker since he had last seen him. Many said he would not live out the year. There would be no peace for his people then, for Jeffords still could not get enough food. All this he had learned from his brethren, who had ridden a ways with him.

Matizo was already sheltered with several of the shamans, happy with the path he had chosen. Niko had left him with the promise that he would return.

He'd told no one of Woman of Sorrow.

What was in his heart was not a thing to share. Dezyo would have understood, for he had not waited for Niko to return, but had asked Four Toes to speak to the old one about her granddaughter. Already plans were set for their marriage.

What plans could he make? Word had come that John Clum, the agent at the San Carlos reservation, was looking for Apache scouts to hunt runaways. He would value Niko because he spoke his language. But for him to hunt his own people… He would no longer be
Netdahee
.

Was he to keep nothing of his life-path?

Within the cry of the wind he heard the call of his name, and he shivered, fear snaking up his back. There was a faint glow in the southern sky, but long had the sun set, and the moon was but a thin slice in the night.

Again the wind rose, its cry wailing through the deep crevices in the rocks surrounding him.

He slid from the black, holding its muzzle with one hand, listening as he had been taught to do, with all his being.

The cry did not come again.

But the fear deepened, coiling around his belly like the bite of a rope pulled taut, choking off air, sending streamers of pain down his legs.

His eyes hunted the darkness, seeking this fearful thing.

And he heard the cry again. Not with his ears. Within his heart. He knew then what true fear was. Not for himself.

His
ishton
. His beloved cried out.

Niko left the horse. He could make his way faster on foot over the rock-studded land. Ever had he run, strengthening his legs, building the power he needed to join the
Netdahee
.

The child had won races. The man won a warrior's glory on raids. But never had he run as quickly, more fleet of foot, than with the cry of his name on her lips, calling him….

Niko!
Angie screamed, but the cry went unanswered, for it never passed her lips.

She tried to move quietly, slipping from one deep shadow to another as she made her way slowly back, toward her home.

The candles were still burning inside when she reached the back wall. Burning bright, for the glow appeared to pool outside.

Her heart pounded with fear, and sweat drenched her. It took minutes before she forced herself around the side to look in the window.

At the exact moment she realized that no one was inside, she saw that her bedding had been set on fire.

“No!” With the cry on her lips, she ran around the corner toward the door.

“Figured that'd smoke you out.”

Hearing a man's voice, Angie stopped so suddenly that she tottered for seconds, trying to regain her balance. The smell of smoke, of cloth and sweet grass burning, drifted out and stung her eyes.

She choked on the sudden dryness of her mouth. The heat of the fire made itself felt. She hated the whimpering sound of terror that came from deep inside her. Hated that the man stepping out from the side of the house had heard her.

Angie recognized him. The image of Niko lying beaten and knocked out rose in her mind. She saw this man as he had stood over Niko's inert body, saw the booted foot that had lashed out with a vicious kick, and heard again this man's gloating voice as he reholstered the gun that had put Niko down.

He stepped forward and in the glow of the fire she saw his thick, grizzled-bearded face. His eyes were dark, set close together over the bridge of his crooked nose. There was no mistaking the bright, hot look of them.

She refused to be at another man's mercy. That was all that stopped her from running inside to save her few possessions. She had revealed her fear once. She wouldn't do it again. With her head held high, Angie stood her ground.

“Ain't gonna ask why?”

“You're an animal. Animals don't give reasons for what they do.”

“Real brave words. Ain't gonna do you a lick o' good. I figured you'd welcome company after bein' out here alone so long. I got more savvy than that starched-collar corporal. Watched Mary Ten Horses, an' followed her. Knew you were here.”

Listening to him, hearing the crackle of the dry wood, Angie knew she had to run. He was stocky, and she didn't see his horse, but he wouldn't have left it far. If he thought he had her cowed, she could buy time.

Wrapping her arms around her waist, she glanced at the fire. She couldn't help herself. She had to know.

“Why did you set fire to my things?”

“Walked inside an' found it reekin' of buck. Put me in a right sour mood, knowin' you laid with one of 'em.”

Even digging her fingers hard into her sides couldn't stop the rage she felt. That he would dare take the beauty of what she had shared with Niko and make it shameful and dirty!
Niko!
she cried out in her mind.

“The only thing that's filthy here is your mind. Get out of here. You've done—”

“Ain't even started. Woman that lays with Injuns ain't no better than them.”

She dodged his lunge. Her thought was to flee where he couldn't see her in the blaze of the fire. She closed out the sound of his voice cursing and muttering what he'd do to her. She wished she had not given Mary Ten Horses the gift of Niko's knife. She wished she had a gun, a weapon of any kind.

She held her skirt hem high and fled into the night. But she couldn't shut out the sound of his pursuit.
Where to hide? Where?

She tripped and stumbled. Panic couldn't take hold. She wouldn't get away if panic ruled her. Oh, God! She could hear his heavy breathing! Too close. He was too close.

He brought her down on a screaming cry of denial.

Angie's arms were flung out straight in front of her, and her hip slammed painfully against stone. The jar rocked her head and she was stunned for seconds.

And seconds was all it took for him to kneel astride her hips and yank one arm down behind her back.

She tasted blood to keep from screaming from the pain.

Her body went limp beneath him. And she cringed to hear his gloating satisfaction.

“Don't matter none to me which end we start at.”

His laughter gave her strength. She prayed he wouldn't hear the bitterness. “I won't fight you. Just don't hurt me.”

“Well, I'll be damned. Like it rough, do you? Shoulda figured that. You takin' up with a buck, an' all.”

Her tears fell to the earth.
Niko! Niko, forgive me!
“A woman has needs, too. Please, let my arm go. Let me turn over.”

She heard the change in his breathing, smelled the raw, lusty excitement, and she wished that he weren't sober, but drunk, too drunk to feel the gathering tension in her body.

“I'll let you, but I'm warnin' you—fight me an' I'll leave you buzzard bait.”

He released her arm, and she fought the wrenching pain in her shoulder to move it. He eased his weight up, just enough for her to turn over.
Wait
, she cautioned herself.
You'll know the right time to move. You'll know
.

His fingers clawed her skirt up. Angie lifted her hands to his hips. To the smooth leather of his holster. She must have made a sound, and one he approved of…he must think she was excited, that his jerky moves to open the buttoned fly of his pants pleased her.

Distract him!
The order came from somewhere outside herself. But she obeyed it.

“Don't rush.”

Thin cotton ripped beneath his fingers.

I can't do this!

Yes. Yes. She could block the feel of his heavy thighs spreading her own. Her hand lifted the flap of the holster, closing over the smooth wooden grip of the gun.
Now!

She bucked and yanked the gun free, swinging it toward his head. She hadn't counted on his quick reflexes. He rolled off her and caught her wrist, slamming it and the gun against the ground.

With a desperate cry, she clawed him with her free hand, legs flailing. She shut out the sound of his voice, shut out pain as he slammed her hand to the ground again in an effort to get her to let go of his gun.

“I'll kill you. Swear I'll slice you like jerky for dryin'.”

A shot rocked the night.

A wild, chilling cry followed.

Ben Holloward went still above the woman.

He should've known….

Ben didn't notice that she had gone still beneath him, listening as he was listening.

Slowly then, he raised his head, sniffing the air. All he could smell was the burning building. The fire would soon spread….

“Niko!” he yelled. “I know it's you! I've got your woman! Stay the hell away, or I'll kill her!”

The crackle and pop of wood consumed by the roaring fire came in answer.

Ben knew how vulnerable he was with his back exposed. Like a snake, he struck suddenly, releasing the hand that had tried to claw him, and wrapping his thick, meaty fingers around her throat.

“I'm choking her now, Niko! She'll be dead before you move.”

Angie no longer fought to hold the gun. And with a cry of triumph, Ben snatched his weapon up.

Niko's foot lashed out, and the gun flew from Ben's hand.

“Dog!”

The Apache's word fell softly. But Ben balanced on the ball of his foot, swinging his body to the side and grabbing for the knife hidden in his boot. He had survived before. He would do it again. No damn buck was taking his life. He no longer thought of the woman as he crouched, ready to fight for his life.

Niko skirted Angie's body, knowing he couldn't take his eyes from his enemy. But his heart cried out that she didn't yet move. Had the dog made good his threat and killed her?

Taunting Niko, Ben backed away in a circling movement that would bring him nearer the fire and force the Apache to show himself.

With the flash of knife blade, his coppery skin glowing bronze from the blaze of the fire, Niko lunged at him.

He easily parried the first few knife thrusts the soldier dealt him as they took each other's measure.

Luring an attack, Niko feinted a retreat. His lithe body curved like the supple give of a drawn bow to avoid the downward slicing motion of Ben's knife.

With the hand that gripped the bone handle of his own blade, Niko landed a chopping blow to his enemy's lower back. The man did not cry out. And Niko had his enemy's full measure. He was not facing a novice fighter.

He spun around quickly as the man recovered and faced him.

They were closer to the fire now. Niko felt its heat. But not fear. He took his name from earth and fire. Never would fire's spirit bring him harm. Sweat beaded and rolled down the blunt, furious features of his enemy. He watched it disappear into the thick beard, and saw the mouth that curled into the snarl of an animal.

Niko refused to answer the taunts. But he smiled to see fear suddenly appear in the man's eyes.

Fear was in Angie's eyes as she came to, struggling to raise herself, and saw Niko leap high, felling the soldier beneath him. Twisting and turning, the thrashing bodies were locked in a macabre dance. They were rolling closer and closer to the spreading fire.

She couldn't cry out. Her throat felt as if the choking grip that had made her black out still held her.

Her eyes grew wide with pain. Slashes bled on Niko's chest as he rose for a few minutes above his enemy. The man's arm was a rigid force holding Niko's arm high, to keep the blade from a killing strike.

She saw the savage cast of Niko's features in the fire as he slowly forced the soldier's arm to bend. Fire licked the grasses at their feet.

A blue-clad knee rose, aiming for a blow to Niko's manhood. Again they rolled. Fire blazed high, covering the spot where they had momentarily lain, and she couldn't see them through the flames.

Unable to stand, she held her limp wrist against her chest to half drag, half crawl, nearer the fire. Her eyes watered from the smoke. Intense heat seared her skin. Before her, two figures rose, still locked in deadly combat. They were surrounded by the flames that greedily ate whatever lay before them.

Suddenly Niko stood alone. His arm was raised high, his blade was descending…. Angie looked away.

Death. She carried the mark of death to all she loved
.

“Ishton! Ishton.”

Niko's voice. Niko's strong arms lifting her, holding her close while he ran with her, away from the spreading blaze.

Niko, still calling her his beloved.

He carried her high above the fire, to the shallow cave where he had waited out his days. Even now that he had her safe, he would not let her go. He cradled her against him as the trembling turned to violent shivers, and did not know from whose body they came.

He kissed the tears that spilled from her eyes, despairing that she would not look upon his face. He rocked her, as a woman held her child, offering the silent comfort of his arms and the strength of his body to tell her she was safe now.

And he watched the fire cleanse the earth of all trace of the white man's buildings that did not belong upon the land of his fathers.

In the darkest part of the night, when the fire had glutted its hunger, the
Intchi-dijin
came, that blackest and most fierce of winds, and with it came the rain. Not the rain of the male, wild with lightning and thunder to shake the earth. Nor was it the soft, gentle fall of the female. Hard and steady, its force beat into the earth, and beneath his hands he felt the stir of his woman's lifeblood come to wake.

“Niko? I thought you dead. I thought you wouldn't want me.”

“You are mine. Ever as my heart beats I will want you.”

He touched his lips to hers tenderly, but passion flared. He twisted to lay her within the cave's shelter, covering her body with his. Her kisses were wild, and he met them with his own, knowing she kept her eyes closed, blinding herself to all that had happened but the need that flamed between them.

Ever would life chase death. And he silently bared her to his eyes, finding all of beauty created for him. Breasts soft and white for his touch, nipples hard with need. The flare of her hips, the length of her legs, the mouth that tempted and cried his name, the long hair that beckoned his hand, all were her treasures for him.

Need tangled with the violent emotions that seethed within both of them.

He gave her the fire of his spirit as he gave her his body.

She gave him a love as wild and free as her welcome for his gift of life.

“Born in fire, beloved. The woman you were is no more upon this land.”

She opened her eyes then, and with her good hand drew his head down to meet her lips. “I am
ishton
, the beloved woman of Niko, until my heart beats no more.”

Within the stone canyons the
Intchi-dijin
was heard, its cry echoing a warrior's glory call of battle won.

From the natural stone basin, he drew sweet rain water to bathe her. He wrapped her swollen wrist and gave her his shirt for warmth.

“Sleep now,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “Sleep safe, and know that I will return for you.”

And she slept, wrapped in his love, soothed by the gentling sound of the rain.

When Niko returned with the black and the placid bay the soldier had hidden, he found her still sleeping. For long minutes he knelt beside her, watching her. She stirred as he lifted her hair and raised it to his lips.

He was Apache. A
Netdahee
. And as he lowered his head to wake her to his kiss, he knew he would do what none had done before him.

“Wake for me,
ishton
. We must be gone from this place before the sun sets.”

She woke with a smile and reached for him, but Niko shook his head. “I will talk. You will listen to me.

“Niko? Has something happened? Did they send—”

“No. I will tell you what is in my heart. Long have I followed the path of the warrior. The love I have for you and the need to see you safe make me speak now.” With his fingertips he traced the arch of her brow, then skimmed the bruise on her cheek.

“Never do I wish to see you hurt. Never has a man of my people given this choice to a woman.”

“A choice?” Fear darkened her eyes as she looked up at him. “Tell me you'll not send me away from you. I could not live with that, Niko.”

“Would I cut out my heart? To speak such words is to ask me to do this.”

She searched his eyes, and saw that his clear, steady gaze held the truth of his words. “Never would I ask that. I will listen.”

“It is good that you learn.” His smile softened the harshness of his voice. “There is a place for me with the agent of the San Carlos—”

“No! You hate the reservation. I would not ask that you live there.”

“Woman! It is not for me. You would have food. You would have a place to be safe. I know the lands. Never will the white-eyes find you.”

“And the other choice?”

“There is a place I could take you, across the border.”

Angie struggled to sit up. “Take
me
, Niko? I was right. You plan to leave me.”

“I think only of you. I would not have you hunted like an animal.”

“And while I'm safe, where will you be?”

He looked away, and she followed his gaze toward the south. “Niko, while you made these choices for me, did you think that there might be a child?”

“Am I a boy, not to know what the joining of a man and a woman will bring?”

“No. You are a man, one that I love. I will not be meek and follow your choices.”

He rose in a controlled rush and loomed above her. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. “It is time for us to leave here.”

“With nothing decided between us?” She took his hand, gripping it, while she swore she would not beg.

As he led her from the cave, Niko looked over his shoulder at her. Proud. Anger tinted her cheeks. Spirit flared in her eyes.

“It is decided. But I will tell you this. Once I named you Woman of Sorrow. I will call you that no more.”

She held her tongue to keep from asking what name he would call her now. Dismay filled her when she saw the horses. “Niko.” She jerked his hand to stop him. “I can't ride.”

“Then I will teach you. I will teach you all that I know.” He turned and lifted her to his black, handed her the reins of the army horse and swung himself up behind her.

“Choose for us, Woman of Joy. Do we ride north?”

She angled her head to the side to look up at him. His eyes gazed upon her with love. “South,” she whispered. “We will ride south to freedom.”

Weeks later, Corporal Eric Linley reported that his searches for Private Ben Holloward had turned up nothing. He reminded his commanding officer that rumors of gold on the reservation's lands had surfaced, and they both knew what gold fever did to the men who caught it.
Deserter
was marked across Holloward's record.

Linley left then to attend the service being held by Grant Cowan for his sister. The gravestone was inscribed with her name, the dates of her birth and her death. The grave below was empty. Nothing but charred wood remained of the abandoned agency buildings. It was assumed that wild animals had carted off her bones. None were found.

And in the months that passed, the rumors persisted that Apache had stolen white children, those of the Mexicans and even other tribes. Unless proof was given, these rumors were always dismissed by the army, just as the whispers of a woman living among them high in the Sierra Madre were dismissed, too.

It was said that her hair held the captured long rays of the sun and the spill of a full moon's beams. And in her eyes there burned a fire. An Apache fire of love.