Elaine Barbieri (5 page)

Enraged that he did not bother to speak, Miranda jerked back her arm and said, “I demand to know where you’re taking me.”

“Demand?” A hard amusement flashed in Shadow Walker’s eyes. “To demand is the right of the victor. To you, that does not apply.”

“You won’t get away with this! Someone will come looking for me, and when I’m found here—”

Shadow Walker interrupted, “Your threats are wasted. I do not concern myself with the retribution you threaten. I have faced the white man’s horse soldiers without fear. Their bullets have drawn my blood, yet I have survived. I have also faced their deception. I have learned from it and will never grant an opportunity to deceive again.”

Refusing to relent, Miranda repeated, “I demand to know where you’re taking me.”

Shadow Walker replied impatiently, “I tire of your demands.” He pulled her toward the doorway, then looked down at her sharply when she dug in her heels and shook herself free, ordering, “Let me go!”

The look in his eye—

Miranda flung her arm up across her face to shield herself from an expected blow. She lowered her arm when the anger in Shadow Walker’s gaze turned to scorn and he said, “Your fear is groundless. Your immaturity saves you. The Cheyenne do not strike errant
children.
”

Livid, Miranda responded, “I’m not afraid of you!
And I’m not a child!”

She was unprepared when Shadow Walker abruptly swept her from her feet and threw her over his shoulder, then turned and strode through the camp. She was defenseless against the mockery and snickering of passing squaws and their children as they made their way toward the stream—but her humiliation chilled when she glimpsed Spotted Bear’s cold stare.

Thrust astride on a waiting horse, Miranda was still attempting to steady her reeling senses when Shadow Walker mounted behind her and nudged the animal into motion.

Her head pounding, Miranda grated through clenched teeth, “Where are you taking me?”

When Shadow Walker did not deign to reply, Miranda closed her eyes, reduced to silence by her physical distress.

Shadow Walker looked down at the girl where she rested back against his chest. She had maintained her silence as the morning lengthened, allowing him to support her as they shared his horse. He trailed her mount at the end of a lead, aware that she was not steady enough to ride alone. He knew the only true medicine for the illness her fall had induced was the rest that now claimed her. He was content to allow it, knowing the girl’s injury had subdued her as fear never could have.

Shadow Walker stared at the diminutive figure resting
limply against him. To be challenged by this fragile female …

He considered that thought, finally accepting that the contest was a worthy one—for he knew the girl challenged him in ways others could not.

Yes, he would wait—for the contest soon to come.

CHAPTER FIVE

“That would be a mistake.”

Indian agent Tom Edwards stood still, the expression on his bearded face adamant as he faced Major Charles Thurston across the confines of his small office. The Indian agent had responded to the officer’s summons and arrived at Fort Walters as the sun was setting. He had come reluctantly, knowing full well why the officer had sent for him. He was sympathetic to the man’s plight. Judging from the deep circles under his eyes and his unnaturally drawn appearance, Thurston was neither sleeping nor eating well. It was obvious that he was beside himself with worry for his missing daughter. All that aside, his answer remained the same.

Edwards repeated, “It would be a
big
mistake for me to take you to the surrounding villages without a military escort. You’d be asking for trouble.”

“I don’t see why.” Thurston walked around his desk, halting a few feet from him to press, “My daughter is missing. Patrols continue to search for her to no avail. Scouts have been dispersed from every fort in the area. Someone has to know where she is. It occurs to me that where official inquiries have been ineffective, a
personal inquiry might succeed.”

“A personal inquiry—from a high-ranking officer of the military.”

“A personal inquiry from a man who is searching for his daughter.”

“I’m sorry. No.”

Major Thurston’s pale face flushed with unnatural color. “A simple
no
isn’t good enough, Edwards. You need to give me a better reason for your refusal than that.”

Agent Edwards unconsciously sighed. “Major, you’re aware of the situation that presently exists with the Cheyenne. With the arrest of Red Shirt, the frontier has become a powder keg ready to explode. Ignoring a flag of truce and arresting Red Shirt was a damned fool thing for the military to do.”

“The man has committed atrocities.”

“In retribution for the atrocities that were committed against his people.”

“He’ll get a fair trial.”

“Before he’s hanged?”

“The decision was made to make an example of him.”

“As I said—a damned fool thing for the military to do.”

Thurston’s lips tightened. “I’m in no position to criticize the way Washington is handling the situation with the Indians.”

“But you want to put yourself in the same position as
Red Shirt by walking into the enemy’s hands under a flag of truce.”

“I don’t suppose what I’m proposing would sound so foolish if it were your daughter out there somewhere, waiting for you to rescue her.”

“I’m sorry about that. You know I am.” Edwards frowned. “What’s Washington’s position on her disappearance?”

“Washington has its own priorities.”

Edwards remained silent.

“All right.” Thurston paused, then continued, “I recognize your position. You can’t officially sanction my proposal, but you could draw a map of nearby villages for me so I could find my own way. You can advise me on the best way to approach the Indians.”

“Major—”

“Some help is all I ask.”

“A map wouldn’t do any good. Your daughter’s not being held at any of the established villages—at least as far as I can ascertain. She’s probably being kept at one of the camps that has moved north for the summer.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that it’s a big country. She could be anywhere. And even if you
did
find the right camp, there’s no guarantee the Cheyenne would let you know she’s there. You could be no more than a few yards from her without knowing.”

“I’d know.”

Edwards did not respond. “I want to go.”

“It’s a mistake.”

“I mean it.”

“All right.” Edwards’s frown cut deep. “Give me a couple of days to see what I can do.”

The girl was cold.

Shadow Walker looked at her where she lay on a blanket in their temporary camp. He studied her with a furrowed brow. They had left the Cheyenne camp early that morning and had traveled through the long day afterward. Still suffering the aftereffects of her attempted escape, she had fallen into an extended semi-sleep, depending entirely on his support to remain upright as they rode.

Concern further knitted Shadow Walker’s brow. He had made camp for the night and eaten, but the girl had shown no desire for food. Her injury had left her weak and her thoughts confused. She had begun to speak words without meaning. She had looked up at him with an unintelligible word of praise moments earlier, and she had smiled into his eyes—stirring an unexpected warmth inside him—but she had then rambled on and her smile had disappeared.

Shadow Walker touched the girl’s cheek and felt the heat there. Scooping water from the pouch beside him, he
bathed her face. He washed away the grime of her fall, exposing her smooth, pale skin to his touch. Halting, he wondered at the care of his own ministrations, then told himself he needed the girl at full strength for his intentions.

The girl shivered as the night air chilled. She called a name and hugged her arms around her. He covered her with a blanket, but her shivering continued. Knowing only one sure way to halt her body’s quaking, Shadow Walker made an abrupt decision.

Lying beside her, Shadow Walker drew the girl against him. She turned spontaneously to his warmth, burrowing against him to share his heat. Her body was delicate and warm to his touch as he slipped his arm around her and closed his eyes to sleep. His last thought as he held her close was of her smile—and that she was right. She was not a child.

Miranda awakened slowly to the light of morning. Disoriented, she realized that she lay on blankets stretched out on the ground, with a small campfire burning nearby. She scanned the wilderness terrain surrounding her and saw in the distance sharp buttes outlined raggedly against the sky. Beyond, the rising sun shone on snow-covered peaks that appeared to touch the clouds, and further yet the outline of black, rolling hills was faintly visible—all in an atmosphere so bright and clear that she felt she could see forever.

Where was she?

Swept with a sudden panic when memory failed her, she sat up, then turned at the sound of footsteps approaching. She caught her breath at first sight of the man who came into view.

Shadow Walker.

She remembered. She had been thrown from her horse while attempting to escape and had regained consciousness to see Shadow Walker leaning over her.

Her heart jumped a beat.

I speak only once in warning.

Yes, she remembered it all—the humiliating walk through camp as she was ridiculed and tormented; awakening in Shadow Walker’s lodge the next morning; their angry exchange before he threw her over his shoulder as if she were baggage, then tossed her astride his horse before mounting behind her.

She remembered that the women and children of the camp had laughed at her indignity.

Strangely, her memory became uncertain then. She remembered riding, the pain in her head growing greater with each jolting step, and the heat in her body keeping pace. She recalled that her eyelids became too heavy to lift, and that a fire burned with increasing heat under her skin.

Shadow Walker came closer to where she sat and Miranda fought back her humiliation. She stood up unsteadily as he halted beside her. His eyes narrowed in
scrutiny. The first to speak, she addressed him with all the strength she could muster, demanding, “Where are we?” She glanced around. “Why are we here in this wilderness? This isn’t the way back to Fort Walters.”

“Your illness lessens,” he observed.

“I wasn’t sick. I had a headache, that’s all. I demand to be returned to the fort.”

He responded with a twitch of his lips, “Yes, you are getting well.”

Barely. Miranda raised a hand to her head as a mild aching returned. She touched her matted hair, then said abruptly, “I need to bathe … to wash my hair.”

Surprising her with his lack of opposition, Shadow Walker motioned in the direction from which he had come.

Chin high but her step unsteady, Miranda started forward. Stumbling on bare feet, she exhaled a relieved breath when she emerged into an area where a sparkling stream pooled. She quickly stepped out of her pants and entered the water.

Gasping as the cool water of the pond touched her skin, she walked gradually deeper. She sank beneath the water and remained there for long moments before breaking through the surface with a gasp. Invigorated, she swam cautiously, circling the pool as her mind slowly cleared. She was in the wilderness with a silent Cheyenne warrior. She did not know their destination or his intentions. Only one
thing was clear: she needed to escape.

A familiar panic gripped her at the memory of Shadow Walker’s relentless pursuit. How could she escape him? And what would she do if she did, when she had no idea at all where she was?

Turning toward the bank at the sound of footsteps, she saw Shadow Walker emerge into the clearing. As she watched, he removed his shirt and leggings without an apparent thought to her scrutiny, leaving only a brief breechcloth to cover him. Her breath caught in her throat as he entered the water.

Totally at ease with his partial nakedness, he swam toward her in long, even strokes. Somehow unable to take her eyes from him, Miranda treaded water as he drew nearer. She watched as he submerged and surfaced again directly at her side. She was still at a loss for words when he looked into her eyes and said unexpectedly, “We are equals in the water. You cannot escape as you did once before. Conduct yourself reasonably, and you will keep your freedom here.”

That message emotionlessly delivered, Shadow Walker swam back toward shore. Miranda watched as he stepped up onto the bank, beads of water glistening on his back—on smooth skin marred only by a small, jagged scar between his shoulder blades.

Shadow Walker disappeared from view, leaving her alone in the water and uncertain of the myriad emotions
coursing through her. He was the enemy, but when he looked at her, when he was so close that she was able to look deep into the dark wells of his eyes, her animosity wavered.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Miranda recalled seeing warmth in those dark eyes when he looked at her.

No, that couldn’t be.

Yet …

Miranda closed her eyes, but she was unable to escape the uncertainties that plagued her.