Passion's Series (4 page)

James let the smile slip away and scowled right back. Of course, the effect was somewhat less dramatic considering he was curled in the dirt like a grub plucked from its hole, but it seemed to satisfy her. In his pain and lapse into sentimental remembrance, he had forgotten he was now in a Cherokee camp where no sign of weakness in a visitor could be respected.

With a grunt the old woman sat about to pull his wrist from between his knees as she tugged on his loincloth.

James fought with her gnarled hands. "No! No. I'm fine. I don't need your help," he hastened to explain in Cherokee.

The old lady sat back on her haunches and looked at him. He could swear he saw mischief in the half-hidden eyes.

"I don't need help. I'll be fine. You just stay right there." He rolled up to his knees and rose a bit clumsily to his feet. Straightening as far as he could he held his arms out to his sides to show her he was fit. "I'm fine. See?"

With a mumbled curse he turned and hobbled slowly in the opposite direction. The last thing he needed was the tribe's old witch woman plastering his testicles in leaves and mud!

Chapter Four

James woke to the sounds of ragged, nasal snoring. Outside, the darkness still hung over the village like a black drape. He shifted under his furs, rolled up on his side, and snuggled deeper into the warm pile. However, the dawning of a new day would not be delayed.

Soon the stillness of the early pre-dawn came to life. Villagers quietly rumbled about as they filed from their lodges on their way to the narrow stream that meandered through the village. The time for the water ceremony to greet the sun rapidly approached.

He rose and looked at Thomas’ sleeping form. His body lay half in, half out of their lodge. How different Thomas was from George. It was hard to believe the two were actually partners. Hell! It was hard to believe
he
was Thomas’ partner.

However, he congratulated himself, buying into the post by paying off the two men's debts had been a stroke of genius on his part. Not only was he provided with a believable cover, but also a trader taking up residence with the Indians was a fairly common practice.

James glanced around the small one-room lodge. He didn't actually miss having a butler, though one would come in handy right about now. He couldn't suppress a grin at the thought of the ever so proper Willis standing at the foot of his bed, breech cloth in hand.

Pushing strong fingers through his tangled hair he gave a vigorous scratch to his scalp and then set about to find the blasted thing. As ridiculous as the thought might be for Willis to be here helping him to dress, at least Willis never lost a single piece of his clothing, no matter how small.

Finally he spotted the strip of rawhide peeking out from under one of Thomas’ packs. James snatched up the breechcloth and his knife and hastily slipped them both on. With one last adjustment to the meager groin covering and a few swipes with his fingers through his hair to remove the tangles he stepped over Thomas’ body.

Once outside he breathed deeply of the fresh, crisp mountain air. James had traveled over most of the world but no place he knew made him feel the way this country did.

He took another deep breath and stretched his long body. The village was definitely on the move now. He needed to hurry if he was going to greet the sun. During his earlier time with Dancing Cloud in England, James learned the ritual greeting of the sun and other practices. He planned to observe all the tribal customs during his stay in the village.

The day before, traveling downward toward the village from a higher peak, he spotted a perfectly formed little cove protected by large boulders on one side and a high bank on the other. The river appeared to form a deep pond where it flowed through the cove. He could think of no better place to bathe and perform his own ceremony to greet the sun.

The warrior standing guard at the gate offered no resistance when James called out his intention
of going to water
outside of the Cherokee fortress. Once outside, he sprinted toward the boulders that formed a natural wall to the cove and offered only a narrow pathway through.

It took no great ability at tracking to see this was indeed a well-used passage or to see that the spongy moss had been recently trod upon. He glanced up at the brightening sky and felt a moment of disappointment at not having the cove to himself, but there was nothing else to do. The sun would soon peek over the horizon.

James quickly slipped between the boulders and looked around. The still emptiness of the cove sent a whispered warning along his senses. Lifting his knife to his lips he slid the blunted side of the blade between his teeth and bit down securely.

As he stripped off his breechcloth he let his vision scan the cane. Then, with a quick glance back to a particularly thick path of green growth, he grinned and then dove into the icy water.

***

New Moon dug her nails into the soil as she peered out from her hiding place among the river cane. The white man invaded her special place. All the others knew this was her place. No one ever bothered her here. Not until now, not until this..
.white man.

She watched and listened as he washed and sang a white man's song. He sang loudly in his own language. His voice changed in tone in a most unusual, but not unpleasant way.

She glanced to the east. The sky brightened as she watched. Her resentment grew and made sitting still more than she could manage. She shifted her weight, a motion too minute to attract attention.

The sun rose to brighten the eastern sky and she gritted her teeth. He raised his arms and spoke the first words of the Cherokee prayer. His deep voice embraced the words of her ancestors and presented them with pride to the sun and the Great Spirit, causing her breath to catch in her throat as she listened.

He spoke the greeting beautifully. Finishing the prayer he turned back toward the bank. New Moon tensed as his gaze moved across the cane where she hid. She assured herself he could not see her, but still her skin tingled with uncertainty.

This white man was like no other she had seen. Even in nakedness he wore his strength and pride as naturally as a most beloved warrior. This was uncommon for white men who thought the layers of bear-hide and the assortment of weapons hanging from their bodies could enhance their strength.

The aura of power that surrounded him intrigued her. She held her breath as water ran from his hair in little streams that captured her attention and carried her vision along. It cascaded over the bulging strength of his shoulders and down his chest to his narrow waist.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard as the memory of that chest and rippled waist pressed hard against her back flooded her being with unwanted desire. Like a person suffocating, she gulped in the air she withheld from her lungs.

New Moon stiffened and her eyes flew open. The scent of a mountain cat filled her nostrils. Instantly her warrior instincts came to life and she berated herself for behaving like a silly woman. The cat was near. She glanced at the leaves of the cane, checking the wind's direction.

Her entire being tensed with foreboding as she turned her attention back to the
No Thing.
He took another step in her direction and she saw the smug grin spread across his face.

This white man who thought to pass himself off as a warrior was aware of her, but not the cat!

Could he not sense the danger? Of course not, he was too busy strutting and waving his spear.

He stepped onto the bank and moved with feline grace toward the cane where she crouched.

From the corner of her eye she saw the cat as it leapt from the boulder to land lightly on the ground near her hiding place. It was her own totem, her sister from the animal world.

To the white man's credit, he too stood his ground, his eyes boring into those of the cat. The cat dropped her ragged ears low to her head and growled a warning. A muscle worked in the white man's cheek and his fingers curled more tightly about his knife.

Great Spirit!
Her heart cried out. He was going to make war with the mountain cat! A flood of emotions sprang up within her, but it was anger that finally ruled her actions as she pushed aside the cane and stepped out into the open.

James' gaze slipped from the yellow eyes of the cat to New Moon's, and felt the tension arch between them. Neither was willing to break eye contact, even when New Moon spoke to the cat.

"Go home to your young ones, little sister. I will not allow you to have this foolish
white man."

The cat rumbled deep within its chest as she glanced nervously over her shoulder at New Moon.

"Go!" New Moon commanded. The cat, as if deciding the effort to stay would take too much energy, turned away and disappeared between the large boulders.

"Are you out of your mind?" The anger in his expression was great, but her anger was just as great.

New Moon squared her shoulders in challenge as she looked with disgust at James.

The cat now forgotten, he let his gaze travel over her. She'd been wet when she pulled on her dress. She was acutely aware of how the soft doe-hide clung to the moisture on her skin.

Two long steps and he reached out for her. She swung at him, but was no match for his strength. He caught her easily. Taking hold of her wrist, James pulled her struggling arms to her back and clasped one large hand around both of her smaller wrists and pulled her up tightly. His grip was as unbreakable as ropes of new rawhide, yet as gentle as a caress.

Awareness of his naked body against her spread heat through her wet dress to sear her skin. She clenched her teeth together in an attempt to deny the uncontrollable sensations coursing through her with the vigor of a raging mountain river.

This white man who strutted with the pride of a warrior watched her with eyes that pierced her to her soul and grinned.

"You look like a she-lion," he whispered.

She struggled harder.

James chuckled softly and ran the fingers of his free hand along her jaw line. "Your skin is very soft, my little
Wa-sa.
From this day forward, you will always be my little
Wa-sa...my
little mountain cat."

New Moon growled deep in her throat, sounding not far removed from the very cat he spoke of. "You stupid
white man"
she spat at him. "That lioness almost had you for her cubs. Do you think I am any less dangerous? Many strong warriors have tried to humble me, warriors who would not have become cornered by a kitten."

For all her strong talk her body quaked inside. The lonely hollow place left by her husband's death ached to be filled. She needed a man, but not any man. New Moon wanted a man whose spirit was stronger than hers. One she could not bend to her will. One she could love and respect. One with skin as dark as her own!

James seemed not to hear as he smiled down at her. He held her dainty chin with his strong fingers and bent his face close to hers, their lips almost touching. "Have you ever been kissed, my little
Wa-sa?'

Her eyes bore hatefully into his, "There have been white men in our village before you came, Blue Eyes. This touching of the lips is nothing more than stalling for time. The weak pale-skin must have time to coax his pitiful manhood to rise so he can
try
to dominate and humble the women of warriors."

With maddening slowness he took his hand from her chin and laid it on the slim column of her throat, feeling the rapid pulse beating there. His hand slid downward over her doeskin-covered breast and lingered to tease the tempting bud that hardened of  its own will beneath his thumb.

His knowing smile gnawed at her insides. He slid his hand to her waist and then around and down her back. When his hand reached the soft, round firmness of her hips he kneaded his fingers gently around the warm mound before he jerked her up hard against himself.

"Do you still think I need to stall for time?"

Struggle! Her mind screamed to her unresponsive muscles, but her body was not hers to command.

A scent uniquely his filed her nostrils. She could taste his breath on her tongue. She tested his hold on her wrist by pulling against his grip. His hold on her was secure and yet as gentle as one would cradle a baby.

He studied her face as he held her. Could he see the sparks of passion in her eyes? Could he feel the weakening of her body, or her heart pounding against his chest?

His deep, husky voice slid over her like sun-warmed honey. "You talk strong for a woman. Like a woman who thinks she doesn't need a man."

She felt the vibrations from his words. She closed her eyes as rumbling, tingling sensations traveled from her chest to her groin. When she again opened her eyes he stared down at her.

Gone from his sky blue eyes was the teasing twinkle, replaced by the dark, smoldering shades of desire.

"Someday you will want me, my little lioness. Then your struggles will be to pull me closer." He rocked his hips forward, and her stomach tightened painfully, causing a gasp to slip from between her lips. "That's when I will show you the pleasure in needing a man."

Lowering his head he covered her mouth with his own. She struggled but his hand on her wrist held with little effort. Her body trembled uncontrollably beneath his touch, and she realized her struggles had stopped as she waited in anticipation.

His mouth against hers was hard, hot, and wet. She didn't know what to expect next, but the sensations he caused in her now made her head spin.

As his wet lips slid seductively over hers he nibbled gently. His tongue came out to trace the outline of her lips. Finally he placed a thumb on her chin and applied pressure. When she opened her mouth to protest, his tongue swept inside to stroke the interior of her mouth with blatant ownership.

Passion ignited like a prairie fire within New Moon as his tongue rubbed against hers. She opened her mouth wider to welcome the intimate intrusion. Her spirit soared and her head spun as her inner voice, her spirit voice, told her once again
...He
is the one
.

The white man released her arms and they rose upward over his wet chest to his neck and onward until her fingers wound their way into his hair. His warm hands went lower to slip beneath the curve of her bottom.