Part 32 (1/2)
Soon, the evening ceremonies for the young girl would begin, but at the moment, there was a lull as preparations were made. This p.u.b.erty rite was one of the most important for the Apache. It was a structured society, a social one, and respect and honor were tremendously important.
The anger that seethed through him lightened for a moment as he thanked G.o.d that Nalte happened to be an exceptionally honorable man. Nalte had known when he first bargained with yon Heusen that the man who intended to sell a blond woman to him had to be somewhat of an outcast in his own society. But he had not imagined the things Jamie told him. Jamie explained that yon Heusen had made war on Tess and had tried to make the people around him believe it was the Comanche or the Apache who had car- tied out the raids.
That had infuriated Nalte, and it had almost given him Tess.
Almost. Nalte wasn't quite ready to let go.
Jamie clenched his teeth and his fists as he hurried past the circle of tepees and into the night. He wanted to reach the stream, to bathe his face in its coldness.
Yet even when he reached the stream, the water could do nothing to soothe him. He could not forget Tess's eyes-huge, violet and luminous upon his.
She had been so straight and rigid, and yet she had seemed so very small and vulnerable when she had talked to him in the tent. She had explained the past few days with a simple dignity, and he had been so relieved to discover that she had received a minimum of abuse that his knees had gone weak. He had wanted to wrap her in his arms and promise her everything would be all right, that no one would ever hurt her again.
But he hadn't been able to do that. He couldn't make any promises. He didn't even dare touch her lest the emotion or the pa.s.sion tear him apart and lead to Nalte's fury. But he had never hungered more deeply inside for her.
She was always fighting; she was always strong. She had endured so much that she could be no less than strong. And yet now she had that air of vulnerability about her. She did need him. And he wanted to be all things to her.
He splashed more water on his face, and his temper cooled. He owed Jon so much--and not his anger. Yet he had been angry, seeing her trustingly in his friend's arms, seeing the tears in her eyes, the emotion within them. He wanted her. He wanted her in his arms.
He closed his eyes, and saw again the picture of the young woman with the luminous violet eyes and the soft storm of golden-red hair falling over her shoulders and down her back. So quiet and still, and somehow achingly soft in the bleached white buckskins. There'd been a strange serenity about her, a serenity she could not possibly be feeling. He'd felt impotent to be just standing there talking to her. He was her gun, her hired gun. He'd said that he'd protect her, but he hadn't been able to. Others had descended upon her, and she had endured fear and suffering at their hands. He'd been praying for a miracle. Praying that she hadn't been so abused that he'd never manage to live with himself again.
He'd never felt good about killing a man. Never. Not during the war, not after. But he'd wanted to kill yon Heusen's men when they had taken her.
He'd wanted to do more than kill them--he'd wanted to tear them limb from limb and watch them die in horrible agony. Chavez had taken that away from him. For the good of his soul, maybe it was just as well. It was hard for a man to live with that kind of hate. He knew. He'd watched it fester in his brother Cole, and it had nearly cost him his wife, Kristin. Then there had been Chavez.
He'd never seen Chavez, except from the mountaintop. And watching the Comanchere shoot the men in cold blood had kept him from feeling the least remorse when Chavez had fallen beneath his blade. The fight between them had been cold, both men knowing that it was life or death.
Jamie had been a little quicker, and Jon had managed to come around with the horses before the Comancheros knew that their leader had been visited, much less killed. The bound woman on the bed had never moved, and she hadn't seen anything. They were done with the Comancheros--for good, he hoped.
He smiled suddenly. He would have to ask Tess how the woman had come to be bound and tied on that bed. It would surely be an interesting story.
But when they had fled the Comancheros camp, Tess had been nowhere to be seen. They had tracked the trails up and down all night, calling softly to her. He hadn't been willing to admit that they had helped her elude the Comancheros only to send her into the arms of the Apache. But Jon knew the territory, and he knew something of Nalte. And in the end they had decided that the only way they could deal with the chief was to lay their cards on the table. Jamie was going to have to count on his reputation with the Indians. Jori would change into his buckskin attire to approach Nalte first, then Jamie would ride in. It had been risky for them both. The Apache were a warlike people, and Nalte was known to hate the white man. But he had a reputation, too--one for upholding his own sense of honor and hospitality.
Besides, it was obvious from the out skim of the village that some big ceremony was going on, and a chief like Nalte didn't usually like blood on his hands during such an occasion.
And so they were here, and still waiting. Darkness was falling upon the water. The moon glittered gently upon it, and the easy melody of the running water was gentle.
It was a beautiful sight, this valley within the beginning of the fierce mountain ranges.
A beautiful place to die, Jamie thought.
Nalte had promised his decision about Tess as soon as the festivities for his sister had ended. Jon seemed to believe that the Apache chief had already determined he would return Tess, at some cost, of course, but he would return her.
But what if he did not?
Jamie knew he would never leave without her.
If Nalte decided against him, he would have to fight the chief. And if he won, the Apache would probably slay him in vengeance anyway. He might well die in this beautiful place, then there would be nothing more that he could do for Tess.
I'm sorry! he thought. i never should have become so involved. Falling in love with a beautiful angel has surely been the downfall of many a man. I couldn't let you go that morning. I had to make you see that the thing between us was right and that you couldn't turn away from it by the morning's light.
He hadn't had the edge he had needed, the edge that had kept him alive through so much.
So now they were here, and their fate rested on the decision of an Apache chief.
He liked Nalte. He had a keen intelligence, was well- versed in his own language and in English, well-aware of the world around him. And fighting to maintain the inheritance of a people despite an encroaching world. He was not so bad a man, Jamie thought. Rather he die and leave Tess to Nalte, than leave her to trash like David or Chavez. Nalte would never hurt her.
He clenched his fists and swore to the night sky. Then his thoughts raced as he sank on h~s haunches to stare at the rippling, moon-kissed water once again. I will not die here! Come heaven or h.e.l.l, I will fight, and with every edge, and I will bring her home with me!
”Jamie!”
He thought he imagined the voice.
But then, as he stared into the water, her reflection was caught by the glow of the moon almost magically on the surface before him.
”Jamie ...”
She was there. She was wearing the white buckskin dress he had seen before.
Her hair was flowing, rich and waving, paler than usual in the water's reflection. Nor could the water catch the color of her eyes, that violet that was so extraordinary and so compelling, so quick to flash with anger, so deep when touched by her emotions. Nothing could catch that.
No words, no mirrored image.
But the water did catch the softness he had glimpsed before, and he knew then why he had been falling in love with her so swiftly and so completely. She had great strength, she would never tire, and she would never cease to fight, for herself, for others, for the glory of all the great muses that caught her heart. She could not bear injustice, and she would never falter to overcome it.
But never could she be less than a woman, beautiful, giving, enwrap ping all with the pa.s.sion of her soul, and of her life. Once he had wanted only her smile to touch him. Once he had been enamored of the silk of her flesh, and the sweeping curves and slim angles of her form. Once.
But now he knew what it meant to love. It was desire, but more than desire. It was needing the smile as much as the pa.s.sion. It was wanting to lie down by the still waters as much as to weather the tempestuous storm. It was wanting to share a lifetime together.
”Jamie ...”
Once again, she whispered his name. He turned slowly, and saw that she did stand just behind him--no image, no dream, so much more than a reflection.
In her bare feet with her bare calves, her dress falling just above her knees, she seemed exceptionally innocent.
The color of her eyes was true, deep as the night, dark as the desire that suddenly swept over him. He wanted her in his arms--but he dared not touch her. Not until Nalte made his decision.
He swallowed hard and came to his feet. He stared at her and hoped that his scowl was menacing. Yet he didn't even know if it remained upon his face, for he couldn't deny the moonlight or the strange, mystical sensation that seemed to touch her. She seemed to be of the supernatural, too beautiful to touch, an angel, a spirit, the spirit of life that pervaded the mountain.
”What are you doing out here?” he demanded harshly. She smiled, a slow cu~rl of her lips that touched her eyes to deep, s.h.i.+mmering radiance.
She took a step toward him, shook her head slightly.
And reached for him.
Her arms came around him, giving, soft. She pressed against him. She was naked beneath the buckskin, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were full and flush against him, the hardened peaks seeming to rake his flesh despite the layers of clothes between them. Sparks tore into him, igniting great fires, ripping through his limbs, thundering down to his groin.