A Whisper In The Wind (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Elayna walked slowly along the riverbank, her thoughts drifting toward home. She wondered how her father was getting along, if her best friend, Nancy Avery, had married Sergeant O’Farrell, if the Army was still searching for her, if Lance was still waiting, hoping for her safe return.

Lance. Even if she was rescued and returned to Camp Robinson, she could never marry Lance, not now. And it was all Michael Wolf’s fault. He had stolen her virginity. She was ruined now. Damaged goods. No self-respecting white man would want her.

The thought did not distress her as much as it should have, but she didn’t stop to wonder why. Instead, she found herself thinking of Michael.

There were times when she yearned for the comfort of his arms, for the sound of his voice murmuring soft Cheyenne words of love in her ear, but she knew if she surrendered now, she would never be able to leave him. And she did not belong here; she would never belong here. With an effort, she drew her thoughts away from Michael Wolf.

It was a beautiful day, bright and clear and warm. She paused in mid-stride to watch a sparrow dusting its feathers in a shallow depression beside the riverbank, smiled as she saw a large yellow butterfly alight on the petal of a lavender flower. A chipmunk scampered across her path and disappeared in the underbrush.

Still smiling, she continued walking, her troubles disappearing as she lost herself in the beauty of her surroundings. Leaving the river, she walked through the tall prairie grass, then gasped, her fingers flying to hold her nose, as a skunk strolled past, its tail held aloft.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the striped creature ambled past. The air smelled of pine and sage and earth, the sun was warm on her face, the grass soft beneath her feet.

Wandering aimlessly, Elayna thought about Michael’s family. They were kind and loving people. She could sense the genuine love and affection between Mo’ohta-vo’nehe and Hemene, the concern they had for their children, the respect Badger and Yellow Spotted Wolf had for their parents.

She had never imagined that Indians loved each other. She had thought of them as savages, but living with the Cheyenne had forced her to change her opinion of Indians. Even though she was an outsider, she could see that the Cheyenne people, as a whole, were a warm and caring people. They were gentle parents, rarely resorting to physical punishment when their children misbehaved. They held their old people in high esteem, revered their gods, respected life.

Though she still refused to learn Michael’s language, she had picked up a few words anyway.
Mesevoz
meant baby,
nakohe
meant mother,
moheno
was the word for horse,
hotova’a
meant buffalo. It was a strange language, though it had a musical sound on Michael’s tongue.

Michael. His image danced across her mind, unbidden but not undesirable. She had been drawn to him from the first, and not just because he was more handsome than any man she had ever known. She had sensed that he was lost, that he needed someone. She had known intuitively that he was a good man, one who cared for other people. Still, there was an air of mystery about him. His name, for instance. Who ever heard of an Indian named Michael? And then there was the way he talked, as if he had been raised by a civilized white family instead of heathen savages.

Elayna frowned. She was certain there was something he hadn’t told her about himself, his past, some secret he was keeping. She tried to imagine what it could be, but instead she heard his voice in the back of her mind, softly whispering that he loved her. Did he mean it? And what if he did? It changed nothing. He was an Indian. She was white. She did not belong here, with him, would never belong here. They were worlds apart, and yet the thought of going home, of never seeing Michael Wolf again, filled her with dismay.

She had been walking for over an hour when she came to an abrupt halt, the realization that she was alone and far from camp causing a moment of panic. She had been warned not to stray from the protection of the village. Michael had described the dangers lurking beyond the camp several times, reminding her that enemy tribes were a constant danger. And there were wild animals, wolves and coyotes, bears and snakes and mountain lions.

Elayna shuddered. She had heard the long, blood-curdling cry of a mountain lion back at Camp Robinson. The sound had sent shivers down her spine. But surely there were no mountain lions here, on the treeless prairie.

A chill wind blew across the land, causing the grass to dance gently back and forth. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she started walking back the way she had come, eager to return to the warmth of her lodge.

Michael swung down from his horse and stretched his arms overhead before lifting the deer he had killed from his mount’s withers. He grinned as he imagined Elayna’s distaste when she saw the deer. Thus far, he had taken his kills to Hemene and she had done the skinning and butchering, and they had divided the meat and hides. But Michael had decided it was time for Elayna to learn how to skin a deer. She did fairly well with rabbits, though she found the task repugnant.

He stepped into the lodge, steeling himself for the argument he knew would be forthcoming.

But the lodge was empty, the fire out, the ashes cold.

Stepping outside, he went to Yellow Spotted Wolf’s lodge and rapped on the cover, waiting for permission to enter before he stepped inside.

Mo’ohta-vo’nehe was making a new bridle for his war pony. Hemene was mending one of Badger’s shirts. She smiled and stood up as Michael entered the lodge.

“Welcome, Wolf,” she said. “Will you eat?”

Michael nodded, knowing she would be offended if he refused. Sitting cross-legged beside Mo’ohta-vo’nehe, he accepted a bowl of berries and a strip of cold meat.

“Ne-a’ese,”
he murmured. Only after eating did he state the reason for his visit. “Have you seen Elayna?” he asked, his gaze moving from Mo’ohta-vo’nehe to Hemene.

Mo’ohta-vo’nehe shook his head. “Not since last night.”

Hemene frowned thoughtfully. “I saw her walking toward the river.”

“When?”

“
Etaesh’omoes.”

Michael frowned. It was near dusk. Hemene had seen Elayna walking toward the river at three o’clock, over two hours ago.

“Ne-a’ese,”
Michael said, rising. He smiled at Mo’ohta-vo’nehe and Hemene and left the lodge.

Frowning, he took up his bow and slung his quiver over his left shoulder. Swinging onto his horse’s back, he headed for the river. He knew Elayna was unhappy here, but surely she would not be foolish enough to try and run away, on foot, with no one to guide her, no one to protect her. He shook off the horrible images that came to mind; images of Winter Song lying dead beside the river.

He found Elayna’s tracks beside the river and followed her trail as it meandered along the riverbank, then turned away from the water into the tall grass. He found tracks aplenty, but no sign of Elayna.

She had been so sure she could find her way back to the river, but somehow she’d gotten turned around and now she was lost, hopelessly lost. And it was almost dark.

Changing direction, she took her courage in hand, chiding herself for being afraid. How far from camp could she have walked in a couple of hours? She’d been going the wrong way before, but she was on the right track now.

A low growl rose out of the grass to her right. She halted in mid-stride, her gaze swinging toward the sound.

There were three of them gathered around a deer carcass: a large gray male wolf and two smaller females. The male stood up, his bloodstained teeth bared, his hackles raised.

Elayna froze, her heart hammering with fear as the three wolves stared at her through unblinking yellow eyes. She tried to remember what Michael had told her about wolves, but her mind was blank. They were so big. Blood dripped from their fangs, low warning growls rumbled in their throats.

The male took a stiff-legged step forward and Elayna closed her eyes. Too frightened to move, she prayed that the end would come quickly…

* * * * *

He had almost given up all hope of finding her when he saw her silhouetted against the setting sun. He frowned, puzzled by her unnatural stance. And then he heard the low-pitched growl.

Raising his bow overhead, he drummed his heels against his horse’s flanks and let out a blood-curdling war cry.

Elayna’s eyes flew open as the long, ululating cry filled the air. She saw a warrior riding toward her at a full gallop, saw the wolves break and run as the horseman approached. Her first thought was that she was being attacked, but then her knees went weak with relief.

It was Michael.

Her relief was short-lived. His face was dark with anger, his eyes awful to see, and it occurred to her that she would have had a better chance with the wolves.

“What the hell are you doing out here alone?” Michael demanded. “I’ve told you a dozen times not to wander away from camp. Dammit, didn’t you listen to a word I said?”

She’d never seen him so angry. She wished she could summon the energy to holler back at him, but the close call she’d had with the wolves was just sinking in. She looked up at him, mute, wishing she could curl up in his arms, but there was no way she could approach him now, not when he was glaring at her.

Instead of answering him, she walked away, her head high as she blinked back her tears. She’d been scared to death. She didn’t want a lecture, she wanted someone to hold her, to comfort her.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Michael shouted. He was furious with her for leaving the village, for putting her life in danger, for scaring the hell out of him. He’d never heard of a wolf attacking a man, but there was always a first time. “Dammit, woman, I asked you a question and you’d damn well better answer me.”

“I’m going back to camp,” she retorted.

Michael snorted. “What makes you think you could find it?”

His sarcasm dried her tears and stiffened her spine. “I’ll find it.”

“Yeah.” Clucking to his horse, he rode up beside Elayna. “Give me your hand.”

“No.”

“Give me your hand!”

“I’d rather walk, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind.” Slipping his bow over his shoulder, he reached down and wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her onto the back of his horse as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour.

She refused to look at him. His arm was like steel around her waist. His hard-muscled thighs cradled her own, his breath was warm against her cheek. She tried to draw away from him, but he tightened his grip on her waist, keeping her back pinned against his chest.

It was dark now. She stared straight ahead, wishing she could rest her head against his shoulder and pour out all her pent-up fears. She wanted soft words of reassurance, but she was too proud to give in. She wanted him to make the first move.

Michael drew in a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the scent of woman. Strands of her hair brushed against his cheek, her back was warm against his chest.

He thought of taking her there, in the high grass, and easing the awful aching need her nearness aroused in him. But she had rebuffed him too often in the past. And he did not want to take her by force. He wanted her warm and willing, her lips softly inviting his kisses, her body yearning for his touch.

“Katum!”
He swore softly in Cheyenne, wondering if Elayna O’Brien would ever admit she cared for the man who would not let her go.

Chapter Twenty-Six

He woke to the sound of crying. Sitting up, he listened for a moment. It was Elayna, sobbing as though her heart would break, the sound muffled beneath her sleeping robes.

Rolling out of his blankets, he knelt beside her. “Elayna, what’s wrong?”

“I’m so unhappy,” she wailed, and a fresh flood of tears washed down her cheeks.

With a sigh, Michael gathered her into his arms. With gentle hands he stroked her back, murmuring to her, telling her he understood. But did he? What kind of man was he, to keep a woman against her will? Of course she was unhappy. If he had any decency at all, he would take her home.

And yet, he did not want to let her go. He remembered lying in the bottom of the ravine, badly wounded and on the verge of unconsciousness, remembered seeing a woman walking toward him through a white world, and a voice whispering in his ear,
She is waiting, waiting for you.

The woman had been Elayna. He could not be mistaken about that. Or was he? Maybe he had substituted her face for that of the woman in his vision because he had wanted to justify his desire for her. Hell, maybe he’d imagined the whole thing.

Fact or fantasy, one thing remained clear, he had to take Elayna back to her father. It was where she belonged, where she yearned to be.

Tenderly he tilted her face toward his, and the utter misery he saw in her eyes stabbed at his heart.

“Don’t cry, honey,” he said quietly. “I’ll take you home tomorrow.”

They left at first light, just the two of them. Elayna’s farewells had been brief. She had bid Yellow Spotted Wolf and his family goodbye, thanking them for their kindness, but in her mind she had already left them behind. She was going home. Home to her father. Home to civilization, and soft beds and cold milk. Home. Where she belonged.

She stared at Michael’s back as they rode across the flat grassy plain. He hadn’t said a word to her since they left the village, nor did he say anything when they stopped for lunch, or when they bedded down for the night. He prepared their meals, laid out their bedrolls, built the fire, looked after the horses.

His silence made her uncomfortable, and then it made her angry. Crawling into her blankets, she closed her eyes and willed sleep to come. Instead, she lay awake, gazing at Michael through the veil of her lashes. He was sitting cross-legged beside the fire, his hands resting on his thighs.

She let her gaze wander over his face, unconsciously memorizing his features, the color of his skin, the spread of his shoulders.

She felt his eyes swing in her direction, felt her stomach quiver at the force of his gaze. The heat of it. The hunger…

With an effort she drew her gaze from his, turned her back toward him, and closed her eyes.

She was going home.

They were halfway to the fort when they rode down a steep hill and came face to face with thirty cavalrymen.

Michael cursed under his breath as he reined his horse to an abrupt halt. His first impulse was to make a run for it and hope he could outride the troopers, but there was no way to outride a bullet. And there was Elayna to consider. He couldn’t take a chance on her getting hit by a bullet meant for him.

And then it was too late to run. He was surrounded, his weapons taken, his hands tightly bound behind his back.

He watched as a tall, blond officer lifted Elayna from the back of her horse, saw Elayna’s smile of pleasure as the lieutenant took both her hands in his. And then he heard a harsh bark of laughter as Sergeant Saunders swaggered into view.

“Major Cathcart’s gonna be real pleased to have you back,” the sergeant drawled. “Yessir, real pleased.”

Cathcart,
Michael thought bleakly.
Damn.
Lance smiled at Elayna as he handed her a tin plate filled with beans and bacon. “Sorry about the grub. It’s the best we’ve got ‘til we get back to the fort.”

“It smells wonderful,” Elayna replied. “And so does the coffee.”

Lance nodded, then turned to stare at Michael Wolf. “Did he treat you all right?”

“Yes. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“He didn’t…” Lance cleared his throat. “He didn’t force himself on you?”

“No,” Elayna answered quietly. “He didn’t force himself on me.”
He didn’t have to use force,
she thought, ashamed.
I
was only too willing.

She didn’t have to look at Michael to know he was watching her. She could feel the intensity of his gaze. He had refused to eat and now sat with his back against a rock, his hands tied behind his back, his face wiped clean of all emotion.

“What will happen to him?” she asked.

Lance shrugged. “That’s up to the major. But I reckon he’ll hang.” Lance glared at Michael. “I’d like to tie the knot myself. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Just tired. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll turn in.”

The next two days on the trail were like a bad dream.

Lance stayed at her side, looking after her comfort, eager to please her, his smiles assuring her that he still cared, and each kind word and each chaste caress was like a millstone around her neck. She didn’t deserve his kindness, was no longer worthy of his respect. She had let Michael Wolf make love to her. Knowing it was wrong, she had let him make love to her. How could she have done such a thing?

And Michael… He rode straight and tall, his eyes focused on the trail ahead. He didn’t eat, didn’t speak, didn’t look at her. And her heart ached for him, for the loss of his freedom, for the humiliation she knew he was suffering. And she knew that worse things awaited him at the fort.

The third night out, Saunders pulled a whip from his saddlebag and gave an impromptu exhibition of his skill. Each crack of the long, deadly-looking lash sounded like thunder in the quiet of the night.

Elayna’s gaze kept straying toward Michael. His face was impassive. Only the twitch of a muscle in his jaw showed that he understood that Saunders was reminding him of what was in store when they reached the fort.

Sleep was a long time coming that night. Her dreams were filled with grotesque images of Michael…Michael being brutally whipped…Michael standing on the gallows, an enormous rope around his neck. And she was there, too, her hand ready to spring the trap that would send him plummeting to his death.

She woke in a cold sweat, her body trembling, her mouth dry. She couldn’t let him hang. Lifting her head a little, she glanced around the camp. There were only two sentries. They stood together, talking quietly as they shared a cigarette.

Rising, Elayna smiled and waved, then indicated she needed to step into the shadows. One of the troopers nodded that he understood, then turned back to his companion.

Moving quickly, Elayna disappeared into the darkness; then, as stealthily as she could, she crept toward Michael.

She had thought to find him asleep, but he was lying on his side, awake, trying to loosen the ropes that bound his wrists. He didn’t move as she crept up behind him and began to untie the rope.

“I’ll distract the guards while you get away,” she whispered as she released his hands. “Be careful.”

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable in the darkness, yet she could feel his eyes on her face.

“Come with me.”

“No.”

He did not ask her twice.

She glanced over her shoulder to check on the whereabouts of the sentries, and when she looked back, Michael was gone.

She knew a moment of regret, knowing she would never see him again, and then she stood up and walked toward the sentries, praying that Michael would get safely home.

What happened next happened very fast.

The two sentries turned toward her as she approached them.

“Cold, isn’t it?” she said, hoping to engage them in conversation until Michael had a good head start.

“Yes, ma’am,” Trooper Hutchins agreed. “Shall I build up the fire for you?”

“No,” Elayna said quickly. Darkness was the only protection Michael had. “It isn’t that cold.”

She was congratulating herself on a job well done when Michael stepped out of the darkness behind the troopers. Before she could react, he brought a rock down on the back of the head of the sentry nearest him, grabbed the man’s rifle, and jammed the barrel into the back of the second trooper before the unconscious soldier hit the ground.

“Not a word,” Michael warned Hutchins. “Hand me your rifle and that knife, then get belly down in the dirt.”

The trooper did as he was told, his face a sickly shade of gray as he lay face down on the ground.

Using the same rope that had bound his own hands, Michael secured the trooper’s hands behind his back, then jammed his headband into the trooper’s mouth.

Elayna watched as Michael went to the picket line and quickly gathered the reins to all the horses, save one. And she knew he had left that one for her, so she wouldn’t have to walk to the fort.

Michael was swinging onto his horse’s back when Lance sat up. In a glance, the lieutenant saw the two sentries on the ground, and then he saw Michael. Drawing his sidearm, he fired at Michael, instantly awakening the whole camp.

In seconds, every soldier was firing in Michael’s direction.

Elayna screamed, “No, no!” as she threw herself at Lance, who shook her hand off his arm. Soldiers were running everywhere, some still firing in the direction Michael had gone even though he was out of sight.

And then she was running, too, running for her horse.

She heard Lance shout her name as she grabbed a handful of the horse’s mane and pulled herself onto its back. A trooper materialized out of the shadows to her right, his hand reaching for her horse’s bridle. Instinctively she kicked out at him, her heel catching him in the chest and knocking him off balance.

And then she was riding after Michael.

She rode for an eternity through the dark night, trusting that her horse would follow the others. She didn’t stop to wonder what she would do if she didn’t find Michael, nor did she dare examine her reasons for riding off after him when she was almost home. She just rode steadily onward, refusing to consider the very real possibility that she might be riding in the wrong direction.

It was near dawn when she saw the first of the Army horses. Lathered with sweat, they stood in small groups, heads hanging, sides heaving.

But there was no sign of Michael.

She urged her weary horse onward, her eyes searching the ground for some sign of his passing. She saw an occasional hoofprint, and then, as the ground grew softer, his trail became clear and easy to follow.

She found his horse a short time later. Its left foreleg was broken. Its throat had been cut.

Elayna turned away, gagging. And then she saw it, an uneven trail of flattened grass, and a single smear of fresh blood.

Dismounting, she hurried forward, unmindful of the thorny brush that scratched her arms and snagged her skirt. The trail led slowly upward, the hillside dotted with trees and brush and an occasional boulder. She held her skirt off the ground with one hand, her horse’s reins in the other.

She’d gone about a quarter of a mile when she rounded an outcropping of rock and found herself staring into the business end of a Winchester rifle.

“Michael,” she breathed. “Thank God.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled.

What the hell
was
she doing there? She’d wanted to go home, had begged Michael to take her home. Why had she followed him?

“I…I thought you’d been shot,” she stammered. “I had to be sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine. Go home.”

He lifted a hand to his head, then shrugged. “It’s nothing. I must have hit my head when my horse fell.”

Elayna stared at him. He was sitting down, his back against a large rock. He was holding the rifle in his left hand, the barrel propped on his bent left knee. For the first time, she noticed the tight lines of pain around his mouth. His breathing was shallow and labored.

“What is it?” she asked, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Go home, Elayna,” he said in a tight voice. “You wanted to go home. Now go.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“That damn horse landed on me when it fell. I think I might have busted my shoulder and a couple of ribs.”

“Let me look at it.”

He nodded as he laid his rifle aside. “Go ahead.”

As gently as she could, she examined his shoulder. It was badly bruised, the skin already discolored, but it wasn’t broken. Neither were his ribs, though his midriff was also badly bruised and discolored.

She grinned wryly as she lifted her skirt and tore the last few ruffles from her petticoat, wondering what she’d have used for bandages if fashion hadn’t dictated the wearing of ruffled petticoats.

She placed Michael’s right arm in a sling, bound his ribs for support. He was hurting, she mused, but as sore as he was now, it would be worse by tomorrow.