Captive Bride (56 page)

 
After Hawk's piercing whistle drifted across the river, Arakashe appeared on the winding rock path. Behind him, garbed in a squaw's attire, rode Rozalyn, followed by a procession of Crows. "When the trading is over and the trappers and Indians have received fair compensation for their efforts, your daughter will be returned to you." Hawk's expression was a carefully blank stare. He refused to let Aubrey see how painful it was for him to keep his distance from the raven-haired beauty.

 
"I should have you cut to pieces for forcing my daughter to live like an Indian," Aubrey growled vindictively.

 
"There was a time when you lived among the Crow," Hawk goaded. "And I have heard it told that you became overly fond of one of their maidens."

 
The jibe sliced across Aubrey's soul like a double-edged knife, and he had to exert immense self-restraint to hold his ground and not pounce on Hawk. "It seems your father finally admitted his betrayal after all these years."

 
"He told me why you bear such a poisonous hatred," Hawk acknowledged. Then he focused a pensive stare on the Indians making their way to the far bank. "I wonder how you would react if your own daughter found herself attracted to one of the Crow braves while she remained with them for safekeeping. It would be ironic, would it not?"

 
Spewing like a volcano about to erupt, Aubrey stalked back toward camp while the Crows set up their tepees on the opposite bank of Green River. It was obvious Hawk was not about to free his hostage until he had received his profits, and he was not about to ford the river to retrieve Rozalyn, not when Aubrey was held in such low esteem by the Crow chief. "The shrewd scoundrel," Aubrey muttered under his breath. Hawk had plotted and schemed, planned it all right down to the last detail. At least Aubrey was reasonably certain Hawk had not made Rozalyn his whore. She had been living among the Crow, Hawk had implied that.

 
When Hawk dumped his pelts on the makeshift table of barrels and split logs, Two-Dogs raised a heavy eyebrow and his amused gaze raked over his friend. "Don't you want DuBois to know what's bin goin' on between you and his daughter?"

 
Piercing green eyes drilled into Two-Dogs. It was obvious that the trapper had discovered the truth about Rozalyn and evidently he'd been eavesdropping on Hawk's conversation with DuBois. Hawk should have known the inquisitive man would pry the information from Roz. Nothing moved in the mountains without Two-Dogs finding out about it.

 
"No, he doesn't, and I prefer to keep it that way," Hawk insisted. "Rozalyn could suffer if Aubrey learns the truth. There is no telling what he might do if he loses his temper. The last time he became enraged it cost a life."

 
Two-Dogs knew exactly what Hawk meant. "No need to fret. Nobody here is goin' to enlighten him." His curious gaze tarried on Hawk contemplatively. "Are you really gonna let DuBois take her back to St. Louis? I ain't blind, you know. Yore hooked on that girl."

"Do I have a choice?" Hawk snorted disgustedly.

 
Heaving a heavy sigh, Two-Dogs shook his shaggy head. "No, I s'pose not. You made a bargain with DuBois and yore obliged to keep it. But I don't know exactly how you think yore gonna survive after you fell in love with that girl and was forced to give her up. I'm glad I ain't in yore moccasins."

 
Hawk's features turned to stone. He didn't know how he was going to survive either. God, tearing off an arm would be less painful than watching Rozalyn climb into the wagon and disappear into the distance with the departing caravan. Even though Hawk had sought solitude to deliberate, his pensive contemplations had led him to this end—saying goodbye to the woman he had come to love more than life.

 
Rozalyn . . . She rose from the hot springs like a goddess, her exquisite features alive with pleasure, her perfect body glistening with water droplets that sparkled like diamonds. Rozalyn . . . She was lying by his side, her shapely contours making him only too aware of the differences between a man and a woman. Rozalyn . . . She was standing atop a summit, gazing off into the distance, her body silhouetted against the waning sunlight. No matter which way Hawk turned, Rozalyn was there, kneeling by the campfire, riding on horseback, running into his arms with her face uplifted and her blue eyes shining with love. There was nothing they hadn't done together during their passionate sojourn in the mountains of Yellowstone.

 
A quiet smile rippled across Hawk's lips as he recalled the night Rozalyn had sauntered toward him, wearing nothing but a provocative smile. She had led him beside a waterfall and had made wild sweet love to him until he could not find the strength to move or the will to do so. Then they had lain together, their bodies entwined, letting the fine mist of the falls spray over them until the embers of passion cooled.

 
"Do you want to sell these pelts or just stare at them?" the fur agent questioned impatiently.

 
The man's husky voice jolted Hawk from his musings. Turning his attention to the present, he began to barter for top price. "I would think nine dollars a pound would be a fair exchange for these plush furs."

 
"Nine dollars!" the agent hooted. "Dammit, man, these are beaver pelts, not gold! You ought to know the demand for fur isn't what it used to be. Silk hats are the latest fashion, not fur caps."

 
Hawk's gaze shifted to Aubrey DuBois who had propped himself in a corner to-listen to his agents barter for furs. Their eyes locked for a moment, and after a stilted silence, Aubrey nodded in reluctant compliance.

"Pay him top price," Aubrey grumbled to the agent.

 
Hawk grasped Two-Dogs's arm, drawing him toward the bargaining table. "My friends also have prime pelts." His intense stare probed into the agent who was set to refuse. "You heard the furrier. The going rate at rendezvous is nine dollars a pound."

 
The agent compressed his lips and frowned at Hawk's arrogance. He was not accustomed to allowing the trappers to make demands. Heaving an agitated sigh, he looked at Aubrey.

 
"Prime pelts will receive top price," Aubrey muttered begrudgingly and then wheeled away, but not without flinging Hawk a parting glower.

 
When Hawk had completed the business transaction, his elated friends led him away, hailing him as a conquering warrior. A mug of rye whiskey was thrust into his hand, and several toasts were made to his success. Never had the trappers received such exorbitant prices for their pelts.

 
By nightfall the boisterous voices of celebrating trappers echoed through the foothills. One swore he'd discovered valleys crawling with beaver, rivers so thick with the creatures that they couldn't be stirred with a stick. Another said he had been attacked by an entire sloth of grizzlies and had single-handedly battled his way to safety. One drunken trapper and then another tried to top each other.

 
Aubrey watched the wild goings-on with frustrated anger. He knew he would be forced to endure several days of these raucous festivities before he could retrieve Rozalyn. He wondered if Hawk's rendition of the incident that had occurred many years ago had turned Rozalyn against him. That thought had Aubrey growling like a wounded panther. His confrontation with Hawk had brought back bitter memories, memories he had never been able to bury. Heaving an exasperated sigh, he stalked back to his tent, wishing this were the last day of rendezvous instead of the first.

 
Rozalyn's longing gaze spanned the distance between the Crow camp and the torch lights of the encampment on the far side of the river. For five endless days the bartering and trading had continued, so had the loud celebrations that echoed far into the nights. She wished she could enjoy the festivities, but she didn't feel like celebrating for this was the beginning of the end. It was all over but the crying. Soon the trappers would scatter and Hawk would deliver her to her father.

 
A choked sob constricted her throat. With each passing moment she died a little more. Rozalyn had thought she could survive on her sweet memories, but letting go was almost more than she could bear.

 
"You do love him with all your heart, don't you, Mitskapa?" Arakashe questioned softly. "I can see the mist of longing in your eyes."

 
Not daring to trust her voice, Rozalyn nodded mutely.

Her teary gaze was still fixed on the golden lights across the peaceful river that separated her from Hawk. It might as well be an ocean, Rozalyn thought miserably.

 
"I have warned you that all stories cannot have happy endings," Arakashe reminded her. "You and Manake have known from the beginning that it would come to this, but nothing can sever the bond of your hearts." A rueful smile grazed the chiefs lips. "I have seen many snows and I have seen too much unhappiness. If I could spare you and my grandson this agony, I would. But the way is difficult and the path has become entangled."

 
Rozalyn's trembling hand folded over Arakashe's. "I know it is futile to want what I can't have, but that doesn't ease the hurting," she said brokenly. "I would sacrifice my past and all the luxuries I had in civilization to remain in these mountains with Hawk."

 
"Your father will never permit it." Arakashe's dark eyes followed Rozalyn's gaze to the far bank of Green River. "These mountains hold bitter memories of Apitsa. He was once a friend of the Crow, but no more. He can barely tolerate himself, and, because of that, he has become vengeful toward his brothers."

 
Rozalyn was aware that he spoke the truth, and grappling with that depressing thought, she turned back to her wigwam. But when she closed her eyes, Hawk's handsome face materialized before her. Would she see his dashing features in her mind's eye for the rest of her days? Rozalyn had never done anything halfway. She had loved Hawk with every fiber of her being, and her unquenchable thirst for adventure had led her to live in ways others of her background only dreamed about. But now, when the sunshine was to be taken from her days, Rozalyn wondered if she would become half a woman, leading an empty existence. Maybe it would have been easier if she had never loved Hawk at all.

 
Coward, she said to herself. During the months she had spent with Hawk, she had promised herself their winter love would be enough, that she could survive on her sweet memories, but when the moment of reckoning was upon her, she could not help but wonder whether she should have fiercely fought falling in love with Hawk. Now her knot of longing would never ease, not as long as she lived and breathed, not as long as she could look back and remember. . . .

 
Tears came, a flood of them, and pain channeled through every part of her being. Her body shuddered with tormented sobs. This time she couldn't fight the obstacle that lay between her and the man she loved, Rozalyn reminded herself drearily. Defying her father would only make life impossible. Perhaps Aubrey was at fault, but he was still her father. If she had professed to love any other man, Aubrey would have consented to a match, but he would never allow Rozalyn to live with the son of his mortal enemy, the son of the man who had married the light and love of Aubrey's life. What was unattainable for her father would be inaccessible to his daughter. God, Rozalyn couldn't even allow Aubrey to know how she ached inside. If Aubrey learned of her intimacy with Hawk, he would be enraged. Rozalyn could never divulge the truth to anyone; she must live a lie. Another tear slid down her flushed cheek as a thought struck her. What if ... No, Rozalyn didn't want to consider the possibility that she was carrying Hawk's child. As much as she would adore a baby with Hawk's captivating green eyes, Rozalyn couldn't bear a child without infuriating Aubrey. There would be nothing but anguish in her future, Rozalyn realized. She could not have Hawk and she could not have his child. If she carried his seed within her she would be forced to flee. But where could she run? She wouldn't go into the mountains alone when she was with child. Lord, where on earth could she find sanctuary?

 
Rozalyn's thoughts swirled together, creating tormented dreams. Fitfully, she tossed and turned, wondering what was to become of her.

Chapter 29

 
Rousing from another haunted dream, Rozalyn opened heavily lidded eyes to note the silhouette of a man at the entrance to the tepee. Her soul swelled with pleasure when he stepped forward, allowing the scant moonlight to spray across his chiseled features. Like a gigantic mountain lion crouching in his den, Hawk stretched out beside Rozalyn, offering warmth where there had been chilled loneliness.

 
"Even whiskey couldn't drown my memories," Hawk rasped, his arms instinctively circling Rozalyn's trim waist. "Set my maddening thoughts to flight, sweet nymph. They are tearing me apart."

 
His lips swooped down on hers with breathless urgency, and Rozalyn welcomed his whiskey-laced kisses, responding to him as she always had. His hands were upon her, gliding over her like ocean waves. Their magical touch erased her troubled musings, and left her swimming in a sea of ecstasy.

 
Her fingertips scaled the taut muscles of his back to trace the corded tendons of his neck, trailing her worshipping caresses over the rugged terrain of his body, learning this sleek, panther-like man by touch. In the months to come Rozalyn knew she had but to close her eyes to call upon this memory. Even when Hawk was a thousand miles away she would be able to feel his hair-roughened body beneath her hands, taste his potent kisses, and inhale his masculine scent that now filled her senses.