Nan Ryan (20 page)

Diane’s violet eyes darkened with unintentional curiosity when he shook out the pair of stolen leather chaps, then whirled them around his tall body, buckling them behind his trim waist. Deftly he smoothed the worn leather around his long right leg, buckled it beneath his firm buttock and behind his knee, then did the same with the left leg.

Diane, watching him from beneath dark, veiling lashes, found his newly donned getup offensive. True, at least the fronts of his bare legs were now covered, but the cut of the chaps accentuated that distinctly male part of his anatomy that needed no emphasis. The apron of the skimpy loincloth which was designed to hang loose was now pulled tight over his groin.

He looked like a blatantly sexual bronzed god standing there vainly in the sun, torso naked, leather snugly encasing his flat belly and lean flanks and long legs. And ample groin. Diane was disturbed by his raw masculinity. She thought him base and crude, and the sight of him was unsettling, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He looked downright indecent when abruptly he crouched down on his heels, legs spread apart, and buckled the silver-trimmed spurs to his moccasins.

Diane felt her face flush with heat. She swiftly averted her gaze until he turned and walked away. Then her eyes lifted and followed him. Finally she was tempted to laugh. From the rear it looked as if the savage were attired in some silly peekaboo costume fashioned for bawdy frolic and play in a whorehouse!

Diane’s face turned scarlet when her traitorous thoughts turned embarrassingly naughty, and she envisioned the harshly handsome savage wearing the leather chaps just as he was now—but
without
the breechcloth underneath.

Before she could completely collect herself, the Indian returned, leading the saddled stallion and wearing the stolen Stetson on his head. He stepped up close. While the stallion nudged at his bare bronzed shoulder, he held out his hand to Diane.

Ignoring it and his piercing eyes, she sprang to her feet. He stuffed the reins down into the low-riding chaps and put his hands to her waist Diane anxiously pushed them away. Brushing past him, she stepped up to the stallion, grabbed the horn, and put her foot in the stirrup.

“Beast,” she said over her shoulder, “I have no intention of riding draped across the saddle so that I have to look at you all day.” She effortlessly pulled herself up, swung a long, slender leg over, and settled herself astride, modestly pulling her full purple skirts down over her knees and tucking them around her legs. “You disgust me,” she said, pushing her hair back behind her ears, “you foolishly suppose that I’ll forget you’re an animal, but that will not happen. Flaunt your disgusting masculinity all you want; to me you’ll never be anything but a beast.” She paused, looked down at him, and smiled. “Ready, Beast?”

The granite-faced Redman looped the long reins over the stallion’s neck and swung up behind Diane. He took off the Stetson, set it atop her head, and waited. She knew he expected her to object, to snatch off the hat and throw it on the ground or shove it back at him. So she didn’t do it. She pulled the brim low on her forehead, secretly grateful that she wouldn’t have to endure the alpine sun’s harsh glare all day.

A pair of long bronzed arms swiftly enclosed her. The Indian gently touched the stolen spurs to the stallion’s belly, and they were off. To where Diane did not know.

As they rode out of camp, Diane tipped her head back and looked up. On the rim of a rocky crag above the narrow creek, a pair of golden eyes gleamed in a sleek, regal head and a huge tawny body crouched as if ready to leap. Diane stared up at mountain lion, and the lion stared down at her.

Calmly lowering her eyes, Diane thought that the magnificent beast on the rocks above posed far less of a threat than the magnificent beast riding behind her.

Hours passed as the mounted pair rode higher into the wild, rugged Front Range of the Rockies. Across broad and beautiful meadows they traveled. Past fast-flowing crystalline streams. Through dense dark forests of lodgepole pines and Douglas firs. Up steep, jagged rocky summits. Down gentle, sparsely timbered slopes. Over narrow, treacherous precipices. Under gigantic, balanced boulders.

As long as they were atop the moving stallion, Diane knew she was in no immediate danger, so she was partially able to relax. But the long, tiring ride gave her plenty of time to think about the gravity of her dilemma. She could only imagine what lay in store for her, and the possibilities were limited. Her captor aimed to make her his squaw, or give her as a present to another savage, or barter her for goods.

Or kill her.

Diane’s narrowed violet eyes lowered to the dark, powerful arms enclosing her, to the lean hand loosely holding the reins, and the wide silver bracelet on his wrist. His hand moved, and she studied his fingers. They were long and slender, and his nails were clean, smooth, and tapered.

The wispy hair lifted on the nape of her neck. Vividly she recalled having that hand wrapped around her throat. There was so much leashed strength in those long fingers the savage could have snapped her neck as if it were a brittle twig.

Diane experienced a shuddering ripple through her entire body.

She forced herself not to dwell on the chilling prospect of her fate. She would think of something else. Someone else. Her thoughts turned to those she most loved. The Colonel and Granny Buchannan were surely worried sick about her. And Texas Kate. And Shorty. And poor Ancient Eyes. The Ute chieftain must be right now blaming himself for what had happened when the fault was really hers. Bless his old heart.

The Cherokee Kid didn’t warrant much of her concern. If there was blame to be shared, he deserved a healthy portion. He should never have beaten the Beast or brought him down out of the mountains. On the other hand, she could count on the Kid to lead the search, and with a little luck, maybe he’d find her in time to save her from the savage.

Diane’s slender shoulders slumped. She’d left her position in Washington, D.C., for the sole purpose of helping out her grandparents. Instead she’d managed to add to their problems. Besides their worry for her safety, there was the show to think about. Gossip had a way of spreading quickly. Her capture at the hands of the Colonel’s own chosen star attraction would bring damaging scandal to the already troubled troupe.

Pawnee Bill was probably already circling like a shark tasting blood.

More immediate worries again took precedence as the long day ended and they stopped for the night Beneath the northeast face of the soaring fourteen-thousand-foot Longs Peak, they pitched camp just below the Roaring Fork waterfall on the banks of Lake Chasm. The water cascading over the rocks caused a loud, constant roar.

Supper was more fire-blackened trout caught in the lake, and Diane was so hungry it tasted good. When bedtime came, she tensed. Would this be the hour of her violation and death? Forced to sleep wrapped in the Indian’s powerful bronzed arms, she lay in wakeful agony for what seemed forever until she could no longer hold her eyes open.

More than once throughout the chill mountain night, she awakened from her fitful slumber to find those dark, penetrating eyes calmly watching her. Each time her breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped beating. A frightening electricity filled the air between them, and she was rigid with fear.

And yet the expression in his intelligent eyes was baffling. What was he waiting for? Why not rape, scalp, and kill her and be mercifully done with it?

Morning came at last, and Diane was grateful to be alive to face the new day. They set out early and as they rode away, Diane noticed that the Indian left behind another cut square from the red beaded headband.

Soon the sun was high and hot, and the atmosphere was so thin the harsh rays poured down in unfiltered heat Diane pulled her Stetson low. She grew faint and tired and found it difficult to breathe.

The altitude didn’t bother the Redman. He guided the stallion higher and higher into the mountains and never showed any signs of discomfort. It appeared he knew exactly where he was going, though he seemed in no particular hurry to get there.

Under different circumstances, the awesome scenery would have been greatly appreciated by Diane. Summer mists and fog veiled the splashing Columbine Falls on the Roaring Fork. The fierce September sun flushed the peaks along the Continental Divide above Sprague Lake. In the deep shadow of Indian Peaks a fringe of lacy autumn ice decorated the edges of Red Rock Lake.

She caught the flash of big-horned sheep and white-tailed deer crossing a meadow of wild flowers. Saw bluebells and pink moss campion and indian paintbrush carpeting the high country glade. Heard the autumn-quiet murmur of crystal-clear water flowing down Hidden Valley Creek. And finally admired the quaking aspens in September’s waning light, the fragile leaves still sprinkled with raindrops from an afternoon shower.

The savage selected the mouth of majestic Granite Gorge for their night’s lodging. When they dismounted, the last vestiges of light reflected on the surface of Glacier Creek as it cascaded over the edge of Ribbon Falls. All too soon darkness fell.

With the evening meal behind them, Diane sat across the dying campfire from the Indian. She kept hoping he would grow sleepy and lie down without her. She herself was so weary she could hardly sit up, but she was determined to wait him out.

So the two of them sat there silently in the night while the moon climbed toward its zenith in the black, cloudy sky. A cool wind blew up, causing the orange flames of the fire to dance.

Finally Diane felt as if she could no longer stand to have his eyes calmly observing her, the firelight reflected in their dark depths.

She rose and wandered down the sloping-bank of Glacier Creek. She stood there in the moonlight, knowing those dark, fathomless eyes were still on her. She could feel them. There was no escaping those eyes. There was no escaping him. Diane shook her head dejectedly.

Since the Redman had captured her, she had pleaded, cursed, cried, punched, prayed, bullied, and quaked in fear.

Nothing had worked.

Diane sank down to the grass, wrapped her arms around her knees, and sighed wearily. The wind rose and blew the clouds away.

And there she sat under a starry sky so bright she could make out the contours of the land on either side of Glacier Creek. She looked up at that starry sky, and in final frustration, like a child, she wistfully murmured aloud, “Star bright, star light, first star I see tonight, I wish I may—”

“I wish I might”—a deep voice, barely above a whisper, interrupted in perfect, accentless English—“have this wish I wish tonight.”

Part Two

Chapter 19

“Do you see the necklace of stars almost directly above you?” That low, masculine voice softly continued. “That’s called Corona. And there, just off to your left is Polaris. There’s the Great Bear … Io and her son.…”

Diane’s lips fell open in shocked disbelief. Were her ears playing tricks on her? She slowly lifted her head. A tall, ghostly apparition, now more chillingly frightening than ever, her captor stood between her and the moon. The dark, mysterious figure with the jet black hair, penetrating eyes, and gleaming white teeth could speak!

The sound of his deep, strangely monotonic voice turned the blood in her veins to ice water as he calmly proceeded to educate her on the stars and constellations.

“… and off to the west, that’s Orion. And there, just behind your left shoulder, Pleiades rises.” A long, bare arm lifted, and he pointed. “Cassiopeia up in the northern sky, Draco directly overhead. Behind them Boötes, like a great kite with the brilliant Arcturus glittering in his tail.”

His arm returned to his side. He fell silent and Diane knew by the attitude of his head that he was looking directly at her. She could feel those aloof, chilling black eyes fixed on her. For a long tension-filled moment she sat there unable to react, displaying no emotion. Too astounded to move, too shocked to speak.

The Indian remained very still, very silent, waiting for some kind of response. Then, he quietly turned and walked away. When he did, Diane came out of her stupor.