Savage Desire (Savage Lagonda 1) (4 page)

Gathering up her courage, Mara walked downstream a way; then, sitting down on the bank, she removed her boots. "I guess the cold water will not kill me. It seems a small thing to endure after all 1 have been through lately," she said aloud.

She quickly removed her gown and petticoat before she lost her courage. Slowly she tested the water with her foot. At first contact it felt like tiny needles piercing her skin. Get it over with, she told herself, and waded into the water until it was waist-deep on her. After the initial shock it wasn't too bad, even though she was shivering and her body had turned blue.

Mara scrubbed herself all over until her skin tingled. Then she washed her hair. When she was satisfied she was clean she waded to shore, then washed her dress and petticoat, and hung them on a tree branch to dry.

She found a huge rock that had been warmed by the sun and climbed up onto it, then lay down and spread her hair about her so it would dry. She wished she had a comb. Running her hands through the golden mass of curls, she found she could remove the worst of the tangles.

Feeling drowsy and warmed by the sun, she smiled and wrapped her arms about her. How good it felt to be clean and free. How easily one took life's little pleasures for granted until they were taken away from you. Mara thought of her home, and Tess, who had always prepared her bath for her and saw that she had clean clothes. She thought of the wardrobe in her bedroom that was filled with lovely gowns for every occasion. She vowed that if she ever did return home, she would never take anything for granted again.

Mara frowned. Why had the Indian rescued her? Where was he taking her now? She knew that he had intended to ride off and leave her yesterday. Why had he come back for her? He was a mystery. She could not understand why he had helped her when he clearly disliked her so much. She thought again of the contrast between him and the two men who had kidnapped her. He was handsome, perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen. He reminded her of a sketch her father had of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh—so proud and arrogant looking. He had not uttered one word to her so far, but she was determined that she would try to communicate with him in some way to find out where he was taking her.

The sun shone warmly down upon her as she turned lazily to her side. Mara wondered what her mother would say if she could see her now. She laughed out loud. Her mother had never allowed her to go into the sunlight without wearing a bonnet, and here she was not only without her bonnet, but wearing nothing but her undergarments. Mara turned over on her stomach. Feeling warm and contented, she soon fell asleep.

When Mara awoke some time later, she saw by the position of the sun that it was late afternoon. She quickly slipped into her dry clothing. She noticed her green gown was torn in several places, but at least it was clean. She walked slowly back to the campsite, wondering if the Indian had returned.

Tajarez had awakened early. He had not slept well lying beside the white woman. Mounting his horse, he had ridden upstream, dismounted and removed all of his clothing and dived into the water. He wanted to wash every part of his body that had come into contact with the woman. The only good thing about the woman was she had the good sense to remain silent. He did not want to hear the sound of her voice, and he was glad she did not cry, even though he knew she was frightened of him. As he had watched her struggle with the two men yesterday he had had to admit grudgingly that he admired her courage. Tajarez would have liked nothing better than to ride away and forget all about her. Maybe if he was lucky she would take his packhorse and ride away on her own. He hoped she would. It would be worth a good horse to see the last of her.

Later on in the morning he spotted a big buck. With the cunning known only to the Indian, Tajarez stalked the animal. Then with practiced precision, he drew back his bow and released the silver-tipped arrow, watching as it entered the heart of the deer. The animal leaped high into the air and then fell to the ground, dead.

He cleaned and gutted the animal and then hung it from the branches of a tall tree where it would be safe from any predatory animals. He had located a cave halfway up the mountain. After exploring the interior to make certain it was not inhabited by any wild animal, he rode back to where he had left the woman. The cave would provide shelter. Although there was not a cloud in the sky, his keen senses warned him that a storm was brewing. He had decided he would dry the deer meat so that he would have enough food to see him home. With sufficient meat he would make better time on his homeward journey. Of course that would mean enduring the woman's presence longer, but he would soon be rid of her, and if she knew what was good for her she would stay out of his way.

There was a scowl on his handsome face as he rode into the camp. There was no sign of the woman. She had not left as he had hoped, at least not on his horse. She must be about somewhere, but he had no intention of looking for her. Making sure the fire was out, he rolled up his fur robe and secured it to the back of the packhorse. His keen hearing picked up the sound of her footsteps, and he turned to face her.

Tajarez's eyes widened in shocked surprise. She was not a woman as he had thought, but a young girl. The sun reflected off her hair, giving the illusion that it was spun gold. As he stood silently appraising her, his face did not change expression, nor did it show his confusion. His heart was drumming within his chest. He closed his eyes, not wanting to believe what his heart was telling him. His search was over. Here before him stood his love, and she was white. Her golden hair was not straight as an Indian maiden's, but curled in spirals that fell to her waist. Opening his eyes, he saw her looking at him with a puzzled expression on her beautiful face. Oh, he knew her so well, no longer would he strive to remember what she looked like. What had always eluded him in his dreams was standing not an arm's length away from him.

As she moved gracefully toward him, he could feel his composure slipping. He looked into eyes that were soft and green as the grasses and the leaves on the trees. Her face was beautiful, breathtaking, and suddenly he felt humbled by the sight of such beauty. Yes, he knew her so well. Had he not held her in his arms time and time again? Her face was more familiar to him than was his own. What did it all mean? The face that had haunted his dreams for so long and had caused him to reject all other women belonged to someone of the hated white race.

Mara smiled at him. When he heard her voice, he recognized it also. The sound of her voice was low, and musical, and oh, so sweet to his ears.

"I do not blame you for being startled by my appearance. I must have looked a fright before." Then she laughed, and the sound of her laughter gladdened Tajarez's heart. "It feels wonderful to be clean. I am surprised you did not abandon me in my filthy state."

Tajarez dragged his eyes away from her lovely face and made a pretense of tightening the leather strap around his packhorse. His hands trembled, and he waited for his heartbeat to return to normal.

Mara sighed as she looked at his rigid back. So he chose to ignore her once more. It was hard for her to understand his cold treatment of her. Once more she was reminded of how protected she had been all of her life. No one had ever been so rude to her. Perhaps he did not like her because she was white. Mara was used to receiving admiring glances from men. She was aware that she was pretty. It was hard not to be aware of her looks when she received so much attention from admirers. It was plain that the Indian did not think her pretty. Maybe he preferred his women darker, like himself. It hurt her deep inside that he did not like her. In any event, she was dependent on him for her survival, a fact that seemed to displease him a great deal.

Tajarez mounted his horse and extended his hand to her. Mara allowed him to help her onto the horse, wondering why they were breaking camp so late in the afternoon.

The feel of her soft body pressed close to him made Tajarez feel overwhelming love wash through his body. Please, no, Great Father, he prayed. I cannot love where I hate.

Mara stretched out on the soft minkskin robe. It felt soft to her skin. The interior of the cave was illuminated by the soft glow of the campfire at the mouth of the cave. She was clean, and had dined well on deer meat roasted to perfection, and she was safe and warm inside a cave. What more could she ask for at the moment.

There was a storm brewing. Lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder rumbled across the valley. The Indian had disappeared soon after he had eaten, to tend the horses, she supposed.

Mara waited for his return, knowing she had to try and communicate with him. She dreaded the encounter, knowing he could silence her with a glance. His dark eyes easily spanned the gap of any language barrier, showing his contempt for her.

She had to find out where he was taking her and make him understand that she must return to her family. It was very apparent the Indian had no interest in her and did not care to keep her. Maybe he could be persuaded to leave her at a white settlement somewhere.

The Indian had entered the cave so silently that Mara was startled by his sudden appearance. He stood just inside the cave entrance staring at her. Mara rose to her feet, feeling uneasy at his close scrutiny.

Tajarez began removing his rain-soaked leather vest. Then to Mara's distress she saw he was about to remove his britches as well. Her face reddened as she quickly turned her head away. He seemed unaware of her discomfort, and proceeded to hang his wet clothing near the fire to dry.

When Mara gathered up enough courage to look up, she saw he was not completely undressed as she had feared, but wore a white doeskin breechcloth. She felt a tightening in her throat. Never had she seen a man with so little clothing on. Against her will, her eyes moved over his beautiful bronze body. His legs were long and powerful. His stomach was flat and firm. She looked at the wide wall of his chest, at the powerful muscles of his arms. His ebony hair hung to his shoulders and glistened in the soft firelight. His face was so handsome. His dark liquid brown eyes were staring into her green ones. Mara felt something flicker to life within her body. She did not know it was the first stirring of womanhood. She did not understand this new feeling, and was very disturbed by it.

Tajarez stared at her, sensing her discomfort. How was it that he knew her so well and she did not recognize him? He had to control his feelings and the urge to go to her and take her into his arms and pour out his love for her. Tajarez already knew how she would feel in his arms— had he not held her many times before? His heart cried out to her to recognize him as her love.

He sat down beside the fire and stared at the flames that licked at the dried branches he had placed there earlier. His mind was tortured by many unanswered questions. She was hardly more than a child with the bloom of youth still very apparent. Her body was not even yet fully developed. Her breasts were small, and though her body was lovely, it gave a promise of future loveliness. How old was she? Where did she come from? What was her name? Had the two Indians abused her? Had they raped her? His hands tightened into fists, and his eyes flashed dangerously. She belonged to him. No man had the right to touch her. He found that he was breathing hard, and he wanted the answers to all of his questions. Could he break his vow of silence? No. He was bound by his honor to remain silent. To speak would be to break a sacred trust, and being the man he was, he could not break with his tribal laws.

Mara was fighting her own battle. Crazy thoughts kept swirling around in her mind. What would it feel like to be held in those strong arms? Was there a woman somewhere that had his heart? What was the woman like that could make those dark flashing eyes soften with love? She felt a tightening within her body. What would it feel like to have his lips pressed to hers? She felt hot and cold at the same time.

Her eyes were drawn to him once more. He was like a beautiful bronzed statue. Mara's eyes fell on the golden armband around his upper arm. What manner of man was he? Surely he was like no other Indian she had ever heard of. If she didn't know better, she would think the armband was in the shape of a cobra. There was no way an American Indian could know about the cobra. It was a reptile prevalent on the African continent. There were none in North America.

He was ignoring her once more. Mara decided it was time she tried to talk to him, she did not like the dangerous way she was beginning to think. Her mother would be scandalized if she knew the way Mara's mind was working.

Gathering up her courage, she walked toward him. She felt nervous and uncertain as she sat down beside him. She drew back a little as his dark eyes rested on her face.

"My name is Mara," she said, self-consciously pointing at herself. The bored expression on his face did not change.

"You do not understand English, do you? How can I make you understand?"

Tajarez watched the worried expression on her face. So her name was Mara. Yes, it fit—a beautiful-sounding name, like the sound of the wind in the trees.

He looked away from her. Her nearness was doing strange things to him. He had always been in command where women were concerned. It was usually they who trembled at his nearness. He knew well how to please a woman, any woman. But she, this mere child, had his mind and his body ready to be her willing slave, if only she knew it. Looking upward to the ceiling of the cave, he tried to regain control of himself.

"Please do not ignore me," she pleaded, placing her hand on his arm. Tajarez was startled. No one had ever dared touch him without his permission. Was he not Tajarez, prince royal of the Lagonda tribe?