Warrior's Embrace (28 page)

“How?”

“Take me captive.”

“What?” Hawk stood up so fast, his chair
tipped over and crashed against the floor.

“If you had a hostage, you could force the
mayor and the board to come to the negotiating table with you.”

“Are you suggesting that I use you to fight
this battle for me?”

“I’m not suggesting that, exactly. I wouldn’t
really be a hostage. But they wouldn’t have to know that.” She
smiled, enamored with her plan. “It’s perfect. I don’t know why I
didn’t think of it sooner.”

“No!”

“You don’t have to roar.”

“I will not hide behind the skirts of a
woman.”

“I’m not talking about
you.
Hawk.
I’m suggesting you use me for the cause, for all the
Chickasaws.”

“It’s cowardly. A warrior is never
cowardly.”

“You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever
seen.”

“You’re the most impossible woman.”

They came toward each other and stood toe to
toe. Elizabeth tipped her face up and Hawk bent down until they
were almost nose to nose.

“I don’t know why I lov—” She stopped herself
just in time.

“What did you say?”

“I said...” She took a deep breath. “I don’t
know why I bother with you.”

He studied her for a long time.

At last he smiled. “You bother with me
because you are Elizabeth McCade.” He walked over to the table and
picked up her purse. Then he opened it and pulled out her Magnum.
“And because you carry a big gun.”

“Yes, I do. And don’t you ever forget that,
Hawk. I can take care of myself.”

She turned the machine back on and picked up
a sheaf of papers. Hawk picked up the overturned chair and sat
down. Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at him.

“That was your cue to leave.”

“I’m staying.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Elizabeth, if you insist on doing dangerous
things, I’ll do my best to protect you. My only concern is that I
can’t make it a twenty-four-hour job.”

Elizabeth was silent for a while, wishing for
things she knew she couldn’t have—Hawk in her bed, in her life,
twenty-four hours a day. She studied him. He looked magnificent and
noble and tired, very tired. She knew he was spending long hours at
the barricade, keeping watch and keeping peace. It had to be
physically and emotionally exhausting. Besides that, he was giving
speeches, granting interviews, trying to persuade the city fathers
to set up an official meeting for negotiations, and running his
ranch.

Elizabeth switched off the machine. Her
intention was to help him, not add to his problems. Quietly she
gathered her purse.

“I really do appreciate your concern for my
safety. Thank you for coming, Hawk.”

“You’re welcome, Elizabeth.”

The moon was full and bright, clearly
illuminating her car and the black stallion waiting patiently for
his master.

Elizabeth started toward her car, then turned
back to Hawk and put her hand on his cheek.

“Be safe,” she whispered.

He covered her hand, pressing it hard against
his flesh.

“Elizabeth... Elizabeth...” The pain in his
voice broke her heart all over again.

“Kiss me, Hawk. One last time... and then go
quickly.”

He bent over her with the swiftness of his
namesake and captured her lips. She clung to him, fighting the
tears that pushed against her eyelids. She wouldn’t let him see her
cry. Not now, not ever.

As always, they kissed without restraint,
without regard to the time or the place. And neither of them saw
the watcher in the nearby forest.

Elizabeth spent an exhausting week, leaving
work every day and going directly to one public function after
another. She had put pamphlets in every willing hand in Tombigbee
Bluff. And she’d discovered that she had a small talent for
rhetoric. On the previous night she had been asked to speak at the
Rotary Club about her part in the Chickasaw resistance.

It was no wonder that when Saturday morning
came she felt weak and queasy. She dressed, but the thought of food
made her sick. She gathered her knitting and dragged herself
downstairs. Switching on the television for company, she sat in the
most comfortable chair in the den and began the tedious process of
knit and purl.

She hated knitting. Gladys had patiently
taught her the stitches, but Elizabeth had serious doubts that she
would ever produce anything besides the long chain of yarn that
resembled a crooked snake.

“If this ever becomes an afghan, it will be a
miracle,” she muttered. She gave serious thought to taking up a new
hobby—painting, for instance. Although she had no artistic talent,
she thought it might be therapeutic to take brush in hand and slash
a white canvas with black paint. She would definitely use black,
because that was the mood she was in lately.

Suddenly the television caught her attention.
“We interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin.
Fighting has broken out at the barricade.” Elizabeth was on her
feet. Yarn and knitting needles clanked to the floor.

“...no details yet,” the reporter was saying,
“but there are unsubstantiated reports that the Chickasaw leader,
Black Hawk, has been shot.”

Elizabeth ran out of the room, leaving a
trail of yarn and the television blaring. Her hands were shaking as
she grabbed her purse and fumbled for the car keys.

She drove like a madwoman across town,
ignoring all speed limits. When she reached the barricade, all she
could see was mass confusion. People were running every which way.
There was shouting and yelling, pushing and shoving.

She raced into the thick of the crowd.
“Please... let me through.”

An officer of the Tombigbee Bluff Police
Department grabbed her arm as she tried to go under the ropes that
cordoned off the area.

“You can’t go in there, lady.”

“I have to get through.”

“Nobody gets through, lady.”

“I
must.
I have to get to Hawk.”

“Nobody is going to get to him now.”

Elizabeth almost fainted. She clutched the
officer’s sleeve. “Is he...” Words stuck in her dry throat. The
possibilities were too horrible to even think about, let alone
speak.

Suddenly there was a thundering of horse’s
hooves. “Elizabeth, get back,” Hawk yelled.

She broke free and ran toward him. He leaned
down and scooped her into his arms. The stallion never broke
stride. At Hawk’s urging, the stallion jumped the barricade and
galloped off toward the forest.

Hawk didn’t stop until they were deep in the
woods. Then he dismounted, taking Elizabeth with him.

“Are you crazy?” He hauled her up against
him. “Two men have been shot out there today. The barricade is no
place for a woman.”

“I thought you were dead.” She sagged in his
arms.

He pressed her close and began to caress her
hair. She shuddered. Hawk rocked her gently, murmuring soft words
of comfort in the language of his people.

They stayed that way for a long while, and
gradually Elizabeth became calm. She lifted her head and gently
touched Hawk’s cheek.

“You’re safe,” she whispered. “That’s all I
want to know.”

“Yes, I’m safe.”

Even as he spoke the words, Hawk knew he was
lying. He realized he was facing his greatest enemy: Love. Without
his knowledge, love had crept in and lodged itself in his heart. He
was in love with Elizabeth McCade. Standing there in the tranquil
woods, he knew that he was his father’s son, after all. Grant Hawk
had been one of the greatest leaders the Chickasaws had ever known,
willing to take up any battle for the betterment of his
people—until he had fallen in love. After that, nothing mattered to
him except Dovey and the many children they had, one after the
other. Their story was almost legend among their people, how the
Great Hawk had been tamed by a gentle Dove.

Love had weakened Grant, had caused him to
lay down his shield and sword. With Elizabeth’s hand touching his
face and her dark eyes searing his soul, Hawk was tempted to do the
same thing. But he had been bolder than his father, had made more
enemies. Even if he were willing to divide himself between love and
war, he would never expose Elizabeth to the uncertainty, the
danger.

“What will happen now?” Elizabeth took a step
backward, breaking all physical contact. Hawk wished the emotional
connection were as easily broken.

“Today’s violence destroyed any hope for a
meeting between the Chickasaws and the city government. We’ll have
to call for outside help.”

“Who?”

“The U.S. Secretary of Native American
Affairs. I had hoped to settle this dispute alone, but I can’t risk
further violence.”

Elizabeth was so quiet, he thought delayed
shock was setting in. He was reaching for her when she spoke.
Quietly he withdrew his hand. It was best not to touch her.
Touching her was more dangerous than facing that sniper with the
Winchester.

“But until he comes...” Elizabeth bit her
lip. It was a familiar gesture. He had seen her do it many times
when he had first hidden in her house. She was fighting against
strong emotions. “What will you do until he comes? The television
reporter said there was shooting. Somebody is going to get
killed.”

“Fortunately the police had been at the
barricade for days, trying to prevent just such a thing from
happening. They caught the sniper.”

“Who was he?”

“Apparently he was an independent radical. He
denies any connection with the developers and with the city
government.”

“Is he the man who burned your house and
tried to kill you?”

“It’s too soon to know.” She was biting her
lip again. Hawk sought to reassure her. “I believe he was the one.”
He put one hand on her shoulder. “It’s over, Elizabeth.”

She lifted her chin and gazed deeply into his
eyes. “Is it, Hawk?”

He hesitated only a second. There was double
meaning in their words and both of them knew it. They were talking
about more than the battle between the Chickasaws and the city;
they were talking about their own personal battle, their affair
that had burst into flames so quickly, it had almost consumed them
both.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s over. I’ll take you
home.”

“What about my car?”

“I’ll send one of my brothers to bring it to
you when I get back to the barricade.”

He circled her waist, then stood looking at
her. A primitive need rose in him, but it would be selfish and
unfair to take advantage of her that way. She wouldn’t deny him: He
knew her well enough to know that. But she might grow to hate him,
and Hawk could never endure it if he earned the hatred of Elizabeth
McCade.

He lifted her onto his stallion and mounted
behind her. Then he set a swift course toward her home.

o0o

For the next few days the papers and the
television were full of news of the battle at the barricade. The
sniper, Graden Hogan, still denied all political connections. With
him in jail, peace reigned, and the people of the city drew a sigh
of relief. It had been a long, hot, insane summer, and they were
ready for the soothing, cooling touch of sanity and of fall.

Elizabeth followed developments closely. The
Secretary of Native American Affairs was scheduled to arrive soon.
A quick settlement was expected.

Newspapers and television were her only
contacts with Hawk. He didn’t come to the school house or tribal
lands anymore; he didn’t come to any of the rallies she attended,
or if he did, he slipped away quietly without her knowing; and he
certainly didn’t come through the secret passageway to her cellar.
More than once she was tempted to make the journey herself.
Especially late at night. Especially when she lay in her lonely bed
with her body and her heart aching for Hawk.

But Elizabeth kept tight control. For the
first time in many years, she was in charge of her life and of her
emotions—until the middle of September when she awoke and began to
count the days....

She sat up in bed and pressed her hand over
her mouth. “Oh, no,” she said with a moan. “It can’t be.” She
pulled the covers up to her chin and counted back to the day she
had first seen Hawk, the day she had first kissed him.

Her hands were shaking as she pushed back the
covers and got out of bed. She walked to her desk and picked up her
diary. She rustled frantically through the pages until she found
the ones she sought. Then she began to read.

The words blurred as her past came back to
her, doubled. Quietly she closed the diary and stared into space.
Hawk had made his position clear. “I don’t want you in my life or
in my bed.”

The phone jarred her out of her stupor. It
was Gladys.

“Have you seen the morning paper?”

“No.” Elizabeth cradled the receiver against
her shoulder and returned her diary to its drawer.

“You’re spread all over it.”

“Why? I certainly haven’t done anything
newsworthy.”

“How is this for newsworthy?” Gladys’s voice
lowered an octave as she shifted into her dramatic mode. “And I
quote the headline, ‘The Lady and the Hawk.’ There’s a great
picture of you and Black Hawk in a clench with the moon shining
over your shoulder. It looks like the schoolhouse in the
background.”

Elizabeth gripped the receiver so hard, her
knuckles turned white. “Who did this?”

“You know that brash new reporter... John
What’s His Name... the one who was always following us around when
we distributed pamphlets, trying to sniff out a human interest
story?”

Elizabeth groaned. Then she clapped her hand
over the receiver so Gladys wouldn’t hear.

“Elizabeth, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. You sound sick.”

“No. This will all blow over.” But she knew
it wouldn’t. It would never be over. Not now.