Wild Splendor (26 page)

“We are many days ride ahead of him,” Sage reassured her. He stopped and turned, putting his hands on her shoulders and stopping her. “We will soon be at my new stronghold. Once we are there, no one can find us, especially the white pony soldiers.”

“They found your other stronghold,” Leonida murmured, gazing up at him with worried eyes.

“Only because Four Fingers guided them there,” Sage said in a low growl. “Four Fingers is no longer seeking vengeance. He has gone his way, we have gone ours. He knows not of the location of my new stronghold. We will arrive there safely and live there without fear of being discovered. I have chosen well, my wife. Do not show lack of faith in your husband now, when it is most important.”

“I'm sorry,” Leonida said, flinging herself into his arms. “I didn't mean to show lack of faith in you again. It's just that I don't trust anyone else. Especially Four Fingers. Does a man like him ever forget his hunger for vengeance?” She paused and leaned away from him, gazing into his eyes again. “And what of Harold? I fear that he will search for me to the ends of the earth, if necessary. I fear his anger, Sage.”

Sage moved his hands to the nape of her neck and drew her lips to his. “Like I said, my wife, have faith in your chieftain husband,” he said softly. He pressed his mouth against her lips and gave her a heated kiss as he pushed her down onto the ground, her back cushioned by a deep bed of soft pine needles.

Leonida's arms clung around his neck as his eager fingers lifted her skirt, then sought that damp feathering of hair at the juncture of her thighs.

She spread her legs wide, opening herself to him, unaware that he had shoved his breeches down below his knees. He entered her now with one strong, smooth thrust. He was buried deep, his hips thrusting hard.

Sage slid his mouth from her lips. “Tonight forget everything but your husband,” he whispered against her ear, the heat of his breath causing a tingling sensation to race up and down her spine. “Ride with me to the moon, where we will swing in its half cradle tonight among the stars.”

“My darling, take me there quickly,” Leonida whispered back, breathless as desire spread deliciously through her. She sought his lips and kissed him urgently, her fingers splayed across his hips, urging him endlessly deeper within her.

Sage pulled the tail of her blouse free from the waist of her skirt, then his fingers crept inside it. He moaned against her lips when he found her nipples taut, her breasts as soft as a rose petal against his palms. Then he abandoned her lips and bent low, lifting one of her breasts to his mouth.

His lips closed over a nipple, his tongue flicking around it, drawing a long and sensual moan from deeply within Leonida. He felt the fires of passion spreading through him, tremors of pleasure cascading down his back when one of her hands circled around his manhood as he paused in his thrusts for only a moment.

Withdrawing himself from inside her, he reveled in the touch of her fingers on him and marveled at how she knew the skills so well to pleasure him in this way. He moved his hips in rhythm with her fingers, sucking in a wild breath as he felt the rush of pleasure which meant that he was coming too close to the ultimate of wild splendor. He urged her hand away from him, cupped her throbbing center with his hand, then entered her again with one hard thrust.

Placing his hands beneath her buttocks, he lifted her more tightly against him, making it easier for him to take powerful strokes, filling her more deeply.

Leonida twined her fingers through his hair and pulled his lips down against hers, touching his tongue to hers through her parted lips. Again his hands found the soft swells of her breasts and gently kneaded them. She arched toward him, over and over again. With a groan he met the thrust of her soft body against his.

Then his breath caught and held as he stilled his strokes within her. Their lips parted. He lay his cheek against hers, then resumed his thrusts. The flood of pleasure swept raggedly through him. His loins gave off a great shuddering. He wrapped her within his arms and held her close as their bodies jolted and quivered together, then subsided, exhausted, against each other.

Feeling as though they were the only two people in the universe, Leonida kissed him, and her hands stroked his perspiration-laced skin, making him groan huskily as she closed her fingers around his shrunken shaft.

Sage rolled away from her and stretched out on his back on the cushion of pine needles. He closed his eyes and became lost to rapture as his wife loved him again in ways wonderful to him. He felt content that tomorrow they would be sharing the same sort of bliss in the privacy of the hogan that he would already have built for her in their new stronghold, a place that he had rightfully named “paradise.”

Chapter 31

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Pr'y thee, why so mute?

—S
IR
J
OHN
S
UCKLING

 

 

Harold was beginning to doubt the importance of finding Leonida. Perhaps he was even doubting his sanity for having come out in this damnable heat. The sun was beating down from the heavens this day like a death ray.

He squirmed in his saddle and licked his parched lips. He squinted into the haze that was dancing along the sand that stretched out before the soldiers.

Harold gazed over at Chief Four Fingers, wondering if the Kiowa chief was leading him on a wild goose chase. It was unnatural to place trust in an Indian. The Navaho had been allowed to set up their tents just outside the fort to sell their wares, and look at how they repaid this kindness. Sage had attacked a stagecoach and had taken captives, Leonida among them. Surely he had used some kind of questionable tactics to persuade Leonida to marry him.

Yes, he thought to himself. She
was
worth traveling through this damnable heat over. He would not give up the search until he had her with him again.

Harold thrust his heels into the flanks of his horse and rode up beside Four Fingers. “How much longer are we going to have to travel across this desert?” he shouted, wiping a bead of perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. “Surely this isn't the way to Sage's new stronghold. The women wouldn't last one hour had they been forced to travel in this heat.”

“This is not the way he would have traveled with his people,” Four Fingers said, glowering at Harold. “But it is the way Four Fingers travels to get to the other side of those mountains that you see in the distance, where I think Sage has taken his people. It is uncharted land. It is land I scarcely know myself. That was where I had planned to go eventually to hide away from the likes of you. It seems I did not go there soon enough.”

A big ball of sagebrush came tumbling by in the hot breeze, its sagelike odor wafting through the air behind it. A lizard, with its large, beaded eyes and flashing tongue, darted by, soon burrowing its way deep into the depths of the sand, apparently seeking a cooler hideaway until the moon replaced the sun in the sky.

“I'm not like that lizard,” Harold grumbled. “I'm forced to endure this damned heat. How much longer, Four Fingers? Give me an estimate of how long it's going to be before we can leave this desert.”

“By nightfall you will be sleeping on grass beneath trees,” Four Fingers said matter-of-factly. Then he nudged his horse with his moccasined heels and rode away from Harold, edging in between his Kiowa companions.

Four Fingers leaned over, close to his warrior. “He is a weak man,” he said, grinning. “Neither he nor his soldiers will last the rest of the day in this heat. By nightfall we will be riding free again. We will then see if Sage
is
making his new stronghold in those mountains yonder. If so, we will take it away from him. We will enter the camp under cover of night and one by one kill the Navaho while they are sleeping.”

His eyes narrowed. “One among them will be spared,” he said. “I
will
have the woman with hair the color of corn silk. She will bear my children.”

“And what if the child has hair the color of wheat?” one of his warriors dared to say.

“Golden hair . . . black?” Four Fingers said, shrugging. “During these times when the number of the Kiowa is lessening, does it truly matter the color of the hair? That the child has Kiowa blood flowing through its veins is all that matters.”

Harold did not like seeing the Indians chatting among themselves. He feared that plans of escaping were possibly being discussed. He snapped his reins and rode up to the Kiowa.

“I didn't say that you could gossip like women while on this journey to find Sage,” Harold said with a feral snarl. “Just keep riding. Do you hear?”

A shiver rode up Harold's spine when Four Fingers gave him a savage glare, yet he shrugged it off. He hardly had to worry about his safety when the Indians had no weapons, and he and his soldiers had so many.

He rode onward, flanked on each side by a Kiowa, while the soldiers rode up to stay close behind them. A movement in the distance, through the dancing haze of the heat, drew Harold's keen attention. He leaned over his saddle horn and cupped a hand over his eyes, trying to shield them from the sun. He strained to see what had drawn his attention, but he could see only the blur of the heat as it shimmered across the sand.

“It must've been a damn mirage,” Harold whispered to himself, shuddering at the thought of not surviving this heat. Thinking he saw things might be the beginnings of heatstroke.

He glanced over at Four Fingers, knowing that the Kiowa chief would welcome seeing his white pony soldier companions drop one by one, like flies, from their saddles, from heat exhaustion. The way Harold's clothes seemed to be pressing in on him, like heated gloves clutching him from his shoulders down, he felt that he could hardly stand another minute of wearing the damnable uniform. The deep blue color of his uniform was drawing the sun to it like a magnet. He was even beginning to feel lightheaded.

Again he saw movement in the distance. He squinted his eyes, afraid to accept that what he was seeing was a mirage, for surely after hallucinating came unconsciousness.

Trembling and afraid, he stared into the distance with more determination. He almost shouted with relief when he saw that it was no mirage after all, but many horsemen riding toward him.

Suddenly he shuddered, realizing that there was no reason at all to be happy about seeing men on horseback out in the middle of the desert. He and his men had no cover if they were attacked, and scarcely any energy left for the fight that was due. The heat had drained them of their energy.

“Who is that?” Harold cried, giving Four Fingers a harried look. “Can you tell? Who's approaching us?”

Chief Four Fingers drew up quickly, forcing his horse to a sudden stop.

Everyone followed his lead.

Harold leaned closer to Four Fingers. “Why did you stop?” he shouted, sweat pouring from his brow and stinging his eyes as it rolled across them.

“Renegades!” Four Fingers said, fear etched on his usually stoic face. “It is Navaho renegades. These renegades are the ones responsible for the massacres and killings of the white settlers. They are responsible for my band of Kiowa being so few in number. They kill without reason or feelings. They are heartless.”

“Good Lord,” Harold said, panicking. He looked in all directions but saw no route of escape. If he and his men turned and ran, the Navaho would soon catch up with them. If they met them head on, they would have no chance of surviving. From the looks of it, the Navaho renegades outnumbered this entourage of soldiers and prisoners three to one.

He saw that he had only one order to give. “Dismount and get your horses on their sides,” he shouted. “Use them as cover. Defend yourselves as best as you can.”

In a scramble his men forced the horses to the ground. The soldiers, as well as the Kiowa, knelt down behind them. The Kiowa were given weapons again, for now they were all fighting for their lives together.

Harold gulped hard and steadied his aim, his fingers trembling on the trigger as the Navaho came dashing toward them. Tears came to his eyes, for he knew that soon he would be meeting his Maker and he was afraid that he would be turned away, to go where all sinners had to go.

He had one last fleeting thought of Leonida, his heart thumping wildly as an arrow pierced his chest and he discovered too late the difference between Sage and these bloodthirsty renegades.

One by one the soldiers fell, followed by the Kiowa warriors. Four Fingers clutched at the arrow buried deep in his chest and looked wild-eyed at the renegade who lowered his knife to remove the Kiowa's scalp.

* * *

Kit Carson awakened with a start. He rose up on an elbow, finding his nightshirt drenched with perspiration. He glanced at the nightstand beside his bed, where a candle wick floating in the melted wax still burned. His nose wrinkled at the scent of medication from several half-empty bottles on the table.

Then he was aware of something else—a woman on the other side of his bed, her hand now cool against his brow.

He turned to her, eyes wide. “Sally?” he said. “Good lord, Sally, how long have I been here like this? My recollections are vague about everything right now.”

“You've been slightly out of your head with a raging fever,” Sally explained softly. “But now it's gone. Your flesh is finally cool. You asked how long you have been so ill? I've even lost track of time. I have hardly left your bedside. It was a way to say thank-you for everything that you've done, not only for me and Adam but also for Leonida and Sage.”

Kit's eyes widened and he bolted quickly to a sitting position, knocking Sally's hand clumsily away. “God,” he said. “Sage!”

He gave Sally a quick look. “I left orders for Sage to be left alone,” he said, frowning. “I hope Harold heeded them.” He nodded toward the door. “Sally, go and tell Harold that my fever has broken and that I am lucid again. I need to talk with him. It's urgent.”

“Sir, Harold's been gone almost as long as you've been raging with fever,” she murmured. “He took a good portion of the soldiers with him. It is rumored that he might be going to look for Sage. I must admit, this was another reason I stayed so steadfastly at your bedside. I desperately wanted to get you well again. You are the only one who can stop Harold. But still, Kit, you are not well enough to ride, even if your fever has broken. You must be so weak.”

Kit's face reddened with rage, his eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. “That goddamn idiot,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “That bastard! Doesn't he know a direct order when he hears it? What does he think he's doing, refusing to listen to reason about the Navaho? But I must remember—it's not the Navaho who made him leave the fort in a frenzy. It's Leonida. He just won't let go.”

Sally rushed to her feet and went to the other side of the bed, gasping when Kit tried to stand, then fell back onto the bed as his knees gave way.

“Kit, you're too weak,” Sally said, going to him and trying to steady him as he again determinedly placed his feet firmly on the floor. “You can't go anywhere in this condition.”

“Nothing's stopping me,” Kit growled. He brushed her helping hand away, smiling grimly when he finally succeeded at standing on his own. “I'm going after Harold. If I have to search up one side of this land and down the other, I'm going to find the scoundrel. If I have to be tied into the saddle to continue the search, damn it then, so be it. I gave Sage my word. No one is going to make me a liar.”

“Kit, let me send for a soldier,” Sally said, wringing her hands nervously. “Tell him where to go. Please don't try to do this yourself. You are already weak. The sun will kill you.”

“Hand me my clothes,” Kit said, leaning his full weight against the bedpost at the end of the bed. “Then leave. I'll manage just fine after that.”

Sally scrambled around the room and gathered up his clothes, gave them to him, and left in a flurry.

Kit dressed shakily, yanked on his knee-high boots, slapped his guns and holster around his waist, then flopped a hat on his head.

He grabbed his rifle and sauntered from the room, weak but yet holding on by sheer will. He welcomed some bread and cheese that Sally gave him as he walked without stopping toward the door. Eating these, he went out in the courtyard.

Soon he had enough men rounded up to travel. He left scarcely enough there to protect the fort, yet he saw no other choice in the matter.

Sally and the women filled all of the saddlebags with enough food to last several days and hung large canteens of water over the saddle horns of the saddle.

Kit mounted, gasping for breath with the effort. He shook off a moment of light-headedness and settled himself in the saddle, then saluted the soldiers who were being left behind and left.

Among this entourage of soldiers was a Navaho scout who was paid well for his services to the army. He knew this land, surely as well as Sage, Chief Four Fingers, and all renegades. If anyone could find Harold and the soldiers, he could.

The Indian scout led the soldiers, and Kit forced himself to sit square in the saddle, even though waves of weakness kept washing over him.

Hours passed. Day turned to night. They stopped to eat and get a few winks of sleep.

Early the next day they traveled on. The morning came in muted pinks, oranges, and grays. The desert stretched out before Kit in the hazy light.

He did not question the scout about traveling now in the desert. He seemed to be an expert at tracking as well as scouting and to know where he was going.

As the sun rose to high noon beating down upon Kit, dizzying him, he thought he saw something ahead through the haze of heat, something stretched out along the sand, unmoving.

Suddenly the scout raised a hand for everyone to stop. He rode back and edged his horse closer to Kit's. “Death lies in the sand ahead,” he said in a monotone.

“Do you think it's . . . ?” Kit began, but the scout interrupted him. “I will ride ahead and see, or you can accompany me there,” the scout said.

“I've come this far,” Kit said. “I may as well go the extra mile.”

Somberly, cautiously, the entourage moved onward. When they arrived at the death scene, Kit turned away and held his head low, retching. He closed his eyes, yet he could not keep the picture of what he had just seen from surfacing in his mind's eye.