Wind Rider (16 page)

Hannah’s hands roamed freely over his chest and shoulders, marveling at the smoothness of his golden skin, the firmness of the underlying muscle. She had no idea what would happen at
the end of these seven days, but she intended to
make the most of them. She knew Wind Rider hadn’t married her because he loved her, and
she worried that he would give her to Cut
Nose when he tired of her. Undoubtedly Wind Rider would raid again one day soon, and she
feared he wouldn’t return. She couldn’t bear
the thought of being left to the mercies of the
Indians without Wind Rider to protect her.

“How did you seek your vision?” she asked
idly.

With Hannah’s hands on his flesh he could
barely think, let alone answer her question. He had never felt this way about a woman before and he had no time to explore the strange emo
tion that made him desire this woman above
all others. His eyes glowed like liquid silver as
he felt his body harden.

“I will tell you about my vision . .. later.”

He rolled her over on her back, seizing her
lips to still her words. It didn’t take long for
him to decide that he thoroughly enjoyed kiss
ing. He kissed her ravenously, until her lips
opened beneath his, inviting his tongue. He
obliged eagerly, thrusting into the sweet cavern of her mouth until she lost her breath and grew dizzy. With blackness swiftly approaching, he
released her mouth and kissed her eyes, her
cheeks, her nose, sweet butterfly kisses that sent heat rushing through her veins while his hands played with her breasts and teased her
nipples into painful erectness.

His hands moved over her body with amazing gentleness; her soft sighs and moans made him long to thrust into her and stroke him
self to completion. Mastering his powerful
need with incredible restraint, he continued
to arouse Hannah to a fever pitch, savoring
the way her body responded to his touch. His
hand slipped between her legs, finding her wet and ready, but for some reason he wanted to
bring her more pleasure than she had ever
known.

“Wind Rider, please ...”

He knew what she was asking but was not ready to appease her hunger. “Soon, Little
Sparrow, very soon.” His face was stark with
passion, hard and greedy, ravenous, his mus
cles tense. No part of her body was sacrosanct
as his lips and hands worked their magic on
her. By the time he grasped her waist and set
her astride him she was reduced to begging,
so great was her need. “Now, Little Sparrow,
now.”

He raised her body and shoved her down
hard on his erection. He pierced her deeply, so deeply she arched her back, threw back her head, and screamed.

“Ride me, Little Sparrow,” Wind Rider urged. He grasped her buttocks, sliding her
up and down his great length, teaching her the rhythm. “Ride me, sweet one. Let me be your
wild stallion and I will take you on a wondrous journey.”

“Yes, oh, yes,” Hannah gasped, twisting her
body in wild abandon. Nothing in her limited
experience had prepared her for this man. No
matter what happened in the future, she would
have these seven days to remember and savor
all of her life.

A fine sheen of sweat turned Wind Rider’s skin to molten gold. His finely honed muscles rippled, and the tendons in his neck bulged as
he strained to contain his climax until Hannah
had reached hers. When he felt the tremors
signaling the beginning of rapture, he feared
he would leave her behind. Inserting a hand between their bodies, he found the tiny bud of
sensation located at the juncture of her thighs
and massaged gently with the pad of his finger. When his mouth closed over a swollen nipple,
sucking vigorously, she reacted instantly and
violently.

“Wind Rider!”

“Come with me, Little Sparrow,” he urged
raggedly. “Come.”

She did. Wantonly. With utter abandon.
Every delicious contraction was intensified by
the circular motion of his fingertip. She held
nothing back, offering herself upon the altar of his masculinity, demanding that he return
her offering in kind.

Lost in the throes of ecstasy, his seed spewed
forth in a hot stream of liquid fire. Without
his knowledge he cried out her name at the
moment of climax. When she had nothing
more to give she collapsed against his chest,
unable to move, incapable of speaking, unwill
ing to think.

Wind Rider lay unmoving beneath her,
utterly stunned by the turbulence of their
lovemaking. If he died tomorrow, as indeed
he might, given the precarious nature of his existence, he’d go to his death knowing he’d
experienced the greatest joy known to man. To
his knowledge, few mortals were granted that
privilege.

He frowned, staring at Hannah as if seeing
her for the first time. Carefully, he lifted her off
him and lay her down beside him. He sudden
ly understood something that had previously escaped him. Somehow, in some way, this woman was a threat to his very existence.

He was Cheyenne; Hannah was white. He
could not allow himself to feel so deeply for a white woman. Already she had tried to con
vince him to leave the People. If he allowed her
to conquer his heart, he would lose his identity,
and that would be disastrous. He could not
exist in the white world, nor would he aban
don his people for a woman. Self-preservation
demanded that he harden his heart against her, that he enjoy her body while he was able, but,
when the time came, that he must forget she
ever existed. It would not be easy, but if he
was to save himself he must force himself to
resist the magical allure of Hannah McLin.

“Why are you looking at me so strangely?” Hannah asked. A shiver of apprehension slid down her spine. Something had changed, but she knew not what. “What have I done?”

“You have done nothing.
Heammawihio
has opened my eyes/’

“What does that mean?”

“Heammawihio
is the great spirit above who
guides our lives. I had nearly forgotten why I rode north to join the Sioux, but in his wisdom
Heammawihio
reminded me. Our time in the
honeymoon lodge grows short. Tomorrow we
must return to the village.”

“Then what?”

“Then you will do what every Indian wife
does and I will do what I must to drive the
white eyes from our land. Perhaps,” he taunted,
not really meaning it, “I will take a second
wife as the council suggested, to help with the
chores.” He watched her closely to see if his
words had the desired effect. He couldn’t let
her think she had become so important to him
that he would forget his duty to his people.

The effect upon Hannah was devastating.
During the past few days she had never been
so happy or carefree. Wind Rider had given
her his undivided attention, making her feel
special and beautiful, though she knew she
wasn’t. Their honeymoon had given her hope that one day he would listen to her pleas and
return to his white heritage. But now his words
had demonstrated just how cold-blooded he
could be, how heartless. He had taken her
body in lust, used her, taught her to need him,
then cruelly shattered her hopes and dreams
by withdrawing everything of himself he had given. Had it been a game with him? She did not think he could be so cruel.

“Perhaps you should take a second wife,” she
retorted. She knew it was her pride speaking,
but she couldn’t stop herself. “You are beginning to bore me anyway.” She almost choked
on the words, recalling how moments ago he
had taken her on a journey she would remem
ber for the rest of her life.

Their last night in the honeymoon lodge was
a bittersweet one for Hannah. Wind Rider
made love to her with practiced detachment, as if trying to distance himself now that their time
alone was at an end and his duty to the tribe
took precedence. When he finished he lay back
and stared at the stars through the smokehole,
trying to come to terms with his emotions.

“My vision did not tell me I would meet
someone like you.”

His voice was so low, Hannah had to strain
to hear him. “What kind of vision are you talk
ing about? You mentioned something about a
vision before.”

“When an Indian youth reaches a certain age he goes off by himself to pray and fast.

He remains many days, until a vision comes
to him. Often a vision will give him the name that he will bear the rest of his life. Sometimes it foretells the future. When a time of decision
comes in a warrior’s life he goes on a vision
quest, seeking guidance/’

“What did your vision tell you?” Hannah asked curiously.

“The medicine man interpreted it shortly after I returned from my quest, but he said
some things would be made known only to me by the Great Spirit. I saw myself astride
a great stallion, riding away from the village
on a gust of wind. Thus my name, Wind Rider.
A small brown bird perched on my shoulder.
Then I saw myself slowly disappearing into
thin air as I rode away. As I faded from sight
I saw that I was wearing white man’s clothing.
The medicine man said the small bird was my
personal talisman and that I should protect it
at all times.”

“What do you think it meant?” Hannah
asked curiously. She found the idea of the
vision fascinating, whether or not it meant
anything.

Wind Rider did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke his voice was flat, utterly devoid of emotion. “I believe I foresaw my
own death. When I disappeared into thin air it
meant I would walk the Spirit Path before my
time.”

Hannah gasped in dismay. “No! It was only
a dream. You have no idea what it meant.”

Imagining Wind Rider’s death was too painful
to contemplate.

“It was no dream, Little Sparrow. Visions do not lie. The life I lead is a dangerous one. Each
time I ride against the white eyes I wonder if it will be my last. But the meaning of the brown
bird on my shoulder has suddenly become
clear,” He stared at her, as if seeing her for
the first time. “You are my little brown bird, my personal talisman. Perhaps you will bring
me powerful medicine.”

“I certainly hope so,” Hannah said fervently.
“You don’t have to raid,” she reminded him.
“You’re white, for God’s sake! You can leave;
there is nothing holding you back.”

Wind Rider turned away from her. “How
can I turn my back on the only life I can
remember? White Feather taught me every
thing I know. He rescued me and my sister from the Crow after they killed our parents and adopted us. Since then I’ve learned that
my own kind are the savages. They kill the Peo
ple and drive them from their lands because
they are greedy. They are not content to share
the land with the People; they want it all.
They want to herd us onto reservations like
animals.”

Hannah had no reply. From what she’d
heard, Wind Rider’s assessment of the situation between Indians and whites was correct. But
not all white men were necessarily like the ones
Wind Rider had described. She mentioned that
fact to Wind Rider.

“Perhaps not,” he concurred, thinking of
Zach Mercer, who had fallen in love with
his sister. Zach had also fought beside the
Cheyenne when the Crow had invaded their village. “But what you ask is impossible. We
will speak no more about it.”

The moon rode high in the sky. Wind Rider shifted positions on his pallet of furs, uncom
fortably aware of Hannah’s warm body curled
beside him. Once he had recognized the fact
that Hannah was becoming essential to his well-being, he had vowed to disengage his emotions from the white wife he hadn’t really
wanted. He didn’t need her as desperately as he imagined, he told himself even as his arm crept
around her slim waist with a will of its own.
A good Cheyenne warrior practiced restraint,
learned to quell his body’s urges, and didn’t
allow his need for a woman to blind him to
his duty. He had already made love to Hannah
more than once tonight, and that should be
enough for any man.