Comanche passion, p.5
Comanche Passion, page 5
“You filled me with brandy so I would do what you want,” she stammered, finding it difficult to talk.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, studying her solemnly. “I’ve filled you with brandy so I can get you on the ferry without much protest.”
“You’re a…a—” She had difficulty coming up with an adequate word. “A ruffian!”
“Savannah, you need to learn how to put a man in his place. Calling me a ruffian doesn’t do it,” he said dryly, smoothing a tendril of hair away from her cheek. The touch of his fingers set her pulse racing. “We’ll pack and go. I don’t want to miss the ferry and have to go through this again.”
“I hate you for this. My sister needs me.”
Suddenly he caught her upper arms, holding her firmly. He tilted her face up with his forefinger. “Why? The truth now! Why are you going to Nacogdoches to see your sister?”
He startled her, and she was frightened again. How could he tell whether she was lying or telling him the truth? Most people could not. He went from kind and gentle to harsh and frightening in a breath’s time and he kept her off-balance, not knowing what to expect from him.
“She needs me,” she repeated, looking into fierce black eyes that made her heart jump in fright. Only seconds ago he was answering her questions in a pleasant voice. Now she felt as if her life were threatened. Suddenly she pulled herself up and tried to yank free. “Unhand me! You’re a ruffian and you don’t know anything about being a gentleman. If I get a chance, I shall plunge a knife right into your wicked heart!”
His fingers tightened. “The truth now!” His voice sent a chill down her spine. Suddenly she was uncertain what he might do.
“She needs to get away from her husband, and I intend to help her,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “He’s cruel to her.” Forgive me, Adela. Until this moment she had kept her promise and hadn’t told anyone why she was going to Nacogdoches. Yet it wouldn’t matter that she had told Captain Red Hawk, because he would have no part in Adela’s life.
“If she has waited this long for your help, she can wait a while longer.”
Angered, Savannah stared at him. His reaction was exactly what she had feared, and frustration welled up in her. She needed to get away from him, even if it meant leaving behind the morphine and laudanum.
“Let’s go to the ferry.” He rolled up the blanket and tied it behind the saddle, picked up the food, and finally mounted and lifted her up beside him.
“I’m dizzy, and I blame you for how I feel. If I get sick, it will be your fault.”
“I’ll take all the blame,” he said cheerfully, and her anger grew. She held her head.
“Everything spins.”
“Lean back against me and close your eyes.”
“I’ve touched you quite enough for one day!” she snapped. “And when I close my eyes, it’s worse.”
“I’ll tell them you’re my wife. Try to cooperate.”
“Your wife! They’ll know I hate you.”
“Is that so unusual for a husband and wife? I have seen some marriages where hate boils between the couple.”
“Unfortunately, yes. My sister and her husband have such a loveless union. Although Adela fears her husband, I think my sister is incapable of hate. She’s very gentle.”
“So you’re not alike.”
Suddenly she laughed, wondering if he found her a complete vixen. She glanced over her shoulder at him and caught him watching her intently. He grasped her chin and ran his thumb along her cheek, creating fiery tingles.
“Ah, laughter, Savannah. I think men might kill to win a smile from you,” he drawled in a voice like velvet.
Amazed, she looked into his dark eyes and was startled by his words. “I think not,” she replied, but she wondered about his remark and how much he had meant it. Men might kill to win a smile from you. She could scarcely believe she had heard correctly. He did not seem the type of man to speak flowery phrases.
While she thought about what he had said, they rode in silence. Hot, her head spinning, she grew sleepy, yet she knew she must think or she would be crossing the Mississippi and on her way into Louisiana with a man who was ruthless and held no regard for gentlemanly ways.
“I will not get on that ferry with you!” she exclaimed suddenly, turning to look up at him.
“You have no choice. Remember, Yankees are hunting you as much as they’re searching for me. If they find you, you’ll go to a cold, confining prison for the duration of the war. That Bluebelly uncle of yours might not be able to keep you out.”
Angry with Red Hawk, she shivered and was silent. Shadows were long when they topped a rise and looked down on the wide Mississippi. In the late afternoon, the river was a shimmering brown ribbon, its calm surface belying the strong currents that ran below. While wind blew against her, she gazed across the Mississippi to the west and was frightened, suspecting if she crossed the river with him, her life would change forever. Giving a shake, she tried to brush away the premonition as foolishness. She looked up to find him watching her with a curious look in his eyes.
“Don’t do this,” she said urgently. “Let me go home.”
He stared at her, something shifting and changing in the depths of his dark eyes. What kind of complex man was he? Born of one culture, taken from it and thrown into another, now caught in a war, he wasn’t like anyone she had ever known.
The men in her life had been like her father, who had always been kind and good to her. Thomas was always considerate; male servants were polite and respectful. Captain Red Hawk was something out of her experience, and she had no measure of what to expect.
She was half afraid of him, but the other half—she was afraid of herself and the inexplicable, tumultuous feelings he aroused. She didn’t understand her own reactions to him. She liked his kisses. It went beyond like, and she knew it. She suspected no man’s kisses would ever be the same as his, and that realization shook her badly.
As if he knew the train of her thoughts, his arm tightened around her waist while he urged the horse forward.
The dock teemed with people. Union soldiers boarded the large ferry. A sternwheeler passed, stirring waves that rolled in toward shore while the paddlewheel thrashed the water into foam.
Red Hawk rode down the slope and out toward the ferry, where he tugged on the reins and halted.
He dismounted to lift her down, leading the horse on board. Savannah tried to think. The world spun and nothing seemed to matter except to keep from losing her balance, but she wanted to escape. Once they were on the opposite shore, there would be no one to help her escape. Her gaze searched the crowd on the ferry. She spotted a man who wore a uniform and a cap and guessed he must be the ferry captain.
With Red Hawk’s arm steadying her, they moved in a throng of people. She looked up at Red Hawk. He stared ahead, looking hard and dangerous, yet she had to risk getting help now.
With a twist Savannah broke away from him. She pushed through the crush of passengers, her gaze fixed on the captain.
She dared not look around and her heart pounded as she tried to get through the crowd. At any second, she expected a hand to clamp on her shoulder or an arm to band around her waist and lift her off her feet.
“Excuse me,” she said, slipping past a couple herding three children aboard.
She rushed to the captain to tug on his arm. “Sir,” she exclaimed, “that man is taking me from Vicksburg against my will. Please help me!” she cried.
The captain turned blue eyes on her as Red Hawk stepped to her side and slipped his arm around her waist. “Sir, please ignore my wife,” Red Hawk said with a quiet note of patience she hadn’t heard him use before. “She ran away with another man—”
“No!” she gasped. “I’m not—”
“While she may not be happy with me, she’s wed to me and is the mother of our five children. I’m taking her home. Darling,” he said, looking down at her, “please come back to us. All our little ones want you back so badly. My sister can’t keep the babies much longer.”
“No! We aren’t husband and wife!” Savannah wailed, hating the slur in her words. “Please, he’s lying.”
“Five children? She looks young.” The captain peered at her.
“I married her when she was thirteen. She’s young, and maybe that’s why—”
“We’re not wed!” she exclaimed.
The captain tugged at his thick brown beard. His long face became longer as he scowled.
“She likes her brandy, but I’ll get her sober before we reach home and the children. I had to take her away from him. He was a smooth-talking Rebel, and they had been at the brandy. I’m sorry for the disturbance. It’s been a trying time and I know five children can be a task, but we need her,” Red Hawk said. “When she left, I was fighting in the war and I had to leave my outfit and return to get her. Every night our children cry themselves to sleep for their mama.”
“We don’t have children! He’s taking me against my will. Please help me. Please stop him.”
“She’s been at the brandy, all right. Some women just don’t know when they’re well off.” The captain glared at her and shook a bony finger. “Young woman, you need to go with your husband and return to your family and be thankful if he doesn’t beat you senseless for this!” He looked up at Red Hawk. “Maybe if you take a cane to her, sir, you won’t have this trouble again.”
“Perhaps, but she’s their mother and I can’t bear to lay a hand on her.”
“Will you listen?” She tugged on the captain’s arm. “I’m not his wife! Talk to—”
“Sir,” he said, leaning closer to Red Hawk. “I’m telling you, some women need a firm hand. Five children need a mother. If I were you, I would give her a good beating. Then she wouldn’t be as likely to do this again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may have my cabin while we cross the river,” the captain said under his breath. “I’ll be here. There’s a stout whip in my cabin. You should use it, man.”
“I’ll give it thought.”
“No! Please listen—” Savannah cried, and received a stone-faced glare from the captain.
“Young woman, you need to mind your responsibilities to your husband and your children. Whiskey is never a good companion for a woman.” He turned to Red Hawk. “Hitch your horse with the others and take her to my cabin. I’ll see you’re not disturbed.”
“Come along, love,” Red Hawk said, propelling her away from the captain. People were staring. She would get no help. Two Union soldiers watched them, and she bit her lip, thinking of all the morphine and quinine in the saddlebags.
Red Hawk tied his horse with the others and then led her to a cabin and stepped inside, pulling her in and closing the door. He leaned against it, looking satisfied.
“How could that man think I have five children!” Fury washed over her, and she turned away from him, her gaze sweeping the small cabin that held a desk, a bunk, and a washstand. Clothes hung on hooks on the bulkhead and a rawhide whip stood in a corner. Her gaze drifted back to the bunk. Hanging on a hook on the bulkhead over the bunk was a pistol. Savannah rushed to it, yanking it down, feeling the weight of it in her hand. Turning in the bunk, she aimed at Red Hawk.
Chapter Four
“We’re getting off this ferry now, or I’ll shoot you. Turn around and let’s go. I’ll be right behind you with this gun pointed at you.”
Instead, he moved toward her, and Savannah drew a deep breath. Her head spun, and there was a double image of him. Her heart pounded because he was coming closer. She pulled back the hammer with a click.
He continued to advance, his dark gaze holding hers, taunting her. “If you shoot me in here, the captain will turn you over to the authorities for murder,” he said softly. “And you’re not going to shoot, Savannah. You won’t kill me. You can’t take my life from me.”
“Yes, I can shoot you,” she said, gazing into his eyes and feeling caught in another silent battle. He moved closer, and she raised the pistol to aim at his heart. “Stop where you are.”
“You won’t shoot, because you can’t kill a man who hasn’t harmed you.”
As he moved closer, she licked her lips. She couldn’t get her breath. She had to shoot or give up the pistol and let him take her to Louisiana. He was advancing, and she would lose her only chance if she let him frighten her. She could barely breathe.
“Savannah,” he said softly, taking another step toward her.
“Stop!” Savannah’s heart thudded as she scooted back on the bunk until she was pressed against a bulkhead. “Stay where you are,” she ordered, knowing she had to shoot now. Her hands shook, and the pistol wavered. She didn’t know how to aim and she couldn’t bear to shoot her captor in the face.
While Red Hawk’s gaze held hers, he moved closer. Shutting her eyes, she squeezed the trigger.
The blast was deafening in the small cabin. She felt as if a tree hit her as Red Hawk collapsed on top of her.
Her heart missed several beats. Had she killed him? Had she actually murdered a man? Horror numbed her while she stared at him and tried to wriggle away.
Then he moved, twisting, raising his head, his dark eyes causing her to flinch. To her horror, crimson blossomed over his shirt sleeve and across his shoulder and chest.
“You little witch!” He yanked the pistol from her hands, then ran to the door and opened it. She heard men’s voices. “It’s all right. An accident was all,” he called to someone.
As he closed the door and turned around, she saw a dark stain on his upper arm. His eyes were filled with fire when she looked at him, and she shrank back against the bulkhead as he strode across the room.
“I warned you,” she gasped, terrified of him, shocked by her own actions. She had shot him.
“You could have killed me!”
“I told you to get back!”
He leaned over her, his face inches from hers, his hands on the bunk on either side of her, his fingers splayed. A vein in his neck pulsed with each heartbeat.
She glanced at the wound, the scarlet soaking his left sleeve. I shot him. He might die at my hand. “You’re bleeding.”
“I should take that whip to you and beat you into submission!”
She raised her face, and they glared at each other.
“You’re a little witch, Savannah Ravenwood, and in one more minute—”
He tilted her chin up, and her heart pounded. “One more minute until what?” she demanded, looking at him. He was too close, too angry. His eyes were thickly lashed. The look in them made her breath catch. His gaze burned, but it wasn’t anger she saw. It was hot, blatant desire.
Her pulse raced. His gaze drifted to her lips, and her mouth tingled. On fire, she watched him, unable to get her breath. Her pulse skittered and awareness of everything else fell away. She stared into his midnight eyes until she was drowning in their darkness. Then he leaned closer, bending down, his gaze holding hers. He tossed away the pistol and his hands went into her hair, tilting her head.
His mouth slanted over hers, warm, demanding. Her heart thudded, and she struggled against him. His strong arms closing around her, he caught her up against him, sitting on the bunk and leaning over her, pressing her down as his tongue, wet and hot, stroked her mouth. Her lips parted, and his tongue went deep. She was possessed, united with his strength. Her muddled senses could not sort out thoughts, but it felt as if she belonged in his arms. Never had she known kisses like this man’s.
An ache, warm and deep inside her, flowered and spread, making her hips shift as she returned his kiss. Her senses spun and reeled while sensations bombarded her. He had plied her with brandy and she was hot and dizzy and she wanted him with a painful urgency.
Stunned by her own feelings, she wanted his kisses in a manner she hadn’t known was possible. He shifted her, pulling her down and moving over her, his long hard body stretching on top of her. His arousal pressed thickly against her as she kissed him. He raised his head to look into her eyes.
“You kiss like fire, yet you just tried to kill me.”
“I wanted to kill you,” she admitted breathlessly, her emotions swirling as much as the cabin was spinning. “You’ve filled me with brandy. It makes me want to kiss you,” she whispered, wondering if that was the truth or not.
He shifted, raising slightly. “This damned dress is fastened to your chin,” he said, moving away and pulling her up.
Her heart pounded at the need in his eyes. No man had looked at her in such a way before—as if he were desperate for her.
A blast from the whistle shattered the moment between them. While he swore softly, she pushed him away.
“I’m foxed on brandy, and you caused it. You have taken advantage of me,” she said, barely aware of the words that spilled out of her. Her thoughts were on him, his kisses, the hungry look in his eyes.
“Not too much advantage, Savannah, when you shot me.”
“I think you deserved it wholly,” she answered solemnly as she straightened her clothing. “The cabin spins and it is far too hot. You’re bleeding badly,” she said, frightened at how quickly his shirt had become soaked in blood.
He turned away and yanked off his shirt. Muscles rippled across his chest, and her breath went out in a rush, as if someone had dealt her a blow. Mesmerized by the sight of him, she stared as he ripped off a piece of his shirt. At the sight of the ugly, bleeding gunshot wound, she felt faint. The wound looked dreadful, and guilt swamped her. Turning, he strode across the cabin, and she was startled at the sight of the scars and slashes across his back.
“Your back!”
He glanced at her and arched his brow. “I was taken prisoner and given a beating.”
He picked up a pitcher and poured water over his arm, leaning over the washbowl. Now he looked more the wild savage than ever, with his bare skin and blood-drenched arm and long black hair. She was drawn and repulsed at the same time, fascinated and frightened.
