Captive (20 page)

“Stepfather!” she snapped. “Stepfather, stepfather, stepfather!”

He stiffened harder, staring at her. “If you have led him out here—”

“Led him out here? I am trying to escape him!” she cried.

Her voice seemed to linger on the air. He didn’t move, nor did she.

Then slowly he exhaled. “You just came riding here by yourself in the dead of night?”

“It wasn’t the dead of night when I left.”

“You rode on a trail, having no idea of where it would lead?”

“I had some idea,” she said uneasily. He stared at her and she shrugged. “When we were riding this morning,
Tara told me that there were cabins out here, that you had lived here. Once. Before …” Her voice trailed away. She swallowed miserably. She started over. “I didn’t know that I’d find you out here. I just hoped for a place to … wait awhile.”

He still stared at her, then shook his head wearily. “No one knows you came?”

She shook her head fiercely. “No! Except—”

“Except?” he demanded.

“Your … daughter,” Teela said. “Jennifer brought me water.”

“My six-year-old has more sense than you do. And she would certainly have more chance of survival alone.”

“I was doing fine until you attacked me.”

“I didn’t attack you.”

“Well, I was on my horse. And then I wasn’t. My greatest danger then was dying from fear. I was on the ground; you were on top of me. Close enough to an attack, I’d say.”

“I had to know that you were alone.”

She was silent a moment, her own anger suddenly beginning to boil. “How dare you! How dare you behave as if I would willingly bring him after you!”

He shrugged. “I don’t give a damn if he comes after me. I think I would like him to!” he added in a strange whisper. “But I don’t want him out here. My people—survivors and mediators—come here to use these cabins, seeking shelter from the wilderness, from the night. From the cold that sometimes comes. I don’t want them burned down. I don’t want the white army finding this place.”

“But your people have fled.”

“I don’t want the village burned,” he repeated.

“I came to escape, I swear it. I did not come to cause any trouble, to you or this place.”

“You
are
trouble,” he said irritably.

She fell silent, then swung around, heading for the cabin door. “Fine. Then I will leave.”

“Get back here!”

She kept going. A foolishly defiant gesture because in seconds he’d taken a firm, biting hold of her arm and swung her back around. “Now what are you doing?”

“Trying not to be trouble, to leave you in peace,” she said angrily.

“It’s too late for that,” he said. He prodded her toward the fire. “Sit down, warm your hands. They are freezing.”

She hadn’t much choice. She didn’t even really get to sit; his little push sent her down to her knees, but die fire was warm, and she did stretch out her hands, shivering. The warmth was wonderful.

He came down beside her, pressing a silver flask into her hands. She stared at him. “Brandy. I imagine you need it.”

She did. She swallowed some down, winced, and swallowed another sip before handing the flask back to him. He stared at her a long moment, then shook his head. “Why? Why would you risk your life, riding into hammock and swampland you know nothing about?”

She stared into the crackling flames.

“I didn’t lie to your fa—to Warren today. There are bands of warriors out here. Off Jarrett’s property you could be in very serious danger. It’s probably well known by now that Warren has a daughter. I cannot tell you how fiercely he is hated.”

“And I cannot tell you how fiercely I hate him myself!” she cried softly.

It seemed an eternity that he still stared at her; then he suddenly reached out for her. She stiffened, then slowly eased back into his arms when she saw that the anger had died out of his eyes. She rested against his chest, and they both stared into the flames.

“Did you really walk out of your own wedding right at the altar?” he asked with a trace of amusement.

“I didn’t do it to hurt anyone.”

“You are a defiant little creature,” he mused. “But that casts you into even greater danger here.”

“Why?”

“Because there is a war on, a horrible war. You should go home, go back to Charleston.”

“I didn’t ask to come here; I was
brought
here.”

James shook his head, his chin brushing her hair so that she felt the motion rather than seeing it. “Jarrett will have friends with influence over Warren; you’ve got to go home, get out of here. You don’t belong here; you’re not a part of this.”

He caught her shoulders, setting her from him so that he could meet her eyes. His own blue had narrowed and all but darkened to black as he stared at her intently. “Marry Harrington,” he told her. “Let him send you home.”

She jerked from his hold. “You are beginning to sound just like Michael Warren!” she accused him. She stood up and paced away from the fire.

She looked around the walls. A deerskin lined one of them, with drawings of a hunt upon it. There were other small touches: calico curtains decorated a small window.

She turned again to watch him and realized they were thinking the same thing. This had been his family home. He had lived here with his wife. She was invading a sanctuary.

He looked away from her, throwing a stick upon the fire. “Jarrett will be here for you by morning,” he said.

“But—”

“There are only two directions in which you might have ridden. One would take you to Robert’s house. The other would bring you into the woods and swamp. My brother will send the soldiers to Robert’s. Then he will slip out by night and come here himself.”

“Then,” she said resignedly, “I will either ride back with him. Or—ride deeper into the swamp.”

He stood up, angry and impatient again. “You are not going to risk losing your scalp—not to mention your life, you little fool!” He strode across the room, picking up one of the bundles and releasing the tie. It was a sleeping pallet, and he spread it out by the blaze, then brought another near it along with two red plaid blankets.
“Not exactly my brother’s fine house, Miss Warren, but I suppose it’ll do for the evening.”

She hesitated, but she was exhausted. And she didn’t have much choice.

She walked to one of the pallets and sat stiffly, amazed at how comfortable it was. She stretched out, staring belligerently up at him.

He stood over her, looking down at her. Suddenly, savagely, he spat out two words:

“Damn you!”

And a second later, he was down beside her, on his knees, his hands upon her shoulders, drawing her up to him. She felt his mouth, searing, invading, harsh, so demanding. And then, so suddenly, so seductive. Tongue teasing, lips molding to hers … She brought her fingers tentatively to his hair, stroked them through it, drew him closer and closer. Upon her knees she pressed to the length of him, feeling the naked fire of his chest through the cotton of her riding habit. One hand cradled her head, the other moved up and down along her spine, holding her closer, crushing her against him, then slipped lower to her buttocks, lifted and rocked her against him.

He lowered her to the floor. One by one he eased open the buttons of her jacket and then her blouse, parting them both. He found the string of her corset and pulled it, and her naked breasts sprang forth. He lay his face against the valley of her breasts, feeling the warmth of her with his cheek, listening to the pummeling of her heart and the catch of her breath.

He came to his knees again, determinedly pulling her clothing from her, piece by piece.

And when it was shed, corset here, boots there, stockings dangerously near the fire, he paused suddenly, staring at her almost harshly in the fire’s glow. He fell on her, capturing her mouth, spreading her legs, loosening his breeches to sweep and thrust into her with a raw passion that nearly brought her to a precipice instantly. She closed her eyes against the golden glow of the reaching flames, and felt the man, the fire, and the earth beneath her.
It was all poignantly real, all bathed in orange and gold. It all shimmered together and became part of the drive, part of the desire. She was lifted above herself in the orange mist, striving for sweet surcease. It burst upon her, shimmering in color and warmth. She shuddered with it, trembled, fell … and became aware again of the earth, the flames, the cool night air. The still hot, slick flesh of the copper man who spoke perfect English, his searing blue eyes and rock-hard body. She turned from him, curling away, angry and heartsick, and wondering why she fell so easily each time to his seduction when he would but mock them both later.

But his arm came around her. He ignored the fact that she stiffened. He pulled her close, secure against him once again. He stared at the flames over the length of her body.

“Damn you!” he said softly to her. Tenderly.

She shook her head, fighting tears. “Damn you!” she told him.

“Don’t you see, you’ve got to go back. I’m telling you now, this war will grow worse. Ever more violent. I’m telling you to run, Teela, while you can.” His voice hardened. “Go back, go to Harrington. Don’t you see?” he said harshly. “There’s no way I can protect you. I cannot take you from Warren. I am constantly on the run, I shift from place to place. I have no world for you. This is not your life!”

“Life is anything away from him!” Teela whispered.

His lips touched her back, so achingly tender. Teela felt the threat of tears again, his touch was so gentle.

“Jarrett can do something. He can go to the governor, he can go to Jesup. Hell, Jarrett even served with Jackson once, and Jackson and Van Buren are still close. A military man like Warren would not defy the president! I want you out of here.”

She rolled within his arms.

“I want to be free from him, but—”

“You’ve got to leave!”

“I‘m not afraid’—”

“Then you’re a fool.”

“James—”

“Running Bear, remember?”

“Will a different name make you a different man?”

“Sometimes, yes,” he said very softly. But he smiled suddenly, looking into her eyes. “I am putting you firmly out of my life, and out of danger, Miss Warren, I swear it. But I am glad that you came into it.”

His mouth touched hers. Once again, passion slaked, his touch was almost unbearably light, teasing. Still, Teela determinedly twisted her lips from his and forced her palms between them.

“You don’t want me as any part of your life. You want me away and out of it!” she cried.

“Tomorrow, as soon as I can make it so,” he agreed. “But that leaves you mine tonight, and when you have run back to your elegant bed in Charleston, I want you to remember, upon occasion, what sweet southern comfort could be found upon the dirt floor of a savage’s cabin in the woods. In that savage’s arms …”

“Damn you!” Teela protested again, trying to escape his hold.

But the savage’s arms were very strong indeed, and the tenderness in his lips upon her flesh was even more powerful. The tension eased from her as the fire burned and blazed high again, casting a spectacular glow upon his nakedness, and her own.

She could damn him all she wanted.

But she could not refuse him.

T
ara waited with an outward show of complete calm as she watched Michael Warren stride toward her porch in the midnight darkness. She stood serenely at the rail, reminding herself that Robert Trent had followed the soldiers back to her home, and that she was not alone. Of course, Warren wouldn’t dare cause trouble for her; no matter what his sympathies, Jarrett was one of the most respected men in the territory. But still, it was good to know that their very good friend stood behind her along with Rutger, the tall, husky German fellow who managed their farmland, and Jeeves, who, despite his elegant deportment and distinguished accent, was as tall and brawny and threatening as any of his ebony Zulu warrior cousins. With the knowledge that the three men hovered just behind her in the house, she need have no fear of Michael Warren.

“All right, Mrs. McKenzie,” Warren said simply, not coming up the porch steps. “Where is my daughter?”

“Sir, I am sorry to say that I do not know.”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

“Do share your thoughts with me!” she murmured, her tone laced with a sarcasm that seemed lost on Warren.

“I think that renegade red brother-in-law of yours has kidnapped my girl.”

“Don’t be absurd, Major. James would never kidnap anyone.”

“This is a war, Mrs. McKenzie. And James McKenzie is a red man. A Seminole. Runaway, renegade.”

Tara gripped the porch rail firmly, praying for patience. “Perhaps your daughter was a bit distressed, Major, and so ran rather recklessly into the forest. Jarrett has gone to find her, and he will do so, I assure you.”

“Before or after the savages have gotten their hands on her, Mrs. McKenzie? Before or after she’s been bitten by a rattler, drowned, mauled, ripped and consumed by a ’gator?”

“Major McKenzie, as I’m sure you’re aware, alligators prefer smaller prey than a full-grown woman. Teela is an intelligent—”

Warren interrupted her with a loud sniff. For a moment Tara was startled into staring at him as he shook his head with weary impatience. “Mrs. McKenzie, the Good Book says that a daughter is to honor her father. It is God’s decree! From the moment I married her mother, I was a father to that girl, and from that first moment, she needed discipline. I used my position to see that she was to be wed to an affluent man who could provide for her and keep a firm hand upon her lawless, reckless, godless soul, and for my pains she humiliated me. Now she has evaded my righteous wrath, and I do not know if she has done so on her own, or with the help of that half-breed.”

“Major,” Tara said softly, her eyes narrowed on Warren, “may I suggest that you do not refer to James McKenzie as ‘that half-breed’ while you stand on my husband’s property?”

Warren leveled an arm at her, his finger wagging. “If he has taken her, there’ll be the devil to pay!”

“You are sadly mistaken if you think that James would abduct anyone. That he would
want
to abduct anyone. Half the women in this territory, married or otherwise, would be delighted to enjoy his company, and they wouldn’t care, sir, if it were here, or in the very depths of the swamp. So I beg you, take your suspicions elsewhere before you create a battle within this war that
turns upon you more viciously than any band of Indians ever would!”