Love's Revenge (Entangled Scandalous) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

“Well?” Otto raised an eyebrow at Kate.

Kate laughed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s wonderful.”

A cheer went up as the victorious brave pulled his horse up and cantered back along the race track to the starting line. Old men argued good-naturedly as the betting sticks changed hands. Several young women eyed the winner with a certain universal look that told Kate that future relationships were being built.

She had not realized there would be more than one heat. She had assumed the matter would be a smaller affair with just Piah and Stephen competing, but she had learned that the afternoon was to be devoted to a whole series of races, each one more frenetic than the last.

Otto laughed. “I hope no one gets carried away. I’ve seen a brave end up throwing in his wife in a frenzy of betting.”

“Surely you’re joking.”

“No, my dear, I’m not joking.”

“But...” Kate did not know what to say.

Otto called her attention back to the race track. “It looks like we’re ready for another heat.” After several heats, she was still astonished by the skill of the riders. The course was about three hundred yards long. Except for a few of the larger impediments that had been removed, it was as Mother Nature had sculpted it. Rough and uneven, it would challenge the best riders. To make matters even more interesting, the braves rode bareback without even the crude grass-filled bags that were normally used as saddles. They used only a braided leather rope to control their high-spirited animals.

“I think the horses enjoy it as much as the people,” she observed.

“I believe you are right.”

A lance was dropped and the two braves were off, kicking and yelling at their ponies the entire length of the track. The crowd swelled with noise. A triumphant whoop rose up from the winning bettors as the horses crossed the finish line. As it died down, the low grumbling of the losers could be heard.

“What are the sticks that they exchange?”

“Ah, they are gambling sticks. The sticks are used like poker chips. When they are done, the sticks are exchanged for items among the losers’ personal possessions.”

She smiled and closed her eyes. The sun kissed her face. The temperature was unusually warm and it left her feeling optimistic for the first time in a long time.

Several more heats were run in the afternoon, and she found herself caught up in the excitement. Near the end, a few of the heats involved the winners of previous races. Now there was a certain expectation in the air. Her heart beat faster as the betting activity increased.

Then she saw Piah. He had stripped to the waist in the warmth of the afternoon. A quiet had fallen over those who lined either side of the track. Slowly, Piah kneed his horse forward down the center of the race track. The horse pulled at the rough bridle, anxious to run, sensing the tension in the air. The feathers and fur in Piah’s hair moved sinuously as he trotted toward the starting line. His horse was all muscle encased in a thin layer of horseflesh. She could hear murmurs of appreciation among the crowd. As he came abreast of her, he guided his animal toward the sidelines. It took all of her nerve not to take a step back. It was clear to everyone that she was the reason Piah had turned.

Piah reined in the pony six feet or so in front of her. Otto translated his speech.

“You will see now how skilled a warrior I am. You will see how good my ponies are. Then you will choose to belong to Piah.”

He pulled his pony’s rope until it reared up. When its front hoofs touched the ground, he galloped to the starting line.

Piah’s horse pawed at the dirt while he waited. Everyone waited.

Then a murmur arose. She anxiously searched the length of the track. There was no sign of Stephen, but the murmur increased in intensity. Those standing to her left moved away whispering. She turned in that direction.

Stephen sat atop a black pony. He too had stripped off his shirt. The planes of his chest, tanned and deeply muscled, rippled with power as he patted the pony’s neck.

He wore no shoes, only his black denim pants and a belt with a large silver buckle that drew Kate’s attention to the fine trail of dark hair that ran into his pants. She shivered. It wasn’t the race that caused her body to ripple with anticipation. She admired his long elegant hands as he smoothed the pony’s dark hair. Hands that had brought her soothing pleasure and unbearable delight.

He smiled at her. “Are you going to wish me luck?”

“I’m sorry...?” She had let her memories of him distract her.

“Luck. Are you going to wish me luck? Or perhaps you’ve changed your mind and Piah is looking better to you.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “No, I think regardless of who wins, I’ll take my chances choosing my own husband without the benefit of a horse race.”

“As you wish, but you may regret your decision.” Without warning, he bent down and kissed her. “For luck,” he called out as he kneed his horse into a gallop and rode out onto the course.

A commotion arose among the crowd. She was vaguely aware that many gambling sticks were changing hands. Arguments and shouts occasionally cut through the din.

She heard little of it. She was only aware of his back. In the harsh light of day, every lash mark, every welt looked angry and painful. She remembered trailing kisses along the raised red rivers of pain.

And she remembered every day of last month she had spent with this man. She remembered his tenderness with her, with Andy. She remembered the love and loyalty of his friends.

She did not need a race to decide. She had already chosen.

The crowd had quieted. All eyes were on Ouray who waited on the far side of the racetrack, lance in hand. He wore elk-skin leggings with triangular beading and a heavily beaded tunic. He also wore a full-feathered headdress for the celebration. He walked forward and spoke with the two men, then returned to the sidelines and lifted the lance.

A silence followed, so deafening it left her with only her own shallow breaths echoing in her ears.

Ouray lowered the lance.

A cheer arose.

Piah and Stephen kneed their horses.

She covered her mouth with her hand, afraid that she would scream, and then she did.

“Go! Go, Stephen!”

She could not blink for fear she’d miss something.

Piah’s horse leaped over the line in full stride. He screamed as his heels kicked into the soft horseflesh. He took the lead.

Stephen’s horse hesitated then found its stride. They were nose to rump, barely a length apart.

Stephen crouched low over his dark pony. He appeared to be speaking to the animal but his words were lost in the roar of the crowd.

They were nearing the halfway mark and Stephen’s pony had gained half a length. Piah looked over to see Stephen almost abreast and kicked his horse harder.

She had her hands over her mouth again. She willed her spirit into the race. Every inch of her being—body, mind, and soul—with Stephen. Why the race mattered so much, she would have been at a loss to say, but it was true. Their destinies were linked, eternally and irrevocably.

Both men hit a rough stretch of the track, and the horses fought not to break stride. Piah struck his horse with the end of the leather-braided rope and once more kicked the horse’s flanks.

Stephen came abreast of Piah. The two men glanced at each other and then lunged for the finish line less than a hundred feet away. The horses’ nostrils flared with exertion. They were reaching the limits of their endurance but their pounding hoofs did not slow. How long could they keep up the pace? This race was clearly faster than any of the earlier heats. The horses gasped for breath as they approached the last few yards nose to nose.

Piah kicked his horse again and the animal burst ahead, then lost strength. Stephen regained the inches he had lost and apparently willed the horse to greater speed. The dark pony moved ahead an inch and then two. That was all it took.

The crowd screamed even louder. The clamor was deafening. Her body shook with emotion. The celebration at the finish line was a watery blur.

“I think my heart can start beating again, what about yours, my dear?” But then Otto was silenced by the look on Kate’s face. She didn’t care anymore. She couldn’t hide her feelings any longer, to herself or to anyone.

Otto excused himself and walked toward Chief Ouray. She found herself face to face with Chipeta. The chief’s wife wore an elk-skin cape heavily beaded with elk teeth and porcupine quills over her dress. The effect was extraordinary and quite stunning. She held in her hands a second garment also of made of soft skin.

Kate waited, uncertain of what was expected of her. Where was Otto? Where was Stephen? Chipeta indicated that Katherine was to don the soft garment. Afraid to once more affront the woman, she hurried into the tepee. Stripping off her heavy dress and underthings, she slid the soft garment over her bare skin. The feeling was more sensual than she had anticipated. Barefoot, she left the lodge once more.

She was surprised to see Ouray waiting for her. The whole camp was massed behind him in anticipation.

Ouray spoke in English. “You are welcome among the people of the shining mountains, Katherine Barker. It is for you and Stephen Worth that we celebrate tonight. I have given him an eagle feather to honor him for his victory.”

She didn’t understand. Why would they celebrate for them both? It was Stephen who had won the race. She scoured the dark friendly faces. Where was he?

Ouray quite formally stepped aside.

Stephen was there.

Naked. Or nearly so.

A loincloth barely covered his manhood. His body was a living canvas. It had been covered in yellow clay and intricate designs had been scratched into the yellow. The bands and scrolls only served to accentuate every nuance of his body from his broad shoulders to his heavily muscled thighs and calves. He wore a chest covering of porcupine quills much like Piah had before the race. An eagle feather had been braided into the side of his hair. It brushed his shoulder.

The effect was startling.

More than startling.

Ouray motioned to Stephen, who came forward to stand beside her. She could feel him, his heat, his heart, his mind. He was there for her as never before.

She reached out and his hand folded around hers. Her heart pounded. She wanted to be alone with him, not here before these people. It was selfish of her, but it was the truth. She wanted to explore with her hands and eyes every inch of him and have him do the same with her. It defied reason. It defied convention. But, it seemed good and natural and right.

Ouray lifted a hand and two young women approached with a large woven blanket. The blanket was sky blue. Woven into it was a beautiful pattern in red that reminded Kate of a bird in flight, its wings outstretched. The sun was on one side, the moon on the other. The women wrapped the blanket around her and Stephen.

Ouray spoke then in Ute. There was a great surge in the crowd and whoops of joy and laughter filled the camp. Then to Kate’s surprise, everyone walked away.

…

He would have to explain. But how did he tell Kate that, in the eyes of the Utes, they had just been married?

And when she asked him why he had allowed it, what would he tell her? Why did he allow it?

“What just happened?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Where is Otto?”

“Even the Ute would find it in poor taste for Otto to spend the night with us tonight.”

“Why?”

“Come and I’ll tell you.” He drew her into the tepee. The small fire gave a warm glow to everything within the translucent elk skin walls. Outside laughter offset the solitude within.

She repeated her question. “Why would it be poor taste for Otto to spend the night with us?”

She was beautiful. A pale ghost-like image of an Indian maiden. Her breasts heaved under the clinging dress.

“Because it is our wedding night.”

“Our wedding night?” she blurted out. “And you were party to this?”

“Ouray wished to honor me for my victory.”

“By giving me to you?”

“I don’t think he saw it that way. It’s common for Ute men to take their late wife’s sister as their second wife.”

“But we are not Ute.”

Stephen closed the distance between them in two short strides. He placed his hands on her shaking shoulders. Touching her was a mistake. It would be sheer torture to pull away again.

“Ouray gave us to each other because he is a wise man. Because he sees the love we have denied all this time.” He was asking for more than Kate’s trust now.

Her eyes had filled with tears.

He released her and turned to collect himself.

Her touch on his back was as light as a feather. She traced the delicate pattern of paint that masked his distorted back. He dared not move. Dared not ask what her touch meant.

Her voice, when she spoke, reverberated with tears. “I don’t think I ever hated you. I was just frightened.”

“Frightened of me?” He turned.

“No. Frightened of the feelings I have for you.”

He went to speak and her fingertips touched his lips, silencing him.

“I love you. I think I loved you long before I realized it myself. Perhaps that was why I was so angry.” She removed her fingers from his lips. “I don’t want to be angry any longer.”

She reached up and drew him to her. She kissed him softly at first, testing the corners where his lips met before covering his mouth with her own. The warmth of her tongue sought out the recesses of his mouth.

The gentle prodding coursed through his body, gaining momentum until like a tidal wave it washed over him, leaving him breathless.

He pulled her into an embrace. The softness of her chamois dress was like a second skin. He could feel her heartbeat, her breasts against his bare chest. He cradled the soft mounds of her buttocks and pressed her into him. Still it was not close enough. He pulled away and one by one untied the leather laces that ran down the front of the dress. When he was done, he cradled her face in his hands. Was she sure? The warm glow in her eyes answered him yes.