Savage Winter (25 page)

“Red Bird no longer lives in my lodge. You must know she has moved into Gray Fox’s tipi.”

“I have heard that, but it does not concern me. I suppose you grew tired of her, as you did me. Poor Red Bird…she has my sympathy.”

He was silent so long that Joanna began to think he wouldn’t answer. Raising her head, she saw the anger sparkling in his dark eyes.

“I
am
tired of you, Joanna! I am tired of your temper—I am tired of hearing Red Bird thrown in my face—I am tired of this anger that exists between us!”

The angry words she would have spoken stuck in her throat. His eyes were so soft, and she recognized the passion that flamed in their dark depths. She whimpered as he lay
his cheek against hers. No, she thought, don’t let this be happening. Don’t let me forget to hate him.

Windhawk’s hands moved down her back, pulling her tighter against him. Knowing she should protest, all she could think of was how right it felt to be in his arms again. She realized how much she had wanted to be with him. He lifted her chin and looked deeply into her eyes.

“Joanna, I have never tired of loving you.” He swallowed convulsively. “I have not been able to get you out of my mind. I want you.” His voice came out in a husky groan.

Her lips parted, inviting his kiss. He dipped his dark head and brushed her mouth. He had been tormented for so long and had resented the fact that he craved the feel of her body next to his. His nights had been spent in dreams where he took her silken body, and in the daytime she was never far from his thoughts. There were so many things wrong between them, but still he wanted her.

Windhawk’s body trembled, and he buried his face in Joanna’s soft hair. He half expected her to pull away from him, but instead her body became soft and molded to his.

“Joanna…Joanna,” he murmured, seeking and finding her eager lips. His mouth settled on hers in a kiss so sweet it stirred old memories. Joanna’s hands laced in his hair, and his mouth moved over her face to her eyelids, then moved to nuzzle her ear. His lips moved hungrily over hers with a bruising force. Windhawk couldn’t seem to get enough of her. He wanted so much more than just a kiss.

Joanna groaned as his mouth moved down her neck to the pulse drumming there. Soon they both knew that they wouldn’t be satisfied with just touching.

When Windhawk released her, Joanna leaned against a tree for support. Her eyes were laced with desire and anticipation as she watched him walk to his horse and remove the blanket. When he returned to her, his dark eyes held a promise of things to come. Joanna knew she should demand that he take her back to the village, but she didn’t want him to.

When Windhawk held out his arms, Joanna went readily into them.

“I have missed this,” he whispered raggedly in her ear. “It has been as if my life stopped when you left me. Give my life back to me, Joanna.”

She wanted to protest as he moved away from her until she realized he was spreading the blanket on the snow. He reached out his hand, and she placed hers in it.

He laid her down and noticed that her eyes were soft and luminous. Dropping to his knees, he pulled her up and pressed her against his body.

Joanna couldn’t stop the joy that shot through her body. She wanted to be closer to him, and Windhawk seemed to sense that fact because he crushed her body against him. She felt his swollen manhood pressed against her and felt a weakness wash over her.

Joanna didn’t feel the cold when Windhawk lifted her dress over her head because she knew he would keep her warm. She lowered her eyes as he laid her gently back against the blanket and watched as he removed his clothing. She ached for his touch as his eyes moved over her body. He stared at her so long that she wondered if this was some new form of torture. Her eyes moved from his wide shoulders down to his taut stomach. When she saw his swollen manhood, she knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Joanna held her hand out to Windhawk and he took it, raising it to his lips. She closed her eyes as his hand then moved down over her breast, to be followed shortly by his mouth. His mouth encircled the rosy tip until it became hard, then he moved to the other one to work the same magic.

Everywhere his hand touched, Joanna’s skin seemed to burn with a wild awareness. When he raised his head, she looked into his darkly handsome face, feeling a prickle of shame because he had awakened her desire so easily.

“Because I want you does not mean that things are right
between us, Joanna,” he said, knowing they would have to talk about their problems.

Joanna thought he was telling her that nothing would change if he took her body. Would he go from her to Red Bird? Her face reddened, thinking what a fool she had been. She pushed against him and tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down against the blanket.

“I do not want this, Windhawk. Please, let me go.”

“You want me, Joanna. Do you not think I know that—I am not a fool.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts, trying to cover her nakedness. Never had she felt so ashamed of her body, but somehow Windhawk’s words had made her feel like a harlot.

“You are wrong, Windhawk—I do not want you,” she sobbed, turning her head away.

He was silent, and suddenly Joanna felt the coldness creep into every pore of her body. Opening her eyes, she saw Windhawk standing over her. He bent down and picked up her dress, then tossed it to her.

Joanna scampered to her feet and quickly pulled her dress over her head. Windhawk quickly dressed, picked Joanna up in his arms, and walked to his horse. Without a word, he lifted her onto his horse and climbed on behind her.

As they rode back to the village, Joanna felt as if her heart had been trampled on. She willed herself not to cry in front of Windhawk.

It seemed the ride would never end. By now she was feeling so ashamed she wanted nothing more than to hide from the world. She never wanted to see Windhawk again!

When they reached the village, he stopped his horse in front of his mother’s tipi, and Joanna hurriedly slid to the ground. She ran into the tipi and buried her face in her hands, wishing she could die.

“Joanna, what has happened? Is something wrong?” Morning Song inquired.

“No, I…am…nothing is the matter,” she replied, trying to pull herself together.

“You look so pale, are you sure you are not ill?”

“I feel fine. How is Little Hawk?” she asked, quickly changing the subject while trying to push her jumbled feelings aside.

“He is still sleeping.” Morning Song was still looking at her, puzzled.

Joanna tried to laugh, but she didn’t quite succeed. “He seems to sleep most of the time; he is such a good baby.” Joanna scooped her sleeping son into her arms and held him tightly against her. She had come so close to allowing Windhawk to take her body. She was glad that she had come to her senses in time to save herself.

She thought Windhawk had probably gone to Red Bird, who would give him what she had denied him. She couldn’t bear to think of his making love to the Piegan woman. But why should she care? She wasn’t Windhawk’s wife any longer—why should she care what he did with Red Bird? She smiled bitterly. She cared…oh, how she cared!

Farley had told Joanna that it was now January. Although it hadn’t snowed in over a week, the previous snows were still piled into high mounds throughout the countryside. The children of the village enjoyed the winter games, and the sound of their laughter warmed Joanna’s heart.

Walking outside into the bright sunlight, Joanna smiled as she watched Gray Fox’s young son, Small Pony, who was trying to climb onto a sled so he could slide down the small slope. He kept slipping on the snow, and she watched tears gather in his dark eyes. Going over to him, she lifted him in her arms, remembering the time when she had saved his life. She kissed his cheek, and then placed him on the sled, giving him a shove that took him down the slope.

She laughed as he yelled out in delight, thinking her own son would one day be old enough to play in the snow with the other children.

Windhawk’s mother came up beside Joanna. “This reminds me of when Windhawk was a small boy. He always loved to play in the snow. I have always found joy in the laughter of children,” Sun Woman said.

“Yes, there is something magical about children’s laughter. I am reminded of when I was a child, and how much I enjoyed the winter, my mother.”

“Your home was very far from here, Joanna. This is now your home.”

Joanna looked into Windhawk’s mother’s eyes. “Sometimes I do not know where I belong. Lately, I have begun to miss England a great deal.”

“That is the place where you lived as a child. It is across the big water?”

“Yes, it is a very long way from here.”

“If you and my son could put your differences aside, you would not have time to miss anything,” Sun Woman observed, eyeing Joanna closely. She took something out of her pouch and held it out to Joanna. “I found this—it belongs to you.”

Joanna looked at the bear-claw necklace that Windhawk had given her and shook her head. “It no longer belongs to me. Give it back to your son.”

Sun Woman sighed visibly. “It has been my observation that sometimes the ones who are supposed to be grown up act more like children than the young ones do.”

Joanna couldn’t keep from smiling. “I have noticed the same thing.”

“Why do you not do something about it, then? Why do you not go to Windhawk and settle this thing that is wrong between you?”

Joanna took Sun Woman’s hand. “I do not know, my mother. Sometimes I no longer know wrong from right.”

“Humph, you know, Joanna—you are just too stubborn to
admit it. I am sure you have noticed that Red Bird no longer lives in my son’s lodge.”

“It has not escaped my notice, but where she chooses to live has nothing to do with me.”

Sun Woman’s eyes moved to Gray Fox’s lodge where the Piegan woman was now living. “I am told by Gray Fox that the Piegan woman causes trouble and discontent in his tipi. He has asked Windhawk to send her back to her people.”

“It would seem that Windhawk has not done so.”

Sun Woman shook her head. “As you know, he is not in the village. I am sure when he returns he will send her back to her father.”

Joanna shrugged her shoulders as if she were indifferent to the outcome of the situation. Small Pony pulled his sled over to her, and she placed him on it again, giving him a shove that sent him speeding down the slope once more. She then returned to stand beside Sun Woman.

“It is such a wonderful day that I had thought I would take Little Hawk for a walk. Would you like to come with us, my mother?”

“No, I am on my way to visit Many Robes—she is not feeling well today. You go ahead, it will be good for you and my grandson to get fresh air. Be sure you bundle Little Hawk up warmly,” Sun Woman cautioned.

Joanna smiled to herself, thinking how dear Sun Woman was to her. She had been so kind and patient with her. Even though she disapproved of her and Windhawk living apart, Joanna knew she was making an effort not to interfere.

Tag rode into the village with a group of young warriors. He felt a close bond of kinship with his friends, and at times it was hard for him to realize that he wasn’t really one of them. He had been away for several weeks on a hunting expedition and was proud of the five deer he had killed, using only a bow and arrow. Although he had enjoyed himself on the hunt, he was glad to be back in the village. He had missed Joanna and was anxious to see his nephew, Little Hawk.

Dismounting, he hobbled his horse and walked toward Windhawk’s lodge. Seeing Morning Song talking to some of her friends, his eyes lit up as he stopped beside her.

Tag was not aware that the other young maidens’ eyes widened in admiration; nor did he realize that Morning Song’s eyes softened with the light of love.

Morning Song could not help staring at Tag’s golden hair, which seemed to shimmer in the morning sunlight. It was now shoulder-length, and he wore a wide leather headband just like the other young braves.

“It is good to look upon your face, Morning Song,” Tag said, using the customary greeting.

He was startled when the other maidens started giggling and covered their mouths with their hands. He gave Morning Song an inquiring glance, and she merely shrugged her shoulders. She couldn’t tell him that the others were laughing because they knew that she loved him.

“Is my sister in the lodge?” he asked.

“Tag, walk with me…I think you should know what is going on,” Morning Song told him.

He gave her a quizzical glance—taking her arm, he steered her in the direction of the river. “You do not have to tell me, Morning Song. I think I can guess that Joanna is still staying with you and your mother.”

Morning Song nodded sadly. “Yes, I hurt so badly that she and Windhawk cannot solve their differences. They have so much love to give, and yet they cannot seem to speak of it one to the other.”

Tag stopped and looked into Morning Song’s face. “I also feel pain that they should be apart…but nothing you and I can do will help. They must work this out for themselves. I do not understand how such a thing could happen. It seems so simple to me—all they have to do is talk. Farley says that wars could be avoided if only people would talk to each other. It is the same with Joanna and Windhawk.”

Morning Song nodded. “It is as you say, but I wish there was something I could do to help them.”

Suddenly, Tag noticed the way Morning Song’s hair seemed to glisten blue-black in the bright sunlight. As his eyes moved over her lovely face, he stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. Why had he never noticed that her face was lovely beyond compare, and that her eyes were large, dark pools that one could get lost in? Feeling a tightening in his chest, he lowered his eyes.

He was confused by this new stirring within him. Morning Song was like a sister to him. Why was he experiencing this new emotion that left him feeling shaken? He reached for something to say to bring his troubled thoughts under control.

“Your brother should never have brought Red Bird into his lodge. I do not blame my sister for being angry,” he said, knowing how defensive Morning Song was where her brother was concerned. He was hoping she would become angry with him to distract his wayward emotions.

“I believe as you do, Tag. Windhawk has made a grave mistake, but I think he realizes that, for he has sent Red Bird to Gray Fox’s tipi. I am told that she will be returning to the Piegan village very soon.”

Tag gazed across the distant valley because he found looking at Morning Song much too disturbing for his peace of mind. “I am no longer called Tag. I have won my name,” he stated, feeling pride at his accomplishment and wanting Morning Song to be proud of him also.

Morning Song placed her hand on his arm. “I know—I had heard this. I…we…are very proud of you. What is the name you were given?”

His deep blue eyes swung around to rest on her face, and he caught his breath at the pride he saw mirrored there. She was proud of him, he thought, and wondered why a warm sensation seemed to circle his heart.

“I am now called Mountain Wolf.”

She smiled. “I think you will always be Tag to me.”

He decided to change the subject. “How is your mother?”

“She is in good health.”

“That is good. How is the baby?” How strange he felt—he had never been shy with Morning Song before. He now seemed to be making small talk and wondered if she could sense his unrest.

Morning Song smiled. “He is beautiful.”

“Boys are not supposed to be beautiful.”

“Little Hawk is,” she answered, wishing she dared to say that she thought Tag was beautiful, also. His hair was the golden color of the corn, and his eyes were the same deep violet-blue as Joanna’s. He still had the slimness of youth, but his shoulders were wide, and he was tall for his age.

She ducked her head, hoping he hadn’t read the adoration in her eyes. She remembered Joanna’s telling her that Tag would one day have to return to the white world, and she felt a deep sadness, thinking that when that time came she would never see him again.

“Where will I find my sister?” he asked, thinking it would be best to leave before he made a complete fool of himself. He looked toward Sun Woman’s tipi to avoid looking at Morning Song.

“I saw her walking toward the woods with the baby only a few moments before you came. If you would like, I will care for your horse, and you can go to her.”

Tag nodded and turned away, rushing toward the woods.

Joanna’s father had always been a firm believer in fresh air: He had sworn it was the secret to good health. Joanna could attest to that theory, since the Indian children enjoyed such good health. She had bundled Little Hawk up warmly to take him for a walk.

The warm sun was shining, and the snow was beginning to melt across the valley, so she decided to be more adventurous and walk in the woods.

Little Hawk seemed to be aware of everything that was going on around him; his eyes fastened on his mother’s face, and he smiled brightly. Joanna’s laughter bubbled out, and
she kissed him. How dear he was to her. She was finding out what a delight it was being a mother. She loved having someone depend on her for his health and happiness as Little Hawk did. She hoped she would always be able to fill his life with happy days. Joanna tried not to think about his father, but she wasn’t always successful.

Red Bird followed Joanna at a safe distance. She had been told by Gray Fox that Windhawk was sending her back to her father the next day. If she was going to get her revenge on Flaming Hair, it would have to be today.

She looked behind her to see if anyone was watching. Seeing no one about, she gripped the hilt of her knife and darted behind a pine tree. How fortunate she was that Flaming Hair had decided to walk in the woods today. There would be no one around to hear her cry for help!

Red Bird tested the knife blade to make sure it was sharp. She was glad she had thought to bring it with her. Looking once more behind her, she entered the woods cautiously, searching for signs that would lead her to Flaming Hair.

Joanna sat on a log holding Little Hawk on her lap. “You are so wonderful,” she said, as he smiled up at her. “When you smile at me like that it just melts my heart.”

Little Hawk gurgled and cooed at his mother, and she laughed delightedly, not knowing that they were at that moment being watched by jealous, malignant eyes.

Windhawk rode into the village and dismounted. Seeing Morning Song, he walked over to her, smiling. “How are you, little sister?” he inquired.

She smiled brightly and threw herself into his arms. “I am fine now that you are home. Why did you stay away so long? We have all missed you, my brother.”

He hugged her tightly, then set her on her feet. “I believe you grow more beautiful each time I go away and come back,” he teased lightly.

“You are just saying that. I am not beautiful.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Have you had no young braves telling you that you are beautiful?”

“No, Windhawk…at least, not anyone who matters.”

“They must all be blind to overlook the most beautiful flower of them all.”

“There is one more fair than I, Windhawk,” she said, watching his face. “Joanna is by far more beautiful.”

His eyes darkened, and he looked past her to his mother’s tipi. “Where is Joanna?”

“I saw her a short time ago walking with the baby toward the woods. Tag has gone to find her.”

Windhawk’s eyes swept past the village to the woods. Suddenly, he felt something cold touch his heart. Some instinct told him that Joanna and the baby were in danger! He remembered the dream he had had where Joanna had been stabbed by some unknown person, and he knew it hadn’t been a dream, but a premonition.

Morning Song watched her brother running toward his horse with a puzzled expression on her face. She was surprised when he bound onto the animal’s back and rode swiftly away from the village, heading toward the woods. She wondered why he was acting so strangely.

Joanna noticed the way the soft snow still clung to the branches of the cottonwood trees. While it was quite warm in the valley where the sun was shining, it was much colder here in the forest. She knew it wouldn’t be too many more weeks before spring came to Blackfoot country. She was anxious for winter to be over—she yearned for the time when the countryside would come alive with a burst of spring flowers.

Hearing someone coming through the woods, Joanna got to her feet holding Little Hawk closely to her and waited for whomever it was to make himself known to her. She was unafraid, because by now she had learned to tell the moccasin footsteps from those of an animal. She felt confident it would be someone from the village.

When Joanna recognized that the intruder was Red Bird, she gathered Little Hawk still closer to her with the intention of returning to the village. She had no wish to talk to the Piegan woman.

Red Bird stepped in front of Joanna. “Wait, Flaming Hair, I want to talk to you.”

“You could say nothing I would want to hear, Red Bird,” Joanna answered, backing up a pace.

“I know how you must feel toward me, but I am leaving for my village tomorrow. I just wanted to talk to you a moment and tell you good-bye.”