Enchanted Ecstasy (4 page)

"How nice for you, major. It is always nice to feel useful, even if it is only unsaddling a lady's horse for her. How fortunate for the ladies of your acquaintance to have you to perform that menial task for them."

As she turned her back to him, once again Kane felt he had come out the loser. She had made him feel petty and vindictive. Inside, his anger smoldered. One day he vowed, he would show that high and mighty little Indian baggage just how he felt about her. She was arrogant, smug, and the most irritating female he had ever encountered. Never had he met anyone who could cause him to lose his temper so quickly. All the women he had ever known had been only too willing to please him, and yet this mere girl seemed not to be aware of him as a man at all, and she definitely did not try to please him. She was beautiful all right, there was no denying that, but he would never be drawn to her. She was too headstrong, too obstinate for his taste. Kane hobbled his horse and went down to the stream to wash his face. The water was cool and sweet, and he cupped his hands and took a deep drink.

They were camped at the edge of a pine forest and Kane could smell the pungent odor of the pine trees. Looking about him, he thought what a beautiful spot this was. He had not heard the Indian girl come up beside him until she bent over and filled what appeared to be a coffee pot with water from the stream.

"Do Indians drink coffee? he asked, tongue in cheek.

Green eyes spit fire as she quickly stood up, sloshing water over the tip of the coffee pot. "Oh, for certain, major, but usually we prefer firewater, whenever we can obtain it from some unscrupulous white man."

Kane cursed under his breath as he watched her walk away from him. Damn, he was always saying the wrong thing to her. He could see himself as she must see him, self-appointed bigot. There didn't seem to be anything he could do to correct that impression.

He stood up and walked farther upstream, with the intention of bathing. It was almost dark when he returned to camp. He could smell the aroma of bacon cooking and was reminded how hungry he was. The roast beef the Indian girl had given him earlier had been very good, but that had been a long time ago. His stomach was telling him it was time to eat again.

The Indian girl looked up at him as she removed several slices of bacon from an iron skillet.

"Major, you are welcome to eat with us if you would like. I am aware of the kind of food the army provides for its men when they are on patrol. It is none too appetizing, is it?"

He sat down and crossed his long legs. "I would appreciate it if you would share your food with me. You were right when you said army chow is not too good."

Maleaha handed him a tin plate and he ate with relish. Then he enjoyed two cups of coffee before he leaned back against his saddle to rest.

"How is it that you know about army food?" he asked.

"I am acquainted with several soldiers from the fort, major. At least I was two years ago."

He stared at her for a moment, wondering just how close she had been with some of those soldiers. He was aware that many of the soldiers were on very intimate terms with some of the Indian women who came to the fort looking to trade their favors for food and blankets.

' 'Just how well did you know the soldiers? You should not have needed either food or blankets, being the daughter of Jonas Deveraux. I can only assume you sought the soldiers out for your own pleasure," he said, wondering why the thought was so distasteful to him.

He heard her gasp and looked quickly into her face.

Maleaha tried to speak, but no words would come from her mouth. Anger and hurt battled inside of her, each wanting to be the dominating emotion.

Lamas looked at her, seeing her expression, and, knowing the insult she had just received from the white man, spoke angrily. "Say the word, Maleaha, and I will carve the heart from the white dog. No one speaks to Jonas Deveraux's daughter so insultingly and lives," he said as his hand went to the knife at his waist. He had spoken to her in Jojoba and she answered him in kind.

"No, it is not important. When this mission is completed, then I will deal with this man in my own way." Maleaha could never remember a time when she had been so angry and hurt. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. No, she would not cry, she told herself. She was too proud to let this hateful man see her in tears.

Kane saw the different emotions that played across her beautiful face. He heard the Indian man's soft voice and saw him reach for the hilt of his knife. God, he thought, what was it about the Indian girl that brought out the worst in him? He knew he had made a grave mistake, but saw no way to make amends.

"Major," she said in a deadly calm voice. "Today you are a fortunate man, because you are still alive. No one has ever dared to speak to me in such a manner before. I have taken into consideration that you are a foolish and pompous man. You and I have an important mission to fulfill, but once the mission is completed, you are never to approach me or speak to me, for if you do, you shall surely die."

Her words had been delivered quietly and without emotion, but the threat was obvious. He had not meant to insult her. Many of the soldiers at the fort traded pretty trinkets, blankets, and food, to the Indian women for their favors, and everyone knew it. Perhaps he had been wrong to call attention to it. The Indians didn't seem to live by the same moral code as the white man did. He watched as she cleaned the pan she had used to fry the bacon in. He was sorry if he had insulted her. It could be that she had been taught differently from the other Indians. Yes, that must be it. Since her father was a white man, maybe she had been brought up more as a white girl. He decided it would be best to let the matter drop.

"How do I address you? You never did tell me your name," he asked, thinking to change the subject.

She stood up and gave him a cold glare. "You were introduced to me, have you forgotten? You may call me Miss Deveraux."

He smiled, "But surely you have a first name."

She was thoughtful while she added more wood to the fire, then, standing up straight, she turned to face him, and Kane could see the reflection of the campfire in her green eyes. It looked for a moment as if her eyes were on fire.

"I have a name, like everyone else, but only my friends are allowed to use it. You, major, are not my friend," she said icily.

Kane shifted uncomfortably. "Miss Deveraux, I would like to apologize to you for my bad manners. The only defense I have is that I have never talked to an Indian girl before. I don't really know how to treat you."

"Oh, are there separate rules, major? Should you treat an Indian girl any differently from the way you would treat a white girl? The more I come to know you, the less I like you."

Kane folded his arms behind him and lay back on his bedroll. "I doubt that I shall lose much sleep over not being in your good graces, Miss Deveraux. From the moment I met you I have made one blunder after another. If you are an example of what an Indian girl is like, I can well live without them," he said lazily.

Maleaha clenched her hands tightly together, seething on the inside. "I doubt that any of my race would ever live with you, major," she said turning her back on him and walking away.

Kane closed his eyes, and listened to the sounds coming from the forest. The wind made such a lonesome sound as it blew through the tall pine trees. He heard the call of some kind of bird he was unfamiliar with, and far off in the distance a coyote howled. There was a cool breeze blowing, and Kane felt himself beginning to relax.

Opening his eyes lazily, he saw that Miss Deveraux had bedded down on the other side of the campfire. What a strange girl she was. She could ride like the wind. She had a kind of quiet beauty about her. She was soft-spoken. Even when she was angry she never raised her voice. He had yet to see her smile, but he imagined her smile would light up her green eyes. He watched as the two old Indian men lay down on a blanket on either side of her. They must think they needed to protect her from him, he supposed. He smiled to himself. She was safe enough from him. He had to admit grudgingly, that he admired her spirit, but his taste in women ran to the more feminine kind. He liked women dressed in silks and satins, though she was rather appealing in her soft buckskins. Kane liked his women to be docile; he liked to feel superior to them in some ways. But she was intelligent, and nothing about her was docile. He had always had a fascination for creamy white skin. Her skin was a golden color. He wondered if her whole body would be that same beautiful golden color, or just the parts that were exposed to the sun. He thought of how her hips moved gracefully as she walked. Her lips, so sensuous and inviting. Good Lord, he thought, turning over on his side. Obviously he had been out in the sun too long today. Closing his eyes, he tried to fall asleep so he could block out the Indian girl, whom he did not even like very well.

Maleaha lay on her back, gazing at the moon that was barely visible through the tall pine trees. She felt crushed. How was it possible for that man to have the power to hurt her so deeply? He seemed to think she was some kind of wild savage with no morals and no feelings. If the major had a sister Maleaha doubted that she had been brought up much differently from herself. She had attended Mass every Sunday, gone on picnics, danced at balls, and had been well educated. The only difference might be that she was half-Indian, and had spent some time with her mother's people. True, she rode astride like a man, but that was more because of her father's indulgence than the fact that she was half-Indian. New Mexico was very different from the United States; most of her friends also rode astride, and here no one thought the less of them for it.

For some reason it seemed to displease the major that she could unsaddle her own horse. It would never occur to her to have a man perform that duty for her. Her father had taught her to care for her horse, and she never expected anyone else to help her. She had always curried and groomed her own horse. She was not, nor would she ever be, a helpless female, a fact that her father took great pride in.

Maleaha tried to shut her mind off and go to sleep, but found it impossible. Was the major bothered by the fact that she was half-Indian? She had never come up against anyone who resented her because her mother was Indian. It was a new and devastating experience. Today was the first time she had run into prejudice in any form, and she found that it wounded her deeply. Today she realized for the first time what her mother had been forced to live with. She didn't know why it should matter to her what the major thought of her, but it did matter. It mattered a great deal.

Perhaps if she had acted like some mindless, helpless female, he would have treated her quite differently. Or would he? No, it was the fact that she was part Indian that he resented. Well, she could not change who she was, and even if she could, she would not want to. She had always been taught to be proud of who she was. Perhaps it was her pride that the major resented. Did he expect her to lower her head and act as if she were inferior to him?

She closed her eyes tightly. Oh, Mother, she thought, what you must have suffered for loving my father. I have suffered only one day of prejudice, and you had to live with it every day as my father's wife.

With a troubled frown on her face, Maleaha finally fell asleep.

4

The next morning Kane awoke to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying. He was a light sleeper, and yet he had not heard the Indians moving about, watering the horses and cooking breakfast over the open campfire. He felt the hard ground beneath him, and as he stood up and looked around he saw no sign of the girl. One of the Indian men was tending to the bacon that was sizzling in the skillet. His dark eyes moved over Kane with a look that plainly dismissed him.

Kane removed his shaving kit from his saddlebag and made his way downstream. By the time he returned, the girl was dishing up the bacon onto a tin plate. Her black hair was wet, giving evidence that she had bathed in the stream as he had. She handed him the plate without a word, then made her way to the stream to clean the pan. Kane poured himself some coffee from the pot, and the Indian man emptied the grounds onto the fire and followed the girl to the stream with the empty pot.

Kane ate the food hungrily, and when he finished he downed the last of his coffee. Making his way to the stream, he bent down by the girl to wash his tin plate and coffee cup. The girl did not acknowledge his presence, and Kane felt irritated.

"When do we reach Mangas's camp?" he asked gruffly, unable to hide his irritation.

"We will be there in three days' time, major. If I were to take you directly to his village, we could make it in two days."

"What do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is, I shall take you the long way around, so you cannot later lead the army to the Jojoba village."

Anger stirred within Kane once more. Miss Deveraux seemed to provoke him beyond endurance.

Maleaha smiled to herself. She knew she had made him angry, and for some reason it gave her pleasure.

Kane stood up, "and with his great height he seemed to tower over her. "I am surprised you have not blindfolded me, Miss Deveraux. That way you could be certain I would not see where we are going," he said acidly.

"Oh, that comes later, major. Never fear. I would not take you into the Jojoba village without first blindfolding you." Her eyes seem to gleam mischievously, and Kane watched her, too dumbfounded to reply. He watched silently as she walked away from him, noticing the gentle sway of her hips and the way her hair gleamed in the morning sunlight.

They rode silently all morning. Around noon, Kane called for a halt. He would have some say in this mission, he decided. He expected the Indian girl to question his authority, but she said nothing as she dismounted and walked beside her horse.

Late in the afternoon, Kane decided where they would set up camp for the night and was again surprised when the girl voiced no objections. They had been riding hard all day and by now were deep within the mountains.

Kane had hardly spoken to Miss Deveraux all day. He unsaddled his mount and removed his saddlebags and bedroll. By the time he tethered his horse, the girl had disappeared. The two men had gathered wood and built a campfire.

A short time later, he made his way down to the stream to wash his face. He was just returning to camp, when he heard the sound of gunfire coming from somewhere in the forest. The Indian men did not seem to be concerned. Apparently they thought the girl could take care of herself.

Kane sat down on a fallen log and watched the last dying embers of the sun. It was peaceful here, he thought. Nature had done her best here in these mountains. Somehow Kane felt attuned to this land, and he thought it would be a shame to see it taken over by the white man. The tall pine trees swayed gracefully in the evening breeze, and the musical sound of the nearby stream seemed to soothe him. He saw the girl coming out of the woods with a rifle resting on her shoulder and a dead rabbit dangling from her hand, and he thought that she was a part of this land. He was the intruder.

Kane rested his back against a huge boulder and watched as the girl skillfully gutted and cleaned the rabbit, then handed it to one of the men, who put it on a spit, to roast over the fire. Yes, he thought, she was a part of this country, as proud and as graceful as the tall pines that dominated the land. He watched quietly as she sat down not far from where he was and began cleaning her rifle.

Kane watched as her eyes traveled to the top of the boulder he was leaning against. At that moment he heard the horses acting up, as if they had been spooked by something, or someone.

"I better check that out," he said, starting to rise.

"No! Don't move, major. Just talk to me calmly," she told him as she slipped a bullet into the chamber of her rifle. "Don't move, there is a cougar right over your head," she said calmly, as she cocked her rifle and raised the barrel above him to aim at the top of the boulder.

Kane felt the taste of fear as the shot rang out. He jumped to his feet and looked above him just in time to see the cougar leap into the air and run into the woods. Then he turned back to face the girl.

"You missed," he said feeling as if his stomach was made of butterflies.

"I didn't miss, major. Had I intended to kill the cat, it would now be dead. An Indian will only kill for food, unless he is forced to kill to defend himself."

"What would have happened had your shot not frightened the cougar away?"

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. "A cougar, like an Indian, will only kill for food."

Kane moved away from the boulder and sat down on his bedroll, trying to relax. He owed his life to Miss Deveraux, but he could think of no way to express his thanks. For the most part, she ignored him. Looking across the camp to where his three companions were talking together, he realized he was experiencing the chance of a lifetime. How many white men had had the chance to travel with three Indians? And he would soon meet Man-gas, whom very few white men had ever seen.

One of the Indian men was talking softly to the girl, and Kane heard her laughter. Suddenly he wished he could join in their conversation. He wanted to get to know them; he would like to have their friendship. He knew what the girl must think of him, but he was not really as bad as she thought.

Standing up, he walked across the camp to where the girl was sitting on a rock. She was listening intently to one of the old men and was smiling at whatever he was saying to her.

"The white man is not so bad, Maleaha. It is my belief that he speaks out of inexperience, rather than out of malice," Lamas said to her.

"You may be right, but I do not like him very much," Maleaha said.

Lamas laughed. "I think you like him well enough. Wait and see."

Maleaha shook her head. "When we return home, I never want to see him again."

Kane sat down on the rock beside Maleaha, and she slid him a sideways glance.

"Tell me about Mangas, Miss Deveraux," he said coolly. "I would like to know what kind of man I will be dealing with."

The two Indian men seemed to fade away as she turned her full attention on the major. Why did he have to be so handsome? She noticed the way his blue uniform fit snugly across his broad shoulders, and the way his pants hugged his long, powerful legs. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked into his beautiful silver eyes, eyes that she was sure could see into the very depths of her soul.

"I have not seen Mangas since I was thirteen. That was four years ago."

So she was only seventeen, a mere child, and yet she was bright and intelligent. He supposed Indian women matured faster than white women did. She would not be so sure of herself if she were put up against a woman dressed in silk, moving among the polite society that he was used to, he thought sadly.

"Mangas was very kind to me when I was a child," she continued. "Even then he was strong and powerful, and my grandfather was grooming him to be chief after his death. I found Mangas to be very kind and gentle."

Kane heard the reverence in her voice, and he felt anger. "It was not a kind and gentle man who raided the ranches and stole their livestock, Miss Deveraux."

Maleaha looked at him with returned anger. "Major, had it been a white man who raided the ranches, he would have received a trial before you condemned him, and yet you judge Mangas guilty without benefit of a trial."

"It has to be Mangas, Miss Deveraux, the evidence points to him."

Maleaha stood up and put her hands on her hips. "If you accuse Mangas of these deeds to his face major, you will die. I doubt even I could stay his hand should you speak so rashly to him."

"Why have you not seen him in four years, Miss Deveraux?" Kane said, ignoring her warning.

"I have been away, major," she told him as she walked over to the campfire and began removing the rabbit from the spit. They all ate in silence, and afterwards Kane lay down on his bedroll, thinking he would never win the girl's approval.

The next two days they rode hard and took so many twists and turns that Kane knew he would never be able to find Mangas's camp on his own. No words passed between him and Maleaha until the afternoon of the fourth day, when she halted her horse.

"From here on you shall be blindfolded, major."

"And if I refuse?"

"I shall ride away and leave you. I do not have the patience to indulge you in this."

Kane nodded his head in grim acceptance, knowing she would do just what she threatened if he did not consent to the blindfold.

"Does Mangas know we are here, Miss Deveraux?"

"We have been observed since we broke camp this morning. We are being followed even now," she told him.

Kane felt a prickle of fear, but soon pushed it aside. He was no coward, but somehow the elusive Mangas spelled danger to anyone with white skin. The only one who stood between him and disaster was the beautiful Indian girl, and he knew she did not feel too charitable toward him at the moment. "I am completely at your mercy, Miss Deveraux," he told her.

"Yes, major. You are at my mercy." She gathered up the reins of his horse and led him forward.

It seemed to Kane that they had been riding for over an hour, but in truth it had been only a few short minutes.

Suddenly, he could hear the sound of many horses, and he knew they had been joined by other riders. He could tell when they entered the village by the sound of children's laughter and the barking of a dog.

Maleaha reached across and removed his blindfold from his eyes. He blinked at the bright sunlight and saw that he had been surrounded by many fierce-looking warriors. Some of them wore long leather breeches, and others wore only a breechcloth. The many dark eyes were hostile, and Kane could feel the tension in the very air he breathed.

"Do not dismount, major," Maleaha warned, as she slid gracefully from her horse. Kane watched as she spoke rapidly to one of the Indians, who quickly disappeared into one of the teepees. Kane and Maleaha both watched the teepee, and the camp became silent.

Suddenly the tent flap was thrown open and a tall Indian emerged. Kane needed no one to tell him the man was Mangas, chief of the mighty Jojoba tribe.

Maleaha stood silently, hardly daring to breathe. Would Mangas remember her? He had changed but little, she thought. His bronze chest rippled with muscles, his whole body seemed to speak of undeniable strength. As she looked into his handsome face, his black eyes fastened on her. Moments passed and the silence lay heavy across the camp. At last Mangas gave Maleaha just the slightest smile as he walked toward her with wild animal grace. His black hair was encircled by a plain leather band and glistened in the afternoon sunlight. He wore long buckskin trousers, but his chest was bare. He stopped inches from Maleaha and his smile broadened.

"So, Little Flower, you have blossomed into womanhood."

She returned his smile. "I was not sure you would remember me, my chief," she answered him in the Indian language in which he had spoken to her.

He reached out and picked up the turquoise stone that hung about her neck, the stone he had given her that day so long ago. "I would recognize you always, Little Flower," he said softly. His eyes switched to the white man in the soldier's uniform, and Kane saw the distrust, or was it hate that was registered there?

"Why have you brought this soldier to my village, Maleaha? I am not pleased with you for doing this."

Maleaha swallowed hard, then she looked into Man-gas's eyes. "This is Major Kanen Benedict, my chief. I beg you to grant him an audience. He has something of great importance to say to you."

"Who asks this of me, the white side of you, Maleaha, or the Indian side?"

"Both, Mangas," she replied. She refused to lower her eyes, but stared bravely back at him, knowing that to show weakness would only gain his contempt.

"I will speak to this white man, but you shall act as an interpreter.''

"But you speak English very well," she said, puzzled by his request.

He smiled slightly. "I can observe him and assess his sincerity better if he does not know that I understand him. Bring him to my teepee."

Maleaha watched as Mangas strolled back to the tent, then she turned to the major, who had remained silent while she was speaking with Mangas.

"Dismount, major. Mangas says he will speak with you."