Magnificent Passage (17 page)

Mandy exhaled slowly. She'd become so engrossed in the story that she held her breath. “That's an amazing tale, James.” She pictured the big man riding boldly into the camp.

“I wouldn't have believed Hawk capable of such a selfless act,” she said, not really meaning it. The statement brought her swiftly back to the present.

“He's really not so bad, Julia, if you just get to know him a little.”

Mandy set her jaw. “Get to know him!”

James sighed resignedly, and Mandy felt a momentary pang of guilt. She knew James had done his best to patch things up.

He rose and glanced back toward camp. “It's getting late. Think I'll check the horses before I turn in. Thanks for the company.”

“Good night, James,” she called after him, alone with her thoughts again.

Maybe James was right, she concluded, mulling the whole episode over in her mind once more. Maybe she'd gotten so immersed in her
Julia
role she'd let herself get mixed up. She knew there was something good and caring
about Hawk. She could feel it. Surely she couldn't be completely wrong in her judgment of another human being—even one as hard to figure as Hawk.

She cringed a little as she thought of her actions—and his. She had known there would be some consequences to acting like Julia—she just hadn't figured on this one.

A few yards farther, deeper in the woods to her left, she could make out Hawk's strong profile against the backdrop of the rising moon. It was still a long way to California, and these last two days had not been pleasant. Now was as good a time as any. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and headed toward the big man.

At the same instant, Hawk glanced up and started moving in her direction. They met halfway, both trying to speak at once.

“Hawk, I . . . ”

“Julia, I . . . ”

Each made an attempt to laugh. The sound came out tight and nervous.

“You go first,” Hawk conceded, a look of contrition on his face.

Mandy stared at his square jaw just for a moment, her eyes moving upward to his straight nose, where she noticed a tiny crook that probably marked some past encounter. She grudgingly admitted it was just one more thing about him that attracted her.

“I just wanted to say I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you.” Moonlight glistened on his thick sandy hair and lighted his dark eyes, allowing her to glimpse his concern.

“I'm the one who should apologize,” Hawk countered.
“I let my temper get the best of me. It's not something I do often.”

“So I've been told,” she agreed softly.

They faced each other only inches apart, she having to tip her head just to meet his gaze, unwilling to move or even breathe, for fear the spell would be broken.

Hawk stared into her gold-green eyes. The moonlight reflected the same golden highlights in her chestnut hair. She seemed innocent, vulnerable, and yet he knew it could not be. Before he could stop himself, he reached out to her, pulling her firmly against him, his mouth descending to claim her soft lips. She stiffened a little at his boldness. Then, as the kiss deepened, her lips parted, allowing his tongue access to the sweetness of her mouth. She relaxed against him, her arms going around his neck.

She felt so right in the circle of his arms, so small, yet she filled his senses, seemed more than enough woman to meet his needs. He groaned with desire. Slowly he began to explore the heady feel of her, his hands surrounding her tiny waist, then moving upward toward the swell of her upturned breasts. He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing, heightened by her excitement.

His mouth strayed from her lips to the smooth line of her neck, then moved upward again to nibble gently at the warm spot beneath her earlobe. His hands moved skillfully. He could feel her tremble, even through the layers of her clothes. Unbuttoning the front of her dress, he cupped a firm, full breast, then caressed the rose-colored nipple and felt it harden against his palm.

Mandy heard her own tiny moan at the touch of his hand on so intimate a part of her body. She knew she
should be stopping him, but instead felt herself relaxing in his arms, responding fully. She could feel him weaving her deeper into his spell as he began to trace a path of fire with his kisses, assaulting again the curve of her neck, exposed where he had pushed aside her hair. Moving down, his teeth nipped at her shoulders, then his mouth moved to capture the peak of her breast.

She couldn't believe what was happening. Though she'd been told the ways of a man and woman, never in her wildest imaginings could she have guessed what it would be like in reality. She felt powerless, completely under his control. The muscles of his back rippled beneath her fingers. She could feel his corded thighs, his male hardness pressed firmly against her. She couldn't move; it was all she could do to stand. She swayed against him and wave after wave of emotion surged through her. Her body responded to his every touch, and though she knew it must be wrong, she wished it could go on forever.

Hawk had lost all reason. He'd only meant to allow himself one chaste kiss, hoping it would stave off his desires until he reached Virginia City. But her lips were honey, their softness leaving him aching with desire. He'd never wanted a woman as he did this one. Now he was lost. In another minute he'd have the girl on the ground and her clothes in shreds.

Steeling himself for the gut-wrenching reaction he knew would come, and with a power from he knew not where, he tore himself free, setting her away from him with an iron resolve.

Without a word he turned and strode away.

Mandy felt as if he'd poured ice water on her. Her head
was spinning, and her heart beat so loudly she was certain he could hear it even as he walked away. What must he think of her? Why did she keep letting this happen? She just didn't understand. With trembling fingers she buttoned and straightened her clothes. A trail of tears scattered like rain upon the swell of her breasts.

Across the clearing, Hawk stood questioning his emotions. He'd never been so shaken in his life. Even when he'd awakened in the middle of a Comanche village as a child, he had not felt this unnerved. He was out of control, and he didn't like it. One more second alone with the girl and it would have been too late. His solemn word would have been broken—and for what? A two-faced vixen who'd probably bedded every rich dandy in Sacramento City. One who was right now cheating on her fiancé by kissing him.

He hated himself for what he allowed to happen and vowed not to weaken again. If only he could get over his nagging feeling the girl was an innocent. He knew in his heart it wasn't possible, and yet . . . Stalking back to camp, his mood blacker than ever, he lay down to another night of restless sleep.

Unbidden, the dream came.

Thin plumes of white smoke drifted up from tiny cooking fires beside teepees scattered across a wide green meadow. Dry pine needles carpeted the earth beneath the trees on the slopes of the hills—a shield from the warm summer sun.

The boy was older now, but the dream told him he had not yet reached his eighteenth year. He dressed hurriedly in
loincloth and breeches, stepped into the bright morning light, and walked toward the edge of the camp. The moccasins beneath his rawhide leggings padded quietly across the dry grass; a bone-and-feather breastplate covered much of his chest, and his thick sandy hair hung well past his shoulders.

Even through the mist of the dream he could tell his skin, though darkened by the sun, remained lighter than that of the others. He moved with the stealth of a great cat, striding swiftly to the river. He bathed briefly in the icy mountain stream, dressed again, and headed toward his father's lodge, determined to make Strong Arrow understand his mission.

The dream wavered.

For an instant he was the little white boy, Travis, and all those remote memories filled his mind.

Then, just as quickly, he was Black Hawk again, son of a chief, a cunning hunter and fearsome warrior. A man who had put the past behind him and had come to love his Indian family as he once had the white mother and father of his foggy remembrance.

Across the meadow, he could see Running Wolf as a youth, with wide-set eyes and a teasing smile.

“My brother,” Running Wolf called out, “you have missed most of the morning. You enjoyed yourself last night?” His wry smile made him look younger than his sixteen years. His black eyes twinkled mischievously, as he kicked a pebble in the dusty earth. “Maybe you especially enjoyed Dark Moon?”

“Dark Moon is a fair maid,” Hawk answered. “Any man would be fortunate to enjoy her company.” He made the
statement flatly, betraying no emotion. Dark Moon had made her desire for him obvious, and he, too, felt the stirrings of passion, maybe even love, for the beautiful Indian girl. But he had not yet acknowledged her, though Strong Arrow pushed vigorously for the union.

They walked on toward Strong Arrow's teepee. Hawk could smell smoke from the cooking fires. The great chief met them at the entrance.

Hawk bid Running Wolf good-bye and stooped to enter the lodge, following behind his father. They took their places beside the fire, and the older man waited for his son to speak. Hawk could not find the words.

Finally, Strong Arrow spoke instead. “My son, I know why you have come.”

Hawk stiffened. “You know? But how could you?”

“I have watched you with the others and with Dark Moon.” His father's gaze held his. “Your white blood calls you.”

“Father, I . . . I . . . wish there were something I could say.” The pain of his leaving pierced Hawk's heart. There were not words enough in either language to make his father understand the gratitude and love he felt for all his father had done.

Strong Arrow laid a corded brown hand on Hawk's shoulder. “I know what is in your heart, my son. I know this is something you must do. When it is right, you will be able to walk in both worlds, but your heart will always remain here”—Strong Arrow placed a hand to his own heart—“with mine.”

“Thank you, Father.” Hawk was barely able to speak the
words. A lump swelled in his throat, and his chest felt heavy. He swallowed hard. His father was right. He must go.

The dream changed.

Hawk lay in his teepee remembering the white world. What few memories he had were sparse and disconnected. But he could remember the little things: the rustle of petticoats, the taste of ice cream, the softness of a deep feather mattress—and a man named Thomas Rutherford. Rutherford, his white father's best friend, had offered to take him into his home after his parents died. Hawk hoped the man would offer to help him again. The time was at hand for him to leave the security of his village. He must return to the white world to find out who he really was—Black Hawk or Travis Langley.

Hawk came awake with the first gray streaks of dawn. He blinked, trying to get his bearings, then sat up with a heavy sigh. He felt someone watching him before he turned his head. The girl stood ten feet away, looking at him.

“You were dreaming again,” she told him. “I wanted to wake you, but after the last time . . . ”

He smiled slightly and shook his head. “You're learning, Miss Ashton, you're learning. But I thank you for your concern.”

She walked toward him as he got up from his bedroll. “Is it always the same dream?”

He stared hard at her, trying to assess her motives. “Parts of the same dream. Most of it's pretty unpleasant.”

“So I gathered.” She seemed genuinely concerned.

“Sometimes it's about the Comanche attack. Sometimes about leaving my village.”

“Isn't there any way you can stop them?”

He released a deep breath. “Not that I've discovered so far. I'm used to them by now.” He turned away and began to roll up his bedding. She watched him for a moment as if she wanted to say something more, then turned and walked away. He watched the gentle sway of her hips, and the memory of her kisses, the feel of her skin beneath his hand, set his blood to pounding. His hand trembled slightly as he tied a string around his bedroll. He struggled with his thoughts, determined to send them in another direction, and went to check on the horses.