Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) (8 page)

The heat was so intense that Makinna could
actually see waves rising from the desert floor.
She tried not to think of the lush greenery of
New Orleans or the coolness of the evenings
when she had sat on the porch with her mother.
At the moment, she wished for a downpour,
anything but this infernal heat. She was glad now
of the mud on her face; otherwise, she'd be in
anguish.

"We will stop here until the cool of the
evening," Tykota told her.

An overhanging cliff created a narrow
stretch of shade, and Makinna sought refuge
there. But she found no relief from the heat
that burned through her clothing when she
leaned back against the rock.

Tykota stood so still, peering out over the
valley, that he could have passed for a statue.
But his eyes were alive, and his gaze moved
keenly over the countryside. Makinna could feel
the tension in him until he was satisfied that they
were not being followed.

Makinna began emptying the sand from her
slippers. When she glanced back at Tykota, she
saw him remove his shirt and tear a long strip
from it. Blushing at the sight of his broad
bronze chest bared to her gaze, she watched
him twist the strip of cloth and tie it about his
brow, like a headband to match the leather
bands circling both of his muscled arms. Even
from her vantage point she saw what looked
like gleaming golden eagles set into each armband. Surely the carvings couldn't be real gold,
could -they?

Makinna quickly slipped into her shoes.
Tykota now looked even more like the Indian
he was. She had never seen a man in such a
state of undress, not even her brother. She
meant to lower her gaze, but she could not keep
from looking at him. She realized that the
farther they got from her world, the more any
semblance of civilization was stripped away
from Tykota. Layer by layer he became more
primitive, untamed, with a dangerous, tightly
leashed aura about him. Despite his tall boots
and tailored black trousers, he was every inch
an Indian.

Clearly Tykota was a complex man, but
Makinna was slowly beginning to trust him. She
sensed in her heart that he would never willfully
harm her. Although he might very well leave her
behind as he'd threatened if she didn't keep up
with his pace.

"I am hungry now," she said nervously. "May
I have some of those plants you offered me this
morning?"

He turned to her with a fierce expression. But
the fierceness evaporated when he looked into
her sincere blue eyes and saw that she had
moved aside to allow him room to sit in the
shade.

He reached into his pouch and walked toward
her, then held the food out to her.

"Tell me about this plant," she said before
taking a bite of the softened mescal. The taste
was not offensive, but neither could she say it
was good.

"The mescal is excellent food for traveling
because it keeps well dried. The blossoms taste
quite good, but the sap can be an intoxicating
drink. The root can be used for soap. The mescal
plant is as essential to the survival of the Apache
as the buffalo is to the Comanche."

"And to your people?"

"No. Not my people. Although we will eat the
plant when forced to, we have other
resources."

She finished another bite of the mescal.
"Who are your people? From what tribe do you
come?"

Tykota's gaze slid away from hers. "You
would not know of them."

She smiled. "Perhaps you come from the
mysterious tribe Mr. Rumford was talking about
on the coach-the one that no white man has
ever seen and lived to tell about."

Makinna had spoken whimsically, but the
memory of Mr. Rumford made her close her
eyes against the sudden pressure of tears. When
she opened them again, she saw the tightening of
Tykota's jaw. When he did not answer her
question, she tried to move on to less painful
thoughts.

"It is so hot," she said. "I have never known
such heat."

"Is not New Orleans hot? What is your city
like?"

So he had been listening to her conversation
with Mr. Rumford and Mr. Carruthers in the
coach. She sighed. "Louisiana is as different
from this desert as two places can be. It is green
and teeming with life. Rivers and streams
meander through dense swamps, and the
Mississippi River dominates everything around
it."

Tykota watched her carefully. "Why did you
leave New Orleans? Surely you set out on a
journey difficult for a woman alone."

"I am certain you heard much of my
conversation on the stage, even though you
pretended to be asleep. You probably know that
my mother and brother both recently died."

"Tell me more about them."

"Mother had been an invalid for many years,
but she was so sweet-natured and uncomplaining
that it was a joy to be with her. I wanted to make
her life comfortable and ease her suffering as
much as I could. It was hard to watch her
become weaker and weaker over time. My
brother was, I imagine, like most big brothers:
protective, kind, and loving."

Tykota looked suddenly thoughtful but did not
speak, so she concluded, "William died in a
horseback riding accident."

"What about your husband?"

She averted her eyes. "I have allowed you and
the others to form a misconception about me. I
have never been married. I just thought it was
safer to pretend to be a married woman while
traveling alone."

"I see." Tykota found that that revelation
brought him an odd satisfaction. "So, did your
family do business in New Orleans?"

She studied her hands, noticing the nails
were chipped and dirty. "Yes. At one time, my
family owned storage warehouses and shipping barges. But the war came, and we lost
everything, as many of our friends did. My father died soon thereafter. My sister married
and moved out West."

"And then you lost your mother and
brother?"

The thought of what she had suffered touched
him. But then again, perhaps she was on her way
west to join not only her sister but the man she
would marry. "I suppose you had a full social
life in New Orleans."

"No. None at all. My mother needed constant
care."

He could hear the loneliness in her voice.
"There is a man now, perhaps, who wants you
for his wife?"

She shook her head. "No one."

He smiled, and it transformed his face. "Then
the men in New Orleans are either blind or
fools."

She looked at him, stunned. "Was that a
compliment?"

"You do not know you are pleasing to look
at?"

She smiled ruefully. "I am too tall for a
woman, and I have a terrible temper, besides.
But I thank you all the same."

So, she did not know she was a beauty. How
unlike many other women, who were forever
fishing for compliments. "Makinna is your first
name, is it not? How did you come by it?"

"It was my mother's maiden name." She clasped her hands and looked at him intently.
"Now I have told you about myself. So what
about you? I want to know why you
speak English like an Englishman, not an
American."

A veil seemed to descend over his face, and he
leaned back against the cliff. "When I was very
young, my father sent me to live with an
Englishman who was his trusted friend. I came
to know George Silverhom better than I knew
my own father. He took me to England with him,
and I lived with him and his wife, Hannah, on a
country estate. Since he had no children, he
raised me like his own. In my eleventh year, he
bought a ranch in Texas, so I could be nearer my
own land and people."

"You grew up in Texas?"

"I grew up in many places, but Biquera Ranch
is the home I remember the most fondly. It is
very near the Mexican border."

"You must have missed your real family."

"Yes. But I saw much of the world I would
otherwise never have known. And I was sent
back to England to be fully educated."

"That explains the accent, among other
things. And now you are going home to your
family? But which one-your Indian or your
English family?"

He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow
breath. "You should sleep if you can, Miss Hillyard. We will be walking most of the
night."

She realized he did not want to say any more
about himself, so she closed her eyes and did
indeed feel tiredness enveloped her. She was hot,
hungry, and thirsty, but she had a feeling that
with Tykota as her guide, she would live through
this terrible ordeal.

Makinna turned her head to look at him. He
appeared to be sleeping, but she knew that at the
slightest sign of danger, he would be alert. And
she knew that no matter where she went after
this, or what turn her life took, she would never
forget this tall, beautiful Indian so shrouded in
mystery.

Makinna awoke with a start, and at first she
could not remember where she was. It was
almost dark, and she could smell meat cooking.

She came to her feet and followed the
wonderful aroma to where Tykota was cooking
something over a campfire.

"Have you ever eaten rabbit?" he asked,
watching her carefully.

Makinna dropped down beside him. "No," she
replied, hungrily watching the drippings from the
meat splatter into the fire. "But it smells
wonderful, and I'm willing to eat anything at the
moment."

Tykota removed the meat from the skewer he'd fashioned from a mesquite branch. On a
flat stone he carved the meat with expertise.

He offered her the first piece. "Be careful. It's
very hot. Don't burn your fingers."

Makinna handled the meat gingerly and blew
on it until it cooled. She closed her eyes with the
first bite. "Mmm, this is delicious." She opened
her eyes. "But I would have thought a rabbit
would be meatier and have bones."

Tykota bent his head so she did not see him
smile. "Oh, that isn't rabbit. It's rattlesnake."

She paused with a piece of meat halfway to
her mouth. She knew he was waiting for her to
reject it, but she would not give him the
satisfaction. She hoped her voice sounded
casual. "Oh, really? You said it was rabbit."

"That is not what I said, Miss Hillyard. I
merely asked you if you had ever eaten rabbit."

"Well, it's delicious, anyway."

He gave her another rare look of approval.
"You are a most unusual woman, Miss
Hillyard."

"So you've implied, though not always in the
most flattering terms."

He handed her the canteen, knowing she was
having sudden trouble swallowing the remaining snake meat. "Here, wash it down." He
watched her take a drink before he spoke
again. "You are also a brave woman. I wonder
if there are many more like you back in New
Orleans."

"Of course. We women of Louisiana spring
from hearty stock." She glanced out at the desert,
watching the sun splash gold across the land. "I
thought it was too dangerous to have a
campfire."

"At this time of day, anyone who might be
tracking us would not see the fire in the sunset,
and the smoke will blend with the twilight."

"Tykota, will you not tell me something about
your life before you went to England? I have told
you about my youth."

"I left my people when I was very young.
Nothing happened that would be of interest to
you."

She turned away, realizing he still refused to
talk about himself. She dropped the subject for
the time being.

Absently running her fingers through her hair,
she came across endless tangles. Finally, in
moment of brazenness, she lifted her skirt hem,
ripped the bottom ruffle from her petticoat, and
tied her hair away from her face. "There," she
said, pleased. My hair won't get in my way
now."

"I could cut it for you. It would be cooler.
Besides, you will never get those tangles out
now."

She glanced down at his knife. "I don't think
so. I'll manage the way it is."

He shrugged. "If you should change your
mind..." He flashed the knife.

"I won't." She rose to walk away from him.
No, she would not allow him to cut her hair.

"Miss Hillyard?"

"I said no," she replied, without breaking her
stride.

"It's not that. You are walking in the wrong
direction. If you keep going, you will soon fall
off a cliff."

She stopped and turned back to him. "How
can you expect me to know that? I wasn't born
here."

"All I expect from you is that you obey me,
that you do what I tell you to. That way you will
come to no harm."

She raised her chin in proud defiance, looking
almost comical with the streaked mud on her
face. "I will do what you say as long as it's what
I want to do. I already warned you that I have a
temper. And you are testing its limits."

"Ah, yes, your temper. Still, what is important
is that you do not test mine."

She wisely made no reply.

He put out the fire and scattered the ashes, and
she watched as he wiped away all traces that
they had been there. Then he glanced up at her.

"Walk to that higher ledge and wait for me."

She nodded, and when she reached the spot,
she watched him brush away their footprints
with a spiny branch of a scrub bush. He was
leaving nothing behind for the Apache to find.

Tykota joined Makinna and guided her up a
steep slope. She gritted her teeth, hoping she
wouldn't fall and break her neck. Through her
thin-soled shoes she could feel every pebble and
stone. It had been bad earlier; now it was agony.
Once she tripped and almost lost her footing,
managing to stay upright only by grabbing a
scraggly bush.

Tykota turned back to her with a scowl on his
face. "Try to step where I step."

"I can't. Your strides are too long for me."

He put his hands on his hips and glanced
upward, as if seeking patience. "Then walk in
front of me so I can cover our trail."