The Savage

He was naked from the waist up, except for a necklace made of bear claws that hung halfway down his smooth bronzed chest. Below the waist he wore only moccasins and a long breechclout that left the sides of his legs bare and showed powerful horseman’s thighs rippling with muscle. His straight black hair was held back from his face with a headband of red deerskin, which only emphasized his high cheekbones and broad forehead.

His eyes traveled over her contemptuously as she clutched the covers to her breast. “Get dressed, princess. We’re riding out in ten minutes.”

Her pounding heart settled down a degree, but her temper flared as she realized he had deliberately tried to frighten her. “Damn you, you did that on purpose!” she hissed rather hysterically.

“Did what?”

“Dressed up like an Indian to frighten me.”

His mouth curled at the corner. “Better get used to it. It’s what I am. Get dressed—wear the clothes Topusana gave you, and put a scarf or something over your head to protect you from the sun. Hurry up. I won’t wait for you.”

He turned on his heel and disappeared as quietly as he’d come. Willing her heartbeat to slow down, Summer clenched her teeth. “You don’t scare me, Lance Calder,” she muttered beneath her breath, determined to make it the truth.

To her dismay, however, she found Lance just as disturbing when she went outside a short while later, where he was loading the packhorse with the various goods he’d collected. In the dawn light he seemed even more threatening, if that was possible. Most of his bronzed body was exposed to her gaze, his limbs and torso rippling with hard muscle, and he moved silently, with the raw power and grace of a predator.

Was he naked beneath the loincloth?

Flushing, Summer silently cursed herself for entertaining such a shameful thought, and for feeling such a powerful attraction. Such confusing sexual urges alarmed her. This wasn’t like her—this couldn’t be her. She was a lady…a gently-bred virgin. And yet she couldn’t deny the weakness that had stolen over her limbs, the aroused heat that pooled between her thighs at the sight of Lance standing half-naked in front of her.

Forcibly Summer clasped her hands together as she fought back the shocking urge to touch him. For the first time in her life she wanted a man, truly wanted—wanted his body, wanted him to touch her and take her in his arms and join with her. To teach her the secrets between a man and a woman that she had only glimpsed on their wedding night.

Determinedly Summer ground her teeth until they ached. Perhaps it wasn’t so reprehensible, desiring Lance; he was her husband by law, after all. But it was entirely inappropriate under the circumstances to be lusting after him. She had to remember her sister’s terrible plight.

“Do you suppose you could put on a shirt?” she demanded irritably, even as she avo

ided his gaze.

“No,” Lance answered just as curtly. “I like being free of civilized clothes. And I’m not going to suffer from the heat just to satisfy your notions of modesty.”

Without waiting for permission, he lifted her into the saddle and vaulted onto his horse’s back. He’d exchanged her Mexican saddle for an Indian one—a wooden frame tree covered with buffalo hide, with a high pommel and cantle—but he rode bareback, with only a loop of plaited buffalo hair for a bridle. His roan horse was loaded with weapons, though—his Henry rifles and a bow and quiver of arrows he’d gotten from somewhere.

She had no trouble picturing Lance as a Comanche warrior. At the moment he looked just as savage. Indeed, he looked supremely dangerous, a danger that beckoned and taunted.

She was grateful when Deek and his wife came out to see them off. She had already thanked Topusana for the use of the dress, but she repeated her thanks and accepted with gratitude the hide pouch the Comanche woman handed her which she was told contained food for their journey.

As they set out, Lance gave her a single warning. “We run into trouble, you do exactly as I say, do you hear me?” Then he lapsed into the same smoldering silence that had punctuated their previous day’s journey.

The land they traveled was beautiful in a raw, lonely sort of way. They might have been the only two people on earth for all the company they encountered.

As they crossed the river valley, they hugged the hills at the eastern edge of the flat prairie, taking the high ground if given a choice. It provided better cover, Summer suspected.

Once, when his horse snorted, Lance held up a hand in a gesture to halt and lifted his rifle. A few minutes later he moved on.

“Panther,” was all he said.

She wondered how he had known, but sensing his disinclination to talk, she asked only one question. “How long will it take to reach your people’s camp?”

“Two days, if they’re at Otter Creek. More if we have to look farther.”

It was several hours later before Summer realized Lance had a purpose in taking this route. Detouring through a gully, he led her to a dead end at the base of a ridge. When he dismounted and pulled away the brush and thicket, however, she could see a crevice in the wall.

Telling her to wait, he entered the cave and shortly emerged carrying a long lance whose red cloth covering was decorated with eagle feathers, and a round shield of buffalo hide painted with a primitive picture of racing horses.

“Are those yours?” Summer was surprised into asking.

“No, I stole them from a passing sailor,” Lance replied sarcastically.

“Well, excuse me for wondering!” Summer snapped back.