Wild Rapture

“If only he would allow me to help him,” Mariah said, frustrated. “I would so enjoy being the one who helped him regain some of his confidence, even if he can’t see clearly enough to shoot as well as he did before . . . before . . . the attack.”

“He would not even allow any braves to accompany him today,” Nee-kah said, sighing heavily. “This, too, is a part of that pride. He wants to prove that he can fend for himself, totally.”

“Then I shall just go and watch,” Mariah said, although she wanted far more than that. She hungered to hear him ask her to stand at his side—be his eyes. It would be a fair exchange, she thought to herself, for he had her heart!

“Go with care,” Nee-kah said, leaning a kiss to Mariah’s cheek.

“Mee-gway-chee-wahn-dum, thank you,” Mariah said, then began running softly in the direction where she had heard the gunfire, which had now ceased, troubling her. She feared that she had dallied too long and that he had ceased with his practicing, already moving back toward the village.

Breathlessly she continued onward, then stopped with a start. Up ahead, through a clearing in the trees, she caught her first sight of Echohawk. The reason she had not heard any more gunfire was that he was now practicing with a bow and arrows.

She crept closer and hid behind a tree only a few yards away, watching with an anxious heart as he shot one arrow after another at the remains of a weathered buffalo skull positioned in the fork of a tree.

She ached for him when he missed the skull altogether each time he shot at it, but was proud of him when this did not dissuade him from trying again. A determined man, he kept notching his arrows onto the string of his bow, continuously shooting.

Mariah moved closer, her moccasins silent on the thick grass, until she stood within only footsteps of Echohawk. She was afraid that with his weakened eyes, his sense of hearing might be better and that he might realize that she was there.

But so intent was he on practicing, he still did not know that she was there.

Mariah stood her ground and continued to admire Echohawk more and more by the minute for his determination and endurance.

Ah, but wasn’t he handsome! she marveled to herself, as though this were the first time she had set eyes on him. He wore a breechclout and moccasins, revealing all his muscles and the sleekness of his copper chest and broad shoulders. Held by a beaded headband, his raven-black hair framed his face and was worn loosely to his shoulders, occasionally lifting from his shoulders to flutter in the gentle breeze. His jaw and sculptured lips were tight. His midnight-black eyes were mystically beautiful, which made Mariah even more regretful over his sight having been impaired.

Realizing that she was getting too caught up in the wonders of this man, Mariah wrenched her eyes away from him, swallowing hard. She knew that if she allowed herself the feelings of a woman, which had for so long been denied her by her ruthless father, she could love this handsome Chippewa with all her heart.

Being swept up too much in feelings that were all but forbidden to her, Mariah turned to leave, but was stunned at what she found approaching, its narrow gray eyes on Echohawk.

A wolf!

And she could see by the slaver of its jaws that it was not just any wolf.

This animal was rabid!

She glanced from the wolf to Echohawk, then back at the wolf, realizing that Echohawk was not aware of the wolf’s presence, no more than he had been of her scrutiny. And even if Echohawk had been aware of the wolf stalking him, he surely would not be able to see well enough to kill it before it leapt on him!

Without further thought, knowing what she must do, Mariah made a mad dash for Echohawk’s rifle, lunged for it, and aimed it at the wolf, shooting it between the eyes just as it was getting ready to make its final approach on Echohawk. She watched wild-eyed as the impact of the bullet caused the wolf’s body to lurch wildly in the air, then fall dead to the ground.

Startled by the rifle fire, Echohawk whirled around, and when he saw the hazy shadow of Mariah standing there, he dropped his bow and arrow to the ground and lunged for her, tackling her by the ankles. As she fell to the ground, the rifle fell out of her hands, and she soon found herself pinned to the ground, Echohawk atop her.

“Your aim was bad,” he growled, leaning his face

down into hers. “Why did you fire upon me? What enemy of mine are you?”

“I am not your enemy, Echohawk!” Mariah cried, her heart pounding, her wrists paining her where he so unmercifully gripped them. “It is I, No-din, Echohawk. I . . . I . . . was not shooting at you. I shot and killed a wolf that was stalking you. It was rabid, Echohawk! Rabid!”

“No-din?” Echohawk gasped, releasing her wrists. “You fired the weapon? You say that you fired upon a wolf?”

“Ay-uh, yes,” Mariah said, her voice drawn. “I came to . . . to watch you practice. You did not know that I was here.” She paused, her pulse racing at the nearness of him. That she was with him at all made her heart hammer almost out of control. Never had his lips been so close! She could even feel the heat of his breath upon her face, warming her insides into something deliciously magical.

“Nor did you know that the wolf was there,” she quickly added. “Had I not been here, Echohawk, you would even now be the victim of the wolf’s rabid bites.”

Echohawk could not find the words to explain his feelings at this moment. He was torn between anger at her for not honoring his wish to be alone in his disgrace, not being able to fire a weapon at a target accurately, and gratefulness that she had cared enough to defend him, even though, had she missed the wolf, it could have turned on her and torn her to shreds.

And he was stunned at her ability to kill the wolf in the face of danger. He was used to men rescuing women—not women rescuing men. Although his wife had been a woman of gentleness and sweetness, he had always admired a woman who possessed grit. A woman of fire!

No matter, perhaps, if her skin was white....

“No-din, I am forever in your debt,” Echohawk said softly, yet not venturing to rise away from her. His heart was pounding as though someone was within his chest beating a drum. This woman with the sweet voice, and gentle, caring heart, and skin that was as soft as all snows in the winter, had been slowly capturing his heart as she had sat at his bedside. And the feeling was no less now that she was here, her body captured beneath his, at his mercy.