Savage Conquest Page 5

  Nothing made sense. It had all happened too quickly. Wolf had just been there. He couldn’t be dead. She hadn’t seen him fall. His eyes, that fierce, proud look in his eyes . . . . He was not dead. She looked again, but there was nothing, nothing but grass, and buck brush, and sky, and nothing. All of it became a watery blur. “Woooollllfff!” she yelled frantically, her voice cracking with desperation.

  * * * *

  For a time, Gabrielle hardly knew where she was or what was happening around her for the grief that consumed her. She was vaguely aware of her surroundings, but only in a distant, cocooned sort of way that distanced her from everything until it finally pierced her unhappiness that the men gathered around the campfire were talking about her. She wasn’t certain she would have been able to emerge then except that Phillip’s voice was familiar enough to pierce the shock … and he was angry.

  “Damn fool woman! I’m not so sure I want to take her back with the crazed way she’s been actin’ since we rescued her. I got my family to think about, after all. If she’s been with them savages long enough to be weepin’ over them, there’s no tellin’ what she might try!”

  Gabrielle blinked, bringing his face into focus for the first time, struggling with the sick rage that filled her when she looked at him and remembered he’d shot Wolf—tried to kill him.

  Her throat closed and tears threatened again, but she told herself fiercely that Wolf couldn’t be dead. He simply couldn’t.

  Because she was still breathing, and she knew, without any doubt, that she couldn’t live without him.

  She had to go back, she thought suddenly! He might be wounded! He might need her!

  It was fortunate that that occurred to her because it seemed to clear her mind … enough to realize that Philip wouldn’t let her. Despite his grumbling about having her as an albatross for the rest of her natural life, and his apparent certainty that she’d lost her mind, he wasn’t going to let her go.

  “I’m alright,” she said as calmly as she could. “I was … distressed about all the gunfire.”

  The men in the group all exchanged a silent communication as if to say she really was out of her mind, but they should humor her.

  “There, you see,” one of the other men said. “She’s gonna be just fine. She just needs a little time to recover. These savages …. Well, it don’t do to talk about such things around a lady.”

  One of the other men snorted derisively, but then pretended to cough instead when Gabrielle glanced at him.

  “If you ain’t interested in eatin’,” Phillip said tightly, “you might as well bed down for the night. We got a long ride ahead of us in the mornin’.”

  Gabrielle stared at him for a long moment and finally nodded. Moving away from the fire, she took the bedroll one of the men offered, ignoring the speculative look in his eyes as he looked her over. It made her feel unclean, but she still felt buffered from the world.

  When she’d settled, she closed her eyes and listened until she heard the men settle in their own bedrolls one by one. Their snorts and snores soon filled the night air, but she knew at least one man had stayed awake to stand guard because she’d heard the discussion. Lifting her eyelids a fraction, she studied the man on guard until she saw his eyes begin to cross and then close. Still, she waited. His eyes fluttered a couple of times, opened wide as he struggled to stay awake, but eventually sleep claimed him, as well.

  As soon as she was certain he was asleep, she got up and moved as quietly as possible away from the campfire to the horses picketed just beyond the camp. She hesitated briefly, but she was most familiar with Philip’s horse since it had belonged to her before. Stroking the horse’s face, she whispered to her until the horse caught her scent and settled, and then untied it and led the mare away until she found a handy ‘mounting block’, a tree that had fallen.

  She wasn’t going back, she thought grimly as she set out in the direction they’d come. She was going back to Wolf!

  * * * *

  Fury was still riding Wolf as he urged his horse along the trail the white men had left. The villagers had tried to dissuade him—his friends, his family, the village elder—but Gabrielle was his wife, and he meant to have her back if he had to fight the white men singlehandedly.

  He had hopes that it wouldn’t come to that. If he could just catch up to them while they slept, he would steal her back, and there would be no danger for her.

  That was what concerned him most—that she would be hurt, that they would kill her in trying to kill him if he could not count coup on them and steal her from beneath their noses.

  The night flew by just as the terrain did, however, and, despite his determination, Wolf had begun to think he would ride his horse into the ground before he caught up with the men who’d taken his wife when he heard the sound of another horse in the distance. Uneasiness flickered through him, and he commanded his horse to slow. It was one horse, he realized when he could hear better.

  It would not be the whites, he decided.

  It seemed unlikely that it was a lone hunter.

  Caution seemed wise, and he finally guided his horse into a copse of trees to wait and watch for the rider. He did not have long to wait. He had barely concealed himself when he caught a glimpse of the horse.

  The red hair of the rider was unmistakable, and he felt his heart leap. Nudging his horse abruptly, he rode from beneath the concealment of the trees to cut her off. Her horse skidded to a halt the moment he appeared, and he thought for several heart-stopping moments that she would tumble from the horse.

  “Wolf?”

  The quaver in her voice made it clear she hadn’t recognized him. He surged forward, struggling with disbelief and confusion. “Gabrielle,” he breathed as he brought his horse alongside her and reached for her hand. She caught it and he snatched her from the back of the other horse and gathered her close to his chest. She gripped him as frantically as he had her and concern filled him. “Are you well? What has happened to you?”

  She was shivering. “Nothing. I’m not hurt. I was ….” Her voice broke. “I was so afraid you’d been … hurt!”

  Thankfulness filled him, and he offered a quick prayer of thanks to the gods. She’d come back to him. “I think we should continue this discussion in our teepee,” he said gruffly. “You’re cold.”

  Gabrielle eased her frantic hold on him and leaned away to look at him. “Yes, please. Take me home.”

  Her words warmed him. Holding her close, he turned his horse and headed back to the village. She was asleep when they arrived, but she roused when he brought his horse to a standstill before their teepee. Dismounting first, he helped her down. For several moments, they merely remained as they were, staring into one another’s eyes.

  He claimed her wrist, preserving the contact as he rubbed his palm up and down, fitting first the base of his knuckles, then the heel of his hand into the hollow of hers.

  His rock-hard strength gave her a delicious sense of delicacy. She felt a quick stab of regret when he let her go.

  He went into his teepee to build a fire.

  She followed.

  Playful shadows cast by the fire softened the severe angles of his face.

  “Do you believe I was coming back to you?” she asked.

  “I believe what your eyes tell me.”

  He heard the catch in her breath, and when he finally walked over to her and touched his forehead to hers, she closed her eyes. He rolled his forehead from side to side, letting his nose lightly, briefly touch hers. The tip of his nose traveled softly over her temple. She felt his warm breath and warmer skin, and she wished that his lips would touch hers, if just for a moment.

  “What do I have that will please you?”

  “Your mouth,” she admitted honestly. “Your kisses please me.”

  “I can do a lot with my mouth.” The white flash of his smile made her heart flutter.

  She clung to him, and, before she knew it, he’d made a button of her nipple with a sneaky t
humb.

  “This part is so pretty, so responsive,” he whispered,

  She closed her eyes, delighting in the tingling sensations his touch elicited.

  “Oh, Wolf, that’s not fair,” she moaned.

  He lowered his mouth to the valley between her breasts and then lathed her aching nipple.

  “You taste good.” He blew on the nipple he had made wet, then took it in his mouth and suckled until she groaned from the deep pang of pleasure. “We should have babies,” he said very decisively. “Lots of them.”

  “Do not talk about having babies . . . wanting . . . .”

  “I do not know much about having,” he said as his hand wandered over her skin and over her clothes, rubbing cloth against skin, and skin against skin, “But I cannot help wanting,” he admitted.

  He was caressing her inner thigh, dangerously close, delightfully close . . . .

  “Oh, Wolf, what are you doing?”

  He kissed her mouth as he stroked his way closer, gradually pushing the scrap of a skirt out of the way. As soon as he touched her intimately, she clamped her thighs together. He persisted, his tongue skimming against hers, his hand coaxing her to relax. When she did, he cupped her mound in the palm of his hand triumphantly, as if he had scaled a mountain, and he broke off the kiss.

  Chest to chest they traded erratic breaths as he focused on her eyes, daring her to deny him. In the dark she was a wild thing, waiting for him to make the next move, and make it he would.

  He closed his eyes and relished the power to please, to keep the pressure slight and the rhythm steady, even as the pressure of his cock threatened to tear him apart. Her lips parted on a gasp, and he covered them with his, delving, tasting the recess of her mouth. He kissed her, his tongued playing over her lips. He smiled and licked the heart-shaped curve of her lip.

  He filled his hands with her breasts while he kissed her, this thumbs chasing her nipples as she moved restlessly against him. Shallow breaths lifted her chest into his warm, damp palms, and her skin felt taut all over. He caught her lip and gently sucked, trapped her nipples between his fingers and gently squeezed until a small whimpering sound escaped her throat.

  The sound was nearly his undoing. He went down on his knees before her. He looked up. She was watching him. Her hair fell forward, covering her breasts. Light and shadow from the fire played over her skin and danced in her hair.

  He slid his hands over the backs of her thighs, down, down to the inner curve of her knees, where he applied enough pressure to make them buckle.

  He reached up in time to catch her and bring her to the blanket with him. He lifted his head to suckle her, took her buttocks in his hands to press her down on him, and drove them both to the brink of madness in a matter of moments.

  She sucked her lower lip between her teeth as she slipped her hand into the breach. His swollen flesh fairly sprang into her hand.

  He closed his eyes and lifted his hips to give her more access.

  She moved her hand experimentally. She traced the length of him with her thumb. Her fingertips discovered his soft sac and prodded, gently abrading him with her nails.

  He groaned. He slid out from under her and laid her back on the blanket, his body following, yearning after her. He smiled approvingly as she explored the contours of his chest.

  She discovered his flat nipples. His smile went soft. His breath caught in his throat.

  He slipped a hand down to grasp her mound. He was stroking the cleft between her legs, and he had her little nub in the palm of his hand, at the mercy of his thumb. He watched her face, watched the pleasure grow in her eyes as she arched into his hand and whispered his name. She was warm and wet and ready for him.

  Oh, he was beautiful as he lifted himself higher, with his dark hair dipping over his forehead, and the dark urgency in his eyes, and his touching, touching . . . .

  Gabrielle closed her eyes and opened herself to him.

  He made a swift, burning entry.

  She curled her fingers, buried her nails in warm marble.

  He dropped his face close to her ear, his pleasured groan a sound of assent.

  He bore his weight on his arms, and she felt a surprising tremor in them. And in herself, too, deep, came pleasure. She lifted, stretched, gave the sensation greater access to her own core.

  He accepted the invitation with a heated groan. Taking full possession of her mouth, he matched tongue thrusts with hip thrusts until the last and the deepest forced them both to cry out in pleasure as they came.

  “You are my woman,” Running Wolf said, his voice husky in the aftermath of their love making, but steely, as if he dared her to dispute it. “You know this.”

  Smiling faintly, Gabrielle rolled into the shelter of his arms. “I know this. You are my man, Running Wolf. You know this, yes?”

  His eyes gleamed with amusement, with desire, and with triumph. “I was your man from the moment I first saw you and decided to steal you away, fiery one.”

  THE END