Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of the Warrior. Lindsay McKenna
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critically. He looked relaxed, his large, scarred hands resting on his narrow hips. His profile was Indian; there was no question. Only the lightness of his copper skin revealed his other heritage, through his father. “The dolphin people don’t often give such a welcome to strangers to their land, to their river,” she murmured. She saw and felt his amazement and gratitude. Maybe Michael was right after all: Roan stood apart from all other men she’d known before. He was more like a Jaguar Clan member, knitted into the fabric of Mother Earth and all her relations. Roan understood that all things were connected, that they were not separate and never had been. Her heart lifted with hope. It was a strange, wonderful feeling, and automatically, Inca touched that region of her chest. She studied the medicine piece that hung around his thickly corded neck. With her clairvoyant vision she could see the power emanating from around that beautiful sky-blue stone he wore.
“You said your mother was a healer, yes?”
Roan nodded and squatted down. “Yes, she was.” He saw that the smudge of sage had burned out. Tossing it into the river as an added gift, he took the abalone shell and placed it back into his bag.
“And did she heal by laying her hands on others, as we do in the Jaguar Clan?”
Roan wrapped the feather fan gently back into the red cotton cloth and placed it back into the bag as well, and then zipped it shut. He craned his neck upward and met her half-closed eyes. There was a thoughtful look on Inca’s face now. She was so incredibly beautiful. Did she know how attractive she was? Instantly, he saw her brows dip. Was she reading his mind again? Frustrated, Roan figured she was, as he eased to his full height once again.
“My mother was a Yuwipi medicine woman. Her assistants would tie her wrists behind her back and tie up her ankles and then roll her up into a rug and tie the rug up as well. The lights would be doused, the singers and drummers would begin. The ceremony takes hours, usually starting at nightfall and ending at dawn. My mother, with the help of her spirit guides, was released from her bonds. She then prayed for the person whom the ceremony was for. Usually, that person was there in the room. There could be five, ten or fifty people sitting in that room, taking part in the ceremony. Lights would dance through the place. Horns would sound. The spirits brushed the attending people with their paws, their wings or tails. All prayers from everyone were directed to the person who was ill.”
Inca nodded. “A powerful ceremony. And did the person get well?”
He smiled a little and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “They always did when my mother conducted the ceremony. She was very famous. People came to her from around the world.” He glanced at Inca’s shoulder, where the splinter had wounded her. “And your clan heals with touch?”
Inca nodded. “You could say that.”
“And healing is your calling? Your vision?”
“It is my life,” she said simply. Lifting her hand, she watched as the dolphins sped away from the tug, finished with their play. “I took a medicine vow when I became a woman at age twelve. The jaguar priestess who was training me at that time inducted me into the service of our mother, the earth. She then prepared me to go to the clan’s village for training, which began at age sixteen.”
Roan shook his head. “It sounds like you were passed around a lot, from person to person. Did you ever find out who your parents were?” Instantly, he saw her close up. Her eyes grew opaque with pain and her lips compressed. Roan mentally kicked himself. He’d asked the wrong damn question. “Forget it,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to answer. That’s too personal….”
Touched by his sensitivity, Inca found herself opening up at his roughly spoken words. She saw so much in his large eyes, in those glinting black pupils. Normally, if someone broached a question regarding her past, she’d shut down, get angry and stalk off. Not this time. Inca couldn’t explain why her heart felt warm in her breast, or why her pulse quickened when he gave her that special, tender look. Always, she felt that blanket of security and warmth automatically surround her when Roan met and held her gaze. She was unsure of how to react, for she’d never met a man quite like this before. She wanted to be wary of him, to remain on guard, but his demeanor, and the fact that he was Indian like her, made her feel safe. Safe! No one had ever given her that sense before.
“No, I will answer your question.” Inca sat down and leaned against the bulkhead. The last of the shakiness that always inhabited her after a confrontation left her. Being with Roan was soothing to her hard-wired nervous system, which was always on high alert. She crossed her legs, her hands resting on her thighs. Roan did the same, keeping a good six feet of space between them. Inca sighed. There was always something soothing about the gentle rocking of a boat in the arms of the Amazon River. “At times like this, I feel like a babe in my mother’s arms,” she confided throatily. “The rocking motion…somewhere in my memory, a long time ago, I recall being rocked in the arms of a woman. I remember fragments of a song she sang to me.”
“One of the priestesses?”
“No.” Inca picked at a frayed thread of the fabric on her knee. “I remember part of the song. I have gone back and asked each woman who helped to raise me if she sang it, and none of them did. I know it was my real mother….”
Roan heard the pain in her low voice. He saw her brows dip, and her gaze move to her long, slender, scarred hands. “I was abandoned in the rain forest to die. As I told you before, a mother jaguar found me. I was told that she picked me up in her mouth and carried me back to where she hid her two cubs. When the first jaguar priestess found me, I was a year old and suckling from the mother jaguar. I have some memories of that time. A few…but good ones. I remember being warm and hearing her purr moving like a vibrating drum through my body. Her milk was sweet and good. The woman who found me was from a nearby village. In a dream, she was told where to go look for me. When she arrived, the mother jaguar got up and left me.”
Inca smiled softly. “I do not want you to think that the people who raised me from that time on did not love me. They did. Each of them is like a mother and father to me—at least, those who are still alive, and there are not many now….”
“You were on a medicine path, there is no doubt,” Roan said.
“Yes.” Inca brightened. “It is good to talk to someone who understands my journey.”
“My mother set me on a path to become a medicine man, but I’m afraid I disappointed her.” Roan laughed a little and held up his hands for a moment. “I didn’t have her gift.”
“Humph. You have a spirit cougar, a female, who is at your side. Medicine people always have powerful spirit guides. Perhaps you will wait until middle age to pick up your medicine and practice it. That is common down here in Amazonia. Most men and women do not even begin their training until their mid-forties.”
“You were trained from birth, which means you brought in a lot of power and skills with you,” Roan said. He saw Inca smile sadly.
“There are days when I wish…” Her voice trailed off. Shaking her head, she muttered, “To be hunted like an animal, with a price on my head…to be hated, feared and misunderstood.” She glanced over at him. “At least the Indians of the basin understand. They know of my vow, know I am here to help protect them. The white men who want to destroy our rain forests want my life. The gold miners would kill me if they saw me. The gaucqueros, the gem hunters, would do the same. Anyone who wants to rape our land, to take without giving to it something equal in return, wants me dead.”
Roan felt her sadness. Quietly, he said, “It must be a heavy burden to carry. I hope you have friends with whom you can share your burdens and dreams.”
Rubbing her brow, Inca whispered, “I am all but thrown out of the Jaguar Clan. Grandfather Adaire has sentenced me and told me never to return to the village where all clan members train. I—I miss going there. Grandmother Alaria…well, I love her as I’ve loved no one else among those who have raised me. She is so kind, so gentle, all the things I am not…. I am like a rough-cut emerald compared to her. She is so old that no one knows how old she is. I miss talking to her. I miss