Shawnee Bride. Elizabeth Lane
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swim?” He glowered down at her, angry and incredulous.
“Young ladies in Baltimore don’t usually take swimming lessons,” she retorted coldly.
“So you just jumped into a flooded river and expected
to float?”
“Of course not! I meant to wade ashore, not swim. I just underestimated the depth of the water, that’s all.”
He shook his regal head in disgust. “Did you think it would be that easy to get away from me?” he demanded.
“Not really.”
“Then why did you take such a foolish chance?”
Clarissa pushed herself up onto one shaky elbow, her hair tumbling into her water-reddened eyes. “The way I saw it, I had nothing to lose,” she said.
“Nothing to lose?” His eyes contained the fury of summer lightning. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve managed to lose something very important to both of us.”
His gaze flickered toward the river. Only then did Clarissa realize that the canoe was nowhere in sight. And only then, as she noticed the water drops glistening on Wolf Heart’s coppery skin, did she understand that once more she owed this man her life.
“Not only is the canoe gone,” he said with an undertone of menace, “but also my bow and arrows, my blanket and the corn cakes I was going to feed you as soon as you felt well enough to eat again. Even my parfleche was lost in the river. Now we will both go hungry.”
He rose to his full height, looming above her, his face a thundercloud. With one great fist, he caught Clarissa’s hand and jerked her upward. She staggered to her feet, her senses reeling dizzily.
“I tried to make this journey easy for you,” he said, turning her around and maneuvering her roughly ahead of him. “Youchose not to go along. Without the canoe, we have only one way to get to the village. Walk.”
It was his voice, rather than any perceived touch, that prodded Clarissa ahead. She willed one leaden foot to move, then the other. Her whole body ached. Her mouth tasted of sickness and river mud. The ground swam like water in her vision. But she would not give Wolf Heart the satisfaction of hearing so much as a whimper from her.
One foot. Then the other. She moved like a sleepwalker, conscious only of the dark presence behind her. Wolf Heart would not let her rest, she knew. He would march her all the way to his village.
She stumbled ahead, forcing each step. Then, abruptly, she blundered into a rain-filled hollow. Her leg buckled beneath her and she collapsed flat on the muddy ground.
Biting back a moan of despair, she braced her arms and worked her weight onto her knees. She would crawl if she had to, Clarissa swore, but she would die before she would beg this arrogant savage for mercy.
She inched forward, fingers clawing the mud. Suddenly the earth seemed to fall away beneath her. She gasped as Wolf Heart’s big hands enclosed her waist. His powerful arms swept her upward, turned her deftly in midair, and slung her face-backward over his shoulder. Without a word, he struck out downriver, covering the ground in long, swift-moving strides.
Dazed, Clarissa bobbed limply while the breath returned to her body. Then she began to struggle. Her legs kicked uselessly beneath the clasp of his arm. Her fists pummeled the only part of him they could reach—his muscular buttocks—only to stop abruptly when she realized she was pounding bare flesh.
Her face reddened in spite of her fear. “Put me down!” she sputtered. “Put me down this instant!”
“You’re saying you’d rather walk?” Wolf Heart did not break stride. His tone was almost pleasant, but Clarissa did not miss the edge to his question.
“That’s not the point! I’m a lady, for your information, and no man has a right to handle me this way!”
“Oh?” Disdain sharpened his voice. “And how would you like me to handle you?”
“With dignity! With respect!” Clarissa’s spirits sagged as she realized how ludicrous her demands must sound to him. Here she was, slung over his shoulder like a bag of oats. She was filthy, footsore, and facing a fate so horrible that she could not bear to imagine it. Dignity and respect had long since gone the way of the wind.
“Just let me go,” she pleaded, abandoning all pretense. “Turn your back and let me take my chances in the forest with the wild animals. Is that asking so much?”
Wolf Heart did not answer her. When Clarissa twisted her head, she could see that he was gazing upriver, his body tense and expectant
“Please, Wolf Heart,” she persisted. “I’m not your enemy. I mean your people no harm. Just leave me here. Forget you ever set eyes on me.”
His throat moved against the curve of her body. “It’s too late for that,” he said softly. “Look.”
Stooping, he lowered Clarissa’s feet to the ground. The blood rushed out of her head as she stood erect. She swayed dizzily, her vision swimming into darkness. Groping for Wolf Heart’s arm, she clung to his solid flesh with both hands. Slowly the world stopped spinning around her. Little by little her vision cleared.
She stared past him, her gaze following the sundappled river upstream. A blue heron took flight from the shallows, its long neck folded into its shoulders, its slender legs trailing behind like ribbons. Dazzled, she traced its streaking flight along the curve of the bank.
Only then did she see the three canoes. Still small in the distance, they were bearing swiftly downstream toward the sandbar where she and Wolf Heart stood.
It’s too late. His words spun in Clarissa’s mind as she stood helplessly, watching the canoes approach. It was too late to run. Too late to hide. Too late to plead for her freedom. She had run out of hope.
Wolf Heart raised an arm and waved. A lone paddler in one of the canoes waved back and, in a moment, the narrow craft had broken away from the others and was angling across the current, moving toward the bank.
Clarissa remained silent, her heart a pulsing knot of dread. Wolf Heart had not spoken to her in minutes-had not, in fact, even looked at her. He was all Shawnee now, every remnant of Seth Johnson buried beneath the visage of a warrior.
The canoe glided into the shallows. Its bow nosed up to the bank and crunched onto the sand. The brave wielding the paddle paused to rest, a grin spreading across his lean, pockmarked face.
“Tap-a-lot brother!” He greeted Wolf Heart, but his curious eyes were already devouring Clarissa in fascination. “You told us you were going to hunt bear. Is this a new kind of bear you have taken alive? No, it looks more like a fox! How splendid that red pelt will look on your bed!”
Wolf Heart scowled, his gaze flickering to Clarissa. She could not understand a word of what Cat Follower was saying, of course. But in the hours to come she would be the butt of many such good-natured jokes, and he silently ached for her. Yes, he lashed himself, he should have let her go while there was still time. Now it was too late.
“And what has become of your canoe?” Cat Follower’s grin widened, showing the gap of a missing tooth. “You look very wet, brother, as does your fox. Could it be that she spilled you both into the water? What a shame!”
“Never mind that,” Wolf Heart retorted a bit sharply. “It’s a long walk back to the village. Will your canoe carry all three of us?”
Cat Follower chuckled, one hand indicating the empty hull. “As you see, this was not a good day to go hunting. But my bad luck is your good luck. Since I have no game of my own, there is room for you, and for your whiteskinned fox, as well.”
“Then I owe you my thanks.” Wolf Heart nudged Clarissa toward the canoe. His fingertips brushed her back, feeling the fear in her taut muscles. This time, however, she did not try to fight or run away. She had no strength left.