couldn’t seem to keep her thoughts straight. She closed her eyes again, and in her fevered mind, she was a child once more, running through the summer heat at the big estate next door with her twin brother David’s best friend, Austin. . . .
“It’s so hot, Austin,” she murmured aloud. “Say, why don’t we have your cook make us some lemonade? The butler can serve it in the conservatory where the flowers bloom . . .”
She felt herself being lifted, something pulling at her clothes. Vaguely, she opened her eyes, trying to remember where she was and who this big, bronzed man was who pulled her dress off. “No, please don’t!” Even in her delirium, she tried to cover herself modestly with her hands and struggled to push him away.
But he lifted her lightly as if handling a doll. “Don’t fight me, Summer,” he said tersely, “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve got to bring that fever down.”
Weakly, she struggled while he stripped her naked and laid her back down on the soft fur. He was going to rape her, she knew, and she was too weak to do anything about it. She couldn’t remember who he was or why she was here. There was something about a family quarrel because she had embarrassed the family ... There had been a stagecoach ...
“Hot. So hot . . .” she whispered and felt the big hands moving over her, wiping her fevered skin with the cold cloth. It felt good and she relaxed, quit struggling, letting his hands move over every inch of her. He sponged her hot skin with the cool water. With her eyes closed, she felt the cold cloth come down her throat, wipe each breast, continuing down the hollow of her belly, across each fevered thigh. From there, the cool massage worked down her long legs, even to the soles of her feet.
He did it again and again, starting with her perspiring face and working his way down every inch of her. Occasionally, he turned her over, sponging from her neck, down her back, across her slim hips, and down the soles of her feet.
It occurred to her that even though it felt wonderful, she shouldn’t be allowing this to happen. She struggled again and tried to protest, but strong hands held her down.
“No, Summer, don’t fight me,” he ordered, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Once in the hours that passed, she looked up into his dark eyes as he sponged her face and saw the weariness and concern reflected there.
“Am—am I dying?” she asked.
He gathered her into his arms. “No! I won’t let you die! All these lonely years I have waited for you to come along, and I won’t let Heammawihio take you! I promise you will never walk the Ekutsihimmiyo, the Hanging Road to the sky, without me. The seyan , the place of death, will not receive you yet.”
She felt safe then. Another human was watching after her and cared what became of her. Time passed, and it was a blur of heat with the cool cloth wiping her body continuously. Once, she remembered a horn spoon between her lips and warm broth, and many times there was cold water poured between her cracked lips. Sometimes, she opened her eyes and saw the plump Indian woman in the tepee, and sometimes the old medicine man, but she knew, somehow, that Iron Knife never left her side.
Then, she was no longer hot, but cold. Her teeth chattered and she shivered uncontrollably. She dreamed of a sleigh ride behind one of her fine-blooded horses back home at Christmas time. She could almost feel the ermine-trimmed blue velvet bonnet and fox-fur muff....
But when she opened her eyes, she was once again in a strange place, and a handsome, dark man was wrapping a fur robe around her naked body. The soft fur felt good against her skin. She lay there, watching as he built the fire to a roaring blaze and turned back to her.
“I’m cold,” she whispered through trembling lips, “I’m so cold.”
He stood looking down at her shivering body and seemed to make a decision. Abruptly, he began peeling his clothes off. Summer had never seen a
“It’s so hot, Austin,” she murmured aloud. “Say, why don’t we have your cook make us some lemonade? The butler can serve it in the conservatory where the flowers bloom . . .”
She felt herself being lifted, something pulling at her clothes. Vaguely, she opened her eyes, trying to remember where she was and who this big, bronzed man was who pulled her dress off. “No, please don’t!” Even in her delirium, she tried to cover herself modestly with her hands and struggled to push him away.
But he lifted her lightly as if handling a doll. “Don’t fight me, Summer,” he said tersely, “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve got to bring that fever down.”
Weakly, she struggled while he stripped her naked and laid her back down on the soft fur. He was going to rape her, she knew, and she was too weak to do anything about it. She couldn’t remember who he was or why she was here. There was something about a family quarrel because she had embarrassed the family ... There had been a stagecoach ...
“Hot. So hot . . .” she whispered and felt the big hands moving over her, wiping her fevered skin with the cold cloth. It felt good and she relaxed, quit struggling, letting his hands move over every inch of her. He sponged her hot skin with the cool water. With her eyes closed, she felt the cold cloth come down her throat, wipe each breast, continuing down the hollow of her belly, across each fevered thigh. From there, the cool massage worked down her long legs, even to the soles of her feet.
He did it again and again, starting with her perspiring face and working his way down every inch of her. Occasionally, he turned her over, sponging from her neck, down her back, across her slim hips, and down the soles of her feet.
It occurred to her that even though it felt wonderful, she shouldn’t be allowing this to happen. She struggled again and tried to protest, but strong hands held her down.
“No, Summer, don’t fight me,” he ordered, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Once in the hours that passed, she looked up into his dark eyes as he sponged her face and saw the weariness and concern reflected there.
“Am—am I dying?” she asked.
He gathered her into his arms. “No! I won’t let you die! All these lonely years I have waited for you to come along, and I won’t let Heammawihio take you! I promise you will never walk the Ekutsihimmiyo, the Hanging Road to the sky, without me. The seyan , the place of death, will not receive you yet.”
She felt safe then. Another human was watching after her and cared what became of her. Time passed, and it was a blur of heat with the cool cloth wiping her body continuously. Once, she remembered a horn spoon between her lips and warm broth, and many times there was cold water poured between her cracked lips. Sometimes, she opened her eyes and saw the plump Indian woman in the tepee, and sometimes the old medicine man, but she knew, somehow, that Iron Knife never left her side.
Then, she was no longer hot, but cold. Her teeth chattered and she shivered uncontrollably. She dreamed of a sleigh ride behind one of her fine-blooded horses back home at Christmas time. She could almost feel the ermine-trimmed blue velvet bonnet and fox-fur muff....
But when she opened her eyes, she was once again in a strange place, and a handsome, dark man was wrapping a fur robe around her naked body. The soft fur felt good against her skin. She lay there, watching as he built the fire to a roaring blaze and turned back to her.
“I’m cold,” she whispered through trembling lips, “I’m so cold.”
He stood looking down at her shivering body and seemed to make a decision. Abruptly, he began peeling his clothes off. Summer had never seen a
Similar Books
