The reaction of his body only served to fuel his anger. Without further ado, he spun around, that he might leave this place.
Indeed, he would have accomplished it too, except that he heard the angel laugh, and in doing so, she caught him, as readily as if she had spun a web around him and drawn him in. Swift Hawk hesitated, he listened, but mostly he paused to admire the sound of her voice. For its tone was not only musical, there was a quality about it that expressed life, vitality, a love for living. Though he might be experiencing more than his fair share of apprehension, the zest within that laugh entranced him.
Hardly daring to do so, he glanced over his shoulder, toward the circle of dancers, and there he looked his fill of her, beholding the allure that was hers alone.
He should gaze away from her, he knew he should, but he found himself unable to do so. As he turned toward her, heexperienced an odd feeling, as though he had suddenly sunk into quicksand, for he could not move his feet.
However, the fact did not bother him. Instead, he resigned himself for what was to be and simply stared at her, struck by the unusual style of her white woman’s dress, for it hid her womanly form, yet accentuated it at the same time.
In a white dress that swooped down to her ankles, she looked as foreign yet as stunning as a silvery morning sunrise. The dress was not entirely white, he admitted, for its print included red dots all over it, and its sleeves were unusually full, falling over her shoulders and gaining their largest width at her elbows. A red belt accentuated her tiny waist and a white hat with immense red ribbons sat atop her blonde curls. An enormous ribbon, also in red, was tied under her chin, though off to one side.
Her dress swayed with every movement of her body, and she seemed never to stand still. Even when remaining in one place, she constantly moved, shifted and curled with every breath she took, with every word she whispered. And though it might be slight, each motion screamed seduction.
At present, she laughed up at a white man, one of the soldiers Swift Hawk recognized as an officer of the fort. Her gaze upon the man was nothing if not provocative.
Still, Swift Hawk had little choice but to stand there, watching her smile and tease. Gradually it came to him that he was in trouble, for a raw streak of jealousy knifed through him.
He muttered a white man’s curse beneath his breath. What was this sudden burst of hatred that he felt toward that man? What was the meaning of this desire to take his knife and…?
Swift Hawk reined in his thoughts. Realization dawned:Shecould not be the salvation he thought her to be—shemust not be. He had been wrong in coming here, wrong in seeking her out, wrong in thinking she could help him.
Clearly she represented nothing but dishonor to him. For he knew that if he were to be in this woman’s presence for anylength of time, he would ruin her and ruin himself. It would follow as surely as dawn follows the night. As he was unable to resist her, his vow of celibacy would go disregarded, and in the end he would overcome her objections and woo her to his bed.
He knew he would. And it was a thing he must not do.
Perhaps, he thought, grasping at straws, it was her brother who would help him. After all, her brother had also been a part of Swift Hawk’s vision.
Very well. There was only one thing he could do and retain his honor: He must leave here at once. He must return to the prairie and offer up his thoughts to the Creator.
So it was with this determination that Swift Hawk again turned to leave. He had managed no more than a few steps in retreat, when a delicate hand touched him on the shoulder.
“Mister Swift Hawk?” said the voice. “I believe that is your name, is it not?”
Swift Hawk stopped completely still, as though her touch had transformed him to stone. He did not turn around. He did not look around. He dared not.
“Mister Hawk, have I introduced you to my brother, Julian?”
Swift Hawk cleared his throat to speak, but it seemed she did not require his reply, for she went on to say, “Jules, may I introduce you to Swift Hawk, who has come here to act as a scout. Isn’t that a coincidence? That the two of you should be occupied in the same trade?”
“A scout, are you?” asked Julian. “Say, this is a touch of luck then, isn’t it?”
Swift Hawk didn’t respond. He turned around slowly, dreading coming face-to-face withher. Glibly, he thanked his elders for instilling good manners within him, for it was only these formalities that enabled him to bestow upon sister and brother a simple inclination of his head.
That done, he turned to leave, but again she caught him with the mere grace of her touch.
“Please stay. I was so hoping that you and Julian might find a good deal to talk about.”
“Yes,” chimed in the brother, with a huge smile. “Have you ever traveled the Santa Fe Trail?”
Swift Hawk acknowledged the man with a positive tilt of his head and glanced down at the feminine hand pressed against his arm.
Her gaze followed his, and she quickly withdrew her hand.
“Both routes?” asked Julian, acting for all the world as though he were unaware of any exchange between Swift Hawk and his sister. “The desert, as well as the mountain route?”
Another nod from Swift Hawk.
“Which do you prefer?”
