Page 39 of West Wind

She trembled. Shelley tried to give her a reassuring grin, apparently regretting his choice of words.

“He seems to like you well enough, and as long as I’m still alive I’ll come after you. I promise.”

“Be careful,” she whispered.

Shelley leaned down and held her face between his big hands. “How about a kiss for luck?” He’d barely finished the sentence when his lips were over hers. She threw her arms around his neck.

He released her reluctantly and turned toward Swift Eagle, who waited impatiently. With no warning, Shelley turned back to her. “One more, darlin’.” When he kissed her again, the other Indians howled with laughter, but Swift Eagle was clearly not amused.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The two men sized one another up, feinting and pulling back, practically dancing around in a circle. The Indians who watched from a distance seemed to find it great entertainment, but Annabelle and the three families who surrounded her were terrified.

What if Shelley lost?

Shelley got in the first real blow, a jab that surely would’ve flattened any other man. Swift Eagle’s head snapped back, then he grinned appreciatively at his opponent. Charles, who stood very near Annabelle as if protecting her, cursed under his breath. Suzanne, at her other side, tightened her grip on Annabelle’s shoulder.

Within minutes the fighters were covered with sweat, their bare chests glistening, their faces beaded with it. They glared at each other with intensity, as if nothing but this fight existed.

The first time Swift Eagle’s fist connected with Shelley’s jaw, Annabelle was certain she could feel it. She wasn’t alone. Every man in the crowd flinched as Shelley landed in the dirt, only to jump back up again. He quickly delivered a punch to Swift Eagle’s face that laid open the skin above the Indian’s eye, but the warrior never slowed down or made an attempt to wipe the blood away.

Soon they were both bloody. One of Swift Eagle’s eyes was swollen shut. Shelley’s mouth and a cut on his forehead bled freely. Their hands were covered with blood, their own and their opponent’s. Suzanne found it more and more difficult to hold Annabelle back as she tried to break free so she could place herself between the two men.

Then came the blow that knocked Shelley to the ground. He didn’t move for a few long moments. The Indians cheered, certain their warrior had won.

Swift Eagle turned to Annabelle, the proud look on his face displaying his arrogance and the belief that she should be flattered. He frowned at her tears.

“I have fought for you, Red Boots. Are you not pleased?”

If not for the shouted warnings from his companions, Swift Eagle might not have known Shelley had risen behind him.

Swift Eagle turned smoothly, swinging his arm to strike Shelley across the face with the back of his hand and knock him back to the ground.

“Stop it! You’re killing him!” She was finally able to break away from Suzanne and rush forward.

“Oh, Shelley.” She knelt down beside him and brushed the hair from his face. His blood stained her fingers, but she ignored it. “Don’t,” she whispered when he tried to rise again.

He pushed her away and rose to his feet. His movements were slow; the blood that ran from his forehead partially blinded him. He was barely on his feet before Swift Eagle felled him again.

“I said stop it!” She stood toe to toe with the Indian and glared at him defiantly. She was no longer afraid of Swift Eagle, she was only afraid that Shelley might never be able to get up. “You’re going to kill him!”

The Indian grinned. “He need only remain on the ground or say, ‘You can have her, Swift Eagle.’”

Shelley rose silently as the Cheyenne warrior stood nose to nose with her. He spun Swift Eagle around and delivered a punch.

The warrior, furious to be caught off guard, knocked Shelley to the ground and then drew a knife that had been concealed in his tall moccasin. His intent was evident in those black eyes which were filled with rage.

Swift Eagle stood over Shelley, ready to plunge the knife into his chest. Annabelle did the only thing she could think of; she threw herself over his target. Shelley’s chest rose and fell beneath her, but he made no effort to move. In his condition, that would’ve been impossible.

“No,” she said as calmly as she could, turning her head so she could see Swift Eagle lower his knife. “I’ll go with you, but don’t kill him.”

She stood slowly. As she did, Shelley made an effort to rise again. “Like hell you will,” he muttered.

Swift Eagle raised his knife.

Never let them know what’s coming. Don’t hesitate, she told herself, letting her foot fly, putting all her strength into the kick. Her blow caught Swift Eagle right between his legs, which at first stunned him and then brought him to his knees. She picked up the knife he’d dropped, and left the two moaning men lying inches apart.

She walked boldly toward the Indians and studied each one closely. They were not all the same, as she’d first thought. There was the young warrior who’d touched her hair, two even younger, and a man about the same age as Swift Eagle. It was the sixth Indian she approached. He was the oldest, and wore the most feathers and decorations. There were streaks of gray in his black hair, and his weather-beaten skin appeared to be as tough as leather. The spark of intelligence in his eyes drew her to him.