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He became annoyed and frustrated, so wanting to see the face of this woman, and knowing that he could not.
Would he ever be able to? he agonized to himself.
Was he blinded for life?
Yet wasn’t it best that he couldn’t see her face?
He reminded himself that No-din was white, born into this world of those who were the Chippewa’s natural enemies.
“You owe me nothing, Echohawk, for what I have just done for you,” she murmured, guilt plaguing her again, for if he only knew the truth, he would see that it was she who was forever in his debt. Oh, but she did owe him so much!
“No-din,” Echohawk said, sliding away from her and helping her to her feet. “Woman of the wind. Such a beautiful name.” He reached a hand to her face, sending waves of desire crashing through Mariah. His fingers moved gently over her features. “You feel as though you are as beautiful as your name. Your features are delicate. Your lips are as soft as a rose petal . . .”
Echohawk could not deny to himself that he was intoxicated by Mariah. She had proved that she was indeed a friend, perhaps even more. He drew her into his arms and with trembling lips kissed her heatedly.
Mariah was taken off-guard by the suddenness of the kiss, momentarily stealing her breath away. But having wanted this for so long, and soon overcome by a sweet, unbearable desire, she twined her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with a passion that she had never known was locked inside her.
And when his hand crept between them and moved down to curve over her breast through her buckskin dress, she was shocked at the intensity of her feelings. It was as though something was melting at the pit of her stomach—such a wonderful, blissful melting that was spreading . . . spreading . . .
And then he was gone from her arms, his back to her, leaving Mariah shaken and staring at him.
“Let us return to my wigwam,” Echohawk said thickly. “There we will share a night of talk and pleasure.” He turned and faced her, reaching out to cup her chin in the palm of his hand. “Until today I have been cold to you. No matter that you had sat vigil at my side, I still saw you as no better than an enemy. But today that has all changed. You will see. We shall share much that I have been denying myself as well as you.”
Mariah started to reply, but her words were stolen from her when he kissed her again, making the world spin around, frightening and thrilling her in the same breath and heartbeat. She so badly wanted to be free to love him, but she did not see how that ever could be possible. Not while the threat of unspoken truths lay heavy on her heart.
Echohawk reluctantly released her, a desire gnawing at him that he had denied himself since his wife’s burial. Perhaps it was time to place the past in the past, yet something kept nagging at him not to be hasty in this thing that he was feeling for a woman—a white woman who, in truth, should be his enemy.
“No-din, for now you can be my eyes if you wish,” Echohawk said, on his knees, trying to find his weapons. “Please help me gather my rifle, bow, and as many arrows as you can find.”
Mariah was glad to be able to busy her hands and mind, yet could hardly take her eyes off this man—the man she would never be able to forget, much less deny herself loving.
She began gathering up arrows, feeling his presence behind her before she felt his hand on her wrist. Her body turned to liquid as he drew her up next to him again.
She moved into his embrace and snuggled next to him, glad that this time he was just wanting to hold her. She knew that if he kissed her again, while she was still recovering from the last kiss, she would be lost to him.
“You feel right in my arms,” Echohawk said, stroking her back. “And how do I feel in yours, No-din?”
“Wonderful,” Mariah sighed, closing her eyes, relishing the rapture she was feeling. “Oh, so wonderful.”
“Then you do care?” Echohawk whispered, turning her face up to his. “You sat by my bed, tending to me, because you truly cared?”
“Ay-uh, because I truly cared,” Mariah said softly, his eyes, though sightless, mesmerizing her.
“And why is this?” Echohawk asked, puzzling over it. “Why would you?”
“The moment I first saw you I knew that I must do whatever I could to make you get well again,” she said.
“Then am I, a Chippewa brave, the first?” he asked. “How can that be? When I touch the features of your face, my fingers tell me that you are beautiful.”
“I have never thought of myself as beautiful,” Mariah murmured, casting her eyes downward, knowing that her father had tried to make her feel anything but pretty.
“Not only do my fingers tell me that you are,” Echohawk said, again moving his fingers over her face, memorizing her every feature, “but also my heart.”
Delicious shivers of desire enveloped Mariah, her body screaming for something further, yet not quite understanding what. She was breathlessly glad when he moved away from her.
“Gather up the weapons,” he said huskily. “We can share more talk when we return to my wigwam.”
Mariah smiled weakly at him, wondering where else their feelings would take them tonight. She was anxious to experience more of these sensations that had been awakened today, to fulfill this need that seemed to be torching her insides into a heated inferno.
