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“Ay-uh,” Echohawk said, taking Blaze’s rope, leading him to the corral. “And it will be an interesting experience for you. I do not even need reins while on Blaze. He requires no guidance. He knows my every mood. He is even so accustomed to my silent commands that he could lead me into battle without any prompting from me. His skills are honed to such a degree that I can depend on him at all times, for anything.”
> “That he has found his way to you today is proof of that, it seems,” Mariah said, opening the gate to the corral and stepping aside as Echohawk led Blaze in with the other grazing horses. She gazed warmly up at Echohawk, wishing that this closeness to him would never end. She could not deny that she felt as though she were becoming entwined within a golden web of magic, and she would not—could not—give this up. She would have to find a way to make him understand and forgive her role in the attack against his people.
Yet, while doing so, she had to find a way to protect her father. Although she had grown to loathe him, she did not want to see him harmed.
She did not want to see him die!
Yes, she concluded to herself, she had to find a way to resolve all of these differences, first in her heart, then with Echohawk.
She helped Echohawk feed and water Blaze, and then went back to Echohawk’s wigwam with him, going only as far as the entrance flap. When he didn’t invite her inside, Mariah felt awkward and a little embarrassed that she had actually wanted him to.
“I guess I’d best go,” she said softly. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”
Her breath escaped her in a slight gasp when he placed a hand at the nape of her neck and drew her close to him. Scarcely breathing, she gazed with a building passion into his dark eyes. His lips so close, his hands so gentle—her insides tingled and her heart cried out to be kissed.
Disappointing her, he then turned away from her, his brow furrowed with a frown. “It is time to retire for the evening,” he said smoothly. “Tomorrow there will be more shooting practice, but this time for live prey. I must rest for this outing.”
Mariah placed a hand on his arm. “May I go with you this time?” she asked, her voice a soft pleading. “As I said before, Echohawk, I am quite skilled with firearms. I would enjoy the hunt. Please allow it?”
Echohawk turned back to her, his eyes squinting as once again he tried to see her features, dying a slow death inside when again he could not. “It is not a usual thing, a woman hunting with a man, but ay-uh, you can join me,” he said, nodding. “It is good—these times with you.”
“I am so glad you feel that way,” Mariah said, her knees weakening as he ran his fingers along the curve of her chin and over her cheeks. “I so enjoy being with you also, Echohawk.”
He drew away from her, his jaw tight. “You go now,” he said softly. “You rest also. It has been a long day, has it not?”
“It has been a glorious day,” Mariah said, daring to lean up and brush a quick kiss across his lips. Not giving him time to respond, she turned and ran from him toward her own wigwam, almost overwhelmed by her erratic heartbeats.
She looked to the darkened sky. “Lord, I love him,” she cried to herself. “What am I to do? I love him!”
* * *
Putting his full weight on his cane, Victor Temple limped slowly up the stairs to the second story of his house, defeat slouching his shoulders even more than usual.
Weary from the long ride, during which he had not found Mariah, he felt empty, clean through to the core. Until now, when he was forced to believe that he might never see her again, he had not realized just how much he loved her.
And recalling how brusquely he had treated her at times, he did not expect her to have even an inkling of how he truly felt about her. The purpose first and foremost on his mind had been to protect her from becoming like her mother.
But now he felt that he had been wrong. He should have put more trust in her.
Yet hadn’t he trusted his wife? When he had discovered her infidelities, all of his trust in mankind had been stolen away, it seemed.
Stopping at the head of the staircase, he turned solemn eyes to Mariah’s bedroom. Tears filled his eyes, in regret at what he had forced on her before leaving for the Indian attack. He had given her just cause to hate him, that was for sure!
Limping to her bedroom, his fingers clasped hard to the handle of the cane, he stepped just inside the room and saw her long strands of hair lying across the foot of the bed in the dimming light of evening.
A sob grabbed at his chest as he went to the bed and picked up some of her hair and held it to his cheek. “Soft,” he whispered. “So thick and soft. Why did I cut it? Why?”
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he gathered up the rest of her hair and held it to his chest and slowly rocked back and forth, immersed in thoughts of the daughter that he had loved, perhaps too much. If he had not loved her so much, he would have been more generous with her. He would have given her more freedom.
“And now I will never be given the chance to make it up to her,” he said, almost choking on another sob. “I’m sorry, Mariah. So damn sorry.”
He stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. “Mariah, Mariah . . .” he whispered until he fell asleep.
Chapter 12
Thou waitest late, and com’st alone,
When woods are bare and birds are flown—
