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She looked from Harold to Leonida. “I promise to have the blanket ready for you . . . when did you say?” she asked.
“In three months,” Harold said stiffly, unnerved by the Navaho warrior’s cold gaze. Harold had had few dealings with Sage, the young Navaho chief, but enough to know that he was the most stubborn of all the Indians in the area and that he had too much control. Harold had thought long ago that something had to be done about this powerful chief. He smiled to himself, knowing that things were in the works even now to make changes that would affect Sage.
“Uke-he, thank you,” Pure Blossom said humbly, feeling the heat of her brother’s eyes on her and knowing why. The Navaho rarely said thank you to anyone. Normally when a thank you was necessary, thanks were given by other means than humbling themselves by saying it.
Glad to be on their way, Harold placed a firm hand on Leonida’s elbow. She eased away from him, though, and knelt down on a knee to admire a striking necklace among those laid out on a colorful blanket. He nervously moved his finger around his tight collar and shifted his feet. Then he did a slow burn as Sage knelt down opposite Leonida, his eyes intent on her.
“You see one that you especially like?” he asked, smiling.
Leonida’s pulse raced. The Indian’s deep, smooth voice reached into her heart like warm splashes of sunshine. To keep from making a fool of herself, she looked away from him, and again down at the beautiful necklace that had caught her eye.
“This one,” she said, pointing to a string of hollow silver beads with a large crescent-shaped pendant ornament called a Naja. “It’s so very pretty, unlike anything I have ever seen before.”
Her face became hot with a blush, and she was embarrassed by the strange huskiness of her voice. This Indian had affected her much more deeply than she had realized. And she knew that she must hide her feelings. Not only from Harold, but also from the warrior. It was forbidden to have feelings for an Indian, especially the sort of sensations now troubling her.
Sage picked up the necklace and spread it out between his large, callused hands. “This is called a squash blossom necklace,” he explained. “The floral design represents pomegranates, and the crescent at the bottom is to ward off the evil eye.”
He paused to sweep his eyes slowly over Leonida. He was quite taken by the color of her hair, where wisps of her golden curls were revealed at the sides of her straw bonnet. He also admired the azure of her eyes, having seen such a beautiful color of blue only in the sky on the clearest of days.
Where her low-cut bodice revealed her porcelainlike skin, the swell of her breasts was smooth and creamy. While she had been standing with calm dignity, he had noticed how tall and willowy she was, a blonde beauty.
If he allowed himself, he could have many feelings for this woman, most sensual.
“It is so beautiful,” Leonida said, trying to draw the Navaho warrior’s attention back to the necklace. She could h
ear Harold’s hastened breathing, a sure sign that he was growing angry.
“Yes, it is a thing of beauty,” Sage said thickly. “The Navaho call the crescent ‘big snake,’ the Navaho’s name for the constellation Draco.”
Before Leonida could rise, the Navaho warrior moved quickly behind her, placing the necklace around her neck. Having already been mesmerized by his smooth voice and dark eyes, she felt almost swallowed whole by her heartbeats when he touched the flesh of her neck with his fingers while fastening the necklace around it.
“It is yours,” Sage said, placing a hand on her elbow and helping her to her feet. “Wear it as a token of gratitude for coming to my sister with your lovely yarns.”
Red-faced, Harold stepped between them. Glaring at Sage, he yanked the necklace from Leonida’s neck and flicked it onto the ground. “She needs no gifts from you,” he growled. “The blanket is the only reason we have come here today, and your sister will get paid well for her services.”
Leonida was stunned by Harold’s sudden burst of jealousy. She half stumbled when he grabbed her hand and pulled her from the tent. Awkwardly she looked over her shoulder, feeling that an apology was needed. When she saw the warrior’s cold contempt, she was stung to the core.
Then she turned away, ashamed and angry. The more Harold jerked her along beside him, the angrier she became. Suddenly she yanked herself free and stopped to glare at him. “Why did you have to behave so—so terribly about that necklace?” she said, her gloved hands doubled into tight fists at her sides. “You humiliated not only the Indian but also me. Was that necessary? Did you feel that threatened by the Indian’s attentions toward me? You don’t own me, Harold. Please quit acting as though you do.”
Harold’s eyebrows narrowed together into one line as he leaned down close to her face. “Don’t you appreciate anything?” he snarled. “I’m paying a lot of money for that blanket. Would you rather I go back and get the yarn and forget it? Would you rather I didn’t get you anything for your wedding gift?”
“I don’t care what you do with anything,” Leonida snapped, then stamped away from him.
He caught up with her immediately. “I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he said, glad to be away from the Indian tents and walking toward the fort. “But, Leonida, I must warn you against being so easily swayed by the Indians. I’m being too trusting myself to believe that I will ever see anything made from the yarn I handed over to that crippled wench.”
Leonida cringed at his reference to Pure Blossom as a “wench,” but she now only wanted to get to the privacy of her house. “Who was that Indian warrior?” she asked cautiously. “It is obvious that you don’t like him.”
Setting his jaw tightly, Harold did not answer her right away, but he finally responded, knowing that he would have to sooner or later, anyhow. Leonida was not the sort to let anything get past her. Especially the name of a man with whom she was so obviously infatuated.
“Sage,” he grumbled. “A Navaho chief.” He glared over at her. “Pure Blossom is his sister.”
“He’s a chief,” Leonida said to herself, still tingling inside from Sage’s touch, his voice, and the way he had looked at her with his midnight-dark eyes.
The sound of hooves behind her drew her eyes around just in time to see Sage riding away on a magnificent chestnut stallion with a saddle of stamped leather. The silver ornaments hanging from his saddle flashed in the sun. For a brief moment he turned his head her way. When their eyes met, a silent promise seemed to be exchanged between them, yet she did not know why.
Shaken by her feelings, Leonida tried to focus her thoughts elsewhere. She stared at the fort as they approached it. The high adobe walls surrounding it offered protection to the barracks, hospital and officers’ quarters inside. The fort had been built within a green valley, supplied by water from a sparkling river that flowed down from the nearby mountains. Unable to shake the Navaho chief from her mind, Leonida turned and watched him as he rode toward the river in the distance.
It was her keenest desire to follow him.
