Savage frowned.“The ganscome and join in their human forms—if they feel like it.”
“Jack, be honest, do you believe in thegans?”He smiled slightly. “Mountain spirits exist.”
The dance was interesting, and it was entertainment, Candice decided. She was enjoying Jack’s company, though, even more than the dance. His shoulder pressed against hers in the throng of Indians surrounding the dancers. She remembered the afternoon. After that first, frantic joining, he had taken her gently and tenderly, as if to prove there was substance behind his unexpected declaration. She glanced at his handsome profile out of the corner of her eyes. He was so handsome, his presence so commanding. Her heart swelled with love, even if her mind tried—unsuccessfully—to rebel. He glanced at her, saw her regard, and smiled, taking her hand and squeezing it. When he released it, she clung to it, felt his surprise, and then his large warm hand closed over hers again. They stood that way, hand in hand, watching the dancers for close to an hour.
“What is this dance for?” Candice asked, leaning against him.
He hesitated, and she felt it clearly. “One of the shaman had a powerful dream last night. The time for the Apaches is now. These four nights we pray for strength and victory.”
She pulled away. “You’re going on the warpath.”
“Yes.”
The delight of the evening crumbled into shreds around them. “When? After the fourth night of dancing?”
He nodded, watching her closely, if not a bit grimly.
She looked at thegansdancers without seeing them. She had been there almost two weeks, wondering, but afraid to ask when they would finally take to the warpath again. In four days Jack was going to ride away, into battle, against her people. It was too incredible, too distasteful to believe. Why? Why did it have to be this way? Would he attack her home? Fight her family? Kill someone she loved?
“Look, Candice, there’s the Black One,” Jack said, trying to distract her.
She didn’t care, automatically glancing at the figure ominously garbed in black buckskin who stood apart, forbiddingly. Where are you riding? Who are you attacking?”
“Lower your voice,” he said. “The High C will not be attacked.”
She felt an immense relief. “Are you sure?”
“Cochise knows it’s your home, and I married into your family.”
She was confused and he saw it. “Candice, typically a man marries into his wife’s family, and not the other way around. Cochise has promised the High C will not be touched. Besides, it could never be taken, not unless it was besieged until the inhabitants were starved out. That is not the Apache way.”
Her relief was short-lived. “Then who?”
“I do not know,” he said tersely.
She had the feeling he did but would not tell her. She turned away. She was almost glad this had happened to remind her of where she was and what he had done. This afternoon had made her forget and forgive too easily. Nothing had changed. If anything, she realized something now that she had not realized before. He was her enemy. Her husband was her enemy, and this was war.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
He avoided her.
It was hard enough to prepare to do battle this time, without her accusing gaze and silent condemnation. Or not so silent condemnation. He tried not to think of the woman he had killed at Warden’s—but it was impossible. She was haunting his waking moments and his sleep. He made sure not to bed down for the night until after Candice was asleep, surprised she should still be sharing his bedroll, but he knew she was stubbornly doing so only to defy Datiye and keep her in her place. If it weren’t for Datiye, Savage was sure he would never get near her at night.
There was another reason why this time it was even harder to prepare for battle than it had been before. Their target was the Santa Cruz Valley. They would bypass Tucson, which would be too well defended, and hit the ranches down-valley. Savage was grim. That meant the TR—Judge Reinhart’s spread, as well as Henderson’s, ranches that belonged to Candice’s old friends. The two places were close enough together that they would attack both simultaneously, dividing their force. Then they would run for the mountains.
He reminded himself that this was war. He reminded himself of his brother’s death, which helped steady his resolve. He thought of all the Apaches, who numbered an anthill among the mountains of the whites. This was war for survival—for a way of life, for freedom. It was probably the last chance for his people.
But my people are white too.
This was a time when a man needed his wife’s gentle touch, her love, and her support. He had none of those things. If he gave her a choice she would leave him without hesitation, and he knew it.
After the fourth night of ceremonial dances and prayers, Savage returned to hisgohwahwith a strange sadness. When going into battle there was always the prospect of death. He was not afraid of death, for he had the Apache attitude, which was somewhat fatalistic. He did not think his time had come but one could never be sure. In any case, there was always the possibility that he might never return—might not see his sons born, or see his wife, ever again.
She was sleeping on her side. Her rounded abdomen was hidden by the blanket, but he longed to stroke their child, encased in her flesh. He wanted to make love to his wife too, and be given some sign that she cared for him, even worried about his departure into battle. With a sigh, he slipped into the bedroll beside her. Lying on his side, he pulled her against him, nestling the curve of her buttocks against his groin, her back against his chest. He closed his eyes.
He would never be able to sleep that night, this he knew. The heat from her body was inflaming him, and his loins were already full, tight, achingly so, his penis stiff and throbbing with life. He shifted onto his back to stare up at the starless night. He could hear a baby begin to cry, then silence as its mother fed him. A man’s voice, inaudible, drifted on the breeze, and with it, a feminine tinkle of laughter. Excited laughter—at least one husband was saying a fond good-bye to his wife.
Candice rolled against him, full breasts pressing against his arm. She was wearing only her chemise, and a bare knee touched his thigh beneath his loincloth. Then, taking him by surprise, she moved her hand and lightly touched the length of his arousal.
