She saw the black first, then Jack, sitting easily, tall and magnificent, and her heart tightened with relief. A parade of five hundred warriors took some time, but once in the stronghold the men dispersed, rushing to greet their waiting families, lifting shrieking children in the air, kissing beaming wives.
And then there were those who did not see the men they were looking for, and turned away, crying and tearing at their hair.
Candice moved down the knoll toward the gohwahafter Jack had ridden ahead in that direction. She moved easily through a section of woods, then paused when theirgohwahwas in sight. Datiye was handing Jack a gourd filled withtiswin, which he drained. Her hand lingered on his shoulder. He still wore the warpaint, now smudged, and his body gleamed with grease. Candice did not like the familiar intimacy between them. She gritted her teeth and moved forward.
He saw her, but gave no sign that he was glad to see her. She realized he was exhausted. He didn’t even speak, but took the clothing Datiye handed him and went toward the creek. Relief warred with anger at his failure to greet her.
Datiye stared at her clothes, and Candice flashed her a warning glance. Damn Jack, she was thinking. Tired or not, he could at least say hello. Or didn’t he care that she was there anymore? Or had he expected her to be waiting, like every other squaw in the rancheria? His presumptions were too much. She strode back into the woods, back up to the knoll. This was the last time she would go out of her way to greet him, or even show him that she was worried. He didn’t deserve her concern.
Already the celebrations had started. Warriors were drinking and bragging about their exploits, flirting with their women, being waited on by their wives. There was much laughter and shouting. Children ran playing, dodging adults. Drums beat, and rattles shook. Men and women were dancing. Candice watched it all with a brooding interest.
Cochise came, resplendent in full dress, with two eagle feathers in his headband, his face repainted, carrying his weapons. He sat in a spot clearly reserved for him, elevated by hides, and his best warriors surrounded him. Candice straightened when she saw Jack join the central group on the dais, sitting cross-legged on a single blanket at the edge of the group. Someone spoke to him, slapping his back and handing him a gourd, and even from this distance Candice could see his white teeth flash.
She was angry. She was up here, alone, on this damn knoll, and he was down there, surrounded by men, enjoying himself thoroughly.
It was getting dark, but huge bonfires made it easy to see everything and everyone. From where she sat she had a better view than if she was down on the flat with the huge crowd-she could even make out the expressions of Cochise, Jack, and their cohorts if she concentrated. Jack hadn’t even seen her, or looked her way, not once.
She didn’t know how he could miss her, not when she was sitting up there alone and clad in white like some virginal, golden-haired bride.
The revelry ceased abruptly, and a man Candice recognized as one of the shamans came into the center of the crowd, walking first to the east, then to the west, then north and south. He said something, a prayer of thanks, Candice supposed. He sprinkled pollen in the four directions, then Cochise rose, and was blessed by the shaman with more pollen. The shaman left and Cochise remained standing.
The crowd started to roar. Candice didn’t know what they said, but they were shouting Cochise’s name in a chant, over and over. They grew silent. Cochise moved.
He was dancing.
As she watched his lithe, graceful movements, Candice realized he was enacting a story. The dance was a pantomime of the battle. It was hard for her to follow, but the crowd was going wild, apparently having no trouble interpreting his movements. And then, with a twisting movement and a downward plunge of his hand, which Candice understood as an act of stabbing a man, he returned to his elevated seat.
The men around him followed in an apparent order, first Nahilzay, who, though graceful, looked clumsy after Cochise, then five others. Some of the men were very inventive and got carried away, leaping wildly around the clearing, chasing foes, throwing imaginary lances, wrestling in hand-to-hand combat. Others were clearly reluctant to dance their tales. One of the men’s dances was so brief the crowd roared with laughter. He grinned foolishly, and Candice realized he was drunk—as drunk as the entire tribe was getting.
She was about to leave when Jack stood. She gasped.
The crowd grew very quiet, waiting. He was wearing only a loincloth and moccasins, and his torso gleamed in the firelight. He put his hand to his head, looking, searching. He ran … gracefully, corded muscles standing out on his thighs and arms. Galloping into the fray. Someone shouted for help. He jumped from his stallion, searching. All around him was the confusion of bloody battle. He warded off an attack. He leapt over chaos and carnage. He was attacked from behind. He fell, twisting, and brought his opponent down. They wrestled, back and forth. Jack got the man beneath him and, with a savage motion, slit his throat.
He returned to his place with the others.
He was magnificent, she thought, awed. Graceful, powerful, as fine a dancer as any of the others. She was stunned.
Other men got up and began to dance, no longer singly, and in no particular order. Women came into the circle, dancing. Candice was shocked again. Some were fully dressed, but others wore nothing but tiny loincloths. They danced unashamedly.
One of the near-naked women gravitated toward the dais, and Candice watched fixedly—with growing anger. The woman was slender, her body perfect. Long black hair fell loosely to her hips. Her breasts were full but young and firm. Dark nipples were taut. She was very graceful and very sensuous, and she had the attention of half the men on the dais, then all of them. She moved directly in front of Jack.
He watched her dance with full attention. Candice wanted to slap the half smile off his face. The woman swayed closer to him, her message unmistakable. For what had to be five long minutes she undulated in front of him, for him, and he never once took his eyes off her. Then she beckoned with her hand, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.
The men on the dais started laughing, and one of them pummeled Jack on the back. They gestured after the girl, encouraging him. He rose, amid hoots, and started after her. Candice was frozen with disbelief. He disappeared in her wake into the crowd.
Her heart was pounding furiously. She picked up a stone and stood. Should she bash her head in, or his? She strode grimly, purposefully, down the knoll. How in hell was she ever going to find them? They had probably gone into the woods. She would never find them. She vowed to kill Jack when she next saw him—and hoped that would be very soon.
Away from the firelight it was dark. She skirted the woods instead of going through-them. She walked right into a pair of powerful arms, and started to twist free. He laughed.
“Looking for me?”
“You bastard!”
He pulled her against him and silenced her with a kiss. His lips were hard and demanding. She could feel his arousal. She was furious. “Stop it, you bastard! Just stop!”
“You look beautiful,” he breathed, lifting her easily into his arms. “I’ve been waiting for this moment all day.” He began walking into the woods.
“What about your little squaw?” Candice hissed, but her body was melting rapidly.
