Tykota's Woman(16)

"I am going to scout ahead. When I return, I will expect you to be ready."

She watched him leave, wishing she could hit him with one of the many stones that littered the ground. He was insufferable.

Waiting until he was out of sight, she unhooked her gown and struggled out of her corset. Holding the device in front of her, she wondered what to do with it. Finally she refastened her gown and and carefully hid the offending garment under some rocks and shrubbery, mindful of Tykota's warnings that they might be followed. She had to admit that she could breathe easier, but she felt positively indecent.

When Tykota returned later, he asked what she had done with the discarded undergarment. When she showed him, he nodded in approval and began walking. She fell into step beside him, and after a while she smiled to her self, feeling far freer without the tight corset, although she would not admit it to him.

He glanced down at her, and she thought for a moment that he, too, was smiling. But his jaw tightened, and she realized she must be mistaken.

Then he said, "Admit you feel better."

She was glad for the mud on her face, or he would have seen her blush. She lowered her gaze so he couldn't read her eyes. "My mother would have been horrified to see me abandon my... MY..."

"Undergarment," he finished for her.

"A gentleman would never make mention of anything so delicate in front of a lady, sir."

"You may be a lady, Mrs. Hillyard, but if I were a gentleman, we'd both be dead back at Adobe Springs," he reminded her. "You might want to think about that."

Insufferable man, she thought heatedly, wishing he'd fall off a cliff.





The heat was so intense that Makinna could actually see waves rising from the desert floor. She tried not to think of the lush greenery of New Orleans or the coolness of the evenings when she had sat on the porch with her mother. At the moment, she wished for a downpour, anything but this infernal heat. She was glad now of the mud on her face; otherwise, she'd be in anguish.

"We will stop here until the cool of the evening," Tykota told her.

An overhanging cliff created a narrow stretch of shade, and Makinna sought refuge there. But she found no relief from the heat that burned through her clothing when she leaned back against the rock.

Tykota stood so still, peering out over the valley, that he could have passed for a statue. But his eyes were alive, and his gaze moved keenly over the countryside. Makinna could feel the tension in him until he was satisfied that they were not being followed.

Makinna began emptying the sand from her slippers. When she glanced back at Tykota, she saw him remove his shirt and tear a long strip from it. Blushing at the sight of his broad bronze chest bared to her gaze, she watched him twist the strip of cloth and tie it about his brow, like a headband to match the leather bands circling both of his muscled arms. Even from her vantage point she saw what looked like gleaming golden eagles set into each armband. Surely the carvings couldn't be real gold, could -they?

Makinna quickly slipped into her shoes. Tykota now looked even more like the Indian he was. She had never seen a man in such a state of undress, not even her brother. She meant to lower her gaze, but she could not keep from looking at him. She realized that the farther they got from her world, the more any semblance of civilization was stripped away from Tykota. Layer by layer he became more primitive, untamed, with a dangerous, tightly leashed aura about him. Despite his tall boots and tailored black trousers, he was every inch an Indian.

Clearly Tykota was a complex man, but Makinna was slowly beginning to trust him. She sensed in her heart that he would never willfully harm her. Although he might very well leave her behind as he'd threatened if she didn't keep up with his pace.

"I am hungry now," she said nervously. "May I have some of those plants you offered me this morning?"

He turned to her with a fierce expression. But the fierceness evaporated when he looked into her sincere blue eyes and saw that she had moved aside to allow him room to sit in the shade.

He reached into his pouch and walked toward her, then held the food out to her.

"Tell me about this plant," she said before taking a bite of the softened mescal. The taste was not offensive, but neither could she say it was good.

"The mescal is excellent food for traveling because it keeps well dried. The blossoms taste quite good, but the sap can be an intoxicating drink. The root can be used for soap. The mescal plant is as essential to the survival of the Apache as the buffalo is to the Comanche."

"And to your people?"

"No. Not my people. Although we will eat the plant when forced to, we have other resources."

She finished another bite of the mescal. "Who are your people? From what tribe do you come?"