Free The Guardian by Elizabeth Lane Page A

couldn’t she hear it crying?
    Why couldn’t she hear her baby crying?
    Panic exploded through her like flame through black powder. Then, before she could react, she heard it—the sharpness of a slap, followed by a tiny gasp and a loud, indignant squall.
    It was the most beautiful sound Charity had ever heard.
    Black Sun was fumbling with something in the darkness. Charity’s eyes caught the glint of moonlight on a knife blade, and the motion of his fingers tying some kind of knot. With effort, she found her voice.
    â€œIs my baby all right?”
    â€œYes.” Black Sun’s voice floated up to her. He sounded light-headed, almost giddy with relief. “She’s fine. She’s just upset with me for spanking her.”
    â€œShe?” Charity’s heart skipped a beat.
    â€œYou have a daughter—with a good pair of lungs and a very strong heart.”
    â€œGive her to me. Let me hold her—” Charity released the stick, only to discover that she was too weak to stay upright. She slumped against Black Sun’s shoulder, her blurred vision fixed on the tiny, squirming creature who rested between his knees. He was drying her off with a piece of soft leather, his hands huge and dark against the small, pale body. The baby was complaining at the top of her lungs, clearly giving him a piece of her mind. It was impossible to look at her without smiling in wonder.
    â€œLie down and rest,” he said, nodding toward the buffalo robe he’d placed on the soft pine needles. “You’ll need to feed this little wildcat right away to keep her quiet.”
    Even as he spoke, Charity felt the liquid surge in her swollen breasts. How strange, and yet how natural it seemed. She was already aching to hold her daughter in her arms.
    Glancing down at the front of her scorched, mud-stained dress, she groaned in dismay. The faded chambray gown buttoned down the back. How on earth was she going to get it open, with the charred fabric all but fused to her skin?
    Black Sun’s eyes flickered toward her and she saw that he understood. “Lie down,” he said again. “I’ll help you.”
    Bone-weary, Charity stretched out on her side and waited for him to finish drying the baby. Her eyes followed his every movement as he cradled the small figure between his hands and placed her gently in the crook of Charity’s arm.
    The baby was still crying, kicking with her legs and beating the air with her tiny fists. Gazing down at the perfect little rosebud face, crowned by moon-pale hair, Charity felt her heart quiver and melt.
    Black Sun bent over her. Charity’s pulse skipped as she saw the knife in his hand. “Hold still,” he murmured, reaching for the front of her dress. She gasped softly as the blade sliced downward, cutting through the worn fabric of her dress and shift, causing her breasts to tumble into view.
    He withdrew his hands at once but did not avert his gaze. Charity felt a hot blush creep over her skin. Indian women often went bare-breasted, she reminded herself. They nursed their babies in the open air, within sight of anyone who passed. She had seen them herself near the trading posts. It would not occur to Black Sun that there was any impropriety here. And this was certainly no time to be modest.
    Conscious of his eyes on her, she shifted the baby to her breast and brushed a nipple against the small, puckered mouth. Instinctively the baby clamped downand began to suck like a greedy little piglet. Charity’s soul overflowed with love and she realized there was nothing on earth she wouldn’t do for this tiny bit of squalling, kicking, hungry life.
    Black Sun smiled—the first real smile Charity had seen on his somber face. “Your daughter is strong,” he said. “One day she will grow up to be a strong woman, like her mother.”
    Charity gazed up at him. This man had saved her life and brought her daughter into the world.