Free Through the Fire (The Native American Warrior Series) by Beth Trissel

would help to settle her and it was all he had at hand.
    She swallowed, coughing, and swallowed again.
    He administered several more sips and took a swig of the warming brew himself before recapping the flask.
    She lay back more heavily on the blanket then rolled onto her side. “John?” she murmured.
    Temptation rose alongside the grinding wrench in Shoka. He stifled his resentment at the unwelcome name and lay down beside her, drawing her into his arms. She nestled against him with a sigh that drove another spasm through his gut.
    “I feared so for you,” she whispered sleepily.
    “ I am here.” Shoka slipped his fingers through her loose hair burnished in the fire’s glow.
    “ Don’t go, John,” she begged him, as if sensing some reason why he couldn’t stay.
    “ No, sweetheart,” he soothed, using the term of endearment so familiar to the English.
    “ I was never with child,” she confided tremulously.
    “ Do not weep for this. You soon will be.” Shoka circled his arms around her inviting softness.
    “ But you’re so often away. Too long, this time.”
    “ Shhhh…” He slowly settled his mouth over her drowsy lips. Unlike the vixen he’d battled earlier today, this woman offered no resistance, only melting warmth, yielding all the sweetness he could want, like the first taste of amber honey dripping from a comb.
    Whatever else John Elliot was he ’d been the most fortunate man on earth. Shoka had never taken such pleasure in a kiss, but gnawing hunger accompanied the satisfaction surging in him. He groaned under his breath. Now, he’d only crave her more.
    ****
    Seething over last night’s ordeal, Rebecca paced back and forth while sipping the cup of sassafras tea Meshewa had given her. The hot, spicy infusion took the edge off the morning chill, as did the blanket wrapped about her, but nothing eased her black mood. Like a leashed dog, she did not dare stray from the watchful eyes of the few warriors remaining in camp.
    “ Bloody awful ordeal,” she fumed, dwelling on Black Knife’s interrogation the night before.
    No doubt he ’d dragged it out to punish her. And when she’d broken down into sobs, the impassive chief had simply waited until she grew articulate enough to speak, seeing through her every attempt at evasion.
    Throughout it all, Shoka had remained silent and forced her to face her antagonist. She might as well have been bound to the tree along with the soldiers for all the comfort he ’d given her. Blast him.
    She must have fainted by the end of her trial. Vague memories of Shoka carrying her to the campfire flitted through her mind. She recalled nothing after that…except for a tantalizing sweetness that tugged at the edges of her distress like the whiff of some lovely scent. Had she dreamt of John? Only a fleeting sensation returned.
    Likely this was Shoka’s fault, too, robbing her of precious dreams. He had much to answer for but wasn’t among the few men left in camp. Like a leashed dog, she didn’t dare stray to seek him. She stopped pacing. “Meshewa.”
    Looking up at her summons, he left a comrade with a leg wound to his pipe and walked to her on silent moccasins. The sun filtered through the trees, dappling his face and shoulders, setting his hazel eyes alight every few steps. “Have you more hunger?”
    “ No. Thank you. Where have all the men gone?”
    He studied her closely, as though seeking an ulterior motive. “They watch trails for enemy warriors, Long Knives.”
    “ Did Shoka go with them?”
    “ No. He hunts. You look ready to spring, like Peshewa .”
    She felt like a crouched panther flicking its tail. “’Tisn’t you I wish to attack.”
    “ Fly at no one, Becca.”
    “ After what Shoka put me through last night?”
    “ You wish to fight my cousin?”
    “ Oh, yes.” She moodily took a sip from her cup.
    “ How do you think to win?”
    “ I’m not sure, exactly. But I can make his life difficult.”
    Meshewa ’s black brows shot up.