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

of the stream and waded right in. The water rippled up past his knees and wet the bottom of her skirts.
    She cringed at the chill lapping her ankles. “You are cruel, Shoka. John would never do this to me.”
    “ I am not your husband, Rebecca.”
    “ And shan’t be.”
    “ You prefer a Frenchman now?”
    “ After last night I prefer almost anyone to you.”
    “ I saved your life, Peshewa. You cursed Black Knife to his face.”
    Anger roiled above her loathing of the icy stream. “Damn Black Knife! I hate him!”
    “ He cares not. You will learn to hold your tongue.”
    A screech escaped her as the frigid water climbed up her stocking-clad legs. She recoiled from the stabbing chill and clung to him. “Don’t throw me in. Please.”
    Bemusement flickered in his eyes. “Like the wind you blow. First you defy me, now you plead.”
    This was the time to bargain. She closed her arms around his neck for dear life. “I won’t curse Black Knife again.”
    He stopped in mid-stream above the deep pool. “No. You will not.”
    Prying her arms from his neck, he tossed her, back first, into the water. Liquid ice covered her head. The shocking cold took her breath away. She pushed up on the gritty bottom with her hands, spluttering as she struggled to stand in her wet, binding skirts. “You son of a—”
    He shook his head and shoved her back under.
    She surfaced once more and staggered in the current. The layers of cloth wrapped her legs like manacles. “Bastard—”
    Yet again she was dunked beneath the water. It was impossible to get to her feet, let alone at Shoka with any degree of speed or grace. He remained maddeningly unperturbed and out of reach. Chilled through, she clambered to her knees and eyed him accusingly, taking care to bite back the curses begging her tongue for release.
    He smiled. “You learn fast.”
    She wanted to slap the grin from his face and knock him off his feet. “Help me up.”
    He bent down and reached out his hand. “Here.”
    The opportunity was too inviting to resist. She clasped his fingers and yanked him toward her, but he stubbornly retained his balance.
    “You want me with you?” he asked in irritating mock innocence.
    She stared at him as he settled beside her, water swirling partway up his chest. “What on earth are you doing?”
    “ I do not mind cold water. I am well accustomed.”
    “ I’m not!” She scrambled to rise in the swift flow.
    Snaking an arm around her waist, he pulled her back down. “I think we will stay.”
    The water churned around her as she fought to escape him. “I’m freezing! I thought you wanted me to live.”
    “ The sun is warm. You will not freeze.”
    “ I will too! Let me out of here!”
    “ Not yet. We will bathe first.”
    “ You can’t be serious?”
    “ No?” Still gripping her, he scooped handfuls of grit from the bottom and scrubbed his arms, chest, even his head.
    “ You’re crazy!”
    He let her go and leaned back in the water to rinse.
    She staggered to her feet. Her unsteady legs toppled her back down onto her knees.
    He surfaced with a grin. “Your turn now.”
    “ I’m used to soap.”
    “ None here.” He anointed her head with a handful of the streambed, followed by another.
    “ For heaven’s sake—” Sand and tiny pebbles trickled down her face and into her mouth. She spat out the grit and pinched her lips together while he worked the mixture over her scalp, then tilted her backwards repeatedly to rinse. Each dunk left her gasping.
    “ Enough!” she howled.
    He relented and rose, lifting her in his arms. Her skirts streamed down his legs as he hauled her to a big stone slab and laid her down.
    She hugged the rock’s heated surface, trembling so violently she could barely speak. Rivulets of water ran across the stone and collected in puddles beneath her. “I’ll never be warm again.”
    “ Not in this gown,” he muttered, rolling her over. “Why do you wear so much cloth?”
    “ I wasn’t dressed for