THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR, A SHAWNEE WARRIOR, AN ENGLISH LADY, BLOOD VENGEANCE, DEADLY PURSUIT, PRIMAL, POWERFUL, PASSIONATE…THROUGH THE FIRE
The Shawnee Warrior camp at Night
Rebecca stirred restlessly, twitching her head from side to side. “No,” she moaned as though in a troubled sleep.
Shoka knelt beside her and laid a comforting hand on her upper arm. He glanced around as Meshewa appeared. Concern shadowed his cousin’s face, and he held out a pewter flask. Shoka took it with an appreciative nod, knowing how much Meshewa prized his take from the Long Knives. With a long look at her, Meshewa stole away. No one else came near. Even Shoka’s irate brother had wisely allowed him time to brood.
Rebecca tossed again. “Don’t,” she pleaded in a low cry.
Shoka slid his arm under her shoulders and held the flask to her lips. “Drink,” he said, tilting a little brandy into her mouth. Perhaps it 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 said, 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 soothed, circling his arms around her inviting softness.
“But you’re so often away. Too long, this time.”
“Shhhh…” Shoka 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.~
