night to Whitney and left them.
Eagle lit a cigarette and handed it to Whitney as he sank back down beside her. “We’d better get to sleep soon ourselves,” he remarked casually. “Our days are long.”
Whitney inhaled deeply, annoyed to find her fingers shaking. The whole thing was so incongruous! Twenty-four hours ago she had met him; they were attracted with the force of magnetic poles, yet they clashed like a thunderstorm and argued with the ferocity of cats and dogs.
And here they were sipping coffee in the outlands of the Glades and casually discussing bedtime.
Crushing her cigarette carefully, Whitney finished her coffee with a quick gulp, yawned and stretched. There would be safety in sleep.
“You’re right; these days are long,” she said nervously. “Sleep sounds good.” She started across the moonlit clearing and then hesitated. “Are you coming?”
“In a minute. My grandmother left you a present—you’ll find it with the bedding.”
Eagle spoke to her absently, as if his thoughts were far away. Shrugging, Whitney hurried over to their chickee and climbed up to the platform. The sleeping quarters, she knew, were high off the ground for security from snakes and other pests, just as the cooking house was built on a space of flat ground to avoid fire. She had learned during dinner that the Seminoles and other southeastern Indians had originally built log cabins, but due to their flight into the Glades and repeated attacks by a government determined to rout them, they had adapted to the thatched-roof homes.
Whitney prepared their bedding with surprising ease. Rather than the misery she had expected, the abode provided ample comfort. Mosquito netting kept the insects at bay, and thick quilts made the platform mattress undeniably soft. Straightening a cover, Whitney found the present Eagle had spoken of.
It was a sheer white gown, floor length and intricately and lovingly hand-sewn: a bride’s gown.
Whitney stared at the beautiful costume for a minute of touched amazement; then her temper began to rise. Morning Dew had offered her nothing but kindness, and the old woman was being horribly deceived. How could her own grandson do such a thing to her!
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”
Eagle had silently pounced onto the platform and now stood looking at her, his eyes curiously glittering in the gentle glow of fire and moon.
“Like it?” Whitney grated. “I like it just fine! But I have no intention of accepting such a gift. What you are doing to that woman is criminal!”
“I’ll worry about my own actions,” Eagle told her curtly, checking the nets as he once again began doffing his clothes. Fuming, Whitney discarded her boots and curled onto the floor-bed, her eyes tightly closed. He was calmly stripping with the same thoughtless abandon as before, but she certainly wasn’t joining in a second time. The results of the first were still shatteringly fresh in her mind.
A moment later Eagle joined her, his length inches from her own. He was silent for so long she was sure he slept; then he spoke harshly in the darkness. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“About what?”
“Do you really think one or a hundred garments would stop me if I decided to attack your precious body? Don’t flatter yourself that you are such a prize, and don’t deceive yourself into thinking you don’t want me. You were mine for the taking from the moment we met.” The low gravel sound of his voice increased as he spoke. “But don’t worry—I taunted you for a reaction this morning. If you leave these woods, you owe me nothing. If you stick to your part of the bargain, you’ll still receive whatever assistance I can give you.” He rolled away from her. “I’ll even try to forget that you think we’re all a pack of barbarians.”
“But I don’t!” Whitney protested.
“No?” He swung back and challenged her with remote curiosity. “Then just what is your
Eagle lit a cigarette and handed it to Whitney as he sank back down beside her. “We’d better get to sleep soon ourselves,” he remarked casually. “Our days are long.”
Whitney inhaled deeply, annoyed to find her fingers shaking. The whole thing was so incongruous! Twenty-four hours ago she had met him; they were attracted with the force of magnetic poles, yet they clashed like a thunderstorm and argued with the ferocity of cats and dogs.
And here they were sipping coffee in the outlands of the Glades and casually discussing bedtime.
Crushing her cigarette carefully, Whitney finished her coffee with a quick gulp, yawned and stretched. There would be safety in sleep.
“You’re right; these days are long,” she said nervously. “Sleep sounds good.” She started across the moonlit clearing and then hesitated. “Are you coming?”
“In a minute. My grandmother left you a present—you’ll find it with the bedding.”
Eagle spoke to her absently, as if his thoughts were far away. Shrugging, Whitney hurried over to their chickee and climbed up to the platform. The sleeping quarters, she knew, were high off the ground for security from snakes and other pests, just as the cooking house was built on a space of flat ground to avoid fire. She had learned during dinner that the Seminoles and other southeastern Indians had originally built log cabins, but due to their flight into the Glades and repeated attacks by a government determined to rout them, they had adapted to the thatched-roof homes.
Whitney prepared their bedding with surprising ease. Rather than the misery she had expected, the abode provided ample comfort. Mosquito netting kept the insects at bay, and thick quilts made the platform mattress undeniably soft. Straightening a cover, Whitney found the present Eagle had spoken of.
It was a sheer white gown, floor length and intricately and lovingly hand-sewn: a bride’s gown.
Whitney stared at the beautiful costume for a minute of touched amazement; then her temper began to rise. Morning Dew had offered her nothing but kindness, and the old woman was being horribly deceived. How could her own grandson do such a thing to her!
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”
Eagle had silently pounced onto the platform and now stood looking at her, his eyes curiously glittering in the gentle glow of fire and moon.
“Like it?” Whitney grated. “I like it just fine! But I have no intention of accepting such a gift. What you are doing to that woman is criminal!”
“I’ll worry about my own actions,” Eagle told her curtly, checking the nets as he once again began doffing his clothes. Fuming, Whitney discarded her boots and curled onto the floor-bed, her eyes tightly closed. He was calmly stripping with the same thoughtless abandon as before, but she certainly wasn’t joining in a second time. The results of the first were still shatteringly fresh in her mind.
A moment later Eagle joined her, his length inches from her own. He was silent for so long she was sure he slept; then he spoke harshly in the darkness. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“About what?”
“Do you really think one or a hundred garments would stop me if I decided to attack your precious body? Don’t flatter yourself that you are such a prize, and don’t deceive yourself into thinking you don’t want me. You were mine for the taking from the moment we met.” The low gravel sound of his voice increased as he spoke. “But don’t worry—I taunted you for a reaction this morning. If you leave these woods, you owe me nothing. If you stick to your part of the bargain, you’ll still receive whatever assistance I can give you.” He rolled away from her. “I’ll even try to forget that you think we’re all a pack of barbarians.”
“But I don’t!” Whitney protested.
“No?” He swung back and challenged her with remote curiosity. “Then just what is your
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