Spoils of War - ISBN #1-4199-0383-7
Captive.
To the Kebo warrior Durc, the bound woman he hauls into the wilderness is nothing more than proof that his war-like clan is superior to the weak and peaceful Bakista. At least that’s what he wants the beautiful, nearly naked creature to believe. But before she became his possession, he watched as Eagle Spirit-his spirit-gifted her with a sacred feather. If his people are to survive the drought, he may have to force her to reveal Eagle’s sight and courage to him.
When Tasia looks at the man who has claimed her, she sees a savage, someone without heart or soul. Even if she has to kill him, she will return to her people. But as night steals over her and the powerful warrior, he speaks of the burdens he carries-and his fears for the Kebo. In his arms, her body joined with his, he becomes much more than the hardened warrior-he becomes the mate she believed she would never find.
But he asks too much of her. Her people need her and Eagle Spirit, not him.
Buy it from Ellora’s Cave Now!
Excerpt
Patient in the way of a man who has learned that caution means continued life, he waited until he was nearly at the bottom before stepping behind a dying tree and peering around it. Dry wind-dancing grasses clung to the banks of what had once been a rich, cool creek. Rocks and a few hearty bushes shared the space with the grass.
As did a woman.
Disbelief rolled through Durc, but he cast his reaction aside. It didn’t matter that logic and experience told him no lone woman would be out here. She was reality. Her long, black hair floated over her shoulders, loose except for two thin braids along her temples, held in place with red rope. The style identified her as a Bakista, the clan that had been living in the area the last time he’d been here.
He would have gone on the alert if the Bakista were aggressive, but they were craftsmen and traders who’d become wealthy because they were skilled in creating highly valued canoes, drums, flutes, cooking and carrying baskets, and jewelry. Their ability to decorate well-tanned hides with exquisite paintings of both spirit and real creatures was legendary.
Although he might never understand how a man could have the patience to spend his life drawing elaborate and multicolored symbols on deer or elk skin to stretch over wood and bone frames for drums, the rich resultant sounds quieted him.
Bakista men were the artists while their women raised children, prepared food, built their mud and brush houses, and sometimes assisted their craftsmen husbands and fathers. A Bakista man’s considerable reputation came from what his hands were capable of. In contrast, the tribe’s females lived in the shadows.
With a mental shake of his head, Durc relegated what he knew of the Bakista to the back of his mind and concentrated on the woman. She knelt with her back to him, which made it impossible for him to see all of her. The red rope in her hair proclaimed her as unmarried but spoken for. From the look of her slender neck and straight shoulders, he took her to be young. His cock tightened, and he massaged himself through the soft hide loincloth. He’d fucked one of the Kebo slave-whores last night, but the mating had been quick and obviously not long-lasting. Either that or his manhood knew something about the Bakista maiden his mind didn’t.
He could take her, capture her. Compel her to service him.
Almost as soon as he contemplated grabbing the foolish loner, he dismissed the impulse. With all of his energy needed to provide for his people, he couldn’t devote time to a prisoner, particularly a female without weapons he could use, or a fresh kill he could take back to his clan. She’d be just one more mouth to feed.
He’d nearly convinced himself to leave her to her unimportant activity when he noted that Eagle was coming closer. Its circles had tightened and now appeared more focused. Eagle was spiraling directly over the woman. If she’d been dead or badly wounded, there’d be more than one eagle as well as vultures and crows. This made no sense.
Or did it?
The woman, too, must have noticed the eagle because she slowly, yet gracefully got to her feet. Instead of trying to hide from deadly talons and beak, she stretched her arms toward the great bird. She wore a simple sleeveless deerskin dress that slithered over her lean figure. With her body reaching skyward, much of her thighs were now revealed. Like the rest of her, her legs were long and spare with none of the fat he’d come to associate with women who spent their lives laboring.
What he could see of her breasts looked full, heavy for the rest of her, ripe and waiting for a man to fondle. Her hips called to him in the same way, ripe and flaring, made for giving birth and housing a man’s cock. If she was his, he could train her breasts, hips, thighs, and buttocks to worship him. Thoughts of the direction he could take the training brought his cock fully to life. It pulsed, insisted. This time he didn’t try to remind himself that her presence would only rob the Kebo of much-needed food.
If he’d laid claim to her, he’d keep her chores light so her body didn’t bow under work’s weight. He’d order her to regularly clean herself and take care not to injure herself. He’d insist she remain at his side whenever he was in the hunting camp or Kebo village, ready to service him. And when he had to leave to hunt or fight, he wouldn’t worry that she’d try to run away because he’d have molded her into a compliant slave-whore, his alone. As for what might happen to her once he’d grown weary of her-what did it matter as long as he’d sold her for what she was worth?
Distracted by possibilities for her use, he was slow to grasp the weight of what was taking place between the woman and the eagle, but finally the breeze brought whispers of her voice to him. She was speaking to the bird, chanting or praying. Suddenly angry, he clenched his fists. Eagle was his spirit helper. Eagle and other spirit creatures-if this bird was indeed one-had been created by the gods in part so they could give strength to generations of Kebo men. Men. Women had no need for spirit protection and guidance because that was a man’s role. And as such, a woman had no right to distract Eagle from its Sun God-given responsibilities.
And yet-and yet Eagle continued to float closer to the handsome young female. It was now near enough that he could see the harsh yellow eyes and open beak. Killing talons were tucked close to the dark body, the regal white head low so it looked as if Eagle was making eye contact with the woman.
Woman. Not a slave-whore.
Eagle shifted its attention to Durc, and he felt blessed. Then it dismissed him and returned to the unworthy creature. She now stood on her toes, head back, arms stretching toward the predator, fingers open. She continued chanting, and he heard awe in her voice.
With a movement so graceful it stole his breath, Eagle dipped a massive black wing toward her. He couldn’t be sure but thought the tips of its feathers brushed the top of her head. Gasping, she fell to her knees and curled in on herself either in prayer or because she was trying to protect herself. A long, low cry erupted from Eagle. The sound seemed to float over both the woman and himself. Shared its harsh power.
Then with another haunting cry, Eagle soared upward. As it did, a feather drifted to the ground next to her.
Shaken in a way he hadn’t believed possible, Durc dropped to his own knees, clasped his necklace and closed his eyes.
A sign, Eagle spirit. A sign.
But of what?