Wild Splendor

Book 4: Wild Series

by Cassie Edwards

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Historical Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cassie Edwards comes a wildly passionate tale of two lovers as destined to be together as they are forbidden… A hothouse flower in the parched, rugged desert of the Arizona Territory, beautiful, headstrong Leonida Branson isn’t about to waste her youth in a duty-bound marriage to a pompous general. And her resolve only strengthens when she sees Sage, the fierce Navaho chieftan her fiancé has sworn to crush. For the comforts of civilization are no match for the adventurous passion the handsome warrior awakens in her. Each time Sage catches sight of Leonida’s porcelain beauty, his dark eyes smolder with forbidden heat. Nothing has prepared him for the feelings that suddenly rage within him…or for his overwhelming desire to sweep this exquisite woman into his powerful embrace, to teach her the ancient ways of his people…and the timeless ways of love. Praise for Cassie Edwards “A sensitive storyteller who always touches readers’ hearts.”— RT Book Reviews “Cassie Edwards captivates with white hot adventure and romance.”—Karen Harper “Edwards moves readers with love and compassion.”— Bell, Book & Candle

Release date: July 26, 2016

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

She looked out at the cliffs, painted with red and purplish brown and luminous shadows. It was a country that changed with the positions of the sun, a land of narrow canyons, great mesas, and unending sand. Deep-green pinyons and juniper bushes dotted the distant, arid hills.

Her straw bonnet shielding her face from the hot rays of the sun, Leonida Branson strolled arm in arm with her fiancé, General Harold Porter, before the many colorful tents that had been erected in the shadows of the high walls of Fort Defiance. A band of Navaho had traveled down from the mountains to trade their beautifully woven blankets and rugs with the soldiers. In exchange they would take knives for shearing their sheep and other manufactured items. Especially prized were silver buttons and ornaments to adorn themselves, as well as calico, ribbon and lace for their women.

With her delicate white-gloved hand Leonida swept the skirt of her blue silk dress up away from the dusty sand, yet she was scarcely aware of it. She was too taken by the beautiful displays of all sorts of jewelry and handwoven woolens ranging from small mats to blankets, rugs, and tapestries that lay spread on the ground before the tents, their Navaho owners proudly standing beside them.

Leonida smiled at the lovely Navaho women as she moved from tent to tent, searching for one in particular. Harold had told Leonida that this young woman’s skills at making blankets had gained her a reputation that reached far and wide.

Harold’s left arm was even now heavily laden with special yarns to give to the talented lady, in hopes that she would weave a lovely blanket from it to be one of his many wedding gifts for Leonida.

Leonida glanced over at Harold, who today had abandoned his usual uniform to impress upon her that he was more than just a soldier. He wore high-buffed black boots, a pair of dark breeches, and a white shirt that was ruffled at the sleeves and throat, with a sparkling diamond stickpin in the folds of his satin ascot.

Nearing forty, Harold was handsome, with golden, wavy hair, and eyes almost as golden, and a complexion unmarred by the hot sun of Arizona, or by a hard life in general. His had been a life handed to him on a silver platter, or so it seemed to Leonida, and his brash, arrogant personality bespoke of his having been spoiled as a child.

Wanting to find excuses for him because she had promised to marry him, she wanted to blame Harold’s shortcomings on having been an only child. But she knew that was not a valid excuse for his arrogance. She was an only child, and she did not see herself as spoiled. She always looked at everyone as her equal, even the poorest people who begged for food on the street corners of San Francisco, where she had lived with her mother after her father left them. Leonida even went out of her way to help the needy, by handing out food and clothes to them from time to time, as well as sometimes finding them decent housing and paying for it from the allowance that both her mother and her father gave her.

This had all come to an instant halt when her mother died and Leonida was forced to live with her father at his military establishments.

A wave of sadness descended on her as she was catapulted back in time to another death. Her father’s.

He had been dead for only four months, and the pain was still sharp. His death had seemed to imprison her in a trap from which she had not yet escaped: this engagement to Harold.

She had agreed to marry him only because her father had wanted it so badly. He had seen many possibilities in Harold, both as a military officer and eventually as a civilian. Harold had the money to make Leonida comfortable for the rest of her life.

Her father had wanted to make sure that his daughter was well cared for when he was no longer around, but Leonida knew that if he could see how Harold’s arrogance, especially toward the Indians, had worsened, he surely would not have expected her to marry him. Since Harold had taken over her father’s post at Fort Defiance, she could hardly stand being around him at all.

The chances of traveling back to San Francisco during this time of warring between the states seemed an impossible wish that could not be fulfilled. She had to bide her time until it was safe for her to travel alone.

“My dear, there she is,” Harold said in his languid way. He nodded toward a tent where many blankets and other items were spread on the ground. “That’s Pure Blossom. Many army officers like to have her blankets because they are so tightly woven they are practically waterproof.” He smiled down at Leonida. “But my reasons for getting one for you is not so much for durability as for the loveliness of the blankets.” He pointed at Pure Blossom and frowned. “I imagine that’s all she’s good at. Look at her, all bent up and out of shape and as frail as a dove. I imagine she spends her days weaving and dreaming of what life could be for her if she weren’t so downright disgusting and pitiful-looking.”

Leonida paled and her jaw went slack as she gazed up at him, aghast at his scorn for this unfortunate little Indian woman whose back was hunched, and whose fingers were gnarled with some sort of wasting-away disease.

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” she gasped. “Harold, have some compassion. It isn’t her fault that nature has been cruel to her. Besides, she obviously possesses a sort of beauty. Just look at her face. There is such a serene innocence in her smile.”

Leonida turned away from Harold and tried to forget his unfeeling remarks as they stepped into the shadows of the huge tent, where Pure Blossom stood over her beloved blankets and jewelry, her eyes filled with pride as she looked up at Leonida.

Leonida smiled warmly in return, her gaze sweeping over the Indian woman’s beautiful clothes, jewelry, and hair. She had beautiful black hair that hung nearly to the ground and teeth so white that surely they outshone the stars at night. Pure Blossom wore thick strings of turquoise and coral around her neck, over a bright-blue velveteen blouse. Her skirt was of bright calico, very long and full, and she wore moccasins with silver buttons.

“For trade?” she said in halting English as she gestured toward her wares. “Lovely? They please beautiful lady? You take?”

Pure Blossom’s gaze fell upon the yarn across Harold’s arm, and her eyes brightened. “You trade for the pretty yarn?” she asked anxiously.

Leonida only half heard Harold explain that the bright-colored Saxony and Zephyr yarns had been shipped from the East, and that he had not come to trade with her at all. Instead he was willing to pay her well to make a special blanket for his future bride.

Leonida’s gaze had been arrested by a Navaho warrior who had stepped from the tent and now stood protectively at Pure Blossom’s side, his muscular copper arms folded across his powerful chest.

Both his handsomeness and his intense dark eyes, which locked with hers, made Leonida’s heartbeat quicken and caused a strange, mushy warmth at the pit of her stomach.

Even after living among so many soldiers, Leonida had never become infatuated with any of them. None had touched her heart, nor had they caused strange sensations within her. Not until now had she known how it felt to be attracted to a man—and this was not a soldier, or an ordinary man.

He was an Indian.

Her heart pounding, Leonida turned her back on the handsome warrior. Yet she had been so taken with him, she had noticed every detail about him.

He was a tall man with jet-black hair that he wore long and loose over his shoulders, with a red silk headband to keep it in place at his brow. He had flashing dark eyes, and a smooth bronze face with sculpted features.

Broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, he was breathtakingly, ruggedly handsome, dressed in a shirt of handwoven woolen cloth with a V-neck. His dyed buckskin trousers had silver buttons down the sides and were tied with woven garters. He wore silver-buttoned moccasins, a concha belt of round silver disks on leather, and a ketoh, a leather wrist guard with silver ornaments.

Leonida felt a sudden hush at her side that roused her from her trance. She blushed when she saw Harold’s jaw tighten and anger flash in his eyes as his gaze slowly turned from her to the warrior. Leonida realized that Harold had seen her interest in the Navaho warrior and had become instantly jealous.

She smiled wanly as he again looked her way, glad that his attention was drawn back to the business at hand. But she could tell that he was rushing things along now to get her away from the Indian.

“You will weave the blanket for many pesos, money?” Harold asked, smiling smugly when Pure Blossom accepted the beautiful yarn and draped it across her arms.

“Yes, Pure Blossom will do this for you,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement as she gazed down at the yarn. “It delights Pure Blossom to have the ready-made yarns. The yarn is so fine and even. The result will be a magnificent blanket for the lovely white woman’s wedding. Pure Blossom will weave the yarn into a pattern of stripes and zigzags, and even some in the shape of diamonds.”

She looked from Harold to Leonida. “I promise to have the blanket ready for you . . . when did you say?” she asked.

“In three months,” Harold said stiffly, unnerved by the Navaho warrior’s cold gaze. Harold had had few dealings with Sage, the young Navaho chief, but enough to know that he was the most stubborn of all the Indians in the area and that he had too much control. Harold had thought long ago that something had to be done about this powerful chief. He smiled to himself, knowing that things were in the works even now to make changes that would affect Sage.

“Uke-he, thank you,” Pure Blossom said humbly, feeling the heat of her brother’s eyes on her and knowing why. The Navaho rarely said thank you to anyone. Normally when a thank you was necessary, thanks were given by other means than humbling themselves by saying it.

Glad to be on their way, Harold placed a firm hand on Leonida’s elbow. She eased away from him, though, and knelt down on a knee to admire a striking necklace among those laid out on a colorful blanket. He nervously moved his finger around his tight collar and shifted his feet. Then he did a slow burn as Sage knelt down opposite Leonida, his eyes intent on her.

“You see one that you especially like?” he asked, smiling.

Leonida’s pulse raced. The Indian’s deep, smooth voice reached into her heart like warm splashes of sunshine. To keep from making a fool of herself, she looked away from him, and again down at the beautiful necklace that had caught her eye.

“This one,” she said, pointing to a string of hollow silver beads with a large crescent-shaped pendant ornament called a Naja. “It’s so very pretty, unlike anything I have ever seen before.”

Her face became hot with a blush, and she was embarrassed by the strange huskiness of her voice. This Indian had affected her much more deeply than she had realized. And she knew that she must hide her feelings. Not only from Harold, but also from the warrior. It was forbidden to have feelings for an Indian, especially the sort of sensations now troubling her.

Sage picked up the necklace and spread it out between his large, callused hands. “This is called a squash blossom necklace,” he explained. “The floral design represents pomegranates, and the crescent at the bottom is to ward off the evil eye.”

He paused to sweep his eyes slowly over Leonida. He was quite taken by the color of her hair, where wisps of her golden curls were revealed at the sides of her straw bonnet. He also admired the azure of her eyes, having seen such a beautiful color of blue only in the sky on the clearest of days.

Where her low-cut bodice revealed her porcelainlike skin, the swell of her breasts was smooth and creamy. While she had been standing with calm dignity, he had noticed how tall and willowy she was, a blonde beauty.

If he allowed himself, he could have many feelings for this woman, most sensual.

“It is so beautiful,” Leonida said, trying to draw the Navaho warrior’s attention back to the necklace. She could hear Harold’s hastened breathing, a sure sign that he was growing angry.

“Yes, it is a thing of beauty,” Sage said thickly. “The Navaho call the crescent ‘big snake,’ the Navaho’s name for the constellation Draco.”

Before Leonida could rise, the Navaho warrior moved quickly behind her, placing the necklace around her neck. Having already been mesmerized by his smooth voice and dark eyes, she felt almost swallowed whole by her heartbeats when he touched the flesh of her neck with his fingers while fastening the necklace around it.

“It is yours,” Sage said, placing a hand on her elbow and helping her to her feet. “Wear it as a token of gratitude for coming to my sister with your lovely yarns.”

Red-faced, Harold stepped between them. Glaring at Sage, he yanked the necklace from Leonida’s neck and flicked it onto the ground. “She needs no gifts from you,” he growled. “The blanket is the only reason we have come here today, and your sister will get paid well for her services.”

Leonida was stunned by Harold’s sudden burst of jealousy. She half stumbled when he grabbed her hand and pulled her from the tent. Awkwardly she looked over her shoulder, feeling that an apology was needed. When she saw the warrior’s cold contempt, she was stung to the core.

Then she turned away, ashamed and angry. The more Harold jerked her along beside him, the angrier she became. Suddenly she yanked herself free and stopped to glare at him. “Why did you have to behave so—so terribly about that necklace?” she said, her gloved hands doubled into tight fists at her sides. “You humiliated not only the Indian but also me. Was that necessary? Did you feel that threatened by the Indian’s attentions toward me? You don’t own me, Harold. Please quit acting as though you do.”

Harold’s eyebrows narrowed together into one line as he leaned down close to her face. “Don’t you appreciate anything?” he snarled. “I’m paying a lot of money for that blanket. Would you rather I go back and get the yarn and forget it? Would you rather I didn’t get you anything for your wedding gift?”

“I don’t care what you do with anything,” Leonida snapped, then stamped away from him.

He caught up with her immediately. “I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he said, glad to be away from the Indian tents and walking toward the fort. “But, Leonida, I must warn you against being so easily swayed by the Indians. I’m being too trusting myself to believe that I will ever see anything made from the yarn I handed over to that crippled wench.”

Leonida cringed at his reference to Pure Blossom as a “wench,” but she now only wanted to get to the privacy of her house. “Who was that Indian warrior?” she asked cautiously. “It is obvious that you don’t like him.”

Setting his jaw tightly, Harold did not answer her right away, but he finally responded, knowing that he would have to sooner or later, anyhow. Leonida was not the sort to let anything get past her. Especially the name of a man with whom she was so obviously infatuated.

“Sage,” he grumbled. “A Navaho chief.” He glared over at her. “Pure Blossom is his sister.”

“He’s a chief,” Leonida said to herself, still tingling inside from Sage’s touch, his voice, and the way he had looked at her with his midnight-dark eyes.

The sound of hooves behind her drew her eyes around just in time to see Sage riding away on a magnificent chestnut stallion with a saddle of stamped leather. The silver ornaments hanging from his saddle flashed in the sun. For a brief moment he turned his head her way. When their eyes met, a silent promise seemed to be exchanged between them, yet she did not know why.

Shaken by her feelings, Leonida tried to focus her thoughts elsewhere. She stared at the fort as they approached it. The high adobe walls surrounding it offered protection to the barracks, hospital and officers’ quarters inside. The fort had been built within a green valley, supplied by water from a sparkling river that flowed down from the nearby mountains. Unable to shake the Navaho chief from her mind, Leonida turned and watched him as he rode toward the river in the distance.

It was her keenest desire to follow him.

Candlelight was reflected in the many sparkling, long-stemmed wine glasses on her oak dining table. Around it sat many important men of the fort and the highly honored guest, Colonel Christopher “Kit” Carson.

From the instant Leonida entered the room and seated herself, she had felt out of place, for she was the only woman in attendance and the conversations quickly made her most uneasy and angrier by the moment.

Glancing downward, she toyed with her asparagus, then sipped her wine as she listened, avoiding occasional admiring glances from the men. One and all noticed her gown of rich, pale-blue satin, with a bodice that came to a point in front, emphasizing the magnificent swell of her breasts and the smallness of her corseted waist. Little puffed sleeves trimmed with a lace ruffle draped to her elbows. Her golden hair was combed back at the sides and held there with a slide, tumbling across her shoulders in loose ringlets.

Leonida knew that she should feel honored to be in the presence of the great Kit Carson, the man who had guided the “pathfinders” sent by the government to open the West. Thanks to the penny press, everyone knew that Carson had guided the explorer John Fremont through the Rocky Mountains, not once but several times, and his exploits in the wilderness were already the stuff of legend. He had gone on to become an Indian agent at Taos, New Mexico.

Now, as he related why he had been sent to Fort Defiance, she could not help but form a dislike for him. He had been sent to this region with strict instructions to bring the marauding Navaho under control.

The way the discussion was going, all Navaho were being considered marauders, not just a few who wreaked havoc on the white settlers and even their neighboring Indian tribes.

The fact that Sage and his sweet sister Pure Blossom could be a target sent chills up and down Leonida’s spine. Even Harold had seen that they were gentle. Yet she could feel Harold’s eyes on her throughout this evening’s discussion of the Navaho, knowing that he was recalling Sage’s obvious interest in her. She knew that this alone could fuel Harold’s agreement to do whatever needed to be done with the Navaho, and that realization made her detest him more than ever.

She did not offer any comments as the evening wore on, not even when they had all gone to the drawing room and were sharing smokes and drinks, again in her presence. Wanting to hear their final plans concerning the Navaho, she had purposely not excused herself to go to the privacy of her bedroom.

Sitting demurely in a plushly cushioned chair, with her hands folded on her lap, Leonida listened as Kit Carson resumed explaining in his soft-spoken manner the reasons why the Navaho’s activities should be curtailed. She gazed over at Kit, a short and stocky, sandy-haired, ruddy-faced man, dressed in fringed doeskin.

From what she had read about him, he had come from Kentucky originally and had all the self-reliance of that state’s original settlers. He was known for his prowess as a hunter, and for his ability to rope and ride wild horses. No matter how tough the circumstances, he knew how to survive and even laughed in the face of danger.

“With the buffalo rapidly disappearing, the Navaho are finding it easier to raid ranches than to hunt game on the land the settlers don’t want,” Harold offered in support of Kit’s ideas about taking over full control of the Navaho. “The settlements and ranches are being raided. Caravans are being plundered, travelers killed. Kit, whatever you decide is best to stop this devastation will suit me fine.”

Kit rose to his feet and began pacing, as everyone watched him. “For years I’ve been writing the Department of Indian Affairs about these problems, and now they are worsening,” he said, kneading his chin, watching his feet as he paced. “I believe it would be best for the Indians and the white population alike if all Indians were placed on reservations and taught modern farming.”

He stopped and began looking every man in the eye as he continued. “I’ve learned the language of the Navaho people and their legends, which have been handed down through hundreds of Indian generations,” he said solemnly. “I’ve learned how the Navaho think and reason, and of their resentment against the white man’s taking the game which they say has been put on the earth for the red man. I’ve always sympathized with the Navaho. I’ve even found friendship easy with them. But nevertheless, I now see the need to deal firmly with them. I’ve been sent to take control of all Navaho. As I see it, I have no other choice but to force them to join the Mescalero Indians at Fort Sumner.”

Stunned, Leonida was seized by a surge of dizziness. She gripped the arms of her chair and stared up at the scout, disbelieving what he had just said.

Without thinking, she stood up and looked Kit square in the eye. “What you are planning to do is wrong,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “My acquaintance with many of the Navaho in this region has proven they are not a warring band. Why must they pay for the evil others do?”

There was a sudden hush in the room. The soldiers’ stares attested to what they thought of women who boldly spoke their mind, especially to a man such as Kit Carson.

He started to speak, but Leonida did not give him the chance, knowing if she did not have her say now, she never would be given the chance again.

“Even the Indian agents have always been political appointees and know nothing of the Navahos’ true needs,” she said, her voice rising in anger. “And now, because the cavalry has not been able to track down the true marauders, you will take your spite out on the innocent?”

Not giving anyone a chance to say anything back to her, Leonida spun around and left the drawing room. She wished now she hadn’t allowed these men to congregate in her house. Since she had heard so much about the famous frontiersman who had done so much for their country, she had been honored to have him as her guest.

Upon her arrival at Fort Defiance two years ago to live with her father, he had built her this beautiful adobe hacienda with gardens and terraces, all of the comforts that she had been forced to leave behind in San Francisco upon the death of her mother. Her bedroom was all lace and flower designs, with carpets her bare feet sank into.

She had shared this lovely house with her father until his untimely death, caused by a scorpion’s sting. And now Harold expected to share it with her. That she would never allow!

Almost blinded with rage, Leonida started to run from the house, but was stopped when Harold grabbed her by a wrist.

“What’s got into you tonight?” he said, turning her to face him. “What’s Kit Carson to think? You behaved like some wild thing someone might find lost in the desert. You’ve got to go back in there and apologize, Leonida, for me to keep face. Kit knows you and I are betrothed.”

She wrenched herself free and placed her hands on her hips. “Now, isn’t that a pity?” she said, her voice taunting. “You have to suffer a mite of humiliation while the Indians are going to have to lose all of their dignity.”

“Damn it, Leonida, what you know about Indians could be put in the palm of your hand,” he argued. “Just because you’ve been protected here at the fort and haven’t seen what the Indians can do, you stand up for them? Or has that handsome Navaho chief turned your head, making you behave so unlike yourself tonight?”

“What justifies you and those men in there making decisions for the Navaho that will take their pride, dignity, and their freedom away?” Leonida said, her voice breaking. “You know you’re wrong, Harold.”

“It is the only way to stop the marauding,” he said, his voice calmer. “Reservation life is not as bad as you think. The Indians are given a decent life—”

Leonida did not give him a chance to finish his sentence. “If you agree to this unfair treatment of the Navaho, I won’t marry you,” she said icily. “I’ll return to San Francisco. I’ve friends there. I’ll live among them and be much happier than living here with the likes of you.”

“I don’t like being threatened,” he growled, glaring at her.

“It is not a threat,” she said, glaring back at him. “It’s a fact, Harold. A damn fact.”

His eyes wavered. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. “You’re being foolish,” he said thickly. “Your future is with me. My God, woman, I am offering you a life of leisure. You can’t turn your back on it.”

A hint of smugness crossed his face. “And besides,” he said, laughing sarcastically, “you can’t travel anywhere. The country is being torn apart by war.”

“Harold, the war between us could—” she began stiffly. Then her tone softened. “Harold, how can you ask that Navaho woman to make that blanket for me as a wedding gift in one breath, and then with your next, condemn her and her people to a reservation?”

She did not wait for any more of his excuses. She opened the door and stormed out of the house into a moonless night.

Her heart beating furiously, relieved that Harold had not followed her, Leonida saw a saddled horse reined to a nearby hitching post. She knew the horse was Harold’s, a large, very swift black mare. And that was what she needed now. A horse that would carry her far from the men who were planning the Navahos’ fate. She would ride until she was exhausted, and then perhaps she could return to bed and sleep.

Not caring that traveling on horseback would ruin her beautiful dress, Leonida swung herself into the saddle. Ignoring the warning shouts of the sentries, she rode through the wide gate of the fort. At this moment she hated the sight of blue-coated soldiers.

Tears streamed from her eyes when she thought of her father and how handsome he had been in his uniform, and how he had ruled with such gentleness and caring toward the Indians. Surely he would turn over in his grave tonight if he knew what Kit Carson and the others were planning.

With the night air brushing her face in a warm caress, Leonida urged the black steed to a trot, occasionally broken by a short lope. She rode past the spot where the tents had been and onward toward the river, sad at the thought that she might never see Sage again. She flinched at the notion that he might be seized on his way back to the mountains and forced toward New Mexico, where he would live penned up like an animal.

When Leonida saw a fire throwing light into the sky up ahead, her fingers tightened involuntarily on the horse’s reins, causing the horse to jerk sidewise. Then she reined her mount to a halt. This fire could mean many things. It could indicate white travelers, marauders, or . . . where Sage’s tribe had stopped for the night before heading on toward the mountains.

The thought of Sage made her heartbeat quicken and her knees weaken strangely. She slid out of the saddle and walked the horse slowly toward the fire, where junipers and pines began thickening on. . .