Forbidden Fires Read Free

fidelity.
    He lay on his back beneath a star-studded April night, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes staring at a bright yellow moon. Sweet words, he mused bitterly. Sweet lying words…
    A muffled sound disturbed the quiet of the night, and he rolled nimbly to his feet, his hand reaching for the knife at his belt.
    Silent as the stalking wolf for which he had been named, he made his way toward the sound. He paused in mid-stride as he neared the shallow stream where he had hobbled his horse. Black Wind stood silhouetted against the darkness, her dainty ears pricked forward, her nostrils flared as a big blood bay stallion pranced toward her.
    Stalking Wolf let out a sigh of admiration as the bay paused to sniff the air. The stallion was a magnificent animal, big-boned, sleek, with a heavy black mane and a long flowing tail.
    The stud let out a trumpeting call as he closed in on Black Wind. Nose to nose, they sniffed each other, exchanging breath for breath, then the stallion sidled up to her, nuzzling her neck, nipping her shoulder, obviously excited by her musky scent and the inviting lift of her tail.
    Stalking Wolf watched as the stallion circled the black mare, snuffling softly. Then, rearing up on his hind legs, the huge bay mounted Black Wind, his powerful forelegs gripping her flanks.
    Quietly, Stalking Wolf moved downwind of the horses, determined to capture the bay. As he drew closer, he noticed the stallion was wearing a halter and a slow grin moved across his face. The horse had obviously been caught before, which would make it so much easier this time.
    At that moment, the wind changed and the stallion caught the scent of a man. Startled, the bay withdrew from Black Wind and backed up, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed the night air.
    Stalking Wolf remained still as the bay stud drank in his scent.
    “Hohahe,” Stalking Wolf murmured. “Welcome.”
    The horse snorted and shook its head at the sound of the man’s voice.
    “Easy, boy,” Stalking Wolf said in the same quiet voice, “easy, now.”
    The stallion blew softly as Stalking Wolf walked slowly toward it, one hand outstretched, palm up.
    The bay’s ears were forward, its head lifted, as it focused on the man moving toward it.
    “Easy, boy,” Stalking Wolf murmured. “Easy, now. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
    The stallion was no stranger to men, and its curiosity and the presence of the black mare kept it from bolting as Stalking Wolf reached for the halter.
    The bay snorted and tossed its head when it realized it had been caught, but Stalking Wolf stroked its neck, murmuring to the horse, and the stallion soon calmed down.
    He tethered the stallion to a sturdy oak, checked the mare’s hobbles, and went back to bed to dream of the fine long-legged fillies and colts that would be sired by the big blood bay with Black Wind.
    Just before dawn rough hands jerked Stalking Wolf to his feet. Instantly coming awake, he instinctively lashed out at his attackers, but grunted with pain as knotted fists and booted feet drove into his back, ribcage, and groin. A sharp uppercut bloodied his nose and mouth, and a second blow connected with his left eye.
    The three men worked him over expertly, relentlessly. When they finally tired of their sport and released him, Stalking Wolf fell to the ground, curling into a tight ball to protect himself from further harm. He felt a sharp pain explode in his right side as one of the men kicked him again, cracking a rib. Through a red haze of pain he heard a voice call, “Wylie, that’s enough!”
    “Luther’s right.” Paulie Norton was quick to agree. He did not like violence of any kind and ganging up on a man, even an Indian, did not sit well with him. He had been ready to call it quits before they got started.
    “Let’s string him up and be done with it then,” Abner Wylie muttered, running his left hand over the bruised knuckles on his right hand. A small smile played over his thin lips as he looked