A Find Through Time

by Marianne Petit

  Guilt stabbed his brain. He did not mean to harm her. Was she, or was she not the woman of his vision? The one with the eyes of the wasicun, white man’s eyes. The wolf had been a sign. He had only to follow that wolf to find her. But what of the gold rope the woman of his vision wore? This woman beneath him wore no such rope. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps, after all, she was just a woman.

  The warmth of her stomach pressing into him made him feel uncomfortable. He sat, hooked his knees around her hips.

  Releasing one wrist, he caressed the side of her cheek. Her skin reminded him of golden honey and felt soft against his finger.

  Dark lashes flew open once again. Her blue eyes pierced the distance between them. With the quickness of a rattler she twisted her head to his wrist and bit down hard. With a jerk, Two Moons reached over with his free hand and yanked her arms back over her head. He stared down at the imprint her teeth had left on his skin. He would expect no less from a Crow woman. Her spirit pleased him.

  But, she should not have betrayed his good sign of faith earlier. The bump on his head pounded from the rock she had flung and his groin still throbbed. Wasn't that just like the whites, to say one thing and do another? Although they both shared the same color skin, her heart was white. She struggled against him. Her hips ground into his groin. His heart thundered. His body grew hot and tightened painfully. He dropped his gaze from her face, to her breasts. The loud breath she took as she tensed, thrust the dark tipped points out toward him. A knot of desire welled in his belly. He had not tasted a woman's sweetness in a long time. His blanket he had not shared with anyone.

  “Let me go. Let me go.” Her legs lashed against him.

  He stiffened. Twisting so desperately to get away, her hip pushed aside his loin cloth. Two Moons could feel his hard erection dangerously close to the junction of her inner thighs. All he had to do was cut the rope, jam his knees between her legs, thrust and she would be his. His possession. His slave. He could use her to satisfy the need that was growing like a wild fire out of control.

  But, he would not. Not now, not unless she came to him. It was a promise he had made to himself long ago, when he had seen what a man's unwanted advances could do to a woman.

  Blue eyes stared up at him, a glaring reminder. Her soul was that of the white man, his most hated foe. “Inila.” Be still! His jaw clenched. He tore himself off her body and stomped toward the fire to retrieve her clothing. Disgusted more with himself than with her, Two Moons flung the garments at her, turned and stormed out, needing to place some distance between them.

  ****

  In her prison of stone and earth, Gabrielle had no knowledge of time or place. The hours seemed to drag, as she sat against the wall of the cave, struggling with her emotions. She wrestled with her mind and its relentless questions; struggled to keep her eyes from closing when sleep wanted to take hold. Each time her lids fell, panic surfaced, forcing her to stare bleary eyed at her surroundings.

  After she’d dressed, her captor immediately returned as if he'd been waiting outside the entrance of the cave in case she decided to try to escape. Little chance of that. Her futile attempt to free herself from his overpowering strength had left her mentally and physically exhausted. Why had he changed his mind and not raped her? She had seen it in his eyes. He knew he had complete control over her, that she was powerless against his strength.

  Gabrielle shivered more from the thought than the cold lingering in the air. Through heavy lids she noticed the fire had died down, leaving in its wake, simmering charred embers and a thin wisp of gray smoke that rose to the roof of the cave, then disappeared into the darkness.

  She strained to see through the dark shaft and listened for the sound of her captor’s footsteps. Hope, and the silence surrounding her, gave her the strength to stand. From lack of sleep, her body felt heavy, her legs weak. She caught her toe on the hem of her long skirt and stumbled forward. Where were her own clothes, her shorts and her boots? And why in God's name was she wearing what looked to be a chastity belt around her waist? Earlier in the day, she tried pulling the crude looking rope off, but the knots were tied too tightly.

  Her skin grew clammy. What kind of game was he playing? What did he want with her? Was she to be the sacrifice in some kind of sick ritual? Gabrielle's head pounded. He was crazy. She had to find a way out; now was her chance.

  Cautiously, her attention focused on every silent footstep, every swish of her skirt, she moved toward a tunnel she prayed would lead quickly to the outside world and safety.

  “Damn it.” Sharp rocks cut into the soles of her bare feet. Hobbling over to a pair of moccasins that lay neatly side-by-side near the fire, she bent down.

  Before she had a chance to stand, he appeared from the shadows. She gasped, startled. All hopes of escaping for the moment disappeared.

  Carrying the carcass of an elk over his shoulder, he glanced at her before he dropped the dead animal to the ground. Then, ignoring her, he knelt beside his kill. His arms raised toward the cavern's ceiling, he bowed his head and began to chant.

  Fascinated, intrigued, Gabrielle stood motionless, afraid to move. She had gone to many a pow wow, but never had she seen anything so personal and private as the prayer service going on before her. Her brief feeling of exhilaration crashed, however, when she realized she could be the next victim.

  His back toward her, quietly, yet as quickly as she could, she hurried toward a passageway she hoped lead to a shorter tunnel, then outside.

  Before she could get far, he yanked her head back by the ends of her hair. Spun around, her back hit the wall. His hands gripped her shoulders tightly.

  “Ow.” Thinking he was not paying attention to her had been a mistake.

  “Let go.” Gabrielle squirmed, trying to break free of his hold. If he meant to kill her, she'd fight him tooth and nail. He pressed her shoulders into the wall. His chest heaved slightly. His nostrils flared like an angry bull.

  “Let me go.” She tried to kick him.

  He backed an arm’s length away.

  Frustrated when her kicks came up short, she shook her head and screamed. His wide brow creased in an annoyed frown. Deep-set eyes peered fearlessly into hers, demanding she stop.

  “You don't scare me,” she spat, trying to muster up the courage that seemed to be slipping with each squeeze of his hands.

  When he abruptly released his hold, Gabrielle's only thought was to get away, yet the closeness of his body, like a solid wall of lean muscle, barred any further movements. Her knees began to shake.

  “Hacib wínyan.”

  She didn't understand a word he spat, but his anger came across loud and clear. Before she knew what was happening, he drew out his knife.

  ****

  The terror on her face made him cringe, yet Two Moons could not bring himself to tell her he understood her fear. He brought his knife up. Her mouth dropped. Her brilliant blue eyes widened. Dismissing the guilt tightening his chest, he met her gaze. The discomfort he caused her would soon pass. Her small loss would be his good fortune.

  He sheared off a small piece of her raven hair. She cringed against him. For a brief moment as he stared into her eyes, he wondered if his actions were foolish. A lock of hair from his Spirit Woman would be good medicine, a good charm to wear in the battles to come. But if she was not…

  He made a fist, enclosing the cut strands in the center of his palm. With his free hand he fingered a strand of her long silky mane between his fingertips. For now he would keep this charm close.

  “Ena un.” He brought his closed fist up a little below his shoulder, then with a quick short motion brought it downward a few inches. Surely, she would understand the word “stay,” in sign talk? “Éna un.”

  Satisfied when she didn't move, Two Moons walked over to his kill and knelt down. He placed his knife on the ground within grasping range beside him, then slipped his finger inside the small medicine bag around his neck and pulled out a short piece of leather. Quickly he ti
ed the strip around the cut strands of black hair, dropped the small bundle inside his bag, then slid his knife back into the rawhide sheath that hung at his side. His thoughts on the woman behind him, he flung the heavy carcass over his shoulder and stood.. Enough time had been spent here with her. His mother would be waiting on his return. Black Hawk would be waiting on his words. Two Moons kicked the dying embers with his foot until the fire no longer burned, then he turned on his heels to face her.

  “Come we leave,” he said in Lakota, knowing his words were foreign to her.

  Before she had a chance to answer, he yanked her forward.

  “If you are well enough to think of escaping, you are well enough to leave,” he said again this time in Crow. “We go.”

  She showed no knowledge of his command to go. Annoyed at her lack of response, he grabbed her arm, pulling her behind him.

  This one was indeed a stubborn one, either brave, or crazy in the head. Two Moons tugged on her arm, urging her forward. He could hear her cry out in annoyance, could hear her mumbling under her breath. He understood every angry word she threw at him between clenched teeth.

  Glancing behind, he gave her a disgusted look. She showed no knowledge of her own language, or that of his signing. Even the Crow understood signing. Wasicun winyan, white woman. White man's blood ran deep in her soul. Perhaps that is why she did not understand. She chose to speak in the tongue of his enemy.

  By the time they reached the outer entrance of the cave, bitterness burned in Two Moons’ gut. The thought that she had forsaken her people's tongue for that of their white enemies’ chilled his heart.

  Releasing his hold on her, he removed the elk's body from his shoulders and placed the carcass over his mount's back. With a swift yank, he pulled down the rope that hung from the horn pommel of his saddle. He clenched the rope, then pivoted around to face his captive.

  She stared down at her hands. Her brows slanted, creased with question, she studied them as if she saw them for the first time. He grabbed her wrists and pressed them together. Anticipating her next move, he backed away. She thrust out her foot to kick his shins. He shot her a glance of triumph. If he was not careful, he would feel his own knife in his back. It would be wise not to trust her.

  She struggled to get away from his hold. With quick fingers, he tied the rope around her wrists. She screamed and shook with impudent rage. He yanked the cord, slamming her close to his body and stared into her eyes. he had had enough of her tricks. She would follow his commands. That was “his” way.

  Placing his hands around her small waist, he hoisted her upon Anpo Wie's back, then swiftly jumped up behind her.

  ****

  She was in trouble. His sixth sense had never failed him before. He never questioned it. It was one of those unexplainable things that was just a part of him. His reporter's instinct, he always called it.

  Roy drove up the steep mountain road, his thoughts heavily centered on Gabrielle. Something wasn't quite right. George's words nagged at the corner of his mind. “Ask her if I did well.” Just what did that mean? Was George covering up for her?

  Roy’s gaze fixed on the narrowing road before him. Maybe he was on a wild goose chase. He’d been to the Crow Reservation, where he had checked with every museum curator and gift shop counter person he could find. No one had seen her. He drove over to the village of Lame Deer where he’d been told to check in at the Northern Cheyenne Community Center. Perhaps she was there.

  She wasn’t.

  Just what had she been up to? Why sculpt a piece in her own likeness, then hide it? And George, he definitely was hiding something. No. Something wasn't quite right. She couldn’t just disappear into thin air.

  He checked his watch. 6:50p.m. He turned on the radio and fiddled with the button until he found the news. “Today's high…”

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, tuning out the weather report. Where was she? Gabrielle Camden, with the face of an angel. She was a stubborn one indeed. But he’d break that shell of hers. He could tell she liked him. Well, maybe a little. She tried to deny it, but he saw the interest in those lovely blue eyes of hers. There was some kind of strange electric charge whenever they were together. He felt it, just as sure as that streak of lightning slashing through the sky.

  The radio announcer's words drew his thoughts back to the present. “Hey, did you know that on this very same day, June first back in eighteen seventy-six there was a blizzard…”

  Recalling the dream he’d had about snow in the summer, Roy suppressed the creepy shiver that wanted to crawl up his spine and focused his attention on the road and the deep voice over the radio.

  “Thought with all those hail stones earlier we'd been in for a repeat. No snow in the forecast, however, temperatures…”

  “Damn near feels like a blizzard in here.” Roy turned off the air and rolled down the window, allowing the warm evening's air to flow in. The sky, a slate gray, was heavy with the gathering clouds of a storm. A black hawk winged silently above the treetops. Gracefully the bird rode the air currents down until it disappeared into the thick forest of trees.

  A blast of hot air wafted across the side of his face. As heavy and as thick as honey, it sent prickly goose bumps up the nape of his neck. Strange, this weather - hot and sunny one minute, stormy the next. As strange as the strong feeling tugging at his gut, that something bad was about to happen.

  Chapter Four

  My God! What was wrong with her hands? They’re so dark. It was as if she’d spent an entire month in the Caribbean without any sunscreen. Gabrielle stared down at her bound wrists. What could have stained her hands such a deep clay color, surely not the soil from the cave?

  The horse stumbled over a rock, jerking her forward. She grabbed the mane to keep from sliding, just as her captor's hands reached around her waist and pulled her closer. Hands, she noticed, that were the same color as hers, which didn't make any sense. Had he done this to her? Why? Did he wish her to be someone else? Is that why he had painted her skin the same color as his?

  But? She stared. It didn't look like paint?

  She brought her fingers to her face, touched her cheeks as if there would be some difference in its texture. Was it also so dark?

  She glanced around. And the snow. Where had it come from? Heat and a storm, those she remembered, but certainly nothing that indicated this amount of snow. In June? What was going on? Where was she? Twisting her head from side to side, she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

  The forest, thick, lush, dark, was so different from the dried, vast open prairies of Eastern Montana and the excavation site.

  How long had she been unconscious? Surely someone besides this mad man had seen her. Did her captor have a car hidden somewhere? Could they be to the southwest of Little Big Horn, somewhere in Yellowstone Park? Or had he taken her down south to the Black Hills? Someone must have seen them.

  Something wasn't right, yet she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

  A hawk cawed overhead. She raised her gaze to the sky.

  A startling realization hit her.

  There were no overhead wires above the treetops, no telephone poles. Gabrielle blinked and hastily glanced around. There were no roads or road signs. She hadn't heard a single car whiz by. And where were the scenic overlooks with their hordes of tourists? A wave of dizziness, blurred her vision. She gripped the horse's mane tightly.

  Suddenly exhausted, she let her head sag. She was so tired, it hurt to think. Any thoughts of escaping for the moment, evaporated under the darkness of her closed lids. From the moment she had awakened in that cave she’d felt as confused as Alice down in the rabbit hole, with no rhyme or reason to anything. In fact, this whole mess had started when she had climbed down into that grave.

  Minutes passed. Hours. Neither one spoke.

  Gabrielle tried to keep up her spirits by searching every new area for signs of her chance to escape, hoping, praying for any signs of civilization; telling herself that a
lthough they were well off the beaten path, soon they'd have to come across someone.

  But as the day grew longer, any hopes she harbored slipped like the setting sun. She felt as isolated and as alone as the large yellow sunflower they passed; as frightened as the flock of birds scattering from the treetops as horse and riders rode by.

  Dense blue spruces surrounded them at every turn. They made their way past a wall of granite where a gully of water, formed by the melting snow above, trickled down its face. Riding close by the mountain's side, the icy cold spray cut through the thin fabric of Gabrielle's sleeve. She shivered.

  Strong arms reached out and drew her closer against his hard chest. She jerked away, his touch poisonous. “Don’t.”

  The last thing she wanted was to be close to him. She'd rather freeze than feel the heat of his body against her back; no matter that the cold seeped through her thin blouse, chilling her.

  When the horse stopped, Gabrielle fell forward. Strong arms again caught her. She twisted away, shifted her position and glanced back at him. “Don't touch me.”

  His black eyes sharpened dangerously.

  She stared back at him. “I'm not afraid of you. You know that? So you just keep your hands off me.” She silently prayed her voice wouldn't crack, that he couldn't read her fear, the fear that had grown with every passing hour - the fear she was trying so desperately to hide.

  She raised her hands. “Untie these.”

  He gave no indication he understood.

  “I said, untie my hands.”

  Not a muscle moved.

  “Don't you understand anything?” she screamed. “I'm going to fall of this beast if you don't untie me.”

  Gently he grabbed her shoulders and tried to indicate that she lean against him for support.