But her mind and heart had been so eagerly awaiting Hoka Luta’s arrival that she’d paid them little attention. The man she planned to marry was brave and honorable. He didn’t terrorize innocent women.
Winona glared at the leader. He was tatunkce. Dung. He would pay dearly for his crime, by her own hand, when the opportunity arose. Without warning, her captor turned his head. His gaze locked with hers as if he’d felt her eyes upon him. She tried to glance away as if he meant no more to her than an annoying tehmunga. But to her discomfort, he held her gaze with nothing more than his own.
Winona’s mouth went dry and she couldn’t look away.
Not because she was frightened of him. He’d soon learn she had a bite. And he didn’t hold her gaze because he was handsome. With his scarred face, he wasn’t, though he was undeniably better-looking than Hoka Luta.
But while Hoka Luta was impressive, with his sheer size and commanding presence, this warrior possessed something else. Something she couldn’t name. It wasn’t just his body—not even under these circumstances could she find complaint with his fine form. It wasn’t his face—the scar itself had destroyed the perfection he must have carried in his youth. There was something else, something intangible, and whatever it was, it encompassed the man. The whole man.
The fact that she could even notice or acknowledge him in this fashion upset her almost more than the circumstances she found herself in.
“What are we going to do?” Spotted Deer whispered, breaking into her silent contemplations.
Winona drew in a deep breath. She was not admiring the enemy! She absolutely was not! She was simply studying him, searching for weakness. To prove that he held no control over her, Winona held his gaze and answered, “We wait until dark. Don’t sleep. When my father and Hoka Luta come, we must be ready.”
Finally, and to her secret relief, the Cheyenne warrior turned his head back to the rest of the warriors, releasing her from his spell with an abruptness that left her insides churned up.
“That is a good plan. They will attack when darkness falls.” Spotted Deer’s voice trembled.
Another wave of guilt curled and twisted through her insides. She put her arm around Spotted Deer. “Do not worry. They will come.”
Winona tried to believe her own comforting words, but they brought her no relief, for she knew just how difficult it would be for her father to follow. That he would pick up their tracks she had no doubt. But would he be fast enough to catch up with them? Nature would easily erase signs of their passage—unless she could leave some sort of sign. While relieving herself, she’d disturbed as much of the underbrush as she could.
With that in mind, she broke off a few more branches and leaves. A sharp command snapped her head up. Reaching out, she took Spotted Deer by the hand. “All will be right. You will see.”
Spotted Deer hung back. “Promise, Winona. Promise to escape if you get the chance.”
Winona opened her mouth to tell Spotted Deer no, but changed her mind. If a small untruth gave comfort to her friend, then she would offer what comfort was at her command.
“I promise.” To herself she added, to get us out of this mess.
“Nenaestse!”
At the stern command, Winona turned her gaze back to the Cheyenne warriors. Two were already mounted. To her surprise they rode off, taking no particular care not to leave a trail. Her mouth went dry.
“We’d better hurry,” Spotted Deer whispered.
Lifting her brow, Winona glared at the leader. Tempting though it was to make him come get her, she allowed Spotted Deer to pull her forward. Retaliation, had it been just herself to worry about, was one thing. But she’d done enough to her friend already.
The two women separated. With worried eyes, Winona watched as Spotted Deer was hauled up in front of a different warrior. Standing beside the black horse, Winona waited for her captor to mount and pull her up in front of him.
To her surprise, he grabbed her wrists and worked the rope free. Immediately Winona’s mind began to work. With her hands free, there was much she could do: grab a rock, a tree limb, maybe even snatch the knife from her captor’s sheath.
“You will do nothing,” the Cheyenne warrior said.
Winona narrowed her eyes and tilted her chin. “You are a fool. I will find a way to escape.”
“I think not.” He jerked his head toward the other warrior. After a terse command, the warrior rode off with Spotted Deer.
With his dark eyes holding hers, the Cheyenne warrior warned, “Run, or harm me in any way, and you will not see your sister again.”
Eyes wide, heart pounding, she tried to run after Spotted Deer, but her captor had a firm grip on her upper arm. Winona whirled about. “Do not do this. I give my word to do as you wish. Do not separate us. My…sister—she is frightened.” Winona had almost forgotten that he thought them sisters. She had to be careful, for if he learned the truth he might not hesitate to harm Spotted Deer. He clearly thought her valuable because of her relationship to Winona.
The Cheyenne warrior lifted a brow. “And you are not frightened?”
Winona called upon every ounce of her courage. “Hoka Luta is the son of a powerful medicine man. It is you who should be afraid.”
A bitter bark of laughter made her wince. Deep shadows dulled the warrior’s eyes. “You have much to learn, wild one,” he said. “Sometimes the one you should fear is the very one you trust. Let us hope you never have to learn that lesson.”
With that he drew his knife out from the sheath he wore around his shin. Winona’s eyes widened when he grabbed her dress and sliced a piece from the hem. Without taking his eyes off her, he cut his arm and used the hide to soak up the blood.
Horror dawned as Winona watched him stab an arrow through the middle of the jaggedly cut hide and shoot it into a nearby tree trunk—one near the place where she and Spotted Deer had rested.
In disbelief Winona realized that he wasn’t trying to hide his tracks but was instead luring her father and Hoka Luta in the direction he desired. “What game do you play?” she whispered.
“This is no game,” the warrior said, his voice devoid of emotion. He lifted her up onto the horse and mounted behind her. With a triumphant yell, the only real emotion she’d heard in his voice so far, the Cheyenne warrior with no soul sent the horse surging forward—in the opposite direction that Spotted Deer and her captor had gone.
Chapter Four
Hawk Eyes studied the rotting layer of leaves, scraped from the ground in telling piles. His heart pounded as he sifted through the disturbed plant life. He scraped his finger through the top, dry layer of dirt to the darker, richer, moist soil below. Waves of heat fused with cold chills. His enemy had many hours on him.
“They are alive,” Golden Eagle said from where he examined a similar site of recent struggle. He walked over to his father and bent down to pick up the broken tree limb.
“Yes,” Hawk Eyes said. He lifted his gaze upward to the torn flesh of the tree above their heads. His daughters were alive, and kicking and fighting. Though he feared for them, he was proud of their courage. He closed his eyes and let his shoulders slump.
For days Winona had been asking him to take her to Gray Rock. She loved that place and had never shown any fear of heights, not even when she’d been just a toddler. He smiled softly at the memory of carrying her up there at only two winters, and the look of wonder on her face when she saw a world more vast than any one person could comprehend.
From that moment on he’d taken her there often. He suspected she went there a lot more than just the few times he’d heard of her sneaking out of camp. He bowed his head. As she had done this morning.
Golden Eagle’s hands rested on his hips. He looked worried. And angry. “My sister is a fool. Why did she not seek one of us out to take her, and why did Spotted Deer not try to stop her?” He held up one hand. “I know. No one can stop Winona when she makes up her mind.”
Hawk Eyes understood that his son was
worried. Turning in a slow circle, he himself felt sick. Had he put his daughter and her needs first yesterday, this would not have happened. Instead he’d been more concerned with getting ready for visitors and planning her marriage to Hoka Luta.
“I put her off three times over the last three days. How many times did she ask you?”
Golden Eagle bowed his head. “We are the fools.” Father and son stared at each other. Guilt from one set of eyes mirrored the same wrenching emotion of the other. Hawk Eyes walked away.
“Search the area,” he called out to the waiting warriors. The warriors fanned out, each keeping low to the ground—for safety, and to better find signs of their enemy.
Pacing a few feet from where Golden Eagle continued to search, Hoka Luta tossed a rock he’d been examining. It hit the root of a tree, bounced, then plopped onto a bed of pine needles and earth. “No one takes what belongs to Hoka Luta and lives. I will kill whoever took her.”
Hawk Eyes narrowed his eyes at the man his daughter had chosen for her mate. “He is mine.” For a brief moment he held the younger warrior’s gaze, until Hoka Luta stalked away.
Grimly Hawk Eyes turned on his heel. He understood the younger man’s intense desire to exact revenge. He felt the same. But he was Winona’s father and also Spotted Deer’s. When his adopted daughter had been small, he and Seeing Eyes had become the girl’s second set of parents, a common practice among his people to keep parents from spoiling their children. When Spotted Deer’s parents died, she’d truly become his daughter.
Today he’d lost not one daughter but two. The father within demanded that they hurry and find the girls. From deep inside he called upon the seasoned warrior who, through training, was able to put emotion aside and balance need with caution. Fear led to carelessness. Yet nothing could ease the nearly crippling fear racing through him.
In the past his people had been victim to the cruelties of the white men who took unprotected girls and women for sport. Some were never found; others were found beaten and badly treated. Still others managed to take their own lives rather than submit to the horrors of rape. Everything within the man who was a father screamed against this terrible, unspeakable end.
“No,” he whispered harshly. He would not fail his daughters—or his wife and his promise to bring them back.
The sound of vicious cursing made him swing around. Hoka Luta stood a short distance away. Other warriors gathered about. Hawk Eyes tore through the waist-high brush, his heart beating so fast he feared it would explode. What had they found?
“What is it?” he asked, his voice deep and raw with fear. His warriors quickly parted for their chief. Hawk Eyes swept his gaze over the forest floor. No bodies. Noting that his warriors were staring at the tree, he nudged aside two of Hoka Luta’s warriors who were blocking his view.
He stopped when he saw a square of hide pinned to the tree by a knife. Hawk Eyes recognized the knife as the one he’d given Winona two summers ago. Reaching out, Golden Eagle pulled the blade from the tree and handed the leather hide to his father.
With hands that shook, Hawk Eyes studied the message. He felt no shame at the shaking in his hands. His daughters had been taken. Their lives were in danger. He might be a great warrior and leader, but he was also a father. Right now the father feared for both the daughter of his blood and the daughter of his heart
Golden Eagle stood close, studying the message. “I do not understand,” he said, frowning. He slapped his sister’s knife against the palm of his hand.
Hawk Eyes forced his eyes to focus on the painted scene, in the upper left-hand corner a stick figure with the head of a bear stood with a knife poised over the body of another. Several fallen bodies had been painted to the right. “Death,” he whispered. “This speaks of death.”
A hush fell over the band of warriors. Golden Eagle traced what looked to be bear prints from the first scene to the second, which depicted a young girl. Tears flowed from her face and led down to the bottom right-hand corner, where a man stood with arms outstretched.
“This makes no sense,” Golden Eagle said.
Hawk Eyes balled one hand into a fist. “The enemy left this for us to find. It has meaning. It is the reason my daughters were taken.” That much was obvious to him, but the message did not make sense. He shifted his gaze to the knife Hoka Luta held. He held out his hand and took it from the quiet warrior.
Holding up the finely tooled leather sheath, Hawk Eyes studied it. The leather was dark, worn and shiny from wear. He pulled the knife out. Whoever had owned this knife had prized it, for the blade was well cared for. He ran the pad of one finger over the cutting edge and drew blood. Sharp as well.
“This is a white man’s knife,” he bit out. Fury beat against his temples.
He slid his hand over the smooth white handle of the blade, then held it up for all to see. Sunlight sparkled off the shiny blade. This knife had been made by a master craftsman. Most warriors carried knives made by the white man. They were sharper and lasted much longer than knives made of sharpened stone. But few of his people got their hands on blades of this quality.
Frowning, he studied the knife. “Why would anyone leave a valuable tool such as this behind? What game does the enemy play?” He glanced at Hoka Luta, who’d so far been silent.
Hoka Luta stepped forward. He pointed to the painted scenes and spoke with anger. “This looks as though the daughter of Hawk Eyes seeks another. Has she run to join with someone else?”
A hush came over the group. Warriors who were discussing the events looked at Hoka Luta, disbelief in their eyes.
Golden Eagle whipped his head around. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice low and deadly.
Hoka Luta punched a finger at the leather. “Does the woman I should have married this day shed tears for another?” He flicked the back of his middle finger at the man in the bottom corner. “You said she left on her own this morning. Perhaps all this is a ploy.” He held out his hand to encompass the scenes of struggle.
For just a moment Hawk Eyes felt doubt. Then he shook his head. “My daughter chose you. She does not yearn for another.” Of that Hawk Eyes was certain. Winona had made her choice in her mate, and had she changed her mind she’d have come to him. Besides, that wouldn’t have explained Spotted Deer’s disappearance.
Hoka Luta reached out and took the knife from Hawk Eyes. “Then the man who dared to take my woman will die,” he shouted. He held the knife high. Hoka Luta’s knuckles turned white from gripping the large knife handle so tightly.
Hawk Eyes turned to his warriors. “Find the trail of our enemy. We have spent enough time here.” Warriors around him spread out once again while he rolled the message into a tube and tucked it beneath the leather thong around his waist. He held out his hand for the knife.
Hoka Luta lifted his chin. “This belongs to the enemy who dared to take my woman. I shall use it to kill this man.”
“She is still my daughter, and the fate of the enemy is mine.”
After a terse moment, Hoka Luta handed over the knife.
The three warriors joined in the search for the trail that would lead them to Winona and Spotted Deer. With the enemy on foot, they would be able to catch up quickly.
“Here,” a warrior called out. Once more the warriors gathered. Staring down at four sets of hoofprints, Hawk Eyes buried the father in him deep inside and called upon his warrior’s training. The number of enemies was now four, and no longer were they on foot. Did they ride to meet up with many others?
Hawk Eyes signaled two of his warriors and ordered them to return to camp and gather more men. By following the trail left by Hawk Eyes and the warriors they’d catch up quickly.
With a heavy heart, Hawk Eyes mounted his horse and vowed not to return home without his daughters.
Tall pines stood shoulder-to-shoulder, like soldiers standing guard in the light. Branches interlocked to form an impenetrable barrier, keeping out all but the smallest of creatures. Above, rays of moo
nlight tried to pierce the canopy formed by the thick stands of trees, but darkness ruled in the deep shadows of the forest.
Sitting on a bed of pine needles at the edge of a small triangle of trees, Winona scrunched her eyes in a vain attempt to see her captor in the darkness.
“Why have you kidnapped me?”
“It is not your concern.” The harsh, low answer came from somewhere in front of her.
Winona narrowed her gaze, more against the answer than in a vain attempt to see her enemy. All during the long day of hard riding, the Cheyenne warrior had kept silent except for barking out orders during their brief stops to rest the horse. She’d had enough.
She tossed a fistful of pine needles away from her and said, “You made it my concern when you took me and Spotted Deer away from our family. I deserve to know why. And what you plan to do with us,” she added.
That was the worst part. She’d never experienced this fear of not knowing.
“I suggest you rest,” her captor told her.
“You expect me to rest? How do I know you will not…harm me while I rest?”
Her answer was met with a heavy sigh. “As long as my demands are met, you will not be harmed.”
Not reassured in the slightest, Winona plucked at the deerskin fringe brushing against her shins. His answer raised more concerns.
“What demands? The Sioux have no quarrel with the Cheyenne.”
A twig snapped somewhere in front of her. Though she couldn’t see clearly, she knew he’d moved slightly to the right and that he was still in front of her. “Enough questions.”
“I am supposed to believe you?” Tired, restless and worried, Winona knew she shouldn’t push, but it was because of how she felt that she couldn’t just shut up and let the enemy intimidate her.
Another twig snapped, followed by a soft rustle, as though the broken bits had been tossed. “Believe what you want. I said all I plan to say.”
Fingering a twig herself, Winona resisted the temptation to toss it at her captor.
White Shadows Page 5