White Shadows

by Susan Edwards

After a few moments she asked, “Then at least tell me your name. What do I call you?”

  No answer, which didn’t surprise her. That was fine with her. If he refused to give her a name, she’d just find her own name for him. Running her fingers along her jaw, she thought.

  “Sunka,” she said aloud, as though talking to herself.

  “What?”

  Winona, grateful for the dark cloak of night that hid her expression from his, grinned at the shocked disbelief in his voice. She shrugged. “Do you not understand Lakota?”

  When he didn’t reply, she answered, “Sunka is Lakota for dog. If I must address you, or call out to you while we rest, then that is the name I will use.”

  A low growl was her captor’s only response.

  She leaned forward. “If you do not like that name, I could use zuzeca.” This time she didn’t give the Cheyenne warrior a chance to speak. “Yes, that name is also fitting.”

  Winona took immense pleasure in the heavy silence. She wasn’t sure what had come over her. Her own daring surprised her.

  Night Shadow glared into the shadows. What game was this woman playing? His lips tightened; his temples throbbed with pain. Woman? The daughter of Hawk Eyes couldn’t be much older than Jenny would be.

  But she was old enough to marry. Thinking of whom she’d been about to marry sent throbbing pain shooting down along the scar. It settled in his tightly clenched jaw and ached like a badly torn muscle.

  Across from him, almost forgotten, Winona spoke. “It means ssssnake.” She’d lowered her voice, slurring the S sound so it sounded as though she were hissing the word.

  Night Shadow glared at her. He heard the smug satisfaction in her voice.

  “How about—”

  “Enough,” he ground out.

  A twig snapped. “Then give me a name,” she demanded.

  Night Shadow rubbed his temple and resisted the urge to jump to his feet and gag his troublesome captive. But in order to gag her he’d have to tie her, and he had no desire to hurt her or leave marks upon her body. Thus far he’d garnered her compliance by separating her from her sister. He tried to keep in mind that she truly was an innocent pawn in the game of revenge he’d set in motion.

  “I will give you a name if you stop with the questions.” Night Shadow waited. He heard her shift position, then sigh.

  “For tonight,” she agreed.

  Night Shadow figured that was reasonable. Why couldn’t she have been a submissive, frightened captive? Instead she seemed bent on making each day with him difficult. He stretched out his legs. No matter. His life for the past fourteen years had been hell on earth. What was another few months?

  Finding Jenny was all that he cared about.

  “Are you asleep? Give me your name.”

  The demand snapped him from the dark pit of despair that threatened to swallow him.

  “Clay,” he said, his voice deeper than normal as he struggled to maintain control over his emotions.

  “Clay?” Scorn laced her question. “That is not the name of a Cheyenne warrior.”

  Night Shadow scowled. Did she think him fool enough to give her his Cheyenne name? His fight with Henry Black Bear was his and his alone. He would do nothing to endanger his Cheyenne family. If Winona’s father learned who he truly was, he would retaliate against the innocent Cheyenne.

  Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned his head back. “You asked for a name. I gave you the name my father gave me.”

  “Your white father?”

  Night Shadow ignored the derision in her voice. Instead of allowing himself to be drawn into a battle of words, he closed his eyes. “No more talk. We ride soon.”

  The night hid the pain he knew would be reflected in his eyes and etched in deep lines around his mouth. Darkness crept through him, swallowing and invading, smothering his soul and spirit.

  The sound of his name spoken aloud for the first time since that tragic day left him shaken. Why had he given her a name long dead to him? He’d planned to give her a false name, but the name Clay had left his lips.

  Nightmarish images of a day he longed to forget flew at him like arrows from the enemy: each one found its mark in his heart, until he felt as though he were once again dying.

  But he could not forget—dared not forget—not even for a short while. The past had given birth to Night Shadow, a warrior with a thirst for revenge so strong it became the reason he survived, and gave him the courage to live.

  His fingers gripped his wrists as he stared into the darkness, seeing nothing but more pain and more black nights ahead. Yet, at the end of that dark tunnel, he still held out hope that he’d find Jenny—his reason for living.

  Chapter Five

  The next stop during the long night of riding was at the top of a rocky hill with only a few trees for shelter. Across from her, Winona saw that Clay’s breathing had slowed and the rise and fall of his chest deepened as he slept. Tipping her head, she stared up at the dark sky. How she envied the warrior his ability to just shut down and sleep, even if only for a short time.

  Somewhere below her, deep in the forest, the screech of an owl echoed, drowning out the cadence of insects in the bushes. Rustling in the growth to her left was followed by a series of high-pitched squeaks. Peering through the darkness, she couldn’t see anything.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes and ordered herself to stop thinking and to sleep. She needed her rest in order to stay alert. But as before, sleep eluded her. Her mind was too crowded with thoughts and emotions and refused to shut down.

  Giving up, knowing she couldn’t force her body to sleep, she stared into the darkness. She thought about escaping, but only briefly. Clay would wake immediately. Like most warriors he’d learned to sleep on demand, yet remain aware. Besides, even if she did manage to escape, it wouldn’t solve the problem of finding Spotted Deer.

  Frustration gave way to annoyance. It galled her that he’d so effectively bound her to him without rope. Just the threat of never seeing Spotted Deer had been enough to secure her compliance. He’d been clever, she’d give him that!

  Scowling in Clay’s direction, she was seized by a sudden urge to toss a stone at him. It wasn’t fair that he could sleep without a care when her life had been tossed upside down.

  Frustrated with her situation and her lack of sleep, she scraped the toe of her moccasin across the ground and dislodged several chunks of dirt. Reaching forward, she picked one up and crushed it in her fist.

  Bored, Winona let the dirt fall from her hand, then brushed her palm over her dress. At each stop she disturbed the land as much as she could. She smiled in grim satisfaction. Clay knew what she was doing, but unless he wanted to bind her hands and feet there was little he could do.

  She sighed. She’d already left her mark in this spot. Now what? She wasn’t used to just sitting. The days were filled with chores, and each night she fell asleep satisfied with her daily accomplishments.

  Clay had taken that from her as well. Turning her gaze upward, Winona tried to find solace in the night sky. For the first time since darkness had swallowed the world, the panic welling deep inside her calmed.

  With the night sky hidden from her while they traveled through the darkened woods, she’d felt trapped. Closed in. Out on the open prairie, where her people set their camps, the sky was always there for her. Even inside the tipi all she had to do was pull up the lining or stick her head out the flap.

  She closed her eyes as she remembered the first time she’d slept inside a white man’s house. It was like the woods, closed in and dark but for candles or lanterns. She didn’t like it. Not at all. Leaning back against the tree trunk, Winona drew her knees to her chest and rested her cheek on her folded arm as she stared up into the sky, seeking familiar and comforting patterns in the stars.

  Pale blue skies replaced black. Night chirps became giggles. Fourteen harsh years melted away. Night Shadow, hardened warrior, became Clay Coburn, a boy of sixteen, eager to leave the wilds of nowh
ere come spring and travel to the city before setting out to see the world.

  “Clay! Play with me.”

  Clay sorted through the traps and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “I’m busy, Jenny. Go bother Catherine.”

  Jenny’s tiny rosebud lips formed a pout, then trembled with hurt. She hugged a threadbare rag doll to her narrow chest.

  “Ma and Catherine are busy. Play with me. Please?”

  Clay grimaced. His baby sister knew just how to get her way. A few tears, a trembling lip and a soft, bewitching voice wrapped him around her tiny pink finger. He tried to put her off one last time.

  “I have a lot to do before we leave.”

  Eyes that were neither green nor brown filled with tears.

  “Please.” Jenny drew the word out.

  Clay tossed the trap he was repairing into a pile of others, all ready to be sold. Handling his father’s traps, knowing the two of them would never trap together again, was suddenly too much. He grabbed on to the excuse to stop the painful chore for even a few minutes.

  He sent Jenny a mock growl.

  “What shall we play?” He lifted both hands high, crooking his fingers as though they were long, sharp claws.

  Squealing with glee, Jenny turned and ran between two trees.

  “Bear, bear,” she shrieked.

  In one long-legged jump, Clay snagged Jenny around the waist and tossed her high. “I’ve got you.”

  He allowed her to wiggle free. When she ran into the woods surrounding their tipi, he gave chase. Playing chase was her favorite game.

  But only he could be the bear.

  “The bear’s after me,” she yelled. Her laughter made him giggle and took away the overwhelming grief of losing his father. If his father had been there, he’d have stopped whatever he was doing to play with his youngest daughter. Even Pa hadn’t been able to resist Jenny’s pleas.

  Jenny’s giggles filled his dreams. He smiled in his sleep—until the first report of a shotgun tore the smile from his face.

  Laughter turned to screams.

  And Jenny…

  “No, Jenny! No! Come back!”

  Then came blinding pain and more screaming. And blood. He whimpered. Too much blood.

  Too much death.

  Everyone was dead.

  And Jenny? Where was she?

  He struggled against the gripping horrors of his past. “Jenny!” His shout turned to a plea. “Where are you, Jenny?”

  “Clay?”

  Night Shadow fought the darkness that held him like a spider’s web. A voice lured him out of the darkness. “Jenny?”

  “Clay, wake up!”

  “Jenny.” Night Shadow opened his eyes. She was here. She’d answered. His body, drenched in sweat, tensed as he glanced around wildly.

  “Clay? Are you all right?”

  Night Shadow blinked, focused, then stared in confusion into Winona’s wide, dark gaze. A dream. Another dream. He dropped his head into his hands. “Jenny,” he whispered again. “I’ll find you. I promise.”

  “Who is Jenny, Clay?”

  He couldn’t answer. He felt awkward, humiliated that he’d revealed so much while he slept.

  “Clay. You dreamed.”

  Winona’s soft voice wrapped around him, offering comfort that he’d long been without. A gray mist coated the air. Across from him, Winona watched. She didn’t move, didn’t say anything else, just watched, which unnerved him more than if he’d woken to find her standing over him with a knife poised at his heart.

  “Not a dream,” he bit out. “Hell. My own personal hell.” He jumped to his feet and strode past Winona. He couldn’t bear the pity in her eyes; nor did he want the comfort her warm gaze offered—it mattered not that he could not see it in the darkness. He knew it was there and it drove him away.

  Only one person could release him from his tortured night dreams: Jenny. His baby sister. Only by finding her could he be granted peace.

  Staring at the land spread out before him, Night Shadow struggled to regain control. Night Shadow the warrior wouldn’t have cared if the woman had seen or heard his tormented cries, but right then he was Clay, a man tortured by the past and vulnerable to a pair of soft, wide eyes that had witnessed his suffering.

  He clenched his hands. He had to remain strong, tough. Focused. Allowing any softening within—or toward his captive—would only jeopardize his hopes of finding Jenny. Nothing mattered but Jenny. He’d give his own life to find her and know she was safe and happy.

  Clay concentrated on slowing his heart by taking slow, deep breaths, releasing them just as slowly. Controlled. In. Out. After a few minutes the tremors racking his body faded. Opening his eyes, he stared out at the blanket of fog creeping across the land below him.

  Though calmer, he made himself stand still. Control. His blood no longer raced through his veins, but thoughts scurried, darted, flew through his mind. He hated the night. Fears ruled his mind, and despair made him feel as though he’d fallen into a deep, dark pit. And during each night the dark tunnel of his life seemed endless.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Focus. Take control.

  Each dawn Clay the man, the brother, fought his demons and struggled to regain control. He closed his eyes once more. During the daylight the warrior in him took control with no effort. Night Shadow felt nothing, showed nothing, feared nothing. Night Shadow existed. Clay did not.

  But each night and morning it was Clay who stared up at the stars and waited for the dawn, Clay who suffered the horrible nightmares. Clay, not Night Shadow, felt fear each night, and dealt with gut-burning guilt, and it was Clay who cried deep inside where no one could see or hear him.

  After several silent minutes, Night Shadow whirled around. “He’e! Noheto!” The low, harsh command broke the stillness of the early morning. Speaking the language of his mother’s people served to remind him of who he’d become and what was at stake.

  Winona stretched while Clay readied the horse. Above their heads the sky remained dark; dawn was hours away. She rubbed the stiffness from the back of her neck. To her surprise she’d slept until woken by Clay’s shouts during the night.

  She’d been confused, and it had taken her a minute to realize that she wasn’t sleeping on her warm pile of furs with the soft, reassuring sounds of her parents sleeping across the tipi from her. As effective as a dousing of cold water, the realization had caused her to throw the mantle of sleep from her.

  At first she’d thought her captor had ordered her to get up. But when his shouts turned to whimpers, she’d realized he was caught up in some horrible nightmare. Her first thought had been, Good. Serves him right to have the night spirits attack his sleep.

  But the despair and the depths of pain in his husky voice had tugged at something inside her. No one deserved that kind of torment.

  Winona moaned softly to herself. What was happening to her? Bad enough that she hadn’t dared escape or harm Clay. But then to feel sorry for him? That was where her true shame lay. For a few minutes she’d actually been concerned about Clay, vulnerable to his rapid breathing and tortured cries.

  Guilt slid through her. How could she feel sorry for this man when Spotted Deer was scared and all alone? Not that she wasn’t a bit scared herself. It was just that, of the two them, Winona was the instigator, the leader, the one who seldom felt fear.

  Sighing, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and ran her fingers through the tangled strands. “I promise to make this up to you,” she whispered.

  Promise you will run.

  Winona had promised.

  Worse, she’d made that promise knowing full well that she’d never keep it. And she hadn’t. She’d had not one but two chances to gain her freedom. While he slept Clay might have woken had she tried to escape. But during his nightmare he wouldn’t have been aware of her, or her actions. She could have escaped.

  But her freedom at the cost of Spotted Deer’s was out of the question. Until she was reunited with her friend, s
he’d stick to Clay like mud to rocks.

  Hearing the horse snuffling, she turned to face her captor. He stood an arm’s length from her. In the moonlight he looked every bit as controlled and harsh as the man who’d captured her. Gone was the hurt, vulnerable man.

  Jenny.

  Who was she? She stared at the long scar running down one side of his face. For the first time since her capture, Winona felt truly afraid. Something terrible had happened to him in the past, and to someone he’d obviously loved. Winona bit the inside of her cheeks. Clay risked not only his own life, but his actions against the Sioux risked peace between the Sioux and Cheyenne. And that brought her right back to needing to know why Clay had kidnapped her, for she felt sure that her family could not have done anything to anger or hurt this man.

  A harsh shout from Clay reminded her that she was prisoner to a man who was bent on revenge. She was the means. He’d promised not to harm her as long as his demands were met. What were those demands?

  When he mounted she reached up and grabbed his hand and mounted behind him. Resting her cheek against his shirt-covered back, Winona wished she knew what was happening.

  Clay rode almost nonstop for three more days, pausing only for short periods of rest. Winona wanted to scream. She was cranky, tired and dirty. And sick of riding. And sick of not knowing what was going on.

  “When are we stopping?” she asked. She didn’t expect an answer.

  He surprised her by stopping at the edge of the lake they’d been following. When he dismounted and walked away, Winona gratefully slid down.

  “How long this time?” Winona asked. Usually they stopped only to rest the horse. Clay didn’t give her a chance to ask questions. He normally just handed her the water skin and a piece of hard pemmican, then walked off to be alone.

  Night Shadow glanced around. “For the night. The horse needs rest.”

  “So do I,” she muttered, irked that her needs meant nothing.

  While her captor busied himself, Winona took advantage of the small blue lake to bathe. Shielded by bushes, she removed her dress and walked into the water. The water lapped gently around her; its cold bite stung her skin but also refreshed and cleared the fog from her mind.