Silken Savage

by Catherine Hart

  Most of the crowd had dispersed. The women had dragged the curious children away. Tanya wondered if they were now inside their skin-covered homes eating supper and sharing conversation the way white people did. Many of the men had stayed and were sitting about the fire talking, now and then throwing a glance at the captive women.

  Bone-weary and sore, Tanya tentatively lowered herself to sit on the dew-dampened ground. Seeing no reaction from their guards, the other women followed suit. Too tired and scared to talk, they huddled silently together, a tense, pathetic group. The aroma of cooking food caused their empty stomachs to cramp painfully, especially as they watched Indian wives carrying bowls of food to their husbands around the fire. No one came to give them food or water or blankets to ward off the evening chill.

  Every so often a few of the Indians would wander off, only to return after having painted his face and chest, and sometimes his arms and legs, with strange, frightening designs. Soon they were all decorated in bright, greasy paints, and the hostages shivered, wondering if this was a prelude to their torture or death. It certainly appeared as if they were preparing for some sort of celebration or ceremony.

  Tanya’s nerves were stretched taut. Huddled with her trembling, terror-filled fellow captives, she strove desperately to keep her own panic at bay. Her heart had lodged somewhere in her throat and was pounding at a frightening pace. She jumped involuntarily when Melissa slumped against her. Melissa had found a temporary escape from her terror, whether in sleep or a fright-induced faint Tanya wasn’t sure. She shifted Melissa so that the girl’s head lay in her lap, absently stroking the bright hair. The soothing action brought her a measure of calm.

  Tanya barely recognized her captor when he finally re-emerged from the large tipi. He, too, had painted his face and chest. Across both cheeks he wore what resembled huge black claws, and one wide stripe of black followed the straight line of his nose. On his broad, hairless chest was the caricature of a snarling panther. At another time perhaps the artistry of the design would have fascinated Tanya, but at the moment she was frozen with fear, unable to do more than stare.

  With the arrival of the old chief and his entourage, the evening’sactivities picked up. Seated about the fire, the men talked, their women taking up places behind them to hear the news. As Tanya and the others awaited their fate, drums began to sound, echoing their frantic heartbeats. A weathered, stooped old man began to chant, shaking a rattle as he sang. Soon others picked up the chant, and the eerie tones wafted on the evening breeze, sending shivers along Tanya’s spine. Several of their captors got up and mimed the story of how they had captured the white women.

  Even Tanya had no trouble interpreting some of their actions. She frowned as one of the braves mimicked how she had bitten the squat captor’s ear. Would this earn her additional torture …more pain …a longer, slower death? Many of the Indians seemed to appreciate this part of the skit, guffawing loudly at the ugly man’s disfigurement. Several pairs of dark eyes turned toward Tanya, assessing the white girl who had done this to one of their own. Tanya steeled herself not to cringe beneath their stares, returning their looks steadily with her own golden gaze.

  The night and the noise seemed to go on and on. At one point there seemed to be an argument between Tanya’s captor and the fat, gruesome creature whose ear she had bitten. The ugly one shouted and gestured wildly to Tanya and then to his deformed ear, addressing himself to the gray-haired man Tanya assumed was their chief. Icy fingers danced along Tanya’s spine. Then her captor spoke, firmly stating in quiet, angry tones what he had to say. The old chief nodded, spoke a few clipped words, and Tanya’s captor sat down, evidently satisfied, while the other stomped angrily back to his place in the circle. What this meant, Tanya could not tell, but she hoped she would not be turned over to the ugly warrior.

  The evening’s activities seemed to be building up to a climax. The very air seemed to tingle with excitement. Finally, at a word from the chief, several women approached the captives. The white women were led to their original captors; Tanya’s leash was placed in her captor’s hands.

  Melissa nearly fainted again, and Nancy broke out in a series of ear-piercing shrieks. From the corner of her eye, Tanya could see Suellen struggling against her captor’s hold. Rosemary was sobbing quietly and muttering what sounded like a prayer. Tanya felt frozen, unable to react in any way.

  The girls were led toward the fire, and for one heart-stopping moment Tanya was sure they were to be burned alive. Brought up short by a tug on her leash, she stopped. She watched, holding her breath, as Rosemary was led forward. At the fire’s edge her captor held her as an Indian woman reached out and took a burning twig from the fire. The tattered edges of Rosemary’s skirt threatened to catch fire as the glowing end of the stick was brought to her thigh. Bile rose up in Tanya’s throat as she watched, horrified. Rosemary’s screams tore the night air as her leg was seared. She slumped against her captor as he led her away.

  By this time the other girls realized what was in store for them. Nancy, next in line, was screaming and pleading, to no avail. Suellen had renewed her struggles, twisting and clawing in her bid for freedom, her strident voice even more piercing in her terror. Melissa’s eyes looked like two large blue-glazed dinner plates in her otherwise colorless face. Her mouth opened and shut soundlessly.

  The smell of singed flesh filled Tanya’s nostrils, making them flare. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would fly out of her mouth. Her eyes huge, she swallowed hard, trying desperately not to be sick.

  She felt hard, lean fingers on her chin, tilting her face up to that of her captor. As her ears received the sounds of Nancy’s agony, her eyes saw his narrow in warning, and his hand tightened on her jaw as he shook his head. He pushed her ahead of him, forcing her to watch as Melissa was held for branding. The petite blonde fainted in mid-scream. Tanya felt his fingers pressing into her upper arms, forcing her shoulders back, straightening her stance. As Suellen was led forward, bucking and kicking, he again forced her to face him and shook his head.

  Tanya stared up into his ebony eyes, realizing this bronze savage was telling her to bear this bravely; proudly. Strangely, his gaze lent her strength, as if his own strength were flowing into her.

  Mutely she reached up and removed his hands from her arms. He released her without comment, his gaze locked with hers. Tanya’s chin came up proudly, and she squared her shoulders and walked calmly ahead of him to the fire’s edge. Outwardly she was regal; inside she was quivering and afraid. With shaky fingers she reached down and tore away the lower length of her pantalets, not wanting the material seared into her wound.

  The Indians watched her in surprised approval. If there was one thing they respected, it was bravery. Tanya saw her captor gesture to one particular stick in the flames. When it was removed from the fire, she understood why. It was fashioned in the same design as the one he bore on his chest; that of a snarling panther. She was to be branded as his, with his distinctive mark.

  Swallowing convulsively, she turned to face him, presenting her thigh to the woman holding the glowing brand. His hands came up to grasp her wrists, and hers automatically closed about his, seeking something to hold on to. Gritting her teeth and holding her breath, Tanya braced herself, staring up into his jet black eyes.

  The pain was worse than anything she could recall. The stench of her own burnt flesh made her stomach lurch. If not for the support of his hands holding her up, her knees would have buckled beneath her. Her hands clenched spasmodically, digging her fingernails into the flesh of his wrists. Tanya’s eyes closed as if to shut out the pain, and her head fell back, but the only sound to escape between her tightly clamped teeth was a long, loud hiss.

  When it was done, he gave her a moment to recover herself, then led her away, into a nearby tipi. After seating her on a mat, he took down a bag from a pole and a bowl from near the fire. Gently he washed her wound with water and applied a salve from the pouch.

  As he worked
over her leg, an older woman entered the tipi. She stood silently watching, and when he had finished, he said something to her in that gruff language Tanya was becoming used to. With gestures he told Tanya to sleep. Then he turned and left the lodge.

  The woman repeated his gesture for Tanya to sleep and settled herself by the fire. For a while Tanya lay staring up at the top of the tipi, mentally blocking out the searing pain in her thigh. As the pain lessened, she began to take note of her surroundings. The inside of the tipi was larger than she’d expected, easily twenty feet across. Long poles formed the supporting skeletal structure. Crossing near the top and tied together, they formed a cone, large at the base, smaller toward the top, leaving a hole at the top for the smoke to rise through. Animal skins were sewn together and laid across the pole supports, creating the walls. Now Tanya recalled that many of the lodges had brightly painted designs on the outsides. Tanya wondered whose tipi this was. Was it her captor’s or the old woman’s?

  She was lying on some kind of woven mat, like the onethe woman was seated on. Nearby was a pile of furs. From the lodge poles various leather bags and pouches hung, also what appeared to be articles of clothing. On the floor near the fire was a stack of bowls and pots, and a tripod that may have been used for cooking over the fire. Near the entrance hung a collection of braided leather straps like the one that her captor used as a bridle on his horse. What caught Tanya’s eye was the hatchet that hung with them, and the feather-decorated lance leaning close by. With weapons she might escape and survive.

  Tanya glanced at the old woman, discomfited to find the black eyes watching her intently. She sighed tiredly and closed her eyes. Now was not the time.

  Her opportunity came sooner than she would have guessed. Tanya woke to a pain in her leg. In her sleep she had rolled over onto her branded thigh, and the pain had jerked her out of a sound sleep. Hesitantly, she glanced about. The fire had burned low, but she could see by the glow of the coals that she was alone. Her captor had not returned, and the woman must have left once she was sure Tanya slept, not expecting the weary girl to awaken so soon. Sounds of the revelry outside told her the ceremony was still going on.

  Slowly Tanya rolled to her feet, careful not to touch the raw red wound on her thigh. She removed the hated leash and flung it to the ground. Stealthily she crept to the flap-covered opening and peeked out. Not thirty feet away, the Indians were celebrating around the central fire, but all seemed quiet away from the fire.

  Ducking back inside, Tanya longed for the time to search out food and water, but dared not spare precious moments that might mean the difference between escaping or not. She grabbed up the lance and hatchet and crawled out the opening. Quickly she dashed around to the darkened side of the tipi. Keeping to the shadows, ever wary, she wound her way past lodge after lodge on silent bare feet. With the lance as a crutch, she worked her way to the edge of the encampment.

  Once free of the village, she dashed headlong across the open field, intent on the cover of the forest, determinedly ignoring the pain in her leg. Her breath was coming in short gasps, and her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears she was surprised the whole village hadn’t heard it. She wished she could have stolen a horse, but she hadn’t known where they were kept, and hadn’t passed any along her way.

  So intent was she on her flight, Tanya failed to see or hear the person following her. Reaching the tree–line, she stopped to catch her breath, leaning against a tree trunk for support. As she straightened up to go on, a hand clamped itself down over her mouth as another snatched the hatchet and lance from her. She felt herself hauled back and dragged into the moonlit field to face none other than her captor of two days ago. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously.

  Once more she found herself marched back past the circling pattern of tipis. Upon reaching that of her captor, he threw her through the opening to sprawl on the dirt floor inside. Before she could scramble to her feet, he took one of the braided leather strands from its place on the wall. She watched in horror as he approached her, his dark eyes flashing in anger.

  Instinctively, her arms came up to shield herself from the first blow. She rolled to her stomach, trying to get her legs under her to stand, but the blows were landing furiously on her back and buttocks, making it impossible for her to rise. Through a haze of pain, she knew she was crying. Tears coursed down her face, blinding her as she huddled into a ball. She tasted the metallic flavor of blood and realized she was biting her bottom lip to keep from screaming. By the time the blows had stopped, she was moaning and begging for mercy.

  Tanya’s humiliation was complete when he stripped her camisole and pantalets from her. Completely naked, her tawny hair streaming wildly over her shoulders, Tanya stared at him with eyes wide with pain and fear. With her last remaining spark of false courage she spat, “Don’t you touch me!”

  Her coppery captor loomed over her, naked himself except for his breechcloth and moccasins. He slapped her hard across the cheek, then picked her up as easily as he would have a child and tossed her onto the mat.

  Sprawled in the most undignified manner, Tanya quaked before his smoldering midnight gaze. His dark eyes raked her exposed body, and she felt violated before he’d even touched her. Then, to her profound surprise, he turned, collected her torn clothes and anything she might use for a weapon or to cover herself, and abruptly left.

  A long sigh of relief escaped her lips. For long moments she lay unmoving, quivering and crying silently. Finally her mind prodded her to review her situation. Her captor had indeed been wise. With nothing to cover her nakedness and no weapons, he had no need to tie her up or post a guard. She could not expose herself nude in another escape attempt.

  Aching, her body thoroughly bruised, she turned onto her side. Her back and bottom felt on fire, and her right thigh pained her even more now. Slow, hot tears slipped from her closed eyes as hopelessness over- whelmed her. Exhaustion finally took its toll and she slept.

  Tanya never flickered an eyelash, so deeply asleep was she when A-Panther-Stalks returned to his tipi. For a long time he sat watching her sleep. Taking a strand of her honey-colored hair, he let it slip through his roughened fingers. It was a beautiful color; so soft and silky. Tomorrow he would see that she was bathed, and the tangles brushed from her hair.

  With gentle fingers he examined her back, glad to see he had not badly damaged her in his anger. Tanya’s back and buttocks were striped with welts, but only in one or two places was the skin broken.

  A-Panther-Stalks had been on many raids in his twenty-five winters, and had taken many captives, but never before had he kept one for himself. Always he had given or sold them to another warrior or woman. This was the first time he had deliberately earmarked one for himself, but never had one struck him as being so beautiful before. Her hair and her eyes fascinated him. Her face was perfection, even to the stubborn tilt of her chin, and her figure was alluring.

  A-Panther-Stalks felt himself becoming aroused as he studied her, and quickly schooled his thoughts in another direction. He would have to handle her with care, and exercise patience and wisdom in order not to break her proud spirit. He admired her courage too much to see her end up broken and witless, a spineless slave, as so many others did.

  The next week or two would be crucial. So much depended on Tanya’s ability to adapt and learn the ways of his people. She must learn to accept him as her master and obey him willingly, without questions or hesitation. She must forget her foolish thoughts of home and escape, and accept her life here among his people. She must begin to learn the Cheyenne language, and how to do all the tasks that are required of a Cheyenne warrior’s woman.

  He had no doubt it would be hard for her, but she was quick and intelligent. She would first have to come to terms with her new life here. Once she had resolved herself to it, he was sure she would learn quickly. His one problem would be to teach her acceptance and obedience without breaking her spirit.

  He
smiled as he recalled the way she had fought Ugly Otter. “Poor little wildcat,” he thought. “You are about to have your claws trimmed. You are going to fight against it, I know, but there is little you can do to change it. You will strain against the leash, and spit and snarl, but I will bring you to heel with a gentle hand. Do not fight me too hard, little wildcat, for you will only harm yourself. I mean to have you. You will be mine until I decide otherwise, and the sooner you accept that, the easier things will be.”

  Tanya awoke stiff, sore, and thoroughly chilled in the early morning. She huddled into a ball, trying to generate some body heat. What she would give right now for a blanket!

  After ascertaining that she had the tipi all to herself, she crept closer to the fire. With a short stick she poked at the fire, trying to stir the coals to life, though what she would use for fuel she couldn’t guess.

  The flap that covered the entrance to the tipi was opened, and bright sunlight spilled in. Tanya shrank back, vainly trying to hide her nakedness as her captor entered, followed by the old woman who had guarded her the previous evening. The woman dumped an armload of wood onto the floor, shooting Tanya a dis-

  approving look that said without words how displeased she was that Tanya had made her look bad by attempting to escape.

  Tanya’s captor claimed her attention by capturing her chin in his hand. Pointing to himself, he said, "Meshepesha Tsi."He repeated the gesture and phrase. Then he pointed to Tanya and waited. Once more he went through his actions, and it dawned on Tanya he was telling her his name and asking hers.

  Tanya pointed to herself and said, “Tanya.”

  The warrior nodded. “Tan-Yah.” He pointed at her, andthen to himself. “Meshepesha Tsi.”He pronounced his name slowly and distinctly, then urged her to repeat it.