He was aware of being watched as he walked through the village toward the river. Warriors eyed him with suspicion, women and children with ill-disguised curiosity and distrust. He spotted several sentries keeping watch.
When he reached the river, he removed his clout and moccasins, took a deep breath, and plunged in. He swore as the cold water closed over him. But it was just what he needed.
* * * * *
Winter Rain breathed a sigh of relief when Wolf Shadow left the lodge. When he was near, she couldn’t seem to think clearly. Her heartbeat quickened, she felt nervous and excited, as if she was on the verge of some wondrous discovery. Sometimes it seemed as if she would jump right out of her skin. She felt her cheeks flush as she remembered the press of his body, hard and long and lean, against hers; the way he had looked at her, as if he were a hungry wolf and she a helpless fawn. She had been afraid he might kiss her again; disappointed when he had not.
Where had he gone?
Rising, she pulled on her moccasins and combed her fingers through her hair. A glance at Blackbird-in-the-Morning showed her that the old woman was still sleeping soundly.
Moving quietly, Winter Rain stepped outside. It was a clear crisp morning. Grabbing a waterskin, she headed for the river. The first task of the day was to draw fresh water for drinking and cooking, then she would gather wood for the fire.
She walked briskly, her gaze darting up and down the shore when she reached the river’s edge. Turning right, she passed several other women who had come down to draw water. She could have filled her waterskin anywhere but she kept moving upriver. She told herself the reason she didn’t stop where the Crow women were gathered was because she didn’t want to suffer their cold looks or hear their cruel words, but the truth was, she was looking for Wolf Shadow, even though she was reluctant to admit it.
She found him a short time later, couldn’t help grinning when she thought of how often she had found him standing naked in the river. This time he was hunkered down, submerged to mid-chest.
He didn’t look happy to see her.
“What are you doing?” Moving upstream a little, she knelt at the river’s edge to fill the waterskin.
“What does it look like?” he asked, his voice gruff.
She shrugged. “It looks like you’re just sitting there. Are you not cold?”
“Not cold enough.”
“I do not understand.”
He scowled at her. “Don’t I know it.”
He sounded angry, though she did not know why. Perhaps it was merely that the cold water made his wounds ache, she mused, or perhaps he was upset at being a prisoner. It was not a fate a Lakota warrior could easily accept. Or maybe he was worried about facing the warrior who had captured him. She dismissed that thought as soon as it crossed her mind. When his wounds healed, Wolf Shadow would not be easily overcome.
“Why do you not come out?” she asked.
He looked down at himself, then back at her, one brow lifting in wry amusement. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” she asked, and then, taking his meaning, she blushed to the roots of her hair. Rising quickly, she hurried back to the village.
“Finally, she gets it,” he muttered irritably.
The morning meal was ready when Chance returned to Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s lodge.
Winter Rain looked up when he stepped inside. She blushed when she met his gaze.
Just looking at her made him hard and aching all over again. It was all too easy to remember how she had felt pressed against him that morning, to remember how ardently she had returned his kisses. Damn! He was going to be spending a lot of time in that river.
Sitting down, he glanced at Blackbird-in-the-Morning. Was she aware of the tension sparking between himself and Winter Rain? She couldn’t miss it, he thought, looking back at Winter Rain. The attraction between the two of them was hot enough to set the lodge on fire.
With the meal over, Winter Rain went outside. Aware of Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s knowing look, he followed Winter Rain out of the lodge.
Finding a place in the shade, he watched her cut thin slices from the venison she had quartered the day before. The strips were about as long as her arm, perhaps three hands wide. When all the strips were cut, she would arrange them over the drying rack beside the lodge. The rack was a long pole suspended on two sturdy forked poles which were high enough to prevent the dogs from jumping up and stealing the meat. Young boys sometimes grabbed a piece of meat and ran away with it. Chance remembered doing it himself a few times. He also remembered the day he’d been caught by one of the women. She had given him quite a thrashing, but it hadn’t stopped him from doing it again. The women never had to worry about the girls. The girls knew what happened to the boys who got caught!
When the meat was thoroughly dried, it would be cut up and stored to be used as needed. Some of it would be pulverized, mixed with fat and made into pemmican. Dried cherries or grapes were often crushed, including pits and seeds, and added to the mix. It made a sweet treat.
Winter Rain bent over her task, all too aware that Wolf Shadow was watching her every move. What was he thinking? Why didn’t he go away? His nearness and the heated look in his eyes made her nervous. The knife in her hand slipped and she cut the side of her hand.
With a yelp of pained surprise, she dropped the knife.
Wolf Shadow was at her side in an instant. “Here, let me take a look at that.”
He picked up a waterskin lying nearby and rinsed the blood away, then dried her hand with a corner of his clout.
“Is it bad?” she asked, trying to see around him.
“No. Wait here.”
He ducked inside Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s lodge. Returning a moment later, he wrapped a strip of cloth around her hand and tied off the ends. “You’ll be as good as new tomorrow.”
She looked up at him, her gaze meeting his. There was no denying the attraction between them. It was always there, simmering just beneath the surface. He might have kissed her, and she might have let him, if Blackbird-in-the-Morning hadn’t chosen that moment to step outside.
Wolf Shadow went back to sitting in the shade and Winter Rain cut up the last pieces of venison and began hanging them on the rack to dry. Blackbird-in-the-Morning nodded approvingly, then found a place in the sun and sat down.
And now there were two people watching her. It made her self-conscious but there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t very well tell Wolf Shadow to go away, not with Blackbird-in-the-Morning sitting there, watching. After all, Wolf Shadow was supposed to be her husband.
Winter Rain placed another strip of venison on the rack, felt a sudden catch in her heart as she remembered all the times she had helped her mother do this very thing. It had not been work then, with the two of them sharing the task. Tears stung her eyes. She had to escape from this place, had to go back and find out if her mother and father were still alive.
She glanced over her shoulder at Wolf Shadow. The gash in his head was healing, as were the shallow cuts the Crow had inflicted on him. In a day or two, she would ask him to take her away from here. He wouldn’t refuse, she was certain of that. If he stayed, he would have to fight Short Buffalo Horn. Surely he wouldn’t want to take a chance on losing. Surely he was as anxious as she to get away from their enemies.
And then a new thought gave her pause. If they ran away from the Crow, there was nothing to stop him from taking her back to the wasichu who claimed to be her mother and father.
She reached for another strip of venison. She would take her chances with Wolf Shadow, she mused as she laid the meat over the rack. After all, she had a better chance of running away from one man than from a whole tribe!
* * * * *
The next few days passed peacefully, giving Chance ample time to recover from his wounds. Now, resting against one of the backrests he had made earlier that day, his gaze lingered on Winter Rain. She had served them dinner, first the old woman and then him, before
she filled a bowl for herself. She had glanced at him frequently while they ate, almost dropped her bowl when Blackbird-in-the-Morning tapped her on the shoulder to ask for more. They had talked several times about escaping from the Crow, but as yet had made no definite plans. Blackbird-in-the-Morning was a decent sort, but he didn’t want to be a prisoner—hers or anyone else’s—nor did he want to fight Short Buffalo Horn to see whether he lived as a slave or died a nasty lingering death. Neither option was particularly appealing. Soon, he thought, it would have to be soon.
Feeling restless, he rose and left the lodge. Standing in the gathering dusk, he glanced around the village. Crow life was similar to that of the Lakota. If there was meat in abundance and a warrior was not engaged in a war party or taking part in a ceremony, he would most likely be found in his lodge, perhaps repairing his weapons, perhaps merely sitting idle. In contrast, the women, Crow or Lakota, never seemed to have idle time. If they were not mending or making clothing or moccasins, gathering wood and water, or caring for their children, they were probably tanning a hide, drying meat, or making pemmican.
Like Lakota girls, Crow girls played with dolls, emulating their mothers; Crow boys played with toy bows and arrows. When they grew older, the girls cared for their younger siblings and learned housekeeping skills; the boys hunted rabbits and deer and the buffalo and learned the art of war. Sometimes a warrior would bring a buffalo calf back from a hunt and give it to his children, who would either pretend to hunt it, or ride it. Older boys sometimes went looking for orphaned calves after a hunt. They killed them with arrows, brought the meat home, and gave the skins to their girl playmates to use for coverings for their toy tipis or clothing for their dolls.
It seemed that, at least for the time being, the Crow were at peace. Chance wondered again how many Lakota had survived the attack. He wondered if there were enough warriors left to form a war party, wondered again if his cousin’s family had survived the attack.
It was full dark now. Chance heard women calling their children to bed, saw small groups of men standing together, talking and smoking before they turned in for the night.
He was about to go back inside the old woman’s lodge when he saw Short Buffalo Horn striding toward him. The warrior stopped a few paces away, his gaze moving over Chance the way a cowboy might look over a horse he was thinking about buying.
Tonight, Chance thought. If they were going to make a run for it, it would have to be tonight.
Chapter Ten
Chance took Winter Rain aside that evening after Blackbird-in-the-Morning had gone to bed.
“Tonight,” he said, careful to keep his voice pitched low. “We’re leaving tonight.”
“Tonight?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “But how? We have no horses, no food.”
“Short Buffalo Horn gave me the once-over a while ago. He’s tired of waiting. We’re leaving tonight. Gather up whatever food you can find. I’ll take care of getting the horses. Just be ready.”
She started to say something, but he didn’t give her time to argue. Instead, he left the lodge.
Standing in the shadows, he glanced up at the sky. Wakan Tanka was smiling down on him, he mused. Dark clouds were gathering overhead, shutting out the moon and stars. A good storm was just what they needed. There would be no moon to betray them; the rain would quickly wash out their tracks.
With the inborn patience of a hunter, he squatted down on his heels and waited.
Winter Rain moved about the lodge, quietly packing one of the parfleches with pemmican and strips of dried venison. She rolled her sleeping robe into a tight cylinder and tied it closed with a strip of rawhide.
She glanced around the dark lodge. Stealing from Blackbird-in-the-Morning made her feel guilty. The old woman might be the enemy but she had been kind when she could have been cruel.
Winter Rain glanced at the doorway, her head cocked to one side. Was it raining? Tiptoeing to the entrance, she drew back the flap and looked out. It was dark, so dark she couldn’t even see the lodge across the way.
Ducking back inside, she sat down to wait for Wolf Shadow.
She didn’t remember dozing, but she woke with a start, panic overtaking her when she felt a hand over her mouth.
“Shh, it’s me.”
Relief washed through her at the sound of Wolf Shadow’s voice.
“Let’s go,” he whispered urgently.
Rising, she grabbed the parfleche, the waterskin, and her sleeping robe and followed him out of the lodge, her heart pounding wildly. What would the Crow do to them if they were caught trying to escape?
It was still raining, and so dark she could scarcely see Wolf Shadow even though he was right in front of her.
He led her through the sleeping camp, tossing bits of venison to the dogs they passed to keep them quiet.
There were two horses waiting for them when they reached the river. In a flash of lightning, she saw that Wolf Shadow had somehow managed to get not only his stallion but his saddle and saddlebags, as well. A second flash of lightning showed a body sprawled face down in the mud. One of the sentries, she thought, as Wolf Shadow lifted her onto the back of the second horse.
“Wrap that robe around you,” he said. “It might help to keep you dry.”
He took the parfleche from her and tied it to the horn of his saddle, then swung onto his horse’s back. “We’re going to cross the river while we can,” he said. “If the storm keeps up, we might not be able to cross it later. If we get separated, follow the river downstream. Sooner or later, it will take you to a town. Understand?”
She nodded; then, realizing he couldn’t see her, she said, “Yes, I understand.”
“Let’s go.”
She glanced at the fallen Crow as they rode by. She felt no pity for him. He might be one of the warriors who had attacked their village. She was glad he was dead.
Her horse followed Wolf Shadow’s without any urging. Winter Rain huddled deeper into her sleeping robe. It did little to keep her dry, but it did protect her from the wind, all but her hands, which were soon numb with cold from holding onto the reins.
She couldn’t imagine how much colder Wolf Shadow must be, clad in nothing but his clout and moccasins.
They had ridden about two miles when the moon peeked through a break in the clouds and she saw the body of another Crow warrior lying in the mud. Had Wolf Shadow killed all the sentries? Or only those on this side of the village?
They rode steadily onward, always keeping the river, which was now a swirling mass of rushing water, on their right. From time to time, a flash of brilliant lightning illuminated their way, but there was nothing to see but tall prairie grass flattened by the storm and cottonwood trees swaying in the wind.
Winter Rain huddled deeper into her robe. She was cold, so cold. She thought fleetingly of the cozy fire in Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s lodge and for the briefest of moments, she was tempted to turn around and go back. But the moment of weakness passed quickly. She could endure the cold and the rain; she couldn’t endure not knowing whether Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance were dead or alive.
They kept the horses at a steady walk all that night, stopping only briefly to let the animals rest.
It wasn’t until late morning that Wolf Shadow judged it was safe to stop and make camp. The rain, which had lessened as the night wore on, had finally stopped. A short time later the sun burned away the last of the clouds.
Dismounting, Winter Rain leaned against her horse’s shoulder. She was cold and wet and chilled to the bone. There was no dry wood to be found. Spreading her sleeping robe over a bush, she lifted her face up to the sun and let its warmth wash over her.
Wolf Shadow removed his rifle from the saddle boot. He had taken the weapon from one of the Crow sentries. Propping the rifle against a tree, he stripped the rigging from Smoke and spread the saddle blanket on the bush beside Winter Rain’s sleeping robe.
“We’ll rest here for the day.” He thrust the parfleche into her hand, t
hen took her horse’s reins and led the horses a short distance away. Using a couple of pieces of rope he had pulled from his saddlebags, he fashioned two pairs of hobbles, then removed the bridles from the horses and left them to graze on the lush green grass.
Winter Rain sat down on a flat rock and rummaged through the parfleche, withdrawing jerky and pemmican. She handed a piece of each to Wolf Shadow, who accepted them with a grunt and sat down beside her.
She glanced over at him. They had hardly spoken to each other since they left the Crow village.
Chance looked up and met her gaze. “What?”
“We are going back to our village, are we not?” she asked.
He nodded. Like Winter Rain, he was anxious to find out whether his loved ones had survived the Crow attack.
In spite of the sun, they were both shivering. Chance swallowed the last of his pemmican, then slid his arm around Winter Rain’s shoulders.
She looked at him, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m colder than a witch’s…” He checked himself. “Let’s just say I’m mighty damn cold.”
She stared at him a moment, then, noticing how much warmer she was where her body was pressed to his, she scooted a little closer, all too aware of the long muscular length of his leg against her own. Gradually, she grew warmer. He, too, was shivering less now. She lifted her cold, clammy skirt from her legs a little, thinking she would be warmer without her tunic but the thought of being naked in front of Wolf Shadow was more than she could bear. She was acutely conscious of his presence beside her. His slightest move set her nerves aflutter. There was a strength about him, an inner core of confidence and assurance that was exceptionally attractive, especially now, when her survival depended on him.
His hand on her shoulder was comforting.
His gaze, resting on her face, was disquieting.
“How long…” Her throat was suddenly dry. She swallowed and licked her lips. “How long until we get back home?”
“A few days. Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”
Wolf Shadow Page 9